On the Trail to Moonlight Gulch Read Online Free Page B

most solicitous manner all day. Tory judged him to be sincere. Joseph had been trying to communicate something to Tory. Even when they had first met yesterday afternoon and stood in the entrance foyer with Tory’s mother cooing and blushing, unspoken words had ebbed and flowed between them.
    A few hours ago, he and Joseph had barely the chance to speak to one another in the parlor (the other boarders and his mother dominated the conversation), yet their glances from across the room expressed those same tacit thoughts, Tory believed. Upstairs, before saying a final goodnight, they had hesitated on the landing, grinning at each other under the glow of the gas lanterns Mrs. Pilkvist hadn’t yet had the chance to snuff out. Their bedroom doors had shut slowly, quietly, with dull thuds, almost as if neither had wanted to leave the other’s company.
    Two pigeons cooed under the eave of the row house across the back alley. Their nestling against the chill brought a smile to Tory’s face. He didn’t mind the pigeons that seemed to have descended onto the city the past several years as feverishly as the people had. Others always kicked at them, cursed them. Some even shot at them. Tory liked that they were around.
    As a boy, he remembered seeing a pigeon struck by a carriage while another pigeon flew to its side. It circled the dead pigeon, gently pecked at it, looked lost and even sad. It was then Tory remembered what he had read in an ornithology textbook at school. Many pigeons mated for life. Tory realized the two birds had been partners, and the one left behind was mourning the loss of its lifemate.
    From that moment on, Tory looked on the pigeons as soul mates rather than pests. Kindred spirits, he considered them. They desired love and commitment as adamantly as Tory. Many times he fed them behind the bakery with stale bread he’d concealed in his pockets, away from his father’s reprimanding ice-blue eyes. Mr. Pilkvist, like most everyone else, viewed the pigeons as nuisances. Tory wished he had a handful of crumbs to toss to the nuzzling birds now.
    “Hello there,” he whispered to them, leaning farther out the window. “I wish I had something to give you. Wait for me behind the bakery tomorrow and I’ll have a treat for you.” He chuckled. “Take care of one another. Look out for those speeding carriages and nasty boys with shotguns.”
    “Torsten, is that you?”
    Startled, Tory peered down the side of the row house toward where the voice had come from. Joseph van Werckhoven’s head hung out the window of the room down the hall.
    “Joseph?”
    Joseph tittered. “I suppose we’re both unable to sleep. How about we have a chat in your room?”
    Tory swallowed. “All right.”
    “See you in a moment.” Joseph’s head disappeared from view.
    Tory slid the windowpane shut with a thud and stooped down to glance at his reflection in the oval mirror above his dressing table. Still dressed in his day clothes, he supposed he looked presentable. His heart raced at the thought of having Joseph van Werckhoven in his bedroom. What would they talk about? How should he behave?
    Joseph didn’t bother to knock. He poked his head into the room, eyebrows arched high above his brown eyes. Seeing Tory staring at him, he entered fully and gently shut the door behind him.
    “Why can’t you sleep?” he asked with a hint of playfulness to his northeast accent.
    “I don’t know. It’s one of those nights, I suppose.” But Tory understood perfectly why he had been unable to sleep. His beating heart, catching breath, the daydreams that ransacked his brain… those had all forced him to remain wide awake.
    “Yes, it does seem to be one of those nights,” Joseph said, stepping closer. Like Tory, he was still dressed in his day clothes, but he had left his ascot and coat in his room. His shirt, unfastened at the throat, accentuated his long neck and lean physique. He appeared not to have even lain down to rest, for his shirt