The Grantville Gazette - Volume 4 Part 12

"This is my first Christmas in Germany, far from the land I grew up in. I met Joachim von Thierbach at the University of Jena a short while ago and he was kind enough to invite me to stay with him and his family for the Holy Season. So, why am I standing up here with this violin? Not because I am a particularly good musician, I a.s.sure you. But I did beg Herr Reverend Taller this morning for this opportunity. I am here because of another story and a song which will probably never be written as it was then.

"The story is that there once lived a Father Mohr, the priest of a church this size in Oberndorf in Austria. It was already Christmas Eve and Father Mohr wanted a new hymn for that evening's ma.s.s. He persuaded his organist, a man named Franz Gruber, to set to music a poem he had written two years earlier at a pilgrim church. For whatever reason, Franz Gruber did not write it for organ. I think because he felt the words were better suited to be sung softly, not over the sound of an organ. So in a matter of hours, this song was first sung to the accompaniment of a guitar at the Christmas Eve ma.s.s.

"Two years later, Franz Gruber published the hymn. It was then spread by at least two families of singers to several countries. Since that time, the words have been translated into almost as many languages as there are countries. I would like you to hear it as that first church did, on Christmas Eve, accompanied by soft music. I have written out several copies of the hymn and I see they are being distributed among you. Listen as I play it the first time and then begin to sing."

Chip tucked the violin under his chin and eyes closed, began to play his Christmas gift to Katerina, the von Thierbachs and the people of Thierbach. Undoubtedly the translation wouldn't be the same as the original German, but they'd never know it. He definitely knew he had the first four words right. As he began the second time, he heard Dieter von Thierbach's light baritone voice above the others, "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht . . ."

Dice's Drawings

by Dan Robinson.

To h.e.l.l with them all. Dice had lost his Karen, forty-five years of hard work, twenty years as a d.a.m.ned Linotype operator and twenty-five as a d.a.m.ned pressman after the d.a.m.ned computers had taken his d.a.m.ned job away. G.o.d how he hated that pressman's job! A quarter century hauling paper and permanently stained fingers, but he'd stuck with it.

Then, to top it all off, right before he was ready to retire and tell the whole world to take a flying leap,

the local chunk of world had taken a flying leap and Dysart Clifford along with it!

Dice grumbled out loud as he walked the ten blocks to his two-bedroom house with a single bag of groceries. Sixty-four years old, over $523,000 in a Fidelity Retirement account, and a paid-off boat and house on Sutton Lake-all shot to h.e.l.l. Now, here he was stuck in the 1600s with no retirement. All because he got a bargain on the house in Grantville when the mine shut down. Why hadn't he gone to Sutton that Sunday? Why did the Ring of Fire happen to him?

Dice grumbled louder and noticed that people were stepping off the sidewalk to avoid him. For good measure he snarled at the next pedestrian and delighted when the shocked down-timer almost fell over himself getting out of his way.

It's d.a.m.ned hard to snarl when you're laughing inside.

With his mood much improved, his step lightened and the final blocks home pa.s.sed quickly.

* * * Elfriede Schutzin made her choice. Her husband had died a year ago and her year of mourning was over. As a shoemaker in Coburg, he had made a pa.s.sable living. As a widow, she had not. When news of the Ring of Fire and the Americans had reached her town, it was not a difficult choice at all to leave Kurt and Anna with neighbors while she went to check out the Americans from the future.

Perhaps she could find work there. The Americans she had seen were all lords, of course, in their

marvelous vehicles from the future and their fine clothes. Such as they would surely need a good cook.

So, with letters of recommendation from her neighbors and priest, she set out for Grantville.

Four months later, she was still in the refugee center. Kurt and Anna were in the Grantville school and she was taking English lessons, but there were no American lords, and no grand castles. There were also lots of people like her looking to the rich Americans for a better life.

And although she had not found work with one of the Americans, she had found a niche at the refugee center. With girlhood lessons at her mother's knee well learned, she combed the dense woods around the center for the ingredients that made her, if not the head cook, at least the head recipe maker. With the help of the old folks around town and books from more than one home, she quickly identified the edible plants, herbs, berries and other kitchen essential that grew wild in the steep West Virginia hills. More and more Americans were finding reason to be around the refugee center at dinnertime.

"Trudy, haff ve got eggs today?" she had asked her friend and head cook at the center."Ja, Effi. Lots of zem." Gertrude was her best friend at the center. They bunked near each other, laughed together, and watched each other's children. The crowded refugee center was like a community where

neighbors looked out for each other.

But Gertrude Zeiss had Hermann. And Hermann was a popular workman among the down-timers. They would not be staying long at the refugee center.

"If you vill keep an eye on Anna, Kurt und I vill go chopping."

"Shopping, Mama. It's p.r.o.nounced mit a 'shah,' not a 'chah.'"

Effi slung her big net bag over one shoulder and pulled her machete from its leather scabbard and

wielded it like a sword. "Ven I say chopping, I mean chopping!" "Javol, mein Kapitan!" Her nine-year-old saluted, laughing, and slung his own net bag to march out behind his mother. * * * Dice's good mood lasted until he opened the door to the dark house and the dark TV. He could turn on all the lights and play a tape, but that would just make them wear out faster. There weren't going to be any more light bulbs, TVs, or VCRs for quite some time and he was determined to make them last. He looked longingly at the TV and heaved a sigh for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Just on the other side of the dark TV screen was the twentieth century and Three Rivers Stadium where the Pirates would be playing Cincinnati tonight. He plopped in his chair and looked out the window, almost in tears.

Outside on the sidewalk was the German bag lady with her tote full of dandelions. Several weeks before,

she had knocked politely on his door with her prepared speech, "Mai I pliz haff yoo dandy lions?" She seemed so sincere and with his consent immediately fell to harvesting the weeds. She was young, clean, thirty-something, with blonde braids tightly coiled on each side of her head, a brown down-timer blouse, and st.u.r.dy green skirt that hung to her ankles. He was so taken at her industriousness that he had pointed out a patch of mint growing by the back door. "Ach! Minze!" She happily placed a few starters in a carry-cloth.

What she was doing out so late was none of his business.

Dice walked through the dark house to the kitchen. He never kept the refrigerator too full in the best of times and nowadays it was getting downright bare. The freezer held a lonesome Swanson turkey pot pie and a partially consumed half gallon of Neapolitan ice cream with freezer-frost thick on the lid. Lots of ice, though. Since he'd run out of Scotch, the need for ice cubes had diminished considerably. He put the

few groceries away and left out the brown bread and sausage for his supper. At least the beer had improved. He drew a frothy mug from the recycled one gallon Heineken keg.

In the back yard, a thump and an "oof" indicated a trespa.s.ser or a critter down from the hillside behind

his house. Neither was welcome, but if it was a two-legged critter, it gave him an opportunity to vent a

little of his anger and liven up the night a bit.

Two steps took Dice to the shotgun in the broom closet and two more brought him to the back door. He unlocked the door, slapped the porch light, threw the door wide, and racked a sh.e.l.l into the chamber.

Spread-eagled and unmoving on the ground beneath the thick limb of the maple tree, was the German bag lady. Blood oozed from her right eyebrow to make a b.l.o.o.d.y trail across her temple into her still neatly arranged hair.

* * * Elfriede woke up with a ringing headache. Above her an old man stood with his feet apart like an avenging angel. His white hair, lit from behind by the electric light, framed his head like a halo. He held one of the American "shotguns."

With a snap, Effi realized what had happened. She had run into something in the dark. She also

recognized the man as the one who had permitted her to take some of his mint. Sitting upright slowly, she threw her skirts modestly back around her ankles.

"Mein Sohn. Ich kann nicht meinen Sohn finden! "

"Try it in English," Dice grumbled.

"Iss same in English." she said as though to a child. "I can not my son find. He come back here." And

then louder. "Kurt! Wo sind du? Verstecken sie nicht sich von mir!"A small voice came from the bushes by the corner of the house. "I'm not your son.""Well come on out so we can see who else you're not.""Don't shoot. I'll come out!"Dice felt a proper fool waving his shotgun around under these less than threatening circ.u.mstances and placed the gun on the porch.

"What's your name, boy?"

"I'm Cody Brown. I stay with the Lawsons."

Dice looked at the tow-headed youngster in the light from the porch. He was probably one of the foster

kids that Bill and Corda took in for extra income. Dice took momentary pleasure from the fact that the checks from the county wouldn't be coming any more. But that was probably why the kid was out after dark. Bill didn't do much for free. No point in Dice picking on the kid; the boy would have enough troubles.

The German bag lady was unsteadily trying to stand. Dice and Cody each took an arm and helped her

upright and into the kitchen. In the better lighting inside, he could see a spectacular bruise forming.

Dice liberated some ice from the solid lump of cubes in the icemaker, wrapped them in a clean towel and whacked them a couple times on the tile countertop to break them up. A wet paper towel swabbed the little trail of blood and a Band Aid covered the small cut.

As he worked, Dice noticed the boy's nervousness. He was also curious why and from whom the kid was hiding.

"Cody, do you know where her son is?"

"Uh . . ."

"Is he outside?"

"Uh . . ."

He turned to the German woman. "Is your son in trouble?"

She shook her head, wincing at the pain. "Chust him I vant to find."

Cody thought about it for a second, then went to the screen door. "Kurt, It's okay."

The German boy appeared at the door and looked sheepishly inside. Cody opened the screen door and led the second youngster into the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Frau Schutzin. We went into the woods to hunt for some herbs for you, and it got dark before we could get back."

Dice stifled a smile. No one could fabricate a believable excuse out of thin air like a nine-year-old. The two boys stood together like condemned prisoners, clearly expecting not to be believed.

Effi looked relieved, "Then all ist goot. Kurt, get your bag und we will take the herbs you have gathered

back to the shelter."

The boys' faces fell. They were truly caught in a lie and they knew it.

"There are no herbs, are there?"

"No, ma'am."

Dice put his two cents in. "You were playing, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And because of your actions, Kurt's mother has been seriously hurt." Dice tried to look stern; and

mostly succeeded. * * * "Pliz, Trudy may I alzo borrow ein vun qvart baggie?" Effi asked politely. The dark haired Kitchen Policeman In Charge took a Ziploc off the drying line and carefully put it right side out. Effi filled the baggie with her signature Dandelion Salad and placed it in her tote bag atop the precious Rubbermaid containers that were filled with venison stew and cheese grits. Containers weren't needed for the fresh loaf of crusty brown bread and the loop of dark sausage. * * * Around dark, Dice arrived home to see the German bag-correction-Elfriede seated primly on his front steps. He briefly considered running, but decided he could endure a weepy female for a while. He hadn't seen the neighbor kids warn their mothers that he was coming or their diaspora from his front porch and retreat behind window blinds to watch the show.