Chapter 30
Daniel
January 1866, Ohio
They were just about to start dinner when they heard the sound of hooves clattering on the gravelled drive outside the house. It was unusual enough a sound to make Isabella rush to the window to take a look. She peered sideways towards the main entrance to the house, then gasped, “He’s back!” She turned to her family in excitement. “It’s Benjamin. He’s back, and Sarah is with him!”
All at once, everyone was hurrying out of the dining parlour and going to the front porch, anxious to greet the prodigal son and his bride, for surely that was what Sarah was now. In the ensuing melee of cries and hugs and warm wishes, Daniel did not at first notice the tall, slim man that emerged last from the carriage. He was about to clap Benjamin on the shoulder in delight when he caught sight of the man. He stood for a moment, arrested in shock. Then a surge of blood pumping through his veins had him stride towards Ambrose and cry, “You! What in all hell’s name are you doing here?”
Anger was quickly replacing shock, fuelled in no small part by the force of his longing for this man. Without thinking, he grabbed Ambrose by the lapels of his jacket and roared, “Answer me! Why are you here?”
White-faced, Ambrose could not speak. Instead, it was the sound of his mama’s voice, heavy with disapproval, that made itself heard. “Daniel! Stop that at once. Is that any way to greet a guest?”
Too late, he realised what he was doing. His chest felt constricted, his breaths heavy. With an effort, he loosened his grip on Ambrose’s jacket and dropped his hands. His mama stepped forward quickly, holding out her hands to Ambrose, though not before casting Daniel the most castigating of looks. “Mr Cranshaw,” she said. “I do apologise for my son’s rudeness. It is both a surprise and a great pleasure to see you here. Welcome sir, welcome.”
Ambrose took her hands and bowed over them. “Lady Stanton, I am honoured to be here,” he replied, his voice not quite steady. He looked shaken and shocked by the force of Daniel’s angry outburst, but not surprised.
Then it was his papa coming forward and speaking with authority. “Mr Cranshaw, it is indeed a pleasure to welcome you here. I am sure there is much to be discussed, but please let us not do it out here in the cold. Do come inside.”
With a withering look at his son, Frank Stanton ushered everyone into the house. Coats, hats and bonnets were taken off their guests, suitcases brought out of the carriage, and servants sent to put additional place settings at the dinner table. All the while everyone exclaimed over Sarah, who looked pretty as a picture and flushed with happiness, the wedding band on her finger obvious for all to see. Despite his own shock at encountering Ambrose, Daniel, like the rest of the family, was full of questions. When had they docked in New York? Where had they married? On board the ship? How romantic! That last was from Isabella, who cooed in delight and clutched at her heart.
When a servant came to pick up Benjamin’s travel case to take it upstairs, his brother put out his hand to stop him, glancing across at Daniel. “Is the house ready?” he asked.
“It is,” Daniel answered proudly, for a moment pushing to the back of his mind the surprise of Ambrose’s presence. “We put the finishing touches on it just this week and had some simple furnishings brought in. It is ready for occupation.”
“Then after dinner, I shall take Sarah there,” declared Benjamin.
Dinner was a joyous, boisterous affair for everyone except Daniel and Ambrose. Daniel could not stop his stares, studying the changes in Ambrose since last he saw him. He was pale and hollow-eyed, as if from lack of sleep. The golden whiskers on his face were longer and not as neatly trimmed as before. His glorious hair too, did not have its usual bounce, though it was still parted to the side. His fingernails were bitten to the quick. It pained Daniel to see Ambrose like this, sad and diminished. It put salt on an already bleeding wound. He knew it was his doing, but a part of him was still angry at what Ambrose had done. Damn it all to hell! None of this would have happened if Ambrose had only been honest with him.
Despite all these changes, Ambrose was still the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Daniel continued to examine him as pudding was served, his anger slowly turning to wistfulness as he realised something. He was never going to fall out of love with this stubborn, impossible man. For the rest of his days, he would pine for Ambrose Cranshaw. Yet still he did not know how he was going to find a way to forgive him.
They all rose when dinner was over and bid Benjamin and Sarah farewell as they departed for their new home. Servants had already been dispatched there with essential supplies of food, fuel and linens. Daniel hoped Benjamin would appreciate the house he had built for him.
It had taken three and a half months of hard work from dawn till dusk. Daniel had enlisted the help of his cousins and men from the local village, but he had been chief amongst them in putting in the effort to get the house built. Each night, he had put himself to bed with muscles sore and aching from the exertions of the day. He knew he had grown bulkier as a result of that manual labour. He wondered if Ambrose would appreciate the changes in him. More importantly, he wondered how the both of them were going to put past hurts behind them. They would need to talk soon and finally have a reckoning.
The opportunity to do so was taken from him, however, as no sooner had Benjamin left with Sarah than his papa turned to him with a stern countenance and commanded, “Daniel, in my study, now. We need to talk.”
Reluctantly, Daniel followed his father to the back of the house where his study was located, casting a last, frustrated glance at Ambrose before he left. Frank Stanton said little as they entered the room, shutting the door behind them. He went to fetch the sherry decanter from a sideboard. Then in silence, he poured them each a shot of the liquor and brought the drinks back, gesturing for his son to take a seat on one of the chairs. Settling across from him, he took a sip of the amber liquid and stared at it reflectively for some minutes before speaking.
“What was the meaning, Daniel, of that unprecedented display of ill manners earlier?” he demanded.
Daniel bit his lip. What could he say? Finally, he stuttered, “It was ill-mannered, Papa, and I do apologise.”
Frank continued to scrutinise him severely, expecting more. Falteringly, Daniel added, “It was a shock to see Ambrose here, that is all.”
Frank Stanton’s lips curled. “Do not take me for a fool, Daniel,” he said flatly. “Now tell me, what is going on between you and Ambrose Cranshaw?”
Daniel’s nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath. He looked away from his father, fixing his eyes on the clock that ticked on the far wall of the room. He could not tell his father the truth, or could he? Not without risking the very fabric of their relationship. Hadn’t he sworn to himself never to fall out with his family the way his father and grandfather had fallen out with each other? No, he could not speak of this. But he would have to think of something to say. “Well?” his papa asked.
“It is complicated,” ventured Daniel.
“Indeed? Well, I am sure I have the intellectual capacity to grasp this complicated state of affairs, so please do explain yourself.”
Daniel brought his gaze back to his father’s, his brain feeling sluggish. Slowly, he began, “We have been friends for a long time, and then something happened which meant we were no longer friends.”
Frank Stanton said nothing, waiting for his son to continue. Damn it. These heavy silences were one of his papa’s strongest weapons. Daniel was no match for them. He could never fathom what his parent was truly thinking. Perforce, he went on, “I… I discovered something about Ambrose which soured our friendship.”
Now his papa frowned. “Do you mean, Daniel, that you were slow to discover that Ambrose is one of those men, what society calls sodomites? And what possible business could that be of yours?”
Daniel stared at his father in shock. “Do you mean you knew, Papa? How?”
Frank Stanton snorted in disdain. “For goodness’ sake, Daniel, of course I know there are men like this. I was not born yesterday! And back in England, I caught the way he looked at you a time or two, then quickly tried to hide his regard. The more salient question is how on earth you did not know all these years.”
“I…” Daniel spluttered, too taken aback to formulate coherent speech. Finally, he gathered his senses enough to be able to go on, “I had long knowledge of Ambrose’s affair with a gentlewoman in Oxford, one that resulted in a child. Those are not the actions of a man who desires other men.”
Frank leaned forward on his elbow, his eyes furrowed. “Let me put this to you,” he said. “If you were a person with a certain desire that you knew society disapproved of, what would you do?” He raised his brow in enquiry.
Comprehension was beginning to dawn. “I would throw people off the scent,” stated Daniel.
His papa sat back, having made his point. “Precisely,” he said.
“So, you think Ambrose embarked on an affair with Lexie Forbes in order to convince people—or perhaps himself—that he did not desire men?”
“Lexie Forbes? Do you mean the Forbes family that occupies the house next to ours in Oxford?” enquired his papa.
“Yes,” Daniel said.
“Hmm, that would make sense. To answer your question, Daniel, I cannot say for certain, only that it is a distinct possibility.”
Daniel let out a breath. “All these years,” he said bitterly, “I believed that Ambrose was in love with her.”
“Perhaps he was, who are we to say? Again I ask you, what business is it of yours?”
Daniel finally gathered the courage to make his confession. “What if I were to tell you, Papa,” he said very softly, “that I too am a man that desires men?”
A heavy silence descended on the room. Daniel lifted his eyes to his father, bracing himself for the look of disgust that was bound to be on his face. But Frank Stanton did not look disgusted, only perplexed. “Forgive me, Daniel,” he said at last, “but are you sure? I do not like to talk of such things, but I am well aware of your many dalliances with the fairer sex. Why there is hardly any maiden between here and the next town that you have not seduced.”
“It is not that bad, surely,” protested Daniel.
“You have the reputation of being something of a Don Juan,” replied his father with severity. More gently, he added, “Son, it has never crossed my mind that you would entertain those kinds of desires.”
Now that the Pandora’s Box had been opened, Daniel felt a compulsion to talk and explain. “I have always enjoyed the company of women,” he said, “and except for one time many years ago, I have never looked at men that way.”
“So, what happened to change this?”
“Ambrose,” said Daniel simply.
His papa huffed in annoyance. Upon further reflection, as if trying to make sense of a conundrum, he declared, “You met Ambrose at a challenging time in your life, and you have had to rely greatly on his expertise to run the affairs of the Stanton estate. He is a very clever and able man. It is not surprising therefore that you may have developed some sort of hero worship for him. It does not signify.”
At this, Daniel scoffed, “It is not hero worship, I assure you. I am well aware of all Ambrose’s faults. And pardon me, Papa, but I have had five years and more to become fully acquainted with my feelings for him. I love him.”
His father gave an irritated snort then began to remonstrate with him, “Daniel, you have always been headstrong, going after whatever you please. But do consider. Such a love as you speak of has no possible hope of bringing you happiness. No marriage or children. Always having to hide your feelings for each other. Always keeping it a secret.”
“I know, Papa, of course I know.”
“I am saying these things, Daniel,” continued his father sternly, “not because I think there is anything wrong with you, or for that matter with Ambrose. I am saying this because the path you seem to be choosing is a difficult one that will bring you great pain.” He shook his head in frustration. “Why condemn yourself to this, when by your own admission, you enjoy the company of women and could in time find yourself a good lady to be your wife?”
Daniel was silenced for an instant then came back with the rejoinder, “I cannot control what my heart wants, Papa, and it wants Ambrose.”
His father was not convinced. “Then make yourself stop wanting him,” he insisted. “Stay on here for a few months more, and in time, with distance apart, your feelings may fade.”
Daniel leaned forwards on his elbows and challenged that statement. “Now I have a question to put to you, Papa,” he said. “Years ago, if Grandfather had said to you, make yourself stop wanting Charlotte Harding. Stay apart from her for a few months and soon your feelings will fade, what would you have said?”
There was no answer to that. Frank Stanton smiled wryly at his son, relenting, “You make your point well, Daniel.” With a sigh, he rose to his feet and went to fetch the sherry decanter. Coming back to his seat, he refilled both their glasses and took a gulp of his. “I shall be needing several more shots of this sherry to grapple with your revelations tonight,” he added on an afterthought.
Daniel took a great gulp of his own glass, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Reaction was beginning to set in. He had told his father about Ambrose. The truth was out in the open between them. “So,” he said shakily. “You are not going to disavow me? Sneer in disgust and tell me to leave this house?”
“Oh Daniel,” murmured his papa. He poured himself another drink. After a while, he said, “Five years of war is a long time for reflection on this life we have been given. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is this. Nothing matters more to me than to know my wife, my sons and my daughter are safe and sound. Everything else is a minor consideration.”
Daniel nodded, his chest tight with emotion. His eyes refused to remain dry. He took a deep breath, trying to rein in the tears. He had not cried since that awful, wonderful day over three months ago when he had learnt about Benjamin’s return and Ambrose had kissed him. He would not allow himself to do so now.
A hand gripped his knee, and he looked up into his father’s eyes, so like his own. It was too much. A sob escaped him. The next moment, his papa was holding him tight. No words were exchanged. They simply held each other for a long, long time.
Later that evening, drunk on his fifth glass of sherry, he told his father the whole story of him and Ambrose, from the very start. Then, late into the night, he went up to his room on swaying feet and collapsed onto his bed, barely able to remove his shoes. His head was woozy, but he had one last thought before sleep claimed him. He did not know what was to happen with him and Ambrose, but at least he knew, with the deepest of certainty, that his family would always be there for him. There was great solace in that. And tomorrow, he and Ambrose would talk. With that, he slept the sleep of the dead until he woke next morning with a pounding head.