Despite Sean's trepidations, all had gone well on that emancipation day. A few rowdies had tried to stir something up against the Negroes, but The police sergeant, Sean and Preston, Larson, yes, and even Li'l Mike, had stood up and calmed every thing down.
The next afternoon had been set aside to interview potential employees. Eight candidates showed up. Of the candidates, two had shown up with liquor on their breath. Three failed to treat Cassandra with respect, one of whom actually tried to handle her. Sean was afraid Preston would shoot him before he got him out the door. Of the three remaining, it seemed any would do. All three, while not abolitionists, abhorred slavery in all its forms and recognized the Negro's right to be free.
Sean had hoped that some or at least one of the candidates would be like they were, if for no other reason than to know there was someone in the town who understood what they were, what it was like to be like them. When, however, he thought upon it more deeply, he decided perhaps they had done well at concealing the nature of their relationship. He and Prest left it with all three potential employees that S&P hiring depended upon the jobs the company was hired to do. But they expected to expand soon.
Sean personally favored a particular candidate, Lance Green, but was holding off on commitment because he wanted to be sure he didn't make a decision based on the candidates looks. Lance was 20, short and firmly built, not fat, but very compact and extremely muscular. He was browned as only those can be who have spent long hours in the sun. His biceps looked as if they might split the sleeves of his shirt, his shoulders were broad and tight, his pecs flat and strong. Sean had been slightly amused by the young man's name, musing to himself just what sort of 'lance' he might be equipped with.
Sean was about to close up and end the interviews when he noticed one more man hanging around. "May I help you," Sean asked?
"I think maybe I can help you," the man said, a warm smile gracing his work-worn face.
"Well I was about to leave, but I'll give you a few minutes. What can I do for you Mister, uh?"
"Neal, Neal Harcroft. But you can just call me Neal."
"Hi." Neal was big. Big and square. He stood at least six foot six and had almost no neck. About thirty-five or so, Sean guessed. His hands were square. His shoulders, arms, legs, head; all had that square look of really large men who are well muscled and not overweight. " Mind if I sit down?"
"Okay Neal have a seat."
"Well, Mr. McFadden, I don't quite know how to put what it is I have to say to you." The big man looked around, lowered his voice.
"I know how it is, how you are. You and the other young man, Mr. Dalton."
"I am sure I don't know what you mean."
"It's okay sir, really, I mean it." The large man's soft innocent eyes the color of a robin's egg held Sean's eyes for a long moment, as if in an embrace of souls, and his soft melliflu-ous voice, and gentle open demeanor held strong instant appeal for Sean. Glancing around to insure privacy, Neal continued. "If you know what I mean, sir, I am the same way myself. I don't even know why I came to you. Why I am here. And I don't know that I want anything in particular from you or the other young gentleman. I just wanted you to know that you are not alone, the two of you. There are a few more of us around the town. I am happy to know that you are, er. . what you are. . .er, like you are. A man can get to be pretty much alone around these parts if he is like I am, er. like we are. I hope we can be friends. When one is like, like, er, we are, like I am, one doesn't get a chance to have many friends, if you know what I mean. So I just wanted to say if you, the two of you ever need a friend, ever need my help, I would be happy to help not just because of what we have in common, but because I greatly admire the two of you. So young and so, well, you know. And so brave and strong and, and everything. There are a few of us around and while we can't really get together and have an open community, there is a certain amount of very cautious communication among us. I have come across some information that you need to have, so I have risked coming here to tell you." Neal went on to provide Sean with information about the town and some of its residents. It was vital information that Sean needed and he was very grateful.
"I am the town farrier and blacksmith. People think it a bit strange that I am not married, but I am so big, well," chuckling. "They just think I am very shy. Well, I'll be shuffling on home now, Mr. Mcfadden, thanks for talking to me and remember, just call on me if you need a friend."
When the large man stood, Sean stood and reached up to shake his hand. The grip was firm, but gentle for so large and strong a person. Did Sean detect a slight reluctance in the man to let go of his hand. Did he hold onto Sean a tiny moment too long? Sean handed Neal his business card. "Come by the office here in a couple of days and talk to me. There may be something we can do together. I am flattered by your attention and grateful for the information. Come by this office again and we'll talk some more. You know, about 'various business'. Well thank you Neal, and if you mean what I think you mean, there is a possibility we all three could become good friends, very good friends indeed."
***
On a warm night, seven days later, after supper and a few beers at Mike's, Sean wended his way home. Entering from the office door, he heard a muffled sound. Whirling quietly and bringing the barrel of his Sharps up, he froze. Soft repetitive mewling sounds came from his bedroom behind the screen. Mingled shadows flickering off the screen by firelight, and muffled passionate voices told him all he needed to know about what was occurring in his bedroom, in his bed. He left quietly and went to Larsen's to drink the night away and did not return until false dawn was breaking and the first rooster cock-a-doodled from the far edge of town. He slinked into his house as if he had something to be ashamed of. The truth was, he had little heart to confront Preston about Cassandra and little business butting into Prest's love life, and had only the boy's best interest at heart. But to have them in his own bed, in their bed, that would not do! That was a hurt and an affront to him.
Also, having her there, lying with her there, for others to see and know, was too dangerous. Why couldn't the boy go to her place, or to Mike's. How could the rebel boy be so naive, coming from the south and all? Didn't he know, didn't he understand how lethal folks could be? And so he was resolved to have it out with Preston.
Preston was snoring softly on the bed when Sean entered, covers thrown half off his luscious white body, looking every bit the angel, his soft, smooth pink cock lying placidly along his inner thigh. "Wake up! Prest, Wake up! Cumon, wake up!" Shaking his shoulder. "Hey beautiful, Wake up!"
