Closing his eyes, Jesse took a moment to savor the sensation as they turned onto Ashland Boulevard. When they neared Walsh’sClothing, Jesse let Arthur know that he could find a place to stop but only then realized that he hadn’t thought so far ahead. Where would Arthur put his sleigh? He couldn’t leave it out in the open. Oh, God, where would he even put his horse? Jesse couldn’t recall seeing hitching posts in his neighborhood. No one in Bridgeport owned horses. Everyone either walked or took the streetcars. Folks living in Bridgeport weren’t wealthy enough to own their own horses. Not anyone Jesse could think of, anyway.
Jesse’s stomach soured as this realization took root. He turned to Arthur to see the man pursing his lips, his brow furrowed.
“I bet we’re thinking the same thing,” Arthur said.
“Where will we leave your horse?”
“Exactly.” Arthur hummed. “Alright, so,thisis probably why I never see people flying through the streets of Chicago in little Albany cutters. At least, not to shop or something. They’re obviously very fun. I know several people who enjoy riding them through the neighborhood for pleasure, for instance. But no one in their right mind would venture out on their own in one without knowing where they would then park their horse, would they? Except for me. And I may not be in my right mind, especially when it comes to matters involving the wonderful Jesse O’Connor.”
Jesse’s face began to burn. Would Arthur ever let him have even a short reprieve from feeling as though his face was being set on fire?
“Hm.” Arthur tapped his chin. “I thought there were hitching posts everywhere in the city.”
Jesse replied, “Not here. At least, not to my knowledge. Maybe there are some of those shorter ones buried in the snow, but there’s not as much need for them here. Bridgeport is its own little community. Almost everyone who lives here works here. Or in the stockyards. Some of us travel farther to work, but we take the streetcars.”
“Right.” Arthur nodded a few times. “Truthfully, I ought to be taking the streetcars sometimes myself, but, well, I have enough money to have my horses.”
“Maybe we ought to try again some other time,” Jesse suggested, his heart sinking.
He and Arthur were from such separate worlds.
“No, no, we’ll think of something,” Arthur protested, patting Jesse’s knee.
Each light tap caused Jesse’s stomach to flip-flop excitedly. After another few seconds, Arthur’s eyebrows shot up.
“Oh! Aren’t we close to Brighton Trotting Park? I remember it from when I was a boy. It’s on . . .” He closed his eyes like he was searching for information in his mind. “Long John Street, I believe. Yes, Long John and Archer.” He opened his eyes again. “Do you know the area?”
“Uhm, Archer is only a few blocks north of here. But, Arthur, I honestly can’t remember there being a trotting park or racetrack there. It might have closed.”
“Oh, what a shame,” Arthur said, frowning. “I remember it being such a bustling place, with horse racing and other equestrian events being held there all the time. Of course, it’s been years since I last visited. I only ever went with my parents.” He sighed. “Oh well. We’ll think of something else. You know, as strange as it sounds, I bet the Union Stockyard entrance might have a livery—”
“No,” Jesse clipped forcefully as his stomach seized. “Not there.”
Unaware of Jesse’s sudden unease, Arthur huffed a light laugh.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s not the nicest area, is it? Not that I’ve visited myself. Still, I’ve heard stories.”
Jesse’s heart thudded in his chest, and he swallowed thickly, pushing down the bile that had crept up his throat. Arthur hummed thoughtfully.
“Alright, shall we search for a livery stable nearby, then? I’m sure I can convince whoever we find that’s running it to let me keep my horse there for a while. And my sleigh.”
Still frazzled from the mention of the Union Stockyard and the neighborhood closest to it, Jesse only barely managed a nod. Arthur patted Jesse’s knee thrice more, picked up the reins, and then, they were off.
***
One hour later, Jesse and Arthur were finally walking up to Jesse’s place. Luckily, they had managed to locate a livery stable right in Bridgeport, though the business was located several blocks from Walsh’s Clothing. And so, because of the snow, they had caught the streetcar back after Arthur boarded his horse. Predictably, Arthur had found the whole trip thrilling. During their ride, he had insisted on standing the entire time so that he could cling onto one of the hanging metal rings rather than sit in one of the seats. According to him, being on the streetcar was an “experience” and sitting wouldn’t have been as “fun.” Consequently, Jesse had stood the entire time as well. Others on board must have thought that he and Arthur were the strangest men in Chicago, not only because there had been free seats available but also because Arthur had been so obviously ecstatic to be riding the streetcar in the first place. Jesse had enjoyed seeing Arthur so merry, but he felt plenty relieved that the whole ordeal was over.
Jesse led Arthur to the back entrance of the building, behind the clothing shop. Climbing the staircase, Jesse’s insides began to twist with nervousness, each creak of the wooden steps tightening the knot in his stomach like a wrench tightening a bolt. All of a sudden, he felt so incredibly nervous that Arthur Hughes—a man who was so wealthy, he hadn’t ever even ridden in a streetcar before—would soon see his place.
When Jesse reached a particularly rickety stair, the sound of the wood splintering shattered the last vestiges of his self-confidence. He stopped mid-step.
“Oh, Jesse, these stairs are practically crumbling beneath us,” Arthur said from behind him.
“Arthur... I wonder if we should... maybe we could try a walk in a park instead.”
“In the snow?” Arthur asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Well, I know how muchyoulike the snow and—”
