Read Traitor, Book 1 of The Turner Chronicles Page 17

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  Missy was there when he woke.

  "Whar a' I." His head felt cold and wet. Missy held a towel to him.

  "In your sitting room," she said quietly. "We made a bed on the floor for you. Doc says you'll be okay. He gave you six stitches and said he was getting his money from the Knights. Cathy is taking care of the business, and I'm watching you."

  "Layyer," he mumbled.

  "What?"

  "Ge layyer."

  A while later Mister Doland stood by his side. "I'm the closest thing to a lawyer Last Chance has, Mister Turner. I think I know what you want, and I'm sorry to say that we don't sue for these things out here like they do in the cities."

  "Na sue," Aaron managed to force out. "Will. Nee will. Die."

  "Oh no." Doland was emphatic. "You won't die. I assure you."

  Aaron felt so incredibly tired that he just wanted to close his eyes and drift away, yet he had to say it. He had to say it now while he still remembered.

  "Might s'time. Gi all ta B--Baynes. Wi--ll."

  "Are you saying you want to make a will that leaves all your possessions to the Bayne children?"

  "Yuh." Why was the man so slow?

  "I'll draw up the papers and come back later tomorrow. You should be much better by then."

  Doland left, and he did draw up the papers, and he did return the next day, and Aaron felt good enough to sign them with Flo as his witness. By Friday he felt almost normal except for a sore head and a certain slurring when he talked.

  They wouldn't let him work, and he was just enough under the weather not to care that other people controlled his life. With nothing better to do, he spent his days reading the same paragraphs over and over again. Twice a day he stirred himself enough to make tea for Cathy and Missy. Each time they thanked him very politely just before they threw the tea out, and Aaron did not know why. The tea was perfectly good. There was no way he could have made it with laundry detergent instead of powdered tea leaves.

  Looking worried, Sarah came visiting, and he was glad to hear she had taken no action against the Knight boy. Aaron did not want her protecting him. The idea did not seem right somehow, but he need not have worried. Bigger problems were on Sarah's horizon. The Movers were still out there on the west side of town and with the additional wagons, not all of them were Zorists. Beech had begged another week's extension. Personally, Sarah was against it, but Mistress Golard had okayed the longer stay because the Movers were good for business. Though it was true that they were causing little trouble, Sarah wanted them gone anyway. Most of them were Zorists, and she had no use for people who preached the heresy of a single god. Besides, when they left, Beech would go too.

  On Friday night Jorrin came by, and Missy gave him another lesson while Cathy beat Aaron in four straight games of chess. After the fourth game Sarah dropped in and proceeded to destroy Cathy in three extremely quick sessions.

  While Cathy and Sarah played, Aaron watched Missy teach. She had a talent for it despite her young age, and that was good because Jorrin had somehow become an awkward student. He held his pen clumsily in a swollen hand, and his left eye was puffed almost closed. The surrounding tissue was dark and swollen, a sure sign that Jorrin had become careless at his forge and maybe caught a cinder in his eye.

  By the end of the evening there was no more Mister this and Miss that. All five of them used the given names of the others, even Missy. Though she was at an age where it was unheard of for children to be that disrespectful to an adult, somehow, in some way, she really did not seem to be a child.

  He woke Saturday and the mental fog was gone.

  Cathy was arranging cans when he lowered himself down the loft ladder. It seemed like she was always arranging things. She had changed things around so the store ran exactly as she wanted it to run. Every item had its assigned place. The knickknacks he often had laying around were now carefully arranged on window sills and display shelves.

  Half turning, Cathy looked at him. Wisps of fine hair drifted across her eyes and trailed over her nose. She brushed it away with an irritable hand and smiled. The smile transformed her, making her face look fuller and softer. Her eyes searched his, testing, debating, and then she rose.

  Slowly, gently, she lifted a hand to his face, touched his right eye, raised its lid, and nodded.

  "Better. Your pupil doesn't look so dilated. I think you are finally back with us, sir. That's good because I have more to do than I have time to do it in. Can you run the store today while I work on the other section?"

  "I suppose I could try," Aaron answered. "I'll call you if I have trouble."

  "Good. Doc told me to remind you that the stitches come out next Friday. He said he already told you about it, but he didn't think you would remember."

  "He was right."

  "Before I forget, we aren't using the old ledger anymore. I started a new one. This one is arranged more logically."

  She left, and Aaron soon found himself leaning on a broom while dust mites flurried around his head, and Last Chance once more woke to a new day. It was still spring and a bright sun rode high in the sky. The clouds were few and white, and the street was without shadow.

  Leaning on his broom, Aaron closed his eyes and wished for the simple peace he had once known when he did this chore. Last Chance had lost its innocence. He was no longer able to pretend it was a home free of strife and pettiness. Like the militia, Last Chance had its own hidden shadows and its petty evils. It was a home that perfectly matched the condition of his soul.