by Eric Flint
Kseniya's Office
"Tate, you can't believe the offers we've received to help build my husband's chapel," Kseniya said.
"Yeah," Brandy said. "It's turned into a community project. Not only did folks send in money, but Father Gavril got pledges of material, building equipment and labor."
"Sadly, the only item not pledged is a bell. And we don't have the money to buy one already cast or the time to wait for one before the chapel's dedication," Kseniya said.
"Brandy, have you thought about having a fundraiser for the bell?" said Tate. "Other churches have them all the time. We should be able to put one on here; the place is plenty big enough. We could do a Russian feast; maybe even get some of the food donated. That will help with the profit margin. I know the local fish mongers throw away the roe. We can get the makings for some nice caviar for free."
"You're right, Tate," Brandy said. "Vlad could buy a bell, though
…"
"For a cause like this," Tate pointed out, "well, it's a community thing. If we let people help, we make more friends, let people get used to our ways. We can make it a 'Night in Moscow.' We'll have Russian food and music."
"This sounds like nothing we did in the old country," Kseniya said. "There we could count on the czar or somebody important to give a new church its bell."
Tate grinned. "There's an old saying. The czar is very far away. Besides, Brandy, you and Vlad need to entertain. He's basically the Russian ambassador here, you know."
"Jeez, Tate," Brandy said. "Vlad's almost as bad about publicity as, as… well, whatever. Saint Vasili is going to get some more. Even if Vlad hates to read about the rezidentz in the papers without knowing about it first."
Tate winked at her.
Brandy's sitting room
"Brandy, a problem with your baptism has come up," Kseniya said.
"What's the problem, Kseniya? This will be the first time I've been baptized in any church. Vlad and I settled this long ago," Brandy said.
"It's not the rite itself. The problem is your baptismal name," Kseniya said. "According to the rules, you need a qualified name. That's 'qualified according to church law.' My husband says 'Brandy' is unacceptable."
"Now, that's a problem we never thought of," Brandy said.
"It's also a matter of you're starting, spiritually that is, a new life," Kseniya said.
"You're right. Something other than "Brandy" would show the change. Now what can we come up with that will qualify?"
"Branya," said a now relaxed Kseniya, "your people usually have two given names, right?"
"Sure a first and middle name," Brandy said. "I hate mine; it sounds so old fashioned."
"Well, what is it?" asked Kseniya.
"Margaret. Momma said I got it in honor of Margaret Truman," Brandy said. "I think it smells like mothballs."
"Branya, the name may smell like mothballs to you," Kseniya said. "To me it sounds like a solution to the problem."
"How can the name of a dead president's daughter be a solution?"
"Margaret is the name of a saint, Saint Margaret the Virgin of Antioch. It will work perfectly. Even better, you were planning on a June wedding. We both know Saint Vasili's won't be ready for a wedding by then."
"Yeah, that is a bummer," Brandy said. "I guess we'll have to have it in the garden."
"Can you survive a seventeen day delay? Saint Margaret's feast day is July seventeenth. That will give Gavra two more weeks to get the chapel ready."
Prince Vladimir's office
Saint Vasili's building committee was in session. Not that it was a large committee. In fact, it consisted of Brandy, Vladimir, the Kotovs and Pete Enriques.
"Father Gavril, Prince Vladimir, ladies," Pete said. "I've taken a look at the materials given or pledged for this project. It looks like you have enough to build a basic structure."
"How big a building?" asked Vladimir.
"I'd say about twenty by thirty feet. Call it five hundred square feet. It will be cozy but not too small," Pete said.
"I don't know about square feet," said Gavril. "Please tell me how many people will be able to get inside."
"Remember, Pete, Russians stand for their services. So you don't need to figure in room for pews or chairs," Brandy said.
Pete thought for a moment and scribbled some numbers down. "How, does eighty comfortably or a hundred smooshed in sound to you? That's with leaving space for the altar and other pieces of furniture."
"That sounds like it will be more than sufficient for our needs," Vladimir said.
"What about a bell?" Pete asked. "Nothing in the budget for one of those, yet."
"We plan on having a fundraising dinner. We hope we can get the money from that," Kseniya said.
"By the first part of July? I checked around; the foundries won't be able to deliver in that time frame, they said."
"Then we need a miracle. Let's pray for the Holy Mother's and Saint Vasili's intervention," Father Gavril said.
"Amen, Father," chorused Kseniya, Vladimir and Brandy. Pete kept his mouth shut. As a Grantviller, he wanted to help his neighbors. As a Pentecostal, he wasn't going to amen prayers to the virgin and a saint.
The Day Before a Night in Old Moscow
Timofei walked up to the kitchen's outside table. He knew Tate usually sat out here for her noon meal. The girl was getting to be a nuisance. Why he was trailing after her he didn't know. However, Timofei knew Tate was not only easy on the eyes but easy to talk to. That she was more than just competent at her job was another plus in her favor.
Tate was eating a meat pie when she heard Tim's military tread on the gravel. The man was getting to be annoying. Sure, he was a colonel, though Mrs. K. had her doubts as to his exact rank. But, he was cute in a Slavic kind of way.
"Tate, may I join you?" Timofei asked.
"Sure, Tim," Tate said. "Take a load off."
"It's a pity we're both going to be on duty tomorrow night," Tim said. "Otherwise, I'd ask if you would do me the honor of being my escort to the dinner."
Tate said, "Yes, it's a pity. Because I'd say yes. I hear the Old Folks Band is playing. Maybe we can steal a dance."
"It will have to be a slow one. I have two left feet," Timofei said.
A Night in Old Moscow
The interior courtyard was ablaze with torches and electric lights. Tables were set up in a horseshoe. The stage and food tables took up the fourth side.
Prince Vladimir climbed onto the stage and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for coming out tonight for a time in Old Moscow. This occasion could not have come about without the efforts and hard work of many people. In particular, we owe our thanks to Chef Tate Garrett and the kitchen staff for the food, to Mrs. Kseniya Kotova and the decorating committee for all of the finery you see displayed, and, last but not least, to Gospazha Brandy for keeping this whole enterprise together. Now, I'll ask Father Gavril to ask God's blessing on tonight."
Gavril came to the front of the stage. In Russian, English and German, he gave thanks to God for the food, the hands that prepared it, and for the money brought in by the tickets.
***
Timofei surveyed the security detail. His men and women were without work tonight. He could begin to like these Grantville parties. Nobody was using the festivities as a reason to be drunk and obnoxious. Even, Tate was pleased with the food service. She relaxed standing over to the side. I think I can dance to this music. Timofei sent up a fast prayer of thanksgiving. The dance music was uptime ballroom and Brandy had insisted on dance lessons for the senior staff.
"Chef Garrett, would you do me the honor of this dance?" Timofei bowed.
Tate, in her best Scarlett O'Hara manner, curtsied and replied, "Why, Colonel, it would be my pleasure."
Timofei and Tate foxtrotted onto the dance floor to "Moscow Nights."
Tate whispered, "Honey, you don't have two left feet. You're not in Federico's class, true. But not everyone is the second coming of Fred Astaire."
"I guess my other left foot stayed in Moscow," Timofei murmured back. "I do have a question. If you promise not to get offended…"
"Tim, you'd have to work hard at offending me," Tate said.
"Good. Since you call me 'honey,' may I call you Tatia?"
"Of course. Turn about is fair play."
***
Kseniya walked through the tables, greeting the guests while she kept an eye on the men and women on serving duty.
Good. All of the tables have full beer pitchers. She moved towards the buffet tables. The scouts from Troop 9 busied themselves toting the heavier trays from the outdoor grills and the kitchen. The girl scouts from Troop 29 smiled as they dished out the food to the donors.
"Good evening, Mr. Bolender, Mrs. Walker," Kseniya said. "I want to thank you. Your scouts are a great help. Prince Vladimir is very impressed."
"You're welcome, Mrs. Kotova," said the Troop 29 scoutmaster. "A couple of our scouts are using this as their community service projects. If we had known about it earlier, one of the scouts would have used it for his Eagle Scout project.
"Likewise," said the Girl Scout Leader. "Though I think you need to thank Ulrich. He's the one keeping things moving. He's over there by the fire extinguishers."
"Thank you, Herr Schwarz," Kseniya called over.
Not leaving his post, Ulrich called back, "You're welcome."
"Please excuse me, I need to visit with the others," Kseniya said.
"We understand, Mrs. Kotova," said Evangeline. "Our troops also appreciate Prince Vladimir's donation."
"You're welcome. Though, the idea of donating in return for your help was J.P. Kindred's idea. You need to thank him," Kseniya said.
At that moment, Kseniya spotted J.P. He was sitting with a group of his fellow veterans and their wives.
Walking over to the group, Kseniya saw a small wooden crate on the ground beside the table. It looked rather heavy.
I wonder how these grandpas got that in here. Does the colonel know it's here? Kseniya wondered.
"Hey there, Mrs. K." said J.P. "This is a great fundraiser. Who'd of thought Russians were into barbecue."
"J. P., this isn't barbecue. It's meat on a stick," said one of J.P.'s tablemates.
"Welcome to the rezidentz," Kseniya said. "In Russian, this meat on a stick is called 'shaslik.'"
"What ever you call it. It's good chow," said the unknown tablemate.
"Mrs. K. let me introduce Chief Warrant Officer Louis Tillman," said Kindred. "Boats, this is Mrs. Kseniya Kotova. She's sort of the first lieutenant around this place."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am," said Louis. "We have something that will interest your husband."
"You do?"
"Yes, ma'am. It's sitting in this crate," said Louis. "If Colonel Makoveev will lend me couple of strong backs, we can get it out where every one can see it."
Kseniya looked around for the streletz. He was standing so close that she knew he was in on this deal.
The colonel called out in his best parade ground voice, "Bondarev, Antonov, come here. Ivanov, bring a crowbar."
Two Russians, with help from the older scouts, easily moved the wooden crate in front of the stage.
Kseniya joined her husband, the prince and Brandy beside the crate.
Boats Tillman bellowed out, "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please." With fewer decibels, he said, "Men, loosen up the nails in the crate."
Tillman continued, "The Legion would like to present a memorial gift to the Chapel of St. Vasili. All we ask is there be a plaque located nearby to identify the gift as being given in memory of those who gave their all for their country. Father Gavril, please open the crate."
Gavril took the crowbar from Antonov and started ripping off the boards. The scouts helped him by lifting off the top and removing the sides as the last nails were pulled out.
When the work party moved away, there stood a ship's bell.
"Folks, for years my wife and I went around to different antique shows and flea markets. And you know how I am about naval memorabilia."
The Grantvillers in the crowd laughed. They certainly did, since most of them had been treated to Louis' stories whether they wanted to be or not.
He gave them a grin. "We were in Pennsylvania when I spotted this bell. It comes from a decommissioned Coast Guard cutter, the Tupelo."
Father Gavril fell on the old salt's shoulders, babbling, "It's a miracle! Praise God, a bell for Saint Vasili."
Kseniya looked over at Brandy and Vlad. They were both beaming. And over in the corner, Colonel Tim and Tate were having an intense conversation. She smiled. There might be yet another wedding here at the rezidentz.
***
Daedalus' New Wings
Kerryn Offord
Magdeburg, September, 1634
Tracy Kubiak stared at the shop window, not really seeing anything. She was in Magdeburg to inspect the local division of her company, Grantville Canvas and Outdoor, but she was finding it hard to stay motivated. Maybe it was just because she'd turned thirty, but she'd been feeling old and tired lately. What she needed was a new project. Something she could really get her teeth into. Something that would make her feel young and alive again.
"Free at last. Kids are in school and we can rumble." Belle, her cousin, gripped Tracy's arm. "Where do you want to go first?"
Tracy shrugged in disinterest.
"I know, let's check out the progress of the opera house. It's on the way to the navy yard."
Tracy let Belle drag her along. She wasn't interested in the opera house, but her adopted daughter back in Grantville might like to hear an eye-witness report on progress.
Tracy heard the drone of an aircraft flying overhead, looked up and sighed. She'd never felt more alive than when she was skydiving. Unfortunately, there was no way she could get into the air. The Air Force was running Belles and Gustavs. Neither of which was suitable for skydiving. The only aircraft even approaching suitable was Trans European Airlines' "Monster", but they only had the one aircraft and it was either flying the airline's commercial routes or in for maintenance.
Tracy felt Belle stop and looked down to see why. They'd come up to the fence surrounding the work site. "What the hell?"
"Yes, I know. The foundations were laid weeks ago and they haven't done anything since then. Bitty's already had a fight with Carl about the lack of progress. "
Tracy wasn't interested in whatever Bitty Matowski had been complaining about. She only had eyes for the two kite balloons hanging in the sky. She started toward them.
"Hey, Tracy, where do you think you're going?" Belle called as she hastened to catch up.
"Hold it. You can't go in there, Tracy." Carl Schockley, one of the directors of Kelly Construction, and an old friend, was holding her arm.
"Those balloons…"
"Romulus and Remus?"
"Is that what you call them?" Carl nodded and shrugged.
What was in a name? Tracy wanted answers to more important questions. "How high can they fly?"
"How high do you want them to go?"
"High enough to skydive from?"
"They can go high enough. That's not a problem. The problem is the tether. That's going to limit you to about a thousand feet. With high performance chutes you might get up to five seconds of free-fall. What kind of chute do you have?"
"I don't have one yet. But I can make one."
"How about making two?"
"You want to skydive, too?"
"Sure," Carl said.
"Hold it. You're not planning on parachuting from one of those balloons are you?" Belle demanded.
Tracy nodded. "I sure am."
"I thought you gave up parachuting when you were pregnant with Justin."
"I gave up sports parachuting, but I had to do some jumps with the army to maintain my jump qualification."
"Still, you had Terrie in early 2000. You wouldn't have been jumping when you were pregnant, so that makes i
t at least four years since you last jumped."
"It's like riding a bicycle, Belle. You don't forget the skills that quickly."
"But to do it for the first time with a homemade parachute…"
Tracy glared at her cousin. "You make it sound like I don't know how to make a parachute. I was a rigger with the regular army for four years and the National Guard for another four. I know how to sew a parachute. I didn't just pack them, I maintained them. All I need is enough of the right kind of fabric."
"Nobody's making any nylon."
"They might not be making nylon, but there's plenty of silk around, and silk is what they used before they had nylon."
"I don't know what Ted's going to say."
Tracy couldn't help the grin. "He'll probably want me to make one for him, Belle."
***
"A parachute? To jump off a balloon? You can't be serious?" Ted sounded upset, although Tracy couldn't imagine why.
She gave him her best glare. This was not the supportive response she'd been expecting. "I want to experience free-fall again and Carl said I can use one of his company's balloons,"
"But…"
"But?" Tracy waited for Ted to continue. He didn't, slumping into silence instead. "So it's agreed? I make some parachutes and we all jump from the balloons."
"We?" Ted asked.
"Sure. You, me, and Carl."
October 1634, Grantville
Ted stood at the door to the basement work room and watched his wife as she struggled with the clouds of fabric. She'd already prototyped a proof of concept scale model; now she was working on a full-size linen parachute. It would be as functional as a silk parachute, but weigh a lot more. However, it would have the benefit of being considerably cheaper. Tracy, even though she no longer had to count the pennies, didn't believe in being unnecessarily extravagant.
"I'll take Justin."
Ted turned and passed his sleeping son to Richelle, their adopted daughter. "Thanks. I'd better drag Tracy away from her machine or she'll be impossible tomorrow.
