Independence, Missouri seemed like a million miles away, Zeke thought to himself. Since then, the stops had all run together: Chimney Rock, Fort Hall, Council Bluffs …the same trading posts, the same musky smell of oxen, the same weary looks on the same faces. Tomorrow morning would find Zeke fording the perilous Columbia River, but tonight, on the banks of those mighty waters, there was nothing for him to do but think. Think and remember.

Sarah and the children had been gone for weeks -- his beloved wife taken too soon by the cholera, and the brave children following helplessly behind her -- Scurvy. Measles. Starvation. There were times when the loneliness was unbearable. And there was at least one night where he had cradled his hunting musket in his hands, and tried to work up the courage to end this crazy trek, once and for all. But that had been the night where he met Jasper. Their tents adjoining one evening somewhere in Colorado, they had struck up a conversation. Jasper had also lost his family, all in one tragic sneak attack by a tribe of savage Indians, and their sadness became an instant bond. It seemed wise to pool what few resources they had, so Zeke had sold his wagon and oxen, for some blankets, a new pair of boots, and enough food to ensure that no one would starve again.

Zeke’s memories were interrupted as Jasper returned to camp, noisily dumping an armful of firewood into their blaze. To Zeke, Jasper looked majestic in the soft flickering light of the flames. I’ve never known such a true man, Zeke thought, watching the way Jasper’s forearms flexed and strained under the load of logs. Loneliness and loss can do strange things to a person, Zeke knew. And he had never before found himself longing for the touch of a man. Never imagined the coarse, calloused hands of a fellow carpenter, exploring his willing body. Never, until now.

“Looks like you’ve got something heavy on your mind,” Jasper grunted without looking over.

“Nothing but tomorrow’s journey, friend. We must make sure to adequately caulk the wagon,” Zeke replied meekly.

I’d like to caulk your wagon, he desperately wanted to add. He tried to avert his stare as Jasper sat on a tree stump near the fire. But what was his friend doing now? Jasper had a pan full of water from the river, which he placed on the earth at his feet as he -- no, this couldn’t be -- unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. Zeke was vaguely aware of the swelling in his own trousers, as Jasper cupped his hands into the pan, and began scrubbing his grimy, hairy chest. The muddy water ran seductively down Jasper’s thick, manly trunk, his skin starting to glisten in the light of the campfire.

Why can’t those hands be scrubbing me, Zeke thought. He wanted to cry out -- “I love you, Jasper Smith. Make me yours!” Could Jasper want him, too? Surely he knows the teasing, maddening effect this public bathing has on me, Zeke reasoned. He wouldn’t behave this way, bare his beautiful body, if he didn’t want me to hold him. This is it; I can’t take it any more. I must make my feelings known, the consequences be damned. Making it to Oregon would never feel complete, Zeke knew, unless he could arrive there with Jasper as his lover.

“I have something to tell you,” Zeke blurted out before he could stop himself. Jasper didn’t speak, but merely looked over and paused his washing. The silence was pregnant; even the crickets and coyotes seemed to listen. Zeke opened his mouth to speak. Stopped himself. Started again. Paused to take a breath. Here it is, he knew. This is the moment.

“We should buy some more ammo for the rifles, when we reach the next town. We’re almost out.”

Jasper gave a disinterested nod, and then resumed his business. Coward, Zeke cursed to himself. Coward! Off in the distance, one of the oxen gave a long, mournful moo. The sound of my broken heart, thought Zeke.