Johannes felt his stomach rumble in anticipation. "Of course, Herr Garrison; I will get it done very quickly."
****
Andreas Muller watched as his partner, Louis, handed the shovel to the boy before turning back to the counter. "Another foundling you're taking in, Louis?" he asked.
"You saw him, Andreas, how thin he is. I'll bet he hasn't had a decent meal in months, maybe longer."
Andreas acknowledged the question with a nod. "Yes, that is probably true, just as it is true for half the people you have hired here. The world is full of hungry people, Louis. I think it is a very charitable thing you do for them, but this is a business, not a charity. You cannot afford to feed everyone who comes through the door with a sad story."
"No, I can't Andreas, but I will help those I can."
Andreas examined his partner for a moment. "Louis, you are a good man, but why do you do this? You know that many of them only come in for the free meal; they only want to take advantage of your generosity."
"Yes, Andreas, I know; but at least I get a few minutes or hours of work from them first. Besides, I guess you could call what I do a family tradition."
"Your family did the same thing?"
"As far back as I can remember," Louis answered. "My father and his sister and brothers all did it. I asked my father about it and he said it was because of what his father had done."
"Did your grandfather own a restaurant as well?"
Louis shook his head and smiled. "No, Andreas. My grandfather was a farmer and not a very prosperous one either, especially during the Great Depression."
"Great Depression?"
"It was a terrible time in my country's history. At its worst, one of every four Americans was out of work and many had trouble feeding their families. My father grew up during that time and he told me stories of only having watered-down soup to eat at times. But he also told me of how my grandfather never turned anyone away from his table. People would come by his farm looking for work, but, of course, my grandfather could not afford to pay them. What he did was offer to trade a meal for work. Sometimes the person would chop wood, fix a fence, or even just sweep off the porch, but my grandfather would always find a job for them so they could have a meal."
"Your grandfather was a good man."
"Yes he was, a great man. And he did all that while raising a family and putting them through school. Every one of his children finished high school and was successful. I wish I had known him better, but he died when I was very young."
Andreas could tell his friend was feeling the sadness of lost family. "So, it is because of your grandfather that you take in those in need?"
Louis shook his head slowly. "He sparked the tradition in my family, but that's not the real reason I do it. The reason I do it is because of something that happened to my father."
"Your father took in the less fortunate as well?"
Louis nodded again. "In a way. He often let people work for a few hours to earn a little money. Sure, many of them were only looking for a few dollars so they could buy their next drink, but my father never judged them. He told me he got honest work for honest pay; what they did with the money wasn't his business.
"But there was one time in particular that will always stick out in my mind," he continued. "It happened not long after I was out of high school and starting to make my own way. A young man named Bobby Washington, came into my father's furniture store looking for a job. Now Bobby was pretty well known in the area. Although he was only eighteen, he had been in trouble with the law for years. He was a known gang member and had committed many crimes."
Andreas interrupted. "If the boy was so bad, why was he not in prison?"
Louis shook his head. "That's not the way our justice system worked. Bobby had been underage when the crimes were committed, so he was treated differently. He had been in jail a few times, but as a minor his punishments were not as severe. Besides, although he committed many crimes, none of them were very serious, mostly breaking into buildings, vandalizing cars, that sort of thing. Anyway, when Bobby applied for a job, everyone tried to tell my father not to hire him."
Andreas nodded. "That makes sense. It is wise not to trust a dishonest man."
"That's basically what we all tried to tell my father. But my father told me something about Bobby. Bobby had a younger brother, only about ten years old. One night while Bobby was running with his gang, his little brother followed him. Bobby didn't realize it. The gang was going to rob a store in another gang's territory, to prove they were stronger. Just as they got to the store, the rival gang appeared and a gunfight started. Bobby was at least smart enough to find cover and he was unharmed. But a stray bullet found his little brother. The boy died in Bobby's arms."
After a moment Louis continued. "My father had known Bobby for some time and he told me that something had changed in the young man after that. Before that, Bobby had always been an angry young man who blamed the world for his problems. But when Bobby watched his brother die, it seemed he began to direct the anger inward, that he was angry with himself for what he had done. My father believed that Bobby blamed himself for his brother's death, that Bobby felt it was his fault that his brother had been there that night."
"The death of someone close can change a man," Andreas said.
"Indeed it can, and my father believed that Bobby had changed. He hired Bobby to help move furniture and to load vehicles. It turned out that Bobby was a good worker, so my father gave him more hours and more responsibility."
"Did he keep working for your father?"
"For a while," Louis answered, "but while he worked for my father during the day, he went back to school in the evenings. Bobby had dropped out and my father encouraged him to go back. It wasn't long before Bobby had earned his GED."
"So this Bobby got his education and became a good worker; that is a good story of redemption Louis," Andreas said.
"Yes, it is, but that's not the end of the story."
Andreas was intrigued. "What else happened?"
"After Bobby got his GED, he seemed to want to work even more. He told my father he was saving up for more school. After a few more years, he quit working at the store so he could pursue more education."
"He became a scholar then?"
Louis shook his head. "No, although he did become a serious student; he had another goal in mind."
"What was that?"
"In a moment, my friend. There is another chapter in the story. Several years later, my father was working late in his store one evening when he had a heart attack." Louis shook his head sadly. "We kept telling him he needed to quit smoking and working so hard, but he never listened to us."
"Did he die?" Andreas asked.
"No. I'm happy to say he didn't, but it was close. The clerk he was working with at the store called for an ambulance and they got there in time. I didn't find out for a few hours what had happened, but I rushed to the hospital as soon as I found out so I could be there for my mother. When I talked with the doctor, he told me that my father had almost died, that he would have died if not for the efforts of the EMT."
"EMT?" Andreas interrupted.
"Emergency Medical Technician," Louis explained. "They have specialized training to help a person until that person can be taken to a full doctor. As I said, my dad was saved by the efforts of the EMT. The doctor said this EMT never gave up and didn't stop until my father was under a doctor's care. I later found out that EMT's name. It was Robert Washington."
"Bobby."
Louis nodded. "Yes, Bobby. The young man I had advised my father not to trust had just saved his life. Bobby, the former delinquent and gang member, took the money he saved from working at my father's store and used it to study to become an EMT. He was now helping people instead of hurting them. It was at that moment that I realized my father was doing more than just being charitable; he was actually giving the people he helped a chance. That's why I do what I do, Andreas. If I can help just one person t
he way my father helped Bobby, it will all be worth it."
"Has anyone you helped ever turned out like Bobby?" Andreas asked.
"Nothing as drastic as Bobby's story, but I have managed to talk a few kids into staying in school. And I'm sure I've helped a few people through a tough time until they got back on their feet."
Andreas sat for a few moments, taking in the message from his friend's story. As he thought, he realized that Louis had given him, a former mercenary, a chance as well. He placed his hand on Louis's shoulder. "Louis, what you are doing is a good thing. I'm sorry I questioned you."
Louis shook his head. "No, Andreas. It's your place to question me. You're my partner and my friend; I trust your advice."
"Just promise you won't bankrupt us."
Louis laughed. "Not to worry, my friend, I like to eat too much. But, as long as I'm in a position to do it, I will help all that I can. Like you said, many will just be taking advantage of my good nature to get a few dollars or a meal. But sometimes . . ." He paused while pointing to the front door.
Andreas looked where his friend was pointing. Young Johannes was holding the door for two elderly women as he helped them across a slick patch on the walkway. He made sure each was safely inside the restaurant before he closed the door and went back to shoveling snow.
"Sometimes," Louis continued, "you're giving a chance to someone who deserves it."
Jacob's Ladder
Written by John Zeek
Martin Meurer was hanging by his fingers from the eaves, with his feet braced over the shuttered window below, when the shutters crashed open. Martin had a good view-too good a view-of the bald spot on the head of the man who leaned out of the window. Martin silently wished . . . Don't look up. Look at the church. Look at the street. Look at the house across the street, but don't look up . . .
Martin's wish was granted as the man's head withdrew into the room below and the shutters were pulled closed. But he waited. Sure enough, four long heartbeats later, the shutters crashed open again. "Watchmen, call the watch I've been robbed." The man's voice echoed in the empty street.
Martin waited until the head withdrew a second time and he could hear the clatter of steps through the still open shutters. Only then did he pull himself onto the roof and make his escape. Three roofs and an alley away, he was finally able to stop. Braced against a chimney, he examined his new possession.
Who would have expected a table in the middle of a dark room? Who would have expected the owner to awaken so fast? He had grabbed the first thing that came to hand, stuffed it in his pouch and bolted for the window. Now he had time to see what he had. A cup, too small to be called a goblet. It was a metal cup. Silver, he hoped. Silver would buy food for a week, and a new jacket. With winter coming on he could use a new jacket. Not bad for his first try at house creeping. Not bad at all.
Martin's breath froze when a voice came out of the chimney's shadow. "Young Meurer, you'll make a fair creeper, if you survive. You take too many chances."
Martin braced himself to run, but where? The owner of the voice blocked his escape route. Still the man was just talking, and on the roof at night, he had to be a thief. Another thief, he reminded himself. "Well, I got a nice silver cup. Not bad for an hour's work."
"It's pewter. Where would a tanner get a silver cup? And even if it is silver, which I doubt, was it worth your life?"
Martin moved a bit to the right to try to get a look at the voice's face. "Who are you to ask that question? You're a creeper like me."
The owner of the voice moved his face into the moonlight. "Not quite like you, Young Meurer, and I am not a creeper." Martin recognized Jorg Hennel, spokesman for the Committee of Correspondence in Suhl. "What would happen if you were caught by Watchman Meusser? As easy as I caught you, even an oaf could manage to find you."
With no place to go, Martin answered. "Meusser would break through any roof he tried to walk, but if he caught me it would mean the cells."
Hennel chuckled. "The cells at night and working for the city collecting offal during the day. After you were branded. You do remember they brand thieves on the forehead? No one likes thieves. Now, here's the real question. What will my fellow Committee members do when they catch you? You know that you made your escape over Gary Reardon's roof? He is protected by the Committee of Correspondence."
Martin was surprised. He hadn't known Reardon lived in this part of town. "Turn me over to the watch?" he asked hopefully. He knew he was caught. Hennel hadn't touched him, but he was caught.
Hennel laughed. "Yes, they would turn you over to the watch . . . after they dropped you off the roof." Hennel made a whistling sound followed with a slap to his knee. "Splat. Two broken legs, you'd have to crawl the rest of your life."
Hennel got to his feet. "It's cold. Follow me, or leave town. Your choice, but your nights creeping roofs in Suhl are done. Only one warning is given, this is yours."
Hennel moved off, over the peak of the roof away from Martin's planned route. Martin took a moment to think. If an old man like Hennel has caught me, I must be past it. Maybe I should look for another line of work. He moved to follow the Committee man.
Two roofs to the west he caught up to Hennel. "Where are we going?"
"To church. Careful here," was the brief answer as Hennel swung down to catch the edge of a protruding window. Then, using the exposed wooden corner beams, he climbed down to the street where he waited for Martin. He has to be joking. Church? Where are the handholds?
When Martin finally succeeded in joining him in the dark street, Hennel led the way to the side door of a small church. "In you go, Young Meurer. Drop your cup in the poor box. If it's silver, it will feed the poor for a week."
Martin was stunned. The man was serious. A church? Putting the cup in the poor box?
Hennel marked his hesitation. "You're not a good enough thief to put it back. And you can't start a new life with stolen property. Of course, you could go out the front door and head for the city gate. It will be open in an hour."
Martin shook his head. Hennel was crazy. But he walked into the church and found the poor box. He thought about running but ended up leaving the cup. His curiosity was aroused. What was Hennel going to do?
When he exited through the side door, he found Hennel sitting on the steps. The man nodded. "Martin, join me in a late supper, my treat. We'll talk about your future."
****
After a quick meal in a nearby tavern, Martin was even more curious. Hennel had refused to talk about anything besides the food.
Finally they were standing outside and Hennel appeared lost in watching the sun rise over the city gate in the distance. "Herr Hennel?" It never hurt to be polite. "What do I do now?"
Hennel pointed as he answered. "There is the north gate. You could be out and on your way to some other city. Not many opportunities for creepers in villages. Or you could ask yourself why you want to become a thief?"
"Because I'm poor and the rich have what I want. And I'm too healthy to be a successful beggar," Marin answered.
"Yet I found you stealing from a poor man. That tanner was just a journeyman; I would bet that cup was his prize possession. So you were making his life worse. And a pewter cup wouldn't bring enough to pay for the meal you just ate."
Martin thought. "The rich have better latches on their shutters, Herr Hennel. They're harder to steal from." He couldn't tell Hennel that the tanner was his third try tonight.
Hennel laughed. "And better locks on their doors, and bars on their windows and dogs! Don't forget the dogs."
Martin realized that Hennel knew what he was talking about. The man had to have been a thief some time in his life; from his clothing a successful thief. Was he a man to watch and copy?
"Herr Hennel . . ."
The older man waved his hand. "Jorg, call me Jorg. I'm not a gentleman you can impress and trick with your manners."
"Jorg, what did you mean when you said my future? I am not going to leave Suhl; I was bor
n here and have never gone out of the city. If you won't let me be a thief, what is this future? This new life?"
Jorg smiled, the first real smile Martin had seen on his face. "Ah, Martin, that is the question."
Jorg reached into his belt pouch. When his hand emerged it held two coins and a pamphlet. "Here is something I want you to read, and enough to live on for two days. I expect to see you here on Friday morning and we'll talk." He walked off and Martin looked at the title of the pamphlet. Common Sense by Thomas Paine.
****
Sunrise Friday morning found Martin pacing in front of the tavern. Where was Jorg? Had he forgotten? Was it all an elaborate joke? Martin was tempted by the unattended handcart resting in the street across from the tavern. Its owner had just gone in the tavern carrying two hams. There had to be more hams in the cart. A quick snatch and he would have breakfast. Jorg had been clear, no more stealing from the poor. Does a butcher count as poor? Besides, there were too many people in the street. No, I am no longer a thief.
Reading Jorg's pamphlet hadn't answered his question about his future. In fact it had raised more questions. What was this "Natural Liberty"? The man who wrote it had to be mad? All Englishmen were mad. But the descriptions of kings and nobles rang true. Why had Jorg given it to him?
He was lost in contemplation when Jorg tapped him on the shoulder. "You're early. Come with me."
When he turned, Jorg was already walking down the street. Walking and waving his arm. Soon three young men came out of the shadows. When the three greeted Jorg, Martin was glad he had not indulged himself by lifting a ham.
Jorg was soon passing out strips of paper and stacks of pamphlets.
"Here you go. Five Common Sense and ten of the new ones from Jena. You're working the landing, unloading barges.
"Friedrich, head over to the bolt factory. They're looking for a sweeper, full time. Tell Herr Reardon I sent you. Here are twenty of the new pamphlets; get them to the machinists.
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