Chad sat on the front porch swing staring blankly ahead. He held a tumbler of Kentucky's smoothest bourbon and water. It was like a cruel joke. I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is, those thirty-five new cars you have on your lot? You won't have to pay for them. The bad news? They're going to sit there and rot until you take them apart and sell them piece by piece. Or, you can sell them to the government for pennies on the dollar because nobody's got gasoline or money for cars except the government. Funny, yeah, Mr. Big Time Auto Dealer.
He'd never intended to live out his life in Grantville. When he studied marketing at West Virginia University, Chad wanted to go into international business. Then Dad had his stroke the day after Thanksgiving in Chad's senior year. He lived, but with the left side of his body partially paralyzed. Mom couldn't handle it mentally or physically at that time. Wes, his older brother, had a full-time job in Charleston working for the government. So rather than taking a few easy courses his final semester to pump up his GPA, Chad petitioned to graduate early because he had all his required courses completed. He received his diploma through the mail. Didn't even go to commencement. Three years later he bought the car dealership for a pittance. Lou Prickett had grown too fond of booze and was about to lose the franchise anyway.
Now, here he was. A businessman without a business. In Germany. Strange world we live in.
Debbie came over to the porch swing and sat next to him. "Penny for your thoughts, dear."
Chad smiled wryly and put his arm around his wife's small shoulders. "Just thinking. Never thought, heck, never imagined I'd ever get to Europe after I came back to Grantville. Much less live in Germany with you and the kids."
Debbie pulled his arm a bit tighter by tugging his hand. "Have you thought about what you're going to do? Some of the Methodist Women have set up an assistance committee for those German people who've been wandering into town."
"Don't know." Chad took another sip of bourbon. "All the cars and trucks I don't sell to the government, I'm going to have to disassemble for parts. I'll get Bob Szymanski and my other mechanics to do it. Added to my current parts inventory, it'll be worth a fair amount eventually. Trouble is, in the short run, we're going to be hurting for money because I'll have all the costs of tearing those apart but damn little income. We'll probably have to sell some land just to buy groceries."
Debbie pulled away from him. "Don't you dare!" she snapped. "Don't you even think about selling a single lot!"
Chad stared wide-eyed at his wife. She never . . .
"I had an interesting talk with that nice Scottish cavalry captain after he brought over one of his troopers to interpret for us today. He asked who was the laird who owned the land outside town. When I told him that most of it was owned by individuals and coal companies, he looked at me like I was crazy. Then I told him Dad owned 160 acres and you had, here and there, over seventeen hundred acres with houses on some of them. He said you must be a laird to own so much and live in a huge mansion in town. After that, he started treating me as if I was some kind of nobility. He must have said something to his trooper because the next thing I knew, the Germans we'd taken in started bowing their heads to me when I approached them."
Chad grunted a laugh. "Oh, yeah, that's me, Charles Hudson Jenkins von Grantville. Senior."
"I'm not kidding, Chad. In that captain's mind, we're nobility."
Chad still laughed. "Oh, yeah. I suppose I'll have to fight duels to protect the honor of our noble family name, too. Uh-huh, right."
This time Debbie joined him in laughter and leaned back against him again. "Okay, okay it's silly but . . . Do you know how many houses and trailers we have dotted around the countryside?"
"What . . . forty? You're the one taking care of those books. Do we really have that much land?"
Debbie's smile was smug. "Forty-one rentals according to our last tax return. Got back a nice depreciation-based refund a month ago. Deposited it in the bank here in Grantville. Seventeen hundred acres, sure. Some of it is just hillside, of course, since you and your dad bought anything that came on the market cheap enough. We've got the creeks flowing through some of them but it's ours. We may have lost three parcels outside the Ring of Fire but we didn't lose any rentals.
"But what I'm thinking is that we don't have a mortgage on a single one of them any more. We always went through the Bank of Grantville but last year I refinanced them through a New York bank. Our trailer loans were all run through the Farmington bank. Do you realize we have absolutely no debt? None! Honey, we've got rent money coming in from thirty-one active rentals. Ten are empty right now, but that won't last long. Yeah, we've got taxes and maintenance expense. Some of those places are pretty old. But with Chip and Missy not going off to college, we could finance our own construction."
Chad considered for a moment. "Well, that's almost right. Most of our tenants were working in Fairmont, Morgantown or somewhere other than Grantville. In other words, where are they going to get the money to pay their rent?" He sipped his whiskey.
Debbie snorted. "That's a temporary situation and you know it, Chad. They'll have to buy their own food, too. They'll pay their rent or they can move."
Chad knew his smile was a bit twisted. Debbie might have gotten her degree in Elementary Education and taught until Missy was born, but running their rentals for the past several years had given her the same set of hard-headed business rules he had.
"Well, it's a cinch real estate's going to be just a bit more difficult to come by. Building materials are going to be just a bit more expensive as well. You planning on providing materials for the construction boom once it gets going?"
"We've got plenty of trees—maple, oak, ash, pine and other timber. We've never had any of those hillsides cut. I never liked the looks of the timber-cutters who came around. After the first one visited us, I checked out recommended timber-cutting best practices on the Internet. Then I started asking questions. Not a single one ever heard of a contract. So I said no thanks. Now we're going to have a lot of scrub trees and tree limbs for fireplace wood as well as logs for construction."
Chad took a sip from his glass. "Sounds good, I suppose. Doesn't get my blood pumping any more than selling auto parts does."
"Oh, I didn't figure it would." Debbie stood and stretched. "We can hire someone to oversee the day to day operation but you should be there to watch. To see everything is done to conserve the land. They won't pay attention to me. Anyway, there's no way I'm going to hike into the woods to supervise a timber crew. You, well, you ran the dealership garage as well as the sales room."
Chad nodded. It was a plan, at least. "Okay. Damn! I just had a thought. Where are they going to get the gas for the chain saws? Come to that, how are they going to haul the wood out of the woods?"
"The old fashioned way, I suppose. There's bound to be a few of those big two-man saws and buck saws rusting in barns and garages . . . not to mention axes. You can probably hire some of our unemployed tenants to do the work."
"Horses." Chad frowned. "Might be able to get tractors but we'll probably have to buy or rent draft horses or oxen to haul out wagons filled with firewood and the logs. Think your dad has any old horse collars lying about the barn? He's bound to have some saws from your grandfather's day. We can find farm wagons easily enough. Heck, just a few built-up wheeled axles with a tongue welded on. Won't even need to have tires, just the rims. Next question is, does Denny's Lumber still have its own sawmill?"
Debbie shook her head. "No. But I'm certain all the parts are there somewhere. Nathan never threw away anything. Thank God we got the electricity back. That'll power the sawmills."
"Well, looks like I've got something to keep me busy for a while. You can do the rentals and help the refugees with the other gals."
Debbie glanced over at him. "Um . . . it's a bit more than just helping. I got elected chairwoman."
Chad sighed. Every time she became a chairwoman, it cost him money.
The dealership had to pay its mechanics to take apart the cars and trucks so Chad joined in to save on labor costs. He received strange looks the day he came into work wearing coveralls. He shrugged and gave a twisted smile. "Times are hard and money's tight." They all nodded with rueful grins. They'd been there.
Two days later, after completely disassembling three cars, Bob Szymanski, Chad's lead mechanic stood up and put down his wrench with deliberation. "This is stupid."
"Huh?" Chad asked.
"Why are we taking these cars apart?"
"Because we don't have any gas."
Bob put his tongue to the side of his cheek and shook his head with a teasing smile. "Uh-uh. We don't have gasoline. We do have gas."
Chad stood slowly. For minutes his face contorted as he thought. "Using barbecue grill gas tanks?" he asked with wry smile.
"I made a couple of gas-powered cars using kits when I was still in high school. We can compress the local gas. You ready to assume the position?"
Chad nodded and Bob gave a shrill whistle. All the other mechanics gleefully surrounded the two men. Chad stood for the traditional reward for Jenkins management stupidity, a practice started by his father. Whack! Bob delivered the dope slap to the back of Chad's head.
"Okay, guys. New orders. Bob, you're in charge of engine conversions. We'll work together on the pricing. Automobile or power units. I want each of you guys to do your own cars and then drive around town. Wait. Buy a lot of pressure tanks and their connections first. That's what's going to limit production. Cars are everywhere but not pressure tanks. When they're gone, we're out of that business. Okay?"
"What are we going to use for money to buy them, Chad?"
He grimaced. "I hope you guys like eating beans more than I do. We're going to have a couple tough months before things turn around."
"I'm telling you, Denny, there just ain't enough logs coming in right now to keep that many guys hanging around." Donnie Lee Swiger was arguing with Denny Reilly who was in the midst of setting up a sawmill for his lumber yard. Donnie Lee stopped talking when he saw Chad walk into the pole barn. "Oh, hi, Chad."
"Hi, Donnie Lee, hi, Denny. How's it going?" Chad had only a nodding acquaintance with Denny, who'd bought his last car from Trumble and was originally from Bluefield.
"Fine, fine." A dozen years older than Chad, Denny spoke with confidence. "Getting the sawmill set up. I figure we're going to need it. Found a couple torn up blades and one good one from back before the lumber company started buying dimensional lumber. We'll be ready for business in a week. You planning on some new construction?"
"Not just yet. What with my stock in trade being rendered useless for the time being, I figured I might cut a little of my timber. Just me and a couple of my tenants. I figure a log or two a day, maybe less." Chad leaned back against a steel beam, vaguely wishing he'd taken up tobacco chewing. The good old boys always had a chaw or a whittling knife when they started talking business. Gave them something to do while thinking. The one with the most patience usually got the better deal.
He didn't bother to look at the avaricious gleam in Denny's eyes. Donnie Lee was behind Denny, grinning like a cat watching a mouse approaching a piece of tempting cheese. Chad had been selling cars to Donnie Lee since he got out of the Army. While Denny might know a lot about the lumber business, Donnie Lee knew he had a lot to learn about mano-a-mano dealing with Chad.
"Now that's interesting," Denny countered. "I reckon we could buy anything you cut. In fact, we could probably throw in kiln-drying any lumber you want to keep for yourself. Good, stable wood, won't split on you."
"Sounds good." Chad shrugged. "I figure I'd just cut enough to cover expenses until my rentals start producing a decent cash flow again. Most of them gotta get new jobs. Those who were inside the Ring of Fire. It was a nice day so some of my tenants were out of town."
"Sorry to hear that. Sort of. I guess they're happy that they're back in their time rather than disappearing like us. You know, you might have to do timber-cutting longer than you think, what with all your empty or non-paying rentals. Here's what I was thinking . . ."
It took four hours of hard negotiating but Denny finally "persuaded" Chad to go into the timber-cutting business in a big way, even financing two weeks pay for the lumber crew, just until they got their first payment for the logs from Denny. As was his custom, Chad deliberately left some money on the table for Denny, knowing that pigs get fat and hogs get butchered. Just like the car business, this wasn't a one-time deal.
The trouble at the Refugee Center erupted quickly. Two women were flailing at each other, pulling hair, kicking and using their fists. Fights between women cooped up in the old high school gym during winter weather were nothing new to Debbie. She and two of her assistants ran over to break it up.
One woman was far more vicious than the other. Debbie grabbed her from behind. The woman pulled back her arm and her elbow collided with Debbie's right eye socket. Debbie hung onto the woman as she tried to twist and squirm away from Debbie's assistants to attack her opponent again.
"Excuse me. Is this the fishmonger's shop?" Debbie's mother-in-law, Eleanor Jenkins' voice pierced through the clamor. The question was so inappropriate that the struggling woman stopped fighting. Then she almost collapsed and started crying.
Debbie was so disoriented by the blow she lost the train of events for the next several minutes. By the time she understood what was going on, Eleanor had taken charge. She was sitting behind a long table on the announcement stage in her best imperial manner with two long-time friends, Nancy Reardon and Sandra Kip.
Eleanor tapped on the table with a small wooden mallet. "If you will all come to order, we'll get on with the hearing." Her tone was mild but firm. "There have been some strong accusations between the two combatants. FrauMaria Deschler, please step forward."
Maria was a sturdy dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties with a torn blouse and bruised face. Three children who looked to be between ten and two were standing around her, holding onto her apron.
"Frau Deschler, please make your statement before us and your peers," Eleanor pronounced in precise German.
"I don't know what happened, Honorable Frau Jenkins." The woman's chin shook. "I was about to wring out my washed clothing when this other woman came up to me, called me a thief and began hitting me. Naturally I fought back."
"What did she accuse you of stealing?"
"A wringer I bought from an up-timer a week ago."
"Liar!" the other woman screamed. She would have attacked Maria Deschler again except the men next to her held her back.
"Enough of that." Eleanor pounded her makeshift gavel on the table. "You may step back, Frau Deschler. Ursula Mitdorff, please step forward."
The brunette in her late twenties, her hair loose from her kerchief stepped in front of the stage. Anger was visible on her blotchy face and in every step.
"Frau Mitdorff,would you explain your actions and accusation?"
"It is Fraulein Mitdorff, Honorable Frau Jenkins. I am a laundress. She stole my wringer sometime last night. There are no other wringers here at the Refugee Center. I looked for it all morning and found her with it." The younger woman pointed at the other woman. "She is a thief!"
Nancy Reardon leaned over and whispered something to Eleanor. "Yes. Fraulein Mitdorff, we have the wringer in question. Can you identify it?"
The wringer was inside a box next to Sandra Kip and not visible to the young woman. "It is a Maytag. The cover is white. It has been modified so that it has a large wooden handle." Sandra looked down and nodded.
Eleanor's face was neutral and she breathed deeply, filling her lungs. "Thank you, Fraulein. Please step back. Frau Deschler, forward. Do you have anything to add to her description?"
"No, Honorable Frau." The woman was on the verge of tears. "But I bought it."
"From whom and how much did you pay?"
"I don't know his name. It was at the market. An up-timer. He wore a brown jacket and jeans. I paid . . . ten dollars."
"She is a liar!" The younger woman surged forward to the "witness position." She pointed at the mother. "I looked for weeks to find a wringer. None for sale! Anywhere!"
The older woman retreated. This time Sandra Kip asked the question. "If there were none for sale, exactly how did you acquire this wringer, Fraulein Mitdorff?" Her voice was ice in the cool and now silent gym.
The younger woman's face was pinched and white showed around her tight mouth. Then she lifted her head. "I paid for it with my body. An up-timer saw me wringing out laundry. For two weeks I visited him at night. Two weeks in which he . . ." Tears came to her eyes and she wiped them away after clearing her throat. "I did anything he wanted. He was at least honorable enough to keep his bargain."
The faces of the three women at the table were harsh. "Frau Deschler? What have you to say?" asked Nancy Reardon. One glance at the mother and it was obvious to everyone that she'd stolen and then lied about it. She shook her head in terror.
"I only wanted to dry my children's clothes quickly. I'd seen how well her wringer worked and knew it came from an up-timer. I didn't know how she'd . . ." The woman buried her face in her hands, sobbing.
Eleanor nodded to Sandra who handed the object to the young woman. "Fraulein Mitdorff, please take your wringer with our apologies. Apologies for this incident and for the way you had to pay for it." The laundress gathered it to her chest and, head down, quickly left the area.
Eleanor folded her hands together on the table and shook her head. "Frau Deschler. I shall not ask your peers what German law says should be your punishment. This is Grantville." Sandra and Nancy leaned over, hands concealing their words as they spoke to Eleanor. She gave a quick nod. "Frau Deschler. For your error you will first sincerely apologize to Fraulein Mitdorff. Then you will do community service for a month. FrauDeborah Jenkins will give you your work assignments. For the rest of you, do not attempt to bother either of these women about this incident. This hearing is finished."
Frau Deschler would have left but Debbie blocked her departure until Eleanor and the others joined them. Eleanor looked her in the eye. "Frau Deschler, I hope you understand that this hearing was not a legal court. Community service assigned by Frau Jenkins is not enforceable. But if Fraulein Mitdorff and the others here see you doing it, they will not want it to go further."
Frau Deschler was trembling as she nodded. "I hope so."
Debbie gently put her hand on the woman's arm. "Why don't you introduce me to your children?"
Camping during winter in Germany is damn cold, Chad told himself. One of Dad's old mechanics had told him about being constantly exhausted while slogging through France during the winter of '44-45 but it never sunk in until now. He could have walked the two miles each way to and from home every day but the days were short. If he wanted to make sure the land didn't get trashed, he had to be on site. Besides, the weather took it out of him. An extra hour or more each way, climbing over snow-covered hills and walking on icy roads was exhausting.
Money had been tight, damn tight even without the loan and mortgage payments because over half of their renters were looking for new jobs. Chad and Debbie talked it through and told their unemployed renters that they had a one month's rent moratorium. During those months the Jenkins family's only expenditures were for food because the utility and phone billings were in shambles. Chad's biggest source of pride during those months was that he hadn't missed a dealership payroll in spite of buying gas tanks. He hadn't failed his people.
Their tax refund and the few paying rentals barely covered expenses until the rental, engine conversion and timber money began to kick in. Once all his previous renters found jobs and he filled the open rentals, he finally had net income rather than losses. Then his stomach unknotted.
In October his timber crew built two bunkhouses that could be transported to each new site. They'd also found two potbellied stoves somewhere, so the bunkhouses stayed warm at night and during winter storms.
Once the logs had been trimmed and cut to proper length, they were hauled out of the forest down to the edge of the road. From there the logs went to the sawmill.
It was a late February Friday afternoon when the crew rode the wagon filled with firewood into town. Estes Frost, the experienced logger Chad had hired as his timber-cutting boss, would pay the crew its wages after the firewood wagon was emptied at the lumberyard.
"I'm home!" Chad unwrapped his woolen scarf before taking off his now-roomy insulated jacket. He had spent the past five days at the logging camp near the edge of the Ring of Fire. Not all of the extra forty pounds had come off his six-foot frame but he had a lot more muscle. Chad always had been the type of boss who didn't mind getting his hands dirty or in this case, wielding an axe. In the woods over the past several months, his rounded salesman's face had transformed into one with chiseled features, accentuated by a neatly trimmed full beard.
After hanging up his coat, Chad turned to see his short, fair-haired wife enter the hallway. His mouth fell open in shock. "What in the world happened to you?"
A huge black and blue bruise covered Debbie's right cheek and around her eye. She gave a crooked smile. "Tried to break up a fight at the Center yesterday. Caught an elbow. Doesn't hurt. Much." She gave a short chuckle and then started laughing. "Then your mom was there and oh, my God, took charge. She, Nancy Reardon and Aunt Sandra held a mock trial right there for the two women." Debbie shook her head as if in disbelief and then grimaced.
"Had to do with a converted Maytag wringer. One woman stole it. The other woman, a laundress, had paid for it by prostituting herself for two weeks. Imagine how much fun that must have been." Debbie's lips tightened and then she spoke again. "Apparently there are absolutely no wringers for sale at any price."
Chad sighed and shook his head. "What we take for granted." Then he gave a snort of laughter. "My wife, the five-foot, hundred ten pound bouncer." He lightly stroked around her bruised cheek. "Better give your mom and sister a call before they see you at church and jump to conclusions."
Debbie's lips tightened into a pucker and went to the side of her mouth. "Yeah. Aura Lee would love to believe it. I'll tell them to check with Aunt Sandra."
"Where are the girls?"
"Missy's in her room studying and Gertrude's at a dress rehearsal for a school play. The first showing is today but we've got tickets for tomorrow. Missy's got a date tonight. Make you think of anything, big fella?" Her mouth was slightly open in a smile and she ran her tongue across her upper lip.
"Hmm. I think after a long soak in the bath and supper, I'd like nothing more than a good night's sleep. It's hard sleeping in those stacked bunks." He answered with a bland face and slightly arched eyebrows.
"Why you!" Debbie laughed and pushed the much larger Chad against the wall. "If you think for one minute that I'm going to let you get away with that, you've got another think coming."
Chad covered her shoulders with his hands, his fingertips extending to massage her upper back. He gave her a teasing smile. "How soon is dinner? If I take a nice bath but not too long, do you think Missy would notice if we just happen to be in Chip's bedroom for oh, an hour or three?"
Debbie giggled. "Oh, really? You have some of those little blue pills squirreled away? I've heard about you lumberjacks and your long straight logs. We're having beef stew and it's in the slow cooker. I was already thinking along those lines."
Before dinner and again in the evening didn't quite catch them up but there was always tomorrow, Chad thought as Debbie snuggled under his arm. An idle thought came to him. "Honey, when were wringers invented?"
Debbie opened her eyes. "What? Well, not yet. Might be in the encyclopedia. Why?"
"It occurs to me that if one laundress in Grantville is willing to . . . you know . . . for one, then there must be one hell of a potential demand out there."
"What are you talking about, Chad Jenkins?" Debbie propped her head on one hand and looked at him in the dim light.
"We've pretty well logged out the valleys that are going to be flooded over the next few years. I'll bet I could start a company to make wringers. There have to be some in Grantville I can base one on. Sheds, barns, like that."
"I think Mom still has one back in a corner of the barn."
"Great. Now all I have to do is convince her to let me borrow it."
Debbie's mouth made a tight O. "Ooh, yeah. And she likes you so much . . ."
"Like hell you will, Charles Jenkins!" Vera Hudson snarled. She never used foul or abusive language but for Chad, she'd make an exception.
"Aw, come on, Vera! All I need to do is take it apart, get the measurements and tolerances. Then I'll put it back together. One of my old mechanics will do it, not me, I promise. I'll even make certain it's working properly before I bring it back." Chad looked at his diminutive mother-in-law, then back at the dust-covered wringer and washing machine in the barn. It had been built sometime in the twenties or thirties, he figured because it had a gasoline engine attached. The electric lines had come out here in . . . He couldn't remember, but it was well before he'd been born.
"I said no and that's final. Don't think you can get around me by talking to Willie Ray, either." While her daughter Debbie might have forgiven Chad for his affair years ago, Vera never had. Or would, Chad thought. Willie Ray was smart enough to stay out of it.
"Tell you what, I'll give you a share of all the profits. Just like you owned the patent." Chad thought desperately. Vera was being so unreasonable! It wasn't like he'd sold her a lemon at any time. Come to think of it, they'd bought from Trumble ever since the episode with Noreen.
"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 crème brulèe was brought in. Smiles burst on Missy and Gertrude's faces as the bowls were placed before them. The creamy 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.
"Likewise, I make the blanket assumption that everyone can learn. Some actually cannot learn due to limitations of their minds, some are only able to reason to a certain extent, but the rest try to live up to my expectations. I've been disappointed but not all that often. The reason I bring this up is because of your attitude towards your apprentice."
"What about him, Herr Jenkins?" Dauer looked stubborn. "His parents paid me money to train him and I'm training him. He is learning, even if I have to use the stick on him regularly."
"That's just the problem." Chad gestured widely. "Long before my time we found that while you can make a donkey go forward with a stick, once you stop hitting him, he stops moving or moves slowly. On the other hand, if you encourage him, praise him when he actually accomplishes something, he will want to keep moving faster and faster. Those are the classic carrot and stick approaches to education."
"Herr Jenkins! I have tried and tried to do that but he is like your donkey. I have to get his attention. My master beat me regularly until I spotted him making a mistake one day. I didn't tell him and the iron was ruined. I kept the pleasure of that knowledge in my heart. I then began to find out how much more I could learn that my master did not know or was doing wrong. Unknown to him, I began my experiments. I became a journeyman easily and then a master. Unfortunately, I found that I was still working with fools like my old master."
"I understand, Herr Dauer. It is difficult, so difficult, not to have excessive pride in your greater knowledge, isn't it? Life was good when you were in your own town where the people recognized your worth. But then in Jena? You only irritated them. Of course they knew your skills but if someone continually berates you as a fool, do you allow him into your own house?"
"I suppose I wouldn't, Herr Jenkins. But still . . ."
"No buts. Fortunately you're here in Grantville where the local blacksmiths cannot reject you. On the other hand, if you are to work with my people, I insist that you treat them with as much respect as they give you. They will not know as much as you do about iron but I guarantee the American workers will know scientific facts you never imagined. You know something, they know something. I also insist that you treat all German workers with respect, including your apprentice."
"You can't make me do that." Dauer's chin was lifted in bitter refusal and he glared at Chad. "He's my apprentice and I'll treat him as I see fit!"
"All right then, so be it." Chad shrugged and flipped his hand sideways. "The coach leaves for Jena tomorrow morning at ten. Be on it." He couldn't enforce it but Dauer didn't know that. He did know nobles who could and would.
"You would throw me out of Grantville because I will not relinquish control over my apprentice?" Dauer gasped in shock.
"No. Because you are refusing to change!" Chad slapped his desktop. "You're refusing to even try! That's why! I have no use for someone who will not try. If Galileo Galilei was in my employ, I would dismiss him for the same reason. He may be a great scientist but I would not use him."
Dauer was aghast. Herr Jenkins would dismiss Galileo? How much brighter a star was Galileo than Dauer himself? It never occurred to him that . . . "It is that important?"
"My son and I have at least one thing in common." Chad spoke in earnest, his eyes boring directly into Dauer's. "The true worth of an individual is not based on his wealth or position. It is based on his heart and a willing mind. Of course there will be those who will attempt to deceive you. There will be those who cannot or refuse to learn. Let someone else worry about them. But most, most will try to learn.
"Explain in an orderly fashion to your apprentice why certain things happen. USE Steel can help with the chemistry aspect. I personally know very little about iron but let me show you something."
Chad lifted an old technical manual from the shelf behind him and put it on the desk in front of Dauer. He opened it to a page showing an exploded view of a carburetor. "See that?" Chad tapped the picture. "My father trained me how to take apart and put together that type of machine when I was younger than Albert. I had no idea how to make any of the parts but I knew how to put them together properly because he taught me their order."
Dauer was fascinated by the incredibly detailed drawing. "So many individual parts."
"That's nothing." Chad flipped the pages to one showing an automobile engine. "There are hundreds of parts in that, all made to a precision measured in hundredths of an inch. Thousands of people shared their knowledge and experience over less than a hundred years in order to build this. For one type of machine which had ten or more competitors. Do you understand?"
"I will have to think about this, Herr Jenkins." Dauer was apologetic. "I am willing to learn. I always have been. It's just that it's hard to change."
Chad closed the front door behind Dauer and gave a huge sigh of relief. He cupped his hand over his mouth to sound like a PA system. "His Most Serene, Glorious and Puissant von Grantville has left the building." Chad draped his suit jacket over the back of a chair, unbuttoned his collar and whipped off his tie.
Missy laughed as Chad sat down on the living room couch. "Dad, I knew it was going to be a 'von Grantville evening' but I hardly expected you to give him the whole 'von Grantville treatment.' I mean, we could hear you pounding your desk."
"Was all that necessary?" his mother asked.
Chad grimaced and rubbed his palm across his right cheek. "Unfortunately, yes. I hate being that forceful. Chip wrote that he was abusive to his apprentice. I had to shut down that kind of behavior immediately. Might be allowable in any other part of Germany but I don't need anyone I'm doing business with getting arrested for assault and battery. The smiths in town probably wouldn't think of mentioning it."
"It occurs to me you were as arrogant as him," observed Eleanor.
"Yeah. But I have to psych myself up for it. I figure he's been working on it since he was an undersized kid in grade school. I'll bet he was apprenticed to a smith because the smith was the strongest man in his town. Might be a hell of a scrapper."
"Have some coffee." Debbie brought him a steaming mug. Cream and honey, the way he begun drinking it after the new coffee began arriving. She sat down next to him after he took his first sip. He put his arm over her shoulder. "So how did it go?"
"Good. Good. I've got him thinking along the lines I wanted. I'll close the sale tomorrow. Have to make it quick or he'll find just how much work he can get without me, even not having his own forge. Right now he's willing to change because he wants this job so bad he can taste it. He'll be unhappy once he finds how I conned him but he's smart enough to get over it fast. If nothing else, all his fellow smiths are doubling up or more in rooms while he has a whole up-time house to himself and his apprentice. That's genuine prestige these days."
"This is a sale?" Gertrude asked. Since Gretchen brought the attractive teen to Grantville from Jena last October, she'd become a member of the Jenkins family.
"Sale, agreement, contract. Whatever. In the car business, ninety percent of the time I only had one shot to make the sale. So I initially showed Dauer respect in front of all of you and the comforts available here. I'll bet he noticed every single one, from the music to the silverware. By the way, wonderful, just the perfect dinner, dear." Chad gave her small shoulder a squeeze and kissed the top of her head. "Then in private I had to get certain issues blasted through his arrogance."
Missy nodded emphatically. "Yeah, that bit about 'Oh, I never ask my apprentice for his opinion' got to me. I couldn't believe it. I mean, Mom would never teach kids like that. Right, Mom?"
Debbie started chuckling and then burst out laughing, joined by Chad. "No," she finally admitted, wiping tears from her eyes. "But there have been times. Oh, there have been times when I wished I could. Including you and Chip."
"Excuse me, but I don't see what was unusual in Dad's treatment of Herr Dauer," confessed Gertrude. "Dad's far more lenient and generous than any freiherr would have been towards even a master smith coming to work for him. I doubt Herr Dauer has eaten with any freiherr's family. He is a craftsman, they are noble. It just doesn't happen. Like you had Veit tell him, it's a great honor."
"True," Eleanor said. "But remember we're not like the rest of Germany. Chad, how many times have you had your salespeople or mechanics over for dinner?"
Chad wrinkled his brow in thought for a moment. "Here? Maybe a dozen times, mostly Christmas parties when times were lean. Normally we had them at Toothman's Restaurant in Farmington. We did have that party for Bob Szymanski so he could propose to Darlene." Chad snickered. "Then she almost swallowed the engagement ring he planted in her piece of cake. Most of our parties are for people from the church or the Lions."
Debbie looked at the mantle clock. "It's almost eight, girls. If you've got your homework done, you can watch TV. After you've changed out of those clothes."
Eleanor was frowning.
"What's the matter, Mom?" Chad asked.
"Just thinking. Perhaps you're taking this 'von Grantville' thing too far."
Chad gave a slight shake of his head. "I don't think so. I spent months in the woods with the timber cutters. While Estes Frost and the other up-timers all called me Chad, most of the down-timers still called me Herr Jenkins. This is after I was swinging an axe, eating the same food, sleeping in the same bunkhouse and going to town only a little more often than they did. I think the down-timer loggers thought I was like one of those eccentric English gentlemen and had a screw loose.
"Dauer's one of the few who ever called me 'von Grantville' and I stopped that right away. Once this contract is in place, I'm going to insist on Chad and Ulrich. Saying Herr all the time is boring. I admit I'm not as egalitarian as some people would like but as long as I've got you and Debbie standing next to me with sledgehammers, I don't think it's going to be a problem."
"Sledgehammers, huh!" Debbie snorted. "That's not at all lady-like. We ladies use hat-pins. Three inches long. You still have some around, don't you, Mom?"
Ulrich Dauer didn't get much sleep that night. Early the next morning he knocked on Chad's door. "Herr Jenkins, I will do as you wish on one condition. That I be allowed to learn what those men at USE Steel know."
Dauer and his apprentice, Albert, watched as Chad demonstrated the wringer later that morning. Then as he disassembled it onto the workbench. Dauer looked at the few parts and his forehead twisted, mystified. "I can hardly believe you brought me here to make these parts. They're child's play."
"I know. But I'm going to need hundreds of them. I think it's journeyman or senior apprentice work except for this." He picked up a bearing and holding the center, spun the outer portion. "The machine has four of these. See the tiny shiny parts in there? Each one is a metal ball called a bearing. They make the entire assembly roll smoothly."
"How are they made?"
"Frankly, I don't know. There were a number of them used in automobiles and they were not made around here. Don't even try. What I need you to do is to figure a way to duplicate their function in the machine. Or not. But it has to roll smoothly."
"Ahh," Dauer breathed with a smile. "A challenge." Then he gave an assured shrug. "It shouldn't take long. What will take much longer will be to set up my forge. First of all, I will need a building, one safe from prying eyes. I will also need additional tools. Given time, I can create most of them. The only tools I have are what are in my chest. It's too unsafe and expensive for me to keep a horse and wagon."
"Hmm, let's look at what's here in the service garage's back room." Chad unlocked the door. "I let the Mechanical Support group have all the highly technical stuff but I've still got a lot of my father's tools. There's something I'll bet you don't have in your chest," he muttered, pointing out a large anvil. "I've got a lot of old measuring stuff. Calipers and the like. They're covered with grease and grime but will still work. You'll probably need a big vise as well. Take anything you find here. My father used all this stuff at one time."
Dauer was disturbed. "Herr Jenkins, you mean, he actually worked with his hands? But how . . .?"
Chad looked over at him with a gentle smile. "Herr Dauer, you will find that all the Americans in this town either worked with their hands or had a job that required daily activity. We had no idle elite. My father repaired engines, like the ones I showed you last night. He required that I learn how to repair them as well. I wasn't very good, mostly because I didn't want to be. My skills were those of a tradesman, selling the completed self-propelled carriages, like those pictures I showed you before you left last night. With my profits, I purchased land."
"But I thought you were a . . ."
"A noble? In our time, we had no one who could be considered the equivalent of a noble, at least not living around here. I just happen to own more land and houses than anyone in Grantville. There were definitely none in our country who combined the land ownership and political power the nobles have here. Huh! Think about it, Herr Dauer. Would you rather have a noble who behaves like a criminal or a tradesman who behaves nobly? Now let's see what else we have."
Dauer couldn't believe it. He'd just had dinner with Herr Jenkins' family last night in an atmosphere of nobility, at least his ideal of nobility, the type he'd always wished to be accepted by. Music, good food, intelligent conversation and most of all, people who were interested in what he had to say.
"Herr Dauer? The drill press? I know it's old but it's electric powered and I have the metal cutting drill bits, taps and dies. You're welcome to use them."
"Uh, Herr Jenkins," Dauer gave an embarrassed chuckle, "I think I can figure out the drill press does but what are taps and dies? Are they something for a farrier?"
"Farrier?"
"Yes, the smith for horses, to shoe them." Dauer mimed bending over and tacking in a horseshoe.
Chad laughed. "Oh, no. No farrier work was ever done here. But now that you mention it, Grandpa Jenkins may have done some. Dad just never threw tools away. I moved everything that he had to this location when I bought the self-propelled carriage shop. The taps and dies are to, well, I'll show you later. We'll have to find a location for your forge, this place won't do at all." Chad paused to think a moment. "I've got it! There's an old brick building just outside town, built at least a century ago. It's where my Grandpa Jenkins had his first garage. Who knows, it might have originally been a stable or farrier shop."
Dauer reread the contract he and Chad had signed. The final paragraph required that his apprentice, one Albert Gunther Steinmetz, age thirteen, further his education by attending school in Grantville. That paragraph floored Ulrich when he first read it.
"But his education is complete except for his apprenticeship! I will need him in the shop to assist me."
"Complete?" Chad was sarcastic. "How much does he know about chemistry? Biology? General Sciences? Mathematics? Geometry? Physics? Can he speak, read and write fluent English? While you might not need these, I assure you, he will. There will be no charge to you for his education. He will be getting out of school every afternoon and will assist you then. In the evenings he can do his studies. Besides, he's required to go to school until he turns sixteen. That's the law here."
"Well, why didn't you say so to begin with?" Dauer was explosive then checked it when he saw Chad's silent glare.
Chad waited, deliberately staring at Dauer until he saw his eyes look away thirty seconds later. His voice was soft as he tapped his finger on the line in the document. "I do not want Albert thinking that the only reason he is attending school is because the government requires it. I want him to believe you insisted on it and I agreed. Do you understand why?"
Dauer glared at him. He could always get another apprentice but a position like this, working for HerrJenkins in Grantville? Unlikely. In fact, unique. Having accepted that fact, he nodded. "All right. I agree." He surrendered grudgingly. "No wonder you made enough money to buy as much land as you have," he grumbled. Then his lips lifted in a smile.
Chad grinned. "There's only one man in Grantville I could never better in a trade. Fortunately, he's not a tradesman. Now let's go see Chuck Riddle and make this all legal."
Chad watched fascinated as Dauer hammered another piece of iron into shape and quenched it. He could see how it was done but damned if he would ever have the desire to do it himself. Of course, there were people who hated selling.
It'd been a month since Dauer arrived in Grantville. It took only a week before he was using most of the metal-working tools that were in the service center on a daily basis. When Dauer visited USE Steel and walked around town, he ran into a few smiths he'd known. To his surprise all were willing to tell him anything he needed to know about iron and steel. Especially after he mentioned he was working primarily for Herr Jenkins and wouldn't be much competition. A couple of journeymen smiths even hinted that when he needed some additional help, they were looking for opportunities.
Chad already had dozens of rollers and frames ready for assembly but hadn't thought of a proper name to put onto the top frame of the wringer. Dauer looked over at him, his face protected by a clear heavy plastic face shield. "Oh, hello, Chad. What brings you over here?"
Much to the relief of both, they'd dropped formality the day after they'd signed the contract. Ulrich and Albert had supper with Chad's family one day a week at Chad's heavy suggestion, usually Sunday dinner, to "accustom themselves to American ways." In Chad's opinion it also kept the girls civilized. Bringing Albert out of his shell around girls was another benefit.
"Ulrich, what would be a good German name for the wringer assembly?"
Dauer shrugged, sweat dripping on his shoulders. "Doesn't matter to me. Name it whatever you think best. Maybe the Cheerful Maid or the Laughing Laundress."
"The Laughing Laundress it is. How soon will Albert be back from school?"
"About an hour. I need him for the bellows on the charcoal to make it just right. It's much easier to work iron when he's here."
"Hadn't thought of that," Chad admitted. "Would you like to join me for dinner with the Lions Club tomorrow evening?"
"What's a Lions Club?"
"It's an organization, active all over the world, well, was. It's committed to solving health and social problems by accomplishing more as a group than as individuals. I'm a past president of this chapter. It's also the reason I put that clause about eye protection in the contract. Our biggest programs have to do with sight, including eyeglasses and testing for vision problems. We meet two evenings a month, have dinner and usually a speaker. This week it's Len Trout, the principal of the high school. I thought you might be interested because Albert will be attending school there."
"Why does he speak to you rather than you visiting him?"
"It's good business to get out and meet people he usually wouldn't come into contact with. Most of our speakers enjoy spreading their point of view to groups of people in the community. It's one way of gathering support for whatever their position is. A lot of our members are also members of the Chamber of Commerce but a lot aren't.
"Since the Ring of Fire we've had Mike Stearns, John Simpson, Rebecca Abrabanel, Frank Jackson and Greg Ferrera speak. We're planning on waiting until our German gets much better to invite the Count of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt and King Gustavus Adolphus." Chad kept his face straight.
Dauer's eyes goggled. "The king? He would come to talk to you?"
Chad burst into a laugh. "Probably not, now that you mention it. Well, unless he makes a visit to Grantville which seems unlikely."
A moment later, Dauer assembled the pieces of the new wringer together once again. He clamped it to the standing frame and turned the crank. It turned smoothly. "Not bad, eh?" Dauer grinned. "You just have to lubricate the gears before you use it every day."
"Ulrich," Chad declared, "You're a miracle worker."
"Chad, can I talk with you for a minute?" Clarence Dobbs, a wiry, intense man was nervous. Ulrich Dauer stood behind him, clearly interested.
Chad was inventorying the load of completed wringers while they were being loaded onto the wagon. "Sure." Clarence did all the plumbing, heating, ventilation and air conditioning repairs for Chad's rentals as well as his own home. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, uh, I talked with Ulrich Dauer here and, uh, he said to talk with you. Well, what I want to do is branch out. The old HVAC business is going to go bye-bye in the next few years. Real air conditioning repair's about gone. Now it's mostly maintenance and well, I want to start making old-fashioned cast-iron stoves. Ulrich says that he can easily cast the parts. Even make the molds. What I really need is money. I'd druther borrow it from you than the bank or the Abrabanels."
Clarence was normally self-assured and knowledgeable about every aspect of his business. His nervousness bothered Chad. "If you don't mind my asking, why me rather than the bank?"
Clarence looked apprehensive and rubbed the side of his jaw. "Well, it's just that I, uh, had some credit problems recently, what with it being a family business. Not being able to, you know, work like before. But I'm good for the money. It's just that uh, well, I'm damn near broke, what with not being able to get parts and refrigerant."
Chad eyed the man he'd known for years. "I'll have to think about it. What kind of accounting system do you use?"
"Bonnie, my wife, handles all that." Clarence seemed uneasy about that fact. "She suggested the whole idea to me. Said she remembered her grandparents' old cook stove with the water reservoir on the side."
"Uh-huh. Are you computerized or do you do account books?"
"Well, Bonnie tried using a computer but she and it didn't get along. So she went back to the tried-and-true pencil and paper along with a calculator."
"Okay." Chad sighed. "I'll need to look at your books before I loan you any money. Right now I've got a lot tied up in these wringers. Tomorrow I'm going to run up to Jena to sell the first batch. I'll look at your books when I come back. That all right with you, Clarence?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." A relieved smile came to Clarence's face, reverting to his normal behavior. "That'd be great!"
"All right, I'll talk with you then." Chad smiled and shook Clarence's hand.
A moment later Clarence was gone but Ulrich stayed. "What do you think, Ulrich?" Chad cocked his head towards his partner.
Ulrich shrugged. "I saw some pictures. Herr Dobbs says he can get me a stove to use as my model. I can cast the iron. The stovepipe will be more difficult but can replaced with round brick tile, like a very narrow chimney. Any tile maker can do it, I think."
He hesitated. "Herr Jenkins, could I . . . put money with you to loan, maybe invest for things like this?"
That puzzled Chad. Ulrich only had a few talers when he came to town. As far as Chad knew, he was spending almost as much as he brought in. "How much were you thinking about investing?"
Ulrich licked lips that were still close together. "It's a lot. But not right here. I'd have to go get it. It's in my home town. I hid it. After the town was raided. I couldn't bring it with me."
Chad's mind was on his cargo. "Sure. No problem. More money now means more money in the future. I'll go with you and we can pick it up after I get back."
Ulrich gave a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Chad. You won't be sorry."
The half-day trip to Jena in the hired wagon gave Chad plenty of time to outline the sales pitch. Chip had arranged for a pitch woman and assured him that there would be plenty of women who'd like to see the wringer demonstrated today. All of them had admired an early version of the wringer located in the Committee of Correspondence laundry or had other reasons to be contacted.
"Herr Jenkins, I don't know if I could stand up in front of people and sell anything." Maria Schreiber, the stocky laundress was almost trembling. Mathilde Wiegert, Gertrude's sister, had suggested Maria to demonstrate the ease of the new wringer.
Chad gave her a gentle smile. She wasn't the first salesperson he'd broken in. "First of all, Maria, each and every person you'll be showing the product to will be there because they know about the wringer at the laundry. They want to know if it's as easy as they've heard. Second, you've been using the wringer. You've experienced how much easier this one is. In fact, I'm giving this one to the laundry for your assistance."
"B, but . . ."
"Relax. We've gone over what you're supposed to say a few times already. Mathilde and I will be watching so if you have any problems, we can suggest things as part of the audience. Does that sound better? You'll be much better at this than I could ever be because you're someone like them." Chad wasn't certain Maria would work out, but Mathilde insisted she was normally outgoing, so this could work. He was fairly certain that her lack of confidence originated from a previous occupation. Now she'd be up in front of several "good" women. But he wasn't going to bring up the subject.
"Come in, please. Have a seat on the bench." Maria was nervously rubbing her hands together at the front of the room. Chad and Mathilde were in the rear of the room Chip had arranged near the bathhouse and laundry. All the women in the room were laundresses or maids in town.
"Good afternoon. My name is Maria Schreiber. I am here to demonstrate the Laughing Laundress wringer." Chad winced. She'd blurted it out in one breath. "I, I have two shirts in the water bucket here." She nervously pulled a linen shirt out with each shaking hand. "Uh, who is exceptionally good at wringing shirts?" There was no response. The thirty or so women looked impassively at her.
"Uh, all right, uh, well, I'll wring the first shirt over this empty bucket." Maria dropped both shirts back into the water. She drew out one shirt and began to wring it by hand. A cascade of water poured out of the shirt into the bucket. The longer she twisted it, water still came out. It gradually became less and less the more she twisted. Finally she stopped. "Is there anyone who thinks she can get more water out of this?" Again no response.
She put the shirt on the table. Then she moved over to where the wringer was on a stand above an empty bucket. "I will now demonstrate the Laughing Laundress wringer." She saw Chad making notes on a piece of paper and became even more nervous. Would he simply stop the demonstration before she messed it up too badly? But Chad looked up, smiled and nodded so she went on.
"Again, I'll take a shirt directly from the bucket. Then folding it so that any buttons are flat on the inside, I will insert the collar between the rollers." She was more confident now. "I'll hold it there until it is caught by the rollers." She gave the handle a partial turn and remembering, abruptly faced her audience. "Watch how the water pours into the bucket." She began turning the handle. Water poured out of the shirt, onto the bottom wringer, onto a thin downward-slanting board and into the bucket.
"Now how many of you think this is dry enough to hang on the line?" Maria walked over to the first bench. She handed the shirt to first woman in the row, an older woman whose grim look and reddened hands indicated she was a laundress rather than a maid. The woman expertly flipped it out, felt it for moisture. "I've hung up some that were not as dry." Then she handed it to the next woman.
"So this would be dry enough for any of you?" The women silently nodded.
"Well, I don't think it's dry enough. I've been using an early version of the wringer at the laundry next door since the last fever. I always got my clothes drier than this. Now watch." Maria took the shirt back and made an adjustment to the rollers. She put in the collar of the shirt again and began turning the handle. It was no cascade but a steady thin stream of water fell into the bucket.
Maria gripped the shirt by the collar. She flapped it, opening the entire shirt and smiled. "Now see how dry it is? How much is it worth to you to have a shirt, dress or apron almost dry without wearing yourself out before you hang it to dry? Not only that but putting it through the wringer does not twist apart the fabric. I warn you, the Laughing Laundress wringer is not cheap but you will be able to double, triple the amount of laundry you do. How? First, your arms don't get nearly as tired. Second, the clothing will dry much faster. Your customers or the mistress of the house will appreciate how clothing lasts longer because you won't be twisting it, breaking its threads bit by bit. Well?"
From the back of the room Mathilde called, "Hanna, try it for yourself."
Hanna, the woman to whom Maria had first given the shirt stood up slowly and walked over to the wringer. She took a shirt from the bucket and leaned forward. As she began to crank she ignored her hair on as it came unpinned. Until suddenly she cried out. "Awk! My hair's caught! I don't want my hair chopped off!" She began struggling, squawking as her hair pulled, caught in the wringer. Chad stepped forward and then stopped. He stepped back, leaned against the wall again and made another note.
"Stop. Don't move." Maria gently put her hand on the top of Hanna's head before turning the handle in the opposite direction. "It's not the first time hair has wound itself around a wringer, including mine. All you have to do is turn the handle the opposite direction. There, see? Just something to watch out for, just as when you stand in front of the fireplace, you keep your skirts away from the fire."
Once Hanna was released she stood well back and looked at the wringer with a deeply suspicious frown on her mature face, her arms crossing her chest. "Now you all know how to get yourself out of this problem." Maria looked over to the audience and smiled. "As you can see, I do cover my hair. I also keep it well away from the wringer works." She looked at Chad and he nodded. Time for the close.
Glancing at the notes on the paper before her, she began. "Today only, all of you are invited to purchase one of these new Laughing Laundress wringers at a very fair fixed price of two talers. We have a limited number, far less that we could sell here in Jena but you're getting to an opportunity to purchase one today, right now, because a Committee member specifically invited each one of you or someone in your household. If you want to purchase one tomorrow, you may have to bargain for it. It is highly unlikely that you will obtain a lower price. In fact, I can guarantee you will pay more because there is going to be so much demand once the word gets out. Possibly a lot more because these are the last wringers that will be in Jena for a while. The ironwork is by a master blacksmith and you can see the quality.
"You can pay in cash right now and take it home with you. Or you can place your order with a deposit and come back soon with the rest of the money. Or if you really, really want it but won't have enough money available soon, the Committee's credit bank is standing by to loan the amount at the incredibly low interest rate of ten percent. Please, try it now. Assure yourself of the ease of this wringer before it's too late and all the wringers are sold."
Another older laundress, skepticism written across her face, walked over to the wringer, pulled out a shirt from the bucket. After a couple of false starts, she began to crank the shirt through it. After she finished the laundress frowned severely, her hands on her hips. "Well, I will admit, for as much as it costs, it does seem to work. My hands and arms ache as the day goes on. It's not magic but it's easier to turn the handle rather than wring by hand. Yes, I'll buy one."
Soon all the laundresses were standing in front of Maria and a couple other Committee women while they wrote sales contracts and took deposits. Meanwhile the maids were running home to get deposit money from the mistress of the house or the housekeeper. According to Mathilde, all the city council members, including the burgermeister had a senior maid in attendance. Sebastian Moser from the Committee Credit Bank was joyfully smiling while he took applications for loans, the type of small business loans the credit bank had been set up to make.
Three days later, Chad left the city with a box full of talers and an empty wagon. Empty, that is of wringers, the carter having picked up a wagonload of merchandise for sale in Grantville. Chad had extended the "sale" until the last wringer was sold. The market having been flooded for the moment, there would be no one to buy any wringers that anyone in Jena fabricated. Which was exactly what Chad wanted. He had nothing against a wringer monopoly as long as he was the man with the monopoly. Larger cities such as Leipzig would require a lot more preliminary work. He'd get Chip to arrange his introduction to the head of the Leipzig Committee of Correspondence well before he brought a wagon-full of wringers. The next batches were going to Rudolstadt, then Weimar and Erfurt, then the whole NUS.
Naturally, Chad left a few talers behind. The city government wanted a few just to let him sell in the city. Maria was delighted to receive two for her three days of work. Chad also made a significant contribution to the Jena CoC for its assistance and donated a wringer to their laundry. The first laundress to announce she'd buy a wringer purchased hers significantly below cost once her previously agreed "rebate" was figured in. Hanna, the woman who'd gotten her hair caught, also received a discount for her suffering. Chad hadn't taken many chances. He left Jena with orders for thirty more wringers.
He named Maria the local Laughing Laundress agent. The finished wringers would be sent up to her for distribution and collection of the balance of the purchase price. He was undecided if he wanted her to demonstrate in Rudolstadt as well. Perhaps Fraulein Mitdorff might be interested. He'd definitely arrange for a laundress to get her hair "accidentally" caught. Good, useful theater.
He considered the involvement of the Jena CoC and smiled. Just to buy a wringer, you had to come into contact with a member. Since most wealthy and middle class households had their clothes washed by a maid or a laundress, the Committee had access to, at least indirectly, everyone in the city. The poor came into contact with the Committee in so many other ways.
"East of Halle?" Chad gasped in shock. Ulrich had finally told him where he'd hidden his money. "I know what I said, Ulrich, but no way can we go that far right now. Even the NUS government couldn't send out a party without serious questions being asked by whoever's currently in charge of those lands. If someone else doesn't find them first."
Ulrich was enormously disappointed and it showed. "But I thought . . ."
"I know. I'm sorry. You wanted to have your money right now to start investing and become rich. Right? We'll do it. I promise." He slapped Ulrich's back affectionately. "In the meantime, let's get rich the old-fashioned way, making and selling a lot more wringers. I brought back orders for thirty more and our next city will be Rudolstadt."
"Honey, I hate to ask you about your business," Debbie began one evening at dinner a month later. "I mean, our washer and dryer are still working."
"Go on." Chad put down his knife and fork. He rested his forearms on the arms of his chair and looked at his wife.
"I was just thinking. Now that you have the wringer, did you ever think about making washboards? I mean, wringers are fine but you can watch German women who can't afford to go to the laundromat down on the banks of the Buffalo doing their laundry on the rocks. I've seen a few makeshifts around town. I think there were at least two companies who tried to make them and went broke. There's even been a few old washboards hauled out from wherever but nobody's really making any right now. Like the men can't be bothered to make a product only women use. Make washboards at a reasonable price and I guarantee you won't be able to keep up with the demand once the word gets out."
"Hmm." Chad picked up his silverware again. Leaning forward, his mind worked quickly while he ate. "Hardest part will have to be getting the tin rolled. Well, that and getting enough tin to begin with," he thought aloud, his eyes unfocused. "Don't have the zinc to galvanize at a reasonable price. Ceramics, glass, brass. Could even make them with grooved wood, I guess. Might have a problem with splinters which would tear up the fabric, not to mention fingers. If it's tin, Ulrich can soften the tin and then it's only a question of rolling it to the proper thickness. Crimp the sheet tin between two star-shaped rollers to corrugate it. We'll have to get iron billets from USE Steel, then use either Nat Davis or Dave Marcantonio's shops to make the rollers. The wood is easy. Have to set up a new assembly line."
Tin was possible and impossible. It'd work but was both expensive and needed wood to back it. Glass was possible but in general too fragile. So it was back to easily worked wood, Chad thought reluctantly. It was too damned easy to copy so he'd have to go for saturation marketing and stress quality. But once he could hot dip galvanize . . .
Four days after Chad and Denny Reilly finished working out the kinks of washboard assembly, Chad began hiring.
"Easy work." Bernhard Kosberger, the supervisor for the wringer operation looked at the four German men standing around the table. In front of him were five narrow ribbed boards, a thin rectangular board and several sturdy lengths of wood.
"Watch closely or I'll be done before you know it." Bernhard grabbed one of the two long pieces, fixed it into the bottom of a jig, then in succession began fitting in the other pieces of wood, lightly tapping them together into the groove of the long piece. He next fitted the matching long piece of wood on the opposite side then clamped the entire assembly together, leaving one short length of wood on the table. He flipped the assembly onto its bottom and fitted the short length across the top.
Bernhard smiled. "Right now, I could take the whole thing apart." He took two short thin nails and lightly tapped each into the top immediately over each leg piece. He flipped the assembly on one side. Taking two short dowels, he dipped them in glue then tapped them into the holes above and below the pieces of ribbed wood. He flipped the assembly over and repeated the process.
"That's it." He unclamped the finished assembly. "Except for stenciling the name 'Laughing Laundress' on the top panel. Took, what, two minutes? Easy, right?"
"What's it do?" The man asking wore a slight frown, his arms folded across his chest.
"It's a washboard. Take a shirt, put it in a bucket with soapy water, rub it against the ribbed wood to loosen dirt and remove any stains. Rinse it and run it through the wringer before hanging it up to finish drying. Much easier than rubbing the cloth between your hands, beating it with a stick or hitting it against a rock. Understood?"
Another man scowled and looked at the man next to him. "Doesn't seem to be real work to make these. I mean, man's work. Where's the skill, the need for strength? There's no craftsmanship, no pride in your work, just mindless assembly. Well, except for cutting and grooving all the pieces of wood precisely. Now that takes skill."
Bernhard looked at the two men impassively. "We buy the pieces of wood already cut and grooved. Using a hydraulic press to put the ribs into damp wood is the only woodworking we do here. No reason you have to do assembly if you don't want to. We're not paying for highly skilled work. So if you want to find other work, it won't bother me."
Ten minutes later, Bernhard walked into Chad's office. "Mein Gott! This is so stupid. Easy work and all of them say it's too easy, like it's unmanly. The wringers they do because it's at least mechanical and has moving parts."
Chad leaned back in his chair with a bitter smile. "Would it be better if we hired only women to do the assembly? After all, it's a product made for women." Bernhard's face showed how uncomfortable he was with the idea.
"I'll have someone else, a woman, as their supervisor. You know, the more I think about women doing the assembly, the better I like it." Chad saw Bernhard relax. Then he gave a quick grunt of laughter. "We'll have word of mouth working for us even before the first washboard is sold."
Finding women to do the assembly proved to be remarkably easy. In no time the number of washboards sold was twice that of wringers.
Chad wished he could go back to bed. After all, being shot in the lower back, even by an almost spent ball from a wheel-lock does not heal in a day or two, no matter how fast it appeared in the old westerns. Chad made a trip to Magdeburg a week after the Croat raid and came back with a lead souvenir. Doc Adams removed it with appropriate derisive comments.
No sooner was he home from that procedure than Debbie came to him. "There's trouble down at the shop. I received calls yesterday afternoon from Bernhard and Dorothea that the men and the women were yelling at each other. At least that's all they were admitting. Frankly, I think there was some minor pushing and shoving as well." Her lips were tightly pressed. "I thought it was over but Dorothea called here while you were gone, saying nothing had changed."
Chad gritted his teeth and looked at his watch. "Call up Bernhard and Dorothea. Tell them I want to see them here at eleven o'clock. They're also to tell their crews that I'm shutting down production until we get whatever the problem is resolved. A day or two without pay ought to cool down the hotheads."
"Okay, what's the problem?" Chad looked at his two supervisors, Bernhard for the wringer operation and Dorothea Bischoff for the washboard operation. "Dorothea, tell me your side of the argument first."
Dorothea was a stocky mature woman with a ruddy face whose auburn hair was held in place by a colorful headscarf. "Chad, it's these men. It's bad enough that we women have to work in the same shop with them without them trying to put their hands on us or make suggestive comments all day long. Besides, there's nothing that they do that we women couldn't do at least as quickly." She would have expanded on the theme but Chad held up his palm to stop her comments.
"Okay, Bernhard, what's the argument that the men have against the women?" Chad was rapidly tiring even if his head was propped up with pillows and the footrest of the recliner was up.
"It's like this, Chad. Those women, they don't understand mechanics, how things are supposed to go together. But they are always coming over to our end of the shop, making comments about how they could do the entire operation more efficiently. Besides, they refuse to sweep the floor in our area, even though that's part of the written procedure even if we crate the finished washboards."
"We wouldn't mind doing it if you men would do a decent job of crating the washboards and didn't just throw all your scrap onto the floor rather than in the waste barrels!" Dorothea interjected.
"Yeah? You women just want us to do the work that you're supposed to be doing!"
"Stop, stop, stop." Chad held up his hands wearily. "It's clear that the swapping of sweeping and crating duties isn't working. So from now on, the men will sweep their own shop and the women will crate their own washboards."
Both supervisors looked slightly mollified but Dorothea was still angry. "Tell him that we're decent women, not floozies for their convenience. If they want that kind of women, they can be found elsewhere. Keep your damn hands off us. Understood?"
Bernhard looked rebellious. "You just keep to your side of the shop," he spat back. "Nobody asked you to come over to our side and tell us you could do just as good a job as we do! Those women who come over to our side are just looking for attention from my guys and then complain because they get it."
"That doesn't explain your men coming over to where we're working, saying what baby work it is!" Dorothea snarled.
"Enough!" Chad could barely keep his eyes open. "Debbie! Get me the phone."
A moment later, Denny Reilly of Denny's Lumber was on the other end. "Denny, this is Chad. Yeah, it is a real pain but better than getting shot in the butt. Reason I called was that I need a wall built right across the middle of the shop, about eight feet high. I need it done as soon as possible. How much will that cost? Uh-huh. Okay, who does that kind of work? Johann Muelpfort's the master carpenter you recommend? Thanks. Could you contact him and tell him I want to see him as soon as possible? I'll be at home for at least a couple more days. Thanks."
"Okay, here's the deal." Chad was breathing heavily, his face slightly pale. "First of all, Debbie will meet you back at the shop. She'll draw a chalk line across the middle of the concrete floor dividing it equally. You two discipline your own people, keeping them on their own side of the shop until the wall is finished. Or all of you can spend your time at home without pay until it's done. Clear? Anyone who can't manage to stay on their side of the line will suddenly be switched to that work unit. One of that group will become a member of the other work unit. Also as of today, the men sweep their own shop and the women crate their own washboards.
"I'm also going to split up the lunch breaks. Bernhard, you've got a taler on you, right? You flip the coin and Dorothea will call it. Winner picks which lunch hour they want this week. Then the following week, the lunch hour will switch between groups. I'm going to keep both crews apart as much as possible until you learn to play together."
Dorothea won the toss and chose the later time because the week was almost over. Then the following week, her team would go to lunch earlier.
"Oh, and by the way, if you can't discipline your own people, I'll find someone who can, even if I have to fire you and hire someone else. Is that clear?" Chad fixed his eye on each in turn.
Both left, each distinctly happier at the other's comeuppance but not unhappy with the result to themselves. The heart of successful diplomacy is schadenfreude, Chad thought.
"I should have handled the affair, Chad." Debbie assisted him upstairs to bed. "Like boys and girls in the fourth grade, each determined the other has cooties." She smoothed the bed linen over his body and under his arms. "You just get your rest while I go over to the shop. I'll have Christina answer the door when the master carpenter arrives. She'll bring him to you."
After she left, the middle fingertip of one hand touched its counterpart across Chad's chest. Perhaps I ought to put my hands together in prayer like all the funereal statues of the nobility do. Chad's eyes were closed as his mind drifted.
He could almost hear the echo of the nasal guide's voice. "And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the crypt and depiction of Charles Hudson Jenkins, Senior, the first von Grantville." Yeah, right. Over my dead body, he snickered before falling asleep.