The Haircut
Or,
A Day in Town

Part 3
by BeckyS
This story is written for pleasure, not profit.
The Cartwrights and the general circumstances belong to Bonanza Ventures.
Otherwise, © as allowable, May 2004

Joe's words in mind, Adam made their next stop the mercantile. Mr. Whittaker cringed at the sight of Joe, but his wife simply pushed him out of the way and crossed over to talk to the boy.

"And what can we do for you gents today?" she asked pleasantly.

Adam smiled at her. "Joe needs a new jacket and a few other things."

She measured her young customer by eye and nodded. "My, you are growing big and strong, aren't you?" She gave his head a quick, fond stroke and turned back to Adam. "Yes, he's grown quite a bit since the last time we fitted him. What kind of jacket were you thinking of? Church?"

"No!" stated Joe so emphatically that Adam had to hide a grin behind his hand.

"A work jacket, Mrs. Whittaker."

She held a finger to her lips in thought. "I think I have just the thing. Come with me, young man."

While Adam allowed himself to be distracted by a stack of books, Mrs. Whittaker led Joe to a stack of folded clothing and started to lift several items off of a bit of green fabric. The boy grabbed at a sleeve and pulled, toppling the entire pile onto the floor. He held the jacket up to his front and turned to Adam, oblivious of the mess behind him. "Look, Adam! Isn't it great?"

Adam stuck a finger in the book he was reading to mark his place and looked up. "Yeah, great," Adam said, shaking his head ruefully.

"What?" Joe asked, all innocence.

Adam twirled his finger in a silent request for him to turn around.

"Oh. I'm sorry Mrs. Whittaker, but this jacket is just perfect." He looked soulfully up at her.

She was no more immune to that winsome expression than any other woman. "Oh, no matter, Little Joe; I'll have it cleaned up in a wink."

"Joe . . ." Adam said warningly.

A little guilty, Joe started picking the clothes up off the floor. "No, let me, ma'am. Adam's right; it was my fault."

"Well, aren't you just the little gentleman!" she exclaimed.

He grinned up at her. "Well, sometimes."

She ruffled his hair and though he ducked, Adam could see he was pleased at the attention.

Deciding he'd better pay more attention to his little brother, he set the book down and cleared his throat. "We'll need a couple of shirts, a pair of pants . . ." he paused thoughtfully. "Joe, how are your boots doing?"

Joe held a foot up in the air and waggled it, nearly taking out a display of canned tomatoes. His face knotted in puzzlement, he answered, "These toes are feelin' a little squished, Adam, but my other foot is fine."

"That's how your feet grow, Joe. One's always a little bigger than the other. Let's see what we can find." He started going through a table of boots, but what made his eyes light up weren't Joe-sized, but a pair of beautifully polished, hand-tooled, black, man-sized boots. And it looked like they would fit him perfectly. Oblivious of Joe's current search for a pair of pants that would go with his new jacket, he sat on a chair conveniently placed for just this purpose and tried the boots on. He stood, stomped his feet a couple of times and looked up happily just in time to see his little brother disappear under a pile of jeans that was falling from the shelves.

"Joe!" he yelled.

His brother's curly head appeared and that childish giggle started again. "You shoulda seen your face, Adam," he laughed and bounded to his feet.

"It's Mrs. Whittaker's face I'm worried about, little buddy," Adam warned softly.

"Oh. I did it again, huh?"

"Let's just get this cleaned up, all right?" he answered and started folding the clothes. Joe tried to help, but Adam had to redo so many of them that, with an exasperated sigh, he sent his little brother to look at the boots.

They managed to buy the clothes, jacket and two pairs of boots — Adam couldn't resist the black pair — without any more disasters. He even managed to tuck a lurid dime novel and a small toy into his package while Joe stared hungrily at the candy selection. He pestered Adam to buy some, "for Hoss," he said. Adam cast such a look of mock sorrow at him that Joe giggled and admitted he wanted some for their trip home, too. When Adam finally gave in, he spent an inordinate amount of time choosing just the right chocolates. He astounded all the adults by then offering the biggest piece to Mrs. Whittaker with his apologies for the mess he'd made.

They made arrangements to come back later to pick up the clothes — they both wore their new boots, and Joe slid happily into his new jacket — and Adam had to remind himself there were now four stops to make before heading home.

Beginning to wonder if he was going to survive this trip, Adam led the way to the newspaper office where Pa wanted them to place a legal notice. He'd finally given in to Joe's repeated requests to retrieve Samson on the way, but had immediate cause to regret it when the pup got loose from Joe at the paper, and in the process of chasing it, managed to knock over one of the carefully sorted trays of type.

Adam tried to insist — with a glare at his young brother — that he and Joe would pick them up, but the typesetter shooed them outside with more haste than grace. At Adam's insistence, Joe sadly took the pup back to the Feed and Grain to pick up later. They stood on the boardwalk outside, Joe drooping and despondent while Adam rubbed his forehead. He could feel a pain starting right behind his eyes.

Joe looked up at him with sly sympathy. "Do you need some coffee, Adam?" he asked, oh, so innocently.

More like a powder from Doc Martin's, he thought to himself, and grimaced at the thought of the abuse he'd take from his brother if they stepped anywhere near the doctor's house. Taking Joe to see Paul Martin was almost as bad as trying to get his hair cut. Almost. "Yeah," Adam smiled, knowing what his brother was up to. "Maybe a trip to Mrs. Volking's restaurant for lunch—"

He smiled when Joe interrupted him with a whoop. "Can we have some pie, too? She makes the best pie, that yellow one with the white stuff on top, can we have some of that, too, Adam, can we, please?"

Adam ruffled his little brother's curls, earning a brief scowl before the boy remembered he was trying to talk him into something. Adam laughed; Joe's thoughts were as clear on his face as if they were printed on a broadside. "Yes, if you eat enough lunch, you can have pie, too."

He strode down the boardwalk, Joe almost dancing in circles around him. "How much is enough, Adam? Two bites of everything? Three? Not four, not if she has sauerkraut this time. I don't like sauerkraut, even if you pile mashed potatoes all over it and pour gravy on it, it still tastes awful. How can anyone eat that stuff? Did you ever have it when you were a kid?"

"Only once, when some German folks put us up overnight while we were traveling west," Adam answered, almost breathless himself from the barrage of Joe's questions. He held the door to the restaurant for Joe and smiled at Gerda, daughter of the German family who ran the restaurant. She waved the Cartwrights to a table by the window, and Adam made sure Joe sat in the chair furthest from any other customers. He congratulated himself on remembering that when his little brother was as happy and enthusiastic as he was now, somehow bits of his food managed to end up on anyone sitting near.

"Did you eat it?" Joe asked, wrinkling his nose.

Adam flicked his brother under the chin. "Yes, I did, and I was glad to have it. It's amazing how good something can taste when you're hungry."

Joe's eyes got as round as saucers. "Gee, Adam, you musta not eaten for days!"