by Mark Eller
"Backed down, didn't he?"
Aaron pushed himself away and staggered across the street. New blood came from his forehead, redirected by his changed angle so it missed his eye. He felt it flowing, but he had no idea where it went.
Vaguely aware, he pushed his way past the onlookers and staggered across the street.
Unlocking the store was a chore almost beyond his ability but he managed to eventually find the door, and then he found the blurry place where he usually put the key.
Seven attempts later, the key finally slipped into place and the lock turned. He staggered into the store, closed the door behind him, and made it to the counter before he had to stop and support himself on its edge to keep the floor from rising up to his face. More minutes passed before Aaron had the strength to gather rags and a pitcher of water and carry them into the sitting room. Once there, he dropped the rags on the table, set the pitcher down and collapsed into a chair.
His head throbbed unbelievably.
"Oh my god!"
He turned his head slightly. Missy.
"Cathy will die if she sees this. Are you okay?"
Aaron's mouth worked with difficulty. "Yuh--"
"How many fingers am I holding up?" Her hand wavered before him. Aaron counted carefully.
"S--six."
"Not good at all," she said worriedly. "Okay, I'm going to clean your face now. It's going to hurt, and the bleeding might start back up a little, but you don't want Cathy to see you looking like this."
Her ministrations hurt like hell, and then it hurt worse, and then Doc Gunther arrived and said there was more than bruised flesh involved. Young Knight must have worn those brass knuckles he had won from that gambler a couple months back. Aaron's skull was probably not cracked, but it was definitely damaged. There might even be a concussion.
Finally, they helped him lie down, and it was only later that he wondered why he was laying on a thick pad of blankets on the floor of his sitting room and not in the loft where he belonged. He talked them into bringing him aspirin.
* * *
Missy was there when he woke.
"Whar a' I." His head felt cold and wet. Missy held a towel to him.
"In your sitting room," she said quietly. "We made a bed on the floor for you. Doc says you'll be okay. He gave you six stitches and said he was getting his money from the Knights. Cathy is taking care of the business, and I'm watching you."
"Layyer," he mumbled.
"What?"
"Ge layyer."
A while later Mister Doland stood by his side. "I'm the closest thing to a lawyer Last Chance has, Mister Turner. I think I know what you want, and I'm sorry to say that we don't sue for these things out here like they do in the cities."
"Na sue," Aaron managed to force out. "Will. Nee will. Die."
"Oh no." Doland was emphatic. "You won't die. I assure you."
Aaron felt so incredibly tired that he just wanted to close his eyes and drift away, yet he had to say it. He had to say it now while he still remembered.
"Might s'time. Gi all ta B--Baynes. Wi--ll."
"Are you saying you want to make a will that leaves all your possessions to the Bayne children?"
"Yuh." Why was the man so slow?
"I'll draw up the papers and come back later tomorrow. You should be much better by then."
Doland left, and he did draw up the papers, and he did return the next day, and Aaron felt good enough to sign them with Flo as his witness. By Friday he felt almost normal except for a sore head and a certain slurring when he talked.
They wouldn't let him work, and he was just enough under the weather not to care that other people controlled his life. With nothing better to do, he spent his days reading the same paragraphs over and over again. Twice a day he stirred himself enough to make tea for Cathy and Missy. Each time they thanked him very politely just before they threw the tea out, and Aaron did not know why. The tea was perfectly good. There was no way he could have made it with laundry detergent instead of powdered tea leaves.
Looking worried, Sarah came visiting, and he was glad to hear she had taken no action against the Knight boy. Aaron did not want her protecting him. The idea did not seem right somehow, but he need not have worried. Bigger problems were on Sarah's horizon. The Movers were still out there on the west side of town and with the additional wagons, not all of them were Zorists. Beech had begged another week's extension. Personally, Sarah was against it, but Mistress Golard had okayed the longer stay because the Movers were good for business. Though it was true that they were causing little trouble, Sarah wanted them gone anyway. Most of them were Zorists, and she had no use for people who preached the heresy of a single god. Besides, when they left, Beech would go too.
On Friday night Jorrin came by, and Missy gave him another lesson while Cathy beat Aaron in four straight games of chess. After the fourth game Sarah dropped in and proceeded to destroy Cathy in three extremely quick sessions.
While Cathy and Sarah played, Aaron watched Missy teach. She had a talent for it despite her young age, and that was good because Jorrin had somehow become an awkward student. He held his pen clumsily in a swollen hand, and his left eye was puffed almost closed. The surrounding tissue was dark and swollen, a sure sign that Jorrin had become careless at his forge and maybe caught a cinder in his eye.
By the end of the evening there was no more Mister this and Miss that. All five of them used the given names of the others, even Missy. Though she was at an age where it was unheard of for children to be that disrespectful to an adult, somehow, in some way, she really did not seem to be a child.
He woke Saturday and the mental fog was gone.
Cathy was arranging cans when he lowered himself down the loft ladder. It seemed like she was always arranging things. She had changed things around so the store ran exactly as she wanted it to run. Every item had its assigned place. The knickknacks he often had laying around were now carefully arranged on window sills and display shelves.
Half turning, Cathy looked at him. Wisps of fine hair drifted across her eyes and trailed over her nose. She brushed it away with an irritable hand and smiled. The smile transformed her, making her face look fuller and softer. Her eyes searched his, testing, debating, and then she rose.
Slowly, gently, she lifted a hand to his face, touched his right eye, raised its lid, and nodded.
"Better. Your pupil doesn't look so dilated. I think you are finally back with us, sir. That's good because I have more to do than I have time to do it in. Can you run the store today while I work on the other section?"
"I suppose I could try," Aaron answered. "I'll call you if I have trouble."
"Good. Doc told me to remind you that the stitches come out next Friday. He said he already told you about it, but he didn't think you would remember."
"He was right."
"Before I forget, we aren't using the old ledger anymore. I started a new one. This one is arranged more logically."
She left, and Aaron soon found himself leaning on a broom while dust mites flurried around his head, and Last Chance once more woke to a new day. It was still spring and a bright sun rode high in the sky. The clouds were few and white, and the street was without shadow.
Leaning on his broom, Aaron closed his eyes and wished for the simple peace he had once known when he did this chore. Last Chance had lost its innocence. He was no longer able to pretend it was a home free of strife and pettiness. Like the militia, Last Chance had its own hidden shadows and its petty evils. It was a home that perfectly matched the condition of his soul.
Chapter 10
Aaron smiled at the rumbling squeal of a rickety barrow being wheeled up to his grocery. Only Mistress Turnbull had a barrow like that. It was made so loosely that every joining of wood rubbed against one another, making the barrow sound like it would fall apart at any moment. Heavy footsteps stomped on the outside boardwalk, and then Mistress Turnbull carefully eased herself through the door.
"Hoy,
Mister Turner." At five-two she was the largest woman Aaron had ever seen--only her size was not measured in her inches from the ground to the sky. Almost, he could feel the building shake as she walked because she weighed at least four times his own one thirty, which meant she was one hefty woman. However, she was also one of the strongest people he knew. Though the strength of her body was not unusual, the strength of her mind was insurmountable. Her iron will could not be reasoned with.
"Mistress Turnbull. How are the children? I haven't seen them in weeks."
With a quiver of flesh, she leaned toward him. Small pinpoint eyes stared out of mounded flesh. Her vision was not the best, but she did not miss much. At this moment those eyes dissected him.
"A lump still and ugly as sin with the stitches and the bruising, but it is coming along nicely. The children are fine, sir, and keeping away from you. A bad influence you are; all this handing them things under this pretense and that pretense. Bad lessons they'll learn if you teach them to expect something for nothing. Once a month I told them. No more are you to go bothering that man and begging handouts all the time."
Aaron shrugged and raised his hands. "It's hard to resist the little skivers."
"Not so little, sir," she corrected. "Not so little at all. My Betty is getting married in a month, and to her wedding you will come, or I'll know the reason why. Her Ryan is a good man with only the one wife already to his name, and isn't she a dear to welcome my Betty into her home. My Mister, he will do a fine job of hitching them together, that he will."
Aaron was surprised. "Isn't Betty too young to get married?"
"Oh she looks young she does, the little minx. She looks young, but she is almost hitting fifteen, and it is a good thing she's getting married for she's one who would get into family trouble very easily--but this is social chat, and I am here on business."
So Aaron helped her gather her goods, put the charges on her account, and helped her load her barrow. If anything, the barrow was overloaded.
"Not brooding on your incident, are you?" she asked.
"I am angry, Mistress Turnbull, but not, perhaps, brooding, though I will have to explain to the gentleman that further incidents will not be acceptable."
She looked surprised. "Knows it not, does Mister Knight, and he still abed and groaning so all can hear and be shamed for him."
"Excuse me?"
"Know you not? Burly smith across the way spent half a day in this store while you lay senseless in your bed, and then him standing before Mister Knight with an entire group of people and the Marshal mysterious in her absence. I hear it was a fine row though disappointing in its brevity. Yon smith is a hard man and known well for owning a slow temper with heavy hands at the end of it."
"No, I didn't know." Aaron wasn't sure what he felt. This was his trouble to deal with, not Jorrin's.
"Aye, and didn't Mister Bran's Mistress make this hat with her own hands, and didn't I go around and have handed to me bits of copper that could be sewed into it so you would know we be thinking of you."
She pulled a floppy brimmed hat from her oversized bag, round crowned and covered with more than seventy copper coins. "For wearing it is not, but for you to know it is. To us you belong and time for all to know it well." Awkwardly waddling behind the counter, she hung the hat on a wall hook. "There it shall stay. Good day, Mister Turner."
Aaron had little time to dwell on how the honor made him feel. Throughout the rest of the day the store suffered a suffusion of so many people that Cathy was forced to drop her project. She stayed busy filling orders and bullying Aaron into doing no more than the slightest work. By lunch he felt exhausted, and he became consumed with the need to get away. He removed his apron and headed over to the Traveler's Rest. After winding his way through the scattered tables, he took his usual seat.
"What will you have?"
Aaron started and then slowly smiled. "Missy?"
She grinned exuberantly. "Can you believe it? Mistress Halfax hired me to work here. I get a room and food and three fourths gold a day and Cathy can stay in my room for only four coppers."
"Well good for you. I hope Mistress Halfax doesn't work you too hard."
"Six to four every day with a half hour for lunch. I have to clean and serve and later I get to learn about ordering and cooking food proper. Ann Flinders is helping. I don't think she likes me too well. So what will it be?"
"Just bread and cheese and a bowl of soup today."
"Sure thing. Oh yeah. Mistress Townsend said thanks for the breakfast you bought her this morning, and I was to give you the bill."
Aaron shook his head, smiling slightly. Twice now he had "volunteered" to buy Sarah breakfast without having first been asked his opinion on the matter. "I thought she was Sarah to you now?"
"That's in private. In public it's best to show proper respect."
"Okay then, Miss Bayne. Could you please fetch a poor starving wretch a bit of bread and cheese?"
"Don't forget the soup. I made it."
"I will never forget the soup."
* * *
"I'm sorry but we ran out," Cathy was telling a customer when Aaron reentered the store.
"Gone? But you always have milk." Mistress Doland sounded aggrieved.
"It's been really busy today. I've had to restock twice, and some things we just don't have on hand. Milk is brought to us fresh every day, only it's brought just the once."
"But what will we do for dinner?"
"I really am sorry, ma-am. Perhaps Mister Moody has some more on his farm."
"It's two miles and more to his place. Am I to travel four miles for a quart? It is troublesome enough to come here every day."
A thought struck Aaron. "Would you be interested in having fresh milk delivered to your home?"
"Now that sounds like a fine idea. If you make buying milk that easy I am sure you will get more customers."
So Aaron went down to the stables and bought a cart and a mule from Mistress Bade. Two hours later he hired Brian Haig, son of the man who had worked on his store. At sixteen, the boy was glad of a chance to put a few extra coppers in his pocket.
Aaron arrived back to the store in time to see Cathy escort three women into the sitting room. She pulled a curtain shut, a curtain that had not been there earlier in the day. Twenty minutes later they left with smiles and chuckles. Cocking a curious eyebrow, Aaron looked at Cathy.
"They bought some of those garments like you sold Mistress Halfax. I thought it was better to take them back there to make things more private. You know, it's absolutely amazing how many of those things I've sold. The women say they make their figures look better."
"That's part of their design," Aaron said.
"So does it?" she asked.
"Does it what?"
"Does it make my figure look better?" She turned sideways and posed. Aaron blushed, but he looked anyway because the memory of her pressed against him remained fresh. Yes, her figure did look good, too damn good, but he suspected the undergarment had little to do with that matter. The last couple of weeks had changed her. Her face was less gaunt, true, but the changes went far past that. She carried herself differently. Confidently.
"Everything about you looks good," he said truthfully. "The garment adds nothing to what you already have."
Flushing prettily, her smile turned shy. She curtsied.
"Thank you, sir. I hope you don't mind. I filled out an order for more of them. There aren't that many left, and some of the sizes we have are unrealistic. A couple women wanted to know if you were into fantasizing. Judy Knight asked if you were promising to marry the gal who could fit the largest one."
"They were a mistaken shipment," Aaron admitted, red faced. "I've no idea how they ended up in my order. Matter of fact, I didn't even have to pay for them. The catalogs we have came with the order."
"Well I'm glad you don't keep all your catalogs with the wish books. Men have no reason to look through those particular things. They are absolutely indecent
. Miss Hale asked if she could talk to you."
"The seamstress?"
"Uh huh. She wants to carry ready to wear in her shop. Not many ladies want to sew for a living so she's finding it hard to get new help. Sooo--" Cathy paused for breath. "She went to the bank, but they won't loan her money since Mister Doland doesn't like Miss Hale 'cause she said she wouldn't be his wife number four. Will you, she wants to know, buy the ready to wear for an interest in her shop?"
Actually, that was the last thing Aaron wanted to do. Unfortunately, Cathy was very persuasive, and he had a weak spot for her so he walked down to Hale's Custom Clothing and agreed to buy a line of clothing for a forty percent interest in the business. If the General ever found out about this he would be really ticked, but Aaron figured to hell with him. He was no longer so in love with the General and his ideas as he had been nineteen months before. The way he figured it, these people lived fine lives. They saw to their own business and helped one another out. Last Chance did not need the General and his militia coming in to play father to them.
He left the clothing catalogs with Miss Hale so she could choose what she wanted to order and then went back to the store. Once again, Cathy was straightening. It seemed like Cathy was always straightening. The place became more her and less him with every passing day.
Cathy looked up. "The box is overflowing. Come Monday there won't be any place to put the new money."
He nodded. "I should have made a deposit days ago. We can close up early and head for the bank. While we're there I'll talk to Mister Doland and authorize you to make deposits and withdrawals for the store."
"You'd trust me?" Her eyes were round saucers.
"You wouldn't be working for me if I distrusted you."
"Oh--" Trembling slightly, she stepped forward and kissed his cheek. Her hands grasped at his apron, and her breasts pressed against him once again. "Thank you, Mister Turner." She stepped back.
"Hey," Aaron protested, missing the feel of her body against his, "I thought I was Aaron now."