by Eric Flint
"Why on earth didn't she?" Catrina asked.
"She's a masochist?" Andrea suggested.
Linda Beth shook her head. "You have to know something about her family to understand, I think. I'm the same age as her grandparents. Lenore has been surrounded all her life by folks who are pretty nice. Not perfect, but the Jenkinses and the Days, both sides of her family, are basically good people. Lenore and Chandra are both alike, in that way. At some level, they simply expected to be-what's that word in the wedding vows?-yeah, to go on being cherished when they got married. Without even thinking about it. They'd been cherished since the day they were born, after all."
"Maybe you're right," Faye said. "That is sort of what it was like when Lola and I talked to her. When it came right down to it, I'm not sure she actually believed what was happening to her. That Bryant was completely off the deep end. Not even though Lola warned her back in March that he'd gone off it a couple of times before."
Wes said he would set up a folding bed for Lenore downstairs on the sun porch, next to the crib, so she could be with Weshelle. Clara brought sheets, blankets, an extra pillow, all from the linen closet.
While he was doing that, Clara moved her things out of the master bedroom.
Lenore wasn't going to be able to climb the stairs for quite a while. No one but themselves would know that she was sleeping on the single bed in Chandra's old room.
Not even if she cried herself to sleep at night, feeling… a little bit lonely, at times.
After all, she could scarcely stay in the master bedroom. It had been wonderful to sleep in Wesley's arms when his favor had been resting upon her. But she could scarcely perturb him with her presence when it was not.
When Wes came up that evening, he stopped at the door of the bedroom, a little startled. Whatever he might have expected to happen as the next stage in this disagreement with Clara-it wasn't this.
He hadn't really expected anything specific. He had never had a fight with Clara before. Some minor arguments about this and that, but no fights.
He had never had a fight with his wife before, for that matter. Lena had been compliant. Sometimes to the point that it tried his patience, but most certainly compliant. Lena had not been one to stand her ground.
On the other hand, if Lenore had picked up Weshelle and walked out, that night back in February, as Clara had advised her to, it would not have come to this.
Sometimes Lenore was so much like her mother that it was uncanny.
He stood there. Bitte, geh doch nicht weg. Bleib bei mir. It had been so… forlorn. But now, she had gone away. There had to be something that he wasn't understanding. Some piece of this puzzle was missing.
He looked down the hallway. All the other doors were closed. He wondered which room Clara had chosen.
Chapter 59
Grantville
"I hate to say that I'm relieved," Preston Richards said. "But I am."
Ed Piazza nodded.
According to the latest reports, Bryant Holloway had left town in a pickup truck stolen from the Grantville VFD lot.
"Wes Jenkins might have killed him if he had caught him here in town. He isn't likely to go chasing him down, however. Not with Clara's pregnancy so far advanced." Richards sighed. "I suppose part of it's the stress. Cumulative. That's what the Reverend Al says, at least. There's been more violence in Grantville in the four years since the Ring of Fire than we'd have expected in twenty or thirty years, up-time."
"Considering that we've got more than five times the population we did before…" Ed started to say.
"Do you have any idea where he might be headed?" Nasi asked.
Arnold Bellamy answered. "Steve Matheny-that's our fire department chief, if you haven't met him, Don Francisco-says maybe towards Frankfurt. He was over there some time back. Stayed with Chandra's husband, Nathan Prickett."
Don Francisco frowned slightly.
"Surely," Ed Piazza said, "Nathan isn't going to take him in after what he's done to Chandra's sister."
"How's Nathan going to know?" Richards asked. "Unless we radio to him. Which wouldn't be the most prudent thing, right at the moment. Without a SoTF consulate, the USE radio setup in Frankfurt isn't exactly confidential. Or reliable, for that matter."
"Additionally," Don Francisco said, "according to information I have obtained, it would appear that the man is carrying potentially important evidence with him. He was observed, on the way out of town, loading packets of papers into the truck."
"Dare I ask observed where, and by whom?" Arnold asked.
"Preferably not. But it would be desirable to get the papers back. Based on information received, some of them may well be pertinent to the trial of the various hooligans the police rounded up after the demonstration at Leahy Medical Center."
"What can he be planning to do with them?" Ed Piazza asked.
"At present, of course, we don't know. He might be trying to return them to Dumais. It is possible that he intends to try to use the material to make a plea bargain of some kind. Or, or course, he simply may not be thinking clearly."
Those who were sitting in on the meeting purely in the capacity of providers of miscellaneous factual information tried not to wiggle and twist on their chairs.
"How long do you think they're going to be looking at it from all the angles?" Missy asked at coffee break.
"For a long, long time, the way things are going. I must say that when Mike Stearns is around, things get decided faster than when he isn't." Ron grinned.
"It seems to me," Missy said, "that when you narrow down what they're saying, they'd be willing to do without Bryant, since he was sort of peripheral, but they really would like the papers that Pam saw him picking up behind Veda Mae's house."
Ron nodded. That seemed to be the essence of it. "Is there any reason that we can't chase him down and get them? Don Francisco is probably pretty much right that he's heading for Frankfurt. Even if he isn't, pickup trucks are still noticeable in rural Thuringia."
He didn't want to hear himself say that. It was the kind of thing that Giovanna's father had been prone to say, down in Italy. Very Marcoli-ish.
"Chase him down? What can we use to chase a pickup?" Then Missy's mouth formed into an "Oh."
"Are you game?"
Missy took a deep breath. Time to take a risk. "As long as I'm going with you."
"They're fueled up," Denise said. "And the sidecars have gas cans, as many as I could fit in."
"If we run short," Ron said, "we should be able to get more gas in Erfurt. I hope. Plus in Fulda and Frankfurt."
Denise shook her head. "If he's actually going to Frankfurt. You're not going to be able to get more in Podunksdorf, so keep an eye on your supplies. You don't want to be pushing these babies home. Some oil. A toolkit."
"Be careful not to overbalance," Minnie said seriously. Neither Ron nor Missy had a lot of experience with the sidecars yet, especially not on unimproved roads.
"I called Pam," Missy said, "and begged a really big favor of her. To let Mom and Dad know where I've gone after we're well out of town. And tell Mrs. Bolender and Marietta that I need to take a few days for a family emergency. And to tell Cory Joe."
"The joys of true friendship," Denise said.
"Do you need to check in with anyone?" Missy asked Ron.
"I called Fischer at the Farbenwerke and told him to hold three or four upcoming things until I get back. Otherwise, no." Ron looked a little startled. "I, uh, don't have to ask anybody if I can go. I, ah, still consult with Edelman on marketing, of course; he knows more than I do in that field. And if I wanted to do something radical like change a whole product line, Dad and Magda and my brothers would have to vote their shares and I'd have to persuade them, in order to get a majority. Like I did when Bill and I wanted to add the Whatever Works project. Otherwise… Well, actually, I'm the boss."
Missy looked at him, even more startled than he was.
"I like the lab work, but I don't know it the way Dad do
es. It would take years to master all that, I don't have any special talent for it, and I don't really need to. Just as long as I understand what's going on. Someone like Bill belongs in the lab, over at the school, learning, or at Lothlorien, working. He shouldn't be spending his time worrying about resource allocation and stuff like that."
"I get it," Missy said. "That's why we've been spending so much time on records systems and such."
"You see," he said. "A business isn't something like the technical stuff you're learning at the libraries, or studying to be a doctor, or even a pastor, like Gerry. It's a different kind of thing. Management, I mean. Once you have a normal, basic education, either you can do it or you can't. And it seems like I can. So I do. It's not very glamorous, but it's the least I can do for the people who are actually accomplishing some real work. It feels a little odd, considering that a year and a half ago I was still checking in with Dad and Magda if I wanted to go somewhere in the evening. But these things happen."
"What do you think?" Minnie asked.
"Honest? I wouldn't put it past them to get into trouble," Denise answered. "I think we ought to go after them. Four heads are better than two. We have Daddy's hog."
That had slipped a lot of people's minds. After the events of March fourth, the police had duly returned Buster's motorcycle, which had been only slightly damaged, to Christin. Minnie and Denise had since repaired whatever damage there was. It never hurt to have a spare on hand.
"Especially," Minnie said, "since I don't think they remembered to take any serious weapons. Missy hardly ever carries a gun, except at work. All the librarians have to be armed when they're on duty, of course. And she didn't ask us for a loaner before they left."
They stood for a minute, meditating upon this serious omission.
"You're right," Minnie said. "We'd better go after them. From what we heard in Clara's office, this Holloway guy seems like a real freak. I'm not sure they can handle him."
"Not to mention," Denise added, "that he's one of the guys I promised Daddy that I'd take care of. At his funeral."
"Do we check with Mrs. Dreeson and Mrs. Wiley first? The mentors?"
"No way. We want to go, don't we?" Denise paused. "They'll want to know why we can't be more like Annalise and Idelette. Sometimes those two models of perfect young-ladylike behavior piss me off, even at second hand. If Mrs. Dreeson and Mrs. Wiley had any idea some of the things those two get up to while they're looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, they'd freak out. I'll tell Mom, though. She can call Benny later and tell him not to worry." She paused again. "Mom has her head screwed on straight about things like this. What does Mrs. Johnson in home economics call them?"
"Priorities," Minnie said. "Your mother has a pretty good grip on what's a priority and what's not."
Before they left, Denise got the M-1 carbine her father had bought for as a hunting rifle a few years earlier. It was a powerful enough gun for deer hunting while being small enough for a girl her size to handle-and, best of all under the current circumstances, it was easy enough to carry on a motorcycle.
After loading her jacket pockets with extra ammunition, she handed the carbine to Minnie, who'd be riding in the sidecar. Minnie held the weapon the way she'd have held an ax or a hoe. Solidly gripped, of course-not the sort of thing you want to see flying loose-but not as if it were really a weapon. She'd never handled guns as a kid, and now with only one eye she didn't see any point to learning.
Chapter 60
Frankfurt am Main
Chandra sat in the waiting room at the Frankfurt post office. Not a room, really. A sheltered porch sort of thing in front of the building. No benches; she was sitting on a keg with someone's freight in it.
She had stayed too long to catch the turnaround on Wackernagel's trip out. He wouldn't be back for at least two weeks. That was his schedule. Nathan hadn't given her any money. Wackernagel would have trusted her to pay him back after she got home, but a stranger wouldn't. As soon as someone else came through with available space in a wagon or cart, she would pay him for a ride back home. Whether she had ever seen him before in her life or not. At least, if the postmaster said he was reliable. She thought she had enough for that. She was closer to having enough for that than she was to being able to pay for a room at an inn for two weeks.
She wished she could start out walking, but she couldn't. The roads were still not safe enough for an unaccompanied, unarmed woman to go walking alone. If nothing else, there were feral pigs that went hunting in the night if she was outside the walls of a town, and she couldn't afford inns for all the nights it would take to get back to Grantville any more than she could afford an inn here. She had responsibilities. She had the kids. She had to get home safely for them. She had to sit here and wait for a ride.
She felt so miserable.
Nathan had been mad when she showed up, but she'd expected that.
First, he had claimed that he was angry because she came in spite of the civil unrest resulting from the assassinations, because she had put herself in danger, because she had risked the possibility that she might leave the children motherless. He had tried to make feel like she was an irresponsible fool.
She'd stood her ground, at least. Pointed out that there would have been plenty of time for her to come before the assassinations, if he would have let her. Maybe she hadn't just stood her ground. She'd pushed him.
So now she knew. Well, she knew already that he hadn't wanted the third pregnancy. Now she knew that he considered it the end. From now on, he intended to conduct their marriage on an absentee basis. "To eliminate temptation." he said. It was the "best plan."
He hadn't even offered to let her stay at his place until she could find a ride back.
He hadn't even offered to arrange for her to stay with one of the other Grantville men in Frankfurt until she could find a ride back.
He hadn't even asked whether she had enough money to pay for a ride back.
He would rather that she had never come. Coming hadn't been one of his plans. So she wasn't here, as far as he was concerned.
He had told her not to come. That had been his plan. For her to stay in Grantville forever more, like a good little girl, asking no questions.
"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."
She was sick and tired of Nathan's plans. All of them.
Bryant Holloway drove the pickup truck he had stolen from the fire department lot in Grantville off the road to the right, behind some trees and brush, about a mile outside of Frankfurt. Around a curve going to the right, sharp right, and then double back a little. No one coming in the direction from Grantville toward Frankfurt was likely to see it. It wasn't the best place to leave it, but there weren't any better ones. He got out and headed into town. He had to get to Nathan's. Once he got to Nathan's, he should be safe enough for the time being. He could come back and get the stuff later.
***
Neither Missy nor Ron noticed the place where Bryant had driven the truck off the road. The road surfaces were naturally petty rocky and bumpy. Not something on which a truck left obvious tracks-but something which did require all their attention to keep the cycles upright. Assuming that he was headed into Frankfurt, they continued right into the town.
Just inside the walls, Missy braked the motorcycle more sharply than she should have. What on earth?
Ron, hearing her stop, slowed and then turned back.
Chandra? Sitting at the post office?
"Get on," Missy said. "We'll explain later. Something blew up after you left Grantville. Once we take care of it, I'll take you back home with me, if you don't mind riding behind. Not the most comfortable way to go, but a lot faster than a horse and wagon."
Chandra nodded. Any way to get back home was better than staying here, sitting outside the Post Office, waiting.
Ron and Missy proceeded through Frankfurt pretty sedately. She figured they didn't want to attract a lot of attention. At "sedately," they would just be a couple
more of those oddball up-timers, doing oddball up-time things that involved oddball up-time machines. The inhabitants of Frankfurt were used to that by now.
Chandra hadn't expected that their business would take them directly to Nathan's.
Nor that, as they pulled up, Bryant Holloway would burst out of the back door and make a run for it, heading toward the east side of town.
It took them a while to explain things to Nathan. Particularly since Ron and Missy didn't want to explain one bit more than they had to.
Particularly since Chandra had left for Frankfurt before Bryant had beaten Lenore up. Explaining that caused quite a bit of delay all by itself. First to Chandra, who was horrified. Horrified, but not surprised. Missy looked at her rather sharply when she noticed that.
"He beat her up in February," Chandra said. "We managed to hide it. He wasn't so bad to her when he came back in March. We sort of hoped that the worst had blown over. Maybe he was just biding his time."
Then to Nathan, who was righteously indignant that Bryant thought he would provide him with any kind of refuge after he had pulled a stunt like that.
Nathan didn't much want to ride behind Ron, but he did. They headed back, in the general direction in which Bryant had been running. There was only one real road going east from Frankfurt. They came to it from behind the post office.
"Look!" shouted Minnie, pointing to something on the side of the road. Looking over, Denise saw the unmistakable tracks of truck tires heading off into the woods.
Minnie might have trouble with depth perception, with just one eye, but there was nothing at all wrong with the eye itself.
They set off in pursuit. Buster would have chewed Denise out, if he'd seen her driving a motorcycle like that over such rough terrain, especially a bike with a sidecar.
But Buster was dead and Denise thought she finally had one of his killers tracked down and cornered. Some part of her mind understood, probably, that Bryant Holloway hadn't been directly involved with her father's killing. But that was a very small part of her mind and one she'd already brushed aside.