Chapter 18

Priorities III

Arthur Barnes, owner of Barnes’ Hardware and Grocery, was feverishly rummaging in boxes and drawers to find the requested items. Miss Heatherstone was a good customer, coming into the store frequently, always polite, always buying expensive, high quality goods, and never asking for credit. Today, however, he wanted to get rid of her as soon as possible, even though she was the only one of the many customers currently present who was actually buying anything. But Miss Heatherstone was not only purchasing exclusive French ink and Polish handmade paper; she was also causing a disturbance among the female gathering in the shop.

Before Miss Heatherstone had come into Barnes’ Hardware this afternoon, the group of ladies had more or less peacefully discussed the dresses their daughters were going to wear at the coming barn dance, Miss Eulalia’s less than stellar performance at the church organ last Sunday, Sheriff Coffee’s apparent interest in a saloon girl—of all women, the increasing prices for vegetables, Miss Caroline’s scandalous flirtation with Joe Cartwright, the poor condition of Virginia City’s sidewalks, the necessity of a new fire bell, the new recipe for apple strudel Miss Jones had been sent from a distant relative in Sacramento, Mrs. Clombmyer’s new hat, and Adam Cartwright’s refusal to draw down on that ugly gunfighter, Langford Poole.

While Mrs. Billford had voiced her heartfelt sympathy with Mr. Cartwright (who had just recently fully recovered from what those horrid criminals had done to him, and of course the poor dear wouldn’t want to be injured yet again), and Miss Deborah, blushing ferociously, had said that she’d prefer a live coward over a dead hero anyway, some other ladies hadn’t been so understanding. Even Miss Jones, the school teacher, had pointed out that in olden times honour had been the greatest virtue, and that men the likes of Sir Walter Raleigh would gladly have taken up the gauntlet. Naturally that had been the moment Miss Heatherstone had entered the shop, and even though all conversation had stopped at once, she apparently had heard more than enough.

She had glared at the other ladies (who had, one by one, ducked their heads), and then turned to Mr. Barnes and asked for her usual writing materials. Unfortunately Barnes had forgotten where he had placed these items at the last delivery from San Francisco (something that never had happened when his late wife was still among the living.) While he was searching for the request, a chilly atmosphere seemed to conquer the room, and there was nothing to be heard except shuffling feet and rustling skirts.

Eventually Barnes found ink and paper, which changed hands for a not inconsiderable amount of money; and Miss Heatherstone made her way out. When she reached the door, she hesitated briefly, then looked back at the women watching her departure, and said, “You do realise, ladies, that sometimes apparent cowardice takes much more courage than playing the hero?”

Out of the uncomfortable silence Miss Jones’ voice was heard, defiant, petty, “Oh, and where did you get that one from? An autograph book?”

There was only the tiniest twitch in Miss Heatherstone’s face, and even her dreaded eyebrow stayed down. “I got that from life, Miss Jones. But you might prefer to discuss this with Sir Walter Raleigh.”

No one responded to that, but apparently Miss Heatherstone hadn’t expected an answer anyway, for she turned and was out of the shop a split second later.

After just another heartbeat, through the still-open shop door her cheerful voice was heard, “Oh hello, Adam; how lovely to see you. How are you today?”

And then, after a much lower and therefore not discernable answer, “Why don’t you stop by for a cup of tea at the widow’s on your way back home?”

This time the response was clearly audible, “I’ll do that, thank you,” and then Adam Cartwright, with a short greeting back towards the sidewalk, entered Barnes’ Hardware and Grocery.

Earlier that morning, Adam’s announcement that he would make the trip to town to purchase some desperately needed supplies for the ongoing roundup and branding hadn’t been very well received by his brothers. Joe had complained that he hadn’t been in town for ages, and that Adam had worked on the branding much less than anyone else, due to his frequent trips to Virginia City. Even Hoss had remarked that once in a while someone else deserved a break, that Adam fer sure had his fair share of town air, and that now one of his brothers should have a breath of it. Pa had wagged his head and looked incredulous, but before he could have given to consideration that Joe and Hoss had a point there, Adam had led his trump cards, pointing out that he wasn’t a great help at the branding at the moment anyway, with his injured thumb still acting up more than he liked, and that he needed to see the barber for a haircut before the barn dance. If there were two things Pa would never argue about, they were to be mindful of your health, and to get a good haircut before the tips of your hair reached your shirt collar. Adam’s hair was way beyond that, and his thumb was still oozing unpleasant fluids, and so it had been settled: he would go into town, get the supplies, see the barber and, he had eventually promised, the doctor as well. He was reluctant to do the latter, but if that was the price, he’d pay it.

Adam didn’t want his brothers in town, especially not Joe, he of the fast draw and the short fuse. He didn’t trust Poole, and he didn’t trust Joe—not when it came to temper control. Joe would be no match for Poole; maybe one day—the kid practised a lot with his gun, and he was getting faster and faster—but not now. This wasn’t Joe’s or Hoss’ fight anyway. And if Adam was honest, he didn’t want his brothers being exposed to the town’s gossip either. He wasn’t ready for another round of awkward faces at the family supper. Even though they had declared that they would stand by him, no matter what he decided to do with Poole, Adam was aware that they didn’t feel comfortable knowing the whole town considered him a coward. Heck, he himself didn’t feel comfortable with that.

The whole town? Well, maybe some friends and neighbours would presume that Ben Cartwright’s eccentric first born had some strange but reputable reasons for his very peculiar behaviour, but Adam didn’t delude himself with thinking they were more than a precious few. And if he had needed any indicator that he was right in assuming that, the heavy silence that met him at Barnes’ Hardware certainly would have provided him with one.

He sighed inwardly, then greeted the ladies, and, along with Arthur Barnes, watched them leave the shop, one by one, their pinched mouths muttering forced good-byes, never looking him straight in the face.

Adam let out an audible breath, and turned to the shopkeeper, handing him a piece of paper. “Howdy, Arthur. I’m bringing business. I hope your stock is ready for the Ponderosa’s appetite.”

Barnes laughed. “The Ponderosa’s appetite was never a problem, Adam; it’s your brother Hoss who will eat all my shelves empty one day. Not that I’m complaining, mind you!”

“Ah, good. Well, after I drove off all your other customers I guess I owe you,” Adam grinned back.

Barnes shrugged. “Never mind the ladies, Adam. They weren’t buying anything; only gossiping.”

“Yeah, I heard them.” Adam crossed his arms and considered Barnes, who blushed deeply.

“Adam, they don’t mean any harm…They’re just women. Dreaming of knights and….” If possible, Barnes blush became even more pronounced. “They don’t understand the necessity of….”

“Of what?”

“Of…setting priorities.”

“Priorities.” Adam had no idea what Barnes was talking about, but he was very interested to hear about these priorities.

“Well, your father needs his three boys on the ranch, and he needs them whole and healthy, so…staying alive is more important than defending the family’s honour.” Barnes blinked at him. “Really, Adam, I do understand that.”

Adam wasn’t sure what bothered him more: Barnes’ obvious misunderstanding of the whole situation or his patronising tone of voice.

“You think I’m afraid to get hurt?”

Barnes cringed. “I’m not saying you’re afraid, Adam; I know you’re not a coward. But of course, Mr. Poole is a professional gunfighter, and your chances against him…well, it’s the only reasonable thing to stay out of a fight.”

Adam chewed on his words, long. Sure, he could just leave the shop and let Arthur Barnes think what he wanted to think, just like everyone else in Virginia City. Like the people who had watched his encounter with Poole a few days ago, and whose taunting voices still echoed in Adam’s mind; like the gossiping ladies; or like Miss Jones, with her high-pitched words about Sir Walter. Or he could try and make Arthur Barnes understand.

“Arthur, do you remember that I beat Poole before?”

“Yes, you were lucky back then, Adam.”

“I was quicker.”

Barnes shook his head and asked quizzically, “Then why don’t you fight him again? Shoot him, and show the people you’re not—”

“I don’t see a point in it. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“No, of course, you don’t have to prove yourself.” Barnes looked uncomfortable. “And as I said, I do understand your reasons.”

Adam sighed. No, Barnes did not understand, and he had no idea how to make him do so; and suddenly Adam didn’t even feel the desire to make him understand anymore. He gave Barnes a half smile. “I doubt that, Arthur, but it’s all right. Listen: I’ll leave the purchase list here, and you put everything together for me. I have some more errands to run and will be back in…let’s say an hour and a half, and pick up the things. If you find the time you might load it onto the buckboard, it’s just outside.”

Barnes agreed eagerly; obviously relieved to get him out of the way. And so Adam left the store and headed to the barbershop, where Juna, the beautiful girl from Tonasket, was already waiting for him with hot towels and a sharp razor.

___________________________________________________________________

Courage is the fear of being thought a coward. ~ Horace Smith