The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  "Don't talk with your mouth full," Flo admonished before thumping Sarah on the top of the head with two of her knuckles. Grinning, Flo went back into the kitchen.

  "You scared off Beech," Sarah said after swallowing. She lifted the tea and took a careful sip. "Too hot still."

  She continued. "Okay, look, Beech wanted one of your knives very badly. He would have made himself a pauper to get one if he could have come up with the money, but you scared him off, and that says something. Cathy was right. He does have a Talent Stone. Not only that, he's a Talent Master too. After you left today I spent some time talking to Mistress Spangle. She said Beech apparently found his Stone a few trips ago. As best she knows he can create a shield and make fire just like that man did a few years ago. He also throws things without touching them, and she once saw him break the earth open by merely looking at it. Bad enough already, but we don't know what else he can do." Sara took another bite of her food. "Thith ith really good."

  "Here they are." Flo came back to the table with packages in her hands. She dropped them on the table before Sarah and left. Sarah stared with a total lack of comprehension at the two paper wrapped boxes and the long, rolled up potato sack.

  "What's this?"

  "Present time. Do me a favor. Just rip the paper off. Don't try to save it."

  "Okay." The paper and Sarah went to war. The wrapping paper did not stand a chance, proving that Sarah had little of Cathy's persnickety nature in her makeup. There was no way mere wrapping paper would stand between her and a present.

  The necklace brought a small smile and a "that's nice" from her. A miss, Aaron realized. She would probably seldom wear it, and when she did, it would only be because she was with him. Thinking it over, he could not remember ever seeing her wear jewelry. Okay, so that was one area he did not have to worry about in the future. No jewelry for Sarah, which was fine, because he would not accidentally buy the same thing for her as he did Cathy.

  The knife got a much better reaction.

  "This is pretty," Sarah exclaimed as she turned it over and studied it. "What kind of cat is that?"

  "A tiger," Aaron told her. "Hold it in the palm of your hand so the raised ridge is free. Grip it firm and press that button by your thumb.

  "How clever," she said when the blade flicked out. "Aaron, I always wanted one of your steel knives. Thank you." Her voice was so warm and caring that Aaron wanted to wiggle like an excited puppy. He showed her how to lower the blade, and she set it on the table.

  "Now how about this." She lifted the potato sack. "It's heavy." Quickly unrolling the bag, she looked inside and gasped.

  "Oh Aaron! Oh dear." Reaching inside, she pulled out the scabbard encased sword, slowly drew the blade from its scabbard, and gazed unbelievingly at the gleaming steel. "It's perfect. Perfect. The balance is wonderful." Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. "I can never give you anything to equal this."

  "You can," Aaron told her, silently thanking Hill and Gore. "Time, conversation, affection. They all have more worth if it is you giving them to me."

  She did not kiss him. She did not touch him. She only looked at him, and Aaron thought he would drown in the warmth of her tear-wet eyes.

  * * *

  "Mister Turner, do we have any more buckets in storage?" Cathy asked when he returned to the store. Two customers waited patiently.

  "No, the freighter is supposed to be back tomorrow. If he collected my entire order he should bring a dozen buckets."

  After the customers left he turned to Cathy and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Mister Turner?"

  "I think it sounds more professional if we're formal with each other during business hours," she explained. "It shows more respect, and it sounds better. After all, I do still work for you."

  Feeling troubled by her attitude, Aaron nodded and frowned and began restocking shelves.

  "Oh," she called out. "The milk orders are increasing. We need to buy another forty gallons a day."

  "I'll see what I can do," Aaron said and wondered if Cathy might be playing just a little too much chess with Steven Knight. Something about her seemed to be changing. It was a change he did not like. If it continued he would have to pay the young Mister Knight a visit.

  He snorted at his hubris. The man was still twice as big as Aaron. A contest between them would be no contest at all.

  He frowned. That part no longer seemed to matter. Somehow, it seemed that keeping Cathy was more than worth a beating. She was more precious than even his life.

  Chapter 19

  Several days passed before Aaron found time to head out to the Manor. He had hoped Cathy would drive him out there, but she swore she could not leave the store unattended for such a long time, especially now that she had to sort through the new shipment Aaron had just brought back with him. Both storerooms were an absolute mess that needed organizing, and she needed to figure out how much to charge for some of the new items. Inventory was going to take forever. Take Sarah and have a good time, dear.

  Since she just happened to be the town marshal, Sarah could not leave for several days at the drop of a hat. She had to arrange coverage, and there were two trials in which she needed to give evidence. Strangely enough, to Aaron's way of thinking, she had the power of summary execution without trial, but she did not have the power to keep people in jail for longer than a week without a hearing before the prisoner's peers. In the country of his birth it was almost impossible for a criminal to receive a death sentence. However, it was not that unusual for someone to be incarcerated for years before somebody noticed that there had never been a trial to determine whether or not that person actually belonged in prison.

  Aaron used his waiting time well. He delivered Jorrin's hardware and refused to accept a percentage of Jorrin's business in exchange, telling Jorrin no thanks and thinking Hell No. Enough was enough. A person could put only so much on his plate before he wanted to throw up. Aaron had reached that point about the time Sarah dropped the bank in his lap. Jorrin would just have to wait to pay him back because there was no way Aaron was going to add more troubles to his growing supply of headaches. From here on his life was to be as stress free as possible.

  He did finally find a player for the inn. Team Hagarty had a small supply of songs he could play on his guitar. The limited number of songs did not endear him to Aaron, but Team did have a guitar, he did know how to play the guitar, and he did want something to do that would keep him away from home during the evening hours. His only wife was known to be a cold woman with an evil temper and a worse backhand. That made him the only person who would willingly take the position Aaron offered. However, Aaron did hire two other musicians on a part-time basis. Their job was to teach Team some new songs.

  Mister Bronson returned with his freight wagons. He had done very well with the rechargeable flashlight. Between that and the other items he sold for Aaron, Aaron was another two hundred and twenty silver richer, which came to just over one pound. He gave Bronson his new orders and most of the rest of the goods he could not hope to sell locally. Just for the fun of it he threw in the solar powered adding machine, too. Bronson left with a cheery wave, happy in the knowledge that he was not so slowly becoming rich because of a not so simple storekeeper in an extremely distant town.

  Steven Knight continued coming to Bayne's Reading Emporium at night. He was careful to stay away from Sarah when she showed, but he spent far too much time playing chess with Cathy--at least in Aaron's judgment. Jealousy clenched his belly tight every time he saw them together, even though playing chess and talking was all they ever did. He swore to himself that the next time Knight challenged him he would be one hell of a lot less forgiving.

  Aaron thought about confronting Cathy with his suspicions, but after she closed the Emporium for the night she was always kind and warm. Though her passion had cooled considerably from what it had been, Aaron was not worried because Sarah's ardor had also cooled down. Theirs was now more of a comfortable romance than a passionate one. Howe
ver, there were a few moments, well, one long moment during one warm evening when the stars sparkled above and meteors showered the black canvas of a late night sky with bright streaks of silver light. There was that one long moment when the mule was content, the wagon was comfortable, and a warm female head nestled familiarly on each of his shoulders. Later, when they returned to Last Chance, Cathy assured Sarah that she would not be bothered when Sarah left with Aaron to go to the Manor. Then she kissed Sarah goodnight, and she kissed Aaron an even better goodnight before retiring to the inn.

  Four days later Missy turned twelve. The party Flo threw at the inn was great. Ann Flinders fell out of love with Aaron and in love with Team Hagarty because she liked his playing. A week later Aaron went to the wedding of Mistress Turnbull's daughter. The ceremony was brief, given by the bride's own father. Mister Turnbull was pastor of the Lord's Church of Heavenly Worship. He liked short sermons, which was why Aaron always chose his services when he did bother to go to church. When his present was opened the bride appeared totally confused about the silk sheets he gave her. Apparently, she loved the material but had not one whit of an idea what the sheets were supposed to be used for since they were too thin to provide much warmth. A small side conversation revealed that the Turnbulls were so poor that they only had cast aside blankets. Aaron made a private bet with himself. He bet that the bride would sell the sheets before two weeks were out but never did find out if he won.

  Early on a Tuesday morning he woke to find Sarah banging on his door. She held an overnight case in her hand, and a wagon sat in the street. "Well, are you ready to go?"

  "Today?"

  "My schedule is clear. It's today or never. Your pick. Bring your bow. You've missed a lot of practices lately."

  Aaron lost four practice shafts on the trip. That did not bother him. What bothered him was Sarah making him get out of the wagon to spend half an hour looking for each one. She claimed it was his fault. If he had hit the targets she pointed him toward he would know where his arrows went. Defending himself, Aaron pointed out that he had hit every target, but grass tufts did not do much to slow an arrow down.

  As they neared the end of their journey Sarah laughed when he shifted on the hard wagon seat for the fiftieth time.

  Aaron glared at her. "If I had walked I would have been there by now, and I wouldn't have so many wagon made bruises on my arse."

  "You would have gotten lost," Sarah pointed out. "You're helpless when you're on your own."

  Sliding closer to her, Aaron raised an eyebrow and leered. "I know something I won't be helpless at. I know exactly what to do with my hands now."

  She shook her head and patted his hand. "Not without Cathy, dear. I won't have her feeling left out."

  Which struck Aaron as ironic. Since when had being totally alone with a woman been an impediment to what he intended? He wanted privacy, and SHE wanted more company before she was willing to spoon. The old rocking chair philosophers were right. Life really was a bitch.

  * * *

  "About time you showed up," Miss Hawks said when they rolled into the ranch yard. "Thought you forgot about me." She took off her hat, beat dust out of it, and slapped it back on her head. "Not exactly dressed for company."

  "Took me a while to arrange some free time," Sarah explained, "and you look fine. Why don't you give us the tour?"

  "Let's get your things up to your rooms first."

  She showed them to their rooms--separate rooms in different wings of the Manor House. It seemed that her idea of propriety was even stricter than Sarah's, so any ideas Aaron had along certain lines was killed. He would have protested the sleeping arrangements if Sarah had looked the least bit upset. However, she didn't seem to give the matter any thought. Miss Hawks eyed him with a sour expression, almost daring him to say something.

  Her expression changed drastically when he flipped open his bags and lifted out two pounds of silver coin.

  "I'm really glad to see that," she admitted. "I rehired some of the old hands and sent everybody off to buy cattle with the rest of the ranch's money. Mister Moorehouse and I are the only people left.

  "Don't you think it was a bit risky to strip your funds that way?" Sarah asked.

  Miss Hawks shook her head. "My partner gave me his word. I wanted to find out early how good it is." She hefted the bag of silver coins. "Looks like his word is solid. Come on, I'll take you on the two copper tour."

  She gave them a tour of the Manor. Aaron was impressed. Though he did not know anything about running a Manor, he did know a lot of buildings when he saw them. The Manor had fourteen buildings, stables, carriage houses, bunkhouses and guesthouses. If he wanted to be exacting, he even saw chicken houses but that would take the number of buildings up to nineteen and Miss Hawks specifically said there were only the fourteen and not one building more. The Manor, itself, was two stories tall and owned seventeen rooms. Most notably, the grounds had one of the most luxurious outhouses Aaron had ever seen. The outhouse had padded seats and was divided. One side of six stalls was for women and the other side with two stalls for men. That impressed him since separate facilities for men and women were not the norm in Last Chance. Apparently the Kingsfords had wanted no one standing outside doing the side to side shuffle when there was work to be done. Eight stalls, no waiting seemed to be their motto.

  When they approached the outhouse the end door opened. A tall, older man stepped out who looked vaguely familiar. Aaron was sure he had visited the store, though the gods knew when or why. Perhaps the man's thick grayy beard was the problem. It was so long and wild that Aaron could barely make out any details of his face. It was possible that he generally shaved before heading to town.

  "This is Mister Moorehouse," Miss Hawks said. "He can't punch cattle to save his life, but he is a genius at everything else. This place would fall apart without him."

  Aaron accepted a proffered hand, noting thick knuckles and hard calluses. "Mister Moorehouse."

  Moorehouse smiled shyly. "It's a pleasure, sir. Was never so happy in my life as when the Mistress told me you took over. Knew things would be all right then."

  "Miss Hawks is in charge," Aaron said. "I'm only visiting."

  "As you say, sir," Moorehouse answered, taking his hand back. He gave a brief nod and walked away.

  Aaron was glad for the tour because Miss Hawks' face lit up when she talked of the Manor and her plans for it. She was obviously the right person to run the place. She was as proud, or prouder, of the ranch than if it were her child.

  The day went quickly. Evening found them sitting in the living room, drinks in hand while they made plans for the future.

  "I think getting those people to grow hay for us is a good idea," Miss Hawks said. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of growing other crops too. We have a lot more land than we really need and there are hungry people back east."

  "Maybe so," Sarah supplied. "The difficulty is getting the food to the people who need it. By the time the food gets far enough east for it to sell it will be spoiled. There isn't much profit in that."

  "There is if we build a cannery out here," Miss Hawks responded. "We can preserve our own food for our use, and then we send all the extra back east to make us a profit. I don't think the process should take up more than three or four acres of land."

  "It will take more than that," Aaron supplied. "If you plan on building this thing out here you will need to set aside land for housing. You will also need a schoolhouse." He tasted the drink she had given him. He wasn't sure exactly what the drink was, but he knew it was good. From the burn running down his throat, the alcohol content was impressive.

  "Now there you go," Miss Hawks told Sarah. "The man does think ahead."

  Sarah laughed. "Stop sucking up dear. You can't tell me you never considered the matter of housing your people."

  "Of course I thought of it. I just never considered building a schoolhouse is all--Um, Mister Turner?"

  "Hmmm."

 
; "Exactly why do we need a schoolhouse?"

  Aaron's head felt fuzzy. "For the kids."

  "What kids?"

  "For the ones I assume the workers will have."

  Sarah laughed at him. "Aaron, there ain't no single woman going to come out here with her kids when she can be someplace where she has a chance of catching herself a man. The only women you're going to get out here are the ones committed to being single."

  "But what about the married women, the ones whose husbands work in the factory too?"

  They looked at him strangely. "Mister Turner," Miss Hawks finally said, "Men don't work in factories. It just isn't done. Not on this side of the ocean anyway. I did talk to a man once who said it was different over in the Old World countries, but they do a lot of strange things over there."

  "You're kidding." Aaron was astonished.

  "Not at all," Sarah told him. "By law, men are not allowed to work in factories."

  "But why not?"

  Miss Hawks spread her hands before her. "I suppose it's because factories are dirty. Can't take chances when men just seem to get sick more than women, and then they die. We don't know why it happens, but we do know that it is stupid to let men work inside a factory."

  "So what do they do overseas?" he asked. He felt strange. Men were supposed to be the stronger sex. Why was this place different?

  "From what I've read in the papers," Sarah said, "they let the men do whatever they want to do. I also read that their man to woman ratio is, at best, one to five or six."

  "By the Lady," Aaron muttered, shocked by the turn of social events in this world. He tipped up his cup and emptied it. "I'm surprised you people let men serve in the Guard."

  "No choice," Sarah said. "By nature, men tend to be more violent than women. Some of them never learn to curb that violence because it is so deeply embedded. Those are the ones who have to go into the Guard if they want any life at all. Their only other option is to turn criminal or go slowly crazy because they have these terrible instincts that they cannot find an outlet for. Sometimes they just run berserk. Fortunately the really wild ones have a high sex drive. They do more than their share to make sure new people are born."