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When Isaac returned to Bucklebury Lock after the meeting, there was a southbound barge waiting, as well as a northbound one, and both captains were angry at having to wait, though neither was willing to criticize a man’s desire to worship on a Sunday. It took some jockeying to get the southbound barge through first, as it was closer to its destination than the northbound one, and then the other barge on its way as well.
By the time that work was finished, Isaac was tired, and he sat by the canal bank with his latest book. He could not concentrate, though, and the warmth of the day made him sleepy.
His eyes closed, and as he hovered in that state between sleep and waking, he let himself feel as free as one of the birds of the air. He was somewhere up high when he looked down and saw a juvenile stork feeding by the edge of the canal, picking its long gray snout down quickly into the water and snatching up grubs. It looked familiar to Isaac, and he wondered if he knew the bird. Was it a frequent visitor at Bucklebury Lock?
Then without warning, a vulture swooped through the air, and snapped its talons around the stork’s narrow neck, and took off, flapping its wings. Isaac watched as the massive hawk soared higher and higher, up the side of a mountain. The stork trailed beneath it, its neck broken, until the hawk reached a plateau and let the stork fall.
Immediately the hawk turned and swooped down to its prey and began picking at it with its sharp beak.
Isaac awoke harshly. What had that dream meant? Was he the gray stork? Or Lenert? Who was the predator?
The dream shook him, and he was glad for the approach of the New Jack, captained by Micah Watson. A new boy, barely out of his teens, served as hoggee, and he was awkward with the mules, tripping over his own feet as he tried to move them forward.
“Let me help,” Isaac said. For the last six weeks, he realized he had left all care of the mules to Lenert—another reason to miss him. As he’d seen Lenert do, he gentled the mules, stroking their sides and talking to them quietly, and they moved together in sync far enough up the canal that Isaac could get the lower gate closed.
“Can’t seem to hold onto a hoggee,” Watson grumbled, as he stood on the stern and watched the water rise.
Not if you beat them, Isaac thought, remembering the boy with the red buttocks. But he said, “What happened to the last one?”
“Frankie? Met up with a rich man in a bar in Philadelphia while we waited for a shipment. Quit me to become his ‘personal valet.’ If you know what I mean.”
Isaac nodded.
“Won’t matter much longer. I’m selling the barge in Easton to a man who wants to use it on the Lehigh Canal.”
Once the New Jack had risen to the level of the upper canal, Isaac pushed the gate closed. Then he stopped and wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “You don’t want to ride the water anymore?” he asked.
Watson shrugged. “Can’t afford it. The tolls have become too great, and there isn’t enough merchandise to carry. I’m buying a boardinghouse in Easton. My sister will run it, and I’ll make enough income to support me.” He leaned forward and leered. “Maybe even get myself a personal valet.”
Isaac smiled tightly and moved around to the upper gate. It would take a certain kind of young man to enjoy the treatment Watson liked to give.
Was that any different from what Graybill had done to Solomon? Yes, it had to be. In Watson’s case, Isaac assumed that he and Frankie had enjoyed some sexual pleasure in the spanking. Isaac could testify himself that it might be titillating—at least in small doses.
But Graybill had been flat-out cruel. He had worked Solomon like an animal, and there couldn’t have been any pleasure in receiving those terrible welts.
The New Jack floated up toward Easton, and Isaac watched the eddies of water on the canal as it went. Watson’s was the last to travel on Sunday, and Isaac had too much free time to sit on the grassy bank and miss Lenert. His companionship, for one thing. Just having the big Prussian around eased Isaac’s heart and put a spring in his step each morning. Then there were the times they sat together like this, talking of their past, the barges and their captains and hoggees.
Their evenings had been the best. Sitting together over dinner, sharing lines from books, and then going to bed together—whether they had sex or not. How could he go on if Lenert would not come back to him?
And what if there was no place to come back to? Suppose all the rumors were correct, and the canal was going to shut down. Who would hire an unemployed lock-keeper?
As darkness fell, he packed his bag for the next day, unsure of how long he would be away from the lock. That night he slept only fitfully, missing Lenert and afraid of what another dream might bring.
Monday morning traffic was brisk on the canal, and it was not until after noon that Esau arrived on a southbound barge. “Thank you for coming,” Isaac said. “I’ll give you my pay for every day you’re here.”
“I’m saving up to move out of my parents’ house,” Esau said. “Every penny will be appreciated.”
That was how Isaac had felt once he had been accepted at the University of Pennsylvania. At first he’d thought to commute to the school, but when he learned they had moved to West Philadelphia, and that they had rooms available for scholarship students, his heart had risen.
Look where that brief escape had gotten him, though.
“Let me show you how the lock operates,” Isaac said, and gave Esau a quick tutorial.
“It’s very much like my father’s lock,” Esau said, as the barge he had ridden on sank down to the lower level. “You can go on to the City of Brotherly Love. I’ll manage here.”
“You’re sure?”
Esau nodded and hurried down to the lower lock. Isaac grabbed the bag he had packed that morning, and hitched a ride down to Yardley.
He did not know that captain well and was left alone on the rear deck. He missed the friendly companionship of Merit Copeland, and the chance to speak even guardedly about his problems.
The land was flat around the canal, giving him a view of the boundless sky, fields of wheat waving in the distance, small patches of ruby-red strawberries or green cabbage in plots along the towpath.
He sat there, watching small eddies along the canal, hearing the heavy hoofbeats of the mules, the occasional encouragements by the hoggee. He stayed in the shadows as they passed through Stewart’s Crossing, unwilling to see anyone he knew who might raise questions about what he was doing.
Once out of town, he went back outside, to note a graveyard of white stones between the canal and the river. At least a generation of Bucks County men, women and children rested there, and he wondered where he would land. Would he stay in this verdant countryside? Return to the city, near his parents? Embark on an adventure with Lenert, in search of a place where they could live together easily?
Or would he return to Bucklebury Lock, a broken man whose love was lost, and whose career was disappearing with each barge that passed?
“I can pull in at the layby at the north end of Yardley,” the captain said as they approached. “There’s a path there down to the town.”
“Thanks,” Isaac said.
Isaac hopped off the barge and landed with one foot on the towpath and the other in a swath of mud along the bank. He quickly regained his balance and scraped the mud off his shoe on the pounded red towpath.
As he walked, he wondered if this was the same path Lenert had taken under cover of night. Did he have a destination, or was he running away? How could Isaac convince him to return if he’d made up his mind?
He followed a narrow path through fields up to Main Street, passing only a pair of cows resting under a tree. He hurried past a carriage stop, with a yard for horses, until he reached the train station, where he was able to get the last train down into Philadelphia. Darkness fell as the train chugged southward, and Isaac decided he would go directly to his parents’ apartment and stay with them while he searched the city for Lenert.
What could he tell them, though? He could not admit to loving the Prussian, only to feeling a responsibility for him, a stranger in a strange land. He decided he’d minimize Lenert’s English, and how he needed to make sure that Lenert was safe and had found a new job.
It was night by the time he reached the train terminal. Despite the darkness, he felt no uncertainty. He had often walked from the university campus down to his parents’ apartment, on Locust Street a few blocks inland from the river. He knew those streets intimately and was not surprised that they had changed little in the time he had been at Bucklebury Lock.
He detoured around a tavern he knew of near the station, where the railroad workers lingered after their shifts and drank, and where women of ill repute offered a bit of comfort in exchange for a few coins. The pain in his heart could not be assuaged by either drink or a woman’s touch.
He arrived at the block of apartments where his parents lived well after dinner, his legs tired and his stomach empty. He climbed the two flights to their small apartment and knocked on the door.
His mother opened it cautiously, then grinned broadly to see him. “Oh, Isaac!” she said, as she pulled him to her in an embrace.
“I am sorry I have been away so long,” he said, and he was sad to realize how much time he had let pass since feeling her arms around him.
“This is a surprise,” his father said. He had a cast over his right arm, and Isaac realized that his father’s break had to be much worse than Lenert’s.
His father reached out his left hand for an awkward shake, and Isaac moved over and wrapped his arm around his father’s shoulder. “It is good to see you both,” he said.
He was sorry to have lost the time when he was a small boy and he would throw himself into his father’s arms when he returned from work.
“Did you not get the letter I sent?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, but you didn’t say when you were coming,” his mother said. “It must be busy, at the lock.”
“It is, but I have had a helper since the spring.” While his mother fixed him a quick plate of sausages and eggs, he told them the bare bones of Lenert’s story.
“So sad,” his mother said, as she served him the food. “To be all alone. It’s good you are looking after him.”
They sat across from him at the table, as they had all through his youth, and he wondered how much they really knew about him. Would they accept him, the way that Mrs. Barclay seemed to have done with Amos? Or reject him, the way Mrs. Pennington had?
“I have no one else but you,” Isaac said, and he felt tears well up behind his eyes. He reached a hand to his mother’s and squeezed.
“You have always been one to make your own path,” his father said. “While other boys were out playing, you were reading. And while others were sparking with young ladies you were intent on your studies.”
“We hoped you might find someone at the university who shared your interests,” his mother said. “You did not?”
Isaac shook his head. “But Lenert—he has become a good friend. I need to make sure he is all right.”
They both nodded and smiled, and he ate his fill, happy to be with them.
Soon after, he went to sleep in his old bed, feeling curiously uncomfortable there after so many nights sleeping beside Lenert, hearing his breathing, feeling his warmth. Would he ever sleep beside Lenert again?
The next morning he awoke to unfamiliar noise, the clip-clop of the horse-drawn streetcar on the street in front of the building, a hawker’s cry and the distant beat of a drum. It took him a moment to remember he was back in the city, in his childhood room, after everything that had happened.
He sat up in bed and yawned. He realized he had only the barest idea where to begin looking for Lenert, just the idea of a rooming house near the Swedish church. He used the toilet, washed his face, and walked into the kitchen, where his father sat over a bowl of porridge.
He slipped into the chair across from him. “Have you worked with any Germans or Prussians, Papa?”
His father nodded. He had the same slim build as his son, but his arms were much more muscular from years of pushing paintbrushes. His coloring was darker, his hair black with occasional streaks of gray, but Isaac recognized his own eyes in his father’s.
“I have worked with a few,” his father said. “They live in a neighborhood north of Market Street.”
That matched what he remembered from Lenert.
“You will be careful,” his mother said. She had his coloring, his light hair and fair skin, and she was still an attractive woman as she approached her fiftieth birthday. Her hands betrayed the work she had done for years, laundering and cleaning for wealthier families, and Isaac felt a pang of sadness. They had worked so hard to provide him with an education, hoping he would become a teacher. It was a good occupation, one that paid better than working the lock, and perhaps they had hoped he would be able to support them as they grew older.
He pushed those problems aside for the moment. He had to focus on Lenert.
“Of course, Mama,” Isaac said. “Lenert is a good man, and I just want to make sure he is well, and that no one can take advantage of him because of his lack of English.”
“You plan to continue at the lock?” his father asked.
“I’m not sure,” Isaac said. “The railroads are taking away cargo from the canal, and there is a new man in charge who wants to make many changes.”
“Would you come back home?” his mother asked.
“I think it is possible I would return to the city,” Isaac said carefully. “And perhaps I will complete my studies at the university and find a teaching position. I do prefer the countryside, as you know. But I must do what I need.”
His parents both nodded, and then his mother stood. “I have to leave for a job. Will you be here when I return?”
“I doubt I will be successful quickly,” Isaac said. “But if I do not stay here again, at least I will come here to say goodbye.”
She put a house dress over her arm, kissed Isaac’s cheek and walked out. His father waited a few minutes to ask, “Have you made friends in the country?”
“There are many kind people,” Isaac said. “I attend the Meeting in Stewart’s Crossing when I can.”
“That is very good.” He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “You will not marry, will you, Isaac?”
Isaac was stunned. Did his father know of his preference for men? How could he?
He thought for a moment. “I have developed habits of solitude,” he said carefully.
“And yet this Prussian has come to live with you, and it is clear you care for him,” he said. He reached out and took Isaac’s hand in his. “Your mother and I only wish you to be happy. We hope you will be able to use your gifts to make a life for yourself that pleases you. The Holy Spirit moves differently in each of us, Isaac. As long as you listen to your heart, I am sure you will be happy.”
Isaac brushed away a tear from his eye. “Thank you, Papa. I always strive to be the son you hope I will be.”
“And you are.”
Isaac leaned forward and kissed his father’s grizzled cheek. Then he stood up. “And now I must begin my mission.”
He sat in his room for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts. He might spend hours walking the streets, never finding Lenert or the place he was staying.
Or he could seek out Amos Barclay, and ask his help.
Mrs. Barclay had said he worked in a police station in West Philadelphia. Isaac had walked past such a station once or twice on his rambles around the neighborhood, and thought he could find it again. He took one of the horse-drawn streetcars that headed west, over the Schuylkill River, and rode past the university, until he recognized the area.
He stood outside the station for a moment, steeling his nerves. If Barclay was there, he was fairly certain the man would help him—at least point him in the right direction. So why worry?
He knew he was not the manliest of men. What if someone in the station recognized something in him, and that made Barclay reject him?
This is for Lenert, he thought, and he walked inside. A police officer in uniform sat at a desk blocking his way. “How can I help you sir?”
“I’m looking for Amos Barclay. Does he work here?”
“Is this in regard to a case?”
Isaac thought for a second. “Yes, yes it is. A missing person.”
“I’ll get him for you.” The officer stood and returned a moment later with Amos. Instead of the dark suit he had worn at the meeting, he was clad in a long tunic in dark blue, with matching blue slacks, and a badge on his chest that identified him as an officer with the Philadelphia police. He had several insignia on his chest and shoulders.
“Isaac Evans,” he said. “Well, this is a surprise.” He reached out to shake Isaac’s hand. “What can I do for you?”
“Is there someplace we can talk?”
“I could use a bit of air. Let’s walk outside.”
They walked back outdoors and strolled slowly down the street under the shelter of oaks and maples. “Not a social call, I presume?” Amos asked.
Isaac shook his head. “My ... friend, Lenert Tessmer. He ran away from the lock and I am worried about him.”
“Sometimes the relationships between men are not meant to last,” Amos said gently. “At least that has been my experience. Did you argue?”
“Not at all. He was worried that others would understand the kind of friendship we have, and that would be difficult for me.”
“A reasonable worry.”
Isaac stopped. “But he shouldn’t care. I have to tell him that. I will do anything I have to do so that we can be together.”
He began to cry, embarrassing himself. Amos pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Isaac.
“Why do you think he has come to Philadelphia?”
“It’s the only place he knows. When he came here from Germany, he stayed at a boarding house near the river, where there were other Germans. Can you help me find it?”
“This isn’t really a police matter.”
“Please, Amos?” Isaac struggled to hold back tears. “You were right when you noticed the relationship between Lenert and me. I thought it ran very deep, on both sides. Now I am not sure, and I need to speak to him to know.”
Amos let out a deep breath. “All right. Let me tell my sergeant I’m out on a case. And I’ll ask among the men if anyone knows where a German immigrant might have gone.” He pointed to a small park across the street. “Why don’t you wait there?”
“Thank you, Amos. It’s very kind of you.”
“I hope someone will be as kind to me, if I find the affection you have with Mr. Tessmer someday.”
Isaac crossed the street and sat on a small iron bench. A wren chirped in the branches of the maple above him. Was he too close to its nest? Funny how birds were so adaptable, and they could find homes even in the middle of the city. Could Isaac find a home here? With Lenert?
About ten minutes later, Amos emerged from the police station, and waved to Isaac. They met at the corner. “We’re taking the streetcar down to the river,” Amos said. “I have some directions.”
They only had to wait a few minutes for a streetcar, and both found seats along the window. Isaac looked outside at how the city buzzed with people hurrying from place to place, so different from the gentle pace of the canal. There was so much more noise than he was accustomed to, so many more people, each of them rushing past on their own agenda.
And yet, even on the canal, barges had to move, to make schedules and deliver their cargo. Was there a place where he could have both the things he wanted—a job he loved, in a quiet, calm place? And Lenert beside him?
