Grantville Gazette Volume 25

by editor Paula Goodlett

"Yes, of course. We have trees and start up capital. We need the industry. Exporting farm products is not going to provide any significant cash flow in Finland. We might even have to import grain in bad years, so farming is not a good focus for the new estate."

  After lunch the ensign sat in the conference room while Lieutenant Rainaldi walked Kristiina through making molds for shaped plywood. "When you go back to Grantville you can see what molded plywood looks like. There is bent plywood furniture in the waiting room of the optometrist's office and his wife has a large formed plywood bowl and half a dozen small ones, what she calls her salad set, at home. They will be happy to show you if you ask."

  When Carlo finished the ensign asked—rather facetiously considering Carlo's extensive presentation—"Is there anything else we can help you with?"

  "Not that I know of," Kristiina answered. "What we have are trees and a sawmill. Now we have plans for a plywood mill. Thank you. It's a shame we can't build a wood pulp paper mill. No one seems to really know how to do it."

  Carlo rolled up the copies of the drawing they were not giving away and said, "That's not so. There is a very knowledgeable person in Grantville. When I was researching building techniques and was trying to find someone in Grantville with hands-on experience in making plywood, I was told it was too bad I wasn't interested in making paper. Joe said he knew someone who worked in a paper mill in some place called Michugina." Carlo gathered his materials and started to leave.

  "Carlo, you're forgetting something," the ensign said.

  Rainaldi looked around. He counted the rolls under his arm, and the number of drawings still on the table. "No, I don't think so," he said.

  "The name, Carlo, the papermaker's name?"

  "Oh, yes, you're right of course. Go see Old Joe Jenkins. He lives in Grantville on the top of the mountain. He can tell you the man's name."

  Late Winter 1635, Grantville

  "Welcome to Grantville, Your Grace." Kristiina and the concierge were waiting at the station. There was a fancy carriage for any other guests of the lodge. A wagon, for the luggage, was also on hand. Today the limo was reserved for the countess and her party. This time it would not wait for a trailer to be loaded. Fortunately there was a compromise route to pick up and deliver passengers to the train station which avoided the daylight restrictions on downtown traffic.

  "There is a lot to see in the next three days, before we go back to Magdeburg and start for the new estate," Kristiina concluded.

  At the end of the three days Countess Anna Marketta postponed their departure. Johannes, by now a major, was waiting in Magdeburg. When the departure was postponed he went to Grantville to be with his wife and Anna Marketta's party, which was turning into quite a party indeed. Three weeks later a rather stern letter arrived from General Count Brahe. Anna Marketta and her party boarded the train to the river and started the long trip to Finland.

  June 1635, Frankfurt am Main, the Governor's office

  General Count Brahe read the communication from his wife and shook his head. He had sent her to Grantville for three days to see the sights. She stayed three weeks! That was three months ago. It looked like he would be putting up with her Grantville mania for the next three years, if not the next thirty. When she wasn't talking about going back, she was talking about making the new estate as much like Grantville as possible.

  The first things she wanted when she got to the new estate was central heating. Fortunately she was willing to listen to Kristiina who was proving to be a level-headed jewel of a young woman.

  ". . . Kirsti says the heat runs have to be installed when the house is built. It cannot be 'retrofitted,' an American word for 'put in afterwards.' Tommo agrees. Tuomas Manunpoika is the manager of the lumber mill. He is a master carpenter and was a builder before coming to Kymi to run the mill. He oversaw the building of the manor house and other projects in addition to running the mill. Kirsti has enlarged his duties to include construction and operation of the new plywood mill. His assistant foreman is running the existing . . ."

  Things had changed after his wife went to Grantville. One thing was her relationship with her servants. The count asked Kristiina what happened. She wrote back, 'Her Grace, the countess, viewed several movies in which the up-time lords and ladies addressed their staff on a first name basis, just as the admiral's wife did in Magdeburg and, in at least one movie, the lord had insisted the staff do the same. I am afraid your lady wife has decided she likes having friends to talk to even when there are no other nobles in residence." Brahe fervently hoped his wife would keep things in order when she encountered other high nobles again. Swedes had never been as aloof as the stupid Germans, but still, they were not overly familiar with their help. What his wife's servants did in private was fine as long as they remembered to be polite and deferential to her—and to everyone else, of course—when they encountered other aristocracy again.

  ". . . and Kirsti says a new manor house will have to wait until the new mills are up and running. Tommo and the construction crew will be too busy and she says some of the parts for a central heating system will have to be shipped in. Tommo is quite excited about the plywood mill. He can't wait for spring to try it out. The right logs are already being cut up-river. We'll float them down . . .

  "I realize television is completely out of the question, but you still have not responded to my request for a radio technician to bring an antenna for a radio tower. Tommo says building a wooden tower will not be a problem . . ."

  Brahe sighed. His wife wanted the impossible. She wanted to receive the Grantville area radio programs in Finland. She thought all she needed was a bigger antenna. He'd asked the people who knew these things, just to be sure, and they'd said it couldn't be done for any amount of money. A broadcasting station in Finland in a few years might be possible, given enough money. For now, she would have to be content with the phonograph and records. What they could get, and would within six months, was a marine radiotelegraph station near the mouth of the Kymi. Then they'd at least be able to exchange Morse code messages with the outside world. Thank the Good Lord his wife would listen to Kristiina and that young woman had a firm grasp of the bottom line. Her reports were concise and neither optimistic nor pessimistic. The work went apace. The sawmill was meeting the needs of the shipyard, so at least one thing was bringing in a return.

  ". . . We have started to plan some festivities to celebrate the 300th anniversary of our new residence's municipality. It's next year. Husband, would you be in position to visit? Please inform us about likely dates of your arrival and departure. Can we attract some luminary, even one of the imperials, to visit?"

  Brahe sighed again. Did she ever stop to think what things cost?

  Autumn 1635, Frankfurt am Main

  A packet of letters arrived on Brahe's desk, including two from Kymenkartano.

  In the middle of a long rambling letter from his wife with news of the children, second-hand gossip from court, a long list of things she wanted, she wrote, ". . . Husband, do we have the money for all these investments?"

  His jaw fell open.

  "We purchased grain and other supplies which were not on hand in adequate quantity for the people working on the construction projects. We really must hold off on the electric power turbines, as much as I would like to have electricity in the house."

  It had to be Kristiina's influence.

  "The building for the paper mill is underway. Tommo says he will be free when it is time to build the paper machine at the new mill. But can we afford the equipment?"

  Brahe shook his head and muttered about miracles.

  "It would seem to me the purchase is well beyond our means . . ."

  The letter from Kristiina was, as always, well written and to the point.

  Your Excellency,

  I strongly recommend we continue with the paper project, if the capital can by any means be found. The machine builders in Grantville already have our designs for those parts which need up-time tools to make and w
e have received a priority placement on the order. If the capital can not be found, these orders should be cancelled immediately. The blacksmiths and the carpenters are busy making everything else. The special felt has arrived.

  All up-time sources agree, this location is perfect for a large paper industry. We are already harvesting the trees for plywood and lumber so there are a lot of smaller parts which will go to waste without an additional end use. In the other universe paper helped make the region rich and provided work for tens of thousands of people. It is a model for predictable success. Perhaps you can raise the money with a public offering, if need be. Steam engines and turbines can wait for better timing and lower prices.

  The plywood plant should be on line in time to cover some of the costs of the paper mill start up.

  The local blacksmiths, along with the two you sent from Germany, are good but they are not up to doing everything we need done. I wish to send some younger mechanics to Grantville for additional training as soon as feasible.

  Your obedient servant

  Christine von Hohenwaldt

  Count Brahe addressed a return letter to the two ladies jointly.

  Anna Marketta, Kristiina,

  . . . will proceed with the paper mill project. I am arranging financing. We will form a "Compagnie" and accept outside . . .

  Autumn 1635, Alongside the Dock at Kymi, Province of Viipuri, Finland

  Skipper Siffred Ollinpoika stood on deck looking at the small town springing up along the riverfront. Upon his return from the USE he realized it was starting to resemble a real port, small for now, to be sure, but just as thriving as many of the merchant townships in the rich south.

  It was not very far from the hamlet of farm and fisher cottages his ancestors had inhabited since time immemorial. His village had once had a small harbor, but its river access had been poor. Now, instead of trading and warehouses, there was only farming and fishing there.

  His forefathers traded all over the Baltic. The family still maintained boats, mostly for fishing but they did some shipping even if they no longer had a township with necessary privileges.

  This trip he had sailed to and from the Saxon coast under a letter from the new countess to haul a cargo of complicated small metal parts bolted together into odd shapes.

  The new port—it didn't even have a name yet—had good river access and was growing rapidly. If the rumors were true about the mills and other things, it was only a matter of time before the new port had a charter to trade abroad. He considered what this could mean to his family.

  Skipper Siffred thought it might be time to request burgher rights for himself and some of his kinsmen. It was also time to ask if they could send some of the boys to the manor to learn how to read and write properly.

  Early 1636, Frankfurt am Main

  Residence of General Niels Brahe, Governor and Administrator of the Province of Main

  Axel Oxenstierna advanced a bishop and said, "Checkmate! Niels, your game is way off." Brahe usually defeated his cousin four games out of five and the fifth game was usually a close call. "What is on your mind? You can't even concentrate on a simple chess game."

  "Axel, I was reading a letter from the Kymi estate when you arrived. My mind will clear overnight, I am sure."

  "Is there a problem? Do you need to go to your wife? Is my godson well? How about the new baby?"

  "Marke had an easy labor and my youngest son Eric is healthy—as are the two older children.

  "No, it's the damned plywood mill. Von Houwaldt, our director there, says everything works except for one thing. She has written to the designer, Carlo Rainaldi, asking what they are doing wrong. They cannot get a consistent, clean cut of the right thickness from the shear. If they could, we would be in production. The rest of the system works. We have produced enough to know that the press over the charcoal oven works. The glues work. The feeding system to the shear and from the shear to the press table over the kiln works. The system of moving the logs from the reservoir pile to the feed line for the shear works so well that they are reproducing it to use at the sawmill, which will free up six men there for other work.

  "Right now ninety plus percent of what the plywood mill makes is scrap. They will have a vast supply of material ready to go into the digester at the paper mill as soon as it's ready to run.

  "I find myself wishing I had never approved the project. But the drawings for the plywood mill made it look so simple. The plan called for a minimum of special tooling and equipment. Most of the system could be made on-site."

  Oxenstierna said, "I told the family the paper mill was a good idea. But you know that. We've invested a lot of money in the project. If you can't get the plywood mill to work, I'm worried about the paper mill."

  "I am, too," Brahe said. "The only good news is the sawmill. It's ahead of schedule."

  Oxenstierna nodded. The Kymi shipyard already had a different excuse.

  Brahe continued, "We are even looking for somewhere to market the surplus.

  "Would it help if we could get Simpson to send Rainaldi to look at the problem?" asked Oxenstierna.

  "That would work if anything would. But why would the admiral do such a thing?"

  Oxenstierna smiled an odd smile. "Leave that up to me," was all he said.

  Summer 1636, Kymenkartano, Finland

  "Kaarlo." It amused Angelina to pronounce her husband's name as the locals did. She had waited until his pen was off the paper on the drawing board and on its way back to the ink pot before she spoke her husband's name and called him back into the smaller world of reality where things had to be built and paid for, instead of just imagined. When he had made the transition she asked, "Is this the new manor house for the countess?"

  "No. That plan is done. This is a smaller one for Kristiina. Central heating, flush toilets, hot and cold running water, modern kitchen, everything the countess has, except not as many rooms, no ball room, no billiards room, no music room, no indoor swimming pool, only one sitting room. A Grantville-type home with servant's quarters up under the eaves and over the garage."

  "It is time to come to dinner," Angelina said. She took his left hand. He preferred for her to walk on his sighted side. "I have been thinking," She said. "I don't think we should return to Germany before next spring."

  "Why not? I need to get back to work."

  "You have plenty to do right here. They are going to need help getting the paper plant running."

  "True, but I've got the mechanical problems all worked out."

  "Yes. But there is a lot more to it than that. Besides I don't want to give birth who knows where on the road." Angelina was late in her term. "And I sure can't handle our daughter being seasick like she was on the way here. Her nanny was useless. The poor woman was sicker than the child was. And it will be even worse in the rougher weather. We can justify the decision by pointing out the need to work with the pulp paper plant. You got the plywood mill running, for now, but you should stay awhile to make sure nothing goes wrong."

  "That was easy. I only needed to change the gear ratios so the mill's peeler turned faster and cut at a higher speed, using momentum rather than brute force. If you want to wait until spring I don't see why we can't, though when it comes to making paper I'm in over my head."

  "Why don't you get the old man who told you how to design the plant to come help?"

  "He won't want to leave Grantville."

  "Well, maybe it's time to do some arm twisting."

  August 1636, Grantville, Thuringia-Franconia

  Vernon McCabe looked at the letter from Magdeburg. It had arrived yesterday and he slept on it overnight after he discussed it with his late wife. Okay, maybe talking to her was not normal or even sane. After bickering and fussing and fighting like cats and dogs for fifty years, she was gone. The peace and quiet was deafening, so he had started talking to Mel. After all, he knew what she would say anyhow. The only bad part of it was that the family had caught him at it.

  Not long after the
funeral someone said, "Vernon, with Mel gone you need to start thinking about moving into the old folks home. You're going to need someone to look after you."

  "Shoot, if I go down to the old folks home it'll be to look for a widow who still has her teeth and her mind and who has a family that don't want her. I'm sure she wouldn't want to be there any more than I would. On the other hand, maybe I should just find me a younger gal and start another family."

  "Vern? At your age? You've got no business talking about getting married again."

  "Who said anything about getting married?"

  "Vernon, you need to sell the house and bank the money to live on."

  "Either that or get a job."

  "Vern, grow up! You're seventy-six. Who is going to hire you at your age?"

  * * *

  At breakfast Vernon started to read the letter aloud again.

  Dear Sir,

  . . . office is in receipt of a request for your services. They are asking that you come to Finland to share your expertise in paper making.

  Please find enclosed herewith a train ticket to Magdeburg . We look forward to discussing the request with you. We consider this to be of the highest importance and we strongly encourage you . . .

  "What they really mean," Melvina's voice said in his head, "is 'Get your ass in here so we can tell you where you're going.' A man your age has no business traipsin' off that far from home. No tellin' what'll happen to you while you're gone."

  "Well, they can't send someone else. I'm the only one in Grantville who has ever worked in a paper mill. True, that was back in the fifties and the machine was built in the eighteen eighties and still running because old man Brown was too cheap to replace it. But right now that's a plus."

  "Tell me something I don't know, Vern. I was there, too. I had to listen to you gripe about how old it was, and how the owner was too tight to update it. And when you weren't griping about that you were griping about the weather and missing home. Or are you so old you've forgotten? You didn't like the winter in Michigan. You sure won't like it in Finland, for crying out loud."