Chapter 7
As a rule, he did not open the store on Sundays. Instead, he usually cleaned, straightened and took inventory, all of which had already been done earlier in the week by a certain young lady. So after church he found that he had an entire day to kill and absolutely nothing to kill it with.
After kicking around for a while he ended up at the Traveler's Rest with his hands wrapped around Murder at the Manor. It turned out that the murderess was not the gardener or the maid or anyone else he had previously suspected. The murderess was the narrator herself, which, in Aaron's view, was a total cheat. Disgusted, Aaron decided not to buy that particular author again. Besides, the woman he had been falling in love with, Miss Anita Harris, turned out to be a man dressed as a woman. Now that was a plot change Aaron did not need to know about.
Closing the book carefully, he gave it to Flo, stood, and left the inn. The rest of his day was slower than it had begun. By the time he went to bed Sunday night he was close to stir crazy.
After forcibly opening his crusty eyes the next morning, Aaron woke in a bad humor, hoping Monday would be a relief after the long slow Sunday. Pulling a new book out of his loft, he headed over to the Inn for breakfast and a chance to improve his outlook.
Flo greeted him distractedly, obviously flustered by the demands of four people who had stayed the night. Nothing was clean enough, cheap enough, or fresh enough. Why, in N'Ark they could get…
Within just a few minutes Aaron had to agree with the complaints. The pancakes were tough, and he had never been a fan of bacon that was burned so badly that it tasted of char. The mystery of the substandard food was resolved when Dan Thecker came hurrying through the door, more than an hour late. As Dan opened the door into the kitchen Aaron spied twelve year-old Ann Flinders at the stove, loose long brown hair flying out in all directions when she tossed Mister Thacker an aggrieved look. Holding a spatula in each hand, she appeared to be trying to do three things at once while thick black smoke rose from the stove. The near side of Ann's green smock was darkly stained by wet grease. The eyes she turned towards Aaron just before the door swung shut were desperate.
He ate the food and refused to complain.
When he returned to the store he found that Cathy had arrived earlier than usual. This turned out to be a good thing because three women wanted one of the same things Mistress Halfax now wore, and there was no way Aaron would get involved with that again. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Cathy did wonderfully after he passed them off to her. Best of all, she did not laugh at his red face when she caught him looking at one woman's particular sag. Grinning, Cathy sold a bra to each of the three women, making sure that everyone had a good time with this unusual exercise. She was going to work out fine as his full time clerk.
Which was just as well since Sarah Townsend pulled him out of the store for one more lesson on sword work. Aaron was almost at the level of a basic beginner, she said. It was time to expand matters a little. Apparently, expansion entailed him cutting himself on the wooden sword, after which she spent too much time laughing at his ineptitude to do a good job of teaching. When she regained her breath she admitted what he had known all along. Aaron had no Talent, no skill and no hope of ever mastering this weapon. They talked it over and decided the sword had best go to a young fellow she knew who had more than a little bulk and could even boast a bit of speed.
Aaron was more than willing to sell the sword to the town and rid himself of it. Sarah argued the price, but Aaron insisted he would take no more than two coppers for the dratted thing. No amount of arguing convinced her to just take it. Apparently, there was some type of moral issue involved, so two coppers it was.
He arrived back at the store just in time to choke on road dust as the freighter, Mister Bronson, pulled into town with a string of seven wagons pulled by twenty-eight sweating mules. Raising his hand high, Bronson gestured for his drivers to stop when the lead wagon drew even with Aaron's store. Once halted, the drivers leaped into action. Within moments bundles of goods thudded onto the boardwalk before Aaron.
After inspecting his goods, Aaron took care to see that Jorrin's new order made it into Mister Bronson's hands along with his own. Smiling, Bronson accepted two hundred pens, known locally as magic writers, and forty-five disposable lighters, which Bronson simply called fire shooters. After fishing for a moment in his apron, Aaron also handed over eight cheap jackknives, more illicit supplies Hill and Gore had provided for him on his last trip. In exchange, Bronson gave Aaron one hundred and six silvers, six and a quarter gold, seven, profit from the last load of goods Aaron had shipped out a month earlier. Taking the money, Aaron thanked Bronson, reflecting that he had more money in his hands right then than most in the town earned in many years of labor. For his part, Bronson made more money from the commissions Aaron gave him for selling goods brought over from the other side than he made with the entire rest of his business.
As a favor, and because he did not know what to do with the thing, he gave the freighter a solar powered flashlight and told him to keep whatever price it brought.
Aaron skipped lunch. After working three hours he still had not found places for all the new supplies. His back room was full, with narrow aisles barely wide enough for Aaron to walk through. The main floor was cluttered, and he still had half a wagonload of goods to offload.
Mistress Banks came to his rescue.
"Problems, Mister Turner?" Wearing a new floral print dress, with a pink bonnet topped by two scented silk roses on her head, Mistress Banks stood in the door of her shop, eyeing his piled goods.
Grinning sheepishly, Aaron shook his head. "Mistress Banks, it seems I have a more ready hand for ordering merchandise than I have places to store it. I've run out of room."
Well, there was the cellar off the ice room, but he would be damned if he was going to carry all this stuff to that inconvenient location.
"It seems we both have troubles Mister Turner, because I find myself running a business that has no customers. Perhaps we can reach some sort of understanding."
"Of what type?"
"Financial," she firmly answered. "How about if I sell you my building and its completed candles? You can use my rooms for storage and expansion, and I will sell you candles at your need that I make at home."
Since she seemed to have solved both their problems nicely, Aaron gave her one silver six gold, and she walked out the door with a cheery wave and a promise to have Mister Doland change over the title at the bank.
After she was gone Aaron stepped out of his store. Five quick steps along the boardwalk took him to the doorway of his new property. Squaring his shoulders, Aaron walked inside, took a look around, and saw a bunch of bare cedar plank walls and a small number of candles. A few wax drippings decorated the floor, and the scent of fresh wax intermingled with cut cedar filled his nostrils. Mistress Banks had obviously planned on leaving for some time. After completing a slow survey, he figured that he now owned a store with two extra rooms and approximately one hundred and fifty candles that were laid out on the shelves. There was nothing else. As far as he could see, this place did not even have an opening that gave access to the old mine beneath the building. Aaron supposed this was a good thing since he had converted that space for his own uses. In actuality, his oversized underground domain probably encroached on several other people's property.
Half an hour saw the storage of his goods in one of the back rooms of the new building. Then, since his store was still cluttered, he moved some of its excess goods back into storage also, leaving room in the store for some of the candles.
When they finished, he and Cathy were exhausted, and Missy and Doyle's clothes were covered in dust and small dots of wax, but Aaron had a building with a half empty back room and totally empty shelves. On a whim, he climbed into the loft and dropped his books down. The loft was crowded and the books would look good on the shelves, lonely, but good.
Cathy immediately borrowed one of the books and left, taking
the children with her.
The place still looked mostly empty so he made a mental note to have some furniture made. It would be nice to have a sitting room to read in at night. Perhaps a few chairs could be bought too, in case he had company. The carpenter could seal the outside door of the new building for him and cut a hole in the adjoining wall between it and the main store.
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.
&
nbsp; 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.