Lottie reappeared and asked Aaron if he needed any more food or would like his coffee refreshed.
He said "No, thank you."
She asked was there anything else he needed. Or could do for him.
"I could use a guide," he answered. "Could you recommend someone?"
"I could, but what do you want. Just a general look at the area, or a good look at your grandfather's holdings?" She gathered his dishes as she spoke.
"Both, I suppose. Is there a difference?"
"Yes and no. The best guide for anywhere is Jonathan Bolt or one of his sons." She nodded toward the man with the child. "Although anyone could give you the general layout of the land. Jon's the one who has the keys to your grandfather's storehouse."
"Why?"
Lottie smiled. "Because he's the one who built it. After AG passed." She carried the dishes into the back.
What an odd thing for a man to do. Build a storeroom for a dead man. Why would anyone do that? Aaron studied the man for a few minutes. It would be nice if he could ask him that question, but would it be wise? Would he expect to be paid for having done so? Or payment for any contents before he'd surrender the key?
Following that train of thought, Aaron wondered if he should pay for guide services, or if he should offer to and be refused, or never bring up the subject of payment at all. Seemed like every place had different 'understood' rules about those things, but how was a stranger to know which ones applied? Should he –?
What he should have done was had his coffee refilled so he'd have something to do while he decided on the best course of action, instead of just sitting here at an empty table with nothing to do.
The man he'd been observing stood and stretched and stacked the teacups and saucers onto the tray. He spoke what sounded like a kindly word to the child, and carried the tray into the back.
Well, that would take the problem out of Aaron's hands (thank god.) No doubt Lottie would tell him his services might be wanted.
Maybe she would even perform a proper introduction. That would be good. He knew the proper responses to an introduction. He'd been well trained in those courtesies.
That was exactly what happened.
"Tis pleased I am that you're here," the man said. "Your granda thought much of you, but thought you wouldna be interested. He spoke of you much."
"I'm glad. I always admired him. He did what he wanted when, even when his own son tried to keep him from it"
"Aye, so he said. Perhaps you'll be wanting to change your clothes whilst I settle my son somewhere?"
"Is there something wrong with my clothes?" Aaron had thought he was dressed down enough for anything.
"Business wear is not best suited to tramping through mud." There was a smile in the man's voice.
"This will do."
"Aye, as you wish. Dinna say you havenae been warned."
"I would never." That was as true a statement as he'd ever made, at least to that point in his life.
"Excuse me, then," the man said, and walked away, back to his son. (At least he'd had no plan to bring him along, which was a relief.) "Well, my own wee'n, I have a thing to do, and you canna go. Would you go home, then, or t'school?"
The boy's face brightened when he said home and he scowled at the word school.
"You could leave him here, Jonathan."
"Nae. I'll not. Thank you, Ms. Lottie. I'll not have the talk of leaving him." He turned again to his son. "Which o' your brothers is it to be, wee one? Sleepy Jason or studyin' Joshua?""
The child's face dropped. He didn't like either of those choices, although he had looked pleased enough at the mention of going home.
The father helped him to the floor and the boy pulled his coat off the back of the chair and pulled it on and buttoned it without looking up.
"Shall I come back for you, then, or will you come with us?" Mr. Bolt asked, putting a hat on his son's head, but pocketing the mittens.
"I'll come. No sense in you having to backtrack." Aaron walked out with them.
The child led the way, the men following him through the muddy 'streets.'
Finally (the child had small legs so it was a lengthy (in time) walk) he stepped up on a porch. He turned and glared at his father and that other man.
"Aye," said the father, with a half laugh. "I'll be coming in wit' ye, and wake the sleeping bear. Though, to be sure, tis I who should be afeard. Jason doesna shout at you so much." He turned to Aaron. "Come in then, and meet my son properly. He spoke of you last e'en, but didna ken your name."
Aaron obediently followed the child and the man into the cabin. He took a good look around while father and son shed and hung their coats and hats and removed their footwear. Well, the boy did, not the father.
It was a one room affair, with three unmade beds (a bunk set and a single) in one corner, a table and chairs in another, setting chairs in a third, and doors leading to cupboards and closets and such. There was a fireplace, and many shelves and other furnishings scattered about. There were dishes stacked on a counter along one wall, and bits of clothing tossed about. There was a back area that contained, among other things, a water barrel, beside a door. The wood on the inner walls was bright, so it had not been lived in for long.
Interesting.
The boy looked up at his father.
"Go on then," the man said. "I'll be starting his coffee." He suited his actions to his words.
The boy ran across the room and dived into the heap of blankets on the bottom bunk, giggling.
The covers heaved, and a man's voice – that of yesterday's big talker – began mumbling or growling, and the thus-far silent child giggled more, before falling silent.
The bedcovers then rose up, and engulfed the child, who was laughing, and maybe, occasionally, talking. The sounds were muffled, making it hard to tell. Aaron could make out no words from either boy started giggling again, becoming shriller.
"I'd be careful, there, son, with the tickling. The wee one's had several cups of tea. And we've a guest."
"Now you tell me!" The blankets heaved and the two sons were revealed.
The older one took in Aaron with a glance and said, "Oh, you."
"Jason, be kind. Tis AG's grandson come to take care of his granda's business."
"Really?" The one named Jason, who had tried to introduce himself yesterday, stared at Aaron. "Why?"
"Yes, I'll be taking him around today, so –" the father gestured at the boy.
"I see." He set the boy on the floor. "Go on with you, then." He came to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair. He went to the fireplace and checked the coffee.
The boy scampered off, running out the back door.
He returned, in a few minutes, by the front door, with muddied feet.
Big Brother snatched him up, set him up between the dirty dishes, and started wiping his feet clean.
"Are you awake, then? "
"Yeah, Da. Get about your business."
"Thank ye for your permission, son."
Jason shook his head. "I didn't mean it that way, Da. Sorry."
"Apology accepted." To Aaron, the man said, "That's sorted. Are you wanting to see the property first, or to get the lay of the land?" He opened the door as he spoke.
Aaron preceded him outside, answering, "Whatever you think. I have no idea what will work best."
As they stepped off the porch and the door closed behind them, they heard Jason say "Ass. You want some coffee with me, young 'un?"
"Nome m-m-milk."
The voices faded as they walked away.
Aaron looked back at the small cabin. It was gloomy enough that the fire reflected by and through the window, and it made the home inviting. Inside, it had been – comfortable, which was an odd thought for so much disorder.
Aaron, who had been brought up in strict order, wondered what it was that had been so appealing in that mess. He remembered the laughter of the two sons, and the easy way the three of them had taken care for (not of) each other.
It was enough to make one forget the mess while remembering the people. What was it about them, and there?