Chapter 9
"Good morning, Mister Turner. Cook tells me that I should let you know the pancakes are pretty special today. He has some fresh sausage set aside too."
"Morning, Ann." Aaron could not help but notice that she was a little tense. Though Ann Flinders was normally bright smiles and cheerful laughs, she did not have either of those for him this morning. Her eyes were wary, and she seemed nervous. "I'll have whatever he suggests. My mother always taught me not to argue with the cook."
"Oh? Which mother was this?"
"I only ever had the one," Aaron said, feeling disappointed in her rejoinder. It was lamer than her usual. Something was on her mind.
"Only one mother?" she asked. "That must have been horrible for you."
"Oh it was," Aaron replied. "You have no idea how bad having just the one mom could be. I never had someone I could run to in order to get the answer I wanted, and the rocking on the lap thing, that was out." Especially since the person playing the part of his mother for the last half of his childhood had been Colonel Klein during his long visits back to the compound. The two of them had shared a bond that Aaron did not understand until he started showing signs of his unusual ability. If it had not been for Klein recognizing the resonance of Aaron's ability against his own, Aaron would probably be in some institution, the victim of his parent's poor finances since they had owned no insurance to cover his operations. How could they have afforded insurance? His parents struggled to come up with the money to pay for their rent and food.
"Your breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes. Mistress Halfax told me to give this to you." She handed him his new book.
With a nervous glance around, Ann turned abruptly and left, taking a long, roundabout route to the kitchen. Looking around, Aaron tried to see who she was avoiding. The inn was filled with lots of morning diners, most of them regulars, but a couple tables held people who were strangers to him. He immediately zeroed in on the ones bothering Ann.
Three men and a woman at the table, drifters or Movers. Aaron wasn't sure which. Making a mental note to watch them every now and again, he opened his book.
Five minutes later, Ann returned with his order and set it down on his table.
"Enjoy."
She walked away.
He tried a bite of the pancakes. They were delicious. Dan had added blueberries today, one of the benefits of owning the inn, Aaron supposed. There could not be all that many jars of canned fruit left in the pantry this late into May.
They bothered him, those three men and the woman, and he did not know why. They were quiet, had obviously spent the night at the inn, and were doing nothing but eating their own breakfast. Maybe they were too quiet. Maybe it was just that something about them struck a chord of familiarity inside him. He did not know what bothered him, but he knew there was something behind his feeling of unease. Maybe he was only reacting to Ann's nervousness. Yes, that was probably it. Ann was a young girl, mentally younger than Missy despite being a year older. Most likely, she was being flighty.
"Mister Turner, I hear you wish to speak with me."
Caught by surprise, Aaron started. "Mister Sever, I certainly did. I am so pleased with the table and chairs Mister Taylor made that I would like to commission three tables off you that will match the ones you already sold me. They should be smaller in size, perhaps two foot square for two of them and two by four for the third. Is this possible?"
"It is, sir," Sever said while rubbing his chin, "though it will be three to four weeks before I can deliver. Good work takes time, and Mister Taylor must do exceptional work to match the pieces you already own. Did you notice the clarity of the wood and the simplicity of the design? Mister Taylor and I spent a week finding flawless wood before we even touched a tool. In fact, we took such care with the cutting and the fitting and the finishing that we needed no embellishments or detailing to cover the blemishes for there is not a single flaw in the table or chairs."
Raising his eyebrows, Aaron reached over to pull a chair out from the table. Its legs squeaked across the freshly waxed floor. "Please sit down. I'll buy your breakfast." Hmmm. Lack of detailing meant quality? Simple lines were good? Oh well, the man might have strange ideas, but he was the only fine furniture maker in the area. Being the only one meant that he could pretty much set his own criteria as to what constituted good work.
"Don't mind if I do." Sever sat down and scooted the chair closer to the table. "It's been a long time since anyone bought me a meal. How did my man do on your door?"
"Best I can tell he did passable work, though it was not up to your quality. Miss Bayne said there was a bit of trouble with his light fingers, but she put a stop to it."
Sever nodded. "Aye, she would handle the problem if anyone could. I will confess, there has been some trouble with his thieving a time or two before. Now mind you, I always find out about it and set it right. Mister Haig has a disease of the mind that makes him pick things up what don't belong to him." Sever looked sad. "He always gives it back within a few days. Truth is, I am right sorry I had to send him on your job. When I got back to the shop after we spoke I discovered that my entire brood was engaged in one project or another."
"Gentlemen."
"Sarah! How pleasant." Pushing back his chair, Sever looked like he was going to rise but settled for a half bob of his head instead. "Look at this here. Mister Turner seems to be buying my breakfast."
"Uncle Seth," Sarah exclaimed, unbelieving. "How can you take advantage of the man so?" She pulled out the remaining chair and sat down. "Without inviting me to join you? You know I survive on a public servant's wage." She raised her voice. "Flo! Two regulars here."
Sarah smiled at Aaron and reached out to playfully thwack his nose with a finger. Small lights danced in her eyes. "Thank you, Mister Turner. You are a dear."
"Now Sarah," Sever admonished. "What will your fellow think when he finds out that you let a man buy you--"
"Whatever he wants," she interrupted. "Steven Knight is not my fellow."
"Miss Townsend," Aaron said, "It would be my pleasure to purchase your breakfast anytime you desire."
"Good," Sarah giggled impishly. "With your reputation, I was afraid that you'd be such a dense fellow that you wouldn't take a subtle hint if I beat you over the head with it."
Flo brought hot tea and set it before the two new arrivals. "Breakfast in five minutes."
"Thank you Flo," Aaron said. "Bring the entire bill to me. I'm covering this one."
"That I will, love."
"It's catching," Sarah observed. "Now his charm is capturing you, Mistress Halfax."
"All men capture me, dear." Flo's lips quirked into a smile, and she released a faint sigh. "I'm just too old and tired to do anything about it, is all."
Chuckling to herself, Flo walked away. Sever caught Aaron's attention.
"Niece," Sever observed. "I do believe I heard you giggle."
"Oh go on. I never giggle. You are hearing things in your dotage."
"You giggled. I heard it. Did you hear her giggle, Mister Turner? I heard her giggle."
Aaron leaned back in his chair and cast his eyes thoughtfully toward the ceiling. "I heard something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. On the other hand it could have been a strange type of grunt. After all, I've heard Miss Townsend make a lot of different noises these last few weeks. Most of them have been grunts of one type or another."
Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. The childish act was somehow charming. Her eyes twinkled as she mock fluttered her eyelashes. "Wait until the next training day. I'll see to it that I get a few grunts out of you." She turned serious. "By the way, you won't have to worry about that Mover for much longer. I gave Master Beech the word that they're to leave in three days. By last count, there are twenty-seven wagons out there now, maybe forty, forty-five adults and twice as many children. That's enough people to make me nervous even without Beech owning a Talent Stone. That Stone turns me from nervous to just plain paranoid."<
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"I'm glad to hear they are leaving," Aaron admitted. "Frankly, Beech scares me. I'm not too sure he is playing with a full deck."
"Excuse me?" Sever looked confused.
"Missing his jacks," Sarah explained. "Forgot the spokes on his wagon. Playing one die short. You could say all his chickens did not come home. Call him loony or just plain crazy. Mister Turner, you have quite a way with words."
"Sarah, I am your uncle. There is no reason to hit me with the obvious more than twice."
"Sorry, Uncle Seth. Long time ago mom told me her family is famous for being dense. She said her and I were the only ones to escape the sad affliction and that we have to make allowances and take special care when we talk to the rest of you."
"Ouch. Mister Turner, I give up. I'm going to shut up and eat the food Mistress Halfax is bringing."
Moving slowly, Bun carefully set the food down. Aaron was so astounded to see her that he almost let his jaw drop open. In the year he had been in Last Chance, this was only the third time he had seen Bun in the dining room. It was the first time he had seen the thick bodied, matronly woman serving.
"Thank you, Mister Turner." Her voice came out soft, almost a whisper, easily lost in the background noise of the other diners. Aaron would have missed hearing her if he had not been expecting to strain for her voice. Though widely known to be a hard worker and wonderfully skilled with tools, Bun was painfully shy and spoke only rarely. She had been involved in two marriages, but only because Flo had insisted she would not marry either man unless Bun was part of the deal.
She did not wait for Aaron's reply.
"My, that was different," Sever said. "Last time I heard her speak was more than two months ago."
"Mister Turner gets an amazing reaction from many women," Sarah observed as she took her first bite of food.
Aaron squirmed uncomfortably. "Enough teasing, Miss Townsend. I know I am no catch. I don't fit in well here. I'm smaller and weaker than most other men, and I have no real skills except for selling. On top of that I'm afraid of the most common animals and swing a sword so badly that you gave up on me."
Swallowing quickly, Sarah raised a hand. One finger rose to ride above the others. "You are handsome, have unflinching integrity, and are unfailingly polite--especially to women. You are rumored to be one of the six wealthiest people in the area and are kind to people in need." She looked at her hand. All five fingers were raised. "I seem to have run out of fingers. Oh well, I have another hand."
"You are modest to a fault, caring of others, stronger than you will admit. You have a controlled aura of danger hovering about you, and you are exactly the right size for a good many women who have more sense than hormones. There now, I've run out of fingers and I am not going to take off my shoes and count my toes to further stroke your ego. Instead, I am going to eat this wonderful meal a handsome man purchased for me."
Which she did with great interest and silence, a trait shared by her uncle. These people, Aaron thought, really take their food seriously. He finished his breakfast and watched them eat. Seth finished first. Pushing back his chair, he thanked Aaron and left. Moments later Sarah finished hers. She looked straight into his eyes.
"Mister Turner, I have a favor to ask of you."
"Ask away."
"I feel awkward speaking formally to a man who buys my breakfast. May I use your given name?" Eyes sparkling, the corners of her lips were canted slightly in amusement, and yet Aaron sensed that there was more behind her question than just play.
He pushed his chair back and stood up. Facing her full on, he bowed as formally as he could. "Miss Townsend, it would please me greatly if you would accept that privilege from me."
Her teeth flashed white. "And to you sir, I am in the future to be called Sarah. Thank you for buying my breakfast."
Standing, she leaned across the table and kissed his cheek, leaving the faint scent of rose water behind. With a small smile, she gently patted the cheek she had just kissed and left, winding her way carefully past the tables. Aaron watched, and then he turned red when he saw several people staring. He wished Sarah would not kiss him in public like that and glared around angrily until the curious eyes turned away. Teasing was one thing, but if she continued kissing his cheek in public people might start imagining she was serious. Hell, he might think she was serious.
Was she serious?
No, of course she wasn't.
Her twelve year-old face white with barely contained fury, Ann Flinders stalked across the floor toward him. "You should be ashamed, making a public display of yourself like that." Ignoring her path, she flung herself away and stormed across the floor, knocking into a chair and then bumping against one of the four drifters.
"Here now, miss," the man chuckled. "What's the hurry there?" One hand had a firm grip on her arm. "You ain't too young for me, and they have all those rooms up above." He yanked her violently into his lap.
Aaron leaped across the room and jerked her away. Rage roared through his blood as Ann stumbled towards the kitchen. "Leave the child be!"
Eyes narrowing, the drifter focused on Aaron. "I meant no harm. Was only putting a scare into her. A young lass like that needs to learn to be careful around men. It was only a lesson."
"You tell him, Eric," the woman said. She smiled, showing filed teeth.
Aaron cooled instantly, embarrassed by his overreaction and rage. He could not even remember crossing over to the drifter's table.
"My apologies then," he said stiffly. "I did not understand."
The drifter's lips thinned as he looked up at Aaron. A flaking scab quivered at the corner of his lip. "Best you think before you go manhandling people. Fellow could get hurt that way. He could get hurt real bad."
"I said I was sorry."
"Aye, you did." He flicked a dismissive hand. "Go away."
Flushing horribly, Aaron went back to his table and dropped money on it. Since he did not know how much his bill was he left enough to pay for it twice over. His chair was several feet from him, flung there when he leapt from it. Fingers trembling, he walked over to it, righted it, and brought it back to the table where it belonged while trying to ignore his burning face.
Aaron walked very carefully out of the inn. Back straight, elbows loose, he walked calmly, but his fingers trembled, and his heart stuttered. Laughter sounded behind him.
Steven Knight waited for him outside.
"Stay away from our women!"
He swung.
Steven's fist cracked into Aaron's forehead. Aaron flailed back against the inn's doorway and fell to his knees. Blood pounded in his temples, and his eyes wouldn't focus. Wavering in the distance, Steven's figure was a retreating blur.
The thing to do would be to get up and tackle the young bully. Aaron fuzzily considered it. He thought about it while blood flowed from his forehead, trickled over his left eye, and further blurred his vision.
A dozen thoughts crossed his mind, a dozen ideas of what he should be doing. In the end he did none of them. Instead, he wiped the blood out of his eye with the back of one shaking hand and pulled himself up with the other. He was halfway erect before he bent over and threw up. Rising again, he shrugged off helping hands and leaned against the building until his vision partially cleared and his legs gained strength.
"Get--Mar--," he heard someone say from a far away.
"No," Flo's voice answered. "She's--last--involv--"
The voices wavered in and out for over a minute before his vision stabilized and his hearing returned.
"Pole axed. One swing and Bam!"
"Should know better than to hit a little feller. Do ya figure Turner will--"
"Naw. He's never done nothing before."
"I don't know. He sure looked mean inside there. Had killing in his eye when that man grabbed little Miss Ann."
"Backed down, didn't he?"
Aaron pushed himself away and staggered across the street. New blood came from his forehead, redirected by his changed angl
e 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.