Grantville Gazette 46 gg-46

by Paula Goodlett

  "There are a number of packing cases and a big pile of corrugated cardboard."

  Now Sebastian knew what was waiting for him in the garage. He guzzled down the milk and grabbed his sandwich before running for the garage.

  He opened the door to see stack after stack of cardboard boxes and a stack of craft-produced corrugated cardboard.

  "Is that mom's book?" Mary Ellen asked from behind him.

  "Yes. Gran didn't want to pay the sales commission Schmucker and Schwentzel were asking, so I'm going to be handling sales from here."

  "I hope that's not going to interfere with school. You know you need these extra classes in Latin if you're to do well at university."

  "It won't, Mom," he said.

  "It better not. Well, are you going to show me this book?"

  Sebastian selected a carton and tried to tear through the packing tape holding it closed with his thumb nail.

  "Here, let me," his long suffering mother said as she used her thumbnail to tear the tape. "If you'd stop chewing your nails you wouldn't have this problem."

  He ignored the attack on his personal habits and opened the carton to reveal-books. He carefully lifted out the top book and unwrapped it. His mother looked over his shoulder as he slowly turned the pages, stopping every now and again when his mother laid her hand on his to give her more time to look at a photograph. Eventually Sebastian handed her the book.

  "They're beautiful," Mary Ellen muttered.

  Sebastian wasn't prepared to go that far, but the photographs of Grantville before and after the Ring of Fire were impressive. His gran sure knew how to get the best out of the limited technology they had. Many of the photographs had been taken on wet-plates, and lugging that equipment around had just about broken his back. Some were taken using the more modern dry-plate technology, but his gran wasn't overly impressed by the effects she was getting from her current emulsion.

  ****

  The next day Sebastian didn't go straight home from school. He got off the bus at Grays Run and hurried along the road to the house where Gran lived with a carton of books balanced on his shoulder. She still had her house in Grantville, but she'd been lonely after Granddad died. She had, to quote his mother, fallen in with dubious company-the down-timers who lived there were Lutheran, while Tom and Celeste Frost were Catholic-and moved into the house on Grays Run.

  Before the Ring of Fire the house had been offered as a rental with the bare minimum of furniture. Untenanted at the time of the Ring of Fire, and with the landlord an up-time property company, the house and acreage it stood on had reverted to the government. Carl Schockley, a guy who had been working temporarily in Grantville, had managed to buy the place in the early days after the Ring of Fire, before property values went wild. Last year Carl had relocated to Magdeburg, leaving the property in the hands of the tenants he'd recruited to help pay the mortgage.

  Sebastian left the carton of books at the house and went in search of his gran. He found her doing what any self-respecting septuagenarian would do in her place if they lived in the house on Grays Run.

  BOOM!

  That's right. She was "playing" with explosives. The prime tenant Carl had left behind was a company he helped start-Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza. Originally they'd just made primers and percussion caps, but over time they'd branched out, and although they no longer produced the explosives on the property, they did conduct tests there.

  He waited for the all clear before joining his gran and Tom Frost. "Hi, having fun?" Lettie Sebastian turned and he saw the mile-wide smile on her face. "Silly question. I got the books yesterday. I've left a carton of review copies up at the house for you to sign and number before I mail them." He screwed his nose up at that. He saw the need for giving away a few review copies, but he wasn't happy about it. Not considering how many books they had to sell just to break even. The problem was the books weren't just expensive, they were horrendously expensive. The special high quality paper the books had been printed on saw to that. They could have used cheaper paper, but the photographs wouldn't have looked half as good and his gran's artistic sensibilities had overtaken economic sense, and she'd insisted on the better quality paper.

  "I don't see why you're worried. Your market research showed there was a lot of interest in a book of photographs showing Grantville before and after," Tom said.

  "But it wasn't enough to persuade Schmucker and Schwentzel to publish it," Sebastian said.

  "That's because there is a lot of difference between people saying they might be interested in buying such a book and those same people actually forking out seven hundred and fifty dollars, plus postage and packaging, for it." Lettie shrugged. "Still, it's only money, and at my time of life it's best to enjoy it while you can."

  "You're not worried about losing your house?" Tom asked.

  "I live here." Lettie waved her arms to encompass the Grays Run property. "And the rent my tenants pay covers the mortgage with more than enough over to pay my way here. As long as the property taxes don't go too high, there shouldn't be a problem."

  Sebastian was glad to hear his gran wasn't going to lose her home if the book was a failure, but he was hoping it made a profit, because Gran had promised him a share of any profit in return for his help.

  Wednesday

  With summer school operating Sebastian had time to hawk his gran's book around town before and after school. This afternoon his target was the post office. He checked his appearance in the reflection from the window before walking in. He'd made an appointment to talk to the postmaster, so he approached a teller to let them know he was there, and was promptly told to "please wait." He waited over by the stands that showed the merchandise the post office sold. There were the usual post related items in the form of standard size cardboard boxes and envelopes, postcards, and then there were the "last minute gifts and souvenirs." A Pictorial History of Grantville would be right at home here, if it wasn't three times the price of the next most expensive book.

  "Sebastian, how can I help you?" Pam Sizemore, the postmaster, asked when she showed up a few minutes later.

  Sebastian took the sample book he was carrying out of its protective packaging and offered it to Pam. "You said you might be willing to sell my grandmother's new book."

  He waited patiently while Mrs. Sizemore slowly looked through the book. "It's very good. I can see the tourist market being interested, but how much is it going to cost?" she asked.

  "We're thinking to retail it at seven hundred and fifty dollars."

  Pam whistled. "That's pricy. I don't think we'd get much demand for anything that expensive. Still, there will be some interest." She fondled the box it came in. "Do they all come in these boxes? Because most of our sales would be to people wanting something to send as a gift, and we don't have anything this size."

  Sebastian made an executive decision. The books had been delivered in cartons of twenty. He had been planning to use the custom protective corrugated cardboard boxes for mail-order purchases only, so they'd have to order some more made, but for such an expensive book, the extra cost of the packaging wasn't worth fighting over. "I can supply the books in a carton of twenty, with the packaging as pre-cut corrugated cardboard sheets, or I can deliver the books individually pre-packaged."

  Pam glanced over at the books she had on sale. "You can put me down for twenty pre-packaged, and we'll see how they sell."

  Sebastian recorded the order in his book and left for his next stop.

  After a long afternoon traipsing around the shops, Sebastian had commitments for a hundred books, and he hadn't even tried the tourist traps yet. The Red Barn Museum was his next stop.

  The Red Barn, naturally enough, attracted tourists, and Sebastian felt that the prime market for his gran's book would be the tourists. When he'd been conducting his market research the museum's manager had indicated that she would be interested, so here he was. He approached the first museum assistant he discovered. "Mrs. Harris, is Mrs. Mase about?"

/>   "She's in her office, Sebastian."

  "Thank you." He made for the museum manager's office and knocked on the door.

  "Come in."

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Mase. I've come about Gran's book." He laid the by now shop-soiled box on her desk and stepped back.

  Sydney Mase hefted the box before opening it, the moment she removed the tissue paper protecting the dust jacket she froze, and just stared at the view on the cover. It was a view from the hills looking over post Ring of Fire Grantville showing, as close as they could tell, the same view as that of the 1897 "map" of Grantville that had pride of place on the wall of the museum.

  Sydney opened the book and stopped again. The endpapers were a reproduction of the 1897 map. She looked up. "Could you turn that into a poster?" she asked.

  "Gran took that photo with a ten by twelve plate camera. I guess it could be enlarged, but Schmucker and Schwentzel have a camera that can take bigger photographs. If you wanted to have posters made, then I'd suggest talking to them."

  "Do you have any idea what they'd cost?"

  Sebastian shrugged. "They can't be too expensive. The Arts Week committee in Magdeburg had promotion posters made last year, and those were in color. Ask them, I'm sure they'd be happy to give you a quote."

  "I will. Okay, back to your grandmother's book. It's even better than I thought it would be. What are you hoping to sell it for?"

  "Seven-fifty," Sebastian muttered defensively. He'd been catching flack from retailers all afternoon about the price.

  Sydney surprised him. She nodded. "That sounds about right. It's expensive, but there is absolutely nothing like it out there. We should ask your gran to take some photographs so we can put together a souvenir of the museum."

  "I can take the photographs," Sebastian said. "Gran's been teaching me, and she's happy to lend me her cameras."

  "I'll keep that in mind. Meanwhile, what's the deal about handling your books?"

  "Seven percent commission on sales, and we provide the books either already individually wrapped in their cardboard boxes, or I can deliver them in cartons of twenty with sheets of pre-cut corrugated cardboard that you can fold into boxes as you need them."

  "Put me down for two cartons, and we'll make the boxes ourselves," Sydney said.

  Sebastian was almost walking on air when he got home. He had orders for a hundred and forty books, and there hadn't even been a book review published yet. He bounced into the house, and went hunting for someone to tell his good news. He found his mom and dad in the kitchen. "Hi, did you have a good day?"

  "It certainly looks like you did," Simon Jones said. "How did it go?"

  "I've got orders for a hundred and forty, and that's without any publicity."

  "Congratulations," Simon and Mary Ellen said.

  "I'll just go and tell Gran she's got to come round and sign another bundle of books.

  Thursday

  Sebastian was home from school early. He should have been studying, but there was a regular book review program on, and his source at the school TV station had tipped him that his gran's book was going to be featured, so he'd grabbed a bite to eat and stretched out on the couch to watch the program. Right now he was being slowly put to sleep by the presenter as she droned on about a book by some down-timer. Apparently she had liked it, because she recommended it to viewers. Then she held up the next book, and Sebastian was suddenly all ears.

  He lay there in horror, his sandwich forgotten, as she tore the book to shreds. She had nothing good to say about it, and then she attacked the price. "Of course it's expensive. It's a coffee table book," Sebastian muttered to himself. Everyone knew art books were expensive. They expected them to be expensive.

  He was still sitting there when his mother got home. "Shouldn't you be studying?" she asked.

  Sebastian stared at her vacantly.

  "Is there something the matter? Is it Mom?"

  The real concern in his mother's voice dragged Sebastian's mind from the nightmare he was in. "The critic tore up Gran's book!"

  Mary Ellen looked from Sebastian to the television, to the newspaper open to the television schedule, and back again. "The book review show on television?"

  Sebastian nodded.

  Mary Ellen walked over and hugged Sebastian. "It's just one woman's opinion."

  "But it's an opinion on television. Lots of people will have seen it."

  "No publicity is bad publicity."

  Sebastian sighed. If only there was some truth in that old saw. He collected his half-eaten sandwich and headed for the kitchen. He'd suddenly lost his appetite. "I'd better call Gran and see if she caught the show," he muttered.

  Lettie had caught the show, and she was not happy. Her first instinct had been to call the station and complain, but Tom's wife had persuaded her to cool down before doing anything rash. So she'd followed Celeste's advice and released her anger by blowing up a couple of tree stumps. That had made her feel better, but not as much as placing the explosives under Brianna Marie Flannery's seat would have done. Of course Brianna would have to be Celeste's cousin, wouldn't she?

  Felling considerably settled, Lettie returned to the house. Celeste met her at the door.

  "Feeling better?"

  She nodded. There was something about blowing things up that couldn't help but make someone feel better.

  "I'm sorry about my cousin."

  Lettie waved the apology away. "We can't choose our relatives."

  "The best thing is to fight fire with fire. Do you have a copy you can spare for a review?"

  "You mean give away another one of my overpriced vanity publication of my pictures?" Lettie snarled the words. They had drawn blood when Brianna Flannery said them, and she wanted revenge.

  "I think you should offer Mr. Kindred a copy if he'll put a review in the Grantville Times."

  "Sebastian's already sent out review copies. The trouble is we don't have any control over when or if they'll print reviews."

  "Maybe if you speak nicely to Mr. Kindred, he'll ask his reviewer to hurry-up," Celeste suggested.

  Lettie sighed. She was getting too old for this sort of thing. "I'll talk to him in church on Sunday."

  Sunday

  One of the advantages of being married to a Methodist lay preacher was that she'd gotten to know all the Methodists in Grantville. When you had a daughter and son-in-law who were Methodist ministers to the parish, you stayed in the loop even when your husband died. So Lettie had no trouble talking to Lyle Kindred and his wife about her book, the Brianna Flannery review, and when the Grantville Times, of which Lyle was the publisher, might be printing their review of her book. She walked away with the less than satisfactory answer that they were waiting for their reviewer to file her review, but they'll print it as soon as they could.

  Wednesday

  Lettie was called to the phone late in the evening. She picked it up. "Lettie Sebastian speaking."

  "Hello, Lettie. Lyle Kindred here. I just thought you'd like to know the review of your book will be in tomorrow's paper."

  "What's it like? Who wrote it?" Lettie demanded.

  "Wait and see, Lettie. Wait and see."

  "Lyle Kindred, you tell me what it says or. ." she stared at the phone. He'd hung up on her.

  Thursday

  On Thursday morning she paid one of the older children to run into town to get the paper the moment it hit the street. He returned just as Lettie was finishing breakfast. She ignored the front page stories with their photographs-those were almost old hat now-at least in the Grantville papers, and the cartoons, heading instead straight for the entertainment section. There was a small image of someone reading a book identifying the location of the review.

  She read it, and started to smile. Heather Garlow, the reviewer, introduced herself as a fellow artist, and then went on to effectively deny nearly everything Brianna Flannery had said on television, without mentioning the television review.

  "That's a good review, isn't it?" Tom asked
from over her shoulder. "I mean, more people read the Times than watch television."

  "It's more than a good review, Tom. It's a carefully constructed hatchet job on Brianna." Celeste looked up at the ceiling as if looking for inspiration. "I wonder what she could ever have done to upset Mrs. Garlow?"

  "She probably tore up some of Mrs. Garlow's work," Lettie muttered. "Whatever made your cousin think she knew anything about art?" she asked Celeste.

  "She took a couple of courses at college," Celeste answered.

  "Ah, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing," Lettie said. "I guess all we can do now is wait and see if it helps sales."

  "How have sales been so far?" Celeste asked.

  Lettie shrugged. "They were looking good, but since your cousin's negative review most of the retailers have been holding back on new orders."

  Friday

  Sebastian watched the emotions flash across his mother's face as she read the paper and wondered what had caused them. "What's so funny, mom?"

  Mary Ellen looked up from the paper. "The letters to the editor. Brianna Flannery is complaining about Heather Garlow's review of Mom's book. She's claiming it's a barely disguised personal attack for some honest comments she made about Heather's new installation in the Higgins, and she wants an apology."

  Sebastian walked round so he could read the letter over his mother's shoulder. "What's an installation?"

  Mary Ellen opened her mouth in preparation to answer, then shut it and looked across the table to her husband. "Simon, can you explain?"

  Simon shook his head. "I know what one is, but you really need to see one to understand."

  Sebastian reread the letter. "I might drop by the Higgins and have a look."

  Mary Ellen nodded. "You do that, and maybe you'll understand."

  "Take a camera. You might be able to sell a photograph of it to one of the papers," Sebastian's father suggested.

  Saturday