by Mark Eller
Aaron left, feeling like a small boy chastened by his older sister.
* * *
"Where to, sir?"
Aaron looked at the cab driver and groaned. N'Ark was a big town. Its population ran into the tens of thousands, was possibly even pushing the edge of a hundred and fifty thousand. The surrounding environs held tourists and freighters and peddlers and all the other people who had a reason to be in the city one day and out of it the next. To handle this traffic there were hundreds of cabs.
So why had he just flagged down the same woman he had insulted the night before? Did he have a Talent for always doing the wrong thing?
Perhaps. Probably. The possibility of disaster seemed to follow him. On the other hand, the fact that he was a clumsy and tactless oaf did not mean he could not try to make amends.
"Take us someplace private," he said. "Someplace where we won't be disturbed."
"I'm sorry, sir." She sat tensely on the driver's bench. Her fingers were white from their tight grip on the reins. "Those types of functions aren't part of my job. If you like, I can take you to one or two pick-up bars. You should have no problem finding someone to relieve your itch."
Oh, yes. Miss Saundra Clarice had been very insulted.
Uninvited, Aaron pulled himself up to the cabby's seat. He plopped down beside Saundra despite her position smack in the middle of the bench. They sat so close that their shoulders leaned against each other. Giving him a spiteful look, she scooted to the side to place as much distance between them as possible.
"Have it your way," Aaron said quietly. "Just start driving and I'll talk. For what it's worth, I have no intention of scratching an itch, so the destination doesn't matter."
With a sour look, she jiggled the reins. "Yaw."
The horses shook their weary heads and started clopping along the road. One turned its head slightly after traveling barely a minute. Its eye rested momentarily on Aaron, and if asked, Aaron would have sworn the eye was resentful.
"You're paying the fare," Saundra Clarice finally said.
"I'm paying amends," Aaron told her. His mouth felt dry. "I'm going to explain myself to a woman for the first time since stepping foot inside N'Ark. Miss Clarice, I was attracted to you last night. I found you interesting and exciting, and I thought you had a mind I could easily fall into. That was the problem, you see. I wanted to get involved with you."
Her eyes pointed straight ahead. Her mouth pressed into a firm line, and her back was stiff.
"I see. You found me interesting so you decided to cut me off at the knees. So tell me, Mister Turner, do you only get close to women who repulse you?"
"I'm married," Aaron said.
"Very few males of a certain age aren't. I haven't noticed that slowing them down any."
"I've been married twice," Aaron continued. "Once for love and once because my Sarah wanted me to marry Kit, the other woman. Things went to hell when Sarah died. Without her nothing existed between Kit and me so I moved out. Kit has given me permission to visit, but those visits are few."
"Permission?" Her tone oozed scorn. "This woman thinks she can give you permission, and you accept that? Remember, Mister Turner, the first precept of a good lie is that it must be believable." Saundra's words were harsh, but her face's taut lines began to loosen.
"Yeah, well, not much about my story is believable so I'll have to disappoint you there. The thing is Kit wants to give the children a chance to just be kids, and I agree with her. My life is chaotic and destructive, so I keep my visits short and infrequent. In fact, I've only seen them twice in the last year."
"I see. Because you think you're somehow jinxed you allowed your wife to take away your home and children. So tell me, Mister Turner, where does this elusive family of yours live?"
"A long way from here."
She snorted. "Now I know you're lying. By your own admission you live far away from a wife you visit twice a year. Those visits mean you spend weeks or even months away from your job. Nobody can survive that way."
"They can if they've hired the right people to watch their finances. I have interests in several companies, and I own the Turner Houses."
Her face suddenly froze. "Right. I've heard men make those kinds of claims before. Mostly when they were trying to get me into bed."
"But I'm not trying to get you into bed," Aaron insisted. "I'm telling you that I'm already married, and that I won't get married again so I won't risk getting intimate with another woman."
"Let me get this straight," she said. "Are you saying that you equate sex with marriage?" Reining the horses to a stop, she turned in her seat to get a better look at him. Since she had parked on a side street owning mostly warehouses, nobody else was in sight.
"I won't engage in the one unless I intend the other," Aaron told her. "Since I'll never get married again, I'll never allow myself to--you know."
"I only thought you were a liar before," she said with a voice that oozed pure ice. "Now I don't know what you are. Liar doesn't even come close. Not one thing you said is the least bit true." She pointed to the paving bricks. "Get out of my cab. You don't have to pay me for the ride."
Aaron did not move. "Look, the problem last night wasn't you. It was me. I hurt you, and that doesn't make me feel good. I want you to understand that I wasn't trying to embarrass you. The truth is I think I like you too much."
"So now you like me?"
"That's what scares me."
She nodded. "I suppose that means I have to stop hating you."
"I'd appreciate it if you did."
Saundra grabbed him by one arm. "Well, consider yourself unhated." She released a tentative smile. "One question. This vow or commitment or whatever it is, does it stop you from going on dates--I mean dates that promise to lead nowhere except a little hand-holding and a few trial kisses--nothing more?"
"I suppose not," Aaron said slowly. "Not as long as it doesn't lead to anything more." His heart beat heavy. It had been a long time since he last held a woman's hand.
"Oh, good. I'm asking, so if you accept you have to decide where we go because I'm pretty near flat busted. That means you have to pay."
Aaron remembered the crinkling sound in his pocket. Reaching inside, he pulled out the folded leaflet and smiled. Apparently, there were advantages to wearing the same pants several days in a row. If he had changed these out, he would have forgotten about the flier. "There's something called The Mystery in town tomorrow, but I don't really know what it is."
"It comes around every year, but admittance is by invitation only," Saundra said. "I tried to get in last year but didn't have the pull."
"Care to give it a try this year."
Saundra gave him a long look. "Are you serious?"
"I bet I can get us in."
She shook her head. "I must be crazy for doing this, but okay, tomorrow. I'll meet you outside your apartment around two. Are you comfy?"
Aaron shifted on the wooden seat. "Not really. This seat is a bit hard."
"Not much I can do about that except rub some liniment into the sore places. With that vow of yours, I doubt it would be a good idea." She rose out of the seat and climbed down. "Be with you in a minute. I have to shove some grease into my grease cups. If I don't, the bushings will squeal all day."
"Why don't you use ball bearings?"
"Never heard of ball bearings. I have heard of bushings, and I have heard of grease." Her bare fingers dipped into a half-full jar of axle grease attached to the taxi's side. "Now I have to apply one to the other, or my ears will ring when I try to sleep tonight."
Never heard of ball bearings? Aaron tried to remember if he had ever seen a ball bearing in Isabella. He'd seen primitive bushings, and he'd seen axles wrapped in oily rags, but he had not seen anything resembling a ball bearing. Now that was a strange thing. It was a very strange thing.
He frowned as a thought crossed his mind, then his lips turned upward, and he grinned. He had brought one hell of a lot of books over from
Jefferson, but they were haphazardly chosen and sometimes limited in scope. As best Aaron could recall, the subject of bearings was one of those limited matters.
Well damn, maybe he had something to contribute after all. Now, all he had to do was prove it to the Isabellan Federation.
Saundra clambered back into her seat. She wiped yellow grease from her fingers with a rag, lifted the reins, and gave him a meaningful look. Smiling secretly, she set the reins back down and reached out to run one grease-smeared finger across his cheek. "Tomorrow then. Don't forget to make me swoon."
Grabbing the reins, she gave him a long look. "Well?"
"What?"
"Are you going to get down and walk the rest of the way, or do you expect your future date to turn this thing around just to save you from walking half a block?"
"Guess I'll get down and walk," Aaron said. He climbed down from his seat and stepped back from the taxi. "Tomorrow then?"
"Tomorrow," she repeated, and then she shook the reins. "Yaw."
Aaron smiled as she drove off. No doubt about it, he had been her patsy. Saundra had wanted a date so she played his guilt exactly right. The lady was proving to be a woman of drive and intelligence and resolve. Somehow, Aaron doubted pure coincidence had dictated that hers had been the closest taxi when he had need for one.
Tomorrow would be an interesting day.
Chapter 5
Aaron squinted at a sun that appeared slightly lower in the sky, a sign he was further west than he had been moments ago. It was early morning again and transferring to Kit's manor meant he had added at least another hour to his day.
Clop Clop Clop Clop
"Lay into that digger a little more, lass. The two Gods gave you muscles. It's about time you used them."
Ting Ting Ting
"Only four more hours till lunch, ladies. I suggest you work harder if you plan on keeping to schedule."
Aaron smiled as he looked around. The manor had changed since his last visit. Three new buildings had been erected, and an entire crew seemed to be laying down a set of tracks into newly leveled ground. Kit stood in the manor doorway, arms crossed, right shoulder leaning against the frame. She wore a frown as she watched people labor for her. Wrinkles creased between her eyes.
Sighing, Aaron stepped out of the outhouse. During his last visit Kit had insisted the left hand stall of the men's outhouse was the only place he transfer to. Aaron found the idea uncivilized but somehow fitting.
Kit's frown grew deeper when she saw him. She straightened, pulling her shoulder away from the doorframe. Her brows lowered ominously as she strode toward him.
Aaron went to meet her. During the last year, he had learned to never give Kit the initiative.
"It looks," he said when she drew near, "as if you're building a mule-drawn train."
Kit stopped her advance and peered to her right. Two dozen women and men were busy working, but Aaron could tell she was not happy with their progress.
"I should never have listened to you," she complained, turning her gaze back to him. "Build a cannery, you said. Grow crops, can them, and build a rail line to transport the cans to larger towns. Now look at things. These people are eating up my finances. The factory is built, but none of the equipment has been purchased. This rail line you talked me into building is costing more than it did to build the factory. Aaron, this project has sucked up every copper I have. I've borrowed from the bank, and frankly, I don't see how I'll pay it back in the time they gave me."
To Aaron's annoyance, several people stopped working to listen. He closed his eyes in silent pain, raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and opened his eyes once more as he lowered his hand to his side. He supposed he should be used to being harangued by now. Verbally attacking Aaron Turner seemed to be one of the favorite past-times of a good many people. Still and all, it would be nice to have a few peaceful minutes when he first encountered his wife. Perhaps just long enough for her to say "hello" and maybe to hear a "gee, Aaron, I've really missed you."
But Kit did not work that way.
Sighing, he focused on her. "Kitty, draw in your claws. You're making a scene."
"I'll make a scene if I want to make a scene. I don't care what these people think. This is between me and you."
"That's right. It's between me and you. I refuse to bicker in front of other people. None of this concerns them."
"They work for me so it more than concerns them," Kit shot back. Her eyes almost burned.
Aaron groaned. Usually, Kit was a down-to-earth and eminently sensible woman…except when she dealt with him. He had long ago come to the conclusion that something about him made her flat out unreasonable.
"Fine. Let them listen. How about if I tell you that it's embarrassing when my wife upbraids me in public? How about if I tell you that it's belittling and unfair for you to screech at me when you know that I won't yell back? It isn't right, Kit. It's unfair and mean. Besides, you know exactly how you look when you're angry, and that isn't fair either."
"Ohhh?" Her voice lowered to more reasonable levels. "And how do I look?"
"You look fine; that's how you look. Anger brings out the spirit in you. It makes you shine."
Her frown changed. The slightest hint of a smile played about the corners of her lips. "Come into the dining room. I'll yell at you there. Is that acceptable, or do we need to find someplace more private?"
Aaron wondered just how he had earned the unenviable position of deciding exactly where to stand when he got his ass chewed. Given his druthers, he would have preferred bypassing the lecture entirely, but Kit had not made that an option. Apparently, leaving Last Chance had been a good idea for more than just escaping memories. Kit was a fine woman, but she was also perennially difficult and felt no real affection for him at all. Spending more time together would have only led to arguments and hurt, and none of that would have been good for the triplets. This way he and Kit had some semblance of peace and were able to speak to one another without resentment.
Sometimes.
"Good enough, I suppose. It will have to do, anyway. Are the kids awake yet?" he asked.
"They've just been put down for their morning naps. As usual, the boys drifted right off, and Autumn screeched for twenty minutes. That one is going to be trouble."
"A lot in common with her mother," Aaron muttered as Kit turned and started heading for the manor.
"What was that?" she tossed over her shoulder.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
They entered the manor and made their way to the dining room. Aaron sat down at a table that had once graced his apartment in Columbia City, in the country of Jefferson, in the world of his birth. The table had been transported to the manor's dining room during the last frenzied days before he left Jefferson forever.
Aaron grimaced when he saw the stairway. Much of that stairwell was new. So was the floor under his feet, the ceiling over his head, and part of the wall to his right. In a moment of desperation, trying something he had never done before, he had inadvertently destroyed the area during one horrifying moment of blood and pain by transporting part of the house along with Kit and Sarah and a couple bad people to Jefferson, all to escape death at a Talent Master's hands.
Shuddering, he turned his attention back to Kit. "Why is this my fault? I didn't order it done. I don't have the authority."
"Maybe so," she said. "Still, it was your idea to build a cannery and lay down tracks so that we--or I guess it's now I--can get the canned produce to market. It sounded like a good idea, so I started building it because you said it would work." She pointed a steady finger. "You said it would work."
"I see." Aaron closed his eyes again and raised his hands to rub against his temples. Another headache. Kit had that affect on him. "Building a cannery was your idea. Sarah and I just played with it a little bit."
"Aaron," Kit said in her most reasonable voice.
"Yes?"
"You were drunk at the time. All women know there'
s no relying on a man's memory when he's drunk. The idea was entirely your own. Believe me on this one."
As Aaron recalled, he had not been all that drunk when the conversation came up. Besides, Kit had been drinking too. That night was etched entirely too firmly in Aaron's memory for him to make a mistake over something as small as that. He was right. She was wrong. There was no other way about it.
Then again, Kit was pigheaded enough to swear the sky was purple. This woman could put the word 'stubborn' to shame.
Seeing no graceful way out, Aaron shrugged. "This is a pointless discussion. There's no way to prove anything one way or the other. Besides, it doesn't matter whose idea it was since you made the decision to go ahead with it."
"You might not have come up with the idea first," Kit admitted, much to Aaron's astonishment. "But you can't deny that you designed the layout. I found your drawing for the building and the rails in your room."
Aaron laughed. "How? I tore the thing up and threw it in the fire."
"You wrote on a couple of pads, dear. A few pencil scratches brought the design out of the back sheets. I worked from your notes."
"You stole the plans for putting this together from sketches I made while drunk and then threw away? Am I hearing you right?"
"Lower your voice. You're beginning to shout." Kit's lips twisted into a smile. "I don't think it matters how I got into this fix so you can stop yelling. There's a problem. I want to know how you're going to resolve it."
"This is your problem." He would lose this one. Aaron knew he would lose. The woman knew every one of his buttons.
"They're your children. If you want to see them, you had best help me out. I won't have money from cattle sales for more than a year. It might be as long as three if the prices don't start rising soon. If I lose this place, I'll hunt up a job somewhere else, and I'll take the kids with me. I'm not so sure I'll tell you where we're going."
Yep, she had found the button. "That's blackmail."
"Yes, it is," Kit agreed, "but legal blackmail all the same. Isabellan law says children naturally belong with their mother."