Grace and Owen
Chapter 7

Copyright© 2016 by Uncle Jim

Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 7 - Grace meets Owen in a snowbound cabin after escaping pursuers in a snow storm and becoming lost. Owen has also escaped those chasing him in a separate storm. Problems crop up at the cabin that require them to work together to solve them, but the question that remains is where they will go and what they will do when the storm is over.

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Rape   Magic   Lesbian   Heterosexual   High Fantasy   Science Fiction   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Big Breasts   Prostitution  

We located room 22 with no trouble. This hotel was nothing like the Pulaski with its multitude of rooms and hallways. We were surprised to find that it was built like a 'T' however, with the stem extending back from the front part of the hotel. It was your typical small-town hotel, they could expect to see merchants, peddlers, and drummers here to sell their various wares. There might even be the occasional politician out stomping for votes during election periods, but Statesboro didn't appear likely to attract many tourists.

The room itself was fairly large, and the hotel being only a few years old, everything was still in very good condition. There was wallpaper on the walls, the ceiling was plastered, and the flooring was heart pine. The single bed was more than wide enough for the two of us, and certainly better than the narrow beds at the Pulaski had been. At least now we could turn over at night if we wished without falling out of bed.

There was a stand for suitcases and a small vanity or dressing table with a chair and a mirror. The sink and toilet were in a separate area on the same wall as the closet. A small rug near the bed would help keep ones feet warm early in the morning, as would the radiators under the windows in our corner room. There was a large electric ceiling fan for the summer months, and it had four electric lights suspended under the blades. There was a small table lamp on the nightstand near the bed. There had been electric lights in the stairwells and the halls as well as in the lobby.

After drawing down the window shades, we changed out of our good clothes and hung them in the small closet before changing into our regular clothing.

"We'll need to carry the satchel with us tonight. It may look out of place, but it can't be helped, we certainly can't leave it here," Owen told me.

"No, drummers and peddlers are not to be trusted, at least those in Kentucky weren't, and I don't imagine that those here are any better," I agreed.

We went downstairs to eat then. The dining room on the first floor was quite large, being about 30 feet square, and there were a number of people having supper when we appeared. We went in and ordered, and while the food when it arrived was quite good, I didn't consider it as good as my own cooking. Owen ate all of his supper but did have a comment.

"Your cooking was better at the cabin," he told me. One of the good things about it was that it was less expensive than the food in Savannah had been. We returned to our room following that.

There wasn't much to do in the room, but we still had the books that we had been reading at the cabin. I had finished the book on Magick, and had started reading the one about Georgia while Owen had started on the Magick book. Before we started reading for the night, however, Owen wanted to discuss the money, or rather the state of our spending money.

"We're going to need to have money to spend for things like eating, transportation, the hotel bill, and other things while we are here. Banks are closed on the weekends, and they close early during the week, so we need to have enough money on hand to handle anything that may come up. Do you still have the money that I gave you in Savannah?" he asked.

"Yes, you have been paying for everything, so I haven't touched it."

"That's good, as I am nearly out of pocket money. I'll remove some of the paper money from the satchel and also a roll of the gold double eagles. They will be our backup so we don't need to run to the bank all of the time," he told me before removing the money from the satchel.

We read for a time before washing up in the provided sink that had both hot and cold water as part of preparing for bed. There was only a little hugging and kissing tonight, as we weren't sure just how soundproof the walls were.

We arose early the next morning, and Owen shaved again at the sink. There was a razor strop hanging there for him to strop his straight razor on. It wasn't long before we were ready to set out for breakfast. We arrived at the diner just up the street from the hotel a little before 8:00 and were among their first customers. We both had grits, sausage, and eggs plus buttered toast and strong tea for breakfast.

On returning to the hotel, we sat in the lobby for a time and looked through a copy of the local newspaper, the Statesboro News that was there until it was well after 9:00. Owen got up then to speak to the clerk at the desk. It was a man this morning and not the woman from last night.

"Can you give me directions to the local bank?" he asked the clerk.

"The Bank of Statesboro is a couple of blocks up the street. It's on the corner of East Main Street and Siebald Street at 33 East Main Street. It's a large white and red building, you can't miss it," the clerk assured us.

On reaching it, we found the Bank of Statesboro to indeed be in a large, fancy, and impressive building, that took up the entire corner of the two streets. The building is three stories tall and the deep entrance is set at a 45 degree angle to the other sides of the building and has two columns on either side of it. On the exterior, the white stone sides go up to the bottom of the second story windows. The second and third stories are of red brick with white window frames. The white stone is again used from the top of the third story windows to the fancy moldings at the top of the building. We certainly didn't have any bank buildings this impressive where we had lived in Kentucky.

The inside of the bank was just as impressive with walls of marble and a floor made of granite. The tellers' area was constructed of rich patterned, stained, and varnished mahogany with shiny brass grills separating the tellers and their customers. There were two mahogany tables where customers could fill out their deposit and withdrawal slips, or other paperwork. There were several offices visible with people working in them further back in the building. Owen approached the first free teller who we saw after entering.

"I would like to see about obtaining a safe deposit box," he told him.

"Do you have an account with us?" the teller asked.

"No, we just arrived here last evening."

"I see. Will you be here in Statesboro for long?"

"We don't know yet."

"You'll need to see the Assistant Manager. He will determine if you can rent one," the teller informed us, and directed us to the correct office. Mister Phillips, the Assistant Manager, listened to our story but didn't seem all that sympathetic.

"Mister O'Connell, the safe deposit boxes are intended for the use of our customers. If you had an account here, it wouldn't be a problem. What is it that you feel requires the use of one of our boxes?" he wanted to know. Owen exhaled deeply and brought up the satchel.

"The contents of this bag are what we wish to keep in the box," he told him and opened the top of the bag to bring out one of the wrapped rolls of gold double eagles to show him. Mr. Phillips took in a sudden breath on seeing it and looked down into the bag at the other rolls of coins that it contained.

I was worried that he would see the paper money in there as well, and would want us to deposit it in the bank. "Don't let him see the paper money," I kept repeating to myself until he looked up again at Owen.

"Yes, Mister O'Connell, I can see that you have ample reason to be worried. If you would start an account with us, it would be our pleasure to rent you a safe deposit box," he told us with a grin.

"How much would this account need to be for?"

"As little as ten dollars would be sufficient to start an account," Mr. Phillips assured him.

"And if we decide to not remain in Statesboro, how long would it be before we can close the account?"

"It would need to be open at least a month before you could close it, sir," he told us. Owen exhaled again.

"All right," he agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

"Are you planning on going into business here?" Mr. Phillips asked.

"We are investigating the area to see what it is like and to determine what we want to do. I'm a Blacksmith by trade, but we are also interested in farming," Owen told him.

"We currently have a Blacksmith, a Mr. Hardie. His business is on East Vine Street. You may want to contact him to inquire about business opportunities," we were told, as Mr. Phillips slid a couple of account cards across the desk to Owen. He filled them out with both of our names and returned them with the ten dollar bill to Mr. Phillips.

"I'll only be a few minutes getting your account setup, and will bring you your deposit book. Then we can go to the back and get your safe deposit box setup," he assured us with a smile. While he was gone, Owen pulled two more ten dollar bills from the bottom of the satchel.

"It appears that things may be more expensive here than they appear," he told me in a voice full of disgust.

The safe deposit boxes were in the vault in the back part of the bank. There were certainly more of them than I would have considered necessary, and they came in several different sizes. Our satchel required the largest size that they had available. Mr. Phillips locked the box and gave Owen the key once the satchel was secured in the box.

"You can access this any day that the bank is open, but we ask that you arrive before 3:00 PM to do that," Mr. Phillips told us. Owen gave me the key, and I put it in my purse for safe keeping as we left the vault and then said good day to Mr. Philips.

On leaving the bank, we decided to see what Statesboro had to offer, and over the next two days, we walked around the town checking out its various districts as well as the businesses and homes in them.

The railroads certainly considered Statesboro important. Besides the depot of the Savannah and Statesboro, there was a freight depot for the Central of Georgia, and a small depot for the Savannah, Augusta & Northern Railway, but that was all, as that railway had little track laid, and it was still very much in the startup phase. It appeared that those in Savannah had known only rumors of its existence. We had been quite surprised by the presence of the Central of Georgia, since we had been told that it didn't come here, but quickly learned that it operated mostly freight trains through Statesboro, with very limited passenger service.

There were a number of large businesses in Statesboro, besides the railroads. Some of the other large businesses were the Statesboro Buggy and Wagon Company, the R. Simmons Co., the Statesboro Mercantile Co., and a Mr. Parker who sold Singer Sewing Machines. One of the largest and most important businesses in town at this time of course was the Statesboro Ginnery since cotton was the major crop grown in this area. It was reported that for every bale of Sea Island long staple cotton sold in Savannah, ten bales were sold in Statesboro. Cotton wasn't just important for its fiber however. The seeds were crushed and pressed for their oil, and the remaining fragments were milled to make cattle feed.

There were also the more usual stores found in any small or large town: shoe makers, furniture, carpet and clothing stores in addition to several Pharmacies or drug stores and barber shops. There were also green grocers, bakeries, hardware, and jewelry stores as well as a five and dime. Lawyers, doctors, dentists, and other businesses men had offices above some of the stores. There were several Baptist churches, a Methodist church, and a Presbyterian church in town and possibly others that we had missed.

There were also a number of very fine large houses in Statesboro, as well as many more modest houses. There weren't sufficient fine houses to keep a blacksmith busy with iron work for them however, and Owen and I didn't believe that we would ever be able to afford one of those fine large houses.

On the afternoon of the second day, we went to see Mr. Hardie, the Blacksmith, at his shop. It was located near the shops of several other craftsmen: carpenters, roofers, painters and a large lumber yard in what was called the warehouse district.

The shop appeared to be quite large to me, but it was very disorganized, as there were tools and materials scattered all over the place and not in tidy groups. Owen introduced himself and had a long talk with Mr. Hardie while he worked. I could sense that Owen wasn't pleased with what he saw in the shop, or with the work that Mr. Hardie was doing. We left after a time, but Owen didn't say anything until we were quite some distance from the shops.

 
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