by Reed, N. C.
“I sure hope so,” Dawson sighed. “Look, I don't claim to speak for old man Pickett, but for myself, I really am sorry. I hate the whole thing ever happened, and like I told you before, in hindsight it's easy to see how stupid it was. I look at it now and can't believe I ever considered it for an instant, but... I was only half paying attention to anything other than training the people who were going into the militia and I probably missed more than one discussion. Remember, I lead the militia because of my military background but I have nothing to do with running the town. I'm sure there was more said in meetings I wasn't present for that would have made it much easier to see things clearly, but I wasn't there for them.”
“And, once we saw one threat, I started looking for them everywhere since that kind of became my responsibility when I agreed to take on the militia job. It was really easy to see a group of former special forces as a threat, man. Especially with the arms you guys carry and the vehicles you drive.”
“I can see that,” Clay gave Dawson a little slack. “The thing that made me the maddest I guess, was Pickett's threats against us, and his holier than thou attitude once we helped you guys get up on your feet. He acted as if we were responsible for protecting Jordan instead of you, and at the risk of our own home. That stuck in my craw good, over and above that bullshit about taking over. Had I not already been so mad, I'd probably have just laughed at that. Look at all this,” he spread his arm around him.
“Hundred different people, all going a different direction, and all 'needing just a minute',” he used air quotes. “With all this, why the hell would I want more?”
“True that,” Dawson nodded. “Never volunteer for anything.”
“Anyway, I'm not opposed to some kind of joint training, but not until we finish with harvest and get everyone squared away. That's more important to us than anything else, right now. And I imagine it will be for you before long,” he added.
“It will,” Dawson nodded. “Plans right now are to use half of our militia to gather our crops, while folks from town either can or dehydrate what we can harvest. We have other teams moving through the woods for anything growing wild that survived the fire. Not much, but signs are good for next year.”
“We better head back,” Clay decided to end things there. “We'll be accused of plotting if we're gone too long.”
Dawson laughed, even though he thought it was probably at least half true.
-
“So, we're going to aim for every Monday, for now?” Pickett asked as he looked around the table.
“Works for me,” Gordon nodded. No one objected, so it was decided by mutual agreement that two weeks from the next Monday would be the first day of the market.
“For now, it will be barter only, unless someone just wants to accept precious metals,” Pickett more or less declared. “Is that alright with everyone?” he checked with the group.
“I would imagine it will work that way for some while,” Robert nodded. “Like you said, you can't eat that silver or gold.”
“What I figure,” the old man replied. “So, for now, vendors can set up on the street for free, or work out an arrangement with the store owners to set up inside. However, the street market will be off to the side where it doesn't block access to the stores in any way. Too bad we don't have any food vendors like a carnival,” he chuckled. “I could sure go for a good corn dog about now.” He stood and the people from town joined him.
“We'll all think on what to do concerning Lewiston in the meanwhile, I should reckon,” he looked at Gordon.
“Sounds like a plan,” Gordon agreed. “I would like to know, but not at the expense of losing anyone to a shooting. For now, I think we can limit ourselves just to us and see how it goes. It occurs to me,” he said suddenly, his face lighting up, “that if we can establish a solid market here, or in Jordan anyway, then others would wind up wanting to come to us, instead of the other way around.”
“I hadn't thought of that at all,” Pickett had to admit, his voice soft. “Boy, if we could do that...”
“That would really go a long way to putting us back on the right track,” Draper sounded very happy at that thought.
“It would be good for every business in town and for every trader as well,” Milligan looked very thoughtful. “Stores like mine might get goods on consignment from people who can't make the trip regularly, or maybe just don't want to.”
“Might open the market up more than one day a week if it grew, too,” Pickett was getting into the idea. “Gordon, I think you've hit the best idea of any of us all day!” he offered his hand and Gordon took it.
“If you build it, they will come,” Clay whispered, remembering a movie he and his father had both loved when he was a kid. His father, at least, heard him and turned to exchange grins with his youngest son.
Once the Jordan group were gone, Gordon looked at Clay.
“Think it will work?”
“Have to wait and see, but I think it's worth pursuing,” Clay replied. “We can't keep going the way we have been. Well, we can, but people are going to start wanting more and better stuff, and we don't have it. So, you have to trade for it or buy it. Sooner or later, if there's a big enough demand, someone will fill it, somehow. This idea has worked all over the world, including here. It can work here again.”
“What are we going to sell?” Gordon asked.
“I'm just going to look,” Clay raised a hand as if to ward off the question. “Gary, you gonna offer to reload?”
“I'm still thinking about it,” Gary admitted. “It depends on what the market bears, to be honest. My supplies aren't bottomless, so I'll have to see what I can do. Once I'm out of primers or powder, then I'm just a gunsmith and, without ammunition, gunsmiths aren't going to be in great demand. I'll need to learn a new trade,” he laughed, though it sounded brittle, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
“We all may need to learn how to do something to help ourselves in the long run,” Ronny stated. “This world has changed, and the fact that we kept a small part of it won't last forever. That said, I got work to do.”
“Me too,” Clay nodded. “Corn waits for no man.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Okay, ladies, this is for all the marbles,” Nate told the assembled women. All were in full gear and pack, rifle in hand.
“You have fifty-nine minutes to make it from here to the interstate, back to here, through the assault course and fire ten rounds, none of which can be outside the seven ring,” he told them. “You've done all of this before, so you know how it goes. Pace yourselves, but don't dawdle. The more time you save up front?”
“The more time you have behind!” came the shouted reply from his trainees.
“Excellent!” Nate laughed. “On the mark then!” He raised a hand and took up stopwatch that was hanging around his neck by a cord.
“Go!”
Twenty-one women took off at a run, heading for the highway. Tandi was waiting for them on a battery golf cart with his bag and a cooler of water, just in case. As the group passed him, he waved and started to slowly follow.
“Well, that is that,” Nate said, letting out a long breath. “Win, lose or draw, we're done.”
“You think they'll all make it?” Clay asked. He had not been a part of the training himself. A week had passed since the mayor of Jordan and his little group had visited. Clay and Ronny had finished the harvest the day before, though there were people still working the gardens as they continued to produce into the early fall.
“I think so,” Nate nodded. “This isn't quite as tough as what we put the boys through,” he added. “They aren't doing as many acrobatics, and they're not running quite as far, but otherwise it's about even.”
“Well, most of them are athletes, just like the boys,” Clay shrugged. “And to be honest, I don't think one or two miles, one way or another, is a big enough difference to count. If they can actually do it, then I'm more than satisfied. For that matter, if any of them fi
nish in under an hour-and-a-half, I'd be likely to include them.”
“I'm glad you said that,” Nate grinned. “That was the time we determined was optimal. None of them have a watch, so they have to guess at the time. They'll push themselves a little harder, which is why Tandi is rolling along to keep a look out, but honestly, Clay, they're ready now. This is just our idea of a graduation exercise. They've all done this before, and all of them have turned in good times.”
“Maybe we shouldn't push them, then,” Clay said softly, watching as the last woman disappeared down the road, Tandi following in the golf cart.
“Sweat now or bleed later,” Nate reminded him.
“True,” Clay admitted. “Well, I got stuff to do I guess, so let me know what happens.”
“Will do, Bossman.”
-
“There they go,” Leanne Tillman said as she watched the women trainees moving up the road. She lowered her binoculars and sat down again beside her boyfriend, Heath Kelly.
“There they go,” was Heath's quiet reply as he used his own binoculars to watch everywhere else. Leanne had been coming up to visit him since the first night he had asked her to dance in Leon's club, but he never let her visits interfere with his duties, and she was careful to make sure she didn't, too.
“I would have done that,” Leanne said idly, looking out over the tower's edge.
“Too young, Leanne,” Heath replied without looking. They'd had this discussion before. “They cut off the age at eighteen.”
“Marcy George isn't eighteen!” Leanne replied. Another tired argument.
“Special circumstances since she's essentially an emancipated teenager,” Heath reminded her.
“Some of you were only-,”
“Desperate times, Leanne,” Heath didn't let her finish, this time. “And why are you so determined to do this all of a sudden?” he asked. “Don't you have enough work to do as it is? This place could barely function without you and Leon, and JJ.”
She tried to hide it, but Heath caught the adorable blush on her face at the compliment.
“I just want to be like the others,” she shrugged.
“Why in the world would someone as special as you are want to be like everyone else?” Heath demanded, saying just the right thing.
“You think I'm special?” she asked, eyes wide. He'd fallen for that trick before, however.
“You know you're special,” Heath told her. “Both of you are. I have no idea how smart the two of you actually are, but I can tell genius when I see it, Leanne. Everybody at school was always talking about how smart you two are. Some were just jealous, I admit, but others were admiring, and more envious than jealous. I wish I was that smart,” he told her before pulling his binoculars back to his eyes for another look around.
“You're smart!” Leanne sounded defensive.
“I'm smart, yes,” Heath admitted. “But I'm not brilliant. You two, and probably JJ, are. We're lucky to have the three of you. We'd be lucky to have just one of you,” he amended. “Having all three is like a blessing from on high. Think about all you and Leon have accomplished since this started. Where would we all be, right now, without the work the two of you put in?”
“That's true,” she said demurely, looking down at her feet. “I suppose I do my share, even if I don't run and jump and shoot.”
“You do more than your share, and you know that, too,” Heath told her. “How many hours of sleep do you get at night? Just on average?”
“Maybe six, I guess,” she shrugged. “There's just always stuff to do. That's all.”
“That's right,” Heath replied, sounding as if she had made his point for him. “There's always stuff to do that only you and maybe two other people can do. Anybody healthy enough can run, jump and shoot. That's easy. Keeping things together like you do? That's another game entirely.”
“You always know just what to say, don't you?” Leanne changed gears on him, but Heath had seen that move before, too.
“That's my job,” he laughed lightly. “Knowing just what to say.” He paused from his scanning to wink at her, then went back to work so she could pretend that he didn't see her blushing furiously.
-
Clay had a surprise waiting for him as he walked into his office, in the form of his mother. Angela Sanders was sitting in a chair, waiting for him to arrive.
“Mom,” he said neutrally, barely missing a step at the surprise of find her there. “What can I do for you?”
“You can come to dinner on Sunday,” his mother replied evenly, her voice soft and carefully absent of any challenge.
“I think we've established that's not the best plan for me,” Clay politely refused. “I do appreciate the invite, of course.”
“Clayton, please,” she leaned forward in her chair. “I'm trying to make things right with you, I really am. I've been talking with Lainie-,”
“She told me,” Clay nodded.
“Then you know that I'm doing all I can to make up for how I behaved toward you before,” Angela told him.
“You don't have to make up for how you actually feel about things,” Clay shrugged. “You made it pretty clear what you thought, more than once, and that's fine. I can respect that and work with it.”
“That's not. . .I was going to say not fair, but it is,” she leaned back again. “It's not accurate. I don't feel that way, and didn't then, not really. I just wanted to maintain a sense of normality around here. If Lainie told you we talked, and what about, then you know this.”
“She did, and I do,” Clay nodded. “Thing is, mom... I could overlook pretty much everything else, but even after you found out Malitha George had lied through her teeth about an innocent woman, you still took her side against me. To be honest, that tells me all I need to know, right there. In a less civilized environment than we've managed to create here, that could have led to Trudy Leighton being murdered, probably in some savage manner by ignorant red-necks. And you seemed perfectly okay with that at the time. That I can't overlook, mom.”
“That was wrong of me, and I apologize,” Angela agreed. “It never entered my mind that Malitha would lie to me, Clayton. When it came out that she had, I just didn't believe it, or maybe didn't want to believe it. And, I'm adult enough to admit that I was angry with you for not doing what I wanted and I let that influence me, and my actions,” she added, her voice quiet.
“So, you were okay with an innocent woman being lynched, maybe, because you were angry with me,” Clay summarized what he was hearing.
“I would never be okay with something like that,” Angela shook her head, face red in near anger. “I just wanted them gone!”
“Because you didn't like them or the choices they make,” Clay stressed.
“Yes,” Angela exhaled a deep breath, her face showing that she had surrendered. “And that was wrong of me, too, Clayton. Like I said before, I wasn't thinking straight. Thinking clearly. I was off balance, and trying to fake it until I could get back on track. I didn't do a good job at it, but I was trying. I realize how bad it was, but it wasn't entirely on purpose. I meant for an entirely different set of events to happen. Not what did happen.” She stood, carefully straightening her dress before looking him in the eye.
“I'm sorry,” she told him plainly. “I can't go back and undo what happened. I can't make it not have happened, or change the effect it had on you or the others here. I can try to make up for it, but you have to be willing to let me. I've asked for your forgiveness, which is all I can do. The rest is up to you. The invitation for dinner is an open one,” she finished and departed without another word.
Clay counted to sixty before he expelled an angry breath. He had almost liked it better when she was ignoring him. Then, he could put the whole thing aside and not deal with it. He recalled a conversation with Lainie, just a few days prior.
“Your mother came to see me,” Lainie had said as the two sat over their finished supper.
“What now?” Clay had expected some oth
er great problem to fall on him.
“She just wanted to try and make amends,” Lainie said simply. “Maybe you should talk to her?”
“I think we saw where that gets me, didn't we?” he was careful not to take any anger out on Lainie, who had been his biggest supporter of all and didn't deserve it.
“She's making the effort, Clay,” Lainie rose and gathered the dishes. “You need to think about making one in return.”
She was right. He had acknowledged it then and acknowledged it again now. Lainie was almost always right, so long as her temper wasn't involved. His mother had not always been kind to Lainie, so if she could see the wisdom in offering or accepting an olive branch, maybe he needed to look at it, too.
Part of the problem was that the same stubbornness that drove his mother also ran through his own veins, and thus, he didn't want to accept any branches of any kind. Clay had one glaring weakness above all others, and that was the simple fact that once he had had enough, or felt he had been betrayed, then that was it. He was finished. His mother's actions had been reckless in the extreme and had helped fuel a division that had broken a family apart and ended up making their position weaker than it already was. That same division had then led to a divide between himself and the leaders of Jordan, fueled by the same hate that his mother had listened to rather than listen to her own son, undoing weeks of work at forging a better relationship with the town and a working partnership going forward into whatever the world had or would become. That was damage that was still being felt, even as both sides worked to repair it.
So, he wanted to stay angry about all that, he really did. At the same time, however, his mother had asked for his forgiveness and attempted to make things right not only with him, but with Lainie as well. That was something he couldn't just outright ignore. He knew what it had cost her to admit that she was wrong. He could count on one hand the times he had heard her say it. He imagined his father wouldn't need two hands to count the times he had heard her admit it, either.
Reluctantly, he decided he would go to dinner. He would allow his mother the chance she sought. If she didn't do as she promised, then it wouldn't be because he had not given her the opportunity. He would not allow himself to be at fault here, or to do as his mother had done. He would make his decision without it being influenced by anger or the need to get even.
