::hearts dakki the beta yet again!::

October

Part Three - Have Faith

-1906-

The air was thick with tension, and Ezekiel started to wish he had never said anything.

The idea of marrying Winnie Purkey had not been entirely despicable to him. He had been worried about the sexual portion of it, yes, but if he married her, he would be set. When Sid and Uncle Frye died, Ezekiel would have been heir to both farms. While Uncle kept his sights on dairy, Sid worked with poultry and various vegetables and there was money in that kind of living.

But then René reappeared, and the beauty of his eyes had sent all thoughts of marriage and money from Ezekiel's mind.

"Uncle, I told you first thing," Ezekiel sighed. "I never promised to marry Winnie. I said I'd think about it. And I done that."

"And you don't want to." Uncle slammed his fist on the table. "Zeke, how can you do this?"

"Do what?"

"This!" Uncle seemed at a loss for words. "Sid and I been planning for years about my son marrying his daughter-"

"I ain't your son," Ezekiel said, perhaps a little harsher than was necessary.

"I never had no son. Just your cousin, Daisy. Ain't gonna promise her to Winnie. You're as close as I'll get."

"I ain't your son, Uncle," Ezekiel repeated.

"You may as well have been! I raised you!"

"Nobody raised me!" Ezekiel shouted. "Ma caught the spots and Pa died not too long after she did, though nobody knew what from. I spent my life on the streets selling papes. I's already grown by the time I came to you. If anybody raised me, it was Mr. Kloppman and my friends at the Lodging House, like René. You played no part in it."

"If I had, maybe you wouldn't be such a failure!" Blood flushed Uncle's face, and Ezekiel knew this wouldn't end well. "If you were raised so well on the streets, then get back on them!"

Ezekiel frowned. "Uncle, you can't-"

"Get!"

"It's winter, Uncle, there's still snow-"

"You've lived through it before, ain't you? Now get out!"

Ezekiel sat in shocked silence until his Uncle lunged at him, sending him toppling out of his chair and scrambling for the door. He managed to grab his coat before stumbling into the snow.

"Don't come back, punk!" Uncle called before slamming the door. The word caught Ezekiel's ear and stunned him so that he fell face-down into the snow. Did Uncle know? How could he? Ezekiel and René were careful, only meeting when they were certain there would be no interruptions. No chance Uncle knew.

But...

Ezekiel forced himself back onto his feet and started to trudge through the snow, rubbing his hands together and wishing he had gloves. He could get some at the Purkeys'... no. He would grab René and go. The Purkeys were in town at this time of the week, getting supplies. René would probably be sleeping; Ezekiel suddenly realized that René spent an oddly large amount of time sleeping these days. René worked hard around the Purkey farm, but no harder than Sid, Inga or Winnie. He had been living with the Purkeys for close to a year now, so even if it was the work, he should have gotten used to it by this point. There was also the question of the rash that refused to leave René's palms (as well as more sensitive areas) no matter what salve Winnie put on them, the sores on his face and in his mouth, his hair starting to thin out...

And the fact that Ezekiel was starting to show some of the same marks.

He eventually decided not to worry about René or himself at the moment, and instead to just get them out of town, out of Vermont. They could find a doctor and see what was wrong once they were safely out of the county, at least.

The Purkey farm was dark and quiet when Ezekiel arrived, and he took this as a good sign; René slept in the hayloft with one or two of Inga's quilts draped over his body. Seeing the emptiness of the house, Ezekiel headed straight to the barn, climbing up the ladder to the loft.

"René," he whispered, gently shaking the sleeping boy's shoulder. "René, wake up. It's me."

René whined and rolled onto his back, rubbing his face with the ball of his hand. "Ezekiel, what-"

"We have to leave. Now." René sat up, clutching the quilt around his shoulders. "I'll explain later. Just come."

"Where are we going?" René asked, following Ezekiel down the ladder. Ezekiel reached up and took his hand, leading him over the last rung and onto the dirt floor.

"I told Uncle I wasn't going to marry Winnie. He pitched a fit. Kicked me out." Ezekiel swallowed and gave a dry smile. "Called me a punk while he did it."

René leaned forward, his eyes wide as he whispered, "Does he know?"

"He can't know. He just... he can't." Ezekiel clutched the back of René's head, bringing it to his shoulder. René responded dutifully ringing his arms around Ezekiel's waist as the older boy stroked his hair. "There's no possible way he could know. He was just trying to insult me. I'm sure."

René said nothing, opting instead to let his lips graze Ezekiel's earlobe, making the boy in his arms shiver and hold him closer.

"We gotta get outta here, though," Ezekiel said, pulling back. "Before it gets dark."

René nodded slowly, clinging to Ezekiel's hand as they left the barn, snow crunching under their feet. "Ezekiel," he began, moving closer, "where will we go?"

Ezekiel sighed. "I don't know, really. Back to New York?"

"Where would we stay? We're too old for the Lodging House."

Wind whistled in the trees and Ezekiel looked up at the shifting clouds as he thought. "We'll decide that later," he said finally. "Right now, we just gotta get-"

"Zeke?"

The boys stopped dead; Ezekiel felt his hand slip against René's as he turned. "Uh... hello, Miss Winnie."

Bundled up in a heavy jacket, large boots, and a pretty scarf wrapped was Winnie Purkey, who smiled thinly at the sight of them. "Where you two going?"

René glanced at Ezekiel, who swallowed heavily. "René and I have friends who are, um, in town today. We're going to visit."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Then why didn't you just go with Mama and Papa earlier today? They offered to take you if you needed."

Ezekiel ran a hand through his hair. "Er... I forgot?"

"My foot." Winnie's lips curled apart in an angry snarl. "I know I ain't very pretty, but if you ain't at least willing to take the farm that comes with me, then that's your bad decision."

Ezekiel cautiously raised his eyes. "Winnie, it's not that... really, I just..."

"Shut up and go." Winnie turned her back on them. "Ain't my soul if both of you starve. You're the ones who made the wrong decision."

Carrying a load of laundry on her hip, she walked through the front door, and the boys glanced at each other.

"She'll... she'll be okay," Ezekiel said. "There's lots of nice boys in town, and she can marry one of them."

René simply sighed, saying nothing. The older boy glanced at him, then slipped his arm around his waist. "We need to go," he said softly, his hair brushing René's ear. René turned to him, lightly touching his lips to Ezekiel's cheek before they started their long journey.

Ezekiel and René, after discussing it at length, decided to go back to New York. Ezekiel had spent five years on a farm, but he had grown up in the city, and that was where he felt more comfortable. René had simply been happy to follow Ezekiel.

The walk was long and cold; more often than not they ended up curled together under a tree, trying not to let themselves go numb in the snowfall. But the sight of Manhattan's tall buildings had never been more welcome in their eyes. It was always good to be home.

The Lower East Side Lodging House was their first stop, forgetting the need for a doctor in their joy to be home, but they were surprised to find it inhabited by an old woman and her grandchildren.

"I bought it from that nice young man," she said when they asked. "I believe he used the money to buy a larger boarding house for those boys."

"Where?"

She gave them directions as best she knew, and on the way over, Ezekiel happened to glance at René, seeing something that worried him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, not liking the white color of René's face, the shadows under his eyes, the way he stumbled in the snow.

René looked at him and nodded slowly. "Just tired, I think. Plus that rash I showed you..." He held his hands out in front of him, displaying palms dotted with red sores. "God," he muttered, chewing on his lower lip. "I'm scared, Ezekiel."

Ezekiel shut his eyes for a moment, thinking. "We'll ask Racetrack if we can't stay the night." He resisted the urge to comfort René by stroking his hair. "You need rest, in a warm bed."

René nodded again, rubbing his palms against his pants as he stumbled along.

The new location was bigger, probably a good decision on Racetrack's part, but it was an older building, and a further distance from the Distribution Center. Ezekiel didn't trust the creaking front steps or the cracked front door; the building had to be freezing, especially at night.

"Can I help you?" Racetrack said suspiciously as they approached the front desk. He'd aged poorly, Ezekiel noticed, but poverty could do that to a man. Poverty, along with making a living taking care of a large group of young boys.

"It's Skittery, Racetrack," Ezekiel said with a smile. "Skittery and Snitch."

Racetrack blinked then let a grin smear on his face. "Hey, fellas!" he cried, coming out from behind the desk to shake hands. "Woah, Snitcha," he commented, looking at René's face. "You look terrible."

René shook his head, but smiled wanly. "Good to see you too, Race."

"You sick?"

"Maybe. Ezekiel thinks I need some sleep."

"Can we stay here?" Ezekiel asked. "Just for the night, I mean. René's exhausted, and-"

Racetrack cut him off: "Stay as long as you need to. I got extra rooms in this place; you can stay in one of those." He gave René a once over. "You better get up there now, Snitch. You look like you're ready to keel over right this minute."

"Here." Ezekiel put his arm around René's waist to support him; Racetrack's eyebrows raised at the quick willingness to touch, but his mouth remained shut. "I'll help."

All three climbed the stairs, Ezekiel lugging René along and Race studying them both, wondering if the gossip he had once refused to spread was true.

René lay back on the bed, and Racetrack handed him a worn blanket. "Sorry," he said sheepishly as René spread it over himself. "I'd get you a better one if I could."

"It's fine," René said with a smile. "Thanks, Race."

Racetrack shrugged and headed out the door; he did not see René clinging to Ezekiel's wrist, or Ezekiel touching René's pale face, his own opening to show his concern.

"Skittery," Racetrack called, and Ezekiel tore his hand away from René's. "You coming?"

Ezekiel glanced at René once more, then left the room, shutting the door behind him. "Do you still have to call me Skittery?" he asked softly as they walked down the stairs. "We're grown now, out of the nicknames. I'm Ezekiel Tennyson; that's the only name I've known for the past five years. Ain't you gonna call me that?"

"Ezekiel? Not Zeke?"

"Never Zeke."

Racetrack considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "A'ight. Makes sense. The boys call me Mr. Higgins, so I ain't been called Racetrack much anyway."

"What's your real name?"

"Finn."

"Really?"

Racetrack, or Finn, smiled. "My mother was Italian. I got a lot of her in my looks. But the rest of my family is Irish."

Ezekiel nodded slowly. "A'ight, then. Finn." He smiled. "You run the 'House now?"

"Yup. I's oldest, and I called it. Don't think anybody else wanted it anyhow." He gestured off to the side, towards a shadowed room. "Let's go to the dining room and talk. That okay?"

"Sure." Ezekiel followed Finn into the dark room, noticing the cobwebs in the corners and the dust on the windows and smiling at the similarity between this building and the other.

"Ezekiel?" Finn sat on one side of the long wooden table, and Ezekiel sat down on the other before acknowledging. "What's Snitch's real name?"

"René Bedier."

"René." Finn folded his hands together and looked at the table. "Do you mind if I ask exactly how close you are to René?"

Ezekiel stiffened slightly, then raised his head. "What do you mean?"
"Don't be coy." Finn narrowed his eyes. "I don't give a damn what you do to each other when the lights are out; it ain't my skin. But you's my friends. And the boys what lives here? They's gonna care. So if you and René's doing what I think you's doing, you better be careful, a'ight?"

Ezekiel uncomfortably toyed with a fray in his shirt, thinking over how he wanted to respond. "Well... René and I'll just keep our eyes open."

Finn looked up at him. "You watch yourselves. Don't do nothing unless you's sure you can get away with it. That's all-"

"Mr. Higgins!" Both men shot to their feet, watching the doorway as a young boy, covered in dirt from his blonde hair to his scuffed boots, entered the room. "Mr. Higgins! Mikey and me's got something-" He stopped short when he saw Ezekiel. "Oh! Sorry! Didn't know you got company!"

Finn glanced at Ezekiel, then smirked at the boy. "'Sokay, Dusty. This is Mr. Tennyson." He reached across the table to put a hand on Ezekiel's shoulder. "He'll be staying with us for a while."

Dusty gave Ezekiel a once-over as they shook hands. "Glad to meetcha, Mr. Tennyson," he said, smiling. His dark eyes crinkled slightly, bringing to Ezekiel's mind the grinning image of Kid Ballatt, before the fight, before the eye-patch. Ezekiel's heart sank as he remember that Kid was dead, David and Cowboy gone, all the others, who knew? The only friends he had left from his younger days were Finn and René.

Perhaps they were all he needed. Finn was loyal and generous enough to let Ezekiel and René stay with him as long as they liked. René, well... what words were there to describe how he felt for René? Joy? Fear? Pain? Desire? Need? Some great mix of emotions? He wasn't sure.

"I think I'll go check on René," Ezekiel said. Finn raised his eyebrows and Ezekiel grinned before nodding to Dusty and heading upstairs.

"The sweet caress of twilight

There's magic everywhere

And with all this romantic atmosphere-

Disaster's in the air"

-1907-

"Kill me."

Ezekiel shook his head fervently, coughing into his hand and wishing Finn or one of the boys would wake up and help them; Ezekiel wouldn't leave René's side for a moment, not now. He refused. "Né, you'll be fine-"

"No, Ezekiel!" René's hollow eyes pleaded up at him. "Look at me! I'm as good as dead, so just finish it!"

Ezekiel clutched René's hand, grimacing as he carefully touched his thinning hair. "Don't say that, you don't know that-"

"Can't you see? Are you so blind that you can't see what's happening to me?" René tried to sit up, but he was too weak to stay up. Instead, he lifted his free hand to his face, and Ezekiel turned away, chewing on one of the sores that had formed inside his mouth. He knew how René looked, that gray skin, those sunken eyes, still oddly beautiful despite the death outside them and the fear within.

He also knew that he was starting to look the same.

"How, René?" Ezekiel asked, rubbing at his own eyes. "How did this happen?"

René suddenly fell silent. His gasping breaths filled the room, and Ezekiel squeezed his hand. Dim moonlight sneaked through the windows, illuminating Ezekiel and ensnaring René in shadow.

"Né?" Ezekiel prodded. "Do you know?"

René turned to him, his face guarded. "Kill me."

"No. You know, don't you? René, tell me."

"I want to die, Ezekiel, don't you get that?"

"I hear you, I'm just not listening." A phantom of René's old smile reappeared on his face, and Ezekiel sighed. "Tell me, Né. Please?"

René inhaled slowly, and as he exhaled, he set up a question Ezekiel hadn't expected: "If I tell you, will you kill me?"

Ezekiel's eyes widened, and he leaned forward, putting his palm on René's chest. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes." René didn't even hesitate. Ezekiel winced and sighed again.

"A'ight. You tell me, and I'll... I'll help you."

"You'll kill me."

Ezekiel clenched his teeth, suddenly angry. "I'll kill you."

René shut his eyes, ignoring Ezekiel's frustration. "When I first left the Lodging House to go find you, I had nothing. Nothing but the clothes on my back, as you once told me."

Ezekiel allowed a short laugh. "And you ruined those."

"Back then." René sighed. "I'm older now. I have different problems."

"Tell me."

"I had no money. But I had to survive." His eyes turned to look up at Ezekiel, who shivered. "I let them take me, Ezekiel."

Ezekiel suddenly dropped René's hand. "No."

"Yes. I had to."

"No."

"Once with a shopkeeper, for money to buy a coat."

"No."

"Once with a woman, for food."

"René, stop. Né, no!"

"Once with a fat, old man for board. He's probably the one I got it from. He came to me before I went to him, not like the others." René's voice lowered to a growl. "I hope he rotted. I hope it hurt."

Ezekiel put his face in his hands, suddenly overwhelmed, and René lifted his hand, reaching for his long-time friend. "Don't be angry, Ezekiel. I had no choice. Do you understand?"

Ezekiel nodded before clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them. "Né... Né, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I shouldn't have let you stay behind, I should have made you come with or come to get you or-"

"Ezekiel." René smiled slightly, still reaching for him. "Hold my hand. Please?"

Ezekiel went one better, crawling into the bed next to René and wrapping his arms around his terribly thin waist. "Do I have it?"

"What?"

"What you have."

René's eyes flitted over Ezekiel's face, studying the growths by his ears and the sores on his lips. A soft groan sounded from between his throat as he buried his face in Ezekiel's shoulder. "I wish to God you didn't, but you do."

"Né."

"Hm?"

Ezekiel shifted slightly, reaching for the folded up blanket on the floor. "I love you."

René blinked and when he glanced at the blanket, his eyes filled with resigned determination. "I love you back," he whispered.

In all the sixteen years they had known each other, half of which they had spent as lovers, through harsh winters, burning summers, deaths, fights, departures and reunions... those words had never passed their lips. Never before had they been able to realize their emotions went deep enough to deserve such a promise.

Ezekiel sat up and straddled René's waist, leaning over him and awkwardly kissing his mouth; they hadn't kissed that way in a while, not with the sores they had both discovered, but René responded gratefully, almost desperately, placing his hands in the small of Ezekiel's back.

"My heart is yours," René muttered when Ezekiel slowly pulled away. "And so is my life."

"Né, don't make me do this. I have it too, just wait for me-" Ezekiel fell silent as René brushed a finger against Ezekiel's pale face, opening his hand so Ezekiel could press his cheek into it, closing his eyes and sighing.

"Everything seems clearer now," René said softly. "You and me, we was never meant to be old men with white hair, living happily on one of those farms in Vermont, just the two of us. The world don't work like that. Not our world."

"Né, stop-"

"For you and me, this is the escape. Doctors and priests and everyone who sees our illness views it as a curse, a proper penance for what they see as sin." René's eyes wandered over Ezekiel's face, his thumb gently rubbing the curve of Ezekiel's cheekbone. "There ain't no sin. Not in what we have. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, I've heard them say, but love has no place in hell." His mouth opened to release a joyful laugh, and Ezekiel felt his limbs go stiff at the sound; René hadn't laughed that way since they were children, playing in the snow on the streets, done with their selling for the day. It was a sound he had fallen in love with, the way he had fallen in love with all the other little things, like the way René's hair would curl in the rain, or the charmingly large size of his teeth; all the little things had come together into one big thing, René's inner and outer beauty, which now was only visible in the brilliant blue of his eyes.

Ezekiel leaned down to kiss René's mouth once more, unable to resist the pull of René's warm fingers on his cheek.

But as soon as his face lifted from René's, the folded blanket replaced it, and the hand in the small of Ezekiel's back started to clench and unclench, the legs beneath him twitched, the chest struggled to rise and fall, but René's other hand rested comfortingly on Ezekiel's, almost helping him to press the blanket against René's nose and mouth, helping to smother the sickness and life away.

After a while, both hands went limp; the one that had covered Ezekiel's knuckles fell off the side of the bed, fingers dangling lifelessly. Ezekiel, as devoted to René as René had been to him, kept pressing, wanting to be sure that the job was done, that no one could bring René back into the terrible illness or the suffering world. This was their blessing, a release from prying eyes and sharp tongues. Ezekiel wanted to be sure that René was safe, rescued from everything that had ever hurt him; René had been hurting since the first night they met, Ezekiel realized. His father abandoning him, never coming back... that had left an invisible scar, something that had always been there, fading out as they grew older, but still always there.

Finally, Ezekiel lifted the blanket and tossed it aside. René had long ago stopped moving, but now Ezekiel was certain that he wouldn't start moving again. His hands moved over the delicate, gray skin of René's face, over his lips, down the bridge of his nose, grazing his eyebrows and lashes. Ezekiel found he felt strangely empty; there were no tears he wanted to shed, no mournful observance of René's lost youth, no wish to join his lover. They would be together soon enough, judging from Ezekiel's fatigue, the gray shade of his skin, the sores around his mouth. Ezekiel wasn't as bold as René anyhow; he would never be able to do to himself what he had done to René.

His lips brushed against René's eyelids, the tip of his nose, the hollow of his throat. Then, he got out of bed, unfolded the blanket he had used to kill René just moments before, and placed it over René's face, a makeshift shroud. He stared at the motionless form, chewing on his lower lip, before heading downstairs and knocking sullenly on Finn's bedroom door.

"I told you boys, lights out, mouths-" Finn opened the door and his eyes widened in surprise. "Ezekiel! Sorry, I thought-"

"It's okay," Ezekiel said softly. Finn's face contorted.

"What happened? Is René all right?"

Ezekiel briefly lifted his face to look at Finn, then turned away, his lower lip ready to split open between his teeth. His breathing was suddenly quick, and Finn moved forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Ezekiel?"

"He's dead," Ezekiel said finally, putting one hand to his forehead. "I just thought you should know."

Finn suddenly found himself leaning forward to catch Ezekiel as he started to fall. Finn always assumed that Ezekiel's own affliction was the blame of his sudden faint, but how could he possibly understand what had just gone on in the room above him? Finn had never known love beyond the platonic kind he felt for Ezekiel, René and the boys he lived with. How could he possibly comprehend the kind of devotion it took to kill the person you love rather than allow them to suffer in life?

Not even Ezekiel quite understood such an emotion. He just knew that was how he felt. And the comprehension of that had overwhelmed him enough.

.::AUTHOR'S NOTE::.

This is the first story I've written in a long time that I actually enjoyed writing and liked the eventual outcome. I'm not pleased with this site's inability to let René have an apostrophe after the name, but what can you do?

Oh, and for the curious, the boys ended up with syphilis. Fairly common venereal disease in the time period, but often overlooked because, well a) it's venereal and b) the symptoms are kind of gross.

Ah well. Story's done. I'm off to submit it to Tuesday's contest (like everyone else should do; also, December's issue of The Banner has an article by your's truly in it so check that out while you're there looking at the contest rules and such!) and then do other things (like work at a job I now despise. COLDSTONE NAZIS GR!).

Ta! )