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Spring arrived early and as quietly as the two babies would let it; Kevin had a touch of colic and Adam was teething. Molly gave Jesse a tisane of catnip and licorice root which soothed her baby’s stomach, while Evelyn dipped her finger in the best Irish whiskey and rubbed it on her son’s gums. The mothers were together as often as they could arrange it, meeting at least once a week at the Donovan ranch. Rebecca, Molly, Irene and the sisters-in-law doted on the children and spoiled their mothers. John Patrick and his sons were proud as peacocks, and discussed each gurgle, burp and hiccough as if it were the greatest of accomplishments.
Kevin looked just like his father—soft black hair and bright blue eyes, wide brow narrowing to a pointed chin. The first time he curled one eyebrow up from the middle, they laughed for hours.
His cousin, Adam’s namesake, presented them with something of a quandary. He had a shock of bright red hair but his light blue eyes had turned to hazel. His face was round, his eyes big, his nose turned up a bit at the end. Any exposure to the sunlight caused freckles to form on the bridge of it. The discussions as to which of his parents he resembled became quite lively at times, until Annie put an end to them.
“Don’t you see? He looks just like Papa!”
Jesse upheld her opinion and, when Evelyn stood behind her father-in-law and draped her bright hair over his head, they had to admit that, if Owen had been blessed with a mass of unruly red curls instead of a bald pate, there would have been no question whatsoever.
Jesse rarely got to town—Adam felt it was too long a trip for her and Kevin to make. Come summer, she’d change his mind and he’d learn, as his father had, that babies were hearty. Meanwhile she smiled at his solicitude and respected his anxiety, and came to the ranch to catch up on the news.
There was no doubt White’s Station was changing. John Riley had transformed the squatter’s shack he’d purchased into a charming cottage complete with blue shutters and a tiny lilac bush. Daniel and John Patrick had helped him irrigate and transform the patch of barely arable land into a respectable farm. It stood on the south end of town, only a few doors away from the Barber’s, and Riley and his children passed many a pleasant evening with the doctor and his sister. Miss Jane now smiled almost continuously, and the attempts Sarah Taylor made to involve her in gossip were futile.
The merchant’s wife wasn’t an astute woman, but finally even she had to admit there was no longer enough merchandise leaving her husband’s store to support them. The traders were stopping at Wang Shen’s first, for he had an unerring eye for quality and offered fair prices for their goods. The trappers went to him for the same reasons—Wang Shen would pick through their pelts carefully, turning away only those which were of particularly low quality, offering the same scale of prices to all comers.
The Navajo traded with Wang Shen, for he let the tribe run an account against the blankets, baskets, furs and silver articles they promised to deliver. They quickly learned he wouldn’t accept second-rate goods in trade and respected him the more for it. The poorer families traded with him because he didn’t harass them about their balances and would accept payment in kind—eggs, jams, jellies, hand-made quilts and coverlets, even knitted gloves and mufflers. Again his scale of payment was applied equally to everyone. If he made a change in price, he’d post it on a slate board by his cash register, and in advance whenever possible.
News got around that Wang Shen was creating work for the poorer families by accepting their hand-crafted and home-made goods. Most of the community was closely-knit, neighborly, its members more than willing to lend a hand to those in need. There was no shame attached to poverty, no sting of charity to remind them, for their help was solicited whenever the village needed anything talent or effort could supply. The town hall was a shining example—every family was expected to contribute to the upkeep of the building, whether by painting, cleaning, or repairing. No one was asked to do what he couldn’t do, contribute what he didn’t have. And no offer of help was ever turned down.
Wang Shen was a round peg in a round hole and the citizens of White’s Station wanted him to stay. So they patronized his store and in return were treated fairly and with dignity. Until even Sarah Taylor realized something had changed.
Robert Taylor dated his store’s decline not from the arrival of Wang Shen, but from the closing of the Donovan accounts. He’d been paid in full within a week of his last conversation with John Patrick and the money kept him going through the winter. He’d fed himself on the hope that Donovan would forget whatever had aggravated him and return to the mercantile for his spring purchases, but he watched with a sinking heart as Brian, Frank and Geordie drove away from town with loaded wagons. Finally he forced himself to admit that, whatever the reason was, the effect hadn’t been temporary.
And my stupid wife had to go and tell everyone she knew that the Donovans were buying at Wang Shen’s. He didn’t remember that Owen, Tommy, and others had patronized the new shop before John Patrick made his move, and he was sure his store had been ruined by a single man’s preferences. In fact, the influence the Donovans exerted, though subtle, was nonetheless real; many of those who wouldn’t ordinarily have committed themselves to any kind of change were swayed by the absence of the family in the mercantile.
Rumors abounded. The Donovan accounts were said to have been closed because the merchant had cheated them, because the winter feed hadn’t been delivered on time, because Molly had found weevils in the flour. In fact, every ill deed Taylor had ever done, was accused or even suspected of, was expounded as the reason for the Donovans’ defection. The elder Donovan had given strict orders to his family that nothing be said, whether in denial or verification of the rumors. He told them only that Jesse had been hurt by the merchant’s wife. They accepted it without question.
Wang Shen was both happy and anxious over his new status as the town’s primary supplier. He’d hoped to attract enough custom to run his shop as a general store for a year or two, then specialize. For he was a lover of machinery. Any machine, big or little, any part, any tool—he knew them all intimately. A farmer could come to him and ask for the “thingamabob that makes the whatsis go round” and in a matter of minutes, have the right part in his hand. For the right price.
It was his son who handled the ordering of the foodstuffs and dry goods—a young man of eighteen who understood fabric and clothing and household supplies as his father understood hardware. But Wang Lei had been granted a college scholarship to an Eastern university and would be leaving the family business in September.
Owen had grown friendly with the new proprietor and listened to his complaints. When Taylor put the “For Sale” on the Trading Post, Owen took himself down the side street for a serious conversation with Wang Shen.
Griffiths was a born shopkeeper, enjoying the busy-ness of his own small business. Many times he’d considered branching out, but lacked the space in his cottage and the vision to see that the town could support two stores. Wang Shen’s success had fired his imagination.
Owen had worked in the Trading Post under its founder, Cyrus White, and he knew the required routines. He could hire a clerk to wait on the customers while he filled his orders for leather goods. The room at the rear of the store, which had been filled with farm implements, could be cleaned out and become his new workshop. And, best of all, the second floor was a spacious three-bedroom apartment. The smallest room would become his office. The disposition of the other rooms he’d leave to Carolyn.
They planned to be married on the tenth of June and he worried about the change it would make in her life. She never mentioned it, but he considered the cottage too small for her—she’d been living in a twelve-room house for years. He was afraid she’d find the space too confining, though she hadn’t had more than two rooms for her private use since she’d established the boardinghouse so many years ago.
Owen approached Wang Shen first and worked out a scheme of merchandising. Then he told Carolyn of his plan and found she was equally excited by the possibilities it presented. Carolyn made only one adjustment—the clerk would be replaced with a stock boy and she would wait on the customers herself. Finally, Owen went to Thatcher at the bank and asked him to make an anonymous offer for the property.
“He knows me, Bill, and will probably up the ante if he realizes I’m the buyer. I don’t want to scalp him, but I want to pay a fair price. You know how much I have, you know how much the property’s worth. Make me a deal within my means and tell him I’ll pay cash. If he accepts it, then get ready to draw up a partnership agreement between me and Wang Shen to cover both stores.”
The banker agreed and within a week the deal was consummated. Taylor would move out in the middle of May.