by Eric Flint
"Do I have to go inside the house and get the twelve gauge?" Vera set her jaw.
"No, I guess not." Chad sighed. He turned away from the barn. "Tell Willie Ray I said hi." Chad started walking down the driveway to the main road. Well, as Rev. Jones said in his sermon the other day, when God closes one door, he opens another. There has to be another operable wringer somewhere in town. They couldn't have junked all of the old washers! It seemed like all the really old ones had been scrapped in metal drives during WWII.
Then he brightened. Mom would know who still had one!
***
Two days later he received a call. "I hear you're lookin' for an old wringer washer," the old woman's voice said. "I got one in my shed iffin' you'd come out to look at it."
An hour later, covered with cobwebs and dust, Chad finally got the wringer-washer out. It was heavy but the weight was almost all from the oak wood. It was like moving a barrel on a wooden stand with a raised arm sticking out. Not enough metal to scrap.
Carmela Matheny had to be in her eighties, he estimated. Face wrinkled, body bent over and dependent on a cane to keep from falling over. "It's exactly what I was looking for, Mrs. Matheny. How much do I owe you?" Chad reached to pull out his wallet.
"Fifty percent," she croaked. "Fifty percent of all your sales and I want it on the first of every month."
Chad grinned and put away his wallet. "Well then, ma'am. I figure this is going to take a while. If you've got tea inside the house, I'll brew some for both of us."
"No, you ain't." Carmela's response was acerbic. "Anybody makes tea, it'll be me. This way." She gestured with the tip of her cane towards the screened-in back porch. "Don't you try helping me up the steps, neither. Wouldn't let my kids do it and I ain't about to let you." She gripped the galvanized steel pipe handrail with her free hand. "I may be old but I'm still spry enough to get around. Folks think that just because you're old and crippled up with arthritis, you ought to be living in a nursing home. Humpf! My mind ain't that far gone yet."
Once in the kitchen, Carmela put some water on to boil. "Ain't seen you up close since, must be 1960. Your mama brought you to the Kennedy rally."
"Sorry, I don't remember." Sales were all about patience. And knowing when to close. "How do you know her?"
"She didn't tell you? Well, I reckon not. We're cousins. Our mamas were sisters, two of the Williams girls." The water began boiling. Carmela turned off the burner and dropped two teabags into the pan. She brought it over to the table and set it on a hot pad. "You like sugar?"
"No thanks, Mrs. Matheny. Learned to drink it without."
"Hmm. Reckon I'll have to get by with honey when this runs out." She stirred in a scant teaspoon of sugar from the pink plastic container. "Bet you never heard of the Williams girls neither, have you? Thought not. There was five girls. Anna, Bethany, Charity, Deborah and Esther. No brothers, so that was the last of that line. There's some Williams around but they ain't no relation. The Williams girls are why you're related to 'most everybody in town."
"Anna now, she was the oldest. She married Harold Stearns, that's Mike Stearns' great-grandpa. My mama was Bethany and she married an Atkins. Charity married Joshua Reardon, Phil Reardon's pa, but she died before they had any kids so he married Nina Curtis, as I recall. Deborah married William Hudson, Willie Ray's uncle and Esther, the baby, married Joe Newton, your grandpa. They're all gone now. Folks always joke about how West Virginians always marry kinfolk. In your case, it was hard not to."
"That's interesting." Chad set his cup down. "Mom probably has it all down in her genealogy records but I never took much of an interest."
"Well, you should. Talking about your mama, she used to be the wild one. Took after her fiddlin' papa, I expect. My little brother, Tommy, and her used to run around together." She stopped, coughed and dabbed at her eyes with a dish towel. "Tommy never got off Omaha Beach." She sniffed and wiped her eyes again. A moment later she cleared her throat and resumed. "She always swore she'd never get tied down by any man. I figured some boy would change her mind after the war. Course, your ma went from being a wild girl to as straight-backed and upright a woman as you can find after she married your pa. Reckon having a kid right off the bat can make some real changes in you." There was a knowing look in her pale blue eyes. Yeah, she'd counted the months.
"Oh, just to give you fair warning, Grandpa Williams was a horse-trader. I used to go around with him when I was a girl. I ain't going to be as easy a touch as that lumber yard boy, even if you are kin."
***
"You gave her how much?" Debbie's eyes were wide with amazement.
"Twenty percent of the profits," Chad answered glumly. "How she got me to agree to that number is beyond me. It was like she could read my mind every time I made a counter-offer. At the end, I thought I was doing well to hold her down to that number. Her husband probably never had a chance against her in an argument."
"What did she give you other than the wringer-washer?"
"Well, she said she thought she might have an older one her mom used around somewhere. That and some other things she brought in from the farm after her mom died. She said she'd look a bit and I should come out to help her do it. I think she just wants me to clean out the shed behind her house."
"Wouldn't surprise me." Then Debbie gave him a crooked smile. "Bet you could have gotten a better deal from Ursula Mitdorff."
Chad smacked his forehead. "Arrgh! Totally forgot about her. Damn!" He shook his head. "But I did learn you and I are kissing cousins. And we're related to the Stearns and the Mathenys as well. Almost to the Reardons. Huh! Mike Stearns and me. Who woulda thunk?"
"Well, it does explain why neither you or Mike gets the better of the other in making a deal. So how long do you have to pay that royalty?"
Chad sighed. "To her, until she dies. After that, I pay it into a trust that gives half to help support her daughter-in-law until she dies. Sylvia's got M.S. From then on it's split between her grandkids. The other half will go to support war orphans during their education. It stops twenty years after the war's over. She says she'll have it written up by tomorrow and I'll take it to a lawyer. I can live with it."
***
Two wooden rollers. Six gears. Spacers. All on the workbench in the service garage. Along with four bearings, several pieces of wood, housings for each side to hold the gears and bearings, a bent iron bar used as a spring and a long iron arm with a wooden handle.
"What do you think?" Chad asked his former lead mechanic. Bob Szymanski now had a nice little nest egg from the natural gas conversions and was gainfully employed by the Mechanical Support group.
"No problem to assemble them," Bob answered. "In fact, it's dead easy. Your problem's going to be getting the gears, spacers and the iron bar. Forget bearings, they're impossible for years. The rollers, distance separation and handle can all be made of hickory or another tough wood but the gears? For that you're going to need some machining. You might be able to make cast gears out of iron, one by one. Then cut the cogs with a file and match them up with the other cogs on the other gears." Bob rubbed his forehead with his palm. "I sure wouldn't want to, though. The down-time blacksmiths are supposed to be pretty good. You might give them a try."
"Thanks, Bob. Could we, I don't know, stamp them out?"
"Me? Nope. Anything I could stamp would bend every which way. But I'll bet a down-time blacksmith could hot stamp your gears out of cast iron. He'd finish them with a file until they're just right. If it was a master blacksmith, all he'd really need is to see how the thing works and he'd be ready to go to town."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Chad gloomily chewed on the corner of his lower lip. "I want him to be making them for me, not himself."
"Aw, come on, Chad, lighten up." Bob grinned. "You never made cars, did you? Your job's always been to sell the product, not make or fix it. Give him a share of the biz and that'd get you past all the guild problems at the same time."
Chad smiled as what Bob
said sunk in. A broad grin spread across his face. "By George, I think you've got it! Now what I need to do is get some well-seasoned hickory and oak. Then find a good blacksmith. I don't really want to get him from Rudolstadt. The Count's just a little too sharp as far as I'm concerned and might start asking questions. I'll check with the refugee center to see if there's a blacksmith who hasn't gotten gobbled up by USE Steel and isn't already too busy. If not, Chip will know if there's a master or journeyman blacksmith in Jena who lost his forge because his town got destroyed. All he'll need is metal. I think we can scrounge some from USE Steel. They're talking tons. We won't need much, at least not in the beginning. Probably never."
***
"Dad, I've got the perfect guy for you. I asked a blacksmith here in town who would be willing to relocate. He suggested Ulrich Dauer. The guy's an absolute genius. I watched him do things with iron you wouldn't believe. Trouble is, he knows it. Absolutely zero people skills and is an insufferable ass, which is why he hasn't been accepted by the local guild. Lost his wife and later his forge when his town was destroyed. He's got an apprentice he abuses and travels to work in nearby small towns like Cosberg or for minor nobility. They won't let him set up a forge in Jena.
"One thing you should know. This guy's an absolute suck-up to nobility. Worse than some Americans I could mention. Joachim talked with him. Told him you had even more money and land than his father, which may even be true. Anyway, he talked to me like I was the Emperor's son.
"Let me know if you want me to discuss a deal with him. Regards, Chip"
Chad refolded the letter and smiled. Not only an insufferable ass but was also desperate to associate with nobility? Piece of cake.
***
"Honey, I'm going to be hiring a blacksmith for the wringer business and I want to impress him, like we were nobility. A 'von Grantville' evening. So the best china along with the kind of meal only you can prepare. I want Mom, Missy and Gertrude to dine with us as well."
Debbie looked at him warily. "Do you want us to go formal, too? The dress I wore to the national sales awards dinner fits better than it did then. I'll talk with your mom."
"Great. The girls, well, as good as we can get them. Can't have you seen in the kitchen, so we'll…"
"Let me handle it, dear. You just worry about where to put him up."
***
"Herr Dauer?" The short, strongly-built older man with a mustache looked towards the speaker. Chad had gotten Veit Kruger, one of Gertrude's teenage German admirers to meet the smith. At the look from Dauer, Veit went on. "Herr Jenkins has arranged for you to stay in a private house with your apprentice." The sturdy adolescent apprentice was struggling with the smith's heavy work chest.
"If you will follow me? It is a short walk." Veit gestured to a small house two blocks away. "Herr Jenkins has provided what is called a 'dolly' to transport your chest." Veit pushed the dolly toward the apprentice. "Your apprentice can follow us."
Once inside the small two-bedroom house, Veit demonstrated how to turn the lights on and off as well as the toilet, sink and shower. "There is a kitchen here but no cook or maid. This was the home of a widow who died recently. Do not insert anything inside or allow water to enter these small double slots you see here." Veit pointed at the electrical outlet. "They can be most dangerous if not understood. If you accept Herr Jenkins offer, they will be explained at a time convenient to you."
"When will I meet Herr Jenkins?" Dauer's voice was stiff.
"I will come for you an hour after sundown. You will be dining with the family of Herr Jenkins, a great honor." Veit had been coached to answer that way.
***
"Good evening, Herr Dauer. So good to meet you." Chad welcomed him broadly. He'd decided to wear a navy pin-striped suit, brilliant red silk tie and an oxford blue buttoned-down shirt.
"I am happy to meet you, Herr von Grantville." Dauer began formally but stopped when he saw Chad lift his hand.
"There is no 'von Grantville.' Just Herr Jenkins. It is not our custom," Chad said mildly. "Will you join me for a sherry?"
"Thank you, Herr… Jenkins." Dauer took a small glass of sherry.
" Prost. " Chad toasted Dauer. One sip down, he continued, "Every now and then I insist my entire family dine together formally. I hope you don't mind."
"Oh, no, sir." Dauer was intimidated by Chad's easy familiarity and was uncomfortable wearing his best clothing. Dauer usually wore a heavy leather apron, leather trousers and a sleeveless linen shirt when he worked. Even so, he would never be willing to forego this opportunity.
"My son says you are a genius in iron, which is why I asked you to come to Grantville. I have a need for some iron to be cast and worked, really something I think would be elementary for someone of your skills. We will discuss it further after dinner." Chad ended his comments when Debbie came toward them.
Debbie was wearing a scalloped-neck, electric blue gown which fell to just above her shoes. "Good evening, dear." She took Chad's hand. "Will you introduce us?"
"Herr Ulrich Dauer, this is my wife, Frau Deborah Jenkins. Deborah, this is Herr Dauer, the master smith I told you about. A glass of sherry?"
Debbie smiled. "Thank you. I believe I will."
Ten minutes after Chad been expecting them, the girls came downstairs. "This is my daughter, Fraulein Melissa Jenkins and our houseguest, Fraulein Gertrude Wiegert who is continuing her studies in Grantville. She's originally from the Palatinate but the war… well, you understand. Her younger brother and older sister are currently living in Jena. I believe you've met her sister's favored suitor, Joachim von Thierbach."
Both girls were graceful in their dresses. Missy's was patterned on her mother's dress. Gertrude's was based on one worn by the daughter of Duke Johann Philipp of Saxe-Altenburg. Sewing machines and the proper materials in the hands of some of the older women in town could work wonders.
A few minutes later, Chad's mother, in a fashionable dark green suit, came into the room. "Sorry I'm late. I hope you'll accept my apologies." She smiled at Dauer and took her seat.
Debbie selected a Vivaldi CD for their dinner music. It would be followed by Pachebel and Bach. Dinner itself began with a white wine and green salad with shredded carrots in a vinaigrette dressing. Afterwards a bottle of merlot, some of the last in their cellar, was brought in. Chad poured the wine shortly before the sliced roast beef, baked potatoes and steamed green beans with the last of their slivered almonds were put on the table. Debbie had been in the kitchen all afternoon, much to the dismay of the German cook they'd hired for the evening. Then Debbie had gotten another woman from the refugee center to help their maid, Christina, serve the food.
Dauer, of course knew none of this. He watched as Chad and Debbie left their salad forks on the salad plate. Then how they used the dinner fork and knife for the rest of the meal. He knew of the potato but had never imagined that it would be eaten by humans at any time, unless in extremity. Upon tasting it, he found it to be, well, edible but rather bland, even with butter, salt and pepper.
All the while, Chad, Debbie and Chad's mother kept up a spirited conversation about the current political situation, business and music. They frequently asked Dauer his opinions based on his being native to these times. Also about his experiences traveling around the region. He easily recognized the primacy Herr Jenkins' mother had over the family, quite unlike his own grandmother. What threw him off the most was the easy familiarity Missy and Gertrude had, conversing with everyone including the grandmother. In all, Dauer was amazed by the high level of discussion and the total absence of gossip.
Then Missy asked, "How does your apprentice feel about coming to Grantville?"
"I don't discuss such matters with him, Fraulein Jenkins," Dauer responded. He was about to go farther but saw Chad's stillness and direct look. Not to Missy's question but to his answer.
A moment later, the creme brulee was brought in. Smiles burst on Missy and Gertrude's faces as the bowls were placed before them. The crea
my custard topped with a thin layer of sugar caramelized under the broiler was a rare treat.
"One of my favorite desserts but harder to make now that sugar is more expensive than I care to pay," Chad commented. His spoon cracked through the thin crust into the custard.
"It's exquisite," Dauer burst out. "Cream I've had, even flavored creams but never prepared in such a fashion. I've had sugar, of course, but I've never seen it melted and used as a crust."
"Our standard dessert at supper would have been ice cream, possibly with some fruit." Debbie smiled. "The fruit was often shipped in from thousands of miles away during the winter. We would get both the fruit and the flavored ice cream from a local market. We stored it chilled or frozen here in our home. All too soon the machine we use to keep it cold could break. We'll have to reinvent a method to keep things frozen some time in the future."
"Amazing." Dauer's mind circled. "To be able to put inventions on a time schedule. I used to make regular experiments but I lost my notebooks when my home was destroyed by raiders. I lost all my wealth at the same time. I… haven't experimented since my wife died in childbirth."
The entire Jenkins clan looked at him with sympathy. Chad spoke first. "I don't know that experimentation will be necessary for what I want. But it seems to me you might want to start replicating your experiments."
Dauer nodded.
***
After dinner Dauer accepted the chair Chad offered in his home office. "An amazing family you have, Herr Jenkins. I never imagined women could be so intelligent."
"They're gifted with as many brains as men are, perhaps even more." Chad gave a faint smile. "The difference you've seen is that the women in my family are allowed to grow in knowledge. Kinder, Kirche und Kueche are all very well, but not overriding. My wife and mother attended universities. One theory is that more educated mothers have more intelligent daughters. Personally, I don't think it's in the blood. If the child sees her mother doing intelligent things, she is encouraged to do intelligent things herself. If you had the opportunity to observe my son with women, I think you saw he does not dismiss them as mindless idiots.
