Grantville Gazette, Volume 7 Read online

  "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 thought 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 vig
orously. 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 four 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.

  "I had two love affairs this past year at college." Amy had her legs curled underneath her as she sat on her bed. "Dad would have a fit if he knew. I swear he glared at every single boyfriend I ever brought home from high school." Amy sighed. "The first one was to just get over my virginity, but the second . . . Hank was a great lover. I miss him. A lot."

  Colette nodded. "I missed Etienne for years. His touch was so . . . so . . ."

  "Electric?" Amy laughed.

  Colette nodded again. Both women sighed.

  "So?" Amy patted Colette's leg. "What about you and Josh? Do you find him attractive?"

  Colette blushed. "Yes. But he is still mourning the loss of his family, I think." Colette absently twisted a strand of her hair. "I can empathize. I mourned Jacques and Etienne for a long time."

  "But his family isn't really dead," argued Amy. "Just . . . left behind. Do you think he's attracted to you?"

  Colette blushed again. "I . . . I think so. I sometimes catch him watching me when he doesn't think I notice."

  "Well then . . ."

  Colette shook her head. "It is too soon. And he should make the first move."

  Amy raised her hands in exasperation. "If women waited for the men to make the first move all the time the race would be extinct." She pulled at her chin. "Hmmm, we need an expert in Basic Man Trapping 101 . . ." Her face brightened. "I know!" She picked up the phone.

  Two hours later, just as Josh was starting to get worried, Amy and Colette walked through the front door.

  "Well, Josh, what do you think?" Amy said.

  At first Josh didn't recognize Colette. She was no longer just attractive. She was beautiful. It was not just the dress, or the different hair style, or the subtle use of make-up. It was also the smile and the way her eyes seemed to glow in the late afternoon light.

  "Josh? Hello? Earth to Josh!"

  "What? What did you say?" Josh felt a bit dazed.

  Amy smiled. "I said, "Doesn't she look gorgeous?" I want to hear you say that in French."

  "You do look very beautiful," Josh muttered in French.

  Colette dimpled and curtsied. "Thank you, monsieur."

  "Well, I've got to get home. See you two at church tomorrow." Before Amy left she leaned over and whispered in Colette's ear. "What did I tell you? Pole-axed like a steer. See you tomorrow."

  Amy skipped down the stairs and began to stroll home. As she went she occasionally snapped an imaginary whip, all the while whistling the theme to Rawhide. Rope him in girl, rope him in!

  * * *

  "Our communion meditation will be number four thirty-eight. We Will Rise Again. Number four thirty-eight."

  As the church began to fill with music, Colette allowed herself to think about what she had seen during the Mass. It had been profoundly different from any other Mass she had ever attended. From the lack of Latin, to the priest facing the congregation, to the sharing of the sign of peace, it had been strange, but in many ways, exhilarating. Especially when she saw that women were allowed on the altar as readers and Eucharistic ministers.

  The people around her seemed to have a deep faith in God and a sense of community that even rivaled what she had seen in the béguinage de Hermee. All week she had prayed to God before going to sleep. Prayed for the soul of her father. Prayed for Henri while he was in the hospital. Even prayed for Joe when she discovered that he was suffering from a fatal disease. But most of all she had prayed for guidance. What should she do with her life?

  She could see that many of the congretation were singing. But at least a dozen were weeping. Then, it was as if the hand of God touched her soul.

  This was no "fairy-tale land" as she had first thought. This was a tiny piece of a world ripped out by the roots and plunged into the depths of a man-made hell of war, disease, and unspeakable cruelty.

  The people of Grantville were no weaklings. But neither were they giants. They could not stand alone, not just a few thousand of them. Not against the millions who would willingly devour them alive just for the fact that they were different. They would need help.

  Again it felt as if God touched her. She shivered. She would not be here if not for the Ring of Fire. She knew, with certainty now, that she would have been raped and murdered, along with her brother. So, just as the coming of Grantville had helped her survive, so now would she help Grantville survive.

  She would help them.

  With every ounce of her strength and her mind, she would help them.

  Thank you, God. Thank you.

  The refrain began again. And Colette Dubois began to weep.r />
  "We will run and not grow weary, for our God will be our strength, and we will fly like the eagle, we will rise again."

  * * *

  Later that afternoon the parish chess club of St. Vincent de Paul inducted its first female chess player ever. There was no ceremony. But no one was going to deny Joe Modi.

  "Look," Joe said, "She's a great chess player, she's living in my house, and I like her. She's got spunk." He looked at the seven men in his living room. "Any objections?"

  Nothing but smiles and shrugs. "Great! Let's play chess!"