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John Patrick withdrew his custom from Taylor’s mercantile. He marched in on Monday morning and canceled his outstanding orders for both winter feed and spring seed. He left the merchant stuttering behind him and paid no heed whatsoever to the pleas raining down upon his back.
He’d thought it through carefully: there’d be enough time to wire Prescott if necessary to arrange for winter feed. First, however, he’d try the new shop. It had been established only a few months before, but Evelyn had told them she was pleased with the yard goods. The quality was better, she’d said, and the choice wider. And Jake had found new pants there when the mercantile had none long enough for him.
John Patrick led his mare down a side street and came upon an unpretentious sign: Hardware, Feed and Dry Goods, Wang Shen, Prop.
He had Molly’s Christmas list in his pocket and found every item save one. He approached the small man who stood behind the counter. “Have you something called a camisole?”
The proprietor turned to the shelves behind him. He had a long, thin braid that reached past his waist. Pulling a box from the shelves, he asked, “What size, sir?”
“Don’t know.” The list in his hand simply said white camisole for Irene. “Got a white one?”
“Oh, yes, sir. All white.” The proprietor held up a flimsy piece of silk which looked like no more than two handkerchiefs sewn together. The old man let out a sound that was close to “Hrrmmph.” Eyeing the silken trinket in perplexity, he muttered, “Needs to fit Irene. How would I know?”
“Irene, sir? Irene very pretty girl. Very tall, very slender. Very beautiful. This one fit Irene.” He took what to her father seemed an even flimsier garment from the box. The older man touched it tentatively.
“You’re sure this is a camisole?” Where on earth did his Molly ever hear of such things?
The proprietor nodded.
“All right, wrap it up. All this other stuff, too. Can you deliver it?”
“Yes, sir. To Donovan Ranch, sir?”
John Patrick nodded, impressed. “Can you get me some winter feed?” He watched the merchant consult a chart of what seemed to be hieroglyphics.
“How much?”
“Four wagonloads to start.”
“Yes, sir. Tuesday week, two wagonload. Thursday week, two wagonload. Deliver to Donovan Ranch?”
“No, to Rocking Chair Ranch—out in the canyon. You know where?” Again the man nodded and Donovan asked, “Shall I pay for them now?”
“Not necessary. Pay on deliver. Or in town next time.”
“All right. How much for everything?” The merchant named his price and John Patrick was satisfied. “By the way, do those camisole things come in different sizes? Bigger, I mean?”
“Yes, sir. All size—fit woman big and small.”
“Well, why don’t you wrap up another one? For Molly,” he added cagily. Wang Shen shook his head. “You know Evelyn?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Evelyn with beautiful hair like flame. And lovely baby boy.”
“Molly’s like Evelyn.” Her husband’s hands were expressive. “Only just a little more.”
Wang Shen’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, sir. Deliver, too?”
“No, I think not. She may open it if she sees it. I’ll come back for it later.”
“Very good, sir.”
He heard the merchant humming as he walked from the store. He left his horse there and strolled down the wide main street to the livery, where he expected to find Alec. But Tommy was there alone.
“He should be back t’morrow,” the blacksmith offered. “He went with Dan’l up t’ the hills for some elk. Got a hankerin’ for it m’self. Anythin’ I can tell ’im for you?”
“You saw the shamrock he made for Jesse last year?”
“Sure. You lookin’ for somethin’ like it?”
“For Molly. But I thought more of a brooch than a necklace, and maybe a little larger. Think he can fit it in?”
“I’ll ask ’im. I don't like to speak for ’im, but he told me yestidday he was almost caught up. Course I don’t know what might’ve happened since then.”
“Be grateful if you’d mention it. Tell him to send word if he’s too busy. I’ll have to think of something else in that case.”
“Sure. Got a price in mind?”
“Lad’s never cheated me yet.”
Tommy laughed. “More’n you can say for some folk roun’ here. By the way, you been down t’ the Chinaman’s shop?”
“Just came back. You’ve been there?”
“Sure. Do all my buyin’ there now.”
John Patrick tapped his pipe out over the forge, then refilled and lit it. “Any special reason?”
“Calls me ‘sir’,” the smith answered, nudging his friend with an elbow. “Nice t’ do business with someone who likes you, y’know?”
“Aye. Just did some shopping there myself. Took Molly’s Christmas list. Ever heard of a thing called a camisole?”
“Can’t say I have. What is it?”
“Come ’round on Christmas and ask Irene to show it to you.” Her father knew he was making mischief, for Tommy would bring his son as he always did on Christmas. It would be interesting to see Irene’s reaction to the smith’s request.
“Where’s Christmas this year? Out in the canyon?”
“Can’t leave our little girl out of the fun.”
“She’d never let you hear the end of it!”
They laughed for a minute at the thought of Jesse being left out of anything, then John Patrick took himself to Owen’s shop. He’d ordered a new holster and belt for Adam, leather gloves for the younger twins, and boots for Jake—two sizes bigger than his last ones. He contrived to bring the conversation around to the new shop and was satisfied to hear Owen was placing all his new business with Wang Shen. The invitation to Rocking Chair Ranch was offered, but the bootmaker had decided to spend a quiet day with Carolyn after seeing his children in the morning.
John Patrick returned to the shop for Molly’s gift and his mare. As he rode out of town, he decided to pay a call on Jesse, just to see how she was doing.
He found Annie and Rebecca with her. A short time later, Adam and Brian came in with a fir tree. Rebecca popped some corn and, with the berries she’d dried in the summer, the three women sat with needles and thread and hot cider, making garlands.
He sat and smoked by the hearth, listening to their conversation while Adam dipped pine cones in the green paint left over from the window boxes. John Patrick took a fine brush and tipped them in white, and passed them to Rebecca and Annie, who tied lengths of red yarn to them and hung them from the tree and the mantle.
He sent Adam out for evergreen branches and wove a wreath for the front door. Rebecca added a grand bow she fashioned from a length of red gingham. Brian produced sheets of colored paper he’d squirreled away in childhood and cut chains of dolls, birds and stars, while Jesse crocheted some two dozen small white snowflakes to add the finishing touch to the tree.
As he left, John Patrick called Adam outside and filled him in on the details of the family’s Christmas plans. As he rode home, the old man was happy. Their little girl was well. Her baby would be healthy, and he would see that justice was done.