"Yes," Georg said. "The man's face is actually a very small part of the negative. I believe Fraulein Frost was over fifty feet from the subject when she took the photograph."
Dina nodded that this was correct.
"Right, run off a couple of dozen copies and we'll start circulating them." Press turned to Dina. "We owe you a heap of thanks. I don't know how we can ever repay you."
"Cash, gold, negotiable bonds." Dina smiled at the shocked look on Chief Richards' face. She'd been dying for a chance to use that phrase ever since she heard her Aunt Lettie use it. It'd sounded so cool.
Marcus was standing on the sideline cheering Bailey's Little League Soccer team on with the rest of the parents. Right then Bailey emerged from the melee of nearly twenty nine-year-olds with the ball at his feet, jinked past the goalie, and dribbled the ball into the goal. He turned, proud as could be, to search for his family. The moment he located them he ran straight for them.
"I scored! I scored!" Bailey said as he launched himself at Marcus.
Marcus caught him, and hugged his son. "You were brilliant. The way you ran round that goalie, he didn't stand a chance."
"Daddy!"
Okay, so maybe he was spreading it on a bit thick, but he was proud of his son. He ruffled Bailey's hair and sent him off to rejoin his team.
"It was a good thing you were here to see his first goal," Jocelyn said.
"Yeah, I wouldn't have missed it for anything, but doesn't Britney have a pony club gymkhana next week?" he asked, looking down at his daughter.
"You remembered!" Britney squealed.
"Of course I remembered." He crouched down to her eye level. "Would I forget my favorite girl's big competition?"
Britney threw her arms around his neck. "You're the best daddy in the world."
Marcus hugged his little girl tightly, then swung her over his head so she could sit on his shoulders.
He was still carrying her on his shoulders when the final whistle was blown and everyone started to move towards the bus stop.
"Have either of you seen this man?"
Marcus glanced over to see a police auxiliary handing Jocelyn a photograph. He looked over her shoulder. It wasn't a great photograph, but anybody who knew Wilhelm Kindorf would easily recognize him. "Sorry, he doesn't look familiar. What's he wanted for?"
The auxiliary shrugged. "I don't know. We were just issued the photographs and sent out to see if anybody knew who he was and where he might be found."
Jocelyn handed the photograph back. "Sorry, I don't recognize him either. Is he dangerous?"
The auxiliary nodded. "That much we have been told. If you see him, don't approach him. Don't even try to follow him. Just call the police."
"We will," Marcus said.
They boarded the bus. Marcus found a seat for Jocelyn and the kids, but he had to stand. On the trip home he constantly looked down on his family. Every now and again Jocelyn would look up and smile at him. He thought about that photograph of Wilhelm and what it could mean. If the police caught Wilhelm, then he stood to lose everything he held dear. He had to do something about the Kindorfs before the police found them. The trouble was, he didn't know where they were staying.
"A penny for them!"
The inquiry jerked him back the present. He tried to smile at her, but his problems seemed to be growing. "They aren't worth that much."
"Then you won't mind telling me for free."
"I've forgotten," he said, hoping to put her off. But for some reason Jocelyn was like a dog with a bone. She kept trying to get him to tell her what he'd been thinking. How could he tell her he was worried about being arrested for murder? He could feel his temper rising.
"Come on, tell me."
He snapped. He didn't quite hit her, but Jocelyn saw the intent in his eyes and drew back in horror, and Marcus bolted. The driver must have seen him in the mirror, because he was braking and had the door open before Marcus got to it. He ran from the bus as if his life depended on it.
Ten minutes later Marcus came out of his blind panic and started to worry about where he was. Back up-time he'd known Grantville like the back of his hand, but there had been a lot of new buildings go up since then. One thing was clear. He was not in one of the more salubrious areas of Greater Grantville. He looked around for landmarks. Locating a hill he thought he recognized, he worked out the direction he needed to take to get back to the main road and started walking. He wasn't lonely. He had the memory of the white, terrified faces of his family in that moment of anger to keep him company.
The sun was starting to set behind the hills and the street was starting to get dark as he turned yet another corner in his search for the main road. He heard a voice, and located a uniform. Never had he been so glad to see a policeman. He hurried towards the man.
He was close to the policeman when suddenly two men appeared at a door. The policeman ordered them to halt, and they responded by opening fire with hand guns. Marcus dived for cover just as the policeman was hit and fell, spilling his revolver as he hit the ground. Marcus thought about the two armed men heading his way and dived for the revolver.
He thumbed the hammer back even before he had a proper grip of the weapon and brought it up. The lead gunmen were less than a dozen yards away when Marcus started shooting.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Click! Click! Click! Click!
Marcus was still trying to shoot when a hand grabbed the revolver and pulled it from his hands. That panicked him, and he fought for the gun. There was a short struggle before it dawned on Marcus that the person he was fighting was in uniform. Suddenly reaction set in and he lost the ability to stand. He would have fallen but for the policeman catching him and lowering him gently to the ground. Shaking violently he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to shut out the rest of the world.
He was vaguely aware of activity around him. Someone wrapped a quilt around him, and he muttered his thanks. He couldn't take his eyes off the two men lying on the ground a few yards from him. They were dead, and he was alive. Suddenly his stomach heaved, and he barely managed to get his head out of his lap before he threw up. A moment later he heaved again.
"Rinse your mouth out with this," a kind voice said.
Marcus looked up to see a female police officer holding out a mug of something. "Thanks." He sipped the warm brew. It tasted like the light soup that the canteen at work usually had simmering. Feeling brave he had another sip. Slowly he became aware of the world again, and discovered he was sitting in a puddle. He started to move to get out of it when the smell hit him. He felt the heat rising in his face as he realized he'd soiled himself.
"Don't be embarrassed. It's a natural reaction," Sergeant Erika Fleischer said.
"That's easy for you to say. I've still got to get home. ah, shit!" Marcus suddenly remembered why he was out here and not safely at home with his wife and kids.He dropped his head in shame.
"Are you all right?"
"Depends on what you mean by all right." Marcus tilted up his head to look the policewoman in the eyes. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing out here."
"We were sort of wondering that," Estes Frost said.
Marcus looked for the new arrival. "Hi, Estes. I had an argument with Jocelyn. On the bus of all places. I lost my temper and nearly hit her. Bailey and Britney were there." He shuddered. "The look on their faces. " He tried to shake away the memory. "Anyway, I panicked and ran." Marcus looked around and snorted. "And I got lost. That's a joke, isn't it? I got lost in Grantville, a place I've lived nearly all my life. Then I saw a cop." He looked around and noticed the policeman whose gun he'd used was gone. "Is he okay?"
"Thanks to you, he's got a good chance," Estes said.
"What about them?" Marcus gestured to where ambulance staff were loading the bodies onto gurneys.
"They're both dead," Estes said.
"I killed them?"
"You had help. Sergeant Tipton also fired at them."
"What happens
now?"
"We take you back to the station to take a statement and get you all cleaned up," Estes said.
A hot shower and a change of clothes, even if they were just a pair of police issue coveralls, made a lot of difference to how a man felt, but nowhere near as much as hearing that the two dead men had been Herman and Wilhelm Kindorf. The relief that they were no longer a threat hanging over his head had brought back his appetite with a vengeance and he'd had no trouble demolishing the bowl of stew he'd been given. He was just wiping the bowl with some bread when someone sat down at his table. He looked up to see a vaguely familiar face. "Hello?"
The young woman smiled and slid a business card across the table to him. "Sergeant Fleischer said you might want to talk to me."
Marcus pulled the card closer and read it. "Dita Petrini, licensed professional counselor." He flicked it back across the table. "I don't need a shrink."
"I'm not a shrink, I'm a counselor. I help people deal with issues. The police call me in every time there's a shooting, especially when there are fatalities. Sergeant Fleischer said you were pretty shaken up."
Marcus remembered how he'd spilled his guts and stared hard at the woman. "I bet she said a hell of a lot more than that."
Dita smiled. "Maybe. But I can help you, Marcus." She pulled a pamphlet from her bag. "You almost hit your wife on that bus, Marcus. You have anger management issues. I can't help you unless you want to be helped, but think of your family." She placed the pamphlet under Marcus' nose and got to her feet. "Think of your family."
Marcus stared after the woman. He saw her stop to chat to several police officers before leaving the canteen. Then he looked down at the pamphlet she'd left behind. It was entitled "Dealing with anger." He started to read it, and recognized himself in the case studies.
A paper bag landed on his table with a thud. "They've hosed the worst of it off. Are you ready to go home?" Estes Frost asked.
Marcus peeked into the bag and saw his dirty clothes. "I guess I better see if I've got a home to go to," he said as he shoved the pamphlet into one of the coverall pockets and got to his feet.
"You do. You wife called when she heard the news."
"I don't deserve her," he muttered as he picked up the bag containing his damp clothes.
"So do something about it."
Marcus put a hand in his pocket and felt the pamphlet Dita Petrini had given him. If he still had a marriage to save, then he'd call her tomorrow.
Marcus felt his heart jump when he saw Jocelyn and the children lined up on the veranda. He held out a hand to Estes. "Thanks."
Estes griped his hand firmly. "No, thank you. But for you we might have lost Officer Schulze."
"I hate to disillusion you, Estes, but everything I did out there I did for me."
"Sure, I understand that. But if you hadn't been there Schulze might be dead."
Marcus climbed out of the car, with his bag of clothes held to his chest. He waited for Estes to back out and go wherever he was supposed to be going. Jocelyn and the children hadn't moved. Scared of his reception, he crossed the drive and walked up to them, stopping just short of them. "Hi."
Suddenly he had three warm bodies slammed into him.
"I was so worried about you," Jocelyn said.
"The man on TV said you're a hero, daddy," Britney said.
That made him feel guilty. He gently pushed Jocelyn away so he could crouch down. He dropped his bag of clothes and laid a hand on each of her shoulders. "Heroes don't terrify their own families, Britney. I'm sorry I scared you back on the bus." He turned to Bailey, who hadn't said a word yet. "And I'm sorry I scared you, too." He felt in his coverall pocket for the pamphlet and held it up for Jocelyn. "I'm going to call her tomorrow."
Jocelyn looked at the pamphlet and tears started to well in her eyes. "Let's go inside."
The House on Gray's Run
Dina Frost sat with the rest of the household watching the latest news on TV. They'd just announced the identity of the two men killed in a shootout with police. Marcus Acton, Bailey Acton's dad, had once again been proclaimed a hero. She sighed. Bailey was going to be unbearable at school on Monday. Still, it had been good to hear that Bruno's brothers would never hurt him again. She glanced over to see how he'd taken the news.
She had to smile. Bruno, with his one track mind, was every cat's favorite person. Right now he was carefully running a comb through the long fur of the household's catriarch. He'd been doing it for the last half hour, and it didn't look like Queenie was going to tire of his ministrations any time soon. Bruno didn't seem to care that his bullying brothers were dead, but she was glad they'd received their comeuppance. There was still the third man, but Dina was sure the police were doing everything they could to catch him.
Cadence: A Continuation of the Euterpe Stories
Enrico Toro, David Carrico
Grantville
March 1635
The doorbell rang. Elizabeth Jordan looked up from the sink where she was peeling carrots. "One of you get that," she called out.
She heard Leah's feet go running across the floor. For a small girl, she had such a heavy tread that her steps were unmistakable.
The door squeaked on its hinges, and she heard seven-year-old Leah squeal, "Mr. Giacomo!"
Elizabeth's heart first jumped, then sank. Memories unreeled themselves in her mind.
August, 1633
Elizabeth had been sight-reading two of Erik Satie's Tres Gymnopedies at the piano in the high school auditorium. The music had demanded the sound and touch of the grand. And as usual, she had been so focused on the music that she hadn't heard the door at the rear of the auditorium, nor the steps down the aisles. Consequently, the applause that sounded when she finished the second piece took her by surprise, and she almost gave herself whiplash when her head whipped around to see who was clapping.
It was Victor Saluzzo, the high school principal, and two men dressed in down-timer clothing of a style she hadn't seen before.
"Gentlemen, may I introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Jordan, our music teacher?" Victor had said.
That was her introduction to Girolamo Zenti and Giacomo Carissimi. Zenti was obviously a man's man; bold, strutting a little, and with sufficient charm and charisma to woo the Venus de Milo, missing arms and all. But Carissimi had intrigued her. In both appearance and manner, he had reminded her of Douglas Drake, the Ohio farm boy who had been in most of her college classes; quiet, tongue-tied most of the time, and usually shy, though he had a baritone voice to die for. He had stared at her in every class they were in, and whenever she looked at him, he would blush and look away. But he wasn't creepy; just somehow oddly sweet.
Doug never managed to ask her for a date before she started going with Fred. From time to time, she regretted that.
Somehow, even at the very moment their eyes first met, this Carissimi fellow had the same effect on her that Doug had had.
That was where it began.
March 1635
"Mom," nine-year-old Daniel appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, "it's Mr. Carissimi."
Fall 1633
Before long, Elizabeth had found herself acting as Giacomo's mentor and teacher in the arts of music as the twentieth century had known them. She was amazed at him. He was like a musical sponge. It didn't seem to matter to him, if it had something to do with music, he wanted to know it. Music theory, music history, form and analysis; lives of composers, it didn't matter. Even the concentrated notes that Marla Linder had made available from her sessions with her band of German musicians didn't slow him down.
But his greatest passion was for the piano, the single instrument that came back from the future that the down-timers would be most affected by. Giacomo certainly was. He would spend hours every day working on it, playing scales and etudes, building technique and muscle memory.
Then, at some point, he started improvising. And that was where she was caught.
March 1635
Elizabeth very gentl
y laid the carrot and the peeler down on the cabinet by the sink, rinsed her hands off under the faucet, and dried them carefully. She placed the dish towel back on the rack, then stood facing the window over the sink.
Fall 1633
The library resources and her own college textbooks had given Elizabeth a sketch of Carissimi's life in the future that would never be. And it was impressive. She resolved in her own heart that his biography in this new future would be even more impressive. Yeah, she had to admit to herself, that perhaps this second chance at Doug Drake meant something to her. In any event, she began to spend more and more time with Giacomo, pushing him harder and harder, giving him more and more to learn and less time to learn it. He had become her challenge.
March 1635
"Mom?"
She took a deep breath, then turned and followed Daniel toward the front door.
Fall 1633
And so the time passed. Elizabeth didn't neglect her family or her children. But every so often her husband Fred, the deputy sheriff who had become the West VirginiaCounty's expert liaison with outside the Ring of Fire law enforcement organizations, would ask her why she was spending so much extra time at the school.
And sometimes he would ask her what she was thinking about when she was staring off into space.
She never told him much about Carissimi, only that he was a down-time music teacher who needed to learn about the up-time music. She didn't think he would understand.
When Fred started spending more and more time out of town, it was actually a bit of relief.
March 1635
Giacomo looked up at her from where he knelt talking to Leah. That was one of the things Leah adored about him, that he would always put himself on her level to talk to her.
October/November 1633
Grantville Gazette 45 gg-45 Page 9
