by Maggie Ryan
***
Entering Franklin's Mercantile, Anna was amazed. The winter's snow, ice, and bitter winds had made traveling even a few miles hazardous. With the arrival of spring, they'd made the trip into the town of Cascade more often, yet she'd watched the shelves become barer as supplies became scarce, and oftentimes had to return home without some item she'd wanted, or needing to make a substitution. But what had become a rather sparsely stocked store now seemed about to explode at the seams. Mr. Franklin had been promising the townspeople that once the passes in the mountains were open, they'd see a new store, one that was well-stocked, assuring them he'd placed several orders to increase his inventory. With what she could now see, it was apparent he'd received everything at one time.
There would be no need to scrape the bottom of any of the open barrels that stood around the floor. Even from a distance, she could see large scoops stuck in the barrels ready to measure out anything from flour to pickles, coffee beans to nails. Sunlight streaming through the window reflected off the shiny metal of hoes and shovels hanging from hooks on the back wall. The racks to one side, where a lone rifle had been displayed the last time she'd been in the emporium, were now filled with rifles and revolvers. The shelf beneath it held crates overflowing with ammunition. Shelves held an assortment of pots and pans, and fancy hats sat next to a shelf full of shoes and overalls. Baskets of eggs sat on the counter, bought from locals who would usually spend their "hen money" before leaving the store. Coffee grinders and scales for weighing items sat beside the cash register on the counter to the right. On the wall behind this counter were dozens of drawers that held spices and what medicines were available.
At the rear of the store, another counter was used to cut yards of fabric after a customer had made their choice from the bolts lined up on the shelves hung on the wall. Several baskets of threads, needles, pins, ribbons, and buttons crowded together on the counter's end.
And it wasn't only that every shelf, barrel, crate, basket or hook was full that really had her eyes wide, her head continuing to swivel. It was the mass of people. Customers stood three deep at each of the counters and milled down the many aisles.
"Whoa!"
"What's the matter?" Roger asked, seeing Matthew shaking his head after stopping in the middle of the doorway.
"Hell, I'd rather be smack dab in the middle of a herd of stampeding cattle than… than this." He waved his hand towards the interior of the store. The flutter of the list in his hand had Roger snatching it from his fingers.
"I know, I know… get this stuff for you," he said, shaking his head. "Though it's a shame, since this is the very spot where I found my darling wife." He leaned down to drop a kiss on Teresa's cheek. "How on earth on you going to find someone if…" Turning his head, he realized he was talking to himself. "Where did he go so fast?"
"Blacksmith," Richard said. "Face it, the man is simply not a fan of crowds."
"No, that's one man determined to remain a bachelor," Roger said, shaking his head.
"I'm just glad you didn't run and hide that day you bumped into me," Teresa said.
"Not as glad as I am."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry overmuch," Anna said. "One day, when he least expects it, Cupid's arrow will find him, and when it does, watch out." Looking from her friends to the crowded store again, she added, "Now, what is our plan of attack?"
"I say we split up," Charity suggested.
"I agree, otherwise we'll be here all day," Teresa said and then gave Agatha a look of concern. "It's awfully crowded. Are you sure you don't want to go on to the restaurant? I can pick up your items."
"No, but thank you," Agatha said with a grin. "I can just bump people out of my way." She patted her tummy, which was largely rounded and seemed to continue growing daily. "If I'm going to be picking out fabric for this little one's clothes, the least he can do is help part the sea." The women giggled while their husbands smiled.
"I'll go with you," Teresa said, and then turned to her new husband. "Oh, if you don't mind, of course."
Roger lifted their hands and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Not at all. Just have one of the Franklins box up your order and I'll pay for it later."
Wyatt gave his own wife a kiss and then whispered, "You, young lady, be very careful. The moment you get tired, I want you to rest, understood?"
"Wyatt, I'm not the least bit tired," Agatha said, rolling her eyes rather dramatically.
"Agatha Wilcox, I'm serious," Wyatt said. "I don't want you to become overtired."
"I won't," Agatha assured him. "If I feel the least bit off, I'll ask one of the girls to take over for me."
"See that you do," Wyatt said and then bent forward to speak softly. "And you might want to pick up a new pencil."
"Why?"
"Because you are obviously going to be needing one to write down all these little eye rolls, sighs and such in the journal I'll be buying. You know, the one you are going to start keeping to atone for after this little one joins the family?" he said, rubbing his hand over her belly.
Agatha's eyes grew wide and color quickly suffused her cheeks as his other hand patted the back of her skirts. "Oh, um…"
"Come on," Charity said, grabbing her hand and pulling Agatha forward. "I see a break in the crowd!"
A deep chuckle followed their departure. "Think she remembers her own journal?" Richard asked.
"No doubt," James said, grinning. "The day Charity atoned for months of freedom from having her bottom tended to is a day I'll never forget… and then, of course, there was the incredible night that followed."
Roger chuckled. "Yet another thing Matthew is missing out on by being stubborn as a mule."
"His loss," Richard said, pulling his wife a bit closer.
While Roger, James and Wyatt decided how to split up their lists, Anna pulled on her husband's hand. "May we check the post first? It's been so long since we've gotten any news from home."
"Sounds good to me," Richard said. "Into the fray." Anna smiled when he straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath and said, "Charge," as he stepped into the crowd, aiming for the counter on their left that also served as a post office.
***
Matthew led Ranger towards the end of the street where the smithy was, as well as the new stockyards. He was surprised when a streak of yellow raced towards him and then grinned as the dog planted his front paws on his chest.
"Well, hello there," he said, scratching between the dog's ears. Looking around, he didn't see the dog's owners. "Where's Davy? Can you take me to him?" King woofed and turned, trotting back in the direction he'd come. Matthew followed, wondering what the boy would be doing at the blacksmith shop. Perhaps he'd come with his pa. Well, this would be as good a time as any to meet the man. About to step through the large double doors of the smithy, he realized that King hadn't entered.
"What can I help you with?" Mr. Hunt asked, looking up from the steel he'd been pounding into a horseshoe.
"Same thing," Matthew said, nodding towards the anvil. "I'd appreciate you replacing the shoe on Ranger's front right hoof. Looks a bit worn."
"Sure can. I'll look at it in just a few minutes if you want to wait."
"No hurry, I've got some other errands to run. All right if I come back in a couple of hours?"
"That'll work. Just tie him there," the man said, nodding to indicate a hitching post right outside the doors. Matthew did so and then gestured to the dog, who was sitting on his haunches, patiently waiting for him to finish.
"Good boy," Matthew said. "Let's go."
He followed the dog as he trotted towards the only business at the end of town. He'd watched the stockyards being begun last year, and it seemed they'd been finished just in time. Even from a distance he could hear the lowing of cattle. Evidently Teresa had been right. It was obvious that more than one train had made it through the pass, as several of the smaller corrals had milling cattle in them. They'd be held until homesteads were claimed and the new settlers had t
ime to drive their herds onto their new land. A sharp bark returned his attention to King, who moved towards a small office building.
Entering, he didn't see any new ranchers but he did recognize the two people sitting before a desk, both facing a man who was shaking his head.
"I'm afraid that's all I can offer, ma'am."
"But you're offering less than we paid for one… much less the pair," Sally said. "I need that money to buy provisions."
"I know it isn't what you paid for the pair, but while people need oxen to pull the wagons west, once here, there isn't that large a demand for the beasts."
Matthew wondered why she was doing the negotiation instead of her husband. His question remained unasked when Davy began to cough. Sally instantly turned her attention to him, patting him on the back. When the stockman didn't move, Matthew strode to a small table against the wall, poured some water into a cup, and went to the desk.
"Here, son, drink this," he instructed, squatting down to the boy's level.
"Oh, um, thank you," Sally said, accepting the proffered cup and passing it to her son. "Take a few sips. It will help."
Matthew shot a glance at the man, pleased to see him looking a bit chagrined at his inaction. "What price are you offering?" he asked.
"I thought you said your husband wasn't available, Mrs. Jefferson," the man said, not answering Matthew's question.
"He's not," Sally said.
"What price?" Matthew repeated, slowly standing to his full height. "People still pay a good price for oxen. They are great for plowing fields and hauling timber felled for cabins."
The man blustered for a moment and then said, "Perhaps for very healthy animals but—"
"My oxen are healthy," Sally interrupted. "We practically babied them the entire trip, and I'm paying you quite a fee to feed them, and we both know that oxen don't require the best of feed… unless, of course, you are attempting to cheat me over their care?"
"Of course not. I run a fair business—"
"I'd hate to have to question that statement," Matthew said, leaning his hip against the desk. "Now, perhaps I'm hard of hearing, but I didn't catch the offered amount?" The man gave a figure that Matthew knew was not only low, but far less than a good yoke of oxen was worth. He turned to look at Sally. "I'll give you a hundred dollars."
"Now wait a minute," the man said, rising to his feet. "I wasn't done negotiating."
"Then excuse me," Matthew said, turning back to him. "Are you offering more? I know for a fact that I've got a lot of fields to plow and I could use a spare pair. The beasts aren't the least bit picky about the grasses they eat, and don't require anywhere near the care of cattle or horses. In fact, it might be a good idea to even rent the extra pair out to other families trying to get a crop or two in…"
"I'll give you ten dollars more…"
"But that's—"
"Ten dollars more each, correct?" Matthew asked. "Well now, that does seem fair, and I'm sure you aren't going to be charging Mrs. Jefferson for the cost of feeding animals you now own, are you? Hearing of your willingness to help new settlers can only help your reputation as a fair businessman, don't you agree?"
Though the man stiffened at the additional costs involved, he finally nodded. "Of course. I'm quite willing to help settlers get established."
"Thank you," Matthew said, extending his hand. "Name is Matthew Stone, co-owner of the Rose Ranch."
"The Rose? Ah, you mean the Double R? My name is Stanley Greer."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Greer. I must say, I'm rather impressed with the stockyards. You seem to be filling up quite quickly," Matthew said as the two shook hands.
The compliment had the man puffing with pride. "Can't disagree. There's going to be a great need for beef with all the people pouring in."
"We're counting on it," Matthew said with a chuckle. "I'm sure we'll become great business partners when the time comes to start driving the cattle. I'll be counting on your experience and recommendations."
"That's what I'm here for," Greer said, and when another bout of coughing erupted, he seemed to remember he had business to attend to already. "I'll get your money, Mrs. Jefferson."
At his departure, Matthew squatted down again. "How long have you been feeling poorly?"
"He started coughing last night," Sally answered. "And before you ask, yes, I've already taken him to see Doctor Williams."
Matthew was pleased to hear it but wasn't pleased to hear the rattling sound from the boy's chest. "What did he say?"
"He gave me a script for some cough syrup. I was going to the mercantile after… um, after I finished my business here."
Matthew interpreted that to mean she needed the funds from the sale of her oxen to purchase the medicine. He nodded, not wishing to embarrass her with his assessment, and was about to push to his feet again when he noticed a pair of bare feet sticking out of pants that seemed about two inches too short. "It's probably not a good idea to go barefoot, son. Not with a cough."
"Um, he didn't have much choice," Sally said. "He must have lost a boot in the river yesterday."
"Ah, I can understand that," Matthew said, noticing that Davy hadn't spoken a single word, and yet was following the conversation with a turn of his head each time one of them spoke. "I've got some supplies to pick up, as well. How about I show you the mercantile and then treat you to lunch?"
"You don't need to do that," Sally said.
"I know I don't need to but I'd like to," Matthew said. With Davy's eyes on him, he grinned and leaned down a bit as if to relay a secret. "I've heard tell that there is pie at the restaurant. You like pie don't you, son?" The boy nodded and turned his head towards his mother. "Surely you can't begrudge the boy a slice of pie. Unless, of course, he put up a fuss at the doc's?" He paused seeing Davy's head swivel to him again, his eyes a bit wider than before. "Naw, even if he did, who could blame him. I don't cotton to being poked and prodded myself." The boy gave him a small grin, his head turning yet again.
"You are quite the negotiator aren't you, Mr. Stone? All right, we'd love to have lunch with you."
"Great," Matthew said, standing again but giving the boy's thin leg a pat as he did so. When Greer returned with a sheaf of notes, Sally thanked him though her eyes were on Matthew's, her thanks for his intervention clearly visible in the depths of her bluish-green gaze. After signing the bill of sale, she stood and held out her hand.
"Thank you again. I know you paid more than you wanted."
"Not at all," Mr. Greer assured her, shaking her hand. "You'll let me know if you decide to sell your herd? I promise to give you a fair price. Oh, and I will, of course, be discounting your fee due to the milk your cow is providing."
"That's very kind of you," Sally said.
"Thanks again," Matthew said, also shaking his hand. "I'll be talking to you soon."
"I'll look forward to it. Now, go get that boy some medicine."
"Will do," Matthew said. When Davy stood, he seemed a bit wobbly on his feet. Without a thought, Matthew bent and lifted him up and then swung him onto his shoulders.
"Hang on, buddy." Feeling the child's hands tighten a bit around his neck, he grinned, thanking the stockman and nodding towards the door. "After you," he said, unabashedly watching the sway of Sally's hips as they moved beneath the blue and white checked gingham of her skirt. "And thank you, boy. I owe you a nice big bone," he said, smiling again as the dog stood and followed the trio from the office.
Chapter Five
"Listen to this," Anna said, her smile wide as her eyes scanned the paper she'd pulled from its envelope the moment Richard had handed it to her, flattening it on the counter to read the words from her youngest brother. "Paul wants me to tell you that he can knock a squirrel out of a tree with his slingshot now." She laughed and shook her head. "Says to warn you that you'd better be practicing because you are getting pretty old."
"Old enough to know I can still best him in any shooting contest," Richard said with a chuckle.
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Anna continued to read and, a few minutes later, opened another envelope and scanned it. "Oh, you remember Marybeth Grant, don't you? From the church social?" She gave a huff as she remembered that day, memories of being humiliated with a story that was untrue battling with far more pleasant memories of Richard standing up in her defense as the truth came out. Focusing again on the paper, she smiled. "She got married to Daniel Howardson." Reading a bit further, she said, "Oh my, Ma says there have been a lot of storms lately and that…" She squealed as a wave of brown liquid flowed over the letter. "No!" she cried, yanking the paper away even as a chubby fist reached up and grabbed hold of it. "No, Johnny!" Gently prying his fingers from the page, she gave a little moan, seeing the words penned by her mother had been obliterated by the liquid. "Oh, no, it's ruined!"
"Ink and coffee don't mix well," a voice said. Looking up, she realized that the only person who'd heard her dismay was Mr. Franklin, the owner of the mercantile. He was already dabbing at the spilled coffee.
"I'm so sorry," she said.
"I should never have put my cup there," Samuel said, giving her a chagrined smile. "I just haven't had time to finish a cup all morning. I'm awful sorry your letter is ruined. I know how precious words from back home are."
"Yes, they are." Anna sighed and then looked around, "Where is your pa, Johnny?"
Johnny, two weeks past celebrating his first birthday, chortled in a language only he understood, which did absolutely nothing to appease his ma. Apparently dissatisfied with the damp paper, he grabbed at a woven basket, promptly overturning it to spill its contents of paraphernalia which scattered along the counter, some items dropping to the floor.
"Richard!" Anna called, uselessly as her husband was nowhere in sight. Stuffing the ruined letter into her skirt pocket, she reached to grab Johnny before he tumbled off the ledge. "I'm so sorry," she said again. "Ever since he started crawling, well…"
"A mother's job truly begins the moment a wee one becomes mobile," Mr. Franklin said, his attempt to right the basket thwarted when Johnny lunged for it, his hands clenching around the rim. "Why don't you grab the lad and leave the mess to me, Mrs. Lewis?"
