Grantville Gazette, Volume XII Read online

  "Gerbald, from now on when we see a bird, please tell me if you know its name in your language." An idea was forming in Pam's mind, she put it on her mental back burner to simmer—in time, in time.

  "Yes, I do for you," he said with a note of enthusiasm. It was going to be a pleasant job helping this nice American lady watch birds.

  On their way back Pam suddenly came to a complete halt. Gerbald had already learned to anticipate this and also stopped, quietly—there must be a bird in their vicinity.

  "Over there Gerbald—look!" She slowly raised her hands to point at a nearby thicket. Gerbald, whose former profession had sharply honed his powers of observation in the field, saw a bird with a black head and rust colored sides hopping about the twiggy growth.

  "I am sorry. I not know that one." He apologized in a hoarse whisper. Pam's face shined with joy.

  "I know!" she was obviously struggling not to jump up and down. "Gerbald, that is an American bird! I didn't think there were anything but chickadees left! It's a towhee, from here, from Grantville! It's an up-timer bird!" Pam allowed herself the thought: Maybe the cardinals made it through the year, too. They watched the towhee for a very long time. If it hadn't eventually flown away into the darkening shadows beneath the trees it seemed likely they would have stood there until dark.

  * * *

  Back at the house Pam practically skipped up the walk in the gathering dusk, past the aluminum clothes tree festooned with her bed sheets and weeks worth of laundry. It took a moment for the change in her yard's scenery to register—then she saw several of her bras and felt her cheeks redden.

  "Let's get inside." She hastened Gerbald through the door into her immaculately clean living room. Pam's eyes widened. She had left behind a disaster area of clutter.

  "Dore?" she called out questioningly.

  "Ja, I am here!" Her voice came from the kitchen.

  Pam entered followed by Gerbald who stood in the doorway so as not to crowd them in the narrow space. Dore was happily humming as she fussed over a big pot of what Pam had come to know as spetzel boiling away on the wood stove.

  "Dinner!" she announced proudly.

  "Dore! You didn't have to do that! I didn't expect you to work, I told you to just take it easy!" Dore, whose English was not as good as Gerbald's looked to her husband with a worried question. He spoke to her in German briefly. Dore looked embarrassed.

  "You . . . you not like I do?" Her tone was very meek.

  Pam now felt bad for embarrassing the woman. "No, I don't mean that. You did great! Really, really good, I like it and God knows I have let the place go. I just didn't expect it." Pam pulled her pocketbook out of her rucksack. "Here, let me pay you for what you did today." She begin to pull some money out but Dore looked alarmed.

  "Nein! No, good lady, I not do for money. I do—" Her English faltered and she began to speak quickly to Gerbald who nodded. He turned to Pam with a slight smile.

  "Dore say she like to do for you. Money, she no need. You give me good job, Dore very happy! She do—" He swept his arm around to indicate the various housekeeping Dore had performed. "She do to say thank you." Dore watched Pam with a concerned look, afraid to have displeased her husband's new employer.

  Pam rushed over to her and took both her hands in hers. "Thank you, Dore. You are very kind. I am happy to know you and Gerbald." Her face felt hot and flushed. Pam was not given to displays of affection and knew this about herself. Her ex-husband knew it all too well and she had admitted that she should have been more affectionate with her son Walt. She loved Walt very much, and had loved Trent once, too, but she just wasn't good with people.

  Pam realized that she had been alone for a very long time now and there was something about the simple goodness of these two people she had barely met which was filling her with unexpected emotion. Pam held Dore's hands tightly and smiled at her, her lips trembling and eyes moist. The older German woman could see the pain there, and the hope; understanding without words Dore squeezed firmly back and gave Pam a long look with her sensible hazel eyes, a look that said "You are going to be all right."

  "You good lady. Good luck we meet you." Dore released her hands from Pam's grip with a last heartfelt squeeze, then led her to the door, shooing Gerbald outward. "You go, sit. We eat!"

  Another Year Later

  Pam, Gerbald and Dore established a routine that suited them all nicely. Five days a week, Pam and Gerbald went on birdwatching expeditions. On the fourth day, she would give Gerbald money for Dore to go shopping with for the next evening's dinner. On the fifth day, Dore came to the house with Gerbald and the groceries, did the laundry and general housecleaning and then made the wonderful dinner they would all share.

  With the help of her new friends, Pam's German studies made rapid progress. Gerbald could read and helped her with her lessons on days when the weather was just too nasty to go traipsing about the countryside. The focus of her studies was of course the translation of German bird names into English, but she was learning to speak as well. She soon learned she had been mistaken in her assumption that the "kehlchen" in blaukehlchen meant "chin" in English. Even though it sounded like "chin" to her untrained ears, it meant really "throat." This turned out to be a common pitfall when learning a language that is a close cousin to one's own; the occasional appearance of "false friends," words that sound like they should mean the same things in both languages but really don't. The "bluechins," formerly "bluebibs" were now properly "bluethroats."

  On the weekends Pam devoted herself to painting birds. She had perused a few artist's how-to books at the library, tried some of their suggestions and then decided that the best way for her to learn was to just sit down and do it. She had liked to doodle as a girl and recalled that she had always received A's in art, but never really believed she had any talent. It was possible she actually didn't have any talent, but she did have determination. Her paintings were not intended to be hung in a gallery after all. They were scientific works; their sole purpose was to catalog accurately the birds of Thuringia she encountered. She started by copying the illustrations in her own small collection of field guides. After she felt she had learned some of their basic techniques, she tried applying them to something closer to a live model, starting with a photo of a mallard duck. Her first attempt was definitely more "Daffy" than "Audubon" but she kept at it.

  After this Pam began to paint in the field. She would quickly pencil sketch in the birds she saw, then try to capture their colors with her brushes. If they held still long enough, she would focus in with more detail. Gerbald offered quiet encouragement with approving nods as he kept his eyes open for intruders. Gerbald's steady and watchful presence made Pam feel safe, which allowed her to better concentrate on her work.

  They had taken to ranging several miles past the rim on some days, seeking nesting grounds amongst the fields and forests of Thuringia. Although the situation had become fairly quiet in the region, there were still plenty of opportunities for brigands to sneak about. She and Gerbald had made it an unspoken rule to avoid strangers by staying hidden when they drew near. She had always considered herself fairly adept at moving surreptitiously in the field, but Gerbald proved to be a master of the art and a good teacher. They often made their way past other people under cover, off the road or path without those they observed ever having a clue they were in the vicinity. This pleased Pam who still preferred not to be seen wandering the area in the company of a man by fellow Grantville residents.

  One Sunday afternoon in April, Pam walked into town to do a little shopping. Another year was beginning here in her new world and she felt amazingly optimistic about it. She realized that in many ways she liked her current life better than the one she had lived before the Ring of Fire. Why not? She hadn't felt this happy and focused in years. With a tinge of regret she wondered what her ex-husband Trent would think of her now. He had remarried of course. Ah well, I'm glad he's found what he was looking for. Maybe I have, too. Near the Freedom Arches, she saw a
peddler's wagon parked at the curb. A cheerful-looking chubby fellow with a beard sat in a chair on the sidewalk. He reminded Pam of Burl Ives. Pam wandered over to the wagon.

  "Hello good lady, welcome, welcome! I am a seller of beautiful things, please, maybe you like." He greeted her in accented but clear English. Pam was always impressed by the knack for languages Europeans possessed. She felt a surge of pride at her growing German abilities; there were a lot of up-timers who simply weren't bothering to learn the language that surrounded them.

  Pam smiled at the fellow, stepping closer to look over the multitude of gewgaws perched on shelves in the wagon's open side or hanged by hooks from the propped up panel that formed a protective awning. Tin whistles, whimsically carved and painted wooden toys, mounted deer antlers, etchings of famous buildings of Europe. She wasn't much of a collector of such fancies, but she was impressed by the quality of workmanship. It was apparent that the peddler had a fairly wide range, certainly not all of his goods were locally made. She looked at the jovial peddler as an idea came to her.

  "Sir, you travel a lot, don't you?" The peddler stood politely when she addressed him.

  "Why yes, of course! Well, as much as is safe in these troubled times, but my business takes me all about the Germanies and even down to northern Italy on occasion. I am always seeking new fineries for my selection. Do you like what you see?"

  "Yes, very nice." Pam hesitated. Oh why the hell not? "I would like to ask you something. In your travels have you ever seen a bright red bird? It would be a new creature; it came to Germany with us."

  "A red bird?" The peddler was somewhat surprised at such a question. "Why, I see many birds and animals in my travels, out on the open road as I am."

  "This one I think you would notice. It's a beautiful bright red and has a black mask around its bill. On the top of its head is a pointy crest, like a hat." Pam's description was accompanied by a sort of pantomime of the cardinal's features.

  The peddler nodded, a look of comprehension came to his eyes. "A red bird, face is black! Yes, yes, I have seen such a bird! I was down in Bavaria . . . here, I show you!" Pam's eyes went wide. The peddler ducked his head under the wood awning and proceeded to shift some of the items on his top shelf around. "Yes, here it is!" He pointed. Against her will, Pam followed the course of his finger to the shadowy upper shelves.

  It was a bird. A red bird. A cardinal.

  Stuffed.

  Pam stood frozen in horror. The cardinal was posed with its wings outspread as if about to leap into flight from the gnarled branch it was mounted to. Glass orbs replaced living eyes, the beak open as if frozen in mid-song.

  "Pretty nice, yes? A trapper sold it to me. He snared it in the woods last month. What a pretty bird, a nice display for your home!"

  Pam started to cry.

  Hours later, Pam sat at her window side table, a bottle of what was passing for whiskey these days half-empty before her. She poured herself another shot. Her bird guides, notebooks and precious painting supplies lay scattered about the floor behind her.

  "God damn people!" The anger welled up again and she felt her face grow hot. She was on an emotional boat ride through fiercely stormy seas, rising on crests of towering wrath, sliding down into depressions of black despair. She hadn't eaten and the whiskey was only making her head hurt, the fiery liquid in her belly failing to warm the icy sense of helpless loss.

  At five o'clock Gerbald arrived to begin the evening's work. Drunkenly Pam ordered him to go home. "No birds tonight," she said, her voice thick with pain and anger. Her head slumped onto the table with an audible thump, mind reeling with images of dead cardinals mounted in dead trees, forgetting Gerbald was even there.

  The unflappable German's face creased up in worry, an emotion rarely seen there.

  "I get Dore," he told her, exiting quickly.

  * * *

  Dore came through the door huffing and puffing. She was a bit on the heavy side and had run as fast as she could all the way to Pam's little house. Gerbald followed, barely having broken a sweat but face grey with concern for Pam. They found her still at the table, mumbling incoherently. One on either side, Gerbald and Dore gently lifted her, moving her over to the overstuffed loveseat. Pam began to weep softly, Dore held her close like a child, murmuring comforting words as she stroked Pam's hair. After carefully picking up the items Pam had cast on the floor in her despair, Gerbald paced about the room, his strong arms crossed in helplessness.

  After a time, Pam became coherent enough to haltingly detail what had happened. Her friends listened closely with heartfelt sympathy. Dore made some thin chicken broth for her, gently feeding it to her as one would a small child. Pam had calmed down now and become sleepy, Dore helped her into bed, giving her a fond kiss on the forehead before turning out the light. Pam softly thanked her, the forgetfulness of sleep coming soon after, a welcome darkness.

  Pam safe in bed and sleeping off her day's tragedy, Dore sat down on the loveseat. Gerbald sat in Pam's usual chair at the window side table, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Dore steepled her fingers contemplatively in her lap. They shared a long look of painful concern for Pam, whom they had begun to think of as a well-loved younger sister more than an employer. Pam didn't know how protected she truly was by these two strong-hearted Germans.

  At last Dore spoke softly so as not to wake Pam in the bedroom behind her. "This bird. Show me."

  Gerbald nodded. Opening Eastern Birds, he found the cardinal, Pam had shown it to him and he well knew it was her favorite. He walked the book over to Dore. "This one, the red one. It is special to her."

  Dore studied the small painting carefully. "I can see that! It is an American bird from up-time, yes ?" She used the English term for the concept.

  "Yes. Some few of them came here with Grantville. She searches, but we haven't found one yet. Now she finds a dead one, it is too sad for her."

  Dore nodded slowly. "Tomorrow we start," she announced confidently as she began the process of extricating her bulky form from the lumpy old loveseat. Gerbald brightened, giving her a hand up. She patted his arm affectionately.

  "Yes. We will." He grinned.

  * * *

  "It is a red bird with a pointy hat," Dore told the women she worked with at the laundry.

  "It has a black mask around its beak," Gerbald told the men he did construction work with during the day.

  "If you see one, you must remember to tell me," Dore told the vegetable farmers who had brought their produce to market from the outlying farms.

  "If you see one, do not kill it!" Gerbald told his companions at the tavern over a lunchtime pint of dunkel beer.

  "It is an American bird," Dore told the mail riders at the post office.

  "Tell your friends. Tell your neighbors."

  "Tell everyone! The red bird must be found!"

  * * *

  Pam recovered from her upset more quickly than she might have expected. It was dawning on her that she had changed since the Ring of Fire. Her depressions had grown shorter and she hadn't the time for the long sessions of self pity she had once indulged in. The stuffed cardinal had been awful, a terrible waste but it was also evidence that at least one of her cherished birds had survived two German winters! There could be more. In retrospect, the incident lifted her hopes more than dashed them.

  Her list of American birds had grown by a large number this spring, more and more species were emerging from the woodwork: tufted titmice, redhead ducks, turkey vultures, killdeer, ruby-throated hummingbirds, scarlet tanagers—it was incredible! She had even witnessed a confrontation at her feeder between a gray and orange Eurasian jay and an eastern blue jay! The American blue jay had triumphed, boasting loudly in harsh jay tones as the native jay presumably fled back to the safety of the Thuringerwald—but for how long? It had some new competition!

  It was strange how in that first year the American species had vanished from sight. Pam supposed it wasn't really unusual for animals to go to ground for
extended periods when threatened. Perhaps the Ring of Fire had affected birds more powerfully and in different ways than it did mammals, which had continued their daily existence seemingly physically unaffected by the event. Birds had different senses, particularly migratory birds with their feel for Earth's magnetic fields. Who could know what havoc something like a journey through time and space would play on avians? Pam continued her project with a very welcome new wrinkle: Translating the names of the transplanted American birds into German!

  Gerbald came up the road at a flat out run, his sage green coat tails flapping behind him. Pam, sitting on a lawn chair by the front door enjoying a pleasingly balmy May afternoon watched in amazement as he leapt from the road over the short decorative fence at the corner of the yard to cut across the rows of sunflowers instead of ambling up the walk as he always did. Pam couldn't help but chuckle seeing his goofy misshapen hat bouncing just above the cheery yellow discs of their blossoms as he zigged and zagged his way up the yard. She stood up quickly, now worried that something bad might be happening to provoke steady Gerbald into such flight!

  "Gerbald!" What's going on!"

  "Pam!" He paused for breath. He must have run a long way, as Gerbald rarely showed any strain when exercising. "Get your field glasses. We must hurry!" Pam only hesitated a moment before rushing into the living room after her gear. Gerbald waited for her by the road, obviously in a great state of excitement. Equipped, Pam ran down the walk to him.

  "Can you run?"

  "Yes, let's go!" Gerbald took off at a steady trot, Pam running behind. They headed down the road into town. As they neared the end of that odd mile, it occurred to Pam that she was in pretty good shape these days. My God, this would have killed me two years ago! A brief thrill of pride shot through her but was quickly brought down by a sudden dark thought— People are going to see us! Gerbald looked back to check on her progress. Pam raised her hand in a brief wave, I'm all right, keep going. Whatever it was it must be important. Gerbald well knew her feelings on the matter of exposing their activities. This better be good, mein Herr!