Banner O'Brien Read Free Page B

Strait of Juan de Fuca, the waterway that separated Puget Sound from the Pacific. No doubt ships from every part of the world dropped anchor here to pay duty on their cargoes and give foreign passengers an opportunity to show their papers to customs officials.
    The distant, keening shrieks of mill saws indicated that there was a thriving timber industry, and as the buggy was drawn out of the quiet street and into the main part of the town itself, she sighted the framework of a half-constructed clipper in the shipyard fronting the water.
    There were wooden sidewalks edging Center Street, and snow mounded on the square tops of kerosene-fed streetlamps. Housewives and millworkers and rough-looking sailors intermingled with the occasional Indian or Chinese.
    A bell was ringing somewhere on a side street, and well-dressed children and urchins alike scrambled after the sound, some more willingly than others.
    With Christmas just over a week away, there were evergreen boughs arranged in the windows of shops and offices, and almost every door boasted a beribboned holly wreath.
    Banner was enthralled by the raucous vitality of that town. It was obvious that Port Hastings had aspirations to be more than it was.
    They rounded a corner, and Adam drew back the reins and wrenched the brake lever into place. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
    Banner eyed the steamy windows of Wung Lo’s Laundry and Savory Tea Shop suspiciously. Adam had promised to take her on rounds with him. Was he actually planning to leave her sitting in his buggy while he saw patients?
    He seemed to read the question in her face, and itmade him laugh as he stepped down to the ground, which appeared to be a rutted mixture of snow, mud, and sawdust.
    “I’m only picking up my shirts, Shamrock,” he assured her.
    Banner felt very foolish indeed, and she averted her eyes and folded her hands and sat rigid until she knew Adam had gone inside the store.
    Moments after that, a tiny Chinaman came out of the establishment, balancing an enormous stack of neatly wrapped parcels on his shoulders. He wore loose garments of black silk, and a queue reached well down his back.
    Banner looked at the man’s feet, which were shod only in wooden sandals, and ached to think how cold he must be.
    He had gone only a dozen yards or so when half a dozen schoolchildren encircled him, linking their hands. Their voices were the crueler for their chimelike innocence as they chanted,
     
Ching Chong, Chinaman
Have you any fish?
Snip off yur pigtail
Make a wish!
     
    The little man raged at them in swift, high-pitched, birdcall words, but they were undaunted. The stack of laundry teetered precariously on the Chinaman’s shoulders, and Banner was about to break up the game with a memorable invective when an Indian man came out of an alleyway, looking fierce in his buckskins and braids and clapping his hands angrily.
    “Klatawah! Klatawah!” he scolded, and the imps scurried away in every direction, calling taunts over their shoulders and then running in earnest when the Indian poised himself to give chase.
    The Chinaman flung one baleful look at his rescuer,realigned the incredible burden on his back, and scampered on about his business.
    Shortly, Adam came out of Wung Lo’s establishment with a package only slightly less cumbersome than the Chinaman’s and dropped it behind the buggy seat. The whole vehicle shifted as he climbed in and took up the reins, and Banner was unaccountably conscious of the hard line of his thigh pressing against her own.
    She shivered involuntarily, even though there was a strange, drunken warmth surging through her system.
    Adam studied her, one dark eyebrow arched, and the snow-and-soap scent of his clothes and hair made her even more uncomfortable than his gaze.
    “Cold?” he asked.
    “No,” Banner croaked.
    Adam didn’t seem to believe her, and the molten humor in his eyes made her want to double up both fists and pummel his chest. “I should