Free Winter Hearts by Fyn Alexander

birth.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” Sam took off his hat as if the funeral were just about to take place. As dumb as it seemed for a moment, it was the right thing to do. How come this boy of nineteen, whose father worked in a tannery, knew exactly what to say and do? Luke hadn’t a clue how to act in most circumstances. It was probably because he’d spent most of the past fifteen years in the company of uneducated men like himself.
    Fuller began to sort the items on the counter, writing each one down in the ledger. “One pair of scissors. One reel of white cotton thread. One measuring tape. One packet of fine needles. One iron curtain rod.” He pulled the bolt of fabric toward him. “How much muslin do you want, Smith?”
    Sam looked at Luke. “Luke, how big is that window?”
    Luke looked at him, uncomprehending. “What window?”
    “On the house. I’m going to sew curtains so we don’t have to have that burlap sack hung on a couple of nails. Curtains will look much homier.”
    Without responding, Luke turned and left the store. I’m gonna kill him. “Luke, how big is that window?” Single men baching together don’t care about curtains!
    With a look up at the clear blue sky, Luke judged it safe to go for a ride. He hurried across the street and into the stable, where he tacked Pretty Girl as fast as he could. Excited to be going outside, she snorted and whinnied. Sam was crossing the street with his purchases when Luke rode out of the stable. He threw the young man an angry look and rode off at full speed, heading for his claim. Sam was young. At nineteen he could move on if he had to, but Luke wanted to settle down. He was done with traveling.
    An hour later, the sky still blue and cloudless, Luke stood outside his claim shanty, looking at his land. The snow was deeply drifted in some places, and in others he could see patches of bare, frozen ground. Where he’d grown up in Boston, the snow tended to stay where it fell, but here on the wide-open prairie, there were drifts as big as hills one day, and the next they were blown away with the wind.
    He imagined his one hundred and sixty acres shimmering with golden wheat under a blazing sun. If all went well and prices were good, he could have a fine crop and more money in the bank to make him feel secure. He unfastened the padlock on the door of the claim shanty and looked inside. The air was as frigid as outside. The little house already had a stove, so he’d left his behind. The place looked as barren and cold as it felt with no furniture and no one living there. The problem was, with him there alone, it would always be cold and barren.
    What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t live here with Sam. If Sam didn’t live on his claim, he would lose it. Making curtains for the house! Luke could kill him for that stupidity. What must the men in Fuller’s be thinking? He’d get beaten up just like he had at the White Horse Tavern, and it wasn’t as if that was the only time. There was the man who had lured him into an alley when he was barely fifteen and then beaten him. He’d stood up for himself pretty well on that occasion, but there’d been others over the years. What if the storekeepers in town refused to serve him? He’d never be able to get supplies or get Pretty Girl shoed or vetted when she needed it.
    The silence of the prairie, windless that day, settled suddenly around him. The shanty was temporary, just until he could build a house, but even a nice house with curtains and rugs on the floor would feel as empty as the shanty stood now. He couldn’t stand to live alone forever, but the way the laws and attitudes of men worked, he couldn’t live with a man either, not unless they were brothers and everyone knew it, like the Wilder brothers in town.
    If anything bad happened to Sam because of Luke, he’d kill the men who did it, and he’d end up on the gallows.
    The loneliness of the shanty and his own thoughts would drive him