Winter Hearts by Fyn Alexander Page B

graze on picket lines.”
    It was so much information. Sam’s head was spinning.
    “You can sleep in my shanty tonight. Then tomorrow I’ll help you build a shanty on your claim. The next day we can build you a barn. It won’t need to be too big. Just big enough for your animals and to store your wheat come harvest. Next year you can build a bigger barn.”
    “That’s a lot of work.”
    Overwhelmed by the instructions, Sam realized he had not thought this through very well. He’d read numerous books on farming, but he had no idea how to buy good seed or build a house or plant vegetables. He had thought he could hire men to do those things. But how could he do that without Luke asking where he got so much money. He should never have lied in the first place about his father working in a tannery. He’d done it on instinct, figuring Luke wouldn’t like him if he knew where he came from.
    “As soon as you have somewhere to live, we’ll need to start planting,” Luke said.
    “Where do I buy seed?” Losing his appetite, Sam sat back in his chair.
    “Fuller will have vegetable seeds, and you get seed wheat at the grain elevator. But I don’t know what the quality is like. I bought mine in Madison on my way here. It was expensive, but I reckoned it was worth it. If you produce a good crop, you’ll have your own seed wheat for the following years’ planting.”
    Sam blew out a long breath. “I don’t know how much lumber to buy. Can you come with me? Then we can drive out to the claims afterward.”
    “You’ll need an empty wagon to bring out the lumber.”
    Damn! He had thought the lumberyard would deliver it. At home everything they wanted was delivered to the house. I acted spoiled when I told my parents I could make my own way . “I never thought of that.”
    “What have you worked at up till now?” Luke asked. “You don’t seem that practical, except when it comes to making curtains and cooking.”
    I’ve never held a job in my life. I studied at Harvard for three years . “I worked in a restaurant as a cook.” That didn’t sound quite as lame as studying.
    “Well, they taught you something, boy, because you can make good food out of very few fixings. But if you’re going to farm, you’ll need a lot more skills than that.” Luke scraped up the last piece of pancake with molasses. He looked Sam in the eyes. “We’ve had a good winter. Better than I hoped after the way it started out, but it’ll be different from now on. We need to watch how we act in front of the town now that everyone is out and about.”
    “We’ll be out on our claims most of the time. No one will come by. They’ll be too busy with their own land.”
    Luke got up. “Clean up the dishes. I’ll go and hitch the horses to the wagons and bring them around front.” He was gone before Sam could reply. Despondent, Sam washed the dishes. He emptied Luke’s bathwater outside and used the tub to pack the kitchen things. The bedding came next. As he folded the quilt and sheets, he remembered the sex, the intimacy, the tenderness they had shared, as well as the laughter. Bed was the place they talked, because Luke had a hard time revealing anything personal when they were face-to-face, especially if it was still daylight. He was a private man. The envelope of photographs still sat on the upturned tea chest. After packing the bedding into the chest, Sam opened the envelope and took out the pictures.
    “Luke,” he said, smiling. Four young ladies sat on a couch with a man and a young boy behind them. Luke, looking young and fresh-faced, couldn’t have been any older than Sam was now. The next was a picture of an elderly lady, and the third… “Good God!”
    It was Holland Endicott. The Porter-Smiths had known the Endicotts for generations. Why would Luke have a photograph of a man from the Boston Brahmin class? Holland Endicott must be about forty years old; Sam wasn’t sure. He’d been married for the past nine years to May.