In His Arms

Note

ONLY IN HIS ARMS

CHAPTER ONE

March 1910

New York City

In most respects, the world looked like a more promising, brighter place in 1910 than it ever had before. The Nineteenth Century — so recently passed — already seemed like the Dark Ages. As the new year began, everything seemed to be getting faster, more modern, more scientific, new and improved as the saying went, thanks to what seemed to be an unending stream of inventions and scientific discoveries.

One of New York City’s newest residents, twenty-seven year old William Brandt, was fully in agreement with the current line of thinking that life was getting better all the time. As he gleefully ambled through the recently fallen snow in Central Park with his cousin George, he thought about how much change he had seen in just the last couple of years.

U.S. President William Howard Taft had turned the White House stables into a four-car garage, firmly putting the Official Residence on the side of the Progressive Era. On the other hand, Americans weren’t quite sure what to make of the president himself. They laughed when he had gotten stuck in the White House bathtub, all six feet two inches, 330 pounds of him, requiring four (some newspapers said six) men to pry him out. He was a superb dancer, for all of his considerable bulk, and many people had found it oddly comforting that he had installed a cow (named Mooly Wolly) on the White House lawn to insure a constant supply of the fresh milk to which he was partial. After the non-stop action and turmoil of Theodore Roosevelt and his often-fractious family (most notoriously his daughter Alice), the country was breathing a sigh of relief at having the more judicious Tafts as the First Family. No one expected President Taft to have to cope with a daughter who climbed onto the roof of the White House to smoke cigarettes as Alice had done after her father had forbidden her to smoke under his roof.

Gentlemen, the momentarily beaten Teddy Roosevelt had confessed to the Washington press core, when asked what he planned to do about his daughter, I can govern the nation or I can govern Alice. I cannot do both.

But there was still plenty of excitement to fill newspapers and keep tongues wagging. Commodore Robert E. Perry had reached the North Pole, one of the few places on the face of the Earth where human beings had not yet explored. But then, new inventions made it easier to get around in all kinds of new ways. The Wright Brothers had secured a contract from the U.S. Military to provide airplanes that carried two men at the astonishing speed of 60 miles per hour. In the United States alone, 8000 automobiles were causing so many accidents, and so much congestion, that many cities passed laws forbidding them from going faster than 10 miles per hour.

Thanks to the rivalry between the Cunard and White Star lines, people could cross the Atlantic Ocean in under five days. As 1910 began the Cunard Line’s Mauretania and Lusitania were considered the fastest ocean liners, but the White Star Line was counting on a new ship under construction in the Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast to be not only the fastest, but the largest and most opulent passenger ship every built. Her name was RMS Titanic.

But traveling on an ocean liner was something most Americans could only dream about. Far more accessible were the new moving pictures, with stars like Mary Pickford and directors like D.W. Griffith. And with over half of the nation’s movie theaters now showing newsreels, as well as feature films, there seemed to be no end to the new craze.

Change was everywhere in New York City, too. Two years earlier the Singer Building in lower Manhattan had become the world’s first true skyscraper. But only one year later it was eclipsed by the 50-story Metropolitan Life Insurance Tower, the largest building in the world. In fact, New York seemed an absolute beehive of construction: the new underground subway was being extended in every direction; Pennsylvania Station was nearing completion and promised to be the world’s largest terminal; and a few blocks north, the old Grand Central Terminal was being razed to make way for a brand new station.

Everywhere a person looked there was evidence that the world had entered a new, glorious era, one that promised unlimited opportunities for anyone willing to make the effort.

It was a great time to be alive, and William Brandt knew he was a lucky guy, indeed. Walking through the snow in Central Park he was completely unaware of the fact his life was about to be changed forever, in ways he could not even begin to imagine.

New York City! He still couldn’t quite get over the fact he was living here.

You’re doing it again, Hayseed. I can tell, his cousin George said, as he punched William on the arm.

Hey! William yelped. Cut it out! Is that any way to treat a poor country cousin? He started to limp and moan in mock pain.

Not gonna get my sympathy that way Mr. Hitchcock, said George, referring to the famous actor Raymond Hitchcock whose appearances in George M. Cohen’s The Man Who Owned Broadway was the talk of the town.

William stopped and looked at his cousin with mock amazement. No? Why not? You hit me for no reason at all and I am now damaged for life. My life is ruined forever and it’s all your doing, thanks to the crushing blow you inflicted.

I’ll show you a crushing blow! George suddenly attacked, wrapped his arms around William, throwing all his weight against the other man, and tripping him. Both of them fell to the ground and wrestled for all they were worth for several moments. They were evenly matched, both just under six feet tall and with muscular builds, honed by the constant farm work that had been their lot while growing up in rural New York. More recently George’s job helping to build the New York City subway had added solid muscle to his body, but the slighter William was the better all-around athlete, and a wily opponent.

Finally George successfully pinned his laughing cousin beneath him. Sitting on his chest, he scooped up a double handful of snow and rubbed it in William’s face. There! Now how does that feel, Mr. Delicate and Sensitive Being?

William spit snow and continued laughing, finally managing to catch his breath. He looked at George, happiness shining from his dark brown eyes. It feels great. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here. Except you’re too damn heavy, so get off me, you big ox.

Cry baby, George quipped. But he stood up and extended a hand to his cousin.

Both men busied themselves brushing snow from their clothing and adjusting their jackets. "But seriously William, you’ve got to cut that ‘Gee, golly, gosh’ expression on your face. I’m warning you. If you walk around New York City with that goofy look on your face you’re going to regret it. You’re gonna get robbed or beaten up — something. So try to at least look like you’re jaded and bored with it all — at least when you’re out in public."

Like you, you mean, at your ripe old age of 30? William asked, raising his eyebrows.

I’ll never be bored with New York. You know that. But in the three years I’ve been here, I’ve learned there are some things you do to survive. And not looking like you’ve just stepped off the immigrant boat is one of them.

William threw his right arm over his cousin’s shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. I know you mean well, and I’m grateful. Truly. You’ve been a lifesaver in so many ways the last couple of months. I don’t think I could have survived mother’s and father’s deaths without you. But damnit, I can’t help the way I feel. I never thought I’d be living in New York City, and here I am. Employed. Living with my cousin, and exploring everything this place has to offer. He took a deep breath and looked around him.

Even though spring was just around the corner a last snowstorm had blanketed the city, turning everything to a pristine fairyland of white. The sun kept trying to peek from behind a bank of dark clouds. When it did, the momentary brilliance of the white snow was blinding, and it looked like the bare tree branches were covered with diamonds and crystals, glistening magically.

It was still early Sunday morning, the only day the cousins had off, and they had set out from their cramped tenement apartment two hours before, determined to enjoy some time in the wide-open spaces of Central Park before the crowds arrived. So many people in New York were forced to live in such confined, and often-dingy places, that the rolling hills and meadows, plus the occasional woods of the park, were their only respite. It was the one place in teaming Manhattan where the air seemed fresh and, best of all, it was free. The huge snowstorm of the day before would bring out hundreds of folks determined to sled down the hills and ice skate on the lake – despite the posted warnings of thin ice.

The cousins had decided to get up extra early and beat the crowds if they could, and to enjoy the snow before it was trampled.

After all your years in upstate New York, getting buried in blizzards every winter, how can you still get such a kick out of a snowfall? George asked as he started walking toward the western edge of the Park.

I dunno. At least here I don’t have to shovel the stuff. And it all seems so clean and fresh. William gnawed on his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. I mean, I love the city, but you have to admit being out here is a lot different from being underground, digging the tunnels for the new subway.

You got that right! George agreed fervently. But I’m starting to get chilled. Why don’t we warm up with a cup of coffee or something for a bit before we start home?

The cousins tramped through the snow for a couple minutes in silence, before William looked up and stopped, looking at the huge building that dominated the view in front of them. It was the Dakota, the famous—some would say notorious—apartment building that seemed to glower down at Central Park from between West 72nd and 73rd streets.

What do you think it would be like to live there? William asked, standing still for a moment to catch his breath and gaze at the impressive sight.

Not something either of us will ever know, I dare say, George retorted.

Just then the sound of pounding hooves suddenly intruded, and an angry voice shouted, Out of the way! Damnit – MOVE! Two horses suddenly appeared, galloping straight toward them. In a matter of seconds, the horses seemed to loom over the cousins.

William was frozen by the sudden appearance of the horses and their riders. George grabbed his cousin’s sleeve and yanked as hard as he could as he dove out of the way. But it was too late, the boot of one of the riders suddenly kicked William in the shoulder, sending him crumpling to the ground in a blaze of pain.

Goddamn peasants! shouted the man who had kicked William, as his horse automatically slowed down slightly.

Potter, stop a minute. The man might be hurt, said the other horseman, who turned his mount around and trotted back to where George hovered over his unmoving cousin.

William. William! George slapped his cousin’s cheeks, trying to get some response. But William remained still, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. His face had lost its ruddy hue and become extremely pale.

The second rider dismounted and walked to where William lay. I’m very sorry, he said to George. Is he unconscious?

Before George could respond, an older gentleman hurried up. I’m a doctor, may I be of assistance? Not waiting for an answer, he knelt by William and began examining him. People like you should be horsewhipped, he snapped, with a quick glance at the horseman who stood holding his horse’s reins in his hand.

The doctor gently moved William’s head to the side. I don’t see any blood. He reached into his pocket and removed a small vial he uncorked and waved under William’s nose. Suddenly William moaned and then coughed.

Elliot, come on! came the angry voice of the other horseman as he reluctantly trotted back to the scene. We don’t have much time, and I have no intention of having my morning ride further interrupted by riffraff.

George jumped to his feet, his hands immediately balling into fists. He began to stride toward the approaching horseman. Just who the hell do you think you are, riding down people like that and then leaving them! There are laws against such things, he shouted.

The other man laughed, but there was no humor in it. He reined his horse to a standstill as close to George as he could get and sneered down at him. Laws are for little people like you. You get in my way, you deserve whatever happens. The world would be better off if your friend just died. There’s too many of you immigrants here anyway, spreading your diseases and overrunning the city with your bastard offspring. A word of warning to you and your kind—keep to your hovels and don’t bother decent people. And he spit on George’s boot, then started to turn his horse to ride away.

Before George could respond, the other rider grabbed the horse’s reins and said quietly, Potter, we can’t leave until we know the man is not harmed. He might be seriously injured.

Oh for christsake. Stop wasting time on them. They’re nobody. Come on.

Potter. The other rider’s voice was quiet, but firm.

The horseman gave a great put-on sigh, and with ill grace brought his horse to a standstill. Here, he snapped as he dug into his pocket, then contemptuously flung some coins at George, before spurring his horse and riding away.

His companion looked at George who was becoming angrier by the second. I apologize for my cousin’s rudeness. There’s no excuse for his behaving that way, and I assure you I do not agree with either his behavior or his words.

Behind them William had begun to stir.

I can’t tell if he has any broken bones without getting him out of his heavy coat, the doctor said as he got to his feet. But my office is only a couple blocks away. If he can make it there, that would be best—and proof he hasn’t broken either leg, he added with a chuckle.

Still holding his horse’s reins, the remaining rider knelt by William’s side and bent over him anxiously.

William slowly opened his eyes—and stared into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. It was the bright crystalline blue of the sky above his parents’ farm on a clear July day, when there was no end to the sky and life seemed very good and anything seemed possible. The blue eyes that held his gaze were filled with compassion…and something more.

There you are, something buried deep within William suddenly said. I always wondered if you would ever show up, or if I would go through life alone. Now that you’re here my real life can begin. Hello, William said aloud, and realized he had an enormous, silly grin on his face.

Hello, Blue-Eyes said with an answering smile. He continued to stare intently into William’s eyes, as if they contained the entire universe, as if nothing else existed.

My god are you gorgeous, the voice inside William marveled, taking in more of the man in front of him who seemed to be about his own age. Wind-blown blond hair, blue eyes, a classically handsome face that belongs in a magazine advertisement. And that grin is sexy as hell; it tells me you could be fabulous in bed.

William, George called anxiously. Are you okay?

Huh? The injured man seemed to suddenly realize where he was, and gave a start, looking around him wildly. What happened?

You got knocked down by a horse, the doctor explained. You were —

It wasn’t the horse, George interrupted angrily. That asshole rider kicked him with his boot and knocked him down.

Be that as it may, you were briefly unconscious, the doctor continued. Do you think you can stand up?

Blue-Eyes immediately got to his feet and extended his free hand to William, who looked at it a moment, then accepted the help. Immediately a shiver danced down William’s spine and he was enveloped in a feeling of warmth and well being, like nothing he had ever felt before. His entire body seemed to tingle and glow. He wanted to burst into song and dance in circles, and yet it all seemed very natural. What on earth was happening to him? Yes, this is right. This is the way it can be from now on. My hand in yours. Together we can face anything. Once on his feet William stood still for a moment, looking at the ground, trying to get his bearings. He took a slow, deep breath, then looked at the other man. Thank you.

Think nothing of it. I am very sorry… Blue-Eyes’s voice trailed away for a moment. Well, I am sorry for your injury and for your outing being interrupted. His voiced softened so that only William could hear him. But I am very happy that we met.

The husky, sexy tone of his last words made William again shiver involuntarily, and before he could respond George stepped forward to take charge. Can you walk okay? We should get you to the doctor’s office.

That would be for the best, the doctor agreed, and began to slowly move toward the edge of the park.

Maybe you could ride my horse, that might be easier, the stranger suggested.

William took a few steps and was relieved to discover everything seemed to be in good working order. I’m—I’m okay. I can walk just fine. But thank you, anyway.

George stepped between the two men and slung his arm protectively over William’s shoulder. He glared at the horseman. You and your kind have done quite enough already, thank you very much. We don’t need your help. In fact, we don’t want your help at all. Good-bye.

Please, I want to at least pay for any medical expenses that might be incurred, the man said as he took a small leather case from his pocket and gave a card to first the doctor, and then to William. Surely you will allow me to do that much.

William stared at the card, unseeing, then back at Blue-Eyes, who stood, still holding his horse’s reins, staring back at him. Both men once again had enormous grins on their faces as William slowly walked away.

A FEW HOURS later William spooned the last of the hot soup into his mouth and sighed contentedly. That was delicious! Did it really come from the Italian restaurant on the corner?

Yep, plenty more in the pot. Want it now, or do you want to wait a bit?

I’ll wait. William gave a cautious shrug, testing his shoulder. It’s going to be really sore for a few days, but I’m lucky that’s all the doctor found wrong. Bruised shoulder muscles are hardly worth mentioning.

George’s face clouded up. Asshole rich guys, thinking they can get away with anything and working men have no rights. You know who the guy was who ran you down, don’t you?

William shook his head.

Potter Drayton, the guy who owns all the companies that are involved with building the subway.

Your boss? William asked, surprised.

Not exactly. More like my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. He’s the guy at the very top, the guy who’s getting ever richer, while he screws all of us doing the actual work. He’s the one who killed those 27 men when the tunnel collapsed last year, because he insisted the safety measures that were supposed to be used would cost too much, and slow down the dig. Of course, George added bitterly, he got away with it. His sort always do. And he never even gave the families of the dead men anything. God I hate his sort. They ought to all be strung up and tortured.

William empathized with his cousin who had seen a lot more of the unjust and ugly side of life than William had. And the brief time he had worked digging the subway tunnels had shown him quite vividly just how rough life could be. The conditions were horrendous, the work made the hours he had put in on the farm seem like a picnic, and the pay was abysmal. William could only hope that one of the many schools at which he had applied for a post as teacher would need him before too long. Until then, he could pay his share of expenses by working in the tunnels, but only because he was unmarried and had only himself to support. And even so it only covered the basic necessities. Anything else and he had to dip into the money from the sale of his parent’s farm and his small inheritance, but he knew he was much more fortunate than most of his fellow workers. Most of them were recent immigrants to the United States with families to support and nothing to their name but a few belongings they had managed to bring over from their previous lives, and their strong determination to make a better life for themselves and their families.

William? George’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. You okay?

Yeah, I was just thinking about how lucky we are.

George snorted and went to the stove to get a bit more soup. Soooo lucky, he said sarcastically. We work twelve hours a day in a shit hole and then when we have the chance to go play in Central Park you get almost killed by some asshole money-bags who can’t be bothered to steer his horse in another direction or slow down a bit.

William knew that once his cousin was on his political soapbox there was no sense in trying to have a discussion. Besides, William agreed with a lot of his cousin’s positions on improving conditions for workers, helping their families, and stopping the political corruption that seemed to infest almost every aspect of New York City life. But he was also more inclined to judge people as individuals, so he could not help commenting, Well, the guy who helped us seemed nice.

Only because it suited him to play the benevolent lord of the manor. And speaking of that, what was with you two? You were acting awfully strange there for a bit around him. Never mind, you were probably just out of your head with the fall. I’m going to take a nap, George added. Maybe you outta, too. You’re going to need that shoulder to be in good shape in a couple months for the Subway Sultans.

William laughed. You really think I’m going to pitch for your baseball team? he asked, relieved to not have to discuss what had happened between him and the stranger.

You better believe it. That’s the only reason you got hired for the job. I told your foreman you were the best pitcher in Oneida County and no one could hit your spitball or your curveball. He’s determined we’re not going to get slaughtered again this year, the way we did last year, so he hired you. It’s up to you to help up beat the pants off of the Irish Puber’s team.

But you know if I get a teaching job I’m quitting the subway job, it’s just temporary… I hope.

Don’t worry about it, George said as he went into the other room that doubled as both living room and bedroom.

Left alone William sat for a while at the kitchen table, thinking. The doctor had checked him thoroughly and announced that other than feeling very sore, and turning all kinds of black, blue and yellow over the next week or so, he would be fine. Then after giving the cousins some coffee to help them warm up, the doctor refused any payment and sent them home.

William got up and quietly moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the apartment’s other room. His cousin appeared to have dropped off to sleep, which freed William to think about what was really bothering him – his reaction to Blue-Eyes. The man has a name, the voice in his head said.

And what was with this voice suddenly appearing, saying things William would never have said, or even thought, in a million years. It was not natural. Something was taking him over. He was losing his mind. Or maybe you’re actually finding your real mind, the secret mind you’ve never dared look at.

To distract him from these uncomfortable thoughts, he searched his pockets for the stranger’s card. Elliot Reid the card read, and under it Senior VP, Consolidated Bank and an address that meant nothing to William, who figured it must be further downtown in the financial section. There was also a telephone number.

Elliot Reid. The name suited him.

But William was still confused by his reaction to the man. It was as if this Elliott had been trying to flirt with him. But that was unthinkable. Men did not flirt with other men, not like they did with women. And why would this Elliot flirt with him? No one had ever done anything like that before.

William knew there were men who had sex with other men. Back home there were rumors about a man like that who lived in Utica. But that had nothing to do with William. No one had ever questioned his masculinity before, so why would this Elliot Reid behave the way he did?

Maybe you should ask yourself why it felt so good when he did, the voice said from way down deep inside. Why did you feel like you were waking up from a long sleep and that your life was just beginning. Why did it feel so natural, so utterly right when the two of you joined hands?

Shut up, William said out loud. He wouldn’t think about it any more. It didn’t matter anyway. He’d never see this Elliot Reid again. New York City was a big place. It would be easy to just forget the whole stupid incident.

But for some reason he slipped the card into his wallet, into the innermost pocket where it would not get lost.

THAT EVENING AS midnight chimed, Elliot Reid was sitting in his favorite large winged leather chair in the library of his family’s Fifth Avenue mansion. There were many reasons it was his favorite room of dozens of rooms in the house, but at the moment the reason that mattered the most was because he was usually the only one who used it. His eight-year-old nephew Bobby liked to use the room, but he was long since asleep, tucked safely in his bed on the fourth floor.

Elliot took a snip of his 80-year-old cognac, then stretched out his legs toward the large marble fireplace where a comforting fire still flickered and glowed. William, that was the man’s name. That’s what his friend — his very protective friend — had called him as Elliot had ridden up to them. Damn Potter and his infernal arrogance. It was not the first time Elliot’s brother in law had behaved disgracefully.

It also was not the first time Elliot wondered what on earth his sister had seen in the man to make her fall in love. But one good thing had come from the marriage, Bobby. And as much as Elliot still mourned for his sister’s death three years before, he was grateful that Bobby was living in the family home and that, to all intends and purposes, he was raising the boy. He was careful to not let Bobby know his true feeling about the lad’s father. More and more Bobby was opening up to Elliot and obviously enjoying spending time with him. They did something special every weekend, and for several months now, most evenings Bobby chose to do his homework in the library while Elliot either worked or read. It was something both of them enjoyed, and Elliot hoped his nephew was finally beginning to get over the worst of his grief at his mother’s death.

Elliot took another sip of his cognac and his thoughts turned again to the handsome man he had met that morning. The very handsome man. His brown hair had kept falling over one eye, and it had been all Elliot could do not to gently push the large curl back up. And those eyes, like melted chocolate, real puppy dog eyes, so trusting and open. There was a real innocence to him. Innocence, trust, a definite but understated masculinity, and physical beauty. Lord. Who could resist that potent combination?

William. But what was his last name? Probably something WASPy. His clothes were not the latest fashion, but they were decent quality, and the two men had spoken English correctly and without a noticeable accent. So they were not immigrants — despite Potter’s slurs.

Usually when Elliot met a man who fascinated him he was straightforward, but discreet, about discovering if the man was available. It was remarkable how many men were, especially those who were very poor. But Elliot was tired of that routine. He had never really questioned his attraction to members of his own sex. Partially it was his