Bending the Iron - 6. Chapter 6

Eric had said once that he was an optimist, and Michael saw it more and more with each passing day. It left him part ashamed and part envious, that a person could reach such an age without the bitterness and lessons of the world beating him down at least a few notches. Or maybe the world had tried, and Eric was just indefatigable.

Caught up in his thoughts, Michael didn’t notice they’d arrived until Eric turned the key and the engine died. He blinked, looking around. “Where are we?”

“First leg of the journey. Grab your bag.” With that, Eric swung out of his seat, reaching into the back to grab his duffel. Michael did the same, moving more slowly as he took in the few details of the gravel parking lot. A wooden sign, hanging from aluminum chains, marked a walking path a few yards away: Ride into the Past.

Michael huffed. Not everybody cared to look too closely at what they’d put behind them, and he happened to be one of those people. But Eric was the complete opposite, wasn’t he? It was, in fact, what defined him. Swallowing a sigh, Michael slung his bag over his shoulder and followed Eric down the path and around a wooded bend.

When the compact train depot came into view, it startled Michael enough to stop in his tracks. “What’s that?”

“That’s our ride.” Eric sounded ridiculously happy about it.

“Really?”

Eric nodded, nudging Michael ahead. They approached the wood-sided building together, their pace slowing as more of the structure came into view. It reminded Michael of a one-room schoolhouse, with a steeply pitched roof and a bell nestled in a cupola above the front door. A ticket window sat to one side, complete with chalkboard schedule and a neatly dressed conductor in a pressed blue suit. Michael scanned the schedule, noting only one train was due to depart that day. Polymath Park 10:00 a.m.

Eric saw him looking. “That’s our train.”

The name rang a bell, familiar but nothing he could put his finger on. “Is it a real train? I mean—” he smiled at the affronted sniff of the conductor, “it doesn’t look like any train station I’ve been to. It looks almost like...”

Like any number of stations depicted in the model room. Small, intimate, antique in its detail. Yet this place couldn’t have been built more than ten years ago.

“It’s a special train,” Eric said. “For history geeks like me, and anyone else who wants to know what it was like to travel by rail a hundred years ago.” He took Michael’s hand, ignoring the conductor’s presence completely. “I told you we were going back in time. Who knows? Maybe you’ll remember some of what you’ve forgotten.” He smiled, squeezing Michael’s fingers unselfconsciously.

Unfazed by the obviously romantic gesture, the conductor stood and cupped his hand over his mouth. “All aboard!”

Cued, the quaint engine gave an answering toot toot. Steam began to billow from its stack. Carried away by the magic of the moment, Michael let Eric lead him up the steep narrow steps and into the railroad car.

“Tickets?” the conductor asked, and Eric handed them over, never once relinquishing his grip on Michael’s hand. After an intense inspection, the conductor nodded. “Very good, sir. Car three. Cabin B.”

“Thank you.” Eric pocketed the punched tickets and started off, dragging Michael behind him. There were so many details to absorb that Michael was glad for the guidance. Everywhere he looked, he found something worth staring at. Whether it was the beautifully carved woodwork of the bench seats, or the shiny brass handrails, or the scarred but polished wood planks that made up the car’s floor—everything was period perfect, perpetuating the illusion that they’d stepped back in time.

They walked the length of two cars before Eric stopped halfway down the third. He pointed at the door in front of him. “This is it. Cabin B.”

Indeed, there was a capital B etched into the glass of the sliding door. The window into the cabin itself was shrouded by a cloth shade. Michael couldn’t help smiling. Blessed privacy.

“After you.” Michael slid the door open, and Eric ducked under his arm to enter.

“Welcome to your mini-vacation,” he said when they’d both tossed their bags into the overhead storage rack. He gestured Michael closer to the window. A shrill whistle split the air, and the train began to inch forward. Eric braced himself on the brass pole of the luggage rack as he spoke. “We’re starting your little vacation with a day trip on the Laurel Ridge Railroad. We’ll reach Polymath in about three hours.”

Again, Michael’s memory twanged like a bowstring. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Eric’s eyes twinkled. “I was wondering if you’d recognize it. Since you don’t, mum’s the word. Let’s enjoy this part of the trip for what it is, not for what’s going to happen later.”

Live in the moment. No. Live in the moment for the sheer pleasure of it. That was something Michael had precious little experience with. The times he’d snuck off to the city he couldn’t count as being purely pleasurable, for as fleeting and unscripted as those moments had been, they’d also been prefaced by anxiety and followed by guilt.

Melancholy suddenly, and unable to explain why, Michael nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Eric settled onto the padded seat beside him, closest to the window, and took up Michael’s hand. The gesture was done without apparent thought, and without concern for who might see them, although with their door closed and curtained, they’d likely go undisturbed. It was an intimacy so far removed from the furtive touches they managed in the museum that Michael found himself short of breath. Shocked in a good way, his pleasure fully emotional instead of physical, he lifted an arm and curled it around Eric’s shoulders.

With a smile, Eric tilted his head onto Michael’s shoulder. “This is nice.”

Yes, it was. The train picked up speed, but never seemed to hurry. They chugged through valleys and between steep hills that grew in size the further south they traveled. The forests grew denser and even more colorful, if such a thing were possible. Eric had lowered their window early in the trip, and a crisp breeze, fragrant with wood smoke, licked their faces. When a shiver ran through Eric, Michael tightened his arm. “Are you cold?”

“Not really. It wouldn’t matter if I were. I love the fresh air. It smells like fall. Burning leaves and damp pine needles. This season doesn’t last long enough. A few weeks, and then we have to wait another year before it comes back.” A frown marred his face, and Eric tilted his head to look at him. “But if you’re chilly, we can close it.”

After that confession? Michael would endure frostbite. He brushed his lips to Eric’s upturned ones. “No. I love it too.” He lifted his other hand to hold Eric’s face still while he laid down a path of nipping kisses across his mouth. The way Eric went pliant in his arms, the soft sigh that escaped, and how his hands curled into the fabric of Michael’s jacket as if they couldn’t help themselves...all together it was doing little to convince Michael to back off. He anchored a hand in Eric’s hair and pried his lips open, thoroughly exploring with his tongue.

Eric met the aggression with a soft whimper, relinquishing the control Michael knew he was more than capable of taking for himself, and slid back along the bench until Michael was fully on top, grinding him into the cushion.

It was the train whistle that cleared his head. Michael lifted his head to get his bearings, approving of Eric’s glazed, heavy eyes, mussed hair, and swollen lips—the sight of which sent another jolt through him, sizzling through to his fingertips before settling in his groin. Eric’s T-shirt had ridden up his back, and before he thought about it, Michael eased it up over his stomach with shaking hands. Eric groaned, arching into the touch.

The steam engine let loose another long, shrill whistle. Michael closed his eyes, blocking out the intoxicating view while he gathered his wits. Hissing through his teeth, he lifted off, dragging Eric back with him until they were both once again upright. Eric quivered in his arms. One hand alighted on Michael’s thigh. The other he used to twist at the front of Michael’s jeans, massaging at the hard bulge that pushed at the zipper.

With a growl, Michael pulled his hand away. “Stop that. I’m trying to...”

Eric sighed and turned to nuzzle his cheek. “To what?”

To remember that this trip was more than a convenient excuse to get naked and fuck every chance they got. At least that was what it was becoming for him. And based on Eric’s sheer delight in the journey so far, he wasn’t alone. The situation deserved some respect. And restraint, though that would be the most difficult to cobble together by far.

“To...see what you wanted me to,” Michael stuttered.

It sounded lame, not nearly profound enough, but Eric’s delighted smile convinced him he’d said the right thing. “Okay.” Eric slid his hand away, but he moved closer, curling against Michael as the train rocked back and forth on the tracks.

* * *

“Polymath Park!”

The conductor’s voice roused Michael from his relaxed stupor. He stirred, shifting slightly away from Eric, who let him go with a sad sigh. “We’re there already?”

Michael echoed the complaint silently. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so lazy and content. And while he could have attributed that to the warm sun pouring through the window, or the fresh air, beautiful views, and lulling movement of the train, he knew it was none of those things. Without Eric’s warm weight against him, he shivered, feeling cold for the first time since they’d come aboard.

The conductor’s sharp knock had them both sitting up straighter. “Polymath Park!” he called again.

Eric recovered first, standing and grabbing their bags from the overhead rack. “Ready for your surprise?”

That depended. If Michael had been able to place the name Polymath in his head, he could have answered easily. It nagged at him as something he should have known, but the answer stayed out of reach.

“I’m game.” He followed Eric off the train and into the warm autumn sunshine. This station was even quainter than the first, and smaller, with nothing but a covered portico over the tracks and a raised platform with a cheery sign. It read Welcome to Polymath Park. Home of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Duncan House.

Michael stopped in his tracks. “Holy shit.”

Eric grinned. “You like?”

It clicked. Polymath was the resort where people could tour the houses of Frank Lloyd Wright and Peter Berndtson. He rounded on Eric. “Do you know where we are?”

“Pretty sure. I booked the reservations, you know.”

Openmouthed, Michael stared at him, then turned in a circle. “I mean, do you understand what this place is?”

Eric held up a finger, then dug in his pocket for a brochure, which he presented for Michael’s inspection before reading off the front: “‘Polymath Park, near the village of Acme in Westmoreland County, is surrounded by private forest in the Allegheny Mountains and features three architectural landmarks: Frank Lloyd Wright’s Donald C. Duncan House and two others by Peter Berndtson, who was one of the original Wright apprentices. The park is near Wright’s Fallingwater and Kentucky Knob.’” He glanced up. “We’ll visit those tomorrow, by the way. ‘Duncan House is the only Wright house in the area that accommodates overnight visitors.’” He refolded the brochure and smirked. “Hope the bed is sturdy.”

Which wasn’t what Michael had meant. He’d wanted to know if Eric knew what being here meant to him. “I—” He stopped to run a hand over his face. “I read about this place years ago, and I remember thinking, hey, that’s not so far away. I could do it in a day, you know? And then it became just one of those things that slipped away. I forgot all about it.” The rest of what he wanted to say was all mixed up in his head. Rather than stumble over it and sound like an idiot, he took advantage of their relative seclusion and pulled Eric into a tight hug. “I forgot all about it,” he repeated softly.

Eric’s arms held him close. “Glad I was the one who reminded you.”