Grantville Gazette-Volume XI Read online

  Katharina smiled. "Lise and I are in the nursing program. I hope to get into the MD program later."

  Georg looked at Hans. "And you? Are you also training to be a nurse or doctor?"

  "Not me. I'm a journeyman mason. I'm a foreman with Kelly Construction doing brick and stone work."

  "So how did you and Lise get together?"

  "The company pays extra for first aid-certified employees, so I took a course. It just happened to be the same one Lise was taking."

  "What about the rest of the people sharing the house? And how can you afford the rent on a house like that? I share a smaller place with a dozen others, and even then most of us struggle to meet the rent." Georg asked.

  Lise smiled. "Most of us are in the nursing program. It's a sanitary commission house and they subsidize the rent for health workers."

  Georg was a bit confused. "Does that mean you pay full rent?" he asked Hans.

  "No. They also subsidize my rent, though not as much. I'm a member of one of their special teams."

  "What special teams?" Georg was getting curious. If Hans could get into that house that way, well, why couldn't he?

  Hans cast a quick glance around the café. There were no patrons close enough to hear. Even so, he leaned closer to Georg before speaking in a low voice. "You know the sanitary commission induction program for all new refugees?"

  Georg nodded. When he first arrived in Grantville a sanitary commission official had asked him questions and had him fill out forms before sending him into the showers while they cleaned his clothes.

  "The service not only processes new arrivals, they maintain special teams that provide care for anybody in quarantine until the doctors consider them safe to enter the community,"

  "You mean like Herr Beasley and Officer Jordan?"

  "You know about that?" Hans' voice was shocked.

  "For some people, the postman and meter-man are their only source of news other than the radio. We hear a lot of gossip. Do the up-timers know what it was yet?"

  "Gossip!" Hans shook his head. "It wasn't smallpox. But that's all the up-timers know. They have no idea what killed that family."

  Georg shuddered. If it had happen a couple of weeks earlier or later, it might have been him rather than Officer Jordan who discovered the Beasleys. If gossip was to be believed, he could have been struck down with whatever it was that killed them and almost killed Buster Beasley and Officer Jordan. "Did you have to care for them?" he asked Katharina.

  She shook her head. "No. They were taken to a different quarantine house. The worst we've had is a boy with smallpox, and Dr. Sims, who caught it treating the boy."

  "Surely caring for someone infected with smallpox is dangerous?"

  "No." Katharina shook her head. "As you've probably noticed, I've had smallpox. According to the up-timers, that makes me immune to it."

  Georg had noticed Katharina's scars. He'd seen worse. "It sure looks like you had a bad case. Not like Hans, and as for Lise . . . how did you come through without a blemish?"

  Lise smiled. "My grandmother did what the up-timers call variolation to me when I was a baby. If it hadn't been for Dr. Abrabanel being present when I was interviewed for a place on Hans' team I don't think the up-timer would have approved my application. I don't think she believed me. She kept muttering about Jenner being the first to do that in the late-seventeen hundreds."

  Georg smiled. "My mother says grandmother protected me from smallpox when I was a baby by smearing a pit of puss from a pox onto my arm and scratching the skin."

  "That's the same thing my grandmother did. Dr. Abrabanel and I had quite a discussion comparing techniques. Apparently he learned a different way."

  "So I'm also immune to smallpox. That's good to know."

  "Georg, how would you like to apply for one of the special teams?" Lise asked.

  Georg froze. He looked over at Lise suspiciously, then at Katharina to see how she felt about her friend's suggestion.

  "Yes, the commission is always looking for volunteers." Katharina said.

  "I'd like to, but what does it involve? Meter reading isn't much of a job, but it pays the bills."

  "First, they'll put you through a training course on how to handle contagious diseases, then they put you on a retainer and give periodic refresher classes. They run practice exercises so that everyone is prepared if a contagious disease strikes. Usually it's only a few days a month, and best of all, it qualifies as your militia commitment, too," Hans answered.

  "Now that last sounds good. No more slogging up and down hills with a rifle in my arms and a pack on my back in all weathers. I'm definitely interested."

  "I'll get an application form for you. Where do I send it?" Lise asked.

  "Save yourself the postage. My route on Thursday will take me past the hospital. If you tell me who to talk to, I can collect one."

  "Just ask for Dr. Adams' office. Someone there will find one for you."

  "Thank you." Georg looked at the clock. "I'm sorry, but if I'm going to be any good tomorrow, I need my sleep." He smiled at Katharina. "See you in class next week."

  * * *

  "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lise asked.

  Katharina blushed. She was doing a lot of that lately. "Thank you."

  "That's what friends are for. You do remember that Jochim is moving out of the house when he marries, don't you?"

  If Katharina had thought she couldn't get any warmer, she'd been wrong. "Yes, I remember. And yes, it would be nice if Georg could move in."

  "Just checking."

  A couple of months later

  Katharina and Georg were poring over their class notes as they wrote up reports for night school. Lise Gebauer stopped at the door to focus on the happy couple. Getting Georg into the house had been one of her better ideas.

  "What are you guys working on?"

  Katharina looked up and smiled. "We're writing a paper on smallpox in the New World for history class. Did you know that contagious diseases killed millions before the first European settlers arrived?"

  "How does that work? How did the diseases get introduced?

  "It's thought that early explorers somehow carried the infections without being affected themselves. With a truly 'virgin' population to play with, the diseases ran wild," Katharina answered.

  "For a moment there, I thought you were going to say contagious diseases were deliberately introduced."

  "Well," Georg started, "there are lots of stories about smallpox and measles being deliberately introduced to clear land of meddlesome natives, but we've only been able to identify one confirmed case where an attempt was made to deliberately spread disease."

  Lise shuddered. "Who'd do a thing like that?"

  "An Englishman." Georg answered with a smile. "Sir Jeffery Amherst, the commander-in-chief of British forces in North America in 1763. He tried to deliberately infect warring native American tribes by sending them gifts of blankets taken from a smallpox hospital. Not that the histories are sure that attempt worked. There was already smallpox doing the rounds."

  Lise shuddered again. "Well, at least that can't happen here. The sanitary commission is set up to prevent things like that."

  Georg grinned evilly. "Imagine what could happen if someone could introduce smallpox into Grantville."

  "Georg! That's horrible." Lise backed away. When she neared the door she spoke to Katharina. "Hit him for me."

  Lise had the satisfaction of hearing a loud yelp of pain from Georg.

  2 a.m.the next morning

  "Are you sure this is the right place?" Merten Burkhard asked.

  "Yes, this is where the women I followed home from the hospital live. See those three trees, and the white letterbox? This is the place. And inside there is a small fortune in medicines," his brother, Dieter, answered.

  "How do you know the medicines are here?"

  "Because, dimwit, I saw them loading a box when I delivered the laundry. The same box one of the women carried when s
he left the hospital."

  "But where they put them?" Merten asked.

  "In the kitchen, of course. Where else would you find one of those refrigerators? The medicines are supposed to be kept cool."

  "Oh!"

  "Come on, the lights have been out long enough. Everyone should be asleep by now."

  They gained entry from a window left ajar. Quietly, first Dieter then Merten crawled through the window. They were in the dining room and could easily see their way to the refrigerator in the moonlight.

  "You got the bag ready?" Dieter whispered.

  "Yes."

  Dieter pulled gently at the refrigerator door. There was a clinking of bottles as the door came open. In the gentle glow of the interior light, Dieter searched for the packages he had come for. Then something hit his face. It was as if a red hot iron had struck him. He couldn't help it. He screamed.

  * * *

  The noises coming from the kitchen had Georg up and out of the bed in a flash. He hit the light switch in the kitchen only seconds later. Using the two-handed grip he'd been taught, he pointed his pistol at the intruders. "Freeze, I have a gun."

  Having made his little speech, Georg concentrated on the sight in front of him. Two men were backed into a corner. One was bleeding fairly heavily from deep scratches in his face, arms and hands. The other guy was better off. His face appeared undamaged. They were ignoring him, more concerned with their present danger. Trojan stood hissing at them, daring them to move. The cat's already massive size was transformed to enormous by the way his fur was standing up. Georg licked his dry lips. He'd heard stories about Trojan intimidating vicious dogs. It seemed he was just as effective when dealing with humans.

  Hans entered the kitchen, knotting his robe. "What do we have here then?"

  Georg grinned. "Just something the cat dragged in."

  "It looks like they were interested in something in the refrigerator. Silly people. Opening the refrigerator with Trojan asleep on top. What were they thinking?"

  Georg snorted. "I don't think they were expecting Trojan. Would you do something about tying them up? I'd rather not stand here pointing a gun at them until the police arrive."

  "You worried about the police seeing you with that gun?"

  "It's not the gun, it's the time. The police aren't going to get here anytime soon.

  "Fair enough. And you might ask Katharina to grab you a robe or something. It's pretty obvious why you were still awake at two in the morning."

  Georg flushed at Hans' sally. So, I jumped out of bed, grabbed the gun and rushed in here without bothering about dressing or grabbing a robe. Time might have been of the essence. Then Georg noticed the gleam in Hans' eyes, and realized what he had seen. His duty to protect the refrigerator over, Trojan was now intent on new game.

  "No, Trojan. No!" Georg lowered his hands protectively. Then, realizing that meant taking the gun off the two intruders, brought it back up, then down, then up. Finally, he lowered himself to the ground so he could pull his legs in protectively and still keep the gun pointed at the intruders.

  Hans was laughing his head off. .

  "It's not funny, Hans."

  "Oh it is, Georg. Really, it is."

  * * *

  It took over an hour for the police to arrive. It took another hour and several mugs of coffee for the police to take statements.. Eventually they left with their two prisoners.

  "Where did you get the gun?" Johann Wantzleben, the other male in the household, asked.

  "The utilities company supplied it, and training in using it."

  "Why? That's one of the up-timer guns. Why would a meter reader need an up-timer pistol?"

  "It's for self protection . . ."

  "You mean because you carry a lot of money with you?" Johann asked.

  "I don't actually carry much money. Most people who pay the meter man pay by check. No, the pistol is for protection against wild animals and dogs. There's a real risk of rabies on some of the routes."

  Georg's audience shuddered. Rabies was a death sentence. Smallpox only killed one in three people. rabies killed everyone.

  August 1632, Grantville

  The household had been on edge since the first sound of gunshots. They'd received a phone call telling them that enemy cavalry had been detected close to town and to stay put until further notice. They had prepared to evacuate or to render aid. Now all they could do is wait to see which it would be.

  The ring of the phone broke the tense silence. Lise answered it. "Yes. Yes. Very well. I'll pass that on. Thank you."

  "Well?" Hans asked for all of them.

  "The enemy has been routed. But they were Croats." Lise gave Georg a crooked smile. "It seems someone on the sanitation committee read your paper. We're to go out and check all the dead and wounded for signs of smallpox, and sterilize any equipment they might have with them."

  Johann looked from Lise to Georg. "I'm sorry? What's the connection between the Croats and Georg's history paper?"

  "Someone in the sanitary commission is wondering whether the Croats might have been someone's version of a gift of blankets." Georg answered.

  As Georg's comment sunk in, faces paled.

  The Treasure Hunters

  Written by Karen Bergstralh

  March, 2000

  The librarian stamped the book and handed it across the desk. "This is a grown-up book, Mikey. It came all the way from a library in Richmond and you can only have one renewal on it. It must be back by April sixteenth."

  Michael Arthur Tyler grabbed the book before she could change her mind and quickly muttered, "Thank you." He didn't want her phoning his mother with a complaint about his manners. Momma might tell him to return the book and leave 'grown-up' books until he was older. Just because he was small everybody thought he was still a little kid. No matter how he stretched, he stood barely 4' 9" in his sneakers. Small, thin, and with an unruly mass of sandy colored hair that flopped over his eyes, people who didn't know him pegged him at eight or nine at most. Lots of folks who did know him still thought he was only ten.

  Michael was afraid he would be this small forever. Nanna had told him that his father had been small until he was fifteen and then had started to grow. She always said that he would to grow but Michael wasn't sure he believed her. He didn't know if he could stand another year of being the smallest boy in class.

  Once outside the library, Michael shuffled down the sidewalk. His feet absently kicked at rocks in the universal manner of fourteen-year-old boys. His thoughts were far away in place and time. Tucked securely under his arm was his prize, a copy of The Lost Tomb. The book promised secrets of a new Egyptian tomb—the biggest ever found.

  "Hey, Dweebie!" Danny Colburn yelled. "Whatcha got there? Didn't your momma teach you to share?" Danny and his twin, Shawn, appeared from around the corner. "Look, Shawn, Dweebie's got a book! Does it have pretty pictures, Dweebie?" The two boys loomed over him. Shawn snatched at Michael's book while Danny made a couple of mock swings at Michael's head. The twins were big. They stood almost six feet tall and were the same age as Michael. Since the third grade the twins been the biggest kids in class. Since the fourth grade, Michael had been their favorite target.

  "Maybe it's got real words—really small and simple words. See Spot run. Run, Spot, run!" Shawn guffawed.

  "Naw, gotta be pictures—puppies and kitties. Here, gimme that book, Dweeb!" Danny shoved Michael into Shawn's arms and yanked the book away. Shawn pushed Michael hard, forcing him to his knees. Michael made a futile grab for his book before Shawn slammed him face first into the sidewalk.

  "Aw, Dweebie. This can't be for you—it's all small print. Maybe it would be good kindling . . ."

  "Give my book back!" wailed Michael. Panic made his voice squeak.

  "Hey, Dweebie." Shawn shoved Michael back down with his size twelve shoe. "I didn't tell you to move. Did you tell him he could move, Danny?"

  "Naw, Stop wiggling, Worm, or we'll stomp you . . ." Danny threatened.
>
  Michael, his face squashed against the sidewalk, fought tears. The twins usually were satisfied with giving him black eye and a bloody nose but they had torn up his books before. This was a library book. The last time the twins had torn up a library book all of his allowance and savings hadn't been enough to pay for it. His dad had to make up the rest. Dad had walked Michael down to the library with the money and complained about the cost of the book the whole way there and back. When they got home he'd taken his belt to Michael and warned him, "That better be the last time I have to cough up money for one of your weird books, boy, or your hide will be black and blue for a year. Why'd ya want such a dumb book anyway? For Gods sake, Mikey, grow up and stop reading such useless shit."