by Eric Flint
"Good afternoon, Mrs. K. How you doin'," Tate asked.
"Fine, Chef, slava bogu… errm, praise God. And you? The kitchen looks a bit more polished," Kseniya said.
"Ahh, it wasn't any thing a bit of elbow grease and some chlorine bleach solution couldn't cure. The scullery crew needed a bit of encouragement to clean the corners," said Tate. "Are we still having tea with Colonel Makoveev?"
"Yes. He may be a streletz, but I don't think he is a colonel. Maybe a captain or a colonel's nephew," Kseniya said.
"What's a streletz, Mrs. K?"
"The streletzi are the czar's musketeers. The streletzi regiments form the czar's guard regiments and the garrisons of the larger cities in Russia," replied Kseniya.
"So, what makes you think he is a fake?" said Tate.
"There are only so many streletzi colonels. They are all old, fat and in Russia. This Colonel Timofei Makoveev is too thin and too young to be a colonel and he's here."
Tate laughed. "Let's go in to the office; the mice have ears," she said. Then she waved at Maria. "Maria, have the usual setup brought to the office."
"Yes, Chef,"
"Agreed. After you, Chef," Kseniya said.
The ladies entered the kitchen office and fell to examining the accounts ledger. Kseniya was pleasantly surprised to see the neatness and completeness of the book. She was very pleasantly surprised to see the reduction in costs. One of the scullery crew brought the tea into the office and they came up for air and poured their cups of tea.
"What is keeping Makoveev? I'm on my second cup," Kseniya said. "You'd think his mother taught him better than to let a lady wait."
"I don't know." Tate shrugged. "Do you want me to send out a search party?"
Just then came two raps on the office door.
"Mrs. Kotova, Chef Garrett, I apologize for being late. I was out at the range with the Junior ROTC." Colonel Timofei Makoveev had a pleasant baritone. He also held a full cup of tea, procured from the kitchen's common tea pot, in his hand.
"Good afternoon, Colonel," Kseniya said. "Tell us, please, what in the world were you doing with a bunch of teenagers?"
"Some one talked Prince Vladimir into volunteering me as a range safety officer. I guess with a red coat and yellow boots, the instructors think I didn't look like a target. Now, how can I help you ladies?"
Tate said, "First, Colonel, in this office, unless one of our subordinates is present, we're on an informal basis. Here, I'm Tate, this is Mrs. K, and you're Tim… or Colonel Tim if you insist."
The soldier thought for a moment and said, "So, this is something like the Officers' Mess they talk about down at the American Legion Hall."
" Da, you're correct, Tima," Kseniya said. "We're here to support the prince and Gospazha Brandy. I am happy to see you are familiar with the American Legion."
"As the representative of the Streletzi Bureau, I need to make contacts with the various military related organizations in Grantville."
"Tim, I need a date to tomorrow's Legion pastrami roll lunch. I'm not a vet. The vets I know are all too old. If they're young and still free, I've turned them down in high school," Tate said.
Timofei looked the woman sitting behind the desk in her double breasted chef's jacket. She was young, easy on the eyes but not drop dead beautiful and wore a uniform with Prince Vladimir's crest embroidered on it. All things considered, a worthy lunch companion. And there was just something about a girl in uniform… "I'll be happy to be your escort for lunch, Tate. Due to the ways armies are organized these days, the Legion allows men from friendly services to buy affiliated memberships. I get to eat and drink there but not vote."
"Tima, I saw that look in your eye. Don't get any ideas about Tate. If she tells me you got out of line, ya Mama. I'm mother around here," Kseniya said in full mother-bear mode. "Do you understand me?"
" Da, Mama Kotova. I hear and will obey," said Timofei. He looked like a mischievous boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Good, I'll watch over the kitchen for lunch," Kseniya said. "Tima, tell Old Sasha to have the carriage ready to take you to the Legion Hall at, say, about eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Mrs. Kotova," Tim and Tate chorused.
"Colonel, let's get out of here so Chef Garrett can get supper ready."
10:30 am, Saturday
Colonel Makoveev said, "Sasha, I won't need a driver today. Just hitch up the buggy. "
"Vanya, you heard the colonel. Get the buggy ready," Sasha ordered.
Old Sasha watched Makoveev as the buggy was readied and saw the look of a man on a trail.
"Sasha, what do you think of these Grantville horses?"
"Colonel, I never thought I'd be working with so many head of quality horse flesh. These Morgan crosses are beautiful," Sasha said.
"I need a saddle horse for my own use. Keep your eyes out for me," Tim instructed.
"Do you want a fighter or a rider, sir?"
"A rider," Timofei said. "I leave the fighting to the Scots and Finns. Also, find me a decent saddle. After four hundred years, you'd think there'd be some improvements."
As the two dove deep into a discussion of horses and tack, Tate walked into the stable yard ready for her trip into town. She expected to ride in the two horse carriage. Instead she saw the two seat buggy all hitched up and ready to go.
"Okay, Colonel Timofei Ivanovich Makoveev, what's with the seduction rig?" Tate said.
"Good morning, Chef Garrett," Timofei replied. "I thought we'd leave the larger rig for the prince's use. The post was built for cars not carriages."
"I guess the good thing about driving a horse is you need both hands. The boys I knew couldn't keep both hands on the steering wheel," Tate said.
Timofei said, "Don't worry on that account. I remember Mama Kotova and I want to live."
Sasha helped Tate up into the buggy, while Timofei climbed into the driver's position.
"Thank you, Sasha for your help," Tate said.
Sasha gave the couple a polite bow as they drove off into Grantville.
11:20 am, Saturday
The carriage drew up before the whitewashed building. Timofei handed the reins to the hostler and helped Tate down. A sign beside the front door read: "Pastrami Roll Lunch 1100-1300 hours: $4.00 members and guests, $6.00 Unescorted Visitors, Benefits Grantville JROTC Scholarship Program."
"That looks like a good price, Timofei," said Tate.
"It is. The price includes cole slaw, potato chips and the first beer," said Tim. "Let's go in. I'm hungry."
The pair went through the door. They checked their overcoats and hats with the cloakroom girl.
"'Morning, Colonel McCoy," said a voice to their right.
"Good Morning, Mr. Kindred, and it's Makoveev," said Timofei.
"Sorry, I never could wrap my tongue around those Russki names. Who's this young lady? I've always seen you on your own," Kindred said.
"This is Tate Garrett. She's the new chef for Prince Vladimir. Chef Garrett, this is J.P. Kindred."
"Tate Nadine, isn't it?" J. P asked. "It's good to see you again. You've sure grown up since I saw you last."
"Hi, Mr. Kindred. You're right; it's been a long time."
"I figure you're old enough to buy me a beer back in West Virginia. So, you can call me 'JP'. The same goes for you, son," said J.P. "Please join me. I'd like to eat my lunch without an old codger who wants to re-fight Omaha Beach with the ketchup and mustard."
"We'd be happy to join you, J.P.," said Tate.
Tate, Tim and J.P. found an empty corner table. With a courtly gesture, J.P. seated Tate in the metal folding chair. Their orders were taken by the waitress and they settled into conversation.
Tate looked around the room. "J. P. this place hasn't changed all that much. But, what's with the Imperial Legion posters?"
"It's like this. The boys decided they could either die as American Legion Post 238 or we could live on as Imperial Legion Post 2. We'd have been number one,
but Jackson and his gang formed their post up in Magdeburg before we got our act together."
"J. P., you know pretty much all the legionnaires and what they might have in their attics don't you?" Tate asked.
"Well, I know the members. But I don't know all that much about their attics," said J.P.
"Like Colonel Tim said, that Russian prince over in Castle Hills has hired me to run his kitchen. I need to get the place up to speed. Not to mention, the kitchen will be catering Brandy Bates' wedding.. ."
"Yeah, I heard about that. How can the Legion help you?"
"A few years back, I read in one of those food industry trade magazines about the Armed Forces Recipe Cards," Tate said. "The article said there are over a thousand cards and that they cover every course from soup to nuts. I figure I could use a set, even if it's just for daily meals. Of course, for the fancy stuff, they probably won't be much help. But we're cooking for a hundred or so for every meal up there."
J.P. said, "I know a couple of guys who retired out as cooks. Maybe one of them has a set in the attic. Can you give me a day or two to ask around?"
"Sure, J.P.," said Tate. "A day or two won't hurt. But, I'd like to know one way or another if a set came through."
"Since I can charge this to the Streletzi Bureau, how about another beer?" said Timofei.
Three Days Later, Kseniya's New Office
Kseniya reached for the teapot. "Another cup of tea, Mr. Kindred, Father Gavril? We'd like to thank very much for the help you and the Legion have given us."
"It wasn't all that much, Mrs. Kotova," said J.P. "In fact, it turned out easier than I thought. Back in the '80s, a legionnaire was a cook in the Army National Guard. He donated a set to the post that the Army had declared obsolete and replaced."
"Do you need the set back soon?" inquired Kseniya. "If the post can wait, we would like to copy them so it we can have a complete set."
"Not a problem," J.P. said. "Just give them back when you're done."
Since her husband wasn't talking much, Kseniya tried to bring him into the conversation. "Father, they tell Chef Garrett she'll need twenty-four pounds of ground meat to make enough golubtsi for a hundred."
J.P. said, "What are those? I never saw them on a dining hall menu."
"Sorry, Kseniya said, "That's stuffed cabbage rolls."
"And one of my favorites," Father Gavril said. He finally started talking more. Really, he was going to have to get comfortable with up-timers.
"I'm a bookish sort. If God had allowed it, I'd be in a monastery surrounded by books," Father Gavril said. "However, God in His providence brought Kseniya into my life. I also have a talent for languages. I have the best of all worlds, Kseniya, my two sons and the libraries of Grantville."
J.P. followed up by asking, "I thought married Orthodox priests were parish priests. Does your research interfere with your parish responsibilities?"
"No, not really. I only have twenty or so parishioners at the moment. Most are Russians, but there are a few from the various Orthodox churches who came back in the Ring of Fire. Grantville is much quieter and cleaner than the parishes I would have served in Mother Russia."
"Father, where do you hold services? I don't see any onion domes around here," said J.P.
Gavril smiled. "Prince Vladimir has made room for me in the ballroom. It's not the best but it will do for the moment. We, easterners, stand during services. So, there is no need for space-eating pews."
"Do you plan on building a church and have you decided on a name for it?" asked J.P.
"Oh, yes. It will be dedicated to Saint Vasili the Fool for Christ. The patriarch decreed if the name was good enough for a cathedral in Moscow, it would be good enough for a parish in Grantville," Father Gavril said. "We pray it will be completed in time for the prince's wedding in June."
"Is that a likely date?" asked J.P.
"It is a wishful date. We have few funds from Moscow, my parishioners are few, and time is short," Father Gavril said.
J.P. looked at the clock on the wall. He saw he needed to leave if he wanted to get his story in by the deadline for the late edition. He hadn't bothered to mention that he was an old newspaperman. And, now and then, he still did a human interest story. The first Orthodox church in Grantville certainly sounded interesting to him.
"Father, Mrs. Kotova, I'm happy the post could help you." J.P. stood up. "I need to be getting back into town, so, I better say good bye now."
"May God bless you for your service to Him," Father Gavril said as he made the sign of the Cross.
Kseniya reached one of the pull ropes hanging on the wall. Three sharp tugs sounded a bell in kitchen. One of the duty footmen soon appeared in her doorway.
"Mr. Kindred, Vanya will show you the way to the door," Kseniya said. "The rezidentz can be confusing to visitors."
J.P. followed Vanya to the front entrance. He went down to the corner and caught a street car back into town. During the ride, he mentally wrote the story. Soon, he was at the keyboard of his loyal Royal typewriter pounding out it out.
That night in the Kotovs' bedroom
Kseniya looked over at her husband. He was still awake after what she knew to be a long day of work. "Gavra, what's the matter? Your tossing and turning is keeping me awake."
"Dearest, after Mr. Kindred left, I realized we have a problem. When will she be baptized? And what name should we use? Brandy is not an acceptable name. You know the rules."
"I think, Gavra, we need to light candles to Our Lady and Saint Vasili asking God for wisdom. And I need to borrow some brains," Kseniya said. "Now, we need some sleep to face tomorrow. Good night, husband."
"Good night, my dear."
The next morning
"Gregorii, go find Father Gavril, tell him his presence is requested and required in my office," Vladimir said. "Also find out if Gospazha Brandy is here and relay the same message to her. If she is not, let me know."
"I hear and obey," Vladimir's major domo said.
Soon a knock came at the open office door.
"You sent for me, sir?" Father Gavril said.
"Come here; look at these newspapers," Vladimir ordered.
Gavril read the first paper in the stack and his face took on a serious set. "I can see why you are concerned."
"Those are only the morning German papers," Vladimir said. "I sent for Brandy to help interpret the English paper where this story first appeared."
The office door slammed open. A "serious as a heart attack" Brandy Bates stormed in. "Vladimir Yaroslav, this house had better be under attack by the Tartars," she said. "Who do you think you are? My commanding officer?"
Oops. Vlad had forgotten that Brandy could get a bit testy when he "went all over princey," as she called it. "The rezidentz is not under physical attack. However, it has made the newspapers without my knowledge."
"I'll grant that those can be as dangerous as the Tartars," Brandy said. "But Greg told me 'my presence was requested and required.' I think you've been reading too many Hornblower books, buddy boy." She picked up yesterday's evening edition of the Grantville Times.
"Father Gavril made the papers," she said. "Not you. And what's the problem, anyway?"
"My wife invited Mr. Kindred over yesterday to thank him for the help he gave Chef Garrett," Father Gavril said. "Something about recipe cards, I gathered. Anyway he started asking questions about the chapel. Kseniya and I didn't think what we said would appear in the papers"
"Still," Vladimir said. "We made the papers without my knowledge. That is a problem."
"Honey, there is no such thing as bad publicity as long as they spell your name right," Brandy said. "The Times printed it as a human interest story. J.P. must have liked our kitchen's biscuits, 'cause, he wrote a really positive article."
"We will see how this all develops. Father, no more newspaper interviews without my knowledge and permission," Vladimir said.
"I hear and obey, sir," said Gavril.
"Brandy, I understand you
have scheduled us to visit the KudzuWerke showroom," Vladimir said. "If so, we better get going."
Brandy came up to Vladimir and hugged him. She said, "Yes, I did. But ease up on the princey stuff, dude. You're creeping me out." Brandy then gave Vladimir a good kiss on the lips which he enthusiastically returned.
Father Gavril studied the Robin of the CoC cartoon strip in the Daily News during the exchange.
The afternoon of the following day
Father Gavril and Kseniya entered the prince's office. Kseniya knew something was up from the way the tradesmen treated her. However, her German and English weren't up to catching their shades of meaning. The pair saw Brandy sitting with her chair to one side of the desk. Her presence would temper the prince's actions.
"There have been developments from that story," Vladimir said. "Look at this stack of mail."
"Now, Vladimir, be nice," Brandy said. "Good afternoon, Father Gavril, Mrs. K. Yes, there have been developments. Positive developments."
"You're right, my dear. Positive, indeed," Vladimir said. "Take a look at these letters."
Gavril and Kseniya sorted through the partially opened mail. The letters were addressed to St. Vasili Orthodox Church, The Fool for Christ Church, Father Kotov, Father Gavril, Father G, The Russian Church, or some other variation. All conveyed the best wishes and prayers of the sender. Some contained donations large and small. Father Gavril was surprised by the number of checks drawn on the Grantville banks. Others had pledges of material support.
" Gospazha Brandy, what is this backhoe service?" Gavril asked.
"Here is someone offering a load of bricks," Kseniya said.
"I think we need to get this mess organized," Brandy said.
Vladimir agreed. "Make it so."
"Gag a maggot, Vlad. First, you're Hornblower, now Picard," Brandy said. "I need to keep a closer watch on your reading and TV." She wagged a finger at him. "If you start introducing your gun as 'Clyde,' I'm calling off the wedding."