1.
The man who called himself Dan Gold stood around St. Mary’s Mission, looking for work. He had taken the train from Topeka, after hearing that the farmers were hiring workers for the harvest.
Dan stood an easy five-eight, with auburn hair and light blue eyes. He was pretty big for his age and could have been drafted for the War easily, but missed it by two years. He had a bit of scruffy beard growing so he looked even older than his 22 years.
At St. Mary’s, he followed the crowd of men from farmer to farmer. He had a cloth bag with his clothes in it, though he wore the same clothes he came to Kansas with and had been in for four days. The other clothes were clean, folded neatly by his mother, and packed with care.
There was another farmer, with no one standing in front of his truck. This man stood on the back of his truck, with four sullen men sitting in the back. Dan came over and the man waved him in. “You, come on.”
The man helped Dan with his bag and Dan jumped into the truck. He nodded to the other men in greeting.
“Good,” said the farmer. “Hope you’re willing to work, boys.”
“What’s the pay?” asked one man.
“Five dollars for today,” said the farmer.
Two of the men whistled. “That’s a lot,” said one.
“What’re we gonna be doing?” asked the first man.
“Baling, mostly,” the farmer said. The farmer got in his cab, and started the bumpy drive to the farm.
“What’s your name, boy?” asked the man seated next to Dan.
“Dan,” he said. “Yours?”
“Mitch.” They shook hands. “You’re not from around here?” He motioned to the bag between Dan’s feet.
“No.”
“Where ya from?”
“New York City.”
“New York City? Why’d you leave there?”
“My parents wanted me to marry someone.”
“Did you get her knocked up?”
“No,” he said looking away. “No, it was an arranged marriage.”
“No shit. They still do that?”
“In my family they do.”
Said another man, “Sounds like a buncha greenhorns.”
Dan looked down, a little embarrassed.
The other men talked among themselves about the weather. They eventually turned off Military Road and headed down a path, which was even more bumpy and made conversation difficult as the men held onto the edge of the truck.
Surrounding Dan was field after field of grass. His shoulders slumped – they would be here all day with a sickle taking this all down. With a less than a dozen men? Probably all week.
The truck pulled next to a barn and the farmer put on the brake. Dan jumped down, grabbing his bag, and the rest followed with him. The farmer got out of the truck, and with a “Follow me, boys,” started bringing them to the other side of the barn.
“Already did the raking, now comes the fun part.”
The men groaned, all except Dan, who didn’t know what he was in for.
The farmer looked at Dan. “You wanna set that somewhere?” He pointed to the bag.
“Yes,” Dan said, and looked around. He put it in one of the stables, hiding it behind the door. The men had already gone outside to a boxy wagon being pulled by a chestnut brown horse.
The farmer took off his hat for a moment. He had very short black hair. He had thick muscles leading from his shoulders to his neck. His shoulders were broad, and Dan could see the muscles defined in his forearms. His bicep flexed through his cotton shirt, which was loose around his middle and tucked into his pants. He had thick, muscular legs as well, straining against those pants. Dan glanced at his groin and could see a large muscle there.
He jerked his head up as the farmer looked directly at him. “You ever done this before?”
“Er, no.”
“Then you’ll haul up. You stack,” he pointed to a large man, “you pitch,” he pointed to a smaller man, not much more than a boy, “and you two tie.”
“How much hay are we talking here?” asked one of the men who would “tie”.
The farmer laughed, “Boys, we’re gonna be doing this ‘til sundown.”
“Shit, I gotta be home for the wife then.”
The farmer pointed to the path. “Go back that way, then. I ain’t got all day.”
The man looked back and forth, between leaving and staying, and then climbed into the box of the wagon. The rest of the men followed suit. The wagon then went out into the fields.
They went to a different field than Dan saw from the road. In this field were large piles of grass, as tall as the wagon. Another flat wagon was already there, pulled by another horse. The farmer stopped the box-wagon, got out two pitchforks, and handed one to the boy. Then both of them climbed to the top of the pile of grass and started shoveling it into the box. When it was full, the two men tied it off, and shoved it out of the box to Dan’s feet. Dan picked up the bale of hay and carried it to the flat wagon, tossing it there. The last big man would take the bale and stack it against the back of the flat wagon.
Dan was not used to the work. It was hot, the bales were heavy, and he fell behind often. The farmer undid his shirt, and Dan tried not to stare at the man as he worked. Soon there was nothing left of the pile of hay. The farmer asked if one man would drive the flat wagon, and he drove the box wagon to the next pile of hay.
They had lunch, and then there was more hay loading. They did indeed work until sundown, getting the entire field done. The farmer took care of the horses while the men milled around. Dan could hardly stand. The farmer came out and said, “Let me get you home.” He paid all of them. Dan shoved the money in his pocket without thinking. He half-tumbled into the truck. He was tired, hungry, stank like a pig, and wanted to crawl into a bed.
The other men were not as forgiving, calling him a city boy and not used to man’s work. He was too tired to argue, so they took it as acquiescence, and kept ribbing him.
Back at St. Mary’s he slipped getting out of the truck and fell, hitting his head on the bumper. The other men laughed and walked around him. The farmer came out and helped him up. “You need help?” he asked.
“No,” Dan murmured, struggling to his feet.
The farmer watched him as Dan stumbled like a drunken man to the hostel in town. He could probably get a bath, maybe a bed. All he needed was – He stopped, patted his pockets like he had forgotten something.
He stuck his hand in his pocket and came out with a five dollar silver note. No, that wasn’t it. He shrugged – that even hurt – and continued to the hostel. Itl was crowded with people when he went to the desk. The elderly matron turned her nose up at him and said all the rooms were full. He felt dirty enough to sleep on the street, so he started outside and walked right into the farmer, who was just coming in.
“Oh, I thought you went in here. You had a big bag, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” Dan said, suddenly realizing what he forgot and barely standing up straight due to exhaustion.
The farmer carefully put his arm around Dan, “C’mon, sit down before you fall down.” They went outside, where there was a bench.
“If I sit down, I’ll sleep,” said Dan, pulling himself away.
“Then come back to the truck, I’ll bring you back to the farm. You can catch a nap on the way.” He helped Dan down the road to the truck, and bundled him inside the cab.
Dan didn’t lie. He was asleep by the time they got on Military Road.
2.
Dan heard the slam of a steel door and jerked awake. He looked around. He satin the cab of a truck, the sun coming up. Standing at the hood was the farmer, a grin on his face. “Rise and shine!” He wore no shirt, was in worn blue dungarees. Dan just stared at the man’s chest. He had black hair in the middle and down his abdomen. It was absolutely perfectly formed. His abdomen and sides had deep, cut lines.
Dan rubbed his eyes. “Oh, God, I slept in here?”
“Like a baby,” said the farmer. “I didn’t want to disturb you. I think if a train ran through here you never would have noticed.”
Looking out the window past the man, he saw a farmhouse with a wrap-around porch and two floors. It looked like it had been weatherbeaten and some shutters were missing. To his left, about 300 yards away, was the barn.
“Want some breakfast?”
“Uh, yes,” Dan said, squirming uncomfortably. He opened the door and slid out.
“Outhouse is that way,” said the farmer, thumbing toward the rear of the house. “Name’s Rack, by the way.”
“Dan,” he said, shaking the man’s big hand, as he walked by. He got a tingle, like an electric shock. Rack held on a little longer than he should have, and then let him go. Dan walked away, feeling strange.
Dan used the outhouse and came back to the front. He walked up the stairs and went into the house. A set of stairs led up from his right, and in front of him was an empty room with a stained glass window. He looked to the left, and saw that it lead to a large dining area and beyond that, the kitchen.
Rack went over to the table, carrying two plates. “Eat up, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“We?” Dan hesitated, the fork halfway to his mouth.
Rack chuckled, “I’m not letting you go, now that I have you. Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you a day’s wage.”
Dan ate, and Rack asked, “So tell me, what’s a city boy like you doing so far west?”
Dan swallowed, drank some of the coffee. It was strong. He shuddered. Rack chuckled.
“So?”
“I’m trying to make a life for myself.”
“By being a farmhand.”
“I didn’t want to stay in the city.”
“You’re running away.”
Dan sipped the coffee again.
“From what?”
Dan shrugged. “My parents want me to get married. Settle down.”
“And you don’t.”
“I don’t want to get married. I see what it’s doing to my sister.” He glanced up at Rack. “Her husband hits her.”
Rack pursed his lips.
“But he comes from a good family. He’s a doctor. He knows what he’s doing because my sister, well, she can be a shrew.”
“You’re afraid you’ll hit your wife?”
He said nothing for a moment.
Rack sat back in the chair. “You’re afraid she’ll hit you.”
Dan turned red, staring at his plate. “She’s used to getting what she wants. She’s very rich, and likes rich things. I don’t.”
“You’re a simple man from a rich family. You aren’t the type of man to run around putting women in their places.”
He shook his head still looking down. “I don’t…”
Rack said quietly, “You don’t like women.” Rack went back to eating. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
Dan stared at him, blinking. How did he know? How could he tell?
Rack stopped eating and looked at Dan. “I’m a good reader of people.” He motioned to the plate. “Hurry up, it’s getting cold.”
“You live alone?” Dan asked while he ate.
“Yep.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “People don’t like me much.”
Dan remembered that hardly anyone went to his truck. “But why’s that?”
“You’ll have to ask them.” Rack scooped up the rest of his eggs, picked up his plate, and went into the kitchen. Dan hurried up and finished, then brought his kitchen in. Rack took it from him and started to wash it. Dan could see no spigots for the water. Good God, no indoor plumbing?
“We’ll start with the barn. Horses need mucking out, cows need to be put out. Already took care of the hen house. Hay needs to be stacked in the barn. Garden needs harvesting. Then I’ll go to town, drop you off.” He finished washing and set the plate on the rack to dry.
“I thought you said you were going to keep me.”
“Oh, you want to stay?” Rack grinned, plucked a shirt off of a hook behind the door. “You gotta do one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Take a bath every night.”
“Agreed,” he said with a laugh and held out his hand.
Rack shook it firmly. Again, that shock. “Horses,” he said, pulling on his shirt and walking out.
They put the horses and cows out in two separate pastures and then cleaned out the stables, putting down fresh hay. “If you’re going to stay, I’m cleaning the barn before the next frost,” Rack said.
Dan could only pant. Then they started stacking the bales of hay into the loft. Dan used a pulley and winch – while Rack hooked the hay, Dan pulled it up. Then he swung it into the bar and stacked it there.
They had lunch, and went next to the garden, which was big enough for a wheelbarrow to go through. Dan pushed the barrow while Rack did most of the harvesting. He clucked a few times, seeing things that had rotted, so he tossed them on the ground and dug them beneath the soil. They filled about a third of the wheelbarrow and he brought that up to the house. Rack took the root vegetables and put those in the cellar for storage, and brought the more perishables up. They had cucumbers and tomatoes along with a sandwich with sliced beef tongue.
They were on the porch when a wagon started up the path to the house. Rack got up and went to the railing of the porch. “Bozho nikan!” he called.
“Bozho Kmowin,” said the man who wasn’t driving. He smiled and waved, and jumped down as soon as the wagon stopped. Dan saw from his coloring and his face that he wasn’t a white man – he was an actual Indian.
After grasping forearms, Rack motioned to Dan. “Kewankah, this is Dan.”
“Dan,” he said, and held out his hand. Dan went to shake, but the man grasped his forearm instead and squeezed. “Bozho nikan.”
“Uh, bozo nikan to you too.”
The Indian laughed. “We speak English too, cmokman. That is my cousin, Nakobee.” Nakobee waved, not looking in their direction. The Indian looked to Rack. “Kmowin, it has been many days.”
Rack leaned out over the railing and looked at the sky. “Yes, it has. Do you have everything you need?”
“We were waiting for you,” he said.
“I just got finished yesterday.” Rack pondered, then shrugged. “If the rest of them didn’t finish, the hell with them. I gave them plenty of time.”
“Good, good!” He clapped his hands. “You will come to the dance tomorrow, then?”
“I will be happy to go. If I can bring my friend.” He inclined his head to Daniel.
“Yes, bring him!” Kewankah bumped Dan’s shoulder with his own. “There will be many pretty girls.”
Dan refrained from rolling his eyes. Rack said, “He’s already taken care of.”
“Too bad! What are you eating?”
“Beef tongue sandwiches. You can join us.”
“Nakobee!” He yelled out some other words in his language so the other Indian tied the horses near some grass and came over while Rack went back into the house.
“Have you been playing in manure?” asked Nakobee.
For the fifth day, Dan had worn these clothes and he had been working hard. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been working.”
“You have. I know cmokman do not like water, but you should go to the creek.”
Rack came out carrying a bag and a plate. “Nakobee, be nice to my guest. He’s going to have a bath after this.”
Nakobee muttered something, waving his hand in front of his face. Kewankah laughed. Rack looked angry. Kewankah stopped laughing. Rack thrust the plate of food and the bag at Kewankah, who took them. He looked at Dan and said, “I’m sorry.”
Dan flushed a deep red of embarrassment. “I’ll go take it now.” Before anyone could say anything, he went to the barn.
He went to his bag, which he had put in a different place other than the stables. He opened the bag and could smell his mother’s cooking. He missed his mother. And his father. And the cousins who were always underfoot. Then he thought about Rebecca, the fat whining bitch of a girl and how his mother had told him what a good match she’d be. How his father gave him the ticket to get on the train to Boston telling him to be nice to the Mendelsons. How he got off at the next stop, threw his yarmulke over the side of the tracks, took the money his mother gave him and bought a ticket as far west as he could go with it, which brought him here.
He took out the five dollar silver certificate and put it in the pocket of his new pants. He wondered if he should send his parents a post or something, because once they found out from the Mendelsons that he never got there, they would be worried.
“I can spare a bit for a post card,” said Rack as he came into the barn.
Dan got up and turned around. “You’ve doing that to me all day.”
“What?” Rack tried to look innocent.
“Telling me what I’m thinking.”
“You’re an easy person to read, Dan. If that’s your real name.”
He looked at his clothes. “No.”
“Daniel?”
“Jordan,” he said.
Rack came up to him and put his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Jordan what?”
“Jordan Blumgold.”
“I’ll still call you Dan, if that’s all right with you.”
Dan nodded. “Please,” he said.
“You’re not only running away from your marriage, but you’re running away from your life, your family. You want to make a new life here.”
“Stop it,” Dan said, throwing his clothes down and glaring at Rack. “Stop telling me what I’m thinking!”
“All right, I will.”
He let Dan’s shoulder go. Dan reached up with his other hand and took Rack’s hand. The shock was there again but he ignored it. Rack’s hand was calloused, and rough from work. Is this what he had to look forward to?
Rack laid his hand gently back on Dan’s shoulder. Dan pulled on Rack’s hand, pulling it down lower. Rack dropped to his knees, to Dan’s level.
Dan saw that Rack’s eyes were black, not even a dark brown. The eyes were a window into his soul, and Dan saw that Rack had lived a hard life, alone, out here on the prairie. He lived a hard live, period. Dan wanted to ease that, to help him. He started to lean forward, his eyes closed, preparing to kiss those succulent lips.
Rack leaned forward also, and their lips met, for just one shocking moment. They parted. Rack and Dan stared at each other. Then both men, at the same time, grabbed each other by the back of the head and pulled toward each other.
Dan had never been kissed like this. He’d kissed girls, sure – but they were dainty and sweet, not like this. Not with underlying power and passion. The whole experience took his breath away.
They parted again. Both men panted, and moved away from each other. Rack spoke: “I – “
Dan said at the same time, “I – “
They both laughed.
“I’m going to bring in the animals,” Rack said. “You take a bath.”
Dan nodded and got up, brushing off his knees.
Dan found the bathtub in the stained glass window room directly opposite the foyer. The water was warm, not hot, and he slid into it. A bar of soap was floating in the bathtub, so he used that to wash the dirt, grime and sweat off of him. Then he sat while until he turned into a prune and the water was too cold. By then, he heard the door open and leaned forward to see Rack come in.
The sun had gone down and the house was dim. Dan watched as Rack stripped off all his clothes in the foyer, leaving them in a basket by the door. He padded into the room. “Oh, I thought you would have been done by now.”
Dan felt himself get rock hard at seeing Rack naked. He was a walking vision of muscles and tendons and veins, all perfectly formed, shaped, and cut. Dan watched as Rack started to swell under his gaze.
Dan moved in the water, getting to his knees in the tub. Some primal instinct, something took over and wanted him to do this. He brought his hand out of the cool water and cupped Rack’s manhood in his hand. He hefted its weight, feeling its thickness, the vein underneath, the ridges, and how his foreskin pulled back from the glistening head.
Rack hissed. “Dan,” he said, almost a growl. “Have you ever–”
Dan breathed on the man’s large cock, then kissed it, and licked his lips, tasting the salty brine of the man. “No,” he whispered. “But I want to.”
Rack placed his hand on Dan’s wet hair. Dan kissed it again, and then his tongue snaked out, licking it. It was so hot, so smooth. Rack’s hand clenched on Dan’s head. “You’re teasing me.”
“Should I stop?” He kissed and licked him again, tasting him.
“No,” whispered Rack.
Dan licked more, flicking his tongue along the smooth head. “Am I doing this right?”
“God, yes,” Rack moaned. Then Dan finally took him in his mouth and Rack tensed. He pulled his head back quickly. “No, no, I almost…damn.”
“You almost shot off? Want me to do that again?”
Rack only nodded, and Dan did do it again. Rack tensed, clenching Dan’s hair. Dan moved his head up and down, trying to take all of him. Instead he wrapped his hand around the last three inches, and only moved his head. Rack said, “Stop, stop.”
Dan froze. Gently, Rack pushed Dan off of him, and he stroked himself, looking at Dan. “Oh…god…” he moaned, and grunted. He came, all over Dan’s chest, showering him in white ribbons.
Rack looked down, a broad smile on his face. After a moment, he bent down, and picked Dan up out of the water, as if he weighed nothing. Carrying him in a bridal carry, he brought him upstairs. As he walked, Dan felt the water flow off of him, so by the time he reached Rack’s unmade bed, he was dry.
Rack put him on the bed. “Have you ever taken a man before?”
“No,” Dan said.
“Good.” Rack then bent over and started to lick and get Dan soaked with saliva. Then Rack got on all fours on the bed. “It’s just like taking a woman, but much, much tighter.”
Dan didn’t know how to take a woman, either, though he had seen pictures. He knew that there was only one hole he could use, so he parted Rack’s butt cheeks. How was he going to fit in that tiny hole?
“Isn’t this going to hurt?”
“Yes and no. At first, but then it won’t.”
Dan placed the head of his manhood against Rack’s only hole. He pushed. Rack groaned, pushing back. He pushed more, and the hole gave, just a little. He grabbed Rack’s hips and pushed again, this time he slipped in, and Rack grunted.
Rack was right, it was tight in there. He pushed farther and farther, feeding more and more of himself into Rack. It was tight and hot and pulsing. Or was that him?
Then, he could go no further, and he was pressing his hips against Rack’s butt. Rack tightened even more. “Now pull out, slowly – not all the way – and go back in, fast.”
Dan did what he said. He only had to do that a couple of times before he felt himself tighten. “Oh, no, I–”
Rack reached behind him and grabbed Dan by one butt cheek and shoved him forward. Dan groaned, not being able to stop himself. Rack clenched on him in a rhythm.
Dan collapsed on the bigger man, and Rack fell to the bed.
2.
That was how the cock’s crow found them.
Rack wiggled under Dan. “I have to get up.”
“Sun’s up already?”
“Uh huh.”
Dan slowly rolled off Rack and off the bed. His foot hit the floor and he stumbled, then righted himself. Rack turned over with a laugh. “Sleep in, city boy. I’ll go get the eggs.”
Dan yawned. “Do we have a lot to do today?”
“Wash day,” he said. “It’s going to rain tonight.” He looked at Dan. “Want to milk the cows?”
“I…uh, don’t know how.”
“Or wash clothes.”
“I’ll wash clothes.” He’d seen his mother do it. How hard was it?
He found out how hard, using a washboard and the tub and a short stool just for that purpose. He skinned his knuckles too many times and had a new respect for his mother. There wasn’t even a wringer in the bathroom that he could use, so he had to do it by hand.
To wash two pairs of dungarees and four shirts with underwear and socks, in addition to his dirty clothes, took him until lunch. After lunch he hung the laundry outside while Rack fixed some things around the house and barn. Dan’s arms were tired and his hands were red by the time he finally sat down to rest, which was around three o’clock.
Rack came in a short time after Dan hung out the clothes. “They’re dry already?”
“Yes, and thank you for doing that for me.”
“I don’t know if I want to do it again.”
Rack laughed. “It takes me half the time, but I cheat.” He folded the clothes and brought them upstairs, leaving Dan’s clothes on the couch. “Ready to go to the dance?”
“It’s on the reservation?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “We’ll have to take the wagon because I don’t have an extra saddle.”
Dan helped Rack hitch the flat wagon to the horse. They rode out to the military road and then followed a road next to the railroad tracks. Dan asked, “What did that Indian call you?”
“Kmowin?” He chuckled. “You’ll see.”
They came upon a spot where horses and wagons were pulled together in a large clearing. Some men were setting up a bonfire.
Rack got down and Dan climbed down after him. People were seated in a large circle, watching the men. They were spread out on blankets or on the grass, which was dry and mowed down like Rack’s fields. Rack sat down on the prickly grass, and Dan did too. “It’s going to be a while. They have to wait until sunset.”
In the meantime, many Indians came to Rack, introduced themselves to Dan. Some spoke only the Indian language, which Rack understood and spoke perfectly, while others spoke English. They kept calling him Kmowin, and seemed genuinely happy to see him.
Dan asked, “I thought people didn’t like you.”
“Most people in town don’t. But these Indians, they respect me.”
The crowd started getting bigger, and by sunset the circle was three rows deep and looked about 200 yards wide. Someone in an Indian costume came to the bonfire and lit it. When he did, everyone said a phrase.
“They all said, ‘We are Keepers of the Fire’,” said Rack. “They begin the dance now.”
Women came out, dressed in Indian costume, and started dancing around the fire. There was drumming and shaking that seemed to go deep into the ground. There were no words, just the drum beat. Dan felt it go into his bones, rattle it inside there, hit some primal part of his brain.
What would his father think of him now?
The women finished their dance, and then men came out in costume, in feathers and fringe. There was singing and drumming. “That is Eagle,” said Rack.
Dan watched the man twist and move, turn around and dance freely, while another man danced behind him, hunched over. “Prairie Dog.” The man would bob his head up and then down, like a prairie dog did in the wild.
More animals came out. Rabbit. Dog. Last came Crow. “He carries the storm clouds,” Rack said.
Rack turned his face to the sky and closed his eyes. He put his hands on the grass, fingers digging into the earth. He seemed to be in a trance, caught up in the singing. Dan looked around, but no one was watching them.
Dan heard a rumble in the distance. The Crow halted his dance, freezing in place, and people were silent. Over the crackle of the fire, he heard it again. He saw a flash of light in the sky, far away.
Crow set himself down on two legs, and the man cawed like a crow. The dancing and singing started again in earnest, like a celebration, and he went around the fire one more time.
“It’s going to rain,” said Rack in a strange voice, and his head came down, eyes still closed. “For two days. The Earth is thirsty.”
Dan stared at Rack, who then opened his eyes. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The dancing stopped, and a man came out, again in Indian dress, and threw something onto the fire. It sparked, and Dan smelled the scent of it on the air: tobacco. He felt a drop on his hand. Then another.
Everyone started to get up. “Time to go, it’s going to rain.”
The rumble got louder, as the lights in the sky shot through the clouds. People saw Rack and bowed to him, muttering “Iwgwien,” as they went by. Dan asked, “What are they saying?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
Rack held out his hand. “For this.”
Then the skies broke open and the rain came down in force. Dan ducked his head and ran back to the wagon. People ran in all directions trying to get out of the rain. Rack just walked in it, without a care in the world.
He climbed onto the wagon and joined the traffic out of the clearing, then turned to leave the reservation. The rain was coming down in buckets, making Dan cold and miserable. “I’m going to catch my death in this weather! Can’t you go any faster?”
Rack held the reins in one hand and put his arm around Dan’s shoulders, pulling him close to him. Rack was soaking wet. Then, Dan felt the water in his clothes flow down, to his pants and out. Rain hit him, but didn’t make him wet anymore.
“How did you do that?”
Rack turned his head and without warning, kissed Dan’s hair. “I have a blessing.”
Dan put his arms around Rack’s waist, turned his head to look up at him. “You made it rain.”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s your Indian name. Rainmaker.”
“He-Who-Makes-Rain but yes, the same thing.”
“How can you do that?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Tell me.”
He began, “A very long time ago, I lived among what the Latins called the Lutici. We called ourselves Luczh. I died of a wasting disease and went to the underworld.” He paused, to let that sink in.
Dan said, “You died?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re alive.”
“I came back.”
“How?”
“A goddess came and brought me back. I’ve to come to help people. I bring them rain and water. It’s part of my power.”
Dan leaned his head into Rack’s shoulder. “I think I love you,” he said.
“You think,” Rack chuckled. “You’re how old?”
“Twenty-two.”
“I thought you were older.”
“If you lived with the Romans, then that was at least…almost 1900 years ago.”
“The Latins. I died in 926. So about a thousand years.”
“You’ve lived for a thousand years?” Dan gazed up at Rack.
Rack turned into the path to his house. “You don’t seem that concerned. You’re more worried that I’m alone.” He smiled down at Dan. “That’s very kind of you.”
Dan hit Rack’s hard body with his hand. “Stop doing that!”
Rack laughed, as the punch didn’t even hurt. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
“That’s why nobody likes you – you know what they’re thinking.”
“Not what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling.” He hugged Dan to him as he pulled into the barn. “Go into the house. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Rack?”
“Hm?”
Dan turned, took Rack’s soaking wet head in both of his hands, and kissed those wet lips. Rack grunted in surprise, but didn’t pull away. He cupped the back of Dan’s head and pulled him in further. Their tongues slid along each other’s, and both men moaned, giving in. Rack dropped the reins and put his other arm around Dan, while Dan wrapped his arms around Rack.
“I’m going to help you and then I want to do more than just kiss you.”
“Then the sooner we get the wagon unhitched, the sooner you can do that.”
Both men jumped off the wagon, unhitched it in record time, and put the horse in the stall with water and food. Rack checked on the other animals. Dan waited by the door of the barn.
Rack closed the barn, and the two men went to the house, Dan running the distance while Rack walking in the rain. Rack opened the door and let him inside.
In the dark, Dan grabbed Rack by the front of his shirt and kissed him madly. “You’re soaking wet,” he said, starting to unbutton Rack’s shirt.
“I can take care of that,” he said, and Dan felt the shirt get dry under his fingers. Water flowed onto the floor, into a puddle.
“Amazing,” whispered Dan. Rack stepped out of the puddle to the bottom step. Dan reached for him, and Rack took his hands, drawing him upstairs.
3.
“It’s Sunday,” Rack said two days later, throwing open the curtains to the bedroom. Wan sunlight streamed in.
Dan realized this was the first time he had not kept the Sabbath. Unless being in bed almost all day making love to someone he professed it to counted.
“I have to go to church,” Rack said, disgusted.
“Why?”
“To see and be seen. If I don’t go to church every once in a while, then they think I’m holding pagan rites out here and will come up my road with torches and pitchforks.” He smiled at Dan. “Not to say that I’m not holding pagan rites.” He kissed Dan over the bed. “Wear your Sunday best if you have it.”
Dan got his bag and emptied it out in the living room. There was an extra yarmluke and his tallit in the bag. He threw those aside in disgust.
Rack came into the living room to see those items. “Ah,” he said, and picked up the shawl. “Now I see. Tomorrow, you can send a post to your family. They’ll be worried.”
“Father will disown me.” Dan looked at the tallit. “Mother will morn.”
“A family is important, Dan. Sometimes, that’s all you have.”
“I don’t want to marry that woman.”
“Tell them you don’t want to marry at all.”
“But my father wants to continue the family name.”
“You can do what most people do – marry her and live away from her. Father her children and be done with it.”
“That’s even worse. I would abandon her.”
“Or find a woman that you like and –” Rack stopped, seeing Dan’s face. “I see.” Rack smiled.
“See what?”
“You told me not to tell you what you’re feeling.”
“You’ll do it anyway.”
Rack laughed, placed his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “That’s right. You don’t want to love anyone else right now.”
“Ever,” he said, looking up at Rack’s eyes.
“You’d better get dressed, or I’ll change my mind about going to town.”
They both rode into St. Mary’s. Dan had never been to a gentile service, so Rack would have to explain the service to him.
The rain had ushered in fall, so the air was cooler than it had been in days. Rack parked his wagon far from the others, paid a negro to watch it, and they started down the street to the church.
Rack stood apart from the crowd of people near the church, but Dan could tell they were looking at him with hooded eyes. Young women watched him, tiny smiles playing on their faces, and Rack tipped his hat to them. Some giggled. Dan got a fire in his chest, walking closer to Rack whenever he came upon women.
Then came the older, more matronly women, who looked down their noses at Rack. Dan couldn’t understand why. Last came the men, gathered in small groups talking, waiting for the bell to the church to ring.
“Excuse me,” he said to Dan, “I need to talk to someone. Can you wait right here?”
Dan nodded, and stood alone between the matrons and the gentlemen. An older woman was staring at him, and finally broke from the women she was with and came over to him. “Hello, young man. You’re new to the Mission?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and took her hand lightly, thumb on the top of her hand.
“Oh, a gentleman, too!” She looked over at her ladies and nodded, then turned to him, smiling. “What’s a young man like you doing with a thief like Mr. Morse?”
In the time he had known Rack, he’d never asked his last name. “Thief, ma’am?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have told you. Come over here, young man. What’s your name?”
“Dan. Dan Gold.”
“Dan, yes, please, I am Mrs. Brock, and this is Mrs. Palmer…” He was introduced to four women, who offered their hands and he bowed over them.
“Please, Mrs. Somerset, tell Mr. Gold about Mr. Morse.”
“Oh, that man,” said Mrs. Somerset, rolling her eyes. “He swindled my husband out of thirty acres of land.”
“How did he do that?”
“Well!” She leaned over, “You see, he started farming on that land, and when my husband tried to put a fence, he took it down, saying it was his! Then my husband had to pay for a surveyor, and then he paid for a surveyor, and because he paid more money, the surveyor ruled in his favor!”
Said Mrs. Brock, “No one works on his farm.”
The fourth woman, Mrs. Harvey, had said nothing to this point. The other women looked to Mrs. Harvey, and so did Dan. Her eyes were watery, but her countenance was angry. “He,” she said slowly through gritted teeth, “took away everything.”
“She lost her farm, she lost everything,” said Mrs. Brock.
“He talked my husband into signing a will,” she said, again angry, “Leaving him everything, and he died a month later.”
Mrs. Harvey wiped angry tears and glared beyond Dan. Dan turned around to see Rack standing alone, waiting.
The bell rang. Mrs. Brock put a comforting hand on Dan’s arm. “Please, young man, get out while you can.”
A man took Mrs. Brock’s arm and nodded to Dan, then escorted her into the church. Rack, his hands in his pockets, went up to Dan. “Let me guess.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
He nodded toward the women. “Do what they say you did?”
“What did they say I did?”
“You swindled them out of some land?”
Rack shrugged. “I probably did.”
“You took one woman’s house.”
“Oh, Harvey? He owed me money from gambling debts on the race horses. He said he’d just sign his farm over to me. I took it.”
“And his widow? And orphan?”
“Pshaw, she’s got money from a pension. Besides,” he snorted. “She tried to chase me.”
“She did?”
“One thing you’ll learn about this town is that everyone here has some story about me that’s bad. I’ve done nothing but good for these people. I’ve kept the land, I’ve lived my life. I help where I can. But it’s not good enough for them. They’re money-greedy, land-grabbing snakes who don’t know how to love the Earth and take care of their own families. They’re out for themselves.”
“So you play their game, too?”
Rack’s eyes flashed in anger.
They approached the door to the church. The priest noticed the two of them. “Mr. Morse,” he said, “It’s good to see you again.”
“Good to see you too, Father Guillet. This is Dan. It’s his first mass here.”
“Hello, Dan. I hope you’ll be staying in town.”
“That remains to be seen,” he said, looking up at Rack.
Rack sat in one of the pews that had room. Dan noted the service was long, but not as bad as a Jewish one. Dan couldn’t talk to Rack in the church.
After the service, they went outside. They started down the street when someone called, “Excuse me, Mr. Gold!”
Dan turned around to see a man walking briskly in their direction. Dan stopped and waited for the man to catch up.
“Ah, Mr. Gold. I’m Mr. Robert Brock. My wife was talking to you earlier.”
“Yes, Mr. Brock.” Dan shook his hand.
Brock was pointedly ignoring Rack, who waited beside Dan.
“We were wondering if you would like to join us for Sunday dinner today.”
“If Rack doesn’t mind.” He looked at Rack.
Said Rack coldly, “He’s asking you, not me.”
Dan looked to Brock, then back to Rack. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Have a good time.” Rack kept walking down the street to his wagon.
“I’m so glad you decided to come,” said Mrs. Brock when Mr. Brock brought Dan to their carriage. It was a nice covered carriage, something he was used to, pulled by two mares. They had a negro driver, who opened the door for them to get in. Dan sat next to Mr. Brock, as was expected of a man of his station.
“It’s so seldom we have guests,” she said, and prattled on about the town, about buildings that were built with funds provided by them, buildings named after them, streets named after them. The Brocks let it be known that in this town, they were rich ones. Dan’s father always said it was good to cultivate the rich gentiles – one never knew when they would be useful.
They went through a gated area with a huge wrought-iron fence surrounding it. The carriage went down a long lane, going to a huge box-shaped house with colonnades, sitting on a dias. He got out of the carriage, staring up at it in awe.
Mrs. Brock offered her hand to Dan, who took it, and escorted her to the building. He had seen houses like this in New York, but on a much smaller scale. Everything was so big here. A servant took his jacket and offered him cold lemonade. They walked through the house, Mrs. Brock showing him all her artwork and awards she had gotten from the town. They went to the dining room and were served a three course luncheon.
Dan noticed all they talked about were themselves. When Mr. Brock asked Dan where he was from, Mr. Brock went into a long diatribe about his brother in New York City, how they lived much better here in the country, and did Dan know that Brock was applying to be a member on the board of directors for the bank they were planning on opening up in town?
They didn’t care about Dan. They talked and talked about nothing in particular, nothing of import to him. They didn’t talk about their farm, the land, only when it meant the amount of money it was making them.
Dan missed Rack. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m very fatigued.”
Both of them looked worried. “You must rest, then,” said Mr. Brock, getting up from the table.
“I need to go home–back to the farm.”
“Are you sure you want to go there?”
“All of my things are there. I would love to stay here, but…”
“Of course, of course.” Brock snapped his fingers, and the butler came running. “See to it that Mr. Gold is safely returned to the Morse farm.”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler with a bow. “Right this way, sir.”
“Thank you for a lovely luncheon,” said Dan, taking Mrs. Brock’s hand and shaking Mr. Brock’s.
“Please come back again!” called Mrs. Brock.
Not if I can help it, he thought, and followed the butler to the door. He got his hat and coat, and climbed into the carriage.
Dan leaned back into the carriage with a sigh. Finally, quiet. He wanted Rack. He wanted his simple life. Well, maybe hire someone to do the washing. The carriage stopped. Dan leaned out the window to see what was going on. It looked like some cowboys were…robbing the bank?
“What’s–”
His carriage door opened, and a man in a beaten and weathered cowboy hat with one white eye and one blue one leered at him. “Lookit we got here!” The man reached in to grab Dan, but Dan kicked him in the face and slammed shut the door, holding the handle tight.
“Gah, you scrawny little shit!” The man outside tried the handle but Dan held it fast, those few days on the farm having improved his strength. He heard a snap, and then someone stuck their hands in the windows which had no glass, only curtains. Dan ducked out of the way of them, still holding onto the door handle.
“What’s in there?”
“Who the hell cares? Tip it over!”
Dan looked around wildly, as they started to rock the carriage. “Heave!” he heard a bunch of men yell and the carriage tipped onto the side without a door. Dan tumbled against it, landing hard against the windows, snapping their fragile frames.
He shook his head, slightly dazed, and shoved off the cushions that had fallen off the seats. Dan saw someone tear off the door and look inside. “It’s a man,” said a big man, leaning into the carriage. Dan tried to make himself small, getting out of the way of someone’s grabbing hands, but they grabbed a hold of his hair and pulled.
Dan yelled as they pulled him out of the broken doorway and flopped him onto the street, in the dirt. Someone put one foot on his back. “Lookit what we have here,” said someone, as another person lifted his head by the hair. He stared into a man’s bloody face. “You broke my nose, you runt.”
The man hauled off and hit Dan right in the face. Dan rolled with it, rolling over onto his back. The man kicked him in the ribs, and Dan grunted. He struggled to get up, but the man took him by the hair again and lifted him from the ground, yanking him to his feet. He stumbled and the man twirled him around. He hit him again in the ribs, and threw him back into the dirt, face down.
Dan brought his hands up near his face, to try and push himself up. The man grabbed him by the hair again. This time he wound up, getting ready to hit.
“PUT HIM DOWN!”
Dan almost swooned at that voice. “Oh, thank God,” he muttered.
The man dropped Dan with a thud to the ground. “Who the hell are you?”
Dan again brought his hands up to his shoulders and pushed himself up to his knees.
“What are you doing to my town?” Rack demanded.
“Your town. Your town?” The man laughed.
Dan saw it coming. “Rack, look out!”
Two men came at Rack from opposite sides of street. Rack kept walking, oblivious to them.
They caught him, and Rack stopped. He glared at the man.
“Whatcha gonna do now, big man?”
Rack hunched over, his eyes full of fury. The men on either side of him started to bleed from their ears. Then their eyes. They slid off of him, sinking to the ground, gurgling, then wheezing, then they were still.
“Leave,” said Rack, again in that strange voice he had the night at with the Indians.
“You think a trick will sc–” He put his hand to his throat. “scare–” it came out as a wheeze, then a whisper. He tried to cough, but it came out as a soundless hack. The man started to bleed just like the other ones. Dan watched the man fall, his hand reaching toward Rack.
“You hurt my family,” Rack said angrily, and watched the man die at his feet.
Dan looked up at Rack, then back at the body, then up at Rack. People moved away from the scene. Rack stepped over the man’s body and approached Dan.
He put his hand on Dan’s cheek. “I love you,” he said.
Dan burst into tears and threw his arms around Rack.
4.
Within a month, Dan lost most of his city-boy look and started to get muscles where he never had before. The soreness eventually went away, as Rack massaged those muscles in the bath that was always warm.
They went to town one afternoon and saw from a playbill that a carnival had opened up just outside of town. Dan had never seen a country carnival. With Dan acting like an excited schoolboy, Rack could hardly say no.
As they were in town, the carnival put on a parade. There was a lion in a cage, some prancing clowns, a pair of women on a horse. On another horse stood a Robin Hood with a bow and arrow.
Rack stood with Dan, in the front row, and he said, “I know him.”
“Who?” asked Dan.
Then Robin Hood notched an arrow and fired it into the air. People scattered, not knowing where it would land.
It landed precisely at Rack’s feet.
“Him,” said Rack, pulling the arrow out of the ground. He touched its tip to his forehead to salute Robin. Robin touched the brim of his peaked cap as he continued around with the horse. Following him were some tumblers, and a wagon of women, waving handkerchiefs at men. Some dropped the hanky and men picked them up.
“Do you think we can meet him?”
“I know that we can meet him,” said Rack. He shook the arrow. “I have to give this back to him, don’t I?”
A clown came around passing a hat, and Rack put a note in it. “Thank you, sir, may God bless you!”
Rack nodded. “Let’s follow the parade.”
They got the wagon and followed the dust the parade made back to its grounds. It was just a bit south of town, right on the banks of the Kansas River. Rack brought the wagon to the outskirts and the two men jumped off. Three men started coming in their direction. One was a very large bald man with a big mustache – a Russian by his looks – another was a man of medium height with a hook for a hand, and the last was another man of normal height, but he had the attitude of a leader.
“We’re not open,” said the leader.
Rack looked at the three men. “Seems that Robin Hood gave me this.” He held up the arrow.
The man reached for it. “I’ll see that he gets it.”
“I’d rather give it to him personally.”
“What is going on, gentlemen?” said a woman with a silky Russian accent. Dan saw a petite woman with long, luxurious black hair and dark eyes, dressed in a flowing black dress. She studied Rack and said, “Ah, you are expected.” She beckoned.
Rack glanced at the three men, and he followed her. Dan jumped a bit and followed them both.
They walked through the carnival, still setting up some places. Three huge tents were up, there was a couple of wagons of different types. One had a fortune teller on it. Another had the women in it. Dan say Rack kept his eyes ahead, so he did the same thing.
They came to a small tent. The woman pushed back the flap and said to the person inside, “You owe me two bits.”
“For what?” said a man.
“Please go in.” She bowed and waved her hand to show them inside. Dan and Rack stepped in. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the light.
A man stood there, half-undressed. He wore only underwear and was pulling off a pair of pants. He finished getting the pants off and said, “Cancer, it is you!”
“Saj,” Rack said, and pulled the man into a hug. He put his arm around Saj’s shoulder and said, “This is Dan.”
With a smile, Saj shook Dan’s hand. “I see that we’re going to lose you, Rak. Su’e-zeh.”
“Sud Ishtar,” Rack said, and they both bowed their heads for a moment, as if in prayer. Then he turned to Dan. “This is my brother, Sagittarius.”
“Saj for short,” he said. “Though here I’m Robin Hood. Or David Cerci.”
Dan said, “You don’t look like brothers.”
Rack handed the arrow to Saj and turned to Dan. “Remember when I told you that I died and came back?”
“He did too?” asked Dan, surprised.
“Yep,” the man said. He looked at the arrow, lost in thought for a moment, and then perked his head up. “Hey, I’ve got two free tickets to the carnival tonight. Want to come? My treat.”
“Sure, we’d love to.”
“One condition, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got to work you into my act.” His eyes twinkled. “It’s a trick I’ve wanted to try but nobody wants to do it.”
“Try?”
“I know I can do it. Just trust me.”
Dan said, “My father always said to never trust a man who says ‘trust me’.”
Rack said, smiling at Dan, “Your father was a brilliant man.” He looked at Saj. “But I’ll do it anyway.”
“You’ll love it. So will the crowd. And maybe they’ll trust me to do it sometime!”
((Edited out references to cancer (I think I caught them all) and made it longer because it’s too short. Since Cancer comes up 4th in the series, I can allude to things that happen further in the series, even though they’re back in time. Got it? Don’t worry, it’s all plotted out.))