Chapter 18
Next morning, the first thing that struck Aaron was the number of Movers in town. More than a few breakfasted at the inn when he entered. Half a dozen children ran between the tables, playing tag while their parents tried to divide their own limited attention between controlling their broods and the serious business of eating. Raising an eyebrow at Missy when she served him, he gestured toward the Movers.
"Waiting for the Town Hall to open," Missy said. She looked tired this morning. Black was stamped beneath her eyes, and her face sagged. Several ragged strands of hair had escaped her ponytail. "You missed it. More than twenty wagons of Movers went through the pass a couple days ago, and fifteen wagons stayed here. There was a big argument between all the different Movers because lots of the new ones were Opportunists instead of Zorists. Beech wanted to wait another week, but some of the Movers wanted to go right then. A bunch of the others decided to stay and homestead around here. A couple wagons were burned, a woman died, and Marshal Townsend had to get rough to end it. She hurt two women fairly bad, but at least she did not have to kill anyone."
Frowning, Aaron wondered why Sarah had told him none of this. "Is there enough free land left? I thought it was all pretty well claimed right around here. How do these people expect to live?" After all, it was late June now. The farming season was far too advanced for them to clear new land and get in a crop.
Missy shrugged. "I don't know. Why do you think they are waiting for the hall to open? Here." She reached in her apron and handed him eight coppers. "This is what I owe you for the use of your room. I've been teaching people in shifts."
Aaron tried to wave it away.
"You take it." She stamped her foot angrily. "Us Baynes pay what we owe." She yawned suddenly. "Sorry. I was up late last night. Cathy and I had an argument. I lost."
"I find that hard to believe," Aaron said, accepting the money. "How could she manage to outtalk you?"
Missy tossed her head angrily. "She didn't. She just out- stubborned me. I got too tired to argue with her anymore. But don't worry, I'm not finished. I can get at her tonight. Only this time I'll take a nap before I start, and then she'll be the tired one."
Aaron chuckled. "Missy, I would hate to be on the wrong end of an argument with you."
"Never going to happen. You have too much sense to disagree with me. Both of us carry our heads right where they belong. I have to go. Customers are waiting, and Mistress Halfax is watching. Don't want to give her cause to fire me."
"Never happen," he called after her as she rushed away, and then, worried, he frowned. So what was there that Cathy and Missy had to argue about? It did not seem like either of them. They were both very forgiving, and they were as close as sisters could be. Maybe he should ask Cathy about it. After all, he did not want to take a chance on Missy getting involved in things she couldn't handle.
"Sir?" The voice was polite and unobtrusive. Aaron shook himself erect and started.
"Hello, Miss Hawks. What can I do for you?"
"Would you mind if we spoke about the Manor?"
She looked as if she were about to be struck--or fired--Aaron suddenly realized. He was now her employer now, and their last meeting had not gone well. She probably wondered if he still resented her old boss sticking him with horses he did not want. Well, none of that was her fault. She had only been following orders. As Aaron recalled the incident, it was he who had been rude. He fought down an instinct to rise from his seat. Rising for a lady was a Jefferson thing, not Isabellan at all. Instead, he kicked out a chair with his foot.
"Please sit down, Miss Hawks. If you will permit me, I would like to buy you a meal. I recall being horribly rude to you when we last spoke. In fact, I even used profanity in your presence. Will you please forgive my lapse? My nerves were a bit frayed at the time--but that excuses nothing."
"Perhaps a tea. I already ate at the Manor this morning. Our day starts very early out there." She sat smoothly. "As to the other, I cannot recall the incident you speak of. I'm sure you are incapable of being rude. Sir, I must get to the point. The Manor is in a terrible condition. The herd is almost gone, and the best horses have been shipped east and sold. The hunters I gave you were the last of the blooded stock. The cattle you have left are mostly old culls or very young stock. At best, it will be years before the place can be made profitable with what we have left."
All of which did nothing to improve Aaron's mood. As a matter of fact, the entire thing was depressing because it represented nothing but a lot of work.
Contemplating her worried face, Aaron wished Miss Hawks would just get up and go away. Life was getting too complex, and damn-it, he liked simple. He owned a store. He liked owning a store. Owning a store was fun. People talked to him, and the time passed quickly. The only decisions he had to make were what things to buy and what to charge. Profit did not matter. Why should it matter? He had enough silver stockpiled to live more than comfortably for the rest of several lifetimes. If he ran out of silver he could always take some gold to the other side and sell it for three thousand or more per the quarter ounce. Silver cost less than a hundred a pound over there so one cheap gold coin would set him up all over again.
Now he was being asked to look after these people after Sarah had promised him that the Manor would not be a headache. Using that promise as a baseline, he had pondered about the Manor the night before, and his pondering mind had decided to let the employees play with the cattle while he threw them some wages every now and again. No big deal. They would be happy. He would be happy. Everyone would be happy. But nooooo. Hawks wanted to run the place right. She wanted to make him money. She wanted to feel useful. Damn her.
"What," he asked with a sinking feeling in his gut, "do you need, Miss Hawks? Don't go through an hour of talk. Just tell me what it is you need to make the place profitable."
`"Sir, I think two hundred head on one hundred and fifteen thousand acres is ridiculous. I would like to purchase enough breeding stock to build the herd up over the next couple years. Also, at least two bands of the savages have been seen in the last week. They didn't do any harm yet except for maybe burning down an empty shack and killing one or two cattle, but I don't think it amiss to stock up on a few weapons and hire a couple more people to keep an eye peeled for trouble. It will take money, but I think--"
Holding up a hand, Aaron stopped her. "Will two pounds of silver be enough, Miss Hawks?" To hell with keeping a low profile. He had a fat chance of doing that now.
Her eyes grew large enough to devour him. "Two pounds! The entire ranch could be sold for less than that."
"I'll have it in your hands before too much longer. Will that satisfy you?" After all, the most she could do was steal it. She was honest, or she wasn't. Either way, the matter was taken care of, and the entire question of the Manor was out of his hands.
"Yes sir! I will have my ideas written down, and you can go over them with me at your leisure. Why, you can save on the winter kill alone if we--"
She stopped when Aaron shook his head. "How long have you worked for the Manor?"
"I was raised on the ranch, sir. Been on the payroll since I was twelve. That would be fourteen years now."
"Okay," Aaron abruptly said. "This is how it will be. No arguments. I give you the silver. I give you a quarter interest in the place. In exchange, you give me peace of mind. You hire. You fire. You make all decisions and bother me with none of them. Miss Hawks, I know nothing about the Manor or ranching. I did not want to own the place, and I will not take responsibility for running an operation I am not qualified to run. Okay?"
She was a real study of startled disbelief. Within moments her position had suddenly changed from hired hand fearing for her job to part owner. It was quite a leap.
For his part, Aaron really liked the idea of delegating all the work and responsibility off on her. Maybe he could use that idea more often; then again, upon reflection it occurred to him that he had been using that approach right along.
r /> "Mister Turner--I--I--Sir! I will make you glad of your decision. In four years money will be pouring in. I know how to do it. A little development will make a big difference."
"Of course it will. I heard nothing but good about you so I'm sure you will turn the place around." His pancakes were already cold. Hopefully, Miss Hawks would not insist on her promised tea. "I will visit the bank and have the necessary papers drawn up. You can sign them any time after tomorrow."
Unfortunately, she did not make it that easy for him. It took another ten minutes to get rid of her, and even then he had to promise to visit the Manor before she would even think of leaving him alone. A strange feeling settled over him as he watched her leave. Somehow, he knew that Miss Hawks was going to bring a lot of trouble his way.
He left the inn and crossed over to the store after pushing his cold pancakes around for a while. From all appearances Cathy had opened its doors early and already waited on several customers. She smiled as he went by and continued measuring out ten pounds of flour for Mistress Yardbow. Aaron had to admit that Cathy was born for this. The place ran smoother and looked neater than when he had handled it by himself.
Leaving Cathy to her business, he went into the back room and then into the ice room. He opened the trapdoor and climbed down.
The tarp, he found, had been thrown back, a fairly sure sign that Cathy had been snooping. He checked hurriedly but the wrapped presents were not disturbed. Disbelieving, he took another look at exactly what he had carried over. The size of the pile made his back ache with the thought of moving it all.
No wonder the trip across had been so difficult. From what he could see, there was a hell of a lot more here than Gore and Hill had ever moved into the room before. Another five rifles had been added to the load, with ammunition for each. He also had four more Model 12s. Several one-pound bars of silver had been packed in one crate with a solar powered adding machine and one hundred rolls of paper, presumably so he could keep track of how he spent the silver. The whole pile had been stacked in such a haphazard fashion that several cardboard boxes had fallen over and opened because their tops had not been sealed down.
And then he noticed a most peculiar thing. The open tops showed that most of the fallen boxes had been entirely empty.
Frowning, Aaron grabbed a broken slat that was still laying around after a previous trip, intending to pry open the long crate, but its top proved to be hinged and its front latch was undone. Like many of the boxes, it also proved to be empty except for a pencil stub and a small yellow pad of pocket sized notepaper.
Aaron idly toed the crate and snorted at the childish nature of Hill and Gore's idea of a practical joke. Just to make sure they hadn't forgotten his requests, he did a special search and found a smaller package tucked away in one of the few boxes that were not empty. Yes. At least his pens were here. People liked his pens because they were neat and easy when compared to a quill. He had a full five hundred pens and fifty disposable lighters. All in all, the entire load probably weighed over eight hundred pounds, far more than he had thought himself capable of transporting in several trips, let alone one. Then again, he had felt different this time. Something had ripped into him, had given him a boost of strength. After this, it was a good thing he wasn't going back to the compound because there was no way he would be able to convince them he couldn't bring soldiers over.
More than an hour passed before he had the stuff sorted and stacked where it belonged. There was even a sword in a leather scabbard that made him instantly think of Sarah, and he set it aside for her. The extra bars put his private silver supply at over one hundred and twenty pounds. He would have to find a safer place to put it now that so many people knew he had a good deal of money stored away. Maybe if he put a couple or three pounds in the bank and buried the rest after he gave Hawks her two bars, people would assume his entire horde was accounted for. Maybe they would not bother him then. Maybe Sarah would stop buying businesses and ranches with silver he carelessly left laying around.
Like that would ever happen.
Cathy was helping to load milk into the back of the milk wagon when Aaron stepped back into the store. Brian Haig appeared to be strong enough to lift the containers by himself, but it was just like Cathy to help anyway.
"Cathy," he called. "When you have a minute I would like to speak to you."
Face flushed from her work, she peered over her shoulder and smiled. "Almost finished."
Moments later she stood before him, breathing heavy, deep breaths that swelled her chest with each inhalation. Fascinated with the show, Aaron watched the display too pointedly until she kicked him.
"Don't!"
"Okay," though she had not minded him looking before. In fact, she had encouraged his looking. It had not been so long ago that she asked if wearing a bra improved her figure.
He looked around and saw nobody nearby so he leaned forward and briefly kissed her lips.
"People can see." She pushed him away. "It makes me uncomfortable."
This was not going the way he had planned. "Nobody was looking. I checked."
"I don't care. I told you not in public. It makes my skin crawl when you touch me in public. If you care about me you would care about how I feel instead of only thinking of what you want."
No, this was definitely not going the way he had planned.
"Okay, so I'm doing this wrong. I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you a present." He held out the package. Slightly frowning, Cathy took it from his hands. She handled it curiously, cocking her head at the sight of the wrapping paper.
"This is really pretty." She turned it around a few times. "If I try to open this I'll tear the paper."
"You're supposed to tear the paper. Ripping the paper off is part of the fun."
"But it will be ruined."
"Trust me. Just tear it off." Aaron had to control himself to keep from snapping.
Her look was dubious at best. Despite his instructions, she opened the paper with care, wincing when it tore across the tape. She neatly folded the paper and set it aside before opening the box and then she gasped.
"Oh--oh--oh--! It's beautiful. It's--oh Aaron. Put it on me. Please--how does the necklace look? Where is the mirror?"
She dragged him bodily into the Emporium to where a mirror Aaron had not noticed before hung on a wall. It seemed like something new showed up every time he looked around.
"Ahhhhh! Oh my." She grabbed him, and Aaron finally got the kiss he had wanted since the night before. As kisses went, this one was well worth the wait.
Tears glistening in her eyes, she suddenly pushed him away. "You shouldn't have done it." She rushed back into the main store. "You really shouldn't have done it," she called back.
Aaron walked over, looked into the store, and saw Cathy pick up the broom and began sweeping furiously. She stopped once to wipe her eyes.
"Go away, Aaron. Mistress Banks needs to see you at the bank." She cast a fast look around and darted to his side. "Thank you." Her lips were warm and soft. They tasted slightly of salt. "Go away."
A plus, Aaron thought to himself. That gift was definitely a winner.
Mistress Banks at the bank. Mistress Banks at the bank. The phrase had a certain ridiculous sound to it. One of those two names would have to change.
When he entered the bank he saw that Mistress Banks looked considerably worn from the woman he was used to seeing. Though the bank held no customers, she stood behind the counter, black circles surrounding her eyes. Around her were memories of her husband, pictures on the walls, knick-knacks collected over the years that had been set on shelves.
"Mister Turner. Thank you for seeing me."
Not knowing how to approach her, Aaron bit his lip nervously, stopped, and cleared his throat. "Mistress Banks, I haven't had a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your husband. It's my fault. I should have acted sooner."
"No," she replied. "Miss Townsend explained how everything happened. You could not have acted in time.
I-I just wish the man who killed him had not escaped. We need a sheriff in this area. We need somebody with authority outside the town limits."
"You are most likely right," Aaron agreed. "Unfortunately, I don't know if anybody is qualified. I believe Miss Townsend is very good as a marshal, but she lacks the skill to track through the wilds. But like you, I would like to see that Eric fellow brought in. That cold hearted bast--uh--snake--sends chills down my spine."
Mistress Banks smiled unhappily. "I'm so numb that I feel very little when I think of him, but I need to thank you for giving me something to do when I need it the most. From retired chandler to banker, wife to widow, life has sure given me some strange turns."
She looked off in the distance. Her silence was so painful and personal that Aaron could not have broken into it if he had wanted to. Eyes dim and distant, she looked into memories that only she could see. A small bitter smile flickered at the corner of her lips, and then her eyes focused once more on him.
"Well," she said with a small shake of her head. "It's a job I intend to be good at, but I need to know what authority I have. What type of decisions am I allowed to make?"
Aaron wanted to cry. Beneath the firmness of her voice was a grief so profound that this woman could barely hold herself together. It was so encompassing that he felt waves of grief emanating off her, yet she refused to fold. She insisted on doing what she could to set things right. The community needed her, and she was going to be there for it. He wished he could ask Bun to cleanse her, but Bun was still recovering from the load of grief Aaron had handed her.
The strength of Mistress Banks' soul awed him.
Sadly, there was little he could do for her. The only way he had to help her cope with her grief was to further increase her burden.
"Mistress Banks, I want you to draw up papers transferring twenty-five percent ownership of the bank into your name. Then I want you to create a charter for the business that gives you complete authority to make any decisions pertaining to its operation. As long as you are drawing up those papers, do the same for the Manor. Miss Hawks will be in town within the next few days to sign them. A quarter of the Manor is to go into her name."
She nodded. "That answers any other questions I may have had, Mister Turner. Thank you."
Gods, she was a rock. Ground under, fired and beaten, she was still a rock. The impurities had been driven from her and now only the hard core remained. Aaron hoped that core was not too brittle to survive.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out three one-pound bars of silver, and handed them to her. "Deposit these for me. I no longer feel comfortable having them stored back home."
BOOM BOOM
Aaron jumped at the double boom of a shotgun.
"That's your business, Mister Turner. You had best see to it." Mistress Bank's expression never changed. Her voice remained even.
Aaron ran out the door before she finished speaking. Seeing nothing down the street, he ran up the street to where a crowd had gathered. They looked less than subdued when he reached them. Breathing hard, he slowed and then stopped.
Sarah stood firm in front of a group of about twenty women and four men. The door to the town hall lay on the ground beside her, and Mistress Heinzberg stood beside Sarah. Heinzberg shivered with fear.
"This is Mrs. Boom," Sarah said quietly, holding up her shotgun. "I won't lie to you. It can only fire four more times. After that I will need to use my sword. Mrs. Boom and the sword are not enough for me to kill all of you. The rest of you will be able to kill me. When I am dead only half of you will be able to celebrate. The rest will be dead with me, but don't worry. By the time your survivors start celebrating the town militia will be fully gathered, so your lives will not last long." She stared at them, making sure they understood her.
"Now," she said, "you may continue frightening poor Mistress Heinzberg and tearing apart my building. Just remember that doing so will make me mad. On the other hand, you could settle down and tell me what the problem is. That would make me happy. The decision is yours."
One woman stepped forward. "This town is the problem. You treat us like dirt. Only so many of us can come into the town at the same time. Here, give us your money. Glad to have your business. Now leave. Well, I am here to tell you that we can't leave. That bastard Beech took every copper we had when he left. We have no more money, but we have families, children to feed, and that woman," she pointed emphatically at Mistress Heinzberg, "she says we cannot have land to grow our crops on. How can we live if she won't tell us where our land is?"
"I--" Heinzberg protested.
Lips thin and white, Sarah stopped her and stared at the speaker. Aaron had never imagined Sarah could look so absolutely dangerous. She was dynamite ready to explode, and he had every reason to believe the explosion would leave bodies lying in the street. Terror poured from her and washed over the crowd. Around them, armed townspeople gathered on the street. Aaron saw other people, armed with bows, moving on the rooftops. Yes, the town Militia was already in position. If violence started none of the protesters would live through it. It was possible none of them would live long enough to reach Sarah.
"We live by the proprieties in Last Chance," Sarah said with icy calm. "We do not allow profanity to be spoken in public. Also, that woman is Mistress Heinzberg. She is to be addressed as Mistress Heinzberg, and when she is spoken to she will be spoken to with respect. I am Marshal Townsend, and you will speak to me respectfully. I will follow these same rules of politeness and propriety with you as soon as you get around to introducing yourselves."
"Spangle," the woman snapped. "I am Mistress Spangle with one Co-Mistress, a Mister and seven children to feed."
"I told Mistress Spangle and the others that most of the local land was owned," Mistress Heinzberg said shakily. "All that is left for homesteading is a hundred and twenty acres, enough for three small farms." She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin and stared Spangle in her eye. "I'm sorry. I don't want to see people suffer, but my wants won't change anything. This area has been settled for years."
"I saw large empty areas on your map," Spangle challenged.
"Rocks," Mistress Heinzberg explained. "Nothing much can grow there. Right at the foot of the mountain a lot of land is nothing but thin soil over rock. Grass can hardly grow there. The government won't even let us give that land away."
"Then are we to starve?"
"No!" Miss Hawks stepped forth from the crowd of onlookers. "Are you all farmers?"
A good deal of her anger seeping away, Mistress Spangle nodded mutely. She now looked like what she was, a middle-aged woman bowing under the weight of her responsibility to her family. She looked to the future and saw the death of her family and friends through winter starvation and freezing.
"Turner Manor has need of farmers. We will be stocking our range soon, and I have no desire to see our stock die in the winter months. Because of this I will pay you to raise hay on Manor land. I can set aside eight hundred acres for this use."
A man stepped forward. "There be no way we break ground and raise hay in this year. There be not time enough." He spoke defiantly, but faint hope glittered in his voice.
"For this year you will only break ground and build homes," Miss Hawks said. "The Manor will feed and pay you. Remember though, the land and the homes will not be yours. They will belong to Turner Manor."
The Movers looked at each other doubtfully. Aaron knew what they were thinking. They had torn up their lives so they could work for themselves, could be independent. Now they were asked to take a step backwards. Yes, they would live, but they would also have sacrificed everything to gain nothing.
He stepped forward, pushing past Sarah and stopping in front of the two speakers.
"Take the offer," he pleaded. "Work the land and raise hay. Take the pay and the food. I promise that if you do these things and do them well the land will change ownership. It will be yours the year after you hand over your tenth crop."
"And
who are you?"
Mistress Hawks was suddenly beside him. "He is Mister Turner, and a better man you will not find. His word is Truth, and I will stand behind his truth with my oath. If you work hard for the Manor, the homes and the land will one day belong to you."
The man looked down speculatively. Fastening his eyes on Aaron, he stepped forward, and Aaron suddenly found himself caught in the man's embrace. Long arms wrapped around him, and Aaron found himself engulfed by the odor of a long unwashed body. Even though the stench made his stomach roil, he fought himself not to struggle for escape from the man's embrace.
"It be good and more than fair," the man exclaimed loudly in Aaron's ear. "I pledge myself to you and swear I will do you fair so long as you deal fair. I will take your offer." He released Aaron and stepped back. Mistress Spangle kneeled to him.
"As do I and these others. We will call you lord as was proper in the days of old for you are Chosen of the One God. Our lives are yours. Our honor in your hands." Bending her head, she remained still.
Aaron did not know what to do. He looked around in confusion until Miss Hawks whispered in his ear.
"They are followers of the Zorist way. Raise her to her feet. That will be a sign of your acceptance of her pledge. Then tell her to follow my orders."
Reaching down Aaron touched the woman's head with a tentative hand. He ran his fingers across the side of her face. Cupping her chin he raised her head until she looked at him.
"You speak for all of these people?" he asked.
"We are fifteen families," she replied. "I speak for twelve of them."
"Then rise. I accept your fealty and swear that what I said will be."
She rose, standing before him with her eyes lowered and her hands clenched before her chest. "Lord Turner, I grant you my loyalty and the loyalty of those who follow me. We will be yours to do with as you wish so long as you hold and fulfill the pledge you have given. Thank you, Chosen One, for grasping the opportunity the One God has given you to be responsible for our needs and cares."
Aaron closed his eyes and said a little prayer. He opened them again to find that yet one more prayer had not been answered. She was still there. Damn, he hated to think he had used up his entire supply of prayers granted with just that one.
"Mistress Spangler, I stand by the words I have spoken. From this day until the day the land is turned over to you I shall feed and protect you while you labor in my name." As best he could tell they all looked satisfied with his speech. That was good because he was damned if he was going to try to do better. He had already committed himself to too much responsibility to people he did not know and did not care all that much about.
"Thank you, Chosen. Be it known to you and to all that our daughters are available to you for marriage or whatever else it is you may desire."
"Good deal for you," Miss Hawks murmured. Sarah glared a very big mock warning. Her eyes lost a part of their deadliness as silent laughter rose in them. Aaron wanted to fold up and disappear.
Oh God. Why him? Why was it always him?