by Mark Eller
Six o'clock came as a relief, and his stomach had been complaining about his missed lunch for more than an hour when Cathy returned with dinner. He made a mental note to give her some extra money since she had obviously paid for this out of her own funds. He took the food and spent a few minutes praising her cooking ability while she watched him eat. After a short while she grew bored with his praise and left. Several minutes later Aaron noticed that she had taken his laundry with her.
"Ho, Storeman."
Aaron looked up to see the barber. "Mister Golard, I was thinking of you recently."
"And well you should. You are far too shaggy on top, son. A clean cut makes a sound impression you know."
"I'll stop in this week," Aaron promised.
"Be sure that you do. Are you ready yet? We're gathering shortly."
"Ready?" Oh damn, how could militia practice have slipped his mind? "Of course. I'll be there."
"That's just fine, Mister Turner. The Mistress Mayor told me I was to make sure you didn't forget. 'Frances,' I told her, 'that boy has a head on his shoulders. He sure does. Why, he runs one of the most successful businesses in town,' and that's when Mister Banks said you ran the most successful. I told her you weren't likely to forget you start training tonight, and here you proved me right." He shook hands briefly and left.
And then the Wiggins kids showed up. Aaron gave them some candy, shut shop and barely made it to the practice grounds on time. Sarah frowned at him for being almost late, and Dan Moody thrust a bow in his hands. In five minutes Aaron had demonstrated to everybody's satisfaction that he knew not one thing about archery. After an hour's practice he had proved he had the aptitude for it that he lacked for swords. In fact, he actually began to mostly hit his targets. Sometimes he came near the center. Sometimes.
During the periods when he waited his turn at the targets he looked around curiously. He had always avoided the grounds during training before. Newcomers were often suspected of being spies for bandits, and being suspected of being a spy was the last thing Aaron wanted, since he was one.
Around him, men and women sparred with staffs and the occasional spear. Some people worked at the pells, while others, like Aaron, formed a straight line oriented on a series of hay bale targets that had been set up at various distances. Sarah Townsend stalked among all the trainees, watching every move closely.
"No!" She strode purposefully toward a large burly man with a very large sword. "I've told you before, Mister Yarl, you can't use all strength and no finesse. It doesn't matter how strong you are or how big your sword is if somebody gets in close and pokes a hole in your belly."
Frowning, Jimmy Yarl lowered his weapon, then defiantly raised it again. "Nobody would dare come in against me. Not when I'm holding…"
Instantly darting forward, Sarah whacked Yarl three quick times with her baton. Throat, gut, and groin. Aaron winced with sympathy while Yarl slowly fell to his knees. The sword dropped from his hand.
"Strength is a wonderful thing," Sarah said to the watching crowd, "but speed and agility means more. This isn't a game, people." She spun her baton in a quick circle, looking more self assured, more dangerous, than any of the watchers.
Aaron smiled, and then something struck the back of his head.
"OW!" Aaron flinched under the blow. Head throbbing, he turned quickly to see a young man, strongly built and inches taller than himself, glaring angrily.
"Pay attention shopkeeper. We ain't going to run no rescue for you because you can't do for yourself. Keep your eyes off the women and get to work."
"Steven!" A balding, older man raced up. "There was no need for that. I'm sorry, Mister Turner. You try to raise them right, but sometimes they slip."
Perplexed, Aaron rubbed a hand across the back of his throbbing head. Since it was not his turn at the firing line, he had not been shirking. The throbbing was already receding, but his head felt tender.
"No harm done," he said, though he felt a slow anger beginning to build. "Young men are sometimes hasty, Mister Knight."
Steven pulled away from his father. "Don't treat me like a young 'un! I'm almost as old as he is. Pa, you should have seen the way he eyed the women."
"I was watching how others train," Aaron said dryly. "Some of those others happen to be women. Mostly I watched Miss Townsend work."
"Keep your damn sneaky eyes--"
Sarah worked her way through the gathering crowd. "What's going on here?"
"It seems young Steven doesn't like the shopkeeper watching you work, daughter," said David Townsend from nearby. "He whacked Turner alongside the head." Shaking his head disapprovingly, he gave Steven a significant look. "From behind."
Sarah's eyes turned hard. "Steven Knight, that was incredibly stupid. Mister Turner may be smaller and less skilled than I am, but he is one of the few people in this town who would worry me if I made him angry. Furthermore, I am dead tired of your jealousy. There is nothing between Mister Turner and me. There never was anything between us, and I doubt there ever will be anything between us. On top of that, you are too young to interest me, and I am not talking about just years. I'm talking about maturity. If I hear of one more incident, I will personally haul you out of town and beat the insolence out of you. Do you understand me?"
Steven muttered something.
"I can't hear you."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I understand," he said angrily.
"Good." Sarah turned, glaring at the crowd. "The show is over, people. Get back to work. Mister Turner, I want to speak to you in private."
Grabbing his arm, she pulled him away from the others. "Is it over, Mister Turner, or are you planning to take this further?"
"Me?" Aaron was surprised. "I barely know him. Besides, the man could tear me apart. I don't want any trouble with someone his size."
"No?" Sarah asked doubtfully. "It looked to me like you were ready to start a little trouble of your own. You don't fool me, sir. I've been watching you. You walk soft and act meek and are invariably polite to everyone, but you have a temper on you. I'm scared of the day you let it loose."
"Miss Townsend!" Aaron felt surprised. How could she have gained such an inaccurate impression of him? "I am smaller and lighter than almost every man in town. If I let my temper loose I would only invite a beating. I promise you, that idea has no appeal at all."
She frowned. "I'm not sure what you would do if you were pushed hard enough. I just know that you have a dangerous air. It has gained you early respect from the men and some interest from the women."
Aaron shook his head in confusion. "I really don't understand. For the most part the men treat me as they would anybody else, and I've seen no sign that any woman is particularly interested."
"Then you are obviously blind, Mister Turner. It's been clear to everyone else that several women are interested. Just tell me. Are you going to let this incident drop?"
"Yes," Aaron said. "Yes, of course I will."
"Good. You can go back to your group."
Feeling confused by the entire event, Aaron went back and gathered up his bow along with his practice arrows. Miss Townsend was obviously mistaken in about a dozen ways, but she was right in one area. He was still upset. Steven was a cipher that needed seeing to. No matter how much he mulled the matter over, Aaron could not imagine why the man had it in for him.
He was still upset when his turn to shoot arrived. Taking his six shots, he hit the target only once. Several people commiserated with him and elder Mister Knight gave him a few pointers on stance while his daughter, Judith, moved his hands slightly to change his grip.
The next time he shot he hit the target with all five arrows. After that he missed the bull's-eye only once. As best Aaron could tell, he was the only person to shoot so well. Heavy congratulations were handed to him by all except Dan Moody.
"You weren't serious before," Dan told him. "Now you are. Get rid of the anger, son. It'll do no one any good."
; "I'm over being angry," Aaron told him. "I'm not upset at all anymore."
Moody spat out a stream of tobacco juice. "Some folks just don't see it in themselves. Just to let you know, some of us will see to it you youngsters don't cross paths for a few days. Don't want any more trouble to start."
On his next time up, every shot landed in the bull's-eye. The congratulations handed him were less effusive and he overheard a few remarks about Talent. Truth to tell, he was amazed at himself. Aaron had always been good with handguns, but he had attributed that success to the fact that he only had one good arm and a lot of excess time on his hands. When he was still a child he had discovered that he had superior aim when he threw things like rocks. It was just that he could not throw things very far.
But this was too much to expect. He had never held a bow before, and yet it seemed to fit his hand like an outgrowth of his arm. Smooth wood beneath his fingers, creaking when he drew the string back, feeling tension in his muscles as the string bit into his fingers, everything about the bow felt comfortable and familiar. More, now that he had fired it a few times he knew where his arrows would land. No one else even came close to his success no matter how much time they took. For the most part, Aaron barely had to look at the target before he released his shot.
Not wanting too much undue attention, when Aaron was next up, he deliberately changed his point of aim so his arrows landed around the edge of the target. He smiled ruefully as he was slapped on the back by recent admirers and told better luck next time. Shrugging his shoulders, Aaron smiled and mentioned beginner's luck, but he knew better. Every arrow hit exactly where he wanted it to go.
Time passed, and the light began failing as evening approached, so Sarah called it quits for the day. Aaron tried to turn over his bow but was told to keep it, and she would pick up the sword tomorrow.
Just before people started dispersing he stopped Mister Sever and told him about the sitting chairs, and maybe a table, that he wanted. The woodworker just happened to have a set that had been commissioned half a year earlier by the Velns. Unfortunately Mistress Veln had caught a bad flux that eventually caused her death so the finished pieces were now gathering dust and taking up room since they were too expensive for most people. Aaron agreed to pay three silver seven gold for the set, which meant that the furniture cost him more than the store he was going to put it in.
Then they talked about sealing off the store's doorway and opening an adjoining door. Working out the logistics in his head, Mister Sever decided that it could be done and said he would send his son out on the morrow.
And then everybody decided it was time to head for their homes. The talk was cheerful as they headed back into town. Almost without exception, the men and women were full of good-humored ribbing and gentle insults. It became apparent to Aaron that the militia practice served a purpose other than preparing the town's people for future raids. Many of these people used this time to flirt and romance those they did not ordinarily see during a regular day. However, despite the seeming cheer, Aaron noticed that several people stayed constantly between him and Steven Knight. That irritated him. The incident was over. Steven had obviously cooled off, and so had he. Why were they all so concerned?
Several people split off when they reached their turnoff. Steven and his father left the group early. By the time Aaron reached the General Store there were only fifteen people left. Very few of them lived inside their businesses as Aaron did. The others walked through the business district to reach their homes.
When he reached his store Aaron stopped and pulled out his keys to unlock the door. Sarah separated herself from the rest of the group.
"Are you okay now?" Her voice was toneless.
Aaron sighed. "Look, I'm fine. I took a little buffet on the head, and the man said some harsh words. The one has stopped hurting, and the other never mattered. Knight obviously was upset, and I was an available target. Once he cooled off, he saw there was nothing for him to get upset about."
Raising a hand, Sarah grasped him by the chin. "Open your eyes a little, Mister Turner. Steven Knight did have a reason to be upset, since I hope I lied to him." She leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek before turning abruptly and hurrying after the others.
Face hot and with sweat beading on his forehead, Aaron watched her retreat. He shook his head, shook it again, and touched his cheek. Damp. His skin tingled.
"Whoa," he said quietly to himself. "My first kiss."
Gently opening his door, he turned his head to watch Sarah catch up with the others. She looked back over her shoulder, and her face appeared dark beneath the stars, darker than it had any right to be. White teeth showed in a half smile, and then her footsteps released a soft thudding in the street's dirt as she hurried after the others.
If Aaron did not know better he would have accused the indomitable Miss Townsend of blushing.
Chapter 8
It seemed reasonable to believe that a woodworker's wagon would have round wheels and well greased axles. From the sound of it, Aaron's assumption was wrong because the wagon he heard pull up in front of his store squealed loud enough to set his nerves on edge.
"Whoa, there. Easy. Easy," the driver called to his horse. "Ho there, Mister Turner! You inside?"
Cathy looked at Aaron. "It's that Haig fellow. What did you do?"
Aaron raised his hands. "I ordered furniture and commissioned to have some work done."
"I wish you would have spoken to me first," Cathy said, rolling her eyes. "The furniture is okay. Mister Sever gives that work to Mister Taylor, and he is good. The problem is that Mister Sever sometimes contracts out the rough work and Billy Haig is the worst of the people he uses. Oh, Billy's work is good, but you have to watch him close if you want him to finish up in a reasonable time. It would have done you much better if Mister Sever had sent out his son or one of his daughters."
"He told me he was going to send his son out," Aaron said.
Looking as if she had eaten something sour, Cathy took another look into the street. "Guess he changed his mind."
"Mister Turner!"
"Here," Aaron called. "I'm coming."
"Watch him," Cathy warned. "He's light fingered."
The person in question proved to be a middle-aged man running towards baldness and a strong potbelly. Aaron remembered speaking with him before. Billy Haig was somebody who occasionally visited the store but he had never before known the man's name or his trade.
By the time Aaron reached the doorway Haig had already dropped the tailgate on the wagon, making a loud thunk and raising a thin cloud of dust that smelled faintly of hay and mold. "Property of Last Chance Stables" was painted on the wagon's side. Despite his disheveled appearance, Haig smelled strongly of fresh soap.
"Yuh 'ave some fine furniture 'ere, Mister Turner," Haig said, displaying an open gap where three of his upper front teeth were missing. "The Mister, 'e spent a good many hours on't. Mind yuh, he would 'ave spent a good many more if it 'adn't been for me 'elping 'im with most o' the finer work. Wouldn't be truthful honest if I didn't say that much."
The pounding of a hammer on hot metal sounded from across the street. Aaron winced at the noise. Apparently, Jorrin was working on a new project. There were times a person could grow tired of the constant clatter and banging.
"And I appreciate your labor," Aaron said doubtfully. To his eye, the cherry-wood tables and chairs, while pretty enough and well built, were nothing special. They showed little detailing or flair, although they did have a clear coat finish that brought out the wood grain in an almost startling clarity. He liked that.
"'Twas nothing sir, nothing at all. Why, when I was told yuh was buying these, what was it I could be doing but stayin' up the entire night through an' double checking all 'em glue joints an' then give 'em a final polishing. Yes, sir. The Mister said, an' I agree, a man like yuh needs only the best. Could yuh grab that end, sir?"
Waiting until Haig had set himself, Aaron lifted one end of the table a
nd helped carry it into his new sitting room. The table was surprisingly heavy and quite a bit larger than he had first thought. Beneath his fingers, the finish felt glass smooth and just as slick, making him worry about losing his grip. With care, they maneuvered it through the door, bumping the doorframe only once. Twelve chairs came in next, far more chairs than Aaron had counted on owning, but they were a matched set. He placed six of them around the table, four near the bookshelves and two next to the wood stove. A colorful array of flowers in rather plain pottery sat on a couple of the empty shelves, showing that Cathy had been visiting.
When everything was in place, Aaron stood back to look at his new furniture. Admittedly, it looked better inside the building where it belonged than it had outside piled every which way on the wagon. To be honest, the table looked too big for his needs since it was large enough to easily sit eight people. He counted himself a few times. Every time he finished counting he came up with the same number. As best as he could figure it, he was only one person. That table was going to make him feel very inadequate.
Haig rubbed his callused hands together enthusiastically. "Very good, sir. Now if you can tell me what you need done I can look it over and go fetch the materials and tools I need."
Aaron made a rough gesture. "I want this door sealed and a new one opened between the two stores. The doorway should be just to the right of the counter, maybe three feet over."
"Fine."
"Mister Turner!" The call came from the other building.
Aaron groaned. He really needed to change his name. Maybe then he could get a few minutes to himself every once in a while.
"Coming."
Haarod Beech waited for him near the display case with Aaron's steel knives. Dusty, his hat brim was bent in several contradictory directions, and a scowl marred his lined face.
"I want one of them knives," Beech said abruptly. "I have two silver seven full gold a quarter, and that's what you're getting." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the thing Cathy had called a Talent Stone. He played with it, rotating it slowly in his left hand. Beside him, Cathy gasped and turned pale.