Grantville Gazette, Volume 7

by Eric Flint

  He was going to go with Julio and Odetta. Maybe they could, finally, find someplace they could live where their pasts wouldn't haunt them. Grantville sure wasn't his cup of tea anymore. It was time to move on.

  * * *

  Angie had checked with her so-called friends. Papa was right. There was nothing here worth staying around for. Everyone thought she was a trashy whore and with Papa gone she would have nobody. She had alienated her brother and sister. Even her cousins had no use for her. She was going to take the twins and go with Papa, whether he knew it or not. Besides, she was pregnant again and she wasn't sure who the hell the father was. Just one problem after another.

  Her so-called friend, Tiffany, said she could stay with her and her folks for a few days, but she would have to take care of her own daughters. No one at the Cooper place would baby-sit for her. Papa would be leaving in just over a week with Fenton Mase and Odetta Thorpe. For now she would just have to impose on the Coopers for a while longer than her welcome was for. Well, it wasn't like she would be around to have to mend any fences after she left Grantville with Papa.

  She wondered what the people in Magdeburg did for fun. There was going to be a Navy base there and she'd heard sailors were really great for having a good time. She'd find out after they got settled there.

  Grantville, January, 1634

  Julio went through the things he wanted crated. There was a nearly thirty-year-old set of Encyclopedia Britannica; all of Angie's old Golden Books; his Louis L'amour books, all eight of them; and the home improvement book set Juanita had signed him up for.

  They'd received almost half of the large card-like page inserts before they stopped the monthly installments to the book. Most of it was just not going to be of much use. How to apply vinyl flooring was just not going to be a big thing. Forget the special glue, where would he get rolls of vinyl flooring to start with? He flipped through the book and laughed. Here was a good one. How to apply wallpaper. Well, it might be useful. Didn't his grandfather use paper sacks to cover his walls and then paint them? He threw the home improvement book into the crate. Hadn't his grandfather made wheat paste to put the paper up? How had he made it? The answer might be in the encyclopedia.

  He placed all his power tools to one side. The circular saw and jig saw were going to do him no good without electricity. Those, he would pass on to Amy. John was off with the military somewhere, he thought. He'd lost track of him.

  The bow saw and rip saw he packed. All four hammers went into the box. He thought he'd lost three of them. He had bought new ones to replace the lost ones. The old single jack went into a case along with three wood chisels. The tool box containing four combo wrenches, two pliers, a handful of screw drivers, and a socket set with a broken ratchet and half the sockets missing would also go to Amy. He hadn't realized that so much of his stuff was junk, but maybe she would have a use for it.

  There was a camping hatchet he'd never used and an old Coleman lantern. The hatchet he pitched into the crate and he placed the lantern with the power tools. Two boxes of 30-06 shells from twenty years ago appeared among the junk. Into the crate they went.

  Juanita's wedding dress took a moment for him to make a decision about. He didn't remember putting it out here. Hadn't he thrown it away with her other things? He folded it and placed it into the crate. Damn! He had to dig out one of the hammers he'd packed to nail the lid down and start a new crate.

  Three coffee cans of screws and nails went into the next crate. Clothing came next. These clothes were made from synthetics and were still in good shape. Regrettably, the pants and shirts didn't fit him anymore, but they might again. Additional clothing went into another crate. If he couldn't use them, he might be able to trade them. The clothes filled the second crate. Juanita would have donated the stuff to the church long ago. He'd just tossed them into the garage like so many other things.

  Juanita's sewing machine appeared once the clothing was moved. It was just one more thing he thought he'd gotten rid of. How much more of these reminders remained? The small Singer needed electricity to work. He would sell it because Amy probably wouldn't want it.

  Julio found the trowel and masonry tools he'd invested in when he thought he'd be a bricklayer. The job had never panned out. He put the masonry tools into the third crate on top of the extra clothes. They could still be of use; though where he would get cement, fire clay, and lime, he had no idea. Sand wasn't a problem. It was everywhere.

  He finally found their old hand cranked meat grinders. He carefully packed them away. They would be needed, along with the spatulas, and two old barbeques. Charcoal would be no problem. Everything needed to be taken apart, cleaned, and oiled.

  By the time he'd packed five crates, he'd weeded through the entire contents of his home and garage. Julio took the discarded materials he didn't think Amy could use out into the drive after he shoveled the snow clear and laid out a blue plastic tarp to protect everything from the dampness. He hammered a sign to the black walnut tree in front of the house and sat back in his lawn chair. It was colder than a witch's tit; but with a beer and the heavy mackinaw coat, he waited as passersby stopped to buy those items useless to him. One man's trash was another's treasure—or something like that.

  It didn't take long for people to wander up and start asking how much for this or that. His answer was always the same. "Make me an offer."

  His yard sale quickly turned into an auction. Things like the toaster went for more than he thought it cost new. That was figuring for the value of the dollar now as compared to before the Ring of Fire. The sewing machine went for a king's ransom, or so it seemed to him. He'd planned to spend the day sitting outside while bored neighbors went through his junk. Instead, it seemed like half of Grantville showed up to buy things he didn't want anymore.

  What would he have made if everything had been maintained properly? He hadn't realized just how badly he'd let everything slide over the last twelve years. The only reason the house hadn't been the mess the garage had been was the babysitter, Barbara, had cleaned the place once in awhile.

  * * *

  Papa and his friends had two wagons filled with wooden cases. They had rented the wagons and teams from Old Man Bickrodt, promising to leave them with a friend of his who ran a stable and smithy outside of Magdeburg. Now Papa was going to find out she intended to go with him. Angie had already snuck her few plastic bags onto Papa's wagon while they had been inside having breakfast. They hadn't even noticed her things when Papa and Fenton had loaded the rest of his crates.

  Angie made her way toward her father with the twins in tow. It was hard going because the girls were only toddlers, unsteady on their feet. Besides, she wasn't used to having them with her. It had been Barbara's job to take care of them. But without Papa paying most of her money, Barbara had found other employment.

  Angie's mouth dropped open when Julio looked up. "Took you long enough. Well, get into the wagon and I'll pass Juanita and Julie up to you."

  "But Papa!" Angie sounded more like a ten year old than a woman of nearly twenty-eight.

  Her father shook his head. "If you thought I wouldn't find out what you were up to, you shouldn't have been smart mouthing Connie Cooper. Didn't you think that woman would track me down and start demanding I hurry up and get you out of town? She was so happy I was taking you away from her poor daughter, who you were corrupting with your whoring ways."

  Angie started to protest but Julio glared at her. "Don't say a word, Angie, or I'll change my mind and leave you. If I can decide to start over somewhere else and get away from this place and everyone who knows me, I can give you the same chance. It's up to you whether you screw it up or not."

  Angie climbed aboard and her father passed the girls up to her. Both were crying for Barbara. They didn't want to be with her. For some reason, it hurt. It hurt just the way her father talked to her. It had been a long time since anything had hurt like today.

  * * *

  Fenton had not been pleased about having
Julio's daughter along. Angie was a waste of space. She was part of the party girl pack that included the Cooper girl. He didn't have much interest in them. There was no telling who they had been with and he didn't want to be pissing razor blades. No penicillin to get rid of that anymore. Three doses of the clap in his life had been enough for him. He had lived like a monk for the last two years. At least pretty much like a monk.

  They'd brought their American weapons, but the up-time ammunition wouldn't last forever. They also purchased Struve-Reardon made musket-rifles and a set of the Hockenjoss and Klott revolvers each. Julio had misgivings about the revolvers. It was a matter of the supply of percussion caps.

  That was why old Julio had also purchased a pair of flintlock pistols. He didn't want to be without weapons that would be easy to get the powder and lead for. Things wouldn't be all that safe on the road, even if the war was a long ways off and they were only traveling to Magdeburg. After all, they were leaving a place where real Americans were and heading deep into Krautland.

  They had to travel through the snow and cold to get to Magdeburg. They were driving a treasure train with all their valuables aboard. Fenton smiled to himself. If they were attacked, maybe they could trade Angie off to the bandits and get them to leave the rest of them alone. No. It wouldn't be fair. The bandits would get the worst of the deal.

  Fenton secured the last of the ropes. He checked the thirty-eight in the shoulder holster and prepared to climb into the wagon seat. Julio would lead out with his slut daughter and his bastard grandkids. Why the man wanted to drag them along was beyond him. It was just one more reason this trip was beginning to seem like a bad idea.

  They had to face bad weather, days riding on a wagon, and finally starting over in Magdeburg.

  Fenton pulled himself into the seat next to Odetta. He picked up the reins and followed Julio as he led out. Julio had come up with this hare-brained scheme. Hopefully, Julio knew what he was doing. Fenton no longer did.

  Odetta spit a large brown stream of tobacco juice over the side of the wagon. Fenton shook his head. What a choice. Ride next to Angie and her screaming brats or the tobacco chewing human toothpick and her continual spitting.

  It was going to be a long trip.

  Fenton felt unsure about the outcome of their new adventure. What would happen if, for some reason, their plans didn't work out the way they hoped? Was this a new beginning for them, or was it the end of all their hopes and dreams?

  Only time would tell. Farewell, Grantville. It's a nice place to be from.

  * * *

  Julio looked around their first night's camp. He had made a mistake in not stopping for the night in the last village. They were camping out in the shell of a hut of some type. This place had not been resettled for some reason. Whatever it was, it gave them some small amount of wall around their wagons and a break against the chill night breeze.

  Already, Fenton had a fire going and Odetta and Angie had found the sleeping bags. With the exception of Fenton's bag, all the sleeping bags had come from him, left over from when Juanita had been healthy. There were four bags in all. There would have been a fifth, but he'd left it for Amy with the other things. The sleeping bags, like everything else that had been part of his life before Juanita's accident, had been thrown into the basement or garage. After the accident, there had never been another weekend of camping. The sleeping bags had been just another painful memory to be buried out of sight.

  The twins screaming for Barbara had gotten on his nerves. They had finally stopped screaming for her by mid-day; but by then old, haunted memories had returned to add to his distraught nerves. Twice he'd started to pass the reins over to Angie and cradle his rifle at the ready as if it had been an M-16.

  People in the villages they rolled through watched them from the sides of roads. It reminded him of riding as co-driver in a deuce with his M-16 pointed out the window while Dinks along the road watched their convoys roll by.

  He had thought that he was getting a good job as a driver or co-driver on the convoys and not having to tramp through jungles and rice paddies of Viet Nam. He had been too young and dumb to realize that "convoy" actually meant "big target." Back then, he'd been a kid right out of Grantville and boot camp. When he'd been in convoy, he had never known who might wave as he drove by and then shoot at him or toss explosives into the deuce when they passed.

  Here, the stares of the people they passed had brought back those old memories. It wasn't a good thing.

  Julio knew they had nothing to fear in their present camp; but old memories were haunting him. He moved out beyond the shadows and squatted, his rifle at the ready. It would be a long night. He would take the first watch—maybe all night long—and let Fenton sleep. He could always switch places with Odetta and sleep in the wagon Fenton drove if he was up all night.

  * * *

  Angie made sure the twins were okay and rolled up the sleeping bags. Odetta was busy with a camp pot full of corn meal mush. The old blue speckled coffee pot Papa and Mama had used on camping trips was steaming with hot water. There was no coffee. But there was herbal tea, not the real stuff. There had been no Lipton for ages and coffee was an expensive luxury that none of them drank any longer. It seemed to Angie that with the remaining wealth from the sale of the house and personal junk, Papa could have well afforded it. But the past couple of years of doing without had had its effect. He hadn't even thought to purchase any. Besides, Fenton had brought along four cases of hooch. The last thing he needed was a shot of that right now with his nerves jumping as badly as they were.

  Next Morning

  Angie put the sleeping bags back into the wagon. She had even rolled up Papa's bag. He had been up all night. She hadn't seen him like that since Mama's accident—all wired up and lost somewhere. She had approached him when she'd first woke up and found herself staring down the barrel of his rifle. It was like he didn't recognize her at first.

  She had been afraid he'd shoot her. But he snapped out of it. "Don't you never sneak up behind me on tip toes again!" She wouldn't.

  "Come on, girls. Let's get something to eat." The two just gawked at her. "Come on. Don't make me come get you!"

  Odetta looked at her and chuckled. "Them kids is too young to understand everything like they were already in school or something. They can't even walk all that good yet."

  Odetta set down the brown plastic bowl and spoon she'd been using to have her breakfast and stood up. "I'll get them over here and fed."

  Angie wanted to cuss her out for interfering. After all, the twins were her kids. But she bit back the response. For the last week now, she'd been finding out the twins took a lot of work, and Tiffany hadn't been willing to help her none. In fact, Tiffany had razzed her about having kids and being pregnant again.

  Damn! Why couldn't she have accepted Uncle Sergio and Aunt Janie's help, like John and Amy, instead of deciding that since Papa didn't care and Mama was so bad off, she was old enough to do what she wanted? At least she had listened well enough not to get knocked up while she was still in high school or until the birth control pills ran out.

  She would have blamed Papa and Mama for ruining her life—she did quite often. But she had John and Amy to look at and see that they hadn't turned out like she had. She was the one who had become the town slut in capitol letters. Miss Party Girl. Mama hadn't had that accident just to ruin her life and Papa hadn't just given up on her, though it was easy to blame them for her own actions.

  Angie watched as Odetta put up two more plastic bowls of mush and set out two more plastic spoons. "Don't touch!" The twins looked at her and at the bowls.

  "Hot!" Odetta said.

  "Ooo," the girls responded.

  Feeling bitter, Angie sat down and poured a cup of hot water. She spooned some of the tea into one of the old tea balls Mama had used for her bead work decorations and dunked it into the cup. She hadn't seen one of the cheap metal things in at least twelve years. Like everything else of Mama's, it had just disappeared
from the house.

  When the mush had cooled enough for the girls to safely eat, Angie gave each of them a bowl. She ended up cleaning up a mess. She had forgotten the lesson she had been learning during the last week. The twins were really messy eaters and needed help.

  It didn't help for Odetta to laugh at her when she got frustrated. Barbara had always done this for her. She usually wasn't even up this early.

  * * *

  Odetta Thorpe was happy. It had been a long time since she'd been on the road—too long. She had forgotten how good it felt to get up, make a quick breakfast, and breath open air.

  It wasn't that she had traveled like this. She'd never before traveled in horse drawn wagons or camped out in burned out barns. But she hadn't always ridden the bus or caught a ride with a trucker, either. There had been times when she had moved on with just a backpack, her accordion, and what she could carry when the urge to move on had hit her.

  It felt good being on the move again. And this was probably the last. She was forty-nine, going on eighty, judging from the stiffness and pain in her joints.