In the fall of 1943, when Rusty was 15, I began to suspect that something was happening, but I had no idea what it was. I only knew that he’d become more secretive. I believed that David was involved, because they seldom spoke in the truck on the way home from school, and whenever they did speak, it was to me and not to each other. But it seemed like they were sharing a secret, whatever it was.
One night as I was just dropping off to sleep, something woke me again. I listened but heard nothing until the back door very quietly opened and closed.
Going to my window and looking out at the moonlit yard, I saw Rusty hurry over towards the barn. He met someone there, hugged them, and they went into the barn together.
Smiling to myself, I went back to bed.
Rusty returned about an hour later, and just as quietly made his way to his bedroom. He was very good at avoiding the floorboards that squeaked.
In the morning I said nothing about what I had seen. As usual, Rusty ate a hurried breakfast before going to the Millers’ for a ride to school.
Through the fall neither I nor the boys said anything, but the pattern repeated itself every three or four days. Rusty went to the barn, met someone, and returned an hour later.
One particularly cold November night, I watched as usual. Rusty went to the barn, hugged the person, and they went inside.
This time, I climbed out of bed, put on my coat and slippers, and followed him. When I got to the barn, I went in and stood for a moment, listening to sounds coming from the loft.
I called out, “When you’ve finished, I’d like both of you to come to the living room.” There was silence in the loft. I returned to the house and stoked up the fire to eliminate the worst of the chill.
Rusty and David, looking very anxious, entered the room soon after, and I invited them to sit.
“Boys,” I said, “I’m going to tell you a story, so just sit back and listen.” They looked at each other, undoubtedly wondering what was going on.
I thought for a moment and began. “Many, many years ago there was a young man named Weston Banks. In his teen years he developed a friendship with another boy. The friendship grew to be more than that, and in time, they realized that they were in love and began exploring sex together. They found that they could get away with doing it at night in the friend’s barn.”
David and Rusty looked at each other again but neither said anything.
“Eventually,” I continued, “the friend’s father figured out what was going on. One night, he climbed up to the barn loft. The boys were so engrossed in what they were doing that they didn’t know he was there until he cleared his throat loudly.
“When he had their attention, he said to the boys, 'I’m not at all unhappy with what you’re doing. I understand it, but I think it’s getting too cold to do this in the barn. Why don’t you just do it in the house?’
“The boys were astounded, but it was uncomfortably cold in the barn, and so they decided to take him up on his offer. From then on, they did what they did in the friend’s bedroom, often earlier at night so they didn’t lose as much sleep.
“I don’t know when Weston’s father figured it out, but he too had no objection.
“The boys grew closer and closer. When the friend’s father died, Weston moved into his friend’s house with him. They lived many happy years together.
“I’m sure the townspeople knew what their relationship was, but they liked both boys and nobody ever said anything.
“Sadly, years later, Weston died, and his friend was left alone.”
After a brief silence, Rusty said, “And you were that friend.” It was a statement, not a question, and I nodded.
“Why did Weston die?” David asked quietly.
“Have you ever heard of the Spanish Flu?” I asked.
They both nodded.
“Weston caught it in 1918, suffered terribly for a few days while I tried to nurse him, and eventually died. I’ve never had any idea why the flu took only one of us.”
By then there were tears running down my face.
“I loved him very, very much. I’ve missed him ever since, and I’ve been very lonely. Well, that is until Rusty came into my life. I’m sure that Weston would approve of his being here, and I’m also sure he would approve of the two of you loving each other. The question is, do you, or is this simply sex you’re having?”
The boys looked at each other. They nodded to each other, and Rusty said, “Abe, we love each other. We have ever since we really got to know each other when we started high school. I know we’re young and maybe you think we’re too young, but we believe we’ll always love each other and be together.”
I smiled. “Good. I don’t believe you’re too young. Different people meet love at different points in their lives. If it happens when they’re young, it means they’ll have more time together.
“I’m going to fix your door, Rusty, so it won’t pop open anymore unless you want it to.”
He grinned.
“David,” I asked, “do your parents know about the two of you?”
“No, sir. At least I don’t think so. Father hates homosexuality. I don’t know how Mother feels about it.”
“Someday, they’re going to have to know,” I said. “And given what you’re doing under my roof, it needs to be sooner rather than later.”
“Yes, sir,” David said, looking downcast.
“You need to tell them,” I said gently.
“What if they throw me out?”
“Then you’ll have a home here, but I hope it won’t come to that.”
“Okay, I’ll try to get up the courage to tell them soon.”
They both stood and hugged me before David said, “Goodnight,” and left.
“Thank you, Abe,” said Rusty. “I’m so glad fate brought me to you.”
“So am I,” I replied. We wished each other goodnight and went to bed for the rest of the night.
The next morning, I attached a hook-and-eye fastener to Rusty’s bedroom door.
Two days later, on Sunday afternoon, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Mr. Miller standing there, looking angry. I invited him in. We sat in the kitchen while I poured two mugs of coffee.
“What can I do for you, Gerald?” I asked.
“Abe,” he began, “I’ve known for years that you were a homosexual. I never said anything to you because you didn’t seem to be having sex with anyone.”
“I haven’t since Weston died,” I said quietly.
He looked at me for a minute and then said, “But now you’re encouraging David to have sex with Rusty. It’s disgusting and illegal and I want it stopped… now!”
“I know it’s illegal. Are you going to call the police?” I challenged.
“No, of course not. Then David, Rusty, and you would all end up in prison. I don’t want that.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want David to stop having sex with Rusty.”
“Do you think that will stop him from finding others, perhaps less responsible? If you wanted to stop him, you’d have to lock him in your house. Do you want to do that?”
“Well, no. But if he stops coming over here then he’ll at least stop for now.”
“How old is David?” I asked.
“Seventeen.”
“And his birthday’s next month?”
He nodded.
“And when he’s eighteen, he can go out on his own. Do you want that?”
He thought a minute. “No,” he said eventually.
“Isn’t it better for him to be doing what he’s doing in a safe place and with someone he says he loves than to be walking the streets of some city looking for a fast pickup?”
“Maybe, but if he continues, I don’t want him in my house anymore.”
“How does your wife feel about that?”
“She has no say in the matter.”
“Oh?” I said, wondering how he arrived at that statement.
“Well,” I said eventually, “if you throw him out, he knows he can come here. Do you want that?”
“I don’t want him in the house any longer.”
“Fine,” I said. “He’ll always be welcome here.”
Gerald left, mumbling angrily, and a while later, David showed up at my door. He was carrying a suitcase and a duffle bag, and he looked very sad.
“Father threw me out,” he said.
I told him to come in and I called Rusty, who was in the kitchen studying.
When we were all at the kitchen table and had mugs of coffee, I said, “Talk to us, David.”
“Father threw me out,” he said again.
Rusty stood and moved his chair beside David’s, taking his hand and squeezing it gently.
“How do you feel about that?” I asked.
Tears welled in his eyes as he said, “I’m hurt and I’m angry and I’m really confused. I thought he loved me.”
“Okay,” I said, “I think we need to give the situation time to cool down. Maybe your father will change his mind, maybe your mother will convince him that he’s wrong, or maybe he’ll never give in. Whatever happens, you know that you always have a home here.”
He nodded and stammered, “Th… th… thank y… you.”
Rusty rose from the table and said, “Come on, David. Let’s find room for your clothes.”
Through the following months, David’s father never relented. His mother visited occasionally, and she and David sat in the kitchen talking quietly. There were always tears from them both, but I think they found comfort in each other.
As the winter progressed, did I ever hear the boys in Rusty’s bedroom? Of course I did. There was no secret about what they were doing, although I never knew just how far they were going. But I never said anything; I honored their privacy.