Chapter 10

 

 

THEY traveled on, but as with the morning, the pace was slow and easy, a lot of walking mixed in with the riding. And talking. Gideon thought Jed must’ve said more words today than he had on the whole trip to date. To hear Jed actually talking, pointing out things about the land here in California, dredging up bits of Indian mysticism—it fascinated Gideon. He’d had little call to appreciate the “white God,” as Jed persisted in calling Him, but he’d heard other Indian legends, and enjoyed them.

He thought he could come to like most of the gods of Jed’s people, too. They reminded him of folks in the show, and there were enough of them that it seemed like they’d provide a merry old time around a campfire or interfering with the ways of mortal folks. The more Jed told him, the more he thought of the gods of Olympus, the myths and legends of an era before Jesus. The Sioux had their nature goddess, like the Greeks’ Artemis, and mother earth, and if he tried he felt like he could map most of the animal spirits onto other gods. Loki, a crafty fox, could easily have been Hermes. Haokah, their god of the hunt, could have been Artemis—or if they needed him to be a fella, her brother Ares, the Greek god of war. The stories made him wonder if them gods of old hadn’t been as real to the folks who lived in the old world as Jed’s gods were to him. He’d always thought of ’em as campfire tales, and that the God who was Jesus’s father had been around running things since before time began. Jed’s stories brought home to him in a way that Harold Crowe and his kin’s showmanship never had, just how deep an Indian’s faith in the land—and its spirits—could really run. Made him wonder about his own faith, or lack of it, that seemed to fit right well with many other members of the show.

Back when Gideon was a boy, Bill Tourney had told him that if you traveled for a living, you had to be more open-minded, and more forgiving of the ways folks learned when they’d been born, grew up, and planned to die all on the same patch of land. He’d taken that to heart and seen the different ways people worshiped God, heard the different ways they believed in Him, and he’d mostly been fine with all of it. This wealth of characters, and the awe Jed spoke of them with, they caught the storyteller in him, and it seemed like they tried to answer more questions about the world around them. He could see the appeal of them.

As they rode and walked and talked, they ran across more people, too. They weren’t on a wide road, but Gideon could tell it was leading up to one, just from the traffic. There were more houses around, too, more smoke swirling lazily from chimneys, and the sound of distant children’s laughter mixing in with the calls of the birds. It wasn’t constant. They could still go for long stretches with nothing but the sound of their own voices and the gurgle of a stream, but compared to the weeks they’d spent through Montana, Idaho, and Nevada, having folks around felt good to the people lover in Gideon. Bill’s words were close to mind, about being tolerant of people, and he wondered if these folk were the kind that would listen to Jed’s stories with pleasure, or skepticism, or outright disdain. If Jed would even tell them, which he probably wouldn’t.

They hit Stockton before lunch, but Gideon didn’t see that as a reason not to eat in a restaurant, and he paid this time. “I’ve been through here with the show,” he told Jed. “Played out near that stock yard we passed, not far from the railroad station.”

“Did the show play here on this trip?” Jed asked.

“Probably,” Gideon said. “Stockton always drew a big crowd, so I reckon they came inland before they headed on to San Francisco.” There might be a flyer around somewhere, or he could ask the waitress when she swung back by.

“No matter,” Jed said, even though he was clearly curious. “You will find them soon, now.”

They got back on the road before the sun reached its zenith, and turned west. The afternoon went as the morning had, and Gideon secretly worried that Jed would turn up hoarse, he was talking so much. But Gideon hung on every word, storing it away: the poverty of the reservation; his mother’s black eyes; the joy of his first hunt with his father, elder brother, and uncle; how his mother and aunt had taught him to cook; what he’d liked about Laramie—that took some teasing, to draw those details out of Jed. Gideon thought Jed might like a bigger city. Laramie was about the same size as Livingston, and towns that size were harder to get lost in. Gideon had always found big cities to be more cosmopolitan, where neighbors tended to leave their neighbors in peace.

“Tourist towns are good,” he volunteered, “but big cities are better.” He talked a little about Chicago, Kansas City, St. Louis, and other places he knew from his own experience. “They’re used to all kinds of folks visiting, and they’re real friendly.”

Jed looked dubious, but Gideon didn’t mind. He was used to that look after all this time, and it wasn’t like he was ever going to have a chance to prove his words.

That thought made him quiet, and when Jed finally ran down, he started singing, hyunh-hya-hyunh-huh, the familiar chorus mixed in with other words Gideon didn’t know. He let himself breathe to the rhythm of Jed’s chanting, and the practice soothed him some.

They stopped well before dusk at a place set back off the road and a good ways from the creek. Jed made up the camp, starting a fire and walking out a perimeter while Gideon unsaddled the horses and got them set for the evening. The Indian pony eyed him warily, but he didn’t try to pull free like he had the first night, and he didn’t try to bite. Maybe he was getting used to Gideon—or maybe he was getting used to Star. Whatever the case, he settled down well enough when Gideon brushed him down and tied him on a long lead near Star.

By the time he got back to the camp, Jed had a fire going, coffee brewing, and fish baking. The smell of it wasn’t particularly appetizing, but the sight of Jed bent over the fire was welcome and familiar… and there wouldn’t be many more of those sights. He looked away only to smile at the sight of their bedrolls lying side by side.

“It will be a cool night,” Jed said. “I thought we could share heat—but I think that is all.” He said the last softly, and when Gideon nodded, he seemed relieved.

Not that Gideon didn’t want what he’d given Jed that morning or what Jed had given him the night before. But he was happy with having Jed close. He’d figured it out, finally, that fucking, he could find. This thing with Jed, he hadn’t never found before. As he banked the fire and pulled off his boots, he watched Jed fussing with the covers of their shared bed before settling into it.

They wouldn’t have many more nights like this. Lonesomeness moved him over to the bedroll, and he eased onto it, watching Jed all the while. Jed had stretched out on his back, his hair spread out around his head like a dark, soft pillow. He had pulled the blankets up to his chin, and his eyes were closed, but his body was tense. “You cold?” Gideon asked.

“No. Yes,” Jed said.

Gideon smiled. Likely not, but likely, too, was the fact that Jed didn’t trust him one whit, not even after all this traveling together. “I’ll miss a repeat performance of last night or this mornin’,” he whispered, “but I like the idea of just holding on to you, too.”

That got Jed’s eyes open, and a wary look crossed his face.

Gideon had to wonder, really, which one of them Jed wasn’t trusting here. He lay there and let his eyes drift between Jed’s quiet face and the little fire Jed had built, and his mind drifted, too, back over the highlights and low points of this trip. Seeing Jed stumble into Livingston, burning up with fever… seeing the heart in the man as he licked that infection and stood on wobbly legs after long days on his back, sweating and in pain… that first night when Jed had let him know his secret desire wasn’t a secret at all—that made him pause to wonder just what else Jed had heard him say. More than most men, because when he’d thought Jed was at death’s door he’d shared some things he rarely told anybody. Right now, Gideon was glad of it. He was glad that Jed liked him, too, glad that Jed liked all that they got up to together on dark nights near empty roads.

Moira Hennessey’s face came to mind, not fearful and shocky like when they’d first met her, but when she’d been tending her husband’s body before they’d put him in the ground. There’d been so much love there, and so much loss—Gideon reckoned that was the moment he’d truly realized that he had something similar he was about to lose, in Jed. Not kids, not a home, but… a life, maybe. Someone he’d be happy to cleave to.

Gideon sighed. His mother had always said she hoped he’d find someone he’d love half as much as she loved his daddy, but even she wouldn’t wish this on him. Not with somebody he could never keep. Not with a man at all. She’d whispered about grandchildren more than once in recent years, and he’d been grateful every time his daddy had shushed her. Maybe his daddy knew him better than he’d let on. Or maybe his daddy just believed that children ought to come from love, and not because a mother wanted grandbabies. Besides, his younger brother was married already, and his oldest sister was sixteen now, and when he’d left the show in Montana she’d been keeping company with Johnny Wilson, a nice young bronc rider who’d joined the show two years past. Grace and Johnny would give his mama them grandbabies, if Ronald and his new bride didn’t get ’round to it first.

Gideon might, too, one day. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d find a good woman to feel for the way he felt for Jedediah. If he was real lucky, she might love him back the way Jed seemed to, for all that the man tried to deny it.

He’d always been lucky, and he knew it. Even lying here, holding something he knew he’d be letting go of soon, he didn’t regret a minute of it. His ma had taught him that, never to waste time regretting the wonderful things life brought by you, even if they were brief.

“You should sleep, Gideon,” Jed said, startling him out of his musings.

“I thought you already were,” he admitted, and rubbed his hand over Jed’s belly. Jed seemed to like the touch, and it gave Gideon great comfort to offer it.

“No. I have been listening to the noise in your head.”

Gideon snorted. “Come on now, Jed, I ain’t even breathed loud.”

“You have,” Jed said, and finally opened his eyes. The pupils were big and black in the firelight, the midnight blue irises a thin ring around them. “You have sighed many times.”

Gideon shrugged. “Just thinking,” he said. “Thinking I ain’t looking forward to San Francisco at all, and it used to be one of my favorite cities west of the Mississippi.”

“It is what you have been aiming for since we left Montana,” Jed said, thoughtful and quiet.

“Yeah, but you’ll turn around and go back.” He sighed. “Wish we could stay with each other,” he admitted, feeling willful for saying it, but with Jed lying here all comfortable and relaxed beside him, and after all they’d done and been for each other, he had the right.

Jed’s teeth caught the glinting firelight when he smiled. “You are so young.”

Gideon frowned at him. “So?”

“And stubborn. Headstrong. Selfish, seeking to satisfy your own desires.”

Gideon resisted the urge to whap him on the belly. “So?” he said again.

“So, I will miss this, too,” Jed said softly, and closed his eyes again.

 

 

THEY woke before the sun rose behind the now-distant mountains, and Gideon moved stiffly in the chill air. He’d been feeling and smelling it for a day now, even this far inland: the Pacific Ocean and all the salt water in San Francisco Bay. Or maybe it was that they weren’t as far inland as he wished they were. At the first town they came across, he stepped into the newspaper office to look at a map. They’d reached Discovery Bay, no more than a wide spot in the road, just as the sun had peeked over the mountains behind them, and the big map of the State of California that was pieced together along one wall told him what his heart already knew; they’d be in Oakland tomorrow night. That was where Bill Tourney camped the show and where he played in these parts, and where they’d be playing now, if they were still in town.

They’d barely covered twenty-five miles yesterday, across easy roads. Jed was dragging it out.

“Long day,” Jed said, confirming his thoughts. “We must walk slowly.”

If Gideon didn’t count the regular satisfaction they found in each other’s bodies, he thought he might miss Jed’s dry sense of humor most of all. Lord knew, it had taken him long enough to learn to recognize it.

They reached Walnut Creek that night, but for once Gideon didn’t want to see any other people. “We can camp.”

“We could sleep on a roof more easily, board the horses, let them eat grain,” Jed countered, so they did that instead, paying for board and feed for the animals, sharing a silent meal at a restaurant the livery manager recommended, then slipping late up a ladder and spreading their bedrolls over the shingled roof of a bank. They were too close to people to be together, but Jed slept near enough that Gideon could smell the scent of him. It carried into his dreams, and he woke knowing that he was going to miss that scent for the rest of his life.

 

 

THE sun woke Gideon early the next morning, but not before Jed. Gideon propped up on an elbow to look down at him, and decided the man was feigning sleep. He had to be, because the sun had crept up almost to the horizon already. Gideon felt a smile stretch his lips and touched Jed’s arm, felt his smile broaden when Jed blinked his eyes open, alert, like he’d been lying there waiting for that touch.

Unlike the last few days, they didn’t talk at all as they rolled up blankets and bedrolls, gathered up their bags, and climbed down off the roof. But Gideon found himself watching Jed, filing away his images for the future. Oftentimes when he looked, he found Jed looking back, and he thought that maybe Jed was doing the same, storing up memories. They ate breakfast in silence, too, and Gideon thought he should compliment the fine cooking, but he just didn’t care that much.

It wasn’t until they were mounted up, and they’d left Walnut Creek behind them that Gideon said, “Last day,” voicing words that Jed must be thinking, too.

“Yes,” Jed said.

“You’ll like the hotel,” Gideon told him. “They take all kinds of people, and treat ’em all the same. That’s part of why Bill always lets us put up there.”

Jed didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t far from Walnut Creek to Oakland, but it seemed like Oakland was moving out to meet them. Within just a few miles the road got wider and busier, with far more people than they’d seen so far on this trip, and it seemed like every time he turned around he saw a stretch of new fence or a church steeple rising up in the distance. Where he might have sped up on any other trip, feeling this close to family and his roving home, Gideon found himself slowing down now, moving to the pace of the farmers headed to and from wide, flat fields. This was less the bustle of folks getting somewhere and more of folks walking the steady, plodding pace of people who worked from sunup to sunset. Jed didn’t seem to be in any hurry either, and they took their time over lunch, sitting off the road and munching on biscuits with bacon that they’d saved from breakfast. Gideon smiled as Jed brushed crumbs from his shirt and thighs, a motion he’d grown so familiar with that he’d stopped noticing it weeks back.

“You’ll fit right in at the Shady View,” he tried again. “You’re tidier than most anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I should go,” Jed countered, pushing to his feet. “You know how to get to your people from here.”

The words came easy, as if Jed were discussing the weather, but Gideon felt an ache tug at his innards. Not now, not yet, he wanted to say. Instead he said lightly, “Thought you promised to get me to my family. We ain’t there yet.”

Jed frowned, but Gideon thought that the look in his eyes might be relief. He hoped it was, anyway, because he didn’t want to be the only one of them feeling this lonesome. “I promised to get you to where they are staying. If we have missed them….”

Gideon held his gaze, memorizing the deep blue of eyes on a dark face, and the way sunlight glinted in them so that they seemed to gleam. “The least I can do is give you one night in a good bed before you head back out. And one good meal,” he hurried on before Jed had the chance to argue about the merits of the bed. “Let me feed you before you get back on the trail.”

Jed shook his head and sighed, but he didn’t argue.

The rest of the way to Oakland, they passed enough folks going in both directions that Jed didn’t even chant. He fell back behind Gideon and pulled his hat low, keeping his eyes down as they rode along with the crowds. Gideon nodded and spoke, chatting when he found someone particularly talkative or interesting-looking, but he didn’t match pace with anybody who rode in from behind them. Weren’t no stranger he wanted to talk to enough that he was willing to share his last few hours with Jed with them. He found himself riding along beside a cart laden with fresh fall vegetables headed into town, squashes, onions and the first winter cabbages, or so he was told by Ham Braddock, the man driving it.

“Bill Tourney’s group?” Ham asked after they’d exchanged their introductions, and he’d chatted about the weather and the effect it was having on the growing season. “They’ve been staying at the Shady View, haven’t they?”

“Yessir, they are,” Gideon nodded.

“Think you’re too late,” Ham said, shaking his head. “I go by there couple of times a week—been supplying them with onions and peppers for years now. Pretty sure I saw them packing out last week, and Norden, one of the kitchen boys, told me that they had a new group coming in this weekend, some doctors or dentists or something, though why a bunch of quacks think they need to get together and commend themselves for God’s work is beyond me.”

“Well, I’ve seen a broken bone or two set by a good sawbones in my time,” Gideon said, thinking about Doc MacCray and how he’d saved Jed’s life with poultices and medical knowledge brought all the way over from Europe.

“I have, too,” Ham said. “Just ain’t seen a need to crow about it.”

Gideon snorted and nodded his thanks, a little disappointed that Jed wouldn’t meet his folks now, but a little relieved, too. What, exactly, was he supposed to say? And how was he supposed to behave with a feller? He knew how he’d introduce a woman, especially one he’d traveled alone with across half the country—proudly, and lewdly when she wasn’t looking, no matter how much he respected her.

Gideon might have dismounted and strolled down the street, but he thought Jed might prefer staying a little above it all. The streets were pretty crowded, but the sky seemed bluer as the afternoon sunlight reflected off an ocean not so distant now. Urban homes and tall trees gave way to Oakland’s business sector, stately buildings of limestone and brick, and thick bundles of cable crisscrossing the streets to feed the new lights of city life. Gideon led them through the mire of people and buildings to the inner harbor area south of the wharf—a little shabbier than the shiny streets of the proper city, but teeming with all kinds of people buying and selling all kinds of things.

“Transcontinental ends just north of here,” Gideon said, pointing up Wood Street. “Ferries over to the San Francisco peninsula every fifteen minutes, and all through the night too.”

“No one can be in that much of a hurry,” Jed said, rebuking white ways that Gideon had been kind of impressed by.

“Some folks think they are,” he said with a shrug. It made no nevermind to him, and in truth he reckoned most folks took their own importance in the grand scheme of things too seriously. “But I tend to agree with you,” he said, lowering his voice enough that he could lean closer to say it. “Still, they know how to enjoy the pace of life at the Shady View,” he said. “I really do think you’ll like it.”

“I am beginning to think you are making it up, that there is no Shady View Hotel,” Jed said. The look he gave Gideon was gentler than the words, and Gideon smiled.

“It’s not more than a couple of blocks away, now.”

The Shady View was a big hotel, rambling even, with no true design. It had started out as a house years ago and over the time since, the owners had added to it easily as they could, buying up the few houses and what business would sell around it. Now, its main building was set back from the street, with a big trampled-down yard and a view of the foothills not far off. It and the buildings it had married itself to took up the corner of a block and then some, between the hotel and the stables.

They dismounted in the front near a long hitch, but before they could tie off the horses, a freckled Irish kid Gideon had known for years trotted out the front to greet them. Jonah’s uniform wasn’t much of one, but he wore the blue chambray shirt and dark work pants that served as the uniform for the staff proudly.

“Gideon!” he called, trotting down the stairs. He thrust out a hand, smiling like a long lost brother, and Gideon couldn’t help but smile back.

“Jonah!” he called back, shaking the offered hand. “Good to see you, kid! You haven’t filled out yet?” he asked, teasing. Jonah was sixteen now, if Gideon remembered correctly, and growing up so fast his body was as thin as a rail.

Jonah blushed, and the pink tinge hid his freckles a little better than his fair skin did. “Met a girl,” he said, trying to keep his voice low, but failing. “Belle Watkins—her daddy owns the feed store on the far edge of town. She’s been trying to fatten me up too. Says the same thing all the time.”

“She a good cook?” Gideon asked, trying to keep any sly innuendo out of his voice. Jonah’s mother was a good Catholic—gave Jonah all kinds of trouble, to hear him tell it.

“The best!” Jonah said, rubbing at his flat belly. “Ma says I’ve got a tapeworm or something. I tell her it’s just that I’m still gettin’ taller.”

Gideon laughed and slapped the young man on his shoulder. “Well good for you, Jonah! I’m sure your ma’s happy—she was worried you were going to roam the world and end up in some far away place with exotic women.”

Jonah blushed even harder, and Gideon glanced over his shoulder at Jed, wanting to share his amusement. But Jed wasn’t even looking at him. Jed stood beside his horse with his head down, fingers carding through the horse’s too-long mane, and he had his hat pulled so low that Gideon could barely see his chin beneath its shadow.

Gideon sobered, but held on to his smile, with an effort, for Jonah’s sake.

“You missed Bill and the group,” Jonah said, drawing Gideon’s attention back. “They left earlier in the week—said they were loading out to Vacaville, then east to Sacramento.”

“Vacaville?”

Jonah nodded. “Bill was going on about the heat in the valley, so I guess he decided to save it for last.”

“I’ll be….” If the show was headed north and east, it would come back through the San Joaquin Valley and stop in Stockton on its way south and east to winter stomping grounds. He could have waited three weeks in Stockton for the show to catch up to him.

“Gideon? I think your ma and pa left letters for you.” Jonah’s smile faded to mild concern. “The manager said Bill did, too, but that he looked more put out than worried.”

Gideon nodded and felt his smile come back. Letters from his folks would cheer him up, maybe—they usually did—and Bill was more bark than bite. “Lookin’ forward to those,” he admitted, meaning it. “Jonah, I want you to meet a good friend—this is Jedediah Buffalo Bird,” he said, holding out his hand to wave Jed over.

Jed looked up then, his face empty of any expression but his eyes were wary. He looked at Gideon then nodded to Jonah, but he didn’t come any closer.

Jonah smiled and made the step instead, holding out a hand. “Welcome to the Shady View, Mister Buffalo Bird. I can settle your horses for you in the stable—that’s the better part of my job here, when I ain’t hauling luggage. Or, if you want, I can just turn ’em out in the corral for right now, and you can settle them when you get ready. Some folks prefer to take care of their own animals.”

When Jed blinked, his eyebrows drew together in what most might mistake as a frown. Gideon raised his own eyebrows. “I let him take care of Star, have for a couple of years now,” he said, and shrugged. Jed looked back at Jonah and nodded, taking Jonah’s offered hand in a quick shake. “The corral will be fine,” he said. “Thank you.” He patted his pony on the neck, murmuring something to him that Gideon couldn’t make out even though he could recognize Jed’s own tongue after all this time, and after, he offered the reins to Jonah.

Gideon gave Star’s reins to Jonah without a second thought, but he did take the time to grab up his saddlebags and suitcase. “Jed, grab your pack if you want it.” He didn’t look because he didn’t know if Jed would do it, so he was relieved when he turned to see his friend hoisting the pack onto his back. At least Jed was staying the night.

For his part, Jonah stood there holding two horses’ reins with his mouth open wide enough to catch flies. “It’s a good thing your daddy ain’t here,” he said, shaking his head as he looked back at Star. “She looks like she could stand to eat and rest for a few days or more—Robert Makepeace ain’t gonna like how rough she’s looking, and you aren’t taking care of her yourself? When was the last time you washed her down, Gideon?” He shook his head again, reaching out one hand to rub his fingers against Star’s mane. “You leave her with me tomorrow, and I’ll get her looking better—and your pony, too, Mister Buffalo Bird. He ain’t shod? We need to get some shoes on him before he comes up lame. Horses’ hooves aren’t made for gravel and brick after all.”

“No, they are not,” Jed said. “But he is fine as he is. If you wish to brush him down later, I will pay you for it.”

Jonah shrugged, eying the gelding critically. “Yes, sir, I’ll see what I can do.” He shook his head again as he led the horses off, talking to them as politely as he would a guest.

“He’s right about the shoes,” Gideon said as they headed up the wide stairs to the building’s entrance.

“Indian ponies do not need steel shoes,” Jed answered. “We walk on grass and dirt, not the hard roads of the white men.”

Gideon wanted to make a joke of it, but this close to their parting, he couldn’t think up one easy word to say. Fortunately, as he came through the doors and into the hotel lobby, someone called his name, and he turned to see Jonah’s mother, the hotel’s clerk, pushing her way from behind the long wooden desk and heading straight for him.

She was a big woman, but she carried herself with the polish of someone born to high society. Her dress was russet satin with cream lace trim at the neck, sleeves, and ruffle, and she wore enough underskirts to make it rustle and flow. She took Gideon in an embrace that was motherly but left him with no doubt about her cleavage or her corset, and he could swear he heard Jed snort out a laugh.

“Your mother was so disappointed that you hadn’t made it before she left!” she said as she pulled him back in for a second hug before finally letting him go. “That last hug is from her, son. I’ve got letters from her and from your father—and Bill Tourney himself said to tell you to get your hind end on the next train. They’re heading off to Vacaville and then parts south, and from there on to New Orleans—well, you know the route better than I do. And who do we have here?”

She had turned her attention on Jed, her hands on her hips and her features pulled down into a frown. Gideon had known her all his life, so he knew it was just her way, but for the first time, it occurred to him that this was the look Jed probably got from most white folk—and one that would make him worry.

“Why ever in the world are you running around with the likes of him?” she asked, and for a split second, Gideon opened his mouth to chastise her good and proper—until he realized that she was talking to Jed about being with Gideon, not the other way around. “Surely you could find better than this horse-boy to talk to on the road.” She grinned and extended one hand to Jed. “Welcome to the Shady View. I’m Ruby, and I’ve known Gideon since before he was walking. Known him long enough to know better than to expect good manners from him, so I’ve learned to just ask myself—who are you, young man?”

Jed reached up and took off his hat, reminding Gideon that he had yet to do the same. “Jedediah,” Jed said, wiping his hand on his pants before taking hers carefully. “Jedediah Buffalo Bird. I am pleased to meet you.”

“Well,” she said with a bigger smile, “I really am curious now. Polite and well-mannered—maybe you can teach Gideon a thing or two!”

“I have tried,” Jed said, cutting his eyes to Gideon in a way that let Gideon know he was teasing. “But he is like a mule—very stubborn. Always trying to do things his own way, with no thought of the consequences.” The amusement in his tone dried away with the last words, but Ruby didn’t seem to notice.

She squeezed Jed’s fingers before drawing her hand away. “That’s our Gideon,” she agreed. “Very stubborn and very certain that he’s always right—and no one knows better.” She turned away and headed back to the counter, waving them along behind her.

The corners of Jed’s lips twitched as he glanced at Gideon, but the sadness still showed in his eyes, as deep as Gideon’s own. Gideon felt good for it, at first, knowing that Jed didn’t want them to part.

“You want one room or two?” she asked as she made her way behind the counter to her ledger. She went on before Gideon had a chance to answer. “I know you won’t mind one. Carney folks and rodeo people, they’re all the same. It’s a small room, one bed, but it’s pretty big—Gideon, I think you’ve stayed in it before, the blue room at the top of the stairs on the third floor? Used to be an attic room so you have to be careful on the far side of the bed, but you two aren’t too tall.”

“We’ll be fine,” Gideon said, remembering the room. It was small, but it would be fine for tonight.

“Your timing is good, though,” she went on as she turned the register for Gideon to sign. “For dinner, we’ve got pork roast and roasted chicken, with potatoes and squash and onions, and Maybelle’s made chocolate cake and lemon cake for dessert.” She looked to Jed as she went on, “Don’t let him make you late—we always run out of the lemon cake early, since it’s one of Maybelle’s specialties.”

“We will not be late,” Jed said, nodding to her. “Thank you.”

“You want me to call Amos?” she asked as Gideon finished signing.

“We can manage,” Gideon said. “And I know the way, thank you, Ruby.”

She smiled as she handed the key across the counter along with two envelopes with Gideon’s name on them. But she did get in one last taunt. “Your pa was worried that you’d come dragging in with a woman on your arm and a wedding ring on your finger. I like your friend Jed, here, better.”

Gideon smiled over his shoulder at her, but he looked to Jed as he said, “Yeah, me, too.”

The room was one of the smallest in the hotel, but today, Gideon was happy about that. The bed was big enough that they ended up bumping up against each other as they moved around, and when the opportunity arose, Gideon took full advantage of it. He wasn’t trying to start anything, even though he didn’t move away when his groin brushed against Jed’s backside. But he was more pleased with the casual touches they shared, his hands along Jed’s back or shoulders, or Jed’s hands on his arm.

“I will care for the horses,” Jed said as he settled his pack in one corner. “Leave you to your letters.”

Gideon glanced to where he’d put them down on the dresser in the far corner. “They can wait—”

“We came all this way for you to catch up with your family. Read what your parents have to say. I will be in the stable, then perhaps at the nearest bath house.”

Jed eased out the door before Gideon had a chance to argue, and damned if now all he wanted to think about was Jed soaking naked in a hot bath. He sighed and peeled the wax seal off the first envelope.

The letters were warm and worried, and he felt bad for being relieved that his family wasn’t here. But neither of his parents seemed upset, and he realized that somewhere along the way, they’d accepted his right and his responsibility for himself. He opened his mother’s first.

 

My dearest Gideon,

I hope you had such a wonderful time in Livingston that you decided to stay longer than expected, which is why you didn’t make it in time to catch us. I’m not worrying. I know you, and I know you let some sideshow distract you from your travels. So I’m not worried. Remind me to teach you about telegrams—they’ve been around for a while, but I suspect that you could have forgotten about them.

We’ve stayed to the train this fall, because we fell behind, playing extra days in places like Bisbee and Yuma, even San Diego had a warm welcome for us all! San Francisco—we’ve been here three weeks, and every day I hoped to hear news from you. I expect to hear tales of adventures, when you do find us!

Grace is already planning her wedding—not that there’s been a set date or even an engagement announcement, but I promise you that the first thing you will hear when you find your way back to us is that you have to be in the wedding. She’s planned it to the finest details, and if Jimmy lets her get away with riding astride up between a row of our band, well, he truly loves her!

The twins have yet to understand that their ‘experiments’, as they call them, will get them in trouble. Just yesterday, we found them playing doctor with Tommy Richmond—again! I thought seriously about sending them to a convent, but your father, when he finished laughing and had caught his breath well enough to speak, reminded me how much we’d both miss them if I did. Twelve years old… I remember you causing me far less distress when you were twelve, my boy. But they say the mind plays tricks on a mother.

The show is moving on—to Vacaville, then east to Sacramento and back down the San Joaquin Valley. We’ll hit Stockton and maybe Merced, and I’ll be back to trick shooting for a few stops. Bill isn’t sure there are quite enough people for us there, but we’ll scout it out. Then it’s the train back south and east: Albuquerque for sure, but I can’t say where else yet on the drive into winter. Please hurry along, Gideon, before I lose my nerves, or your father loses his charm. And bring your lovely young bride—we need to start planning your future!

Missing you, my child,

Elizabeth

 

His father’s letter was much shorter, a bare bones of the status of the show, his horses, the health of the family, but like his mother, his closing was full of the affection Gideon never doubted: “Looking forward to your return, Gideon. Join us as soon as you can. Oh, and Bill is beginning to worry.”

Bill’s was barely a note on a postcard: “Will continue to dock your pay. Very soon, will start charging you for the trouble of keeping your slot open. —Bill.”

Jed was still gone when he finished up, tucking the letters into a pocket in his suitcase. He dug out some clean clothes and his washing gear, then took the liberty of picking up Jed’s whole pack. He had a thought about plundering to find what he knew Jed would want, but somehow, it was easier to take the whole thing, and he thought Jed would be more apt to thank him for that.

The hotel lobby bustled with folks seeking drinks, news, or early dinner. They got the first two, but nobody got snacks before five o’clock—which, Gideon noticed with a glance at the big grandfather clock in the corner, was over an hour away yet. Ruby waved to him as he passed the counter, but she didn’t interrupt her talk with the group of finely dressed men standing in front of her. People had gathered on the porch, sipping drinks and talking in friendly groups. He nodded to the people he passed on the way to the stable, and he wasn’t surprised to find it about as busy as the hotel itself.

He was surprised—and pleased—to find Jed in the wide barn hall talking to Jonah while they each brushed out a horse.

“But don’t they have trouble with their hooves?” Jonah was asking, looking across Star’s back to Jed, who was facing him as he worked on his pony.

“Not on grass and the earth,” Jed answered as he ran a brush down the pony’s back. It was a sign that he was almost done, a fact that Gideon wasn’t certain he was glad to know that he knew. He’d gotten to know Jed far too well to want to leave him. “Their hooves are made for living on wild land.”

Jed patted the pony on his withers, a gesture that was as affectionate as he’d ever gotten with the horse, and stepped back. “Is there a bath house near?” he asked Jonah without acknowledging that he was aware of Gideon.

Jonah glanced up and then over to where Gideon stood watching from the open barn doors. “Howdy!” he called, not so loud as to startle the horses, but loud enough. “Jed was just telling me about why his horse doesn’t have shoes. I offered to have our blacksmith do it, but—”

“Yeah, I know,” Gideon grinned, cutting him off and looking at Jed. “He’s not going to be in town long enough.”

Jed shrugged, turning toward Gideon. “Won’t be any reason for me to,” he said.

Gideon swallowed, hearing more in the words than he’d ever expected.

“The best bath house is two blocks over and down on the right—Mister Canney’s place. You know it, don’t you, Gideon? It’s the same place we’ve always sent the overflow.”

“Yeah, I do,” Gideon agreed. It was a nice place and had treated everyone in the show—the whites and Indians and Mexicans and Chinese, men and women, too, as far as he knew—the same way.

Oakland was a busy city, and they didn’t talk much as Gideon led the way to the bathhouse. Inside, Mister Canney gave them a nod and took their money before directing them to two large tubs set side by side.

Gideon spent more time than he should have watching Jed out of the corner of his eye, his brown skin slick from water and steam, his black hair wet and shining.

About the time Jed pushed up and out of the tub, Gideon scrubbed himself fast and thorough and followed him to the draped-off changing area. After, they made their way back to the hotel. Dinner was just getting underway by the time they’d put their things back in the room, so they took a small table out on the wide back veranda. Their wide view from this corner of the porch let him see the hills to the east and the bay to the west if he craned his neck. Low evening sun cast long shadows and colored the foothills purple and gold and the air was cooling down—effects of the bay, he knew. It might get cold when the wind blew in off the ocean, but right now the air was pleasant and the food was good, some of the best Gideon had ever tasted. The service was better, their waiter, Franz, treating Jed as much as he did Gideon. Apparently, Franz thought Jed was about to be a showman, and Jed didn’t dissuade him from the idea even though he kept frowning Gideon’s way.

“Not my fault,” he said with a shrug while Franz was off working other tables. “We travel with lots of Indians.”

Jed put down his fork and leaned across the small table. “But you have never… traveled with an Indian before?” he asked.

Gideon thought about playing dumb, just to see if Jed would squirm, but he didn’t have the heart to. “Not a one, Jed,” he admitted. “Got good friends there, but that’s all.”

For all their efforts, talk was spare. Gideon couldn’t shake his sense of sadness and his few attempts to talk sputtered and died like a matchstick in the rain. He mostly sat and looked out at the city lights because looking at Jed made him sadder.

After Franz cleared their plates and brought them after-dinner brandy, Jed leaned forward, his arms on the table. His voice was so low that Gideon had to strain to hear it. “I could leave now, if it would be better.”

“Ain’t an issue of better, Jed. It’ll be hard whenever it comes.” He leaned forward a little to add, “I’d rather it come after I’m rested and ready for it.” He leaned back in his chair and watched the lights reflect off the wide waters of the bay. “I’ll go to the bank tomorrow—I’ve got cash aplenty waiting for me in San Francisco, and I’d like to offer you something for all the time and trouble I’ve put you to.” Jed froze like a pointing dog for a second, long enough that Gideon frowned at him. “What?”

“You owe me nothing,” Jed said after a time.

“I—no, not for—aww, hell, I just meant it took you longer to get me here than you expected, and—”

“You owe me nothing, Gideon. You saved my life. Twice, if you are sure that rattlesnake was ready to bite. Stop trying to delay what must be. It is the end.”

“I ain’t trying to delay it,” Gideon said, annoyed because that was exactly what he was doing. “But I don’t like saying goodbye, not to someone I care about.” He swallowed. “Not when I know I’m never gonna see ’em again.”

“There is no Sioux word for ‘goodbye’,” Jed said. He was using that word more and more, the name white folks called his people, and the words sounded gentler than they ought to.

“They got a word for ‘you’re leaving tomorrow, and I don’t like it’?” he grumbled.

Jed sighed. “You do not know what tomorrow will bring.”

He knew enough. “Where are you headed now?” he asked. He still wanted to offer Jed a job, but he didn’t have the authority to do it, and knew he’d likely be asking for trouble if he tried.

“Back to Montana.”

“Lonely trip, by yourself,” Gideon said.

“Yes. Especially now,” Jed agreed.

That was about the most honest admission Jed had made this whole trip, and Gideon appreciated it. He looked out at the boats that bobbed on rippling water down on the distant bay, at the way the lowering sun played across it and half-blinded him at the same time, and at the familiar buildings and wharves of the famous city beyond. He’d never imagined that a place as crowded and sprawling as San Francisco and its surrounding cities could make a man feel lonely, but he was just getting an inkling of how it was going to feel tomorrow. He half-envied Jed his trip back through the wild. At least in the wilderness and alone, if a man felt lonely it would make some damned sense. Here, surrounded by two hundred thousand people or more, Gideon had no excuse but the obvious one, and no one to tell. No way to tell and no will either, not even when he caught up with his family.

What the hell could he say? That he’d done maybe the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his life? Maybe the best? And then he’d walked away from it, and let Jed walk away from him, just because he knew that hard as that might be, trying to keep him would be harder—like, impossible? Even his mother wouldn’t argue with his reasoning, not once she learned the truth.

If she learned the truth. She’d worry about him, because he reckoned he wouldn’t be able to hide the sadness filling him for long, but she wouldn’t pry too hard. She’d believe him when he told her he just wasn’t ready to say. And probably, she’d send him to Ada Mae, and get her to try and fill up the hole opening up inside him with food. And still, Gideon wouldn’t be ready to say.

He looked over at Jed’s quiet profile, memorizing the strong cheekbones, the fine, straight line of nose, the soft, thin lips and stubborn chin. This didn’t even feel like his story to tell.

They sat there in silence long after the sun set behind the San Francisco peninsula, and longer still. Jed closed his eyes after a time, and Gideon watched the bright oranges and yellows of the night sky fade to black, the gaslights of the city across the bay brighten all at once. Lights here in Oakland flickered up less evenly, countering the lanterns on a hundred or more boats bobbing out there in the bay, but rise they did, until he couldn’t find more than a few stars in the night sky above. He blinked, though, trying, thinking that the sky right now seemed almost like the color of Jed’s eyes.

People wandered out onto the porch, some to dally there with cigars and pipes, others to stride out into the street seeking sport or more refined entertainment. The ferries would run back and forth all night, but Gideon didn’t much care. He felt the time running out like the last grains of sand falling through an hourglass, and soon enough he thought he might feel just as empty. “We’d best go to bed,” he finally said, when most porch patrons had gone back inside or disappeared into the night. “I know you’ll want an early start tomorrow.”

Jed didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at him, just pushed fluidly up out of the wicker chair and strode silently to the door. He hesitated there, waiting, maybe, because he’d gotten used to having a white man at his back. Maybe because he didn’t see any more reason to part before they had to than Gideon did. So Gideon stood up, stretched briefly, and followed.

The lobby had quieted, though there were still a dozen or more men and women at the bar. “Want a drink?” Gideon asked.

Jed shook his head, and his black hair gleamed in the light off the chandeliers overhead.

No. Jed wouldn’t. Jed didn’t like bars. Gideon would remember that, even if he didn’t know why. Jed paused at the staircase so Gideon moved ahead of him, climbing steadily until he reached the third floor, listening for Jed’s footfalls behind him but not hearing anything. He could feel Jed there, though, moving as quietly as he always did, letting the wool carpet on the hall floor absorb the sound of his passing.

In the room, Gideon turned the knob to bring up the lamps—some chambermaid or other had already been in to light the pilots, and the faint whir of gas reached his ears before they caught. This place was as modern as they came, and Gideon smiled when Jed frowned at the fixtures, then stepped up to examine them curiously.

Gideon didn’t explain. Either Jed already knew, because Livingston had gaslights on its main streets, or Jed wouldn’t care, because the ass end of nowhere, where Jed must surely choose to live, didn’t have them. Either way, Gideon felt like he’d run out of stories to tell.

Gideon watched while Jed took off his boots and coat, setting them neatly aside, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt but left it hanging loose. Frowning, Gideon copied the movements and stood there awkwardly for a moment when he was equally undressed. Then he grunted his annoyance and shucked off his shirt and pants. His drawers covered him decently enough that Jed better not complain. “It’ll get warm in here,” he warned.

Jed studied him a moment, and then he shrugged and slipped his shirt off. His bare, smooth chest seemed like it was taunting Gideon.

Damn, he’d messed himself up bad. “Privy at the end of the hall,” Gideon said. “They’ve got some way of pumping bay water up and flushing the commodes out, so you won’t have to find your way outside in the middle of the night.”

Jed just nodded and stretched out stiffly on the edge of the bed, atop the covers. Gideon lowered the lights, leaving plenty to see the edges of furniture, the shadow of fluttering curtains—the outline of Jed’s body. With a heartfelt sigh, he crawled carefully over Jed and stretched out beside him, propping on an elbow to look at him some more.

Jed’s eyelids fluttered closed while Gideon watched, and the man seemed as still as a corpse, until a sudden flutter of hands and hair brought him to his side. “Do not do this, Gideon,” he said softly.

Gideon frowned. “Do what?”

He imagined Jed was frowning back, but with the lights behind him now, couldn’t tell for sure. “Do not mourn this. Don’t belittle it by wishing it were different.”

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, trying and failing to turn up. “Too late.”

Jed shoved at his shoulder, hard enough to land Gideon on his back for a second, and when he rose back up, Jed was still as a stone again.

“You tellin’ me you ain’t gonna miss this?” Gideon challenged, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

“I am telling you I would rather miss it than the alternative.”

Gideon felt a spark of hope flare in his chest. “What’s the alternative?”

The next words made that hope sputter and die: “That this never was.”

That was the only alternative. He wasn’t so dumb as to think anything else, not with any man, but especially, given all he’d learned in their time together, not with this one. And when he looked at it like that, it was easier to tuck his arm beneath his head and watch Jed’s bare chest rise and fall, limned by the lamp across the room. It was easier to ignore the way his dick had gotten hard just from having Jed stretched out beside him in the dark. Jed might even let him try and start something, but Gideon didn’t have the heart for it. He’d had more fucking in the last six weeks than he’d had in the past three years, all added up together. One more poke—or more likely, one more hand job—wasn’t going to make this any better in the morning. So he just lay there, trying to identify the moment when Jed slipped off into sleep, storing up the smell of him, and eventually reaching a tentative finger to trace the soft skin of his belly, so he could store up that sensation, too. He lay there until the wee hours of the morning, awake and lonely already, and resisting mightily the idea of their parting.

He must’ve drifted off finally, because when he woke the lamps were out and morning light seeped through the window and around the edges of the brocade curtains. One brief, tired glance around the room told him that he’d missed the moment altogether: the bedcover beside him was cold, and he was alone in the room.