by Mark Eller
Aaron nodded. Isabellan law did say that. It was a rare father who could care for all his children if he had six or eight wives. Few men had more than two, and most had one, but the law did not look at it that way. It looked at what was possible instead of what was probable.
Goes to show what happens when it was mostly women who wrote the laws.
Sighing, Aaron sank deeper into his chair. He looked straight into Kit's eyes. "Kit, you've turned into a bitch."
She frowned. "I won't complain about the sentiment, but I've warned you about your language. I won't have it in my home. Anyway, you're wrong. I've turned into a mother who is looking after her children. I'll use any weapon I possess to protect their interests. Would one pound be asking too much?"
Aaron thought on his not-so-slowly dwindling resources. Though one pound of silver was a sizable amount of money, it would not make a hole in those resources. It would, however, create a dent. His net worth was in a downward spiral and would not head back up until some factories actually put out a product. Then again, he had no choice in the matter. The triplets were his children. He might not feel a burning parental love for them the way he had for Ernest, but he did love them, and they were his responsibility.
"One pound," he conceded, "but I want input on what you're doing here. First, the plans I drew up were only preliminary. Remember, I was drunk when I drew them, but even then I knew they wouldn't work."
"Okay. I'm remembering."
She sounded disgusted. Aaron was not about to ask her with whom.
"Second, did you run the plans through a cost analysis to see how much the project would run? Did you consider that the factory would only be working for about two months out of the year? That means you'll have to find some other product to fill it the rest of the time. If you don't find another product, you'll have to find employees willing to work for only sixty days a year and then hope they come back, because it's expensive to train new people."
Kit looked embarrassed. Her face turned a particularly interesting shade of red. "No. I just wanted to make better use of the land. I thought farming and a cannery would be the right answer."
Aaron pointed an accusing finger. "Kitty love, you make a great ranch manager, but you aren't ready to be anything else. Tell me, did you at least look into the expense of the canning equipment? Did you contact the manufacturer and get some quotes and suggestions? Have you had any engineering work done?"
She shook her head. Several strands of loose hair waved through the air and brushed against her cheeks. Kit pushed them behind her ear with a quick gesture. "I figured there was time enough for that once I got everything else finished."
Aaron snorted while reflecting that a year or two earlier he would have done things exactly the same way. Back then he hadn't spent time beneath the protective and educational wing of one Miss Amanda Bivins. He would not yet have attended meetings that were the beginning stages of setting up new businesses and product lines.
"I want three-quarters ownership," he told her. "You can keep the manor and all its lands, but I want three-quarters of the factory and the rail lines and the land they lay on. I'll come up with plans to utilize the buildings. I'll pay for all the future expenses, but I want three-quarters of the profit."
Kit nodded. "You can have it. I want to wash my hands of the entire project. I'm in over my head and not ashamed to admit it."
"Can I see the children now?"
"Not a good idea. Miss Hurbage will kill the both of us if we wake either of the boys up. I don't even care to speculate on what she will do if we wake up Autumn. No, nap time will last for at least another hour, maybe two. You can see them when they wake up." She brushed her hair back again, loosened the tie holding it in place, and bound it up once more. "What can you do with the factory?"
"I'm not sure yet. I do know that I'm tired of having my nerves set on edge by the constant squealing surrounding me. Maybe I'll do something about that. Kit, I'll return later this afternoon. Expect me for dinner."
Flicker
* * *
From his position in the smithy's doorway, Aaron watched Jorrin repeatedly strike the convoluted chunk of metal on his workbench. The metal glowed faintly red, then quickly faded and darkened into a dirty brown. Sweat glistened on the exposed areas of Jorrin's skin, soaking his thick carpet of hair. Jorrin was still the hairiest man Aaron had ever seen. He was also Aaron's first and best friend in Isabella.
Aaron turned slightly to look over the street of Last Chance. As usual, the street was calm. A few figures walked along the boardwalk stretching in front of his old store. One wagon, pulled by a single mule, was halfway down the street. The view gave Aaron's heart ease.
Last Chance was the last town before Banner's Loop, the only pass reaching through the mountains. It was a dead end stop for those who had nowhere else to go.
Gods, he missed the place.
The Last Chance General Store was open. That was no surprise since Steven Knight had turned out to be an extremely responsible businessman. Beside it, connected by a shared wall, was the place once known as Bayne's Reading Emporium. That, too, had changed. The sign overhead no longer read Bayne's. It read Haig's. The Emporium's doors were closed, but he had expected nothing different at this time of day. Cathy only opened her doors after the rest of the town shut down.
The sight of his old store made Aaron's emotions well. A knot formed in his stomach, twisted its way up into his throat, and rested there, threatening to choke him. That store had given him meaning and purpose. It had been the real beginning of his life--but he could no longer set foot in it without feeling unease. Inside those walls his wife and son had burned, smothering his good memories with grief.
And the Emporium? Aaron could not deny the truth any longer. He still loved Cathy. She would have been his third wife had she not betrayed him. He ached for her, longed to have her in his arms, to kiss her again, and to make love to her for the first time.
But Gods damn it--she had married another man. She wasn't Cathy Bayne anymore; she was Mistress Haig, just like the sign on her business now said.
Sometimes Aaron hated her.
Choking on anger and pain, Aaron turned back to Jorrin.
Jorrin must have heard something. Using a large set of tongs that lay on his workbench, he lifted the piece he worked on and set the metal into the forge. Carefully laying down the tongs, he turned around. His eyes widened upon seeing Aaron.
"Aaron." His voice was quiet. Subdued.
"Jorrin," Aaron replied. He did not have time to say more.
"Gods--it is you." Before Aaron could draw a breath, he was crushed in Jorrin's embrace. Jorrin lifted him and spun him like a child, set him back on the floor with a solid thump, and rested his hands on each of Aaron's shoulders.
"It is you," Jorrin said again. "I've missed you, boy." He grinned. "Life isn't the same without you around. It's grown dull."
Smiling thinly, Aaron reached up to wipe his eyes. "It's been a while."
Pulling himself together, Jorrin released Aaron's shoulders. "That it has. Grab a seat." He propped one hip against his worktable and gestured at an upturned bucket.
Aaron walked to the bucket and sat down.
"Tell me about N'Ark," Jorrin began. "I suppose you've made about five hundred friends by now."
"I've made about five hundred acquaintances, but I haven't made a single friend." Aaron drew in a deep breath. "Jorrin, I won't lie to you. I've missed you, but that's not why I'm here."
"Ohhh." Jorrin's brows lowered, and one side of his lips quirked in a half frown. "Can't say I'm surprised. You had more happen to you here than most people would care to deal with. I take it you want something."
"Yeah." Aaron squirmed uncomfortably. "A couple somethings. First, how hard you can make bronze. How durable can it be?"
"Hmmm--truth is, most true bronze can be made into fairly durable stuff, but the really hard bronzes aren't very ductile. It's almost impossible to work with them. Why don't you
tell me what you want, and I'll let you know if it can be done?"
"Fair enough," Aaron admitted. "What I want is a bunch of truly round bronze or brass balls that are hard and durable. They have to be completely round, perfect within a thousandth of an inch or better."
"And what are you going to do with these balls?"
Jorrin sounded incredulous at the thought of making something so small. Aaron did not blame him, not when the smith typically worked with a hammer and tongs.
"I'm going to make ball bearings in a new factory out on the manor. You're going to run it. You'll have a lot more responsibility, but the hands-on work will be less."
Jorrin shook his head. "Men don't work in factories. Not only is it illegal, it's pretty near fatal."
"Wrong," Aaron told him. "It's illegal if your job is inside the factory. I don't picture you doing the grunt work. You'll supervise and coordinate. Your job won't involve dealing with chemicals and filth."
Not like in the smithy, Aaron thought. Isabellan law and practice was sometimes at cross purposes. There was little real difference between Jorrin's smithy and a factory except for size.
"Hasn't been all that busy since the new smith moved into town," Jorrin admitted after a bit. "Neither of us is working full time, and the idea of getting into something new has appeal. I've done smithing for a good many years now, so even my personal projects are starting to become dull. Explain to me what ball bearings are and what they're for."
Standing up, Aaron grabbed a chunk of charcoal and walked over to a bare section of wall.
"This is the general shape of how the bearings will look. You start out with a casing..."
When Aaron finished an hour later Jorrin was satisfied. He had filled Aaron's head with the names of several alloys that could be added to copper to make a material he thought would be equal to the task.
It was not yet noon, hours before his dinner with Kit, so he decided he might as well get a head start on matters. Isabella's best engineers worked in N'Ark. The way Aaron saw matters, he could not do this unless he hired an engineering firm. Though he had the general idea of how bearings worked, he had no idea how they were put together, not that it mattered. His part of this endeavor was to be the idea and money man. What he needed now was to find the right people and then delegate.
* * *
Once in N'Ark, Aaron decided not to involve Amanda Bivins in this project any more than he had to. He would use her to draw up legal documents and provide legal advice, but the rest of it he would put together himself.
Suddenly, he noticed that he was humming. He felt--settled-satisfied, and he had not felt that way for a very long time.
Satisfied, he realized, because he now had a purpose. It almost didn't matter if the thing took off. The doing would be enough.
Okay, the first requirement was to hire an engineering firm, preferably a hungry one. Most of the large, well-established firms would not be available for months, but that would not do. He did not want to wait that long.
* * *
An hour later, he was shown into an office at the N'Ark University.
"May I help you?" a thin faced secretary asked. He sat beside a massive wood desk set beside a heavy office door.
"I want to see Miss Manitow," Aaron told him. "The matter has some urgency for me."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"I'm afraid not."
The man gave Aaron a thin smile as he leaned back in his chair. "Nobody sees Miss Manitow without an appointment. If you like, I can pencil you in." His eyes flicked to the closed appointment book resting on his desk. "Two p.m. Thursday after next."
"Nobody's in there with her right now," Aaron said reasonably. "I saw her enter these offices just a few moments ago."
"That does not matter. Nobody is allowed to see Miss Manitow unless they make an appointment at least a week in advance."
"Reeeally?" Aaron drawled. "Well, I'll tell you what. When you have a chance, tell Miss Manitow that Mister Aaron Turner came by for a visit. That's Mister Aaron Turner of the Turner Houses. Tell her I'm sorry we were unable to connect, and that I've rethought the two pounds silver contribution I was about to make to the engineering school."
A stricken look quickly formed over the other man's face.
"On second thought," Aaron said. "Don't bother. I'll have my lawyers write a letter spelling out the facts Mister--." Aaron took a half-step forward to get a better look at the placard on the man's desk. "Mister Keeve."
"Sir--Wait--."
Aaron grinned as he left. Keeve was far too late to make an effective apology. Besides, if Aaron actually walked into Miss Manitow's office now, he might get stuck making that contribution, something he had no desire to do.
Once outside, he walked toward the main classrooms, passing three buildings before finding the two-story structure where the engineering classes were held. He caught a student in the hallway, tossed her a copper, and received directions toward the graduate section.
Aaron didn't bother knocking before he entered.
"Excuse me!" The gray-haired woman standing at the podium fixed him with eyes hard enough to shatter glass. "We are holding a class here."
"I want to address your class," Aaron told her. "I want to talk to you, too." He turned to face the students. "I need engineering work done. Some of the design work has never been attempted before. The project will most likely take up to--." He paused to do a little silent figuring. Shrugging because he had no idea of even an approximate figure, Aaron pulled one out of the air. "Three thousand hours of engineering time. I want the initial phase finished within three months. I'm willing to pay an unreasonable amount of money for this work, and I'm willing to pay it to every student and teacher who joins the project."
"Sir," the instructor began.
"I'll double your current wage," Aaron told her. "I'll equal your present pay for any student who signs on. The work can be done after regular class time. You can even wrap it into part of your curriculum." Stepping forward, he handed her a card with his name and address on it. "I'll be at this location after eight tonight."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left. From the look on the instructor's face, he knew he had already won.
Take that, Miss Manitow. Aaron Turner strikes again.
* * *
"You can can the cannery." Aaron told Kit.
"Excuse me?"
"Look, the entire idea was nothing more than a moment's speculation. If you give it thought, there isn't enough profit to justify the initial outlay. The cannery will run for no more than two months a year. Unless you farm out half the manor, it'll take you ten years just to pay for the equipment, and by that time some of the stuff will be worn out and need to be replaced."
"Actually," Kit said, "I was thinking of doing more than that. Since we're still very low on cattle, and because the beef market has been depressed for a number of years, I thought I'd invest in corn and beans. The same problem is there, though. The big cities are too far away for me to get the produce to a profitable market. Aaron, I really would like to have that cannery. I don't see any other way to make money when the cattle market is so deflated."
Aaron mulled the problem over while carefully mashing a small bowl of peas. "Hold on, honey. Papa will have it ready for you in a moment."
Autumn let him know that she wanted to eat now. She also seemed outraged that this virtual stranger had the effrontery to believe he was going to feed her instead of her Mama Kit or her nanny.
"Count yourself lucky," Kit commented while forcing a spoonful into Bret's mouth. "At least Autumn knows she's weaned. These other two aren't sure where they want their sustenance to come from. Well over a year old, and they're still titty babies. Okay, Chet, now it's your turn."
Baring a breast, she pulled Chet to her.
Aaron did his best not to watch.
Chet's head soon covered the view, Aaron's discomfort disappeared. He turned his eyes back toward Kit's face.
H
er expression reflected secret amusement. "I remember a time when you never noticed anything no matter how few clothes I wore."
Aaron refused to touch that subject. The recollection would draw up too many painful memories, too many wounds.
Gods, he missed Sarah. It still felt like a segment of his soul had been ripped away.
"I've thought on the matter," he said. "I think your answer lies in a mill. There's that small river out to the back of the place. It won't handle a super-large wheel, but we don't need one of those. All we need is a small wheel with a couple reasonable-sized stones. You grow wheat and corn, and then grind them into flour and meal. You won't have the expenses and time constraints of a cannery. On top of that, there won't be any giant hurry to get the food to the marketplace. The equipment is pretty much a one-time purchase with minimum maintenance, and the initial outlay is less than a quarter of what you were looking at before."
"Oh." Kit looked thoughtful for a moment and then grinned with self-derision. "I never thought of that. I was so wrapped up in the idea of a cannery that it never occurred to me to look at other options. This one really is the easiest, isn't it?"
"It has the added benefit of having the manor grow a good crop for long-term profit. Flour and meal really don't bring in as much per acre as other crops, so not all that many farmers are growing the grain. That means you'll have a ready market. Also, since you'll be grinding your own instead of paying somebody else to do it, your profit margin will be greater than that of most other farmers despite increased transportation expenses."
"I'll give it some thought." Kit grinned again. "More thought than I obviously gave the last idea. I think those peas are more than soupy enough."
"Hmmm? Oh. I suppose they are. Open up, little Autumn."
Autumn did open up. Sometimes. When she felt like it. By the end of her meal Aaron was scrapping her next spoonful off her chin and bib because she kept hindering the operation by trying to feed herself. Where the two boys were complacent acceptance, Autumn was stubborn defiance.
