Page 52 of Jace

“I don’t have a choice about farming,” Susannah said, feeling a little defensive. “I have to provide for my boy.”

“Of course you do,” Bard said quickly. “If you wanted to sell, I would pay you enough that you could buy twice as much land downhill a ways. You could have a gigantic farm that would be just as good, but bigger.”

She frowned, unable to articulate why she didn’t want to sell, until she glanced down at the sleepy bundle in her arms.

“This land was given to my son,” she told Bard. “It’s not really mine to sell.”

“Well, I understand you’ve just arrived, and here I am coming up to tell you that you have such great land here,” Bard said with a self-deprecating smile. “Probably a smarter man would have just warned you about the hauntings and hoped you left on your own.”

Interesting.

She glanced over at Jace, and he shook his head. But she didn’t really need his opinion.

“Mr. Wynyx,” she began.

“Please, call me Bard,” he said.

“Bard,” she echoed. “Do you know why someone would think this place is haunted?”

“No idea, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. “To be honest, I think it’s malarky. City folks want to tame the frontier and then they come out in the wilderness and they spook easier. And probably the sight of all those old, wrecked crafts doesn’t help.”

She nodded.

Either the man was scrupulously honest, or he wanted her to think he was. Or maybe he just plain didn’t know what was going on.

“At any rate,” he said, “if I can’t have this promising piece of land, I’m glad a nice lady like you can.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Listen,” he said, leaning in, “if you get to thinking about it and you have any questions for me, that’s fine too - my offer’s open. Comms don’t work so great out here, so I’ll swing back another day and bring you a casserole or something and we can talk a little more, just in case. If that’s alright with you?”

“That sounds lovely,” she said. After all, there was no reason to be uncivil to the closest thing she’d met to a neighbor.

Behind her, Jace huffed impatiently.

“I’ve got a big piece of land just downhill from yours,” Bard went on. “I don’t normally stay there, but I’ve got to be around to sign for some equipment that’s being dropped off. So, if you want to talk in the next day or two, you can just follow the stream on your property downhill until you see my waterwheel. Then look for a red shed. I’ll be camped out in it temporarily.”

Jace snorted and she spun around to give him a look.

But he was already stepping in to fix Bard in his glare.

“Did you leave a bowl full of berries on her porch this morning?” he demanded.

Bard looked thoroughly confused by the seemingly random question.

“Definitely not,” he said, lifting his hands, as if in surrender. “But if they’re the red ones, they’re delicious.”

“No, they’re not delicious,” Jace said. “They have a crease down the center. They’re toxic.”

“You know I thought so too when I first came here,” Bard said, throwing his tentacles over his shoulder. “They look a lot like creffberries. But they’re not.”

“Did you leave me an arbistle?” Susannah asked.

“No, madam,” he said, looking even more surprised. “Sounds like you got yourself an admirer.”

“Doesn’t that seem unlikely, out here in the wilderness?” Jace growled.

Susannah winced, hoping Bard didn’t pick up on the fact that Jace was mimicking his wording from earlier.

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