"Of course," the Methodist minister Simon Jones said to Christie Kemp over lunch at Cora's, "the down-timers aren't suffering from the legacy of the nineteenth-century controversies over the theory of evolution. So they aren't likely to be really upset."
Hanna Frisch, who had been promoted from kitchen help to waitressing, repeated this to Uncle Hartmuth.
When Christie passed this opinion on in her next letter to Prague, Anne made a face when she received it. "Just you wait," she said to Dawn Swisher. "It may not have hit them yet, but they're going to be sorry they ever got themselves involved in this project."
****
"Archbishop Ussher over in Ireland hasn't even published his calculations about the date of creation being 4004 B.C. yet. He won't for another fifteen years or so," Al Green, the minister at First Baptist, commented over dinner to his wife Claudette. "Not even Lightfoot's chronology has been published yet; and his was an even shorter time frame. Though not," he added to be fair, "by much. And I believe that Luther had made a calculation which came out approximately the same."
Elisabeth Frisch, who hadn't liked the bustle at Cora's and was now assisting the Green family's cook by serving dinner at the parsonage, reported that information to her Uncle Hartmuth, too.
****
Count August kept working with Hardegg on the future of Sommersburg.
"Why did I make a morgantic marriage to start with? Well, I was a young man, only 22, and in love with my mother's favorite lady-in-waiting. Also, I was of age, my father dead. My mother didn't die until two years after the Ring of Fire. She was not a woman to be trifled with, nor to allow her son to seduce her attendant. Plus, at that point, I had a healthy, married, older brother with two sons.
"He wasn't that unhappy to see me put my offspring outside of any claim to the title; think of how they do it in Brunswick. By the time he died unexpectedly in 1607, he and his wife had two more boys, and of the four, two were still alive. I would have lived quite contentedly as guardian and regent for my nephews. But the little one died later that year. Still, there was one surviving; then he died in 1608 of the same disease, the one you up-timers call diphtheria, that had taken two of his brothers in 1606. So I inherited the title."
He reached out for the beaker of hot chicken broth on his bedside table.
"Perhaps I should have remarried in 1618 when Eleonora died, but I didn't have the stomach for it then. The war came along almost at once. Plus I had a two-year-old son and didn't have the heart to remarry standesgemäss, ebenbürtig, and give him a younger half-brother who might, perhaps, lord it over him as they grew up. Nor take a chance on a stepmother who might be less than kind to Louisa and Elena because she was of superior rank, and her children as well. By the time my boy died–that was 1628 . . ."
He drank from the beaker again before providing a description of the medical problems that would have rendered a second marriage futile for the purpose of producing heirs.
"So let us return to the schedule for developing an elective government in Sommersburg County once I have joined my fathers. You will note that it is, prudently, already a county in the up-time fashion rather than a Grafschaft.
"For what was there in my title to be so proud of? My grandfather, by making a timely switch in allegiance from the Ernestine to the Albertine line of the Wettins, by throwing his support and violating his sworn oath, got the Albertine elector to enfeof him with quite a few Saxon manors in the vicinity of his original estate at Rastenberg, Sommersburg among them, and then had the next Saxon elector persuade the Holy Roman Emperor to bestow upon him the title of Reichsgraf.
"If you examine our family tree, you will note that we are not intermarried with any other family in the regional Hochadel; all our wives come from the Niederadel. Whence the constant lawsuits claiming that the marriages were morganatic. And, indeed, although the rise in status came after my grandfather's marriage, it was never perhaps totally clear that the award was not purely personal rather than intended to raise his spouse and descendants as well. But my father was able to increase the lands we held in fief from Saxony substantially. Nor have I done so poorly."
He cupped the beaker in his hands. "Now, as for Elena . . ."
****
Grantville
Spring, 1637
Elena had no objection to the provisions that her father made. Louisa did, but was confined to registering them by mail, since she was still embroiled in lawsuits in Saxony.
"This," Elena announced in the offices of Hardegg, Selfisch, and Krapp, "is my betrothed. I met him up at the excavation last summer. He attended Latin School with Herr Trempling, the school teacher. He's Lutheran, has traveled enough that I know he can deal with changes, has enough connections in Saxony to squash the bug who has been harassing Louisa about my nephews' inheritance, and is otherwise unattached."
Burchard Oswald, prosperous cloth and textile merchant, from Nordhausen, bowed and presented his credentials.
Johann Georg Hardegg had to admit that the credentials were quite adequate, financially speaking. Nor would the man's business experience hurt matters when it came to dealing with someone like Bill Roberts at Magdeburg Concrete.
"Yes," Elena said to Jenny Rae, "I know that Nordhausen isn't an imperial city any more. Neither is Mühlhausen. Everything's all mixed up. But it's still a nice place to live! Why should I try to hang onto some kind of piddling minor nobility? Now that Papa is dead, I'm not about to waste my dowry money or inheritance on buying back from Saxony some feudal manor out in the country, full of donkeys and pigs with chicken manure underfoot every time I step outdoors."
"Are you perhaps," Jenny Rae asked, "interested in taking a couple of maids who have had the experience of nearly a year in Grantville and its material comforts with you to your new home?"
Elena was. She also took a few technical school students with experience in retrofitting down-time houses with modern conveniences.
Jenny Rae congratulated herself on a job well done as she washed her hands of all further responsibility for Hartmuth's nieces.
Mario Balassi, apprentices in tow, having painted every female in Grantville who might want a portrait in his style, decided to move on to Nordhausen.
Elena von Sommersburg, his first Grantville commission, was well provided for, had married into an influential family there, and would provide him with introductions. Finding patrons mostly depended on who you knew.
****
"As for the quarries, however . . ." Those went into a separate trust, the profits of which would provide permanent funding for the excavations at Bilzingsleben. With the name of Count August of Sommersburg emblazoned prominently upon every instructional pamphlet, every illustration that Tomasso Ciampoli drew, on every scholarship for the study of archaeology and paleontology at a university in the SoTF, on the future endowed professorial chairs at the University of Jena and the technical college in Grantville, and over the door of the future museum in Sömmerda.
"If you want to be remembered," Hartmuth Frisch's little mentee Idelette Cavriani had told him, "there's something that Tomasso's cousin, who is a researcher at the National Library, showed me. If you want to be immortalized, found an institution and put your name on it. Corporations, especially non-profits with endowments, last longer than people."
****
Higgins Hotel Dining Room, Grantville
July 4, 1636 (The Day of Departure)
Eleven-year-old Giovanni Domenico Cassini sat across from his uncle while picking at the small pile of freshly-scrambled eggs and two slices of bacon slick with grease. He wasn't very hungry. All he had wanted was a glass of milk and a spot of toast with butter, and for the man across from him to stop talking.
"Really, Domenico," Uncle Antonio said, using the boy's middle name instead of his first. Another annoyance to add to the growing list that the boy was dealing with. "You must put that silly up-time game out of your mind. It's a useless activity, a useless sport, and not worthy of your talents. We're he
ading home very shortly, Domenico, and we will not speak of it anymore."
Good, Giovanni thought. His ears would finally get some relief. But no. Uncle Antonio kept talking and talking and talking. Lecturing was the more accurate definition, and all of the words . . . escaping the man's mouth blended together like a fog that rolled through the room like voices in a dream. Astronomy . . . blahblahblah . . . engineering . . . raaraaraa . . . mathematics . . . sisboombaa. Giovanni could see uncomfortable pain and embarrassment on the faces of the other hotel patrons nearby, though they were too polite to get up and punch the man in the nose. Giovanni would like to. Would like to so very, very much.
On and on it went, Uncle Antonio rambling about how Giovanni would—must—grow up to be a brilliant astronomer, a glorious engineer, to pick up where he had left off in death, to build on a career that had obviously benefitted the world greatly. And no charge of his would—
"Stop it!" Giovanni stood like a bullet, letting his chair crash to the floor behind him. He threw down his fork, spilled his milk, ripped away the napkin tucked into his collar, and tossed it onto the table. "You're not my father! I don't care what you say! I'm not going back to Italy, and I won't be an astronomer. I won't be an engineer. I hate them! I hate them both! They're stupid. Just like you. And my name is Giovanni! Giovanni!"
He burst into tears and fled the room. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew that he couldn't get back on that carriage and take that long, tedious trip back to Perinaldo. He could not go back to Italy. He was not going anywhere, no matter what Uncle Antonio wanted. He was going to stay here, in Grantville . . . and be a baseball star.
****
June 26, Several Days Earlier . . .
Giovanni tried to ignore his uncle's voice while dealing with the random jerks and pops of the carriage's frame as it made its way into Grantville. Since it had been a long, arduous journey from Perinaldo, they had hoped to catch one of those marvelous up-time trains from Nuremberg for the final leg of the trip. But, no train from Nuremberg. From Bamberg, then? Again, no. Luckily, his uncle, Antonio Maria Crovese, had brought sufficient funds in order to ensure a more proper and comfortable arrival. Comfortable? Giovanni huffed. Not to my culo. He had not searched, but he was certain that there was a bruise on it somewhere. And he was nursing a terrible headache that had been growing since Bamberg. His uncle would not stop talking.
"This is going to be a life-changing visit, Domenico," Uncle Antonio said, "and the first thing we're going to do is visit that library that everyone raves about. We'll confirm once and for all, all the things you accomplished in your life . . . according to up-time history. All the great discoveries and advancements that you, Giovanni Domenico Cassini, made in science. Won't that be wonderful?"
"Yes, Uncle," Giovanni said half-heartedly. He leaned out the carriage window to catch a cool breeze. "That will be fun."
"More than fun, Domenico. Life changing."
At first, the notion that he had grown up to be a famous astronomer and engineer excited little Giovanni. It was hard to imagine that a group of people who had fallen out of the sky through some magical ring of fire could possibly know who he was and have evidence of his accomplishments in various fields of science. To an eleven-year-old boy, the idea that he was well-known and that somehow, he had made an impact on the science of the stars, was exciting. But by the time that they had arrived in Nuremberg, the novelty of it had worn off.
For instance, one of his so-called great achievements was discovering a large gap in the dust rings that encircled the planet Saturn. The gap was between one cluster of rings and another. That's a big achievement? Wouldn't that have been found anyway in time by someone else? Why, just the other day, as they had paused in Nuremberg to take a small respite, he had noticed a large gap between the front two teeth of their carriage driver. Nobody had jumped for joy on that revelation. Giovanni wanted to ask his uncle why that discovery in Saturn's rings mattered all that much. But why bother? His mother's brother would have simply told him not to waste time on frivolous things and to focus on what truly mattered.
My future . . .
What mattered to the boy now was to finally get out of this carriage, walk on flat ground, and perhaps take a nap. A little food and drink would not cause harm either. Those simple pleasures meant more now than all the gaps in all the world and in the great heavens above.
As if God were hearing his prayers, the bumping and jerking of the carriage stopped. His uncle clapped his hands together and said with a broad smile, "We've made it, my boy. We're in Grantville."
Giovanni looked at the road that they now travelled. It was black and smooth. Some cracks here and there, a couple unavoidable holes, but overall, a most excellent surface on which to travel. He sighed, smiled, and breathed the warm air.
If their entire way had been paved with such smooth streets, Giovanni would never have wanted their trip to end. He could have laid back in his seat and slept and dreamed that he were floating among the stars, perhaps even in the gap that he had supposedly discovered. And even though he was but eleven, the irony of the moment was not lost on him. They had endured the hard, bumpy roads of the past to come out unscathed on a street of the future. And where would that street take him? Giovanni did not know, but perhaps he had judged his uncle too harshly. Perhaps the fellow knew what he was talking about. Giovanni smiled. With roads like these, he thought, anything is possible.
They passed houses that looked strange to Giovanni. The materials that they had been built out of; their height; their colors; their shapes. Very strange, different. The people they passed seemed like normal people, but their clothing was a mixture of full dresses and felt hats and soft leather boots and tunics and all manner of unrecognizable textures and shapes, with words and images on the fronts of their shirts without sleeves; words that he could not understand. Clearly, those accoutrements were up-time clothing items, like the cappello that a man with a heavy beard that they passed wore cock-eyed on his brow. The hat was like nothing Giovanni had ever seen. It was like a black bowl, but it had a long bill on the front like a duck, and that bill kept the light of the sun from getting in the man's eyes.
Giovanni squinted to get a better look at it. "What's that, Uncle?"
Uncle Antonio stopped his lecture long enough to let his eyes be guided by Giovanni's finger. "That looks like a man, Domenico."
"No, I mean, what's on his head?"
Uncle Antonio looked again. "I don't know, but we'll find out soon enough, I suppose. We'll learn a lot about these up-timers and their foreign ways. Now, pay attention to what I'm saying."
He tried to pay attention, but the visual delights and smells outside the carriage stole his attention. Giovanni breathed deeply and took it all in.
Then he heard a crack! and the roar of a crowd.
In the distance, beyond a row of houses, was some kind of field. On it were children about his size, wearing capellos like the bearded man, but they were all of the same color. Their clothing was the same as well, as if they were members of a regiment or a company. A crowd of people, gathered near the field in small clumps or sitting in rows atop what looked like benches, shouted and clapped and moved with delight. One of the boys on the field was running as fast as he could towards a big white pillow where another boy stood. His foot touched the pillow, and then he kept running. The crowd's enthusiasm grew louder as the boy dashed towards another white pillow. Then, about two-thirds of the way to the pillow, the boy dropped. Giovanni thought that he had lost his footing, but no. The boy hit the dirt and slid, feet first, into the second pillow.
Something was thrown in the direction of the second pillow. Another boy, with a different uniform, held out a big, tan glove and caught whatever it was that was thrown. He caught the item and then tried to touch the sliding boy with his glove. He did so, but not before the sliding boy touched the white pillow with his foot. An adult near the second pillow shouted something Giovanni could not understand. But the crowd unde
rstood, and they erupted into another torrent of praise.
The boy who had slid into the second pillow picked himself up, wiped dust off his uniform, and then just stood there, waiting.
Fascinating . . .
Giovanni was about to say something when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was pulled out of the window and back into the carriage. "Domenico!" Uncle Antonio said. "Are you listening?"
"Yes, yes, Uncle. Every word."
His uncle was about to continue his lecture, but Giovanni pointed out the window and said, "What is that, Uncle?"
Uncle Antonio sighed, shook his head, and leaned toward the window. He squinted to get a better view. "Ah, yes, I've heard of that. It's just a silly little up-time game. Baseball, I think. Now, let's—"
Giovanni kept his eyes on his uncle's face to make it look like he was paying attention. But his ear was trained toward the open window of the carriage, and again, he heard the crack of the stick and the roar of the crowd. He listened and smiled.
Baseball . . . fascinating . . .
****
Higgins Hotel Room
June 26
Antonio Maria Crovese would never admit it to his young ward, but he, too, was glad to be done with the road and into a comfortable room. The Higgins was a little expensive, but the carriage driver told him in Bamberg that it was the place for visitors to stay in Grantville. It was apparently an "epicenter" for all the news and gossip of Grantville and its surrounds. Antonio nodded and accepted the man's recommendation to be taken there. But gossip was not why he and Domenico had come all the way from Italy. They had come to learn and to study and to prepare the young boy for his future.
Domenico threw his bag into a corner and then leaped onto the bed closest to the window. Antonio had never heard such relief in the boy's sigh. "I love it here, Uncle. Isn't it wonderful?"
Antonio threw his bag into the same corner. He nodded. "It does have its trappings."
Grantville Gazette Volume 93 Page 3