1635:The Dreeson Incident (assiti shards)

by Eric Flint

  "I'm sorry, Lenore," Jeff Adams said. "But what you were thinking is right. You're pregnant."

  She looked at him. "February," she said. "I didn't want a second baby. I really didn't."

  "It's a little late. But I can deal with it, if you want me to. Under the circumstances."

  She sat there.

  Then she shook her head. "It isn't the baby's fault what Bryant did."

  "Under the circumstances…"

  "Would you go out and shoot Cory Joe and Pam and Susan, just because Velma Hardesty is the pits?"

  Adams looked at her again. That was where the spirits divided. For Lenore, this fetus fell into the same category as those three young adults. Was just as much a person. He'd known that the minute she referred to it as a baby.

  He hoped that she knew what she was doing. But, given that viewpoint, if she was to come through this sane…

  "I've learned something, though."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "Sometimes the proverbs we were brought up on are wrong. Sometimes stoical endurance isn't the right response. No, 'you made your bed and now you have to lie in it.' No, 'no use crying over spilt milk.' I've learned that Clara has a point, the way she approaches things. Sometimes it makes sense to run away. But sometimes the right thing to do is to scream and scream and scream until someone comes to help you deal with it."

  Lenore stood up and picked up her purse.

  "I hope it's another girl," she said. "I think I'd have trouble dealing with a boy. Especially when he started to get older. Under the circumstances."

  Apparently she did know what she was doing. At least she had the kind of family that would rally around her.

  He sighed. It was her call, after all. No matter what he thought about the wisdom of her decision, it was her call.

  Frankfurt, May 1635

  Lola climbed off the freight wagon, asked the postmaster for directions, and walked to Nathan Prickett's office.

  She was the last person Nathan had expected to see. Except, of course… funeral arrangements. She was Bryant's sister, his nearest kin inside the Ring of Fire. Except for his cousin Shannon, and Lenore and Weshelle, of course, about his only kin.

  Bryant was on ice, in a cave not far from town, waiting for someone to do something about him. It was just as well she had come.

  "For public consumption here in Frankfurt," she said, "Lenore hasn't recovered from her 'accident' yet. Not that everyone in Grantville doesn't know what actually happened."

  "Ah, yes. I'll take you over to the mayor's office. That's where you will need to pick up permits and such."

  "I'm not paying to take him back," Lola said. "And I'm not dumping a bill for it on Lenore, either. It's not as if there's a traditional family cemetery or anything. Our parents were still alive in Clarksburg when it happened. Uncle John and his wife were left up-time, too. Our grandparents are still alive. They agree with me. There's no reason to take him back."

  "So why did you come?"

  "To make arrangements here. To do whatever is necessary to get him into the ground, given that he doesn't belong to any church that prevails around here."

  "There's a kind of potter's field. For beggars and vagrants. People they don't know what religion they are."

  "Okay. That'll do. Take me to the mayor."

  "For that, I think the city clerk will do. And the sexton at the church. He's in charge of the cemetery. Grave digging and such."

  "Take me to the city clerk, then. You know your way around Frankfurt. I don't."

  "Where are you staying?"

  "With you. If you think I'm paying for a room when you have space, you're crazy. Jim McNally pays a reasonable wage, but I've got two kids to feed."

  "Doesn't Latham pay support?"

  "When he's in the mood. Which he rarely is, now that he's moved to Magdeburg and doesn't have to look me in the face. He's not been what you could call an involved father since I threw him out. It's not anything I can rely on. When it comes, I put it in savings. For emergencies. Medical expenses and things. The regular bills come out of what I earn and I make sure there aren't more than I can cover."

  "I'm not sure it will look right, having you stay with me."

  Lola glared at him. "I have news for you, Nathan. I don't care how it looks. Either you let me in your front door and provide me with a place to sleep or I'll crawl down through the chimney like old Saint Nick. I have had it about up to here with this whole mess."

  The arrangements took most of the day, which annoyed him. He had several tasks on the list of things he intended to get done today. Now they would all have to be pushed over into tomorrow. Plus what he had scheduled for tomorrow. Some of which would have to be rescheduled for the next day.

  He hadn't planned to spend today dealing with Bryant Holloway's leftovers. But he supposed that he had known he would have to do it one of these days. Today was as good as any.

  He sat on the bench, his elbows on the table. Lola had cooked some supper. Nothing fancy, but hot. Seventeenth-century stir fry. A little bit of chicken, lots of onions and cabbage. The apples had given it a good flavor. He usually just had a cheese sandwich at night, along with the second beer he allowed himself.

  "What are you doing for politics?" he asked. "Now that you're missing the American idols?" She had named her children Clinton and Hillary.

  She was washing up the dishes. Looked at him. Turned back to the dishpan. This house didn't have a sink.

  He made another crack. Just couldn't resist it. They'd always argued about politics.

  She turned around and started to blast him for a fool. Apparently Missy Jenkins had talked to her.

  She blasted him more devastatingly than Ron Stone had done. As an ex-girlfriend, she knew him well enough to manage to hit him in places where it really hurt.

  She pointed out that there had been a while between the Ring of Fire and the conception of the twins. Like about nine or ten months. During which he could have done something about it. She had a few choice words to say about the fact that during any one of those months, he could have betaken himself off to the doctor. To Adams or Nichols, if his masculine sensitivity was too delicate to patronize Susannah Shipley.

  As far as Lola was concerned, there were no self justifications allowed.

  Although when she finally reduced him to, "Because I'm a wimp?" she did laugh.

  She blew steam out of both ears for about two hours.

  The dishes were long done by then. Mostly he just sat there, looking at his hands.

  Finally she said, "Look at me!"

  He did.

  "Are you going back to her?"

  He looked back down at his hands.

  "You married Latham before I married Chandra."

  "It was several months after you got engaged to her. Are you going back? Bringing her here?"

  About fifteen minutes later, he reached the answer. "No."

  "Why not?"

  That took more time.

  "She was just a kid, Lola. As naive a kid as could possibly have existed in the United States of America in the last decade of the twentieth century, the way Wes and Lena brought her up. A really good kid. She had no idea what she was doing to me. Standing there in her modest little blouses and skirts, her not-by-any-means-too-tight jeans and her plenty-loose-enough-to-pass-Lena's-scrutiny tee shirts, radiating enough come-hither to drive a man mad."

  "She was a good kid," Lola agreed. "She's grown into a nice person, too. Friendly. Capable. No nonsense. Funky sense of humor. I really like her better than Lenore, to be honest. Not so passive."

  It occurred to him suddenly that Lola had probably seen a lot of Chandra while Lenore was married to Bryant. Whom they had buried today. While he had been down in Frankfurt, most of the time. For the last couple of years, she would have seen a lot more of Chandra than he had.

  "She doesn't deserve for me to cut her off to handle four kids alone."

  "She's not going to be any more alone with them from now
on than she has been for the last two years almost. Look at it straight. She does deserve better than to be tied to you long distance forever. 'Irreconcilable differences' covers a lot of ground."

  "All I could think of, when she came here to Frankfurt, was that I had to get her away before it started up again. Even though she really had come just to find out what was going on. Even though she didn't come down with the slightest intention of… When I saw her leaving with Missy on that motorcycle, all I really felt was relief.

  "Chandra… wasn't really ever what I had planned on." He looked at Lola a little helplessly. "Not even what I had hoped for. She just happened to me."

  "It's about time you faced up to that," Lola said. "That you haven't always been in control of things."

  Then she took him to bed.

  It was safe. She'd had her tubes tied when she divorced Latham. She had the sense to realize when she had enough on her plate.

  And God only knew, it had been a long enough wait.

  Chapter 64

  Grantville

  The phones were still down two days later. That made four days without phones. Grantville did not have a decent messenger system. Naturally. When it had working telephones, it did not need one. Even the messengers it did have, for delivering packages, were summoned by phone.

  Don Francisco Nasi frowned. He would need to find Wes Jenkins himself. He needed the man. This meeting might be critical and Jenkins knew more about the situation around Fulda than anyone else available. Jenkins was probably at home. Impatiently, he started walking.

  Walking was so slow.

  The first motorcycle ride with that astonishing girl, though… That had been glorious, utterly glorious. He would have to do it again, as soon as possible. The ride back, with the extra weight of all those papers, had been less interesting. She had been going more slowly, balancing carefully for fear of tipping over.

  "Upstairs," the young woman who answered the door told him. He recognized her, vaguely. One of Jenkins' grown daughters. Chandra or Lenore. He had trouble telling them apart, both so tall with light hair and long faces, and the house was full of children, so he would not try to guess which one it was. He thanked her.

  Jenkins was not in the room to which he had been taken the night the child was born. That, when he opened the door, was empty. There were voices further down the hall. Jenkins was sitting on a very wide, very long, bed. Larger than any Don Francisco had ever before seen. Jenkins was tall, of course, and not a poor man. Perhaps he had once had it made especially for his comfort?

  The remarkable Clara was propped up on pillows. Jenkins had the infant on his lap. Eleanor Maria, they were calling her, in honor of both grandmothers. Most appropriate.

  Don Francisco listened with amusement. According to Jenkins, there had never been such a perfect infant, right down to her fingernails and toenails. He was spreading out the little fingers and toes, showing these off. He was telling his wife that daughters were wonderful. He was saying that no man in his right mind, having been presented with such a splendid child by his wife, could possibly wish that she were a son instead.

  Don Francisco had to give him credit. It was a spectacular performance. Bravura. Quite convincing. Perhaps Jenkins would ultimately achieve a higher rank in the diplomatic service than he himself had expected. If Nasi had been a wife rather than a man, he would probably have believed every word. Many of them, at least. It was almost too bad that he would have to interrupt. However.

  "Wes," he said from the doorway. "Wackernagel has come in with more information from Frankfurt. We need you at a meeting right away."

  Clara waved at him. "Tell our favorite courier Hi! for me," she said. He looked up, a little startled. The tone of her voice did not match the normality of her words.

  Clara thought that the little speech had been very nice of Wesley, particularly on this third day after the birth, when she ached all over and felt so wretched and weepy. Her milk was coming in. She had been doubtful of the wisdom of permitting the child to suckle the pre-milk, but Kortney had insisted that the up-time physicians found it of value. Putting Eleanor Maria to her breast, she admitted to a certain feeling of smug satisfaction as to how single mindedly this particular baby, so far superior to all other babies, devoted herself to nursing. The child would be strong. That made up for the way her breasts hurt. Or it ought to.

  A wife should believe her husband. But in her heart, she admitted, she did not believe one word of what Wesley had been saying. She sat there thinking that she would, definitely would, give Wesley sons yet. She shifted uncomfortably. Before this day, she would not have believed that a human bottom could hurt so much. Buttocks were usually so squishy and bland, causing one no trouble at all. She cradled her daughter a little closer and briefly, fiercely, wished that every man who fathered a child should be required to produce a bowel movement the size of a baby on the same day it was born.

  Even Wesley. Especially Wesley, who had gotten up off this bed quite nimbly and walked down the stairs with Don Francisco without feeling any pain at all.

  That would be only fair of God.

  Gently, she stroked Eleanor Maria's cheek. " Kindlein so suess," she crooned under her breath. "Sweet baby, sweet baby."

  She should have known, of course. God had told her. "Your desire shall be unto your husband. In pain shall you bring forth your children." God knew everything. He had given her what she prayed for, and she couldn't claim that he hadn't warned her.

  Her desire was unto her husband. She had never been quite so happy as when she woke up, after the birth, to find that she was back in Wesley's arms. Without apologizing for having used her own best judgment.

  But. Desiring him didn't mean she had to take all of his statements at face value. Every man wanted sons, no matter what he said. That was a truth more certain than anything taught by either religion or science. More true than any article of faith, truer than the movements of the planets. There was time. For now, they had this wonderful baby. Wesley was right. Eleanor Maria was incredibly beautiful, unbelievably adorable. But Wesley would have his sons, too.

  She would have to have a word with God about it. Maybe praying for the blessing of children hadn't been specific enough. Maybe God thought that she hadn't cared whether the baby was a boy or a girl.

  Next time, she would leave no margin for error.

  "Why aren't you taking this up with your Nani?" Willie Ray Hudson asked.

  "Because I don't think she would tell me," Missy said honestly enough. "She's ticked off enough as it is, because of Ron. Remember last fall? Remember Easter dinner, when she wouldn't invite him?"

  "And you got some of this stuff from Eleanor?"

  "Yes, Pop," Missy said as meekly as possible.

  "Including the comments about the women in your mother's family?"

  "Yes." Missy nodded.

  "I may have to have a conversation with that gossipy old lady one of these days. But, since she's opened it…"

  "I opened it, Pop," Missy said. "I told her I had counted from when she and Grandpa got married to when Uncle Wes was born."

  "Girl, you may have more guts than any Jenkins born in the last century to do that. Or more Hudson than Jenkins in you." He paused. "Did you get an answer?"

  "One thing led to another. 'Another' was a rather deft change of topic from the behavior of members of the Jenkins family to the behavior of female members of the Hudson family."

  "Sounds like Eleanor." Willie Ray paused. "Well, okay. I suppose you also counted from our marriage to your mother's birth?"

  "Yes. But you might say that it was within the realm of plausible deniability. Especially given how little Mom is. From June 27 to February 2 is sort of what you might call marginal."

  "Take it from me. Debbie was full term. You might consider your mom part of a joyous ongoing celebration of the fact that I'd made it back from Korea all in one piece."

  Missy nodded.

  "Vera wasn't nearly as young then as Debbie was when s
he married Don Jefferson, of course." Willie Ray paused. "I'm not going to talk to you about your mother's personal life. That's between the two of you-however much she wants to tell you. Or not."

  Missy nodded again.

  "Then, if that's understood. Vera and I were both twenty-two when we married." He smiled. "What gave your Nani nervous prostration for several weeks was that I wasn't out of the army yet, which meant that for a while we weren't sure that the wedding could be scheduled to come off as promptly as it did. Vera was the kind of person who would have been awfully embarrassed to be showing when she walked down the aisle. Her sister Bonnie, Keith Pilcher's grandma, cut it a lot closer to the deadline and she'd had to be a bridesmaid with Bonnie bulging, so to speak."

  "Oh."

  "Yep. It was one of those 'heads only' engagement photos for Bonnie and Bert. And then for the wedding, a picture of them seated, with the attendants standing behind them. It's amazing what a few strategically placed artificial ferns could do for a girl's public image."

  "Mean, Pop," Missy said.

  "After we got married and I got out, we spent the next couple of years in married students' housing at WVU while I finished my degree on the GI bill. Vera worked as a secretary and got what they called back then her 'Ph. T.'-'Putting Hubby Through.' "

  "Cutesy," Missy said. "Really cutesy."

  "It was a different time and a different way of looking at things," Willie Ray said. "Though I can't say that I thought much of it myself at the time. Sort of a consolation prize. Your Nani has a sharp mind."

  "So you graduated when?"

  "In June of '57. The second baby was supposed to be the boy, since we already had a girl with Debbie. 'Tea for two and two for tea, a boy for you, a girl for me.' You can't believe how spitting mad Vera was when it turned out to be your Aunt Aura Lee. Luckily, Ray was born eleven months after that, so Vera had an absorbing new interest and never really took it out on her. But the truth of the matter is that Vera's 'mothering' focused on Debbie and Ray. As long as Aura Lee kept her head down, Vera was pretty oblivious to what she did."