Date: Thu, 18 Oct 2007 04:25:33 -0700
From: Jon Hold <jonhold@earthlink.net>
Subject: Other Little House 25

Chapter 25
Shopping


I woke up hearing a voice bellowing from somewhere below me, "You boys
awake yet? Let's get a move on, daylight's a waste'n!"

I nudged Sam who was still asleep, head on my shoulder and our arms and
legs all tangled up under the old blanket. Sam mumbled and nuzzled into
my shoulder.

"Come on, Sam, it's time to get up." I said.

"I'm up. I'm up." he mumbled.

I poked him in the ribs with my finger until he wiggled away from the
tickling probe.

"Hey! That's no fair." he grumbled as he ground the sleep out of his
eyes with his fists and yawned fit to break his jaw.

The cover came off of us as we pulled apart. I sat up and stared at Sam
while he yawned and stretched. This new friend of mine, for after all our
talking last night we were surely friends now, was really built. He was
almost exactly my age (he was two days older than me) and already filling
out with heavy masses of muscle. His balls were hairless, but he had a
real heavy patch of hair around the thick piss hardon jutting up in proud
display as he arched up, stretching and yawning.

He blinked and looked up at me, "Good mornin'"

"Good morning sleepyhead."

He rolled over and punched me lightly in the side, "You're the one who
kept me up all night."

Before I could respond, a voice came again from below, "Hurry up! Or
I'm throwing your breakfast to the pigs!"

Sam jumped up and put down a hand to help me up. "He ain't kidding.
That's Oleg, and he'll sure as a mule's kick feed them pigs our
breakfast, and I'm HUNGRY!"

I grabbed Sam's hand and let him pull me to my feet. We were checking
out each others piss hardon's. I glanced out the window and saw that the
sun was up and it was starting to get light. "We go out there and
everyone'll be able to see us from the street."

"No problem," Sam said as he bent over and picked up his blanket and
draped it over our shoulders. Laughing and teasing each other we headed
for the ladder, the blanket pulling open to expose our erections every
time we pulled apart. Laughing at each other we got to the ladder and
both of us tried to figure out how we were going to get down that ladder
together and stay covered up at the same time.

"To heck with it," Sam said. Leaving me with the blanket, he headed
down the ladder. I wrapped myself in the blanket and quickly followed
him. Oleg was waiting for us in the big double doors of the livery
stable, our mud splattered towels in one hand and our britches in his
other hand.

Sheepishly, Sam took his pants from Oleg and quickly pulled them on,
having trouble getting his stiffness behind the rough cloth. He held the
blanket while I repeated his performance under the same unwavering gaze
that Oleg had given Sam. "You boys get to the outhouse and get rid of
them hardons." Before we could run off, he continued, "And you can
rinse out these towels while you're refilling the horse trough. Then get
into breakfast before we throw it out." He handed the towels to Sam and
took a swing at our butts as we ran out the door to the outhouse.

Sam and me stood there in the outhouse, laughing at each others efforts
to pee, and neither one of us having much luck until I finally managed to
spurt out a little and Sam soon followed suit and within seconds we were
both pissing up a storm and having a heck of a sword fight with the
shining streams.

Sam started pumping water as I rinsed the mud out of the towels and hung
them on the board fence to dry. Then I joined Sam on the long handle of
the big cast iron pump and we energetically filled the trough in short
order. When it was full we let go of the handle and let it sink down
under it's own weight. Awkwardly we stood there looking at each other.
"I'm sure glad to know you Sam. Would you like to be my friend?" I
asked, scared to hear the answer, but really wanting this really special
person to be my friend.

Sam stuck his hand out, "I'd be proud," he said. I took his hand and
shook it. Our shyness quickly evaporated and we grabbed each other in an
enthusiastic hug, bouncing up and down and slapping each other on the
back. Arms over each others shoulders, we headed up to breakfast with
eager appetites.

Laka scolded Oleg when he tried to scold us and filled our plates with a
big country breakfast, eggs fried in butter, scrambled eggs with pear
preserves, homemade sausages and country fried potatoes. Fresh soda
biscuits and toasted wheat bread with strawberry jam, big glasses of milk
and thick mugs of strong coffee. Our teenaged appetites vied with our
eagerness to tell what we knew about each other. Me telling Brent all
about Sam and Sam telling Oleg, Sven and Laka about me. With bemused
tolerance, the four of them listened to our eager recounting of our
nights explorations. Smiles of remembrance crossing their faces from time
to time.

When Sam and I had eaten everything but the tablecloth, Laka started to
get up and said that she'd make us some more breakfast. I opened my
mouth to protest but all that came out was a loud belch. Sam laughed and
told her that we'd had plenty to eat and weren't likely to die of
starvation for ten or fifteen minutes at least. I tried to hide my
embarrassment while everyone laughed. Brent finished the last of his
coffee and wiped his mouth and then got up and said, "Well, we have a
lot to do today, so we'd better get started." Looking at Sam and me, he
said, "Sam probably has a bunch of work to get to also, so we'd best
get about our business Jason."

Sam and I looked at each other like we just realized that the world was
going to stop turning. Oleg's voice rumbled from across the table,
"Nothing much going on today I tank. You go with your friend and help
with shopping, you want to."

Excitedly, Sam jumped up, "You mean it Oleg, I can go with them?"

"I tank you no be any help today if you stay."

Sam tried to say that he'd stay and help Oleg but Sven told him to quit
being stupid and to go get dressed properly before he left the house. We
dashed up the hallway and , bouncing back and forth through the doorways
talking to each other, quickly got dressed and hurried back to the dining
room. Sam and I went up to Oleg and I tried to thank him for letting Sam
go with me. Oleg just gathered the two of us up against his iron hard
chest. "I tank you both pretty good boys. You like each other purty good
I tank. You have good time, OK"

"Thanks, Oleg," we both said, giving him a great big hug. He swatted
our butts, and we let him. Then he pushed us away, "Go on now. I got
work to do." Sam and I shared a grin as Oleg turned and walked out the
back door, sharing the secret that Oleg was nothing but a big pushover.
Whispering and giggling together, we followed Brent out down Main Street.
Our first stop was at the County Courthouse, the only other two story
structure in town. The clerk registered my homestead without pause once
Brent attested to my being an upstanding citizen (and Sam made a joke
about my certainly being upstanding that morning --- which got him a
quick punch in the ribs from me -- and a big grin from the clerk). Once
my homestead was properly registered and I'd paid the $20 fee with a
gold coin, Brent and I jointly registered the other sections of land
he'd planned on trying to acquire over the years. I'd made Brent carry
most of the money, so he paid all the fees in cash right then. The clerk
said that it was good to see some cash money for a change and asked Brent
where he'd stolen it. Brent said he didn't have to steal it, that he'd
bought a printing press.

A voice from behind us said that he though Brent's sense of humor was
going to get him in real trouble some day. We all turned around and Brent
introduced me to the County Sheriff, a cousin of his, being his mother's
brother's boy, and about ten years older than Brent. Sheriff Buford
witnessed all the documents and allowed as how he'd known me long enough
to attest to my good standing as an upright citizen. He also gave me some
idea of what might happen if I showed him to be a liar. As we were
leaving the courthouse, Sheriff Buford asked us that if we were going to
be in town that night and then told us to come to dinner at his house and
to bring Sam along as he reckoned that Angel would like to see him. Brent
said we'd be there and Sam and me followed him down the street.

Sam told me that Angel was our age and was lookin' pretty good and that
he figured that one of us would have to marry her. I told Sam that as
long as Brent wanted me, I was married to him. Sam was really excited by
that and, following Brent down the street, we whispered intense
adolescent secrets and dreams to each other. Sam was mostly saying that
he really wouldn't mind marrying Angel, but that if I wanted to join
them in bed, it would be just fine with him. I told Sam that Brent and I
did everything to each other, but that mostly I liked to let Brent be the
boss. Sam told me that was how it was with him and Sven and Oleg. They
fucked him all the time but he could fuck them whenever he wanted to, but
he liked to fuck Laka mostly, especially if Oleg or Sven were fucking him
at the same time.

By the time Brent turned into the store both Sam and I had bulges in our
Levi's and were giggling and punching each other. Brent stopped in the
doorway and just stared at us. Then he shook his head and went inside. I
looked up and there was a fancy sign on the side of the building that
read, "Anderson Mercantile, Arthur Pendragon, Prop."

Sam elbowed me and we went inside. Brent was looking at some tack and I
spotted a display of stoves in the back of the store. Sam followed me as
I threaded my way through the narrow isles. The only stove I was
interested in was all covered with white porcelain and chrome fittings. I
didn't like that much, but the others were way too small. I was looking
inside the oven when the owner came over and closed the oven door in my
face.

"Keep your hands off the merchandise boys. Don't want it to get all
grubby."

I tried to explain that I wanted to buy one of the stoves and some other
stuff, but the man cut me off.

"Don't argue with me boy. I'll take a whip to you and that smart aleck
Sam both."

I started to flare up but Sam grabbed my arm. "Come-on, Jason. Let's go
to the Jew's."

Sputtering, I let Sam drag me back towards the front door. Brent
intercepted us.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Angry as hell, I shook Sam's hand off my arm. "That man said I
couldn't look at the stoves!"

Brent turned to the store owner. "Now, that's too bad, Arthur. Jason
here, is my new partner and he wanted to buy a new stove and some other
stuff."

"We can get what we need at the Jews, Brent."

"Yeah. I reckon so."

"That Jew bastard won't do anything but rip you off. All them Jews is
crooked."

"Maybe so, Arthur," Brent said, "but at least he might be civil while
he's stealing from us. Let's go guys."

Arthur tried to get us to stay in the store and shop there, but I refused
to even listen to him.

Sam led us down the street to a much smaller storefront with a small sign
hanging over the wooden sidewalk, "General Merchandise, Solomon Rand,
prop." I took a deep breath to calm myself and Brent asked me if I was
OK. Sam put his arm around my shoulder and said that I'd be fine and
that I shouldn't be upset just because Arthur was such an asshole.

"He's had his sword stuck in the anvil too long," I said.

Brent and Sam looked quizzically at each other and I told them that I'd
tell them the story latter. Sam said he figured it was more like Arthur
had an anvil up his ass anyway. We all started laughing and went into the
store.

A wizened little man with a halo of white hair looked up from the book he
was reading as we entered, laughing, stage right.

"Welcome," the old man said. "It's a beautiful day that brings such
happiness to my humble establishment."

We looked at each other and burst out laughing even louder. Laughing with
us, the old man carefully laid down his book. "What can I do to help you
boys?" he asked.

Wiping laughter tears from his eyes, Brent said, "I want to look at some
tack, and my partner," pointing at me, "wants to look at some household
goods."

"Brent," the old man said, "you know where the tack is. Feel free.
Maybe I can help these young men with their shopping." Turning to Sam
and me, he smiled, "My name is Solomon, and Sam, I know. But you might
be...?"

"Shalom, Rebbe. Ich bin, Jason."

"Shalom, is it? Rebbe?" Looking at Brent and raising his shoulders, he
said, "A mensch you bring into my shop? One wise beyond his years, I
think?." Looking back at me, "Where did you learn to tease an old man
with such words, o' wise one?"

"Is not a Reb a wise one?" Pointing at his book, I continued, "And is
it not said that one who reads Talmud shall be wise beyond their years,
and honored by all men of vision and thought? Am I such a fool as to not
know a truly wise man when the All Wise One puts him in front of me?"

"And where did you learn of the Talmud, and such words?"

"A friend of my mothers was a Hebrew gentleman of San Francisco. He was
kind enough to spend time with a young boy and teach him both Roman and
Hebrew letters, and even to read a bit. Certainly, he taught me to
recognize the Talmud and to know kindness and wisdom." Eagerly, I looked
at this old man, knowing, expecting the sharp mind behind that high
forehead, the excitement of talking with such a person, with a mind
trained to analyze, consider, apply logic and above all, Think!

"And is your mother with you?"

Sadness entered my day. "My mother died in the San Francisco earthquake,
along with all my friends, Rebbe."

Paper dry fingers gently lifted my chin and wiped tears from my eyes.
"All things, in their time, shall come to pass." He tapped my shoulder.
"Now is the time, I think, that three young men should have, maybe a
little nosh. You shop hungry, you don't shop smart." Turning to the
back of  the shop, he shouted, "MaMa. MaaaMaaaaaa!" A heavy set woman,
not quite as old as Mr. Rand, but much larger, came into the shop. He
took her hand, "Boys, this is my Fayga, my little bird, isn't she
lovely?" And he looked at her with eyes that truly saw a lovely woman.
We all said hello and she blushed. "MaMa. A little nosh maybe we have
for such fine boys, they shouldn't starve while they're shopping?"

Giggling, Mr. Rand's wife hurried off back through the door. Mr. Rand
ushered us, protesting, into a very nice little parlor. Mrs. Rand
reappeared almost immediately with a tray piled high with all sorts of
goodies she must have started getting ready as soon as we came in the
store. We really tried to be polite but the little sandwiches and bits of
fish in sour cream and all the other little goodies served with scalding
hot tea in water glasses was just too delicious. Mrs. Rand hovered over
us, egging us on and complaining that we weren't eating enough to keep a
baby alive much less such fine, strong boys. Mr. Rand just sat there and
beamed. He explained that all his sons were back East either going to
school or learning business and that `MaMa' had been missing having
someone to take care of. The way she was trying to stuff us, I figured
her boys must weigh 500 pounds each.

Almost unnoticed by us, Mrs. Rand managed in her fussing to get all the
current events from us and most of our life histories. She insisted that
we call her MaMa, saying that she'd have PaPa take us out to the
woodshed if we didn't. Grinning, we ate her food and called her MaMa.

Swollen with food and laughing, we finally managed to escape her clutches
and return to the shop. Mr. Rand, Solomon, thanked us for making his wife
so happy and asked us what we were looking for. Brent quickly wandered
off to the tack section while Mr. Rand started showing me the different
ready made cabinetry and household goods he had. Sam tagged along with
Mr. Rand and me.

One piece that I fell in love with was a huge kitchen cabinet. Six feet
wide and superbly crafted of solid white oak with all the joints
dovetailed. Varnished to a rich, warm brown. The lower section was
carefully thought out with a huge amount of storage for kitchen goods,
tools and appliances and two tilt-out bins for storing beans and such.
Even the doors had specially built racks to hold spice jars (included and
labeled) and a good assortment of kitchen handtools. The countertop was a
huge piece of polished dense marble, with one section that lifted out so
that it could be taken to a spring or ice house for cooling. The upper
cabinet had much more storage and three large galvanized tin bins. The
rice and sugar bins had patented slide-action doors at the bottom that
dropped one cup of contents per pull-push action. The large flour bin had
a funnel in the bottom with a glassine sight window. A simple slide
allowed flour to flow into the funnel. At the bottom of the funnel was a
built-in flour sifter that screwed off like a jar cap for cleaning. It
was arranged so that the sifted flour dropped directly onto the marble
work surface below. The more I looked it over and inspected the multitude
of features (like a celluloid plaque on the inside of one of the upper
cabinet doors that listed measurements and equivalents and various tips)
and the fine craftsmanship, the more I knew that I HAD to have this
magnificent kitchen appliance.

I looked up at Mr. Rand and the look on his face told me that he knew I
was hooked.

He smiled. "You really know how to cook, yes?"

"Yes, sir. I've always loved cooking."

"And you're afraid I'm going to beat you on the price, nu?"

"Well..."

"Nu. How long are you going to live with the tall boy?"

"For the rest of my life, I hope."

"Nu. And, I think, my two youngest boys will take over this business for
me when they get out of school. I wouldn't want you to think something
bad about them because of something I did. Yes?"

I grinned at Mr. Rand and, on the spur of the moment, gave him a big hug.

Flustered, he got very stiff, "What? What, what, what? Why you do this
thing?"

"Because your boys are all back East with your brother, and they can't
give you hugs, can they?"

He was holding me by the shoulders at arms length. His eyes got very
soft, sad. He pulled me against his chest and patted my back with one
hand. Caressing my hair with the other hand, he said, "My boys are gone.
And you have no Papa, nu?"

"No, sir."

"Yah. No Papa. No boys. Life is sad sometimes." He pushed me away,
gently, and quickly wiped a tear, glistening in his eye. "You call me
PaPa, now. Nu?" Catching sight of Sam in the corner of his eye, he
noticed that Sam had found a piece of hard candy on a stick and was
busily sucking on the flavored candy. "What? What, what, what? You
snitch my candy while I'm busy with a customer? Boys these days are no
good. Bad, bad, boys. Lollipops, 2 for a penny. You give me my penny,
and, I think, you give other lollipop to your friend, I think!"

Sam and Mr. Rand got in an argument over the lollipop, and the price.
Only the grin never left Sam's face, even when Mr. Rand told him not to
call him `PaPa', to call him `Sir' or Mr. Rand, and he'd better pay
up now or he'd call the sheriff and have him locked up until he was an
old, old man. Sam finally dug a penny out of his pocket and told me I'd
better get my lollipop now or the old skinflint would try to cheat me out
of it later. Mr. Rand tried to swat Sam's butt, but Sam ducked away and
Mr. Rand just wagged his finger at him and threatened all sorts of dire
consequences for disrespectful boys. All this while he was guiding me
over to the jars full of candies and telling me what flavors the
different colors were. I picked out a bright red jawbreaker, but Mr. Rand
told me they were four for a penny and I should pick another one. I asked
him what his favorite flavor was and he told me. I picked out a bright
green jawbreaker and gave it to him. He popped it into his mouth with a
big grin and Sam protested paying for Mr. Rand's candy. He just grinned
wider and led me over to show me his display of pots and pans. Sam moaned
and groaned the whole time about blowing his penny on candy for a candy
seller.

I picked out a lot of stuff, but didn't really like any of the stoves
that Mr. Rand had on display and was afraid that I was going to have to
order one from back East, and that would take months. The stoves were
very nice stoves, but they were all too small for what I wanted. Mr. Rand
quickly noticed I wasn't very happy with the stoves he had.

"You don't like my stoves, heh?"

"Oh, they're very nice stoves, PaPa, but..."

"But! But for you, not the right stove, nu?" He put his elbow in his
palm and grasped his chin with the free hand. "I think I know what you
want. Come."

He took off out the back door with Sam and me looking at each other
quizzically and trying to keep up with his long paces. For an old man, he
sure could move fast! He led us out back across the yard to a big shed
that he used to house his mare and buggy. He had one whole side of the
shed walled off for storage. He led us to the back and Sam helped him
pull a tarp off the most beautiful stove I'd ever seen. A huge cast iron
work of art. Six graceful legs supported three ovens and a large burn box
with front and top feed doors, a cranked ash sifter, and a removable ash
box. There was one large oven to the left of the burn box that sat under
the biggest grill plate I'd ever seen, even in the San Francisco
restaurants. There were two more large ovens to the right under the cook
surface and each oven had a metal thermometer built into the white
enameled door. Two levers moved dampeners that diverted the hot gases
from the burn box, either down under the ovens and then back up under the
cook surfaces to the chimney, or directly under the cook surfaces. One
dampener was for the griddle and the other one for the cook surface.

There were eight cook plates, each made of three cast rings There were
six big pots of the French design in three different sizes that fit down
into the holes that removing the cook plates exposed. The iron back plate
supported two big warming ovens, each with their own metal thermostats.
On top of the warming ovens was a great large hot water tank with copper
pipes that went down directly to the fire box to heat the water quickly.

This was a stove that any cook or chef could be proud of and work with.
Dazed, I turned to face Mr. Rand

He patted the stove and smiled, "I bought this hoping I could sell it to
the hotel but Mrs. Anderson's brother brought them one from St. Louis
just before this one arrived." He gave Sam a dirty look like it was all
Sams fault. Sam did his best to look innocent, but wasn't notably
effective. "So now, it's a turtle around my neck."

Turtle, albatross; who was I to argue?

"I think, maybe you buy all that other stuff, and I make you a real good
deal on this stove."

Thinking quickly, I realized that this was going to be the most expensive
item I was going to buy and that Mr. Rand had just shifted into
bargaining mode.

"Well, I don't know, Mr. Rand (PaPa was out to lunch, Mr. Rand was
definitely in charge). With these pots I won't need some of the other
pots I picked out."

"Sure. Sure. But..."

Later Sam described what followed as, "The damnedest exhibition of
Yankee wheeling and dealing I've ever seen." Even Brent, who only
caught the end of the deal, had to agree.

We finally settled on a price, spit in our palms and shook hands, sealing
the deal. PaPa beamed at me and pulled me to his chest, giving me a big,
proud hug. "You very good at that. Maybe you go into business with my
boys?" he teased.

"You rooked me and you know it!" I teased back. Secretly, we were both
very pleased with the bargain we had struck. A good profit for him and
I'd gotten better quality and a better price than I ever would have
gotten from that asshole up the street.

Brent pulled Mr. Rand aside to the saddles and the old man just shook his
head. "You want something for the boy, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"The little pinto mare is his?"

"Why, yes, sir."

"These no good. You come."

He headed out the back door again, this time followed by all three of us.
He led us to the shop next door and introduced us to Mr. Mendoza, a
leather worker from Spain who had just come to town. Once the
introductions were finished, Mr. Rand led us to the other end of the
little shop. There sat the most beautiful saddle I'd ever seen. Just
like Brent had described, it had a high pommel and a low cantle and a
broad quilted and padded seat. It had both breech and breast bands and
was full double rigged. What Brent had never thought of though was that
every bit of exposed leather was tooled  and traced with silver. Conchas
were much in evidence. To top it off, there was a matching martingale and
cutting horse hackamore with a wide nose band braided of thin, thin
strands of soft kid leather. Brent and I just stared at the saddle and
bridle, and then looked at each other, knowing that I had to have them.

Brent asked how much the saddle was and Mr. Mendoza seemed embarrassed
and tried to explain that the saddle was too expensive and that he had
only made it as a showpiece. Brent asked, politely, again, and Mr.
Mendoza said that if he were to make such a saddle for someone it would
have to cost maybe $125, or even a little more. He was very sorry, but
such saddles were not ordinary. Brent looked at me and I looked at him.
We spoke together as we were learning too, without words. I nodded and he
smiled at me. He turned to Mr. Mendoza and reached into his pocket. He
handed Mr. Mendoza two, one-hundred dollar bills.

"Mr. Mendoza, I want this saddle and bridle."

Mr. Mendoza tried to protest that the saddle was too expensive and that,
in any case, he did not have change for that much money.

"Mr. Mendoza, the saddle and bridle are worth two hundred dollars, and
you know they are. This is a gift for someone I love, very much. A
wedding gift."

Mr. Mendoza glanced over at his young son, who was sitting on a
leatherworking bench, pretending to work and not notice us. "Such things
are not unknown in my country Mr. Brent. And I understand. Such gifts
must be very, very special. Yes?"

Brent smiled, "I'm glad you understand Mr. Mendoza. This is indeed, a
very special gift for someone who is very special to me. Someone who
deserves the best saddle ever made."

Embarrassed at the compliment, Mr. Mendoza bowed, first to me and then to
Brent. Sam offered to take the saddle and bridle back to the livery
stable and said he'd polish it up real good. Offended, Mr. Mendoza said,
as much as we could understand from the rapid stream of mixed Spanish and
English, that if Sam touched that saddle with his grubby little hands, he
personally, Jose Juan Antonio Alverto Miguel Mendoza de Alverez de Santa
Anna, would beat him senseless with a leather strap. That the saddle
would stay were it was and that he personally would prepare it for use
and teach me how to care for my new saddle.

Scared for once in his life by the hot blooded Spaniard, Sam kept his
mouth shut -- and his hands off the saddle. We made arrangements  for me
to spend some time with Mr. Mendoza the next morning and made our
good-byes.

Back in Mr. Rand's store we quickly finished our business and Brent
suggested that we all go have lunch at the saloon and Sam ran off to tell
Laka that we wouldn't be there for lunch or dinner.

-----eof-----