some pretty lass and left her to get married. She caught her breath as she saw a flicker of indecision on her dad's face. She sighed again as he coughed and picked up his pipe. He sat down at the table and began slowly repacking it with fresh tobacco.
"Well," he muttered, "it is in memory of your mother. Aunt Jessie said so... though you best keep it somewhere safe, Annie. I'll not be responsible if it goes missing."
She sprang to her feet, her eyes shining with gratitude. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but it was impossible, she had never embraced him in her whole life, and instead she said, "Thank you, Dad, and I'll thank our aunt Jessie in church tomorrow for remembering me. And don't worry, I'll keep the hundred pounds under my mattress, where nobody will ever find it."
She bustled excitedly about, setting the table. The lads would be home any minute, six prompt, the way their dad liked it on a Saturday, so she knew she had better be quick. But this time she hummed a little song to herself as she hurried about her tasks, telling herself that she would save her unexpected fortune for a rainy day.
***
The disastrous year that changed all their lives was 1906. Annie's Josh was nineteen and he wasn't just handsome—he was beautiful. He had dark-lashed gray eyes, a cap of thick dark-blond hair and perfect features. He was tall, lean, and well-muscled. He looked like a classical Greek statue, but it was his wide, level gaze and his gentle smile and the sweetness of his expression that made people call him "beautiful."
"Josh Aysgarth is wild," they agreed, "but he would help any lame dog, and he'd never hurt anyone." They called Josh "one of life's innocents."
Sammy Morris could remember perfectly the day he realized Josh was beautiful and he was ugly. It was the same day he knew he loved him.
They had gone walking in the dales with a crowd of other lads. Josh, tall and athletic, strode easily at the head of the group, his head held high and a little smile on his face as he stared at the wonders of nature around him. He did not need the applewood stick he swung in his hand to help him over the hills and boulders, he sprang up them like a deer. Sammy, bringing up the rear, watched jealously while the other boys crowded admiringly around him, laughing at each other's quips and slapping each other affectionately on the shoulder. He wasn't used to sharing Josh with anyone. It had always been just the two of them.
By the time they reached the river he had sunk into a sullen, tired stupor, straggling well behind the others. When he caught up they were already stripped off and skinny-dipping in a sheltered pool by the bank of the fast-flowing river. Josh was standing on top of the rock, naked as the day he was born, smilingly surveying the dark, still pool. An admiring silence fell on the merry group as he stretched his arms over his head, ready to dive, and Sammy caught his breath at the sight of his slim-hipped, tautly muscled young body and his carelessly displayed manhood. Flinging back his head Josh stood there in a moment of perfect stillness. And then in a pale, flashing arc he dived with scarcely a ripple into the chilly dark water. He rose to the surface almost instantly and climbed laughing onto the rocks, shaking his blond head with a shower of crystal droplets and throwing a friendly arm around Murphy, a brawny Irish lad who lived in the next street.
Jealousy struck Sammy's heart like a blow, it burned his stomach and churned in his guts. Josh was his friend. He belonged to him. But Josh was wayward, he liked the other lads' company as much as he liked Sammy's, and now Murphy was his best friend.
Sammy undressed, wrapping his arms about himself, shivering in the chill northeast wind that always seemed to blow even on the hottest summer day. He glanced down at his body, comparing his stocky, powerful torso and short, bulkily muscled legs with Josh's grace, and his own heavy, bulging masculinity with
"Well," he muttered, "it is in memory of your mother. Aunt Jessie said so... though you best keep it somewhere safe, Annie. I'll not be responsible if it goes missing."
She sprang to her feet, her eyes shining with gratitude. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but it was impossible, she had never embraced him in her whole life, and instead she said, "Thank you, Dad, and I'll thank our aunt Jessie in church tomorrow for remembering me. And don't worry, I'll keep the hundred pounds under my mattress, where nobody will ever find it."
She bustled excitedly about, setting the table. The lads would be home any minute, six prompt, the way their dad liked it on a Saturday, so she knew she had better be quick. But this time she hummed a little song to herself as she hurried about her tasks, telling herself that she would save her unexpected fortune for a rainy day.
***
The disastrous year that changed all their lives was 1906. Annie's Josh was nineteen and he wasn't just handsome—he was beautiful. He had dark-lashed gray eyes, a cap of thick dark-blond hair and perfect features. He was tall, lean, and well-muscled. He looked like a classical Greek statue, but it was his wide, level gaze and his gentle smile and the sweetness of his expression that made people call him "beautiful."
"Josh Aysgarth is wild," they agreed, "but he would help any lame dog, and he'd never hurt anyone." They called Josh "one of life's innocents."
Sammy Morris could remember perfectly the day he realized Josh was beautiful and he was ugly. It was the same day he knew he loved him.
They had gone walking in the dales with a crowd of other lads. Josh, tall and athletic, strode easily at the head of the group, his head held high and a little smile on his face as he stared at the wonders of nature around him. He did not need the applewood stick he swung in his hand to help him over the hills and boulders, he sprang up them like a deer. Sammy, bringing up the rear, watched jealously while the other boys crowded admiringly around him, laughing at each other's quips and slapping each other affectionately on the shoulder. He wasn't used to sharing Josh with anyone. It had always been just the two of them.
By the time they reached the river he had sunk into a sullen, tired stupor, straggling well behind the others. When he caught up they were already stripped off and skinny-dipping in a sheltered pool by the bank of the fast-flowing river. Josh was standing on top of the rock, naked as the day he was born, smilingly surveying the dark, still pool. An admiring silence fell on the merry group as he stretched his arms over his head, ready to dive, and Sammy caught his breath at the sight of his slim-hipped, tautly muscled young body and his carelessly displayed manhood. Flinging back his head Josh stood there in a moment of perfect stillness. And then in a pale, flashing arc he dived with scarcely a ripple into the chilly dark water. He rose to the surface almost instantly and climbed laughing onto the rocks, shaking his blond head with a shower of crystal droplets and throwing a friendly arm around Murphy, a brawny Irish lad who lived in the next street.
Jealousy struck Sammy's heart like a blow, it burned his stomach and churned in his guts. Josh was his friend. He belonged to him. But Josh was wayward, he liked the other lads' company as much as he liked Sammy's, and now Murphy was his best friend.
Sammy undressed, wrapping his arms about himself, shivering in the chill northeast wind that always seemed to blow even on the hottest summer day. He glanced down at his body, comparing his stocky, powerful torso and short, bulkily muscled legs with Josh's grace, and his own heavy, bulging masculinity with
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