Man & Beast by Michael Jensen

Author:Michael Jensen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, gay, mm, gay love, gay historical romance, american historical novel gay, gay american history, gay historical mystery, gay historical romance mm, gay historical thriller
Publisher: Brent Hartinger

♦

Over the past decade, I’d been as likely to remain in one place as a thundercloud was to stay directly overhead. So a week after the truck patch was sowed and watered, I set about planting a small apple orchard to demonstrate, if only to myself, that I was serious about staying.

Alexander Jackson had brought a large sack of apple seeds, so I assumed he had planned on having an orchard and that the valley was a suitable location for such. Taking the apple seeds from the cabin, I went outside to scout the most likely location for an orchard, but I had no idea whether that would be along the creek, in the meadow, or somewhere else.

Of course, I’d seen apple trees growing in Longmeadow, but I’d paid them no mind and knew next to nothing about raising them. What kind of soil did they grow best in? How much water and sun did they need? Hell, I didn’t even know if these particular seeds would produce eating, baking, or cider apples.

Planting them seemed as much a turn of the cards as having children.

After walking once around the cabin, I settled on a likely looking spot just beyond the back wall where the ground sloped upward, and where I’d noted the sun shone for much of the day. The soil was dark and heavy, and when I held a handful to my face, it smelled fecund and, I hoped, like a fortuitous place for apple trees.

For twenty minutes, I worked at clearing away rocks and fallen trees. As far as how deep to plant, I adopted a plan of varying depths. The first seed I planted just under the soil, the next a little deeper, and so forth. At least by experimenting I could learn what worked.

“Never will apple trees grow there,” said an unexpected voice from behind me.

“Sweet Jesus!” I hollered, spinning around. This time I recognized the bare-breasted Indian woman right away, and I had no doubt she was the one who had guided me here. “Why the blazes did you sneak up on me like that?” I snapped, still rattled.

“I not sneak up on you.”

“Not sneak up on me!” I sputtered. “You most certainly did.”

She shook her head.

“How can you say that? I had no idea you were behind me.”

“That not my fault. You should be more . . . what the word? Awake.” She nodded toward the field. “Loudly, I came through kwenaskat. So you hear me.”

“I should’ve heard you coming through the grass?” I sputtered in disbelief. “And just how am I supposed to hear you walking in the grass?”

She shrugged as if it were obvious. “You listen.”

“Well, I guess I didn’t listen well enough. And since you do speak English, how about next time you sneak up behind me you say something, such as ‘Hello’ or ‘Good day.’”

“Maybe I say ‘Good day’ now.” She turned to leave.

“Don’t go. You just scared me, that’s all.”

She scooped up a handful of soil, sniffed it for a moment, then began kneading it with her fingers.

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