Grantville Gazette-Volume XI Read online

  "I . . . knew. Oh, not any details but I knew he was close to someone. His . . . attitude was subtly different. More assured. You wouldn't have noticed. But any woman he'd been flirting with for years would." She sighed and then made a deep frown. "You must find all this very funny."

  He gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand a squeeze. "Partly." He gave a small chuckle. "The part about him. Not about you. Frankly, I thought he had better taste." His voice took a sarcastic turn. "Ursula Futter?"

  Margarete turned towards him and the corner of her mouth turned up. Her eyebrows raised and she chuckled.

  Encouraged, Barnabas turned toward his wife and put a second hand on hers. He looked at her. "Flirting with you meant to me that he recognized the same beauty I saw in you when we first met."

  "Huh!" she grunted and eyed him scornfully. "Trying to get around me. You're trying to get me to agree to build that new water heating system, aren't you?"

  "Oh, uh, well, not exactly. I mean, uh, no. Not at all."

  "Won't work, Barnabas. You can't tell me you hadn't thought about it a moment before you walked in through the door," she said. "I'm not going to agree just because you make a few compliments."

  Barnabas' face drooped. "You won't?"

  Margarete shook her head as if in sadness. "Some women are so anxious to get a compliment that they'll agree to anything afterwards. I'm not like that. Not at all."

  She took a deep breath. "On the other hand, I had two days to think about what you wanted to do. I looked over the books and made some estimates based on what we've been experiencing. I decided that if you came home with proof that the project was possible and we could afford it, I'd approve."

  Barnabas stared at her for a moment. "Then you approve?" he asked weakly. His face brightened and he grinned in relief. "You do approve!"

  She gripped his hands and smiled at him. "Yes. Now I want to hear all the compliments you were prepared to shower upon me. I warn you, though, that I may not wait until you finish before banking the fire and blowing out the candle."

  He stroked the line of her jaw a moment later. "You know, I never would have stayed in this town if I hadn't desperately needed a bath the day I walked in. Your mother took my coin and you walked out of the bath house looking like Venus arising out of the sea, your towel covering . . ."

  Bootstrapping

  Written by Kerryn Offord

  Winter 1631-32, Jena

  Catherine Mutschler made her way carefully through the winter mud. She was tired and listless after being kept up most of the night by Maria, her three-year-old daughter. She'd finally managed to settle Maria only by feeding her the last of the bread mixed with thin soup, but that meant Catherine had only had thin soup to eat today. That should change at her next stop. Ursula Mittelhausen was the housekeeper for a successful alchemist and not only did she provide a lot of sewing work, she also gave Catherine any scraps from the kitchen. Catherine had learnt to accept charity with dignity. It had been all that stood between life and death for her and her children after her husband died in a road accident in Jena. She had been extremely lucky—and the city council continued to remind her of her good fortune—that she and her two children had been granted poor relief even though they weren't citizens or residents. Not that the alms went far. Before getting the sewing work from Ursula, Catherine had been struggling to provide her and her children with the necessities of life. Even by sharing a room with another widow, a spinner, and her children, their combined income had never quite been enough to pay the rent and buy firewood, clothes, and sufficient food. The six of them, Catherine and her two daughters, Marguerite and her son and daughter, had been slowly starving to death.

  She looked up at the sign over the door of the house that Ursula kept. "HDG Enterprizes" it said. Catherine had reason to be thankful for Doctor Gribbleflotz. The extra work he provided had made a considerable difference in Catherine and Marguerite's life. With the additional income from making and repairing the "lab coats" and aprons Dr. Gribblefltoz insisted his apprentices wear, she and Marguerite had just taken over the lease of a pair of rooms. The extra space would make it easier for them to work without the children getting underfoot all the time. With more space they would be able to take in more work. Maybe they'd survive the winter.

  She knocked, shivering from the damp cold that was seeping through the layers of clothes she was wearing. The door was opened by a youth. If he had looked well-fed Catherine would have though he was about twelve, but in these times of shortages, he could be as old as sixteen. As malnourished as he looked, he had to be a new apprentice. Ursula, and to be fair, her employer, insisted that the apprentices all be well fed. That meant business was good for Doctor Gribbleflotz, and what was good for the doctor was good for Catherine. She smiled for the first time in she didn't know how long. In a lighter mood, Catherine followed the youth toward Ursula's office.

  The clack-clack-clack sound of a machine made Catherine stop. She peeked through the open door of a side room, and froze. For a moment she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Then she collapsed.

  * * *

  Catherine came to with a jerk. Someone was passing something under her nose. Spirit of Hartshorn. The fumes could raise the dead, and Catherine wasn't even half-way there yet. She was confused. Ursula Mittelhausen came slowly into focus, and the bottle of hartshorn was removed, to be replaced by a bowl of stew. Mechanically she ate from the bowl.

  When she finished the stew, Catherine lowered the spoon and slumped a little in the chair. She wasn't ready to discuss what she had seen in that room yet, and she knew it would be a few minutes before she felt better. She looked around the room. It was the kitchen, and it looked as if it had been invaded by apprentices. She watched a pair of female apprentices slap pale green dough from a cooking pot into molds.

  "What are they making?"

  "They are making pill boxes for Dr. Gribbleflotz' little blue pills." Ursula reached over to a tray on the sideboard and passed Catherine one of the completed pill boxes.

  Catherine had been watching Ursula. Her face had suddenly lit up when she talked about the pill boxes. Catherine wondered what she was thinking about.

  "Catherine, do you have access to a cooking fire?"

  Catherine nodded. That was one of the reasons she and Marguerite had taken the new rooms. Being able to cook at home would save them money. She thought she could see where Ursula was going. There was no way Ursula could be happy with the way her kitchen had been taken over by the apprentices. For the first time since she had looked into that room, Catherine had hope. She ran her fingers over the pill box "Are they easy to make?"

  Ursula smiled in obvious relief. "Yes, it's just a mixture of milk and vinegar. If the girls and boys can make it, I'm sure you would have no trouble." She sighed and gave Catherine a guilty look. "I'm sorry about the sewing machine. Dr. Gribbleflotz bought it without consulting me. However, if you can make the pill boxes, I'll see that you don't lose by it."

  "How many boxes are you going to want?" Catherine asked.

  "Thousands, Catherine. At least a thousand a week. The demand for the doctor's little blue pills is enormous. We'll pay you," Ursula paused to think for a moment, "Three taler a thousand. That should give you more after expenses than you've been earning from sewing."

  Excitement grabbed Catherine. Three talers a week!. That was more than a skilled craftsman normally earned. And she could work from home, with no trouble from any guilds, because she was sure there was no plastic-makers guild, yet. Then reality struck. "But, that much milk and vinegar, and the cooking pots and fuel. Neither Marguerite nor I can afford that."

  "Never you mind, Catherine. To get my kitchen back, I'll even loan you the money myself." Ursula paused and shook her head. "No, the company can loan you the money." She smiled and shook her head. "You wouldn't believe the funds coming in for the Doctor's pills and cooking powders, especially the pills. The small amount needed to help you get started won't even be missed." />
  "If I borrow money, I pay it back, with interest." Catherine stared pointedly at Ursula. She was not going to accept more charity than she had to.

  "Very well, you can pay it back with interest. Now, why don't you let the girls show you how it's done and then you can go home and talk to your friend Marguerite."

  * * *

  The ground conditions stopped Catherine running home with her news, but she still made good time. The plastic was easy to make. Making it well, that would take a little experimentation. And making good boxes, well, Catherine had been horrified at the number of failures the girls were throwing away. But by watching carefully, Catherine had come to believe that most of the failures were due to disinterest on the part of the girls. To them it was just a boring, repetitive job. If Catherine and Marguerite started making the boxes, rejects would be taking food from their children.

  She skipped through the door, shut it and started to strip off her outer layers. "Marguerite, Marguerite, I have such news."

  Marguerite slipped out of the back room. "Catherine, did you get lots more work?"

  "No, no. Ursula Mittelhausen's employer has bought a sewing machine . . ." Catherine rushed on with her tale to when she saw Marguerite's confused look. "But Ursula has offered us a new career. Plastic making. Wait, I'll show you one of the boxes."

  Catherine pulled one of the pill boxes out of her bag and started to describe the process she had seen.

  "Three taler a week?" Marguerite cut straight to the bottom line. "That's a small fortune."

  "Yes." Catherine nodded. "But that's gross. It'll cost us for material and fuel. And that is per thousand that passes inspection. But we should earn almost four taler a month, with a fire going all the time and all the milk we can drink."

  Marguerite's glowing face suddenly shut down. "How can we afford the materials and everything, Catherine? These rooms took nearly everything we had."

  "Ursula said the company would make a small loan, a month's payment in advance, just to help us get started, and we can buy the molds and cooking pots they already have."

  "It is a loan, isn't it? Not charity?"

  "Definitely a loan, Marguerite. I made that clear to Ursula. So, are you interested?"

  Marguerite's eyebrows shot up. "Four taler a month? Do you have any idea how much more than the weaver's guild pays spinners that is? Of course I'm interested."

  Spring, 1632

  Catherine Mutschler stormed home. She was almost furious. After she had had time to think, she was sure she was going to be very furious, but right now, what she needed was someone to share her fury with, and who better than her friend and business partner, Marguerite Lobstein. She was sure Marguerite would agree that Ursula Mittelhausen's refusal to accept repayment of the loan she had extended reeked of charity.

  She pushed the door open with control. Controlled fury, but control. The children might be around and she didn't want to upset them. "Marguerite!" she called.

  "Mommy, Mommy. Look what I made."

  Catherine's fury disappeared in a flash. She bent down and ran a finger down her eldest daughter's cheek, pleased to see the rosy, happy look of her daughter's face. "Hello, darling. What is it you've made for Mommy?"

  Maria opened her hands so Catherine could see. "Buttons, Mommy. You said you needed some new buttons, so I made some."

  Catherine had mentioned to Marguerite before going out to take the loan repayment to Ursula that she had to buy some more buttons. "That's very nice, Maria." Catherine smiled down at her daughter. Suddenly, she froze. Then she took a good look at the buttons Maria had made. They were childish pieces of squashed waste plastic with two, three or four holes in them. As buttons, they were crude. Catherine fingered them, and looked up to see her friend Marguerite smiling from across the room. So, Marguerite realized what Maria had done. "That was very good of you, Maria. Now, why don't you go and play while I talk to Tante Marguerite?"

  Catherine watched Maria skip away, then she turned to Marguerite. "How did we miss making buttons? All those bits and pieces thrown out as waste."

  Marguerite nodded. "We've been so busy working so we could pay off the loan we haven't had time to think. We'll have to explore better ways of making them, but I think buttons might become a new product line. And they don't have to be pale green." Marguerite beamed. "Just think, buttons in any size, shape, and color you want."

  "If we have time. Frau Mittelhausen has told me that they need more pill boxes . . ."

  Marguerite waited expectantly. Catherine smiled grimly. Calling Ursula Frau Mittelhausen had been a red flag warning Marguerite that something was wrong. "And she has refused to accept the loan repayment. She said to treat it as a bonus from the company in recognition of our good work."

  "Charity!" Marguerite almost snarled the word.

  "That's what I said, but she still refused to accept it. She said we might need it to enlarge our operations to cope with demand."

  "I'd rather scrimp and starve than use that money."

  "So what do we do with it? Give it to the church?"

  "Yes. Give it away." Marguerite halted. "No . . . wait a moment. Elisabeth Hafner was complaining the other day about the price of good boots. Her husband's a laborer, and he needs boots to work. But they can't afford the good ones, so he gets cheap ones and his feet suffer. Last year he had to miss several days due to foot problems."

  "Are you suggesting we give Frau Hafner enough money to buy some boots?"

  "Of course not, Catherine. We make a loan. Anything else would be . . . charity."

  That last word sealed it for Catherine. Accepting charity was the last thing most people wanted to do. A loan, with interest. That wasn't charity. That allowed people to maintain their self respect. "And what do we do with the money when they pay it back with interest?"

  Marguerite sighed. "Loan it out to someone else."

  "You do realize that the money will just grow?"

  "Yes, but what is the alternative? Just give it to the church? At least this way we can be sure that it does some good."

  "So how do we start?"

  "I take some money and talk to Elisabeth." Marguerite smiled. "I better take most of the money. Elisabeth's husband won't be the only person who would benefit from having good boots."

  Grantville, Christmas 1633

  Catherine and Marguerite walked along the main street of the city of Grantville. It was their first visit, and they were enjoying the sights while their children played at something called a child care center. One of their first stops was the Kacere Knitware Kompany shop, which sold a lot of their casein products. The knitting needles, the crochet hooks, buttons, and of course, small plastic boxes for every need. This trip to Grantville was a business trip, after all. So they discussed the new Maria Hüffner design range of buttons and plastic boxes with John and Christine Kacere. Apparently there was good demand for the highly original range of shapes, colors and patterns. The Kacere's suggested that they would like to meet the designer, but Catherine and Maguerite made apologies. They didn't think the rest of the world needed to know that the head of artistic design for Fantastisches Plastik, as they called their company, was Catherine's five-year-old daughter.

  The next stop was the Grantville bank. They needed some advice, and it had been suggested that the American banker might talk to them. In the nearly two years since they started making small loans to people, the original sum had gone forth and multiplied. Currently they had over a hundred loans on their books for such things as boots, and the new steel picks and shovels. It was well past time they got their little banking operation on a firmer business footing.

  * * *

  They walked out with bundles of pamphlets and notes. Coleman Walker, the bank manager, and Edgar Zanewicz, the loan manager, couldn't have been more helpful. Catherine and Marguerite were glowing from all the good things the bankers had to say to them. Apparently they were running something the Americans called a micro-credit bank, and doing a remarkably good job of it
too, considering their lack of knowledge. Edgar had promised to get as much material as he could on the subject together and translated so the women could improve the service they were offering. They had also talked about what to call the bank, as every business needed a name.

  Edgar had suggested they might name it after their first loan. Not after the borrower, but after the purpose of the loan. Boots. He and Coleman had shared smiles as they talked of 'bootstrapping' people. After explaining the reason for their laughter Catherine and Marguerite had agreed. Boot's Bank it was, and if people asked to see Mr. Boot, well, they'd worry about that when it happened.

  Wish Book