Chapter 9

Margie has the Narrative again for a time:

My timing was just about perfect, as I arrived in the kitchen just as Grace was ready to leave.

“Hi, where are you off to?” I asked, as I appeared. Grace jumped in surprise on hearing my voice and turned to look at me.

“Lord! Margie, you scared me out of two years growth,” she told me on recovering.

“Sorry, most of those in the Clan can detect when someone is transferring to their location,” I told her. “It’s a skill that you’ll develop over time.”

“I’m going to town with Joe to see about seeds for this year’s planting. We need to know what is available before we can plan what to plant and how much,” she told me. “There are some seeds in the cellar in glass jars, but I don’t know if they’re still good,” she added.

“We can look at those when we return, but we should be on our way, if we’re going to town,” I told her.

“Are you going with me?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes, I’m going along. I’m interested in what they have available, and what garden tools they have also,” I told her.

“Owen can make any kind of tool that you might need. He’s a very good Blacksmith,” Grace told me in a voice full of pride in her Husband.

Joe was waiting with the buggy when we came through the back door. He was surprised to see me with Grace.

“Good morning, Miss Margie,” he said with a smile.

“Good morning, Joe, are you well today?” I asked in return.

“Yes ‘m, I be fine today,” he told me with another smile as we crossed the yard to the buggy, and Grace and I got in the back seat. Joe clucked to the horses, and they started off around the house and down the driveway. The gates at its end opened as we approached them and closed behind us with a click as they locked.

We were about half way down Plantation Lane before we could see any details of the work in progress. Grace took in a sudden breath when she got a good look at the animals, machines, men, and the work going on.

“Where did all of this come from? I don’t remember seeing those types of machines around Statesboro before,” she asked.

“Actually, they came from northern Virginia near Washington D.C. Robert and I opened a Portal this morning between their equipment yard and the area across the main road from Plantation Lane. Robert is operating it while I go with you,” I told her.

“But Washington is many hundreds of miles from Statesboro. Will a Portal reach that far?” she asked.

“Oh yes, dear, actually it’s a rather short distance for the use of a Portal. When the Founders set up Magic Ink Press, they created Portals to most of the major cities in the United States for the delivery of books and herbals. When they decided to take corrective action on some people near Washington, they created several Portals to that area and had Portals as well to Boston and New Orleans. Portals are very handy for moving large quantities of things from one place to another with no fuss. They only take a short time to set up or to dismantle, and they can be closed when not needed,” I told her.

Since the road builders were presently only working on one side of the road at a time, we had no problem passing by the work site. We could also see Mr. Hickey and his people at work in the fields.

I had thought that the ride would improve when we turned onto the main road from Plantation Lane. In this I was sadly disappointed, as the main road this far from town was as uneven and potholed as Plantation Lane had been. Even though the seats of the buggy were sprung, they did little to soften the bumping and jarring of the vehicle. I decided that while I was in Statesboro this time, that I would establish a location to transfer to that was out of the way, but close to the business district, so I didn’t need to go through all of this every time that we needed something. Grace certainly didn’t seem as uncomfortable with the ride as I was.

As we entered Statesboro, the streets were a lot better, but they were still dirt now mixed with some mud from the short rain that had fallen over night. Shortly, Joe was pulling up in front of the hardware store, and then he helped us out of the buggy after tying the horses’ reins to the hitching post in front of the store. We all entered together.

“Good morning, Mrs. O’Connell,” a man who appeared to be in his mid to late thirties said in greeting before realizing that there were two of us. “Who is this other lady?’ he added, eyeing me, and apparently liking what he saw.

“This is my Husband’s Cousin, Margie O’Connell,” Grace said in introduction.

“A pleasure, ma’am. Are you staying here in Statesboro?” he asked.

“Actually, my Husband and I are visiting Grace and Owen while we are arranging for our house on Plantation Lane to be built.”

“There’ll be another house on Plantation Lane?” he asked in surprise.

“Actually, we will be eight houses built along Plantation Lane. My Husband I will be living in one of them along with our Children when they are born,” I told him. “The other houses will be occupied by other Clan members.”

“I see,” the man answered somewhat dejected. “What can we do for you ladies today?” he asked in a brighter mood changing the subject.

“We need to know what seeds and plants will be available this year,” Grace told him.

“We won’t receive our order of seeds and a few plants until about the middle of March, three weeks or so from now. Do you know what you will need?” he asked.

“We were planning on growing vegetables and some fruit for sale this year on the forty or so acres that we’ll be planting,” she told him. “So It will depend on what is available.”

“I can show you the list of what was ordered if that will help you,” he told us reaching behind the counter and pulling out several sheets of paper. He looked through them before handing two of the sheets to us. We had been looking at the list for several minutes when an older woman entered the store.

“Good morning, Mrs. Schelton,” the man said to her.

“Mr. Winnelson, why is this ... this ... this vagrant in your store?” the woman demanded in a high screeching voice, as she pointed at Joe. Mr Winnelson, apparently the man who we had been dealing with, looked surprised by her words, but I immediately took exception to this woman’s attitude and turned toward her.

“I am Margaret Kathleen O’Connell, the Ninth, and this man is an employee of Clan O’Connell. As such, he will be treated with the same respect and dignity as any other member of Clan O’Connell, or there will be consequences that you or anyone else who mistreats an O’Connell or one of our employees won’t like. Is that clear to you, madam?” I demanded, as I cast a spell and drew its glyph prominently in the air in front of me.

“Are you threatening me? Don’t you know who I am?” she demanded in shocked surprise.

“I don’t care who you are, I am stating a principle that we will insist be observed. Those who chose to ignore it, will do so at their own risk,” I finished.

“Well, I never!” the woman said in a shocked huff and exited the store. She had reached the edge of the wooden sidewalk a short distance from the store when I added the Magic in my left hand to the glyph held in the fingers of my right hand.

Mrs. Sharpe stumbled and fell face first into a mud puddle in the street. Mr. Winnelson turned pale on seeing what had happened, but Joe was out the door in a flash to help the woman up.

“Is you okay, ma’am?” he asked, as he reached out to help her up.

“Don’t you touch me ... you ... you... !!” she screamed in a shrill voice, as she attempted to stand up in the large puddle. Joe had moved the buggy past it when we arrived so we could get out without getting our shoes wet and muddy. I sent another nudge from the same spell that insured that she slipped again landing on her back this time. Joe just stood there and looked at her in confusion as the now very muddy woman finally managed to move out of the puddle and stand before staggering off down the street where others were watching and then assisted her. I turned back to Mr. Winnelson who had watched what had happened, but who appeared undecided if he should have helped Mrs. Sharpe or not.

“I hope that you will remember what I told Mrs. Sharpe when any of our Clan members or employees come in here to purchase things,” I told him before turning back to Grace who also had a quizzical expression on her face.

“Do you have what you came for?” I asked her.

“I think so. I don’t know if I can remember everything on the list though,” she told me.

“Don’t worry about it. I remember the entire list. You will also be able to with a bit more study,” I assured her, as we left the hardware store.

The women had been gone for only a minute or so when another man emerged from the rear of the store.

“My, my, and we thought that the Pirate Queen was the embodiment of Magic and danger. This new O’Connell woman, this Margaret Kathleen O’Connell, the Ninth, is an even stronger user of Magic and more dangerous since she is a very determined woman. I pity anyone who angers her,” he told Mr. Winnelson with a shake of his head.

“I’ll take these three pounds of nails, Merle,” he added to the hardware store man.

“Certainly, Mr. McDongald. Anything else?” Mr. Winnelson asked, but he had another question. “What did you mean about a ‘Pirate Queen’?”

“Why Grace O’Malley, or rather now O’Connell of course. Haven’t you heard about what happened at Kennedy’s shoe store?” McDongald asked.

“No, what happened?” Merle Winnelson asked in a questioning voice, eager for any gossip.

“You understand that I wasn’t there at the time, but here is what one of my Irish friends who was there related to me,” Mr. McDongald said and related the entire story. Merle Winnelson was a bit pale after hearing it and remembering what had occurred inside and just outside of his store only minutes before.

It was still early when we left the hardware store, and I thought that we both needed a break from our daily routine.

“Why don’t we stop and look at some dresses for a time, there is no need to hurry back,” I told Grace.

“Hmm ... well, I guess we could,” she agreed, but looked a bit worried. “I still have things to do at the house,” she continued.

“I’ll help you with them when we get back. Things can be done a lot faster with a little Magic to help,” I reminded her.

“All right, I guess it will be okay,” she agreed with a smile before turning to Joe.

“Joe, we’re going to look at dresses for a while. Is there anything that you would like to do while we’re busy?” she asked him.

“Yes, ma’am, I has some folks dat I needs to see,” he told us.

“Fine, we’ll see you with the buggy behind the Courthouse in an hour or so,” she told him.

“Yes ‘m, in an hour,” he acknowledged, as he unhitched the horses and prepared to leave.

“What store do you have in mind?” I asked as Joe drove off up the street.

“The Statesboro Mercantile Company. It’s on South Main Street, but not that far from here,” she assured me. We were walking down South Main Street towards the Mercantile Company which was on the other side of the street a few minutes later. We had just stepped out into the street to cross it when we saw a small buggy charging toward us that it wasn’t going to stop or slow down. I instantly froze time everywhere except around the two of us.

“What did you do?” Grace asked in a startled voice, when everything ceased to move, especially the horse and buggy that had been bearing down on us.

“I stopped time, and we need to stop that buggy. It’s obvious that the young woman in it has lost control of the horse, and that could result in a very bad accident,” I told her.

“But how can we do that?” Grace asked.

“We’ll need to be very careful. We’ll grab the horses bridle from both sides, and I’ll slowly restart time. The weight of both of us should be enough to slow him down and stop him before I restore time to its normal pace,”I told her.

“You can really stop time!” she said in awe.

“Certainly, it can come in very handy, especially at times like this,” I told her before we stepped over to the horse, and we each grabbed its bridle. I was on the right as Grace had taken the left side. We both put our weight on the bridle before I restarted time, but at a very slow rate so that we had the greatest effect on the horse. If I had used a freeze spell, inertia might have thrown the young woman out of the buggy, or injured both the woman and the horse at the speed that they were traveling.

The weight of the two of us pulling on the bridle slowed the horse over the long interval that I used to increase the passage of time to its normal rate. The horse was only walking when we reached normal time. All during this I had also been sending soothing thoughts to its brain as we slowed it, so that it had stopped on its own after a few more strides. The young woman in the buggy looked ready to faint though.

“Are you all right?” Grace called to her once we had stopped.

“On my goodness, how did you ladies ever manage to stop ‘Maude’? I thought she would run all the way through town or maybe even turn the buggy over,” the young woman told us as she shakily stepped down from the buggy.