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 and 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.
"Two silver seven full gold quarter is not enough," Aaron told him firmly. "The few Mister Bronson has sold in the east have all been for the full price, and I won't make it less. Besides, it cost me more than two and seven to buy the knife." The hair on the back of his neck prickled. "If you want it so badly I'll consider a trade, but I refuse to take a loss."
"Two and seven gold I offered," Beech said, "and two and seven you will take, or I will find some other way to get what I want." Eyes threatening, he held up the Stone.
Aaron tensed. His legs trembled, and his hands shook. If the wagon master carried through with his implied threat more people than Aaron would get hurt. At the very least, Cathy would be damaged in some way and the knife in question only cost a bit over ten real dollars on the other side. Mouth dry, he started to reach inside his apron pocket. Beech's expression changed.
"Is there a problem here?" Sarah Townsend stood just inside the doorway, her hand carefully near her sword, yet not quite touching it. Three armed women were evenly spread just behind her.
Aaron gave her a sickly smile. "No problem. Mister Beech was bargaining for a knife."
"No, he wasn't," Cathy corrected. "He threatened Mister Turner. Mister Turner was so angry his face turned red, and his hands shook. If you hadn't shown up I don't know what would have happened." Eyes large with fear and excitement, she gave Beech a look of pure loathing.
Beech turned a hard stare on Sarah. "The Storeman has the right of it, Marshal. We was only bargaining. The young lady read more into our argument than was there." The Talent Stone had disappeared from his hand. He nodded to Aaron. "We'll speak on this matter later." Moving without haste, he pushed past Sarah and the others.
Face expressionless, eyes filled with barely restrained violence, Sarah turned to watch him leave. "Walk easy around him, Mister Turner," she said. "There is very little I can do to him while he carries that Stone."
"I was going to give him the knife," Aaron said. "Cathy, I was scared. That's why I shook."
"No it wasn't," Cathy instantly said. "You were mad. I could see it on your face, and so could he. You frightened him, Mister Turner. You would never have given him the knife. I could see it in you."
"I thought you were going to tear into him," one of the women said. "Never seen such rage in a man. Aye, you may be small, Mister Turner, but I never want to get on the wrong side of you."
Totally mystified by this seeming conspiracy of mistaken impressions, Aaron just stared at them.
"You are all crazy," he insisted. "I was scared silly. I would have rolled over and died if he had asked it of me."
Sarah nodded slowly. Her fury gone, she wore the most serious expression Aaron had ever seen on a person.
"Then tell me, Mis
ter Turner, why is your hand inside your apron? We all know you carry some kind of weapon in there."
Aaron quickly pulled his hand from the apron pocket and tried to remember when he had put it there. He brushed at his apron nervously, straightening its lines to hide the bulge of a gun.
"And you, Miss Bayne, are not so mild of temper yourself," Sarah continued. "Could you please give me the sword? I recently paid Mister Turner for it so the sword belongs to Last Chance now."
Sheepishly, Cathy handed the sword over to the Marshal. Aaron had not even known she held it. "I don't know what I would have done with it," she confessed. "I probably would have hurt myself."
"Probably," Sarah agreed dryly, giving Cathy a speculative look. "I think you and I are going to become much better acquainted. We had best work on getting to know each other."
"I agree," Cathy said simply.
"Later then." Sarah turned to the women standing behind her. "Let's go see where our favorite spot of trouble is heading."
"What was that all about?" Aaron asked after Sarah and the women left, but he received no answer because Billy Haig came clomping into the store, fingers scratching at his unkempt beard.
"I know 'zactly what I need. Figure it'll take me 'bout an 'our to collect it all together."
"That will be fine," Aaron told him.
Clomping even louder, Billy left, and Aaron turned his gaze back to Cathy.
"It's something women know," Cathy said. "Sometimes we just realize we have a lot in common, and it would be a good idea to learn to like one another." Wearing a slight smile, she began humming while she lifted a dust rag and used it to wipe down the already clean countertop, totally ignoring Aaron.
Flustered and confused, he walked outside the store and went to the chandler's old store. He smiled halfheartedly when he saw the table and chairs and the mostly empty shelves. The room obviously needed more than the few books piled on two of the shelves. A chess set would look good in the center of the table. As he recalled, there was a woman down to the quarry who made boards and carved men. He would talk to her. Perhaps he would get a couple side tables and some lamps and some rugs too. Maybe he could even put up a couple paintings. The Traveler's Rest had a few paintings so he guessed Flo knew where he could get those.
Since he wasn't really enjoying the book he had waiting for him at Flo's, he sat down in a chair placed before the bookshelves and reached behind him to randomly grab a new book without bothering to look at what it was.
Frowning, Aaron turned the book in his hands and wished this wall had better light. He definitely needed a table here, one with a reading lantern on it. Hands stilling, he looked at the book he held, made out that it was a basic grammar, and his frown grew deeper. To the best of his knowledge he did not own a basic grammar.
Turning to look closer at the shelves, he saw at least two dozen books he had never seen before. Opening the grammar, he leafed through the pages. The pages were worn; some were torn, and the back cover had a name written in large letters on the inside. Heddy Bayne.
Firmly closing the book, he put it back where he had found it. That book and the others belonged to Cathy. They were her legacy from her mother. One small mystery solved, but another remained. Now, why would Cathy put her books on his shelves?
"Mamma taught me from that book."
Startled, Aaron looked up. For some reason beyond his comprehension he felt guilty. He felt like the proverbial little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Oh, hello, Missy."
Missy stepped through the open door. "I hope you don't mind that I snuck the books in here. They are too special for me to let them just get ruined. Our roof is almost gone, and I didn't want Mamma's books to get rained on."
"Ruined? Rained on?" Aaron stared with sudden understanding. A few matters hinted at before were becoming clear to him. "Missy, exactly where do you live?"
"A little way south of town." Missy came in and sat in one of his new chairs. Resting her elbows on the table, she laid her chin in her hands. "The bandits tried to burn it down during the raid but it only burned a little. Most of the roof fell in a few months ago."
"It was winter a few months ago." Aaron was horrified.
"Uh-huh. It wasn't so bad. Cathy hung blankets around the stove and put a sort of roof over it too. We were warm as long as the blankets stayed up and we had lots of wood. Doyle cried some at first though. That got on my nerves. At the time I wanted him to just leave so I could have some quiet, but I guess I'm going to miss him now."
"Miss him," Aaron blurted, alarmed. "What happened to Doyle? He was here just yesterday."
"Oh, he's fine." Smiling, Missy lifted her head. "I talked to Mister Bran today, and he said he'd teach Doyle smithing. Said Doyle would be his apprentice and live with him and his Mistresses, them having no living children at home. Isn't that great? Doyle is young enough that before long he'll think of the Brans as his parents." Smile fading, her face sobered. "I want him to have parents. Every kid needs some."
Aaron regarded her sadly. "You are not exactly a kid anymore, are you?"
She shook her head no. "I try. It helps Cathy if she thinks she allowed me to stay young, but no, I'm not a kid anymore. I can't be. Not when we need the money I bring in sometimes. Did you know I have something of a job? Well I do. Mister Bran wants me to teach him to read and write in exchange for taking in Doyle. That's why I came here--to ask you a favor."
"Miss Bayne," Aaron said feelingly, "I'll give you any favor you desire." He felt like crying. Was he a blind idiot? How could he not have known they had lived with such deprivation? It was obvious they were poor, but a lot of people were poor. Still, there was a difference between poor and destitute. There was a huge difference, and he should have seen it.
"Don't you Miss Bayne me," she chided. "I'm not old enough for being called Miss. Call me Missy."
"Okay, Missy, what is this favor you want?"
"Mister Bran doesn't really have enough spare room for me to set up and teach him. Could I use this room for an hour or so after you close up?"
Aaron studied the gangly child. Her face was a mixture of anxiety, determination and trepidation. Missy had come directly to him instead of going through her older sister. Past experience told him that she had courage and integrity, that she was responsible right to the inner core. Aaron had not missed the subtext. Missy had made the arrangement for Doyle. She had reached an agreement with the smith, and she was now taking steps to ensure that she did the best she could to fulfill that agreement. He supposed Missy was a gutsy kid. In a few years she would be one hell of a woman.
"Of course you can use it," he said. "Have you talked with your sister about this? Does she have any problems with the arrangements? She was supposed to teach Mister Bran, after all."
"This isn't Cathy," Missy said. "This is me. Cathy took care of us for two years because we couldn't take care of ourselves. Well that time is over. I'm older, and I think she should have a life of her own. No, I'm going to do this whether she likes it or not."
Her face was solid resolution. Aaron chose to ignore the single tear glistening on her cheek.
"We got the clothes and the food while she went around in rags and starved because she gave us her share more often than not. Some people helped us. A few gave us their scraps, only we wanted to work for what we got. We wanted to keep our pride. It was you who let us work for food and clothes. You gave us jobs and dignity. Since you hired us we have held our heads up, and we have paid cash for the things we need."
Aaron was embarrassed. "Missy, truthfully I had no idea how hard up you were. None of you ever said anything about it. I'm willing to bet many of the townspeople were just as ignorant as me. Several months ago I asked Mayor Golard about you. She told me she thought you lived with somebody north of town. Maybe they all thought someone else had taken you in."
Though he longed to reach out and draw the slim child into his arms, he did not because Missy would resist the attempt.
/> "I can't believe that, sir. People ain't that blind. I think--" She stopped speaking as footsteps sounded on the boardwalk outside.
"Gee thanks, sir," she misdirected as Cathy stepped into the building. "I really appreciate this." Glancing at her sister, Missy's smile falsely brightened. "Hi, Cathy. Guess what? I got Doyle an apprenticeship with Mister Bran. All he asks in exchange is that I teach him to read and write."