Barbie was silent, stunned by her father's reaction. She had expected him to be upset but she had never seen him this angry. What should she say? What should she do? What could she say or do? She loved her rock and roll. How could she make him understand? This was who she was, what she wanted to be. No words came.
"Well, Katrin, you are home now, and the morning will see the return of my girl. You may go to bed now but make no mistake. I do not want to see you like that again. Am I understood?" The anger seemed to have bled away a little bit but Barbie could still hear the steel in her father's words. With that, he waved his hand, motioning her towards the door. Then he put his head in his hands, feeling the anger replaced by exhaustion.
Barbie turned and left, climbing the stairs to her room. She noticed Ebbe and her stepmother had vacated the hallways. Where was Marieke? Barbie told herself she hoped she was already out of the way of their father's temper.
Once in her room, Barbie disrobed, secreting her precious outfit away where, she hoped, no one could find it. She knew her father would order one of the servants to search her room for it so she planned to take it to one of the band members' houses in the morning. Then she curled up in her bed, falling swiftly into an exhausted sleep.
****
Sure enough, Barbie woke as Old Albruna rummaged through her closet, obviously looking for something. Barbie noticed that various piles of clothes had been moved since the night before.
"Young Katrin, Guten Tag! I am looking for your dirty clothes. It is wash day and, after your raucous night, I suspect you have at least a few things to wash, do you not?" The old woman continued to cast her eyes across Barbie's room as if the offending clothing would raise its hand to be recognized and collected.
Barbie thought quickly. She hated lying, but it had taken quite an effort to get that outfit together and if it went with Old Albruna she knew it would disappear. Her father would have already ordered it to be destroyed. No! She would not give up her dream so easily!
"I changed elsewhere before I came home and left last night's clothes elsewhere." She hoped the old woman would not check her story with anyone who had seen Barbie come home.
"Ach! Well, bring them home for cleaning when you go out. There are fresh buns in the kitchen for your breakfast, so come on, sleepyhead." Old Albruna had been with the family since before Barbie was born so she could take such liberties with the young mistress.
Albruna bustled out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Barbie knew she couldn't hide much longer in her room. She had to get up and out. She had to figure out what to do. Besides, by looking at the height of the sun, she realized it was mid-morning. Someone had decided to let her sleep in. Could this be a good sign? She could hope, couldn't she?
She slipped out from under the voluminous, cream-colored comforter with a small whimper. The chill in the air caught her by surprise. Barbie wrapped a woven woolen blanket around her so she could perform her morning ablutions without shivering. Albruna or someone had brought a pitcher of clean water and set it next to the basin on her washtable. It could not have been too long before because a slight trail of steam still rose from it.
Barbie started to wash her face then stopped, startled by the image in her looking glass. Was that her with the huge black circles around her eyes? Oh, that was it . . . She had gone to bed so late and upset she had forgotten to take off her rocker makeup. Giggling at herself, Barbie started scrubbing her face, removing makeup and sweat alike. She would have to remember to wash after the shows, she told herself. If there were any more shows . . .
There had to be more shows! She would find a way no matter what it took! She had never felt more alive, more right! She knew the chill she felt now had less to do with a fall morning and much more to do with last night. The first night of her life as a rocker.
As she dried her face and pawed at her newly shorn hair with a wooden comb, Barbie began gathering her thoughts and strength for the battle ahead with her Papa. Surely he wanted her to be happy. Couldn't he see this made her happy? She had to show him, convince him, that this was the best for her. But how? He was a traditionalist. He believed that the best thing for his girls was to marry well. Ebbe could do as he liked, but she and Marieke must obey Papa. That is what he believed.
And where was Marieke?? She should have heard from her by now. Normally, Marieke would have woken her, refusing to let her sleep so late. Oh well, that's a question for later . . .
She silently argued her case to her clean-scrubbed image in the glass. The Ring of Fire had changed everything! The up-timers showed us women could do and be something other than hausfraus with retinues of servants. Look at Rebecca and Gretchen, the heroines who were changing the world! They did get married but they were not tied down to a house like a horse to a plow. Oh, no! She would be free, too!
Barbie felt her courage slowly creeping back in when someone knocked on her door. "Katrin dear, are you ready to come downstairs? Everyone else is up." Her stepmother knocked again, this time a little harder.
"Guten Morgen! I am up and dressing. Give me a few more minutes to properly prepare myself." Barbie wanted to stick her tongue out in rebellion at the door but didn't. She was above such childish displays. Besides, she must prepare herself to be a rock diva, and surely rock divas did not partake of such displays!
Listening to make sure the older woman walked back down the hallway, Barbie checked for her hidden clothing. She moved her painted dresser and found the now-dirty black bundle where she had placed it last night. "Good! I still have my rocker clothing!" She threw a glance around as if someone might have snuck in while her back was turned then returned the bundle and the dresser.
Under her breath Barbie mumbled, "I guess I must play the good girl at home and dress the part. But there is no growing my hair back overnight so I guess he will have to accept that part of me."
She pulled on a blue skirt with yellow edging, a white linen blouse and her old dark blue bodice with embroidered edelweiss. "Don't you look like the proper fraulein now?" Barbie allowed herself one display of tongue extension at the neatly-dressed girl she saw in her looking glass. "Papa will just LOVE you!"
She turned around, opened the door and walked into the hallway to meet today's fate.
She had not even reached the bottom of the stairs before her father bellowed, "Katrin, please come to the library."
Marvelous! He was not going to even let her break her fast before commencing with the lecture. Just great! Well, at least she looked the way he wanted her to look. He couldn't complain about that. Except her hair.
Barbie walked down the hall to the already crowded library. An odd tableau met her view. Walking in she wasn't surprised to see her father in his usual leather throne. But what did surprise her was who else awaited her. Aunt Betlinda, Marieke, and the Bürgermeister und Präsident des Senats himself! What was his name? Somebody Jausch . . . Never mind! What was happening?
All except her father seemed happy to see her. The bürgermeister stood in his warm fur-lined red doublet beatifically surveying the scene. Aunt Betlinda and her sister grinned like, like cats out of that up-timer book Alice in Wonderland. Aunt Betlinda kept looking, sidelong, at Herr Jausch and smiling in a peculiar way. Her father smiled with that tight-around-the eyes expression she had seen him use when he was avoiding telling the prince a hard truth. All too odd! What was happening? And what did they want with her?
Herr Knaub started to speak. "My dear Katrin, the bürgers . . ."
Before he could finish the sentence Herr Jausch broke in, offering his hand to Barbie as if she were a princess. "Katrin or Barbie, I must tell you I and my family thoroughly enjoyed your performance last night! I and my darling wife danced like we were bewitched! You and your band must perform again and often! That is why I am here." He seemed to have completely forgotten Herr Knaub, now standing at the desk looking forlorn.
The bürgermeister continued to hold Barbie's small hand in his large, somewhat hairy one. "The bürge
rs met right after the performance. None of us could have slept so soon after that invigorating music, could we? So we voted and decided that you and the Musicians of Bremen must be asked to perform at least once a month in Bremen. Your band will set Bremen apart from all the other towns, nay cities, in Germany! We will be the envy of the others because we have a real up-time style rock band! We will be the talk of Europe! We will have real Musicians of Bremen!"
As he talked the bürgermeister spoke faster and faster, obviously warming up to his topic. Meanwhile, Herr Knaub became more and more deflated. What was he to do? He could defy the bürgers and require Katrin live a life of quiet anonymity, or he could please the bürgers, and probably his prince who wanted to please the bürgers, and let her become that wild thing.
Finally, Herr Knaub could hold quiet no longer. "Sir, we are greatly honored by your offer . . ."
"Herr Knaub, this not an offer as such. Please consider this as more of a request. Barbie and the Musicians of Bremen are the most exciting thing to come out of Bremen in many generations. We do not believe what these young people are doing should be lost or go elsewhere. They are Bremen-bred and the whole world should know it!"
Barbie could not believe her ears! Not only did the town like their music, they wanted more! She noticed her Aunt Betlinda said nothing, but the grin on her face could not have been wider. She was enjoying this moment way too much! What part had she played in this scenario? Marieke stood behind Betlinda, grinning widely.
Herr Knaub gave up. He knew from long experience with the bürgers that he could not outtalk this one. He needed time to consider his options. He did not like being shoved into allowing Katrin to become a whirling, screeching display. Even if it would be good for his beloved Bremen.
"Indeed, Herr Bürgermeister, it was a long night for us all. As you can see, Katrin is as startled by your reaction to the performance as I am. I need some time to talk with her."
Seeing he was not to get an immediate approval, the bürgermeister's face clouded over but he hung on to the remains of his smile. "Of course, we can understand, Herr Knaub. But please do not keep us waiting long. We want to publicize our jewel as soon as possible. The Christmas season is pressing close, and we would want to draw in visitors at least once during that time."
He turned his attention back to Barbie, her hand still caught in his grasp. "Barbie, I hope that you can prevail on your esteemed father to do the best for his city." With that, he leaned down, kissed her hand, bowed to the other women present and processed out into the hall, where someone led him to the door.
The air seemed to rush back into the library with the bürgermeister's exit. Herr Knaub fell rather than sat into the leather seat behind the desk. No one spoke.
He seemed to not know whom to glare at first, torn between Barbie and Aunt Betlinda. Herr Knaub had forgotten Marieke was still in the room, half-hidden behind an elaborately detailed clock.
"Is this your doing, Betlinda?" Herr Knaub spit out the words like they tasted bad. Now he only had room to glare at his sister.
"Not quite. He only asked me to come along because he suspected that you might not welcome the idea. Everyone DID hear you last night, after all. But now I must return home. I have some duties to attend to, and . . ."
"And you are done sticking your meddlesome nose in my family's life for today, aren't you?" It was a good thing that he could not really throw daggers out of his eyes, or he would have been charged with sororicide. At the moment, the penalty would not have distracted him. He was beyond furious with his older sister. She denied it, but he knew she had some guilt in this matter.
Enough time to deal with her later. For now, he was in a quagmire with Katrin. He needed time to think. "So be it, Betlinda. You have most certainly done enough here for now. But know, this matter is not done."
Betlinda took that as her cue to leave, taking Marieke with her. Marieke seemed perfectly content to leave and put distance between herself and an exploding father.
That only left Barbie standing in front of her father. She had no idea what to say or do. She began the morning expecting it to go one way and something happened. But what? What would her father say! Would he allow her to openly play rock and roll? Would he demand she remain his Katrin?
Time stood still as Barbie stood in front of her temporarily silent Papa. The tall clock ticking was the only sound in the room for more breaths than she noticed. Both people were lost in their own thoughts.
Then Herr Knaub broke the silence with his quiet hammer of a voice. "What am I to do?"
****
Magdeburg
From the Journal of Philip Fröhlich
19 November 1634
Sunday
Breakfast–
Fasted
Lunch–
1 sausage 2 pfennigs
1 wheat roll 3 pfennigs
Supper–
1 barley roll 2 quartered pfennigs
1 wurst 2 pfennigs
1 mug beer 1 pfennig
Have not written in journal other than noting expenses since Wednesday afternoon.
No dreams last night. No dreams since Tuesday night.
Forced myself to go to church today. Didn't want to go. Haven't wanted to get out of bed since Wednesday. Haven't wanted to do anything since Wednesday. The message from Herr Gronow crushed me. I had so hoped that I would see my story in Der Schwarze Kater, and it left me broken when it was rejected.
Herr Schiller noticed it, and asked me what was wrong. All I could do was shake my head.
Even Martin could tell something was amiss, and found the courage or the charity to ask what was wrong and if he could do anything. Again, all I could do was shake my head.
Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Broken inside. Avoided Syborg's Books. Came home. Ate bites of bread that were dry as dust and bitter as wormwood. Sat in the dark until sleep overcame me. Offered meaningless prayers.
Today, didn't want to go to church. Pulled the blanket over my head and resisted getting up so strongly, but a voice in the back of my mind—my conscience, my guardian angel, my patron saint, who knows—told me that it was when I least want to assemble with the body as St. Paul instructed that I most need to. I could not argue with that, and so, slowly, reluctantly, I forced myself to arise, and wash, and don my best clothing.
At church the music seemed dreary, and I did not sing. The reading was meaningless to me, and I did not listen. Then came the homily, from old Pastor Gruber who sometimes fills the pulpit at St. Jacob's. The leaders really need to appoint a new pastor for us. I know the church is small and poor, but we need a regular pastor as much as the other churches do.
Pastor Gruber talked about making our lives a pleasing offering to the Lord. He talked about how craftsmen and artists and musicians spend years learning and practicing and honing their crafts and arts and skills so they could make things of beauty. He even talked about a famous musician from the future of Grantville, one of the greatest musicians ever, who wrote "Soli Deo Gloria"—For the Glory of God Alone—on the manuscripts of his greatest works. He ended by quoting a verse from Ecclesiastes. He said, "Whatsoever thy hand finds to do, do it with all thy might."
It was like I woke up. It was like Herr Schiller slapped the back of my head and said, "Pay attention!" After that moment, I could only think of that verse, even after church as I was eating my lunch.
When I got home, I read through Ecclesiastes in my Bible until I found the verse in chapter 9, and it said exactly what Pastor Gruber had said.
Thought about that the rest of the day, even as I read a few more pages from The City of God, and as I ate supper.
Decided that I was a writer—that I am a writer—and if it takes me years to learn my art, so be it. Herr Gronow will be my judge, but always Soli Deo Gloria.
Recited evening prayers. And now to bed.
****
From the Journal of Philip Fröhlich
20 November 1634
Monday
Breakfa
st/lunch–
2 barley rolls 1 pfennig
1 cup small beer 1 quartered pfennig
Supper–
1 wurst 1 pfennig
2 mugs beer 1 pfennig
Vague recollections of dreams, but obviously nothing strong if can't recall them.
Felt better at work. Caught Herr Schiller looking at me with his eyebrows raised. When I grinned at him, he nodded and returned to his work.
Reviewed last week's work. Only found one error on one of Martin's pages. None on mine, which I don't understand how that is. I was so lost after Wednesday. Deo gratias, nonetheless. Herr Schiller must be in a good mood, because when I showed him the error, he didn't shout at Martin or beat him with the ferrule, he just told him to copy the page over.
At the end of the day, told Herr Schiller that I wanted to take today's pay in candle stubs and quill feathers—left wing ones, because they're cheaper. He didn't quite frown, but asked me why. Told him I'm going to be a writer, and I need to practice my writing so that the editor will take my work. At that, his eyebrows went up again, but he just said, "St. Paul guide your hand, then," and let me pick my own quills.
Tonight I took Herr Gronow's letter and practiced writing some of the words from it. This may take longer than I thought it would. Endure. Persevere. Perfect.
Recited evening prayers. And now to bed.
****
From the Journal of Philip Fröhlich
21 November 1634
Tuesday
Breakfast–
1 barley roll (old) 1 quartered pfennig
Supper–
1 barley roll 2 quartered pfennigs
1 cup small beer 1 quartered pfennig
Grantville Gazette, Volume 71 Page 7
