Grantville Gazette-Volume XIII

by Eric Flint

  Her downy house guests had awoken and were now peeping softly, poking their heads out of the box's shelter, the ringed markings around their eyes giving them a charmingly mischievous look. Pam gently placed the bowl on the kiddy pool's bottom, then stepped back to watch quietly. The ducklings peered shyly at the new object at first but once they caught the scent all shyness evaporated. Feeding frenzy! Pam marveled. Very hungry ducklings tore into the earthworm soup with relish. "So, you guys were hungry. Is that why you kept me up half the night?" I hope this is the right stuff for you . . .

  Pam knew it was time that she got some help with this. She needed someone who knew something about raising fowl. She hauled out the Grantville phone book, found the name and dialed the number. He's a farmer—he'll be up early.

  "Hello, Willie Ray? This is Pam Miller. I wonder if maybe you could help me out . . ."

  * * *

  Pam felt awful as she gently placed the frightened ducklings back into her rucksack—it was still the safest way she could think of to transport them. Soon she was headed down the sunny morning road whistling Zippity Doo Dah to a chorus of muffled peeps.

  Willie Ray Hudson's place was well-known to every Grantviller. She found Willie Ray still nursing a cup of coffee on his wide front porch. As it turned out the friendly old farmer had spent the prior evening long and late at the Thuringen Gardens public house and he now rather resembled a tree full of owls blinking at the bright morning sun as if it were an unexpected calamity. Pam took his offer of "A cup of Joe." She hadn't gotten around to hers this morning and Willie Ray obviously needed some time to rally. He gave Pam a sheepish grin.

  "This coffee is doing the trick, Pam. I'll be up an at 'em pretty quick. A fellow my age putting down that strong German beer like it's Sunday picnic lemonade, I should know better. Made a damn fool of myself. I think I ended up back here courtesy of a wheelbarrow!" He grinned, his jaw a field of gray stubble growing on darkly tanned furrows of weathered wrinkles.

  "I know how you feel, Willie Ray. I got into some of that moonshine the boys are making these days a while back. My hired man's wife had to put me to bed like a baby, thank heavens for Gerbald and Dore! I was a mess, I felt like I'd been kicked in the head by a mule the next afternoon when I came to." They shared a laugh at their respective misadventures in the realms of the spirits. Something about Willie Ray and his farm made Pam feel comfortably rustic. She had spent plenty of time here and in places like this in her youth.

  "Now, what you got in that old travellin' bag, Miss Pam? By the sound of it I'll bet it's not canned beans and frankfurters. Must be those orphans."

  "They're wild wood duck ducklings, Willie Ray. Have you ever seen the ducks with the long crest coming off the back of their heads? The real pretty ones."

  "I know what wood ducks are; seen a lot of birds here on the farm over the years, usually going after my patch of corn. Just what happened?"

  "Their mother was killed by a trapper up along the rim. Probably a hungry down-timer shacked up in the German pine woods north of town. Gerbald and I are going to go see if we can find who it was later today. I was ready to kill them yesterday but now I think I'm going to try to reason with them, get them to hunt somewhere else outside the Ring." Pam's brow furrowed. She really hadn't a clue how to deal with the situation but she knew she had to do something.

  "Well, being reasonable is always a good place to start. Come on, Pam. Let's show these little peeps their new home." Willie Ray stood up slowly. He stayed in great shape working his farm but the years had taken their toll; he wasn't a young man any longer.

  The cloud passed from Pam's face. "Really? You do have a place for them?"

  "Sure I do. What's a farm without a duck pond? It's out back of the barn, remember?" It had been quite a few years since she had visited Willie Ray. She felt guilty for a moment but the genial farmer wasn't the type to fuss over that kind of thing. Folks were welcome to drop by the farm when it suited them. Pam followed Willie Ray around the side of the house and down the bare path through the grass to the barn. They walked through the large outbuilding, a couple of cows giving Willie Ray a scolding moo for being late with their milking.

  "I hear ya, girls. Dang it, where are those hired men of mine?"

  "Were they with you last night?" Pam asked with feigned innocence. Willie Ray flashed her a rueful grin.

  "Why, I do believe they were. Come to think of it last I seen they were singing drinking songs while propping each other up. Figure I'll see 'em around noon then. My own damn fault, I was buying the rounds."

  Heading out the back of the barn they arrived at the duck pond. It was fairly spacious, a good twelve yards wide and fifteen long. One end had been left natural, full of cattails and lily pads. The end nearest the barn had a muddy beach crisscrossed with the tracks of various fowl, a gnarled willow tree providing shade. The entire area was surrounded with a sturdy looking chickenwire fence, dug well into the ground, something to keep the chickens in and the weasels out. The enclosure also included a roomy bird yard and several coops and pens, all occupied by an untidy population of clucking, quacking, honking and gobbling critters. A very large red rooster gave Pam the evil eye, an intruder in his domain. It advanced menacingly a few steps but Willie Ray shooed him off with a raised boot. The rooster held its head high in the air, stalking off with greatly injured pride.

  "Never mind Pete, he's more bark than bite. But I seen him give a weasel the spur once, cut the varmint's throat wide open! He earns his keep. Now, let's find Matilda." They walked over to the water's edge where a motley collection of drakes and hens milled about, made up of assorted domestic ducks, semi wild mallard ducks and those that were clearly a mix containing varying degrees of both. They walked right into the middle of the congregation, the ducks only acknowledging their presence by stepping casually out of their path.

  "Matilda! Tilda, Tilda!" Willie Ray called, followed by a sharp whistle. From the shore a very large and obviously well fed hen waddled toward them. She was a mutt all right; she had the markings of a mallard hen but instead of brown and white they were in shades of dark and light gray. Her beak and feet were a very un-mallard shade of blue. Pam had never seen a goofier looking bird and had to smile outright.

  "This here is Matilda, mother to the world. She's a good old gal; poor thing's eggs haven't hatched for a few years. She has adopted everything from goose goslings to a Labrador retriever puppy—good thing they're swimmers! Damn dog still thinks he's a duck. She ought to be right pleased to have some ducklings again. Here Pam, let me have that bag."

  Pam handed him her peeping cargo a little reluctantly, but the old leathery hands were as gentle as a cloud. He bent over with a small grunt to hold the rucksack open on the ground, lying on its side. Matilda hurried over to look inside, waddling so fast she almost took a nose dive. Pam laughed aloud.

  "Watch this, Pam." Willie Ray grinned up at her.

  Matilda stuck her head right into the bag. A gentle grunting quack could be heard. Suddenly the ducklings poured out of the bag to form a huddle around Matilda's big blue feet. Matilda put her head down in amongst them so they could all get a good dose of each other's scent. Then she looked up at Willie Ray and gave a quack that was surely filled with pleasure and pride. "Thanks for bringing them to me; I'll take it from here!" Spreading her wings gently she herded them over to the water. The ducklings followed along eagerly and were shortly feasting on duckweed, a happy and hungry line paddling behind their new surrogate mother. Pam could sense the waves of relief coming from their tiny bodies. Some people didn't think animals felt emotions the way humans do, but she had always strongly disagreed with that notion. She felt her eyes moistening with joy. Oh hell, now I'm going to cry.

  Willie Ray watched the scene with serene pleasure. He took a look inside the rucksack to make sure all the ducks had been released. Satisfied, he handed it back to Pam.

  "Well, that's better. Those little guys were sure scared shitless."

  Pam nodded. "
Yeah, they probably were." She sniffled happily.

  "Darn right! Just look in your bag!"

  * * *

  Pam still had a few more hours to wait for Gerbald to finish his day time job. Willie Ray invited her to have another cup of coffee so they returned to the front porch. Sitting there watching the grass grow and the farm dogs playing Pam could almost forget about the Ring of Fire. This was still "home" after all, a chunk of the West Virginia she had grown up in. She had traveled a little up-time, been to New York and down to Florida, made it to Montreal, Canada, but unlike so many young people in the hills itching to escape their rural beginnings, Pam had been happy going to college nearby, then taking a job only twenty miles from home. It was a good place, and it was still good, even beneath the skies of history book Europe.

  "Pam, I've heard about what you are doing with the school. That nature program is a fine idea. Kids should feel connected to the land and get to know the wild things around them. I think you're doing a real good thing."

  "Thanks, Willie Ray. I'm glad to hear you say so. Sometimes I wonder if I've gotten a little nuts about it."

  "Well, it's a good kind of nuts if it is. Say, bring those kids out here some time, you can visit your baby ducks and show the kids all them birds that are eating up my corn patch. There are these little blue ones that are real hungry buggers, never saw them before."

  "Those are bluethroats! Blaukehlchen. They're one of the native German birds that have taken a liking to Grantville and my sunflower seeds in particular. And bringing the kids out here would be great! I really appreciate you helping me out today."

  "Pleasure's mine. Another thing, I read your proposals on protected species and a national bird. I want you to know I support both of them. I'm going to do what I can to get them passed, especially the protected species part. I figure any critters which came through that thing with us deserve to live as much as we do, and I'm not the only one who thinks so."

  Pam slumped back in her chair. It had been a year since she had sent that proposal in and she hadn't tried to follow up on it. Apparently it still existed in governmental limbo. "That is really good to hear. I thought for sure everyone would just think I'm a dingbat, worrying about birds when we're still trying to figure out how we're going to just survive in this time."

  "Well Pam, you know we are starting an industrial revolution here. I'm hoping we do it with a lot more compassion for both people and nature than happened in the old history. Might as well start now teaching folks to value nature and protect it. Seems like we have a second chance at that."

  "Willie Ray, I would never have guessed you were an environmentalist."

  "Now, don't start calling names! You'll tarnish my reputation as a red neck hillbilly! I'm a farmer and so I understand that we need to live in balance with nature. I've been joking about those birds getting into my corn; well, they eat some, but I still have plenty left. The thing is, those birds are also eating insects, and insects do a lot more damage to a crop than birds do. It's a good balance. I want to keep those birds around. There's nothing like seeing a flock of red birds in the trees, that's somethin' well worth protecting. My mother was quite fond of them; she used to feed them sometimes, called them 'red birds' instead of 'cardinals' too, a lot of folks did. Anyway, I'm not sure if they're going to make it as a national bird, although they were a fine choice as West Virginia's state bird, and I'd hate to see them all made into hats before they had a chance to build their numbers here."

  "A lot of new Americans are already mostly sold on protecting red birds thanks to my friends spreading the word. Right now I'm mostly worried about the up-time game birds, like the ducks. I'm hoping that at least the original Grantvillers will stop hunting them, but I know it's hard to tell folks not to shoot something they like the taste of."

  "Well, I think I can help with that. I know more than a few members of the UMWA, including the Prime Minister." He grinned widely "Whoever thought a hick like me would keep such fine company? Anyway, I'll see if I can get them boys squared away on the issue. Law or not, if the UMWA is behind it it's as good as law in these parts." He paused for a moment. "You know, I'm not sure some of them would know a wood duck from a snow goose—if it's a bird with webbed feet they'll shoot it. Do you think you could show them some pictures or something? That wild bunch of gun nuts could use a dose of nature program themselves."

  Pam stopped her coffee cup in mid sip. Pictures . . . "Willie Ray, you are a genius!" She jumped up, startling Willie Ray which caused him to stand up as well. "That's the best idea ever, I'm going to get right to work on it! I'll see you soon, thanks Willie Ray!" Pam bestowed an enthusiastic hug which almost knocked the old farmer over and then went down the porch stairs two at a time. Willie Ray leaned on the rail watching her run up the drive. "You're the best, Willie Ray. A real genius!" she called back as she reached the road.

  "Well, that's good to hear Pam, but do tell me just why I'm a 'genius' sometime. Ain't never been called that before!"

  * * *

  Pam hurried down the asphalt road to Fluharty Middle School. She had already walked at least three miles today and would walk many more before the day was done. She allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction, back up-time she would not have been able to sustain such a pace. If the Ring of Fire had not brought an unexpected end to things as they were she wondered how long she would have continued her bonbon eating binges of self pity. Now she could barely imagine an alternative future up-time for herself; this was her life, right now, in sixteen hundred and thirty four. It didn't matter to her how they got here, act of god or the devil himself; she was here and making things happen. It felt like a second chance.

  At the school Pam sought out Mrs. Antoni. She explained her idea and asked if the students could be brought to the task. Mrs. Antoni shared Pam's excitement.

  "That's a wonderful idea, Pam! This will be an excellent learning opportunity, a good dose of civic action. Why not start now since you're here? I have them this next period and my lesson plan can wait for a good cause."

  The sixth graders listened to Pam eagerly, after all she was the nice lady who broke them out of the stuffy old classroom ("School in summer? It's not fair!") to go on fun nature walks ("Our hero!"). Anything Ms. Miller needed she would get. As Pam explained the project Mrs. Antoni was readying the butcher paper and poster paints.

  "In your notebooks you've drawn a lot of pictures of the birds you've seen. First we are going to make a list of all the American birds from your notes. Next we will assign each student, or group of students, one of those birds to make a poster for. We need a painted picture of the bird and text in both English and German asking people to please protect this species. The more posters you can make, the better!"

  Soon the room was a buzzing beehive of activity. There were some pretty good artists in the group; Pam was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the paintings as she walked from table to table. A menagerie of tempera birds was taking shape; a common loon seen down by the power plant, a cedar waxwing found just down the drive from the school, a red head duck spotted on Plum Run, a summer tanager sighted on a fence post beside a farmer's field. The American birds had survived the trip intact and their numbers were increasing. Pam had not dared hope for so many species; it was another example of the resiliency of nature.

  A painted slogan above a fair rendering of a Baltimore oriole caught her eye, big bold red and white striped letters with a blue outline: "Don't shoot! I'm an American!" Pam laughed. That will do!

  "That's great!" Pam cheered them on. "You guys are doing great! I have to get going but I want to thank you all for the help!" Pam left to a chorus of cheers and encouragement from her nature program students. The future birdwatchers of America , and maybe more. The seeds have been planted and a crop of nature lovers is growing.

  * * *

  As she went up the long sunflower-lined walk to her front door Pam felt that something was amiss. The door was open and she could hear the sound of bustling activ
ity inside. The lawn chair that Gerbald would have waited for her in on the narrow concrete porch stood empty.

  "Gerbald? Dore?" She called through the door.

  "I am here but you will not find that foolish man!' Dore's voice rang out harshly. Uh-oh. Pam entered to find Dore dismantling the temporary duck shelter, her hands moving with a harsh precision that spoke of a towering rage.

  "Where is Gerbald, Dore?"

  "Gerbald? You mean The Great Soldier? Why he is out hunting of course, hunting for blood." The towel the ducklings had slept on flew into the laundry hamper with hurricane force.