“Chadwick? Chadwick!” Mr. Elderberry called.
“Yes, sir?” the young store clerk responded, hastily returning the book he’d been reading—Rex Ryan, King of the West—to the rack of dime novels in Elderberry’s General store.
“What are you doing?” the elderly storekeeper asked, coming from behind the counter.
“Uh, I’m straightening out the new shipment of books, sir,” Chad lied.
“And was that what I asked you to do?”
“Well, no. You asked me to sweep the floor and…and…” Chad stammered. He’d actually forgotten what tasks the squat, balding, bespectacled man in the white apron had assigned him.
“Where is your mind, boy? Now get that floor swept and then unpack that delivery of yard goods.”
“Yes, sir,” Chad said again.
Chad looked at the book once more, sighed, went to the closet in the storeroom, and got the broom.
As he swept, he muttered to himself, “Chadwick, sweep the floor, Chadwick, stock the shelves. There’s more to life than yard goods and brooms!”
On top of that he hated his name. What self-respecting cowboy would call himself Chadwick? And a cowboy is what he wanted to be. From as early as he could remember, tales of the American West had filled his heart with dreams of the day he would leave this boring New England town and head for the wide open spaces of the western frontier. There, exciting cowboy adventures awaited him. He would be Chad Armstrong, American cowboy, not Chadwick Algood, New England store clerk. One day, as soon as the opportunity arose, he would assume that identity. Then he would ride off into the sunset as many of the cowboy heroes did in the books he read.
However, and here was the rub, he was the only son of his widowed mother. She had lost her husband, Chad’s father, to consumption. Chad was forced to leave school and get work to support her and his little sister, Sally.
Chad opened the box containing bright ginghams, bold plaids, and flowery prints. He took the bolts of material and laid them out side by side on the long table just inside the front door of the store. He was almost done when the bell on the door signaled the arrival of a customer. A woman and a girl came in. Chad knew them well: Mrs. Custer and Sarah Jane, her daughter. He had gone to school with Sarah Jane before he’d quit when his father passed. They came straight to the table where Chad was working.
“Hello, Chadwick,” Mrs. Custer said.
“Hello,” Chad replied.
“Hi, Chad,” Sarah Jane said with a broad smile.
Chad nodded.
“My, what a lovely array of goods you have today,” Mrs. Custer continued, running a hand fondly over the material.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chad mumbled.
Just then, Mr. Elderberry came up to them.
“Ah, Mrs. Custer. How nice to see you. Chadwick, since you’re no longer needed here, go straighten up the stockroom and take out the trash.”
As the old storekeeper and Mrs. Custer began discussing the materials, Chad walked away. Sarah Jane followed him.
Reaching the stockroom door, Sarah Jane asked, “Do you miss school?”
Chad shrugged. “Not really.”
“Well, some of us miss you,” she said in such a way that it was impossible to miss that it was Sarah Jane who was doing most of the missing.
“I would have been done last spring anyway. I’ve come of age,” Chad said.
“There’s a dance at the town hall this Saturday. Any chance you’ll come?” she asked, lowering her eyes demurely. “I’d save a dance for you if you did.”
Chad sighed to himself. He had no interest in dances. While some of the boys he’d gone to school with talked about how dances were a chance to put your arms around a girl and maybe convince them to let you steal a kiss, Chad could care less. As the boys in his class got older, he couldn’t fathom what all the fuss over girls was about.
“That would be nice, but Mother is very religious. She doesn’t believe in dancing. I don’t think she’d approve.”
It was true. Mrs. Algood was pious to the point of nausea. Chad had never understood that. While he didn’t agree with his mother’s religious fervor, on this occasion he found it a convenient excuse for his not going to the dance.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah Jane said, sadly. “It would have been fun.”
Chad, nodding polite agreement, said, “I better get back to work.” He entered the stockroom and closed the door. Leaning against it he thought, Wonder if cowboys take to dancing?
* * * *
Two hours later it was time to close the store for the day. Chad gave the floors a final sweep as Mr. Elderberry counted the day’s receipts.
