LANDLUBBERS

 

 

            One month after the fight, Oliver was finally well enough to leave the house for a brief stroll. His legs automatically took him to Boyles' Store, although not without trepidation; his mind desired to chat with the shopkeeper, but his heart would've preferred to avoid the sight of the scene of the fight, just out front.

            But a different sight filled him with even more dismay. On the storefront, people often tacked notices: of announcements, of wants, and of items for sale. And near the center of the display, big and bold of course, commensurate with their stature, was the advertisement posted by the Forresters. In all of his trauma, he'd actually forgotten. Oliver sneered at it, breathing hard, his heart pounding.

            "Illiterate Forresters, prob'ly had to have someone else print it out for 'em," he muttered in disgust.

            But he was just avoiding the thought of what was truly bothering him. A promise, magnanimously made, and now fiercely regretted.

            No longer in the mood for a chat, shoulders slumping, Oliver shuffled home again, mumbling, "Damn that Frank!"

 

            That evening, as nearly always, Easy Ozell sauntered in for a visit, as Oliver and his mother sat on the porch taking the evening air.

            After the three had enjoyed a bit of small talk, Oliver sighed heavily. "Easy? Got a problem."

            "Tell me," Easy invited.

            "'Member six months ago, when I was here last, and brung a sailor-friend home with me, name o' Frank?"

            "Sure. Nice feller."

            Oliver muttered something, and then said louder, "Yeah, well, he seed the notice, front o' the store, 'bout land for sale."

            Easy blinked. "The Forresters' notice?" he asked slowly.

            "That's the one." Oliver sighed.

            "Don't tell me he wants to buy it?"

            "Looks like I don't need to tell you; you figgered it out. And they still ain't sold it, blast it."

            Mrs. Hutto was watching Oliver steadily, waiting, hoping that he wasn't heading where it sounded like he might be.

            "And I promised to make the deal for him."

            "No!" she blurted.

            Oliver could understand how she felt; he agreed. He'd boldly, brashly, made Frank the offer to negotiate for him. After all, he, Oliver, was the native here; what difference did it make if he'd always disapproved of the Forresters? He could still do business with them, and do a friend a favor. But that was before the fight.

            Mrs. Hutto insisted, "Whyn't he handle it hisself, six months ago?!"

            Oliver answered quietly, "He needed time to think it over. We was a'ready back on ship when he made his decision."

            "Well that's his own tough luck!"

            "I made a promise," her son said softly.

            "Well you cain't keep it!"

            "I got his money."

            "What...?"

            "A bundle of it." He turned to look at her. "Enough so's them devils cain't possibly turn him down."

            She stared at him. She waved her hands helplessly. "Iffen he wants it so dratted bad, why ain't he here tendin' to it?!"

            "'Cause I said I'd do it."

            She sagged.

            In the awkward gap in their conversation, Easy asked, "Do he aim to settle here?"

            Oliver nodded.

            Easy hesitated. "Well..., I reckon I could try...."

            Oliver was already shaking his head. "Easy, I cain't ask you to take my responsibility. 'Sides, Frank trusted me to do it; no offense, but he don't hardly know you."

            Easy nodded that that was a valid point.

            "And I cain't ask the Baxters, neither, for the same reason, and also 'cause now they're on the outs with them black-beards, too, on account o' me." Oliver's eyes grew distant. "'Sides.... Them buzzards'd know you, or the Baxters, come from me. They'd think I'm 'fraid to face 'em."

            "Well, you should be!" His mother was holding back tears. Then another thought assailed her, and her voice rose. "You ain't goin' out there?!! To Forresters' Island?!!"

            "No, no," Oliver assured her, and himself. "They could kill me and take Frank's money, and never even know what 'twas for, nor whose 'twas. No. Easy?" He turned to him. "That's where you come in. All I'm askin' you to do is let me know when them devils is in town."

            Easy nodded somberly, but quipped, "I've figgered on doin' that anyways, but so's you kin avoid 'em, not go to 'em."

            Oliver smiled faintly, and supposed, "Well, it'll be safer this way. Has to be done in public."

            His mother sniffled. "The fight was in public! Wa'n't no safer!"

            "I gave my word," he reminded her patiently.

            "And your blood!" she reminded him.

 

            When the word came from a reluctant Easy, Oliver was as filled with dread as his mother. But away he went, with Frank's money tucked down the back of his loose shirt. He was afraid, too, and it didn't help that Easy'd said that all six of them were in the store, although a mere half that many had done an efficient job on him just a month earlier. So the doubled number was more psychological torture than realistic genuinely-increased danger. But he had his honor, and he forced himself to hold his head high.

            Fortuitously, the Forresters had their backs to the door when Oliver arrived, and he stopped just outside of the door, taking advantage of the relative safety of a little distance before he spoke. Hopefully, the combination of distance and non-entry would allow him to state his business faster than they could get within striking distance. But what didn't help was that the shopkeeper's eyes went round as saucers at the sight of him, just beyond them, and some of them noticed Boyles' reaction and wondered at it, beginning to turn in Oliver's direction.

            So, Oliver said hurriedly, with only a slightly faltering voice, "I need to speak to you, please."

            The Forresters whirled.

            Oliver raised his hands as if they'd aimed guns. "Please! I really need to speak to you. It's business, and urgent," he added fast.

            Buck put out an arm to block Lem, who'd already taken an automatic step forward, and said evenly, but coldly, "Okay. Talk."

            Glancing nervously at the others who, at least for the moment, were standing still, Oliver blurted, "You...still ain't sold that land you're...tryin' to sell."

            "So?" prompted Arch.

            "How much you want for it?"

            Pack smirked. "You buyin'?"

            "No."

            "Pity," Gabby quipped. "Be fun, havin' you for a neighbor."

            Oliver lowered his eyes in embarrassment at the obvious meaning, as some of them murmured slight laughter through the tension of the moment.

            "Then what's the point?" Lem demanded tersely, already tired of holding back, standing like a racehorse against the starting gate of Buck's arm.

            Oliver swallowed hard, and managed, "A friend."

            "A friend," Mill-wheel sought to clarify. "A friend o' yourn wants to buy."

            Oliver nodded jerkily.

            "Who?" Buck's eyes narrowed curiously.

            A bundle of nerves, Oliver answered quickly, "Frank Ebersole, a sailor-friend; you don't know him. He come back here with me to visit, last fall."

            Gabby scratched his head. "And he waited 'til now to decide?"

            "No. He made up his mind whilst we was back on ship, but this is the first I been back here, since."

            Arch saw the humor in it. "And he picked you...to make the deal with us for him??"

            "'Cause I live here!" Oliver shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know we was about to git into a tussle," he admitted shakily, defensively. "But...but I had a'ready promised him."

            Arch nodded slowly, unperturbed.

            Pack grinned. "Come on out to our place to discuss it."

            A number of them grinned with him.

            "Um...no. Thank you, no. Here."

            Mill-wheel wondered, "Was you gonna? Come to us. When you promised him."

            "Well..., yeah. I..., uh..., sure. If...um..., that is...." The psychological torture was playing merry hell with Oliver's nerves. He knew that he was losing  his battle to remain at least somewhat calm and coherent.

            The Forresters were clearly having fun with him.

            Mill-wheel finished for him playfully, "Iffen we ain't had a fight, you'da come to our place to discuss it."

            Oliver nodded, almost grateful to the other for bailing him out verbally.

            Buck's eyes twinkled. "But since we did have a fight, you wanta discuss it here. So, you feel safe here."

            "Yes. No!" he added, as the obvious hit him. Blushing, he murmured miserably, "I don't know!"

            Their grins were broad.

            Oliver whispered, "Nowheres, I reckon."

            Buck interpreted, "You don't feel safe nowheres."

            Oliver shook his head mournfully.

            Buck regarded him almost with pity. Not quite, but almost.

            Gabby blurted, "When you blush that-a-way, sure goes purty with all them bruises."

            Oliver shot him a stricken look, as several Forresters laughed.

            This time, Buck took pity on him. "One hundred dollars."

            "What?"

            "For the land."

            "Oh!" They'd been off the track for so long, that he'd nearly forgotten. He was relieved at the amount, too; Frank had prepared him with three times that much, just in case the Forresters were greedy. Frank was determined to have that land. "Okay," he agreed.

            "So," said Arch. "Tell us 'bout this new neighbor we're gonna have. We're curious. He'll not be as close to our place as the Baxters, but...."

            Close, Oliver thought ruefully. The Baxters lived four miles from the Forresters, and Penny'd bought his island from the bearded men, too. "Do you-all own the whole scrub??" he couldn't help asking.

            "No," Pack said, unruffled. "But a heap of it."

            That was probably an understatement, Oliver thought grudgingly, and likely gotten illegally. But then he remembered his own precarious position, and hastened to answer Arch's question. "Frank's a nice feller. Quiet. Brown hair. Shorter'n me."

            "He a gal-stealer, too?" Lem demanded venomously.

            Oliver's heart thumped in his chest. He stammered slightly, and then managed to say, "Frank's married."

            "Good."

            Eager to change the subject, Oliver asked hurriedly, "You-all got the deed on you?"

            "Sure." Mill-wheel fumbled in a pocket. "Allus carry it when we come to town, in case we find some sucker...uh...some feller to buy it."

            Oliver ignored the slip. Buck was watching him in gentle amusement.

            "What?" Oliver blurted, unnerved by the stare.

            "You kin put your arms down now."

            "What??" Horribly embarrassed, Oliver frantically looked first left, then right. Both arms were still high in the air as if the Forresters were arresting him. Humiliated, he lowered them quickly. His fingers were numb. He rubbed them against opposite palms.

            Buck smiled at him.

            Mill-wheel brought out a crumpled, soiled mess of a legal document.

            "The money?" Buck prompted gently.

            "Oh. Oh! Oh!!!" Oliver forced tingling fingers to tug awkwardly at the pouch tucked into the back of his waistband, under his shirt. "Ow!"

            "Need he'p?" Buck was trying not to grin.

            "No, jest...fingers don't work too good...."

            "Ain't surprised."

            At last, Oliver dragged it out successfully. His hands shook as he pulled out the required amount, while also trying to tilt the pouch so that the Forresters wouldn't see how much more was there. He succeeded, but then he amused them further by seeing how far away from Mill-wheel he could remain, and still make the exchange. He did so well that he still did not even set foot inside the store with the big men.

            Even so, Mill-wheel eyed him in grudging admiration. "You got guts, Oliver; I'll give you that."

            "Thank you," Oliver mumbled humbly, even as he wondered if they might yet intend to spill those guts all over the road.

            As if he read his mind, Lem made a menacing move. Even as Oliver backed up a step, his heart in his throat, Buck re-extended his arm to block Lem again.

            "Don't beat up somebody you jest done business with," Buck advised him. "Leastways, not in the same day."

            "Thank you!" Oliver said earnestly to Buck.

            But before Oliver could leave, poor neglected Mr. Boyles, who'd been a nervous wreck throughout the entire exchange, said to him, "Boy, don't you never give me a heart attack like that, never agin!"