Grantville Gazette.Volume VII

by Eric Flint

  "I forgot you aren't a gun nut. This is an Italian version of the Garand I used to carry in World War Two. It's called a BM-59. When I saw one in Shotgun News I just had to get one for nostalgia's sake. Bought about a thousand rounds of ammo, too. But you'll probably want to give that to the army."

  Joe pulled back a blanket on the left side of the container and handed Josh a comic book in a protective plastic slip cover.

  Josh looked at his grandfather and smiled. "And how long have you been keeping this a secret? I never knew you collected comic books."

  "About forty years," Joe said. "And don't tell anyone or you'll find out what this old man can still do with that BM-59. I get enough ribbing as it is." Joe rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I have no idea if these will be worth anything here, but you never can tell.

  "The most important part of your inheritance, Josh, will be this house and the rentals down on Clarksburg Street. Property has always been a good investment. With that, and with the money in the Grantville Bank, you should be fine."

  Then it hit Josh. His inheritance. "Gramps, what are you saying?"

  Joe smiled. "What I'm saying, Josh, is that all of what I own, all that I have, I am giving to you. You have to make a new life for yourself, boy. And this is a damn hostile world for poor people. Just promise me you won't squander it on damn foolishness."

  Josh nodded. Tears came to his eyes. This time he did nothing to stop them. "I don't want to inherit anything, Gramps," he said softly. "I want you."

  Joe's voice was rough as he patted Josh's shoulder. "I know you do, boy. I know you do. But at least this way I can go to the Lord with the knowledge that you can make a fresh start for yourself. Now promise me you won't screw things up by blowing your inheritance on fast cars and loose women."

  Despite himself, Josh chuckled. "I promise, Gramps. I promise."

  "I've had my will made up for a long time and you were getting most of it anyway. But I'll need to see an attorney in the next week to revise it. No need to have your mom and dad in the will since they don't even exist in this universe, or whatever the hell it is." Joe hugged his grandson gently. "Let's go upstairs. Got a lot to talk to you about. You don't know much about the people in Grantville, since it's been ten years since you lived here. Like any town, there are some good people and some bad people. The more you know, the better off you'll be."

  Josh and his grandfather went upstairs and talked for hours before Joe got tired and fell asleep in his easy chair. Josh carefully covered him with a blanket and went to his own bedroom. But he couldn't sleep. Over and over in his mind the facts churned through his head. His family was gone forever. Joe was going to die. Grantville was in the middle of a ferocious war. And he had no job. What the hell was he going to do with his life?

  Somehow he eventually fell asleep. But the last thought he remembered was still… what the hell was he going to do with his life?

  ***

  Josh was up before Joe. He moved quietly around the kitchen. When the phone rang he jumped to grab it before it could ring twice. "Hello?"

  "Hi, Josh. Father Mazzare here. Is Joe awake yet?"

  "No, he's still… wait a sec…"

  Joe yawned and walked into the kitchen, still in the clothes he'd slept in.

  "Gramps, it's for you. Father Mazzare."

  Joe nodded and took the phone. "What can I do for you, Father?"

  Josh listened to the conversation. He could tell it was about housing. The meeting the previous night had made it clear that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of refugees out in the woods around Grantville. Housing them was going to be a real problem.

  "Nope. Sorry, Father. Those houses on Clarksburg are packed with Vince Masaniello's relatives and guests from his fortieth wedding anniversary party," Joe said. "At least until they can make other arrangements. But I've got a spare bedroom in the studio over the garage and you're only a couple of blocks away."

  Joe listened again and then nodded. "Talk to Josh, he speaks French really well."

  Josh took the phone from Joe. "What's up, Father?"

  Father Mazzare sighed. "As you know from last night's meeting, we've got one heck of a refugee problem. In fact, the rooms on the second story of the parish hall are already packed with people. Most of them seem to be German, but one group of three seems to speak French better than they speak German. Can you come over and talk to them, get their story? From what I can gather the older man is a close relative or friend of the family, while the woman and boy are brother and sister. The man, Henri Bex, had a bullet in his left shoulder that Dr. Nichols took out day before yesterday. The wound was festering a bit, so they have him under observation over at that makeshift hospital they put together at the high school."

  "Sure, Father. When do you want me to come over?"

  "How about right after lunch?"

  "Sounds good, I'll be there." Josh hung up the phone. "What do you think, Gramps?"

  Joe motioned for Josh to have a seat at the kitchen table while he got out milk and Cheerios for both of them. He tossed two bananas to Josh. Josh peeled and sliced them both into the bowls he'd already set up in anticipation of their usual morning breakfast ritual.

  "Did I ever tell you the story about how your great-great-grandfather, John Modi, first came to Grantville?" Joe asked.

  Josh shook his head. "Don't think so. You told me lots of stories about his tinker and peddler business, though."

  Joe nodded. "Well, my grandfather came from a town in Lebanon called Beit Meri. Somehow, he'd heard about the opportunities here in Grantville at the turn of the century and came to make his fortune. He didn't know anybody in town, of course. But, through the kindness of people at the railroad station, he found a family to put him up for a week or two while he figured out what he was going to do and learned enough English to get by."

  Joe took a bite of Cheerios and bananas, then wiped his mouth. "I think its payback time, don't you?"

  Josh smiled. "No problem as far as I'm concerned. I'm in total agreement with what Mike Stearns said last night. We are way too small to fight off the entire population of seventeenth-century Europe. So you want to put up this French family?"

  Joe nodded. "You speak excellent French. I think that would make them feel more comfortable. They may stay or they may not, but if they're good people and hard workers, well, those are the kind of folks we'll need to help us. We can house them for awhile."

  "Okay. So put the woman and boy in the studio? And what about the man? I can sleep on the couch, it's pretty comfy." The couch in Joe's living room was actually a sleeper that folded out into a family size bed.

  "Yeah, let's put the sister and brother in the studio. The uncle, or whatever he is, can have your bedroom until he's healed up."

  Around ten o'clock that morning a second call came.

  "Hey, Sparks. Nat Davis here."

  Josh smiled. "Been a long time since anyone called me that."

  When Josh had been kicked out of his home in Pittsburgh after a ferocious argument with his father ("chess won't make you a living, son!") Joe had offered him a place to stay and had gotten him a job at Nat Davis' machine shop. He'd gotten his nickname when he was using a cutting torch and failed to notice where the slag from his cut was going. It had set Lou Giamarino's pants on fire. From that day forward Josh's nickname at the machine shop was "Sparks."

  "Joe talked to me last night. Got a job for you, if you're interested."

  Josh sat up in his chair. "What kind of job?"

  Nat explained some of the details of the previous night's Executive Committee meeting, especially the need for steam engines to provide power for the electrical system.

  "Last night Joe told me that you were working on a paper for a symposium about pre-Bessemer steel. The machine shops are going to need some direction so we don't squander our material. We also need to get a better handle on what kinds of resources might be locally available. Think you can come up with something to help us?"

  Josh th
ought a moment. "Sure, Nat. How much time do I have?"

  "I don't know," Nat said. "How about a week? Is that enough time?"

  "No problem. I'll check with Lou and other people. Maybe Bart Kubiak. I've got a couple of books that came in just before the Ring of Fire. So figure a meeting next Thursday? And who's my audience?"

  "Sounds good, Sparks. Your audience will be mainly the machinists and the owners of the machine shops, but Greg Ferrara and Bill Porter will probably be there, too. Listen, I'm on a coffee break and the meeting is starting up again. Call me if you need any help."

  Over the next hours Josh worked through what he had, and needed. He called Lou and others to arrange a Saturday morning meeting. At noon Josh walked the two blocks to St. Vincent De Paul's and met Father Mazzare outside the parish hall.

  When they walked into the parish hall a woman with honey-colored hair was sitting with a boy of about ten. The boy had jet black hair similar to Josh's, but his facial features resembled the woman's and they were clearly related.

  The woman looked up from the book she was reading and their eyes met.

  She's very attractive. Josh was surprised by the thought.

  The woman rose as they came near and extended her hand. "Hello. My name is Colette Dubois."

  Josh shook hands with her. "A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle. My name is Josh Modi. Or is it Madame?"

  "No, monsieur. It is mademoiselle." Colette turned to the boy. "And this is my brother, Colas. He is twelve."

  Josh extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Colas."

  "Thank you, monsieur." Colas smiled shyly. "Colette has said that we will be staying at your house?"

  "Actually, my grandfather's house. But yes, you will be staying in a one bedroom studio with your sister and your uncle… Henri, is it?" Josh looked at Colette. "He will be staying in my bedroom while I sleep on the couch. Father Mazzare said that he would be out of the hospital this afternoon some time?"

  Colette shook her head. "Yes, but understand that Henri is not really a blood relative. He was my father's best friend and married my father's sister, but she died many years ago. We have always considered him to be an uncle."

  At that moment a woman Josh recognized as one of the Parish council members appeared at the door of the hall and motioned at Father Mazzare. "Phone call, Father. I think it's important."

  "You okay here, Josh?" Father Mazzare looked a bit harried.

  "No problem, Father. We'll be fine." Josh turned to Colette as Father Mazzare strode away. "Do you have all of your belongings?"

  Both Colette and Colas were dressed in typical twentieth-century clothing except for their boots; blue jeans and long-sleeved shirts.

  "Yes. Father Mazzare was kind enough to provide us with clothing while ours were washed and the vermin removed." Colette smiled. "Very nice. I think I am in love with… what do you call them… washers and dryers?"

  Josh laughed. "Yes, washers and dryers. Have you seen a dishwasher yet?"

  Colette nodded. "Oh, yes. Those are wonderful, too. But the shower was even better. It is the first time I have felt clean in many months."

  Colette and Colas had picked up the paper bags with their possessions.

  "Ready?" Josh asked. "Let's go, then. My grandfather is expecting us."

  As they left the parish hall Josh turned to the young boy. "So what do you think of Grantville, Colas?"

  Colas laughed. "Colette calls it 'fairy-tale land.' And it is truly wondrous! Are you really from the future?"

  Josh nodded. "Yes, about three hundred fifty years beyond the 1630's. The future is quite different from what you are used to. I spent a semester at the University of Paris studying European business history, so I know a bit about the seventeenth century."

  "You've been to Paris?" Colas seemed impressed.

  "Oh, yes. But it is much bigger than the Paris in this century. Much bigger. Perhaps three to five million people."

  Colas had his mouth open. "Three to five million? That's impossible!"

  Josh smiled. "You might think so, but that's nothing compared to Tokyo. I think there were fifteen million in Tokyo."

  Colas shook his head. "You are joking, yes?"

  "Nope. It's the truth. I'll show you an atlas when we get to my grandfather's house. You'll see."

  "But how is that possible? Wouldn't the people get sick? What do they do with their… ummm… urine and manure?"

  Josh noticed a small smile creep onto Colette's lips, while she listened to their conversation. He winked at her. To his surprise, she winked back. As they approached the door to Joe's house, Colette put her arm through his. "Thank you," she murmured softly, moving closer to him. "Colas has been very bored with talking only to me these past few days."

  God, she smells good, thought Josh. Down, boy. Down!

  "Welcome, strangers!" Joe threw the front door open. "Welcome to our humble home!"

  When Henri Bex showed up that evening, Josh smiled to himself. Okay, this guy is huge. And he's got a sword. Do not piss off the chaperone.

  ***

  The next morning Josh woke up on the couch and for one disorienting moment didn't know where he was.

  "Check, you scoundrel," he heard a woman say.

  "Ha! Ha! That won't save you."

  Josh got out of the sleeper couch and put on his sweat pants before padding barefoot into the kitchen. Colette and Joe were playing chess.

  Joe looked up at him. "Good morning, boy. Sleep well?"

  Colette was brushing her hair, her attention focused intently on the chessboard. She glanced up at him and smiled.

  "Good morning, Josh."

  "I thought you didn't know English," he said accusingly.

  Colette sighed. "I'm sorry, I was…" She switched to French. "Dissembling? I wanted to learn more about Grantville and thought it would be better to pretend not to know English." Colette switched back to English and patted Joe's hand. "But your grandfather is too nice a man to keep secrets from. He lets me win at chess."

  Joe flashed a smile at her. "Ha! Not likely, young lady. Not likely! You're a great player! I won the first game but she's beaten me three games in a row, Josh. Great moves. Great! Maybe better than yours!"

  "Sounds like a challenge is in store," Josh murmured.

  Colette's smile was now more of a grin. "Ah, but Joe has warned me about you, Josh. He's told me all of your secrets!"

  "Well, then. I'll just have to pull a few rabbits out of the old chess hat."

  Joe stood up. "Good, good. You two play. I'm getting hungry. Anyone else?"

  Both Colette and Josh nodded vigorously. Colette began to reset the chess board. Colas and Henri appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. "We're hungry."

  "Colas and Henri are hungry, too, Gramps. Make plenty."

  "Flapjacks okay with you? Or should we make waffles? I have some strawberries in the freezer."

  Colette looked pleased. " Waffeln?"

  Josh laughed. "Oh yeah, Gramps. Definitely waffles."

  An hour later, with a dozen waffles demolished, Josh knew three things. Colette was indeed an excellent chess player. She absolutely loved waffles. And if he wasn't careful he was going to fall in love with a woman he had just barely met.

  ***

  On Saturday Colette and Henri participated in the lunch time discussion about iron, steel, mining, metal working and the conduct of business in the seventeenth century. Many of their insights were invaluable and Josh took copious notes. As the discussion wound down, Amy Kubiak, Bart's daughter, stopped by.

  Bart was justifiably proud of his daughter. Energetic, vivacious and intelligent, Amy Kubiak had been one of the brighter stars in the academic firmament of Grantville High School the year before. With her high SAT scores and strong grades in math and science, she'd gotten a four year full-tuition scholarship to West Virginia University in Morgantown.

  "Hi, Dad! Hi, guys!" Amy gave Bart a quick hug. "Are you about done? Mom's got some errands for you." The Kubiaks lived just fou
r blocks from Joe's house.

  "Josh, anything else?" Bart asked.

  Josh waved his hand. "Nah, I think that's enough for now. But I'd like to look at that book on the history of metal casting you mentioned. I'll stop by on Monday."

  Josh saw Colette motion her head at Amy. "Amy, I'd like you to meet Colette Dubois and Henri Bex. They're from Liege. You can try out your French on them." Amy had taken four years of French at Grantville High School with Nicole Hawkins.

  "Cool!" Amy said. She switched to French. "I'm Amy Kubiak. Pleased to meet you." She shook hands with Colette and Henri. "So you're from Liege? How does it compare to Grantville?"

  Colette smiled. "About four times the population, at least. But the people live much closer together and the streets are narrower."

  Josh suddenly snapped his fingers. "Amy, do you have any spare dresses? Colette doesn't have any nice clothes for church tomorrow. You two seem about the same height and build."

  Amy stood back from Colette and eyed her critically, motioning for her to turn around. "Sure. I think I've got just the thing. Maybe two. Want to come over and try them on, Colette?"

  "That would be wonderful." Colette paused a moment. "Are you sure you can spare them?"

  "Oh, yes." Amy grinned. "I'm not into dresses these days and I've got a nice pants suit for church. Come on, let's go try them out."

  ***

  Over the next four hours Amy and Colette talked about many subjects. Men. Family. Grantville. Books. Clothes. Men. Sex. It took them two hours to get to the sex. By then, with that innate social sense that women tend to take for granted and that men find mysterious, they knew they could trust each other with their secrets. In Amy's words, "They were buds." Simpatico.

  Except for Marie de Gournay, a Frenchwoman who had written "The Equality of Men and Women" in 1624 and with whom Colette had corresponded with for years, she had never had a female friend she could confide secrets to. But Marie was considerably older and letters were an inadequate communications medium anyway.