* * *
Late that afternoon, Aaron finally realized what had been meant by the earlier mentions of the Guards and war.
More than two dozen new customers visited him that day. Some of them were Guard; some were Movers wanting to buy on credit. They were Movers--only this time they were moving back to their old homes.
He questioned a few of them carefully enough to discover that only return traffic went through the pass. The savages had banded together with a number of earlier Movers, and now they were burning out and enslaving the newcomers. Every man was killed outright, and women were turned into domestic servants and field hands. Any Mover who had crossed the pass in the last two years was at risk except for a few who were particular cronies of Beech.
In all, there were better than forty women and children begging for food on the streets of Last Chance. Most of the children had no parents. Of the eight Mover women, only five had children still living, and those children only numbered fourteen. That left more than eighteen kids with nobody but themselves to care for their needs.
Aaron made inquires. Many of the displaced people were going back to their families in the east. All they needed was enough to survive on until they made it back. To these he gave money and supplies. He wrote their names down in his ledger, carefully noted the amounts he loaned them next to their names, and accepted their promises to pay him back in full. Despite their promises, Aaron expected less than ten percent of his money would be returned. Kit predicted the amount would be much more because more than half the refugees were Zorists. She said those who believed in the One God, were almost fanatical in paying back their debts. They considered fulfilling their given word to be one of the seven sacred obligations.
Aaron listened to Kit, but he did not believe her. Yes, there was a debt owed, but the debt ran from him to them, not the other way around. They were running east because of a war, and the scope of that war was partly of his own making. No self-delusional denial could make him forget Beech's boasts. Mister Wagon Master, despot Haarod Beech had the greatest Talent Stone amplifier on this world because Aaron had provided him with a steel sword. Undeniable guilt lay heavy on him. More people were dying, and the dying was his fault.
With this thought he sent the other two women and the parentless children out to the farm, which was now renamed Turner House. Nothing was set up for their permanently living there yet, but a rundown farm was better than what they had now.
Later, he talked to Mister Moody about supplying them with food and milk. Moody promised to see to their needs even though he did not have enough of everything since his cows were still not producing proper like, but his neighbors would be sure to help him out. After all, that was what neighbors were for. He would send Pate out to talk to them as soon as he got home.
Aaron went through the motions of living, wishing Sarah could be with him but knowing she was conferring with the Guard or dealing with some other matter in her capacity as Marshal.
The indications, according to Mother Rumor, all showed that the savages were preparing to invade. Several contacts had been reported. Half a dozen of the Guard were dead. Two dozen others were wounded.
He did not expect the visitors he received shortly before he closed the store at the end of a very long and uncomfortable day.
The outer door clunked when it swung shut, and Aaron looked up to see a young woman with a hard angled face staring at him. Her eyes were dark and intense; her bearing was determined, and she wore a tightly pressed and very cheap business suit. When she looked towards him Aaron raised an inquiring brow. She nodded and stepped forward. "Mister Turner?"
"Yes," Aaron said cautiously.
"My name is Amanda Bivins. Three months ago I graduated from the N'Ark University of Law third from the bottom in my class. Because of this I found myself with a pretty diploma and no job while creditors demanded that I start paying back my college loans. I could have taken up a position in one of the larger law firms as a low paid legal assistant, but that path has no appeal to me since it would take me years to pay off those loans and even more years to rise through the ranks. I am not that patient."
"It's a long way from N'Ark to Last Chance," Aaron supplied.
"Yes sir, it is," Miss Bivins admitted. "I came here to see you. Twice in the last year I have had the opportunity to use one of your writers. I found them to be easy and convenient and wished I had the funds to buy one or two of my own. I became fascinated by the idea of them and did some research with the thought of investing a little money in the company, but there was no company: there was only you…until two months ago. A conglomerate specializing in manufacturing, Barnes, Nod and Strunk, began producing their own writers based on your designs without the benefit of giving you a commission on sales, which is required by Isabellan law, Heinlav vs. Norland, because your writers are the first documented case of an original intellectual and real product of similar design."
She drew in a deep breath, which made her chest swell impressively, released it, showing the first signs of nervousness when the corner of her lips twitched. "Sir, I took the liberty of drawing up papers that will make me your legal representative in this matter. Any and all of the clauses can be changed, but I believe the terms I am proposing are more than fair."
Watching silently, Aaron studied her. Her poise began to slowly crumble. Her hopeful eyes became despairing while his silence continued, but then they flared back to life and her shoulders firmed.
"Miss Bivins," Aaron asked, "if I refuse your offer, how are you going to get back to N'Ark?"
Shrugging, she blushed and gave him a half smile. "Walk."
Aaron returned the smile and accepted the papers. "This might take a while."
"I can wait," she said.
Once broken down, her offer was fairly straightforward and clear. She asked only ten percent of his profits for the first two years of sales. According to her preliminary figures, his estimated profit during those two years could exceed seven hundred and fifty full silver which would net her seventy five silver, a rather optimistic prediction in Aaron's opinion, but she was very young and not very experienced.
When he finished reading, Aaron looked up to catch her biting her bottom lip. Nodding agreeably, he signed the papers because he really did not care if she scammed him or not. He had nothing to lose, and if she were honest, she had just potentially earned herself five times the normal yearly salary of a first year graduate lawyer with this one deal.
As she was about to leave the door banged once again. An older man with thin dark hair entered the store carrying one of Aaron's steel knives. When he saw Aaron he released an excited laugh.
"Mister Turner. Miss Hawks has allowed me to look at some of those books of yours. They are a treasure trove of scientific information, sir. A treasure trove. There are things in there that astonish the mind. I tried to copy some of it down, but Miss Hawks said I must have your permission first."
"Books?" Aaron asked. With everything that had been going on today, the books had completely slipped his mind. "Where are they, and why do you care about them?"
Laughing again, the man held out a soft hand. "They have been moved to the Traveler's Rest, and I am a Science and Practical Mechanics professor at N'Ark University. So many exciting things have been coming out of Last Chance that the Elders asked me to journey here and see what I could discover. They gave me this wonderful knife of yours that appears to be made from some derivative of iron, though how you managed to acquire so much iron is a mystery to me. To the best of my knowledge, there are not more than fifty chunks of iron in the entire world that are large enough to have produced this."
Miss Bivins stepped forward. "The mystery, sir, is why you expect free access to Mister Turner's intellectual property without providing Mister Turner with guarantees and recompense. Those books represent a considerable and real part of Mister Turner's plans for financial gain, so the free dissemination of their contents is contrary to his best interests."
The professor studied her for a moment and then he blinked surprise. "Don't I know you? I believe you were a student at the university recently, and a not very good one."
"I was an excellent student," Miss Bivins corrected, "considering that I only had three years of formal schooling before entering University. My first year there was mostly spent learning everything I missed by skipping pre-law."
He snorted. "That's impossible. Nobody that unprepared is allowed--"
"I lied on my entrance forms," Miss Bivins said, "and I graduated, and I am now Mister Turner's representative in these matters."
"These are books," he protested. "He doesn't need a lawyer to let me look at books."
"He needs a lawyer before you look at those books," she corrected. "Your department has something of a reputation for piracy, sir. I recall reading of more than one investigation into the matter."
Aaron cleared his throat. "Actually, I planned on donating them."
The professor drew in a quick, excited breath.
"I have no problem with that," Miss Bivins said, "so long as it is only a loan, and so long as there are provisions that you receive the standard five percent from the gross of any new products developed from information contained within the books." She gave Aaron a quick look. "If Mister Turner agrees, I can draw up the papers tonight, and we can sign them tomorrow."
"Five percent," the professor said doubtfully.
"For the lifetime of that product's production," she clarified, "and also five percent for any products evolved from the original one."
"That would be a difficult agreement to enforce," the professor pointed out. "It could become impossible to determine how far the information has been disseminated and to what extent new discoveries owe their existence to Mister Turner's information."
"That," said the unflappable Amanda Bivins, almost purring with satisfaction, "is why we have courts."
"I don't have the power to sign your papers," he tried again. "That belongs to the university's Elders. However, I can give you my word that any information I retain at this time will not be used without Mister Turner's permission."
"That's okay," Miss Bivins replied. "Mister Turner can give me power of attorney, and I'll go back to N'Ark with you. We will hash things out, and then you can look at the books." She looked towards Aaron. "Mister Turner?"
By the end of the conversation, Aaron had agreed to make Miss Bivins his permanent lawyer. She would go to N'Ark to settle all the details and open all the lawsuits needed to assure that Aaron received his just due. Aaron signed papers she just happened to have with her that gave her power of attorney. Finally finished, he was preparing to kick everyone out of the store when a boy arrived from the post with a letter addressed personally to Aaron from one Mistress Idella R. Catlow--Member and Minister of the Department of Internal Affairs. Aaron did not have a snowball's chance in the hot place of getting rid of anybody once they saw that letter. Apparently, Mistress Catlow was third in line to take over the reins of the Presidency if anything happened to the Honorable Mistress Penkally.
So Aaron opened the letter and read it silently while his audience stewed in their own curiosity. He then neatly folded the letter, ripped it into tiny little pieces of confetti, and threw the litter into his wastebasket. Then he kicked everyone out. When they were gone he sat down and thought about what he had read. It seemed that the high powers of Isabella were aware of his particular Talent. They were alarmed and hereby enjoined him to cease all travel between his birth world and his new home. If he agreed to this provision he was more than welcome to stay in Isabella. "Please understand that this injunction is not a reflection upon our opinion of your integrity and honor. It is merely a distrust over the intentions of those who might gain control of you and force you to do their will. Oh, by the way, welcome to Isabella. You have any and all privileges of an Isabellan citizen, but citizenship cannot be conferred onto you due to a recent law which requires that a full citizen either be born within the borders of Isabella or have an Isabellan parent. Please expect a representative of the government to arrive shortly." The end.
In other words, more crap was coming his way. Gods, he hated everything to do with politics.
Forcibly shoving the matter out of his mind, Aaron focused on his aching gut and wondered who Cathy had married. Did he really want to know? Probably not. The answer could provide him with nothing but more pain.
His eyes burned from lack of sleep.
He looked at his newly built wall separating the General Store from the Emporium. Cathy's place would soon be filling for the evening. Missy would give reading lessons to her captive audience and Doctor Gunther would read aloud to those who did not want to learn to read but did want to hear a good story. In a short while the room would fill with pleasant talk while checker and chess players competed and cheated with good humor and gentle laughter. The thought of lying in his loft and hearing the sounds of merriment coming through his walls was depressing. A vindictive part of him wished he had not given the Emporium to Cathy. In fact, he was not really sure why he had done it. Maybe Perk was right. Maybe he was a fool.
Fool or not, he was not going to stay here where his eyes could not help seeing the signs and touches of Cathy's presence. The neatly arranged shelves were the work of her hands. She had made the new wall hangings. Every place his eyes touched was a place where she had made a change.
He would not stay here. He had another home to go to now, even if it was a home loved and furnished by someone he had never known. Just so long as the house did not bear the decorative touch of Cathy Bayne he did not care.
After locking the store Aaron made a lonely walk down the street to his new house. Along the way he found himself puzzled by the strangely quiet night. No sounds came from Jorrin's smithy, and the streets were almost empty of people.
He neared the edge of town and found the green house with beige shutters and fresh flowers in the planters beneath the windows that he had been told to look for. The place appeared bright and cheerful with its small clipped yard and the newly whitewashed fence in front. It looked like a happy home, a comfortable home, a home that did not match his somber mood.
It was, he discovered when he reached the front door, a home entirely too full of people.
Mayor Golard opened the door for him with her husband and two co-wives standing behind her. Inside, Jorrin talked to Flo and Bun. Ann Flinders squealed and hurried over to Aaron, a full plate of food held in her hands.
"We were about to go get you. Mistress Halfax said you had nothing to eat today so we made you this, and you had better eat it because you'll need to keep your strength up for tonight."
Team Haggarty's guitar music sounded from another room. Aaron looked around in confusion because this was not the house he had expected. When he had purchased it from Mistress Banks, she had told him the place was furnished, but he had expected the furniture to be used. The furniture around him was anything but used. The smell of freshly cut wood and new finishes filled the air.
Mistress Turnbull waddled into the front room. "Mister Turner. A wonderful home, sir. Plenty of room for you to expand your family and so nicely decorated too." Holding out her large, sagging arms, she gave him a hug. She was so huge that Aaron was engulfed by the shear bulk of her fat. Not only her arms gripped him. Her fat seemed to suck him into her embrace. He coughed and felt smothered but did not care because she was warmth and friendship and one of his most favorite people.
"My Mister," she said after she let him go, "it is in the Master Bedroom he be, talking to the ladies. The Mistress Banks is in there too, along with others. Plenty of time, you should have, for your dressing."
Aaron held his arms out wide. "I am dressed. The rest of my clothes are at the store. What is going on here?"
She looked surprised. "You know not?"
"No," Mister Golard said, "he doesn't. Mister Turner never had any say in the matter. Come to think of it, I doubt I had any more say my own self." He studied Aaron appra
isingly. "Son, you really should have come in for that haircut. You look a sight."
"First thing in the morning," Aaron promised.
"Be too late then. The time you need it most is tonight."
"I suspect those clothes will have to do." Jorrin supplied. "I doubt the women will let him go back to the store to change."
"I suppose that means I don't have time to cut his hair."
"Will somebody please tell me what is going on?" Aaron had only thought he was confused before.
"You'll figure it out." Mistress Banks entered the front room. "I have to tell you, I had a terrible time keeping a straight face today. Imagine, selling you a house you already owned. Why, Miss Townsend bought the place for you a few weeks ago, and we have all been busy putting everything to rights since."
Screaming, three of the Turnbull children chased each other into the room. They looked apprehensively at the adults and ran off, still screaming while they played.
Mister Townsend entered. His two wives clung to either of his arms, dragging him along more than being led by him. All three smiled though Mister Townsend appeared a bit aggrieved. Immediately following them came Perk, and then Mister Turnbull came into view, wearing the same black suit he wore when he gave the Lord's Service.
The room was definitely crowded.
But only until Sarah left the Master Bedroom. When she entered the front room everyone else disappeared. Beyond any doubt, Sarah was the most lovely, most loving sight Aaron had ever been blessed to see. Bare shoulders pale beneath the lantern light, she wore a simple white gown that reached down to brush the floor. Her hair was immaculate, piled and pinned luxuriously. Fragrant white and red roses crowned her glory.
But Aaron did not see her dress or her hair, and he did not smell the flowers. All he saw was Sarah and her love. It shone. It radiated. Her love reached out and pulled Aaron into its embrace.
With hope pouring from her eyes, she stepped hesitantly forward. She looked excited and scared and unsure of how he would react to the brazenness of her actions. Her face spoke of love and compassion and sorrow.
He was not worthy of her. Aaron felt himself to be fool's gold in comparison to the pure tones of her silver strings. He was a small and grubby man, spirit torn and life beaten. In comparison, she was large with living, the shinning bright possessor of a soul capable of encompassing the world.
But he could deny her nothing because she deserved everything he had to give. Truthfully, she deserved more than he was capable of delivering.
No, he could not deny her. She saw it in him, and her radiated happiness filled the room.
Sarah's lips parted and moved silently as she glided to his side. Without making a sound her lips formed words. "I love you."
Mister Turnbull cleared his throat and gestured toward the crowd. "Gather round, people."
"Me too," Aaron's lips answered. Tentatively reaching out, he took her hand in his own. Together, they turned to face Mister Turnbull.
"Dearly beloved," the preacher began. "We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman…"