Work Text:
Daniel Potter leaned into the gusting wind, cold reddened hands tightly clutched around the upturned collar of his coat, eyes half closed against the clouds of dust that stung his face and made his hair stiff and itchy. As he struggled up the boardwalk he paused a moment and allowed himself one longing glance into the window of the small storefront school room, whose window was rattling noisily in its frame. Daniel liked school, but after his father's death he had not been able to attend very regularly because he was the man of the house now, and his mother needed his help running the store. He tried to keep up on his own, spending long evenings after the store closed, working through lessons that the teacher sent home with his younger sister, Meg, but more and more frequently he found himself falling asleep before he could complete the assignments.
Daniel stepped a little closer to the window to watch. Of the 10 students present, the oldest were bent over their copybooks, the friends in his grade were paired up to work sums, and the youngest students were circled near the front of the classroom with the teacher listening as Meggy stood, reading aloud a passage from her primer.
He'd listened to her practice the reading the last few evenings, gently helping her sound out the bigger words and trying to allay her fearful shyness over speaking in front of the class. Daniel caught his breath when she appeared to stumble over a word and then stopped reading, her lower lip trembled and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. When Meg looked up and caught his eye she suddenly looked as though she would burst into tears. But when Daniel pressed his palm against the window pane and gave her a smile and a reassuring nod she brightened and took a deep breath. Daniel couldn't hear her, but she appeared to carefully sound out whatever word had given her so much trouble before continuing her reading.
Another strong, biting gust of wind whipped the bottom of Daniel's coat around his legs, reminding him that his mother had sent him out on an errand with the firm reminder not to lollygag on his way back because the latest freight wagon had delivered several boxes of items that still had to be unpacked and shelved, and the storeroom needed a good sweeping, and the receipts from last week still needed to be recorded in the big ledger book that always pained Daniel to open because it was so filled with pages of his father's neat, spidery handwriting. With a last, regretful glance into the school room he turned away and ran, against the wind, up the boardwalk to the store.
The moment he turned the knob the wind flung the door open, dragging him along and making him stumble on the threshold. He leaned on the door, putting a shoulder against it and struggling with all his effort to get the door closed enough to latch. He let out a sharp breath of surprise when an extra push clicked the latch firmly into place.
Daniel turned, looked up, and his eyes widened when he found himself standing almost toe to toe with Chris Larabee, who was just pulling his hand away from the door above Daniel's head.
"Wind is bad," Mr. Larabee said, nodding to him. "Good thing you got inside."
"Yes, sir," Daniel answered softly, suddenly feeling awkward, and very small beneath the man's calm, direct gaze.
Chris nodded, stepping away and turning back to the counter, giving no indication he'd noticed any wariness on Daniel's part.
"Thank you," he heard his mother say to Mr. Larabee, which only brought a heat of embarrassment to Daniel's cheeks.
"Darned wind. Stupid door." Daniel scuffed one toe against the floor, and then absentmindedly fingered the buttons on his jacket as he watched Mr. Larabee tuck his coat tail behind his holster in order to reach into his front pants pocket for his money. The light glinted softly on the silver belt conches and the ivory handle of his revolver.
Daniel felt the spark of admiration and fear that always rippled down his spine when one of the town's new peacekeepers came into the store. He wondered, not for the first time, if his father would still be alive if he'd worn a gun like Mr. Larabee and his friends did instead of just being a shopkeeper. If he had, maybe he coulda' shot that bastard Lucas James himself - Pow, right in the head - and all the townsfolk woulda' called him a hero and looked to his Pa for protection.
The instant that thought crossed his mind he felt his cheeks burn again, this time with the shame of having such disloyal thoughts about a father who'd always been unfailingly kind and patient, and shame at having used such a bad word to describe Lucas James (even if that murdering snake deserved it). His Ma would take a switch to him if she had any idea he even knew such a word.
That thought, and the sound of Mrs. Hawthorne's grating voice calling his Ma galvanized Daniel and he deliberately ignored Mr. Larabee and his gun belt as he crossed behind him and went to the coat rack near the far end of the counter. As he unbuttoned his coat though he could not help looking back at Mr. Larabee who seemed to be studying the new candy display with the handmade sign Meggy had written out to practice her cursive, and the gold locket draped next to it, opened to show everyone the picture of Ma and Pa on their wedding day. His Ma had carefully arranged the items just two nights earlier, switching the placement of sign, locket and box of chocolates several times before she was pleased with they way they looked together.
Daniel thought she'd done a real nice job. His Ma had a knack for settin' things out in a way that caught people's eye. His Pa used to say: "Gloria can arrange things so prettily that folks want to buy something whether they need it or not." It had certainly been true of those fancy chocolates this year, but Daniel tried to avoid looking at the picture.
Seeing them look so happy and his Ma so pretty gave him a funny tightness in his shoulders and chest, and made him a little angry. But his Ma seemed to take comfort in having Pa's picture out. Said since he had given her a chocolate every Valentine's Day since they were 16 year old sweethearts that it only seemed right that his picture should smile out at these new ones.
Mr. Larabee had a sorta faraway look on his face as he stared at the display. Daniel had overheard, in a whispered conversation between his Ma and Mrs. Travis, that Mr. Larabee's wife and son had died sometime back. Daniel pondered that news now and then as he watched him move quietly around the town, but try as he might Daniel found it hard to imagine the imposing Mr. Larabee being anybody's sweetheart or father.
"Gloria!" Mrs. Hawthorne barked again, making Daniel jump and then hurry to shuck his coat.
"Daniel, could you finish up with Mr. Larabee for me?" The gentle squeeze his Ma gave to his shoulders as she rounded the end of the counter was warm and encouraging. "He's much better with his numbers than I am and -"
Mr. Larabee lifted a hand, waving her on, and Daniel squared his shoulders a little and moved to take his mother's place across from him, not even minding that he needed to step up onto an empty apple crate in order to be at a comfortable height to the counter top. He was good at his sums, and this seemed a perfect chance to put his embarrassing struggle with the door out of Mr. Larabee's mind.
He picked up the pad that had his mother's figures on it and with a quick glance compared the items on the list to the items on the counter. "Those pears and socks were selling good, we'll have to order some more," Daniel noted to himself with an slight nod as he reached for the pencil. He let out a sigh when he noticed the point was broken. His Ma broke at least three pencil nibs a day, and Meg kept using the counter pencils to draw with, leaving them rounded and worn. Whenever his Pa went to ciphering he'd always started by honing his pencils to a point sharp enough to make the numbers line up straight and neat and clear beneath one another. Now that his Pa was gone, Daniel spent a part of every evening collecting the broken and stubbed pencils his Ma left around the store, carefully shaving each one to the sharpest point he could, and then stacking them neatly in a pile behind the cashbox.
"Need me to sharpen it?" Mr. Larabee asked, reaching for his knife.
"No, sir. We keep spares," Daniel answered, pleased to demonstrate to Mr. Larabee that he was prepared, grown up enough know how to manage things, well, things like pencils anyway.
As Daniel set to working with the numbers he couldn't help but glance up through his bangs, noting the way Mr. Larabee's gaze drifted back to the candy display, then seemed to fix on the picture in Ma's locket.
"That'll be $1.45," Daniel said, putting the pencil down and watching closely as Mr. Larabee dragged his eyes away from the display, nodded, and counted out $2.00 in payment. He had that same faraway look in his eyes that Daniel had seen earlier, made his whole face seem gentler.
Daniel studied that look as he counted out the change and watched Mr. Larabee tuck his purchases into the pockets of his big coat, and he wondered again about that boy of Mr. Larabee's, wondered how old that boy had been, and if Mr. Larabee had taught his boy the kind of things that his Pa had taught him: like how to shave a pencil to a fine, useable point; how to play checkers; how to tie a proper Sunday tie; how to dicker with the suppliers, or how to be patient with the most difficult customer.
Were those the kinds of simple things someone like Mr. Larabee taught to his own son, or did he teach him how to shoot, and slip around real quiet like, and how to hunt down bad folks like that Lucas James? There were plenty of days lately when Daniel fervently wished he'd been taught more about those things a gunman might know than about what it took to run a store or be a dutiful son. He felt a rush of envy for all the things he imagined Mr. Larabee's boy had been able to do.
"How much for one of them candies?"
Daniel blinked as Mr. Larabee's question pulled his thoughts back to the business at hand, and he answered without hesitation, "Chocolates are ten cents each, but they got cream filling and they come with little sayings inside."
"Reckon you know what they say on the inside?" Mr. Larabee said softly, sliding a quarter and nickel across the counter.
Daniel nodded confidently. He had helped his Ma unpack the shipment, and listened closely as she identified the individual chocolates, read off the sayings each contained, and then discussed with him how to pitch their sale. He knew the list by heart, but he also knew that most folks bought more if they read through the sayings themselves, so Daniel only nodded and replied:
"There are a few choices. You want to see the list?"
Mr. Larabee hesitated, glanced over his shoulder towards where the demanding Mrs. Hawthorne was still monopolizing his Ma's attention.
"Yeah," Mr. Larabee replied, but then he barely glanced at the small notecard Daniel handed him before saying, "You pick 'em. They're for your ma and you should give her something to show you love her."
"What?" Daniel squeaked out, his sheer astonishment making his voice embarrassingly loud, loud enough for his Ma to shoot him a frown of caution when she looked his way.
"They ain't from me," Mr. Larabee said, bending over the counter a little, keeping his own voice low and measured while pinning Daniel with that direct, though not unkind, look again. "They're from you to give to your ma. 'Cause you love her. 'Cause it's been a hard time."
Daniel frowned, trying puzzle out the why and what of Mr. Larabee's statement. He was surprised that Mr. Larabee would give a thought about the hard fact of his Pa being gone, and his Ma, and about how much Daniel did love her, and he felt suddenly sad and ashamed about the fact that he had not thought to tell her so himself, hadn't even thought about making her a nice Valentine's card, even though Daniel knew she was missing the fuss his Pa had always made over that day. And then, with a flush of gratitude, Daniel straightened his shoulders and dared to meet Mr. Larabee's gaze, face on and full square.
"I can pay you back - " he started, but Mr. Larabee shook his head, dismissing the offer.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Just pick out three good ones and - "
"Like what?" Daniel asked, his voice dropping, enjoying the feel of conspiring man to man. . .well, okay, boy to man, over doing something nice for his Ma. "I don't know what to give her."
Mr. Larabee took a deep breath and a flash of annoyance seemed to light his eyes, causing Daniel to draw back slightly in fear that he'd misunderstood the situation. But the annoyance disappeared, and that soft look returned the instant Mr. Larabee's eyes fell once more on the locket.
"There's one on that list about marrying in white," Mr. Larabee said softly, still looking at the picture of Daniel's folks on their wedding day. "You give her that one and then you pick two others - hell, get your sister to pick one," he finished, a touch of the former annoyance creeping back into his voice as he turned and headed past Daniel to the door.
Daniel's eyes widened, the muttered curse word making him feel secretly delighted and grown up.
The wind was still whipping, all but tearing the door from Mr. Larabee's grip as he forced his way out onto the boardwalk. Daniel rounded the counter and trotted over to the door, satisfied to hear it catch solidly on his first shove. Mr. Larabee turned, and Daniel met his eyes through the door's window.
"Thank you," Daniel mouthed. Mr. Larabee just gave him a nod and then turned away.
Daniel turned as well, leaning his back against the door. He looked at his Ma's face as she smiled patiently at Mrs. Hawthorne, and he imagined what his Ma's face would look like when he and Meg gave her the chocolates. "'Cause you love her. 'Cause its been a hard time," Mr. Larabee had said.
And Daniel promised himself that he would not forget those words, the kindness of the gift given to all of them, or that soft, faraway look in Mr. Larabee's eyes.
thaccian
Feb 2013