James Richard, or Jimmy Dick, Shaver (known to his close associates, and almost everyone else, as Dickhead) was in the grocery store. The old drunk was not there buying food. Most of his calories came from beer, followed by pretzels. Yes, believe it or not, despite the Ring of Fire, the Club 250 still sold pretzels. They were much better or a whole lot worse than the old ones, depending on who you asked. Hamburgers and fries rounded out his usual diet. You weren't always sure that the ground meat was pure beef, the bun was hand sliced, and the pickle wasn't Vlassic. But someone had managed to get the mustard right.
Jimmy Dick was in the store buying tobacco. As far as he was concerned what you could get was shit. Most folk—everyone who smoked, really—agreed with that opinion. They also agreed that it was way over-priced but then they had complained about that back in the real world. Still, when the local crop failed because the growing season was too short, you bought what was available or quit. As he left the check out lane a man was waiting for him at the baggers' station. There was no bagger, of course. That was because there were no bags, paper or plastic. You brought a canvas bag, a basket, a tote sack or something from home. Cardboard boxes were popular at first, but they wore out. The ones that were still in good shape were bringing a good price on the curiosity market all over Europe, so the price went up as the supply went down. One little old lady thought of her hoard as her retirement fund.
As Jimmy Dick passed him, the man spoke. His English was good. It was understandable, with a heavy German accent of some sort that Jimmy did not place. "Herr Sha—Mister Shaver?" Jimmy stopped. "Forgive me for stopping you, I heard the girl call you Mister Shaver. Are you the Mister Shaver who is the famous philosopher?"
Jimmy had given up fighting it. Only the Dutch can stop the tide. "That's me." Jimmy waited. Next would come a joke or an insult or—rarely—a compliment. Jimmy had learned that to wait, laugh and leave was the best way of taking the steam out of the sails of whoever was trying to be funny at his expense.
"I would be honored if you would let me buy you a beer and ask you a question," the stranger said.
Club 250, Jimmy's usual watering hole, would not admit a Kraut. The Gardens, though, were just across the street and they would let anyone in. Jimmy was well known for buying beer for anyone who would listen to him. He was also known to never turn down a free beer. "Throw in a ham sandwich and you're on."
The stranger looked puzzled. "That was a yes?"
"Hell, yes, that was a yes," Jimmy said.
The stranger beamed.
* * *
It was a quiet walk to the Gardens. They ordered the potables and, oddly enough, ate in silence. When the sandwiches and beer were done, the down-timer ordered two more beers.
"Herr Shaver, I have a question of practical philosophy," the Kraut said.
Jimmy grunted over the rim of his beer.
"My daughter . . ." The man paused to swallow a lump in his throat. "She wishes to marry. We, her mother and I, have said no. We feel that the boy is beneath her. We think she should wait until she is older and that she should wait for someone better. We would prefer to arrange for her to marry a man from back home. We have forbidden her to see this boy. But she comes home from school with that gleam in her eye. We have spoken to her about it. She smiles now and says nothing. Once she told us that when they have graduated and he will find a job and they will marry and that there is nothing we can do about it.
"We threatened to return home. She knows it is only a threat. We want only the best for her. We don't understand a culture that encourages the children to disobey the parents. It is not ri . . . it does not seem right. What are we to do?"
"You want your daughter to wait for someone better?" Jimmy set down his empty beer.
The odd man nodded.
Jimmy waited. The Kraut waved for another round.
"When I was a kid growing up in the hills," Jimmy began, "there was a family in the neighborhood by the name of Jones. They owned half a mountain with a good farm on it that the old man bought with the money he brought back from being in the army in World War One, along with an uppity French bride.
"He was in the quartermaster's outfit and made the money by selling things off before they could get to the front, then marking them down as being destroyed in route.
"Anyway, the Joneses had themselves a daughter. She was a looker like her Ma. As she grew up, her Ma filled her head with the idea that none of the local boys were good enough for her. Most folks thought that Mrs. Jones wasn't quite right in the head. They seemed to think she was living in a dream world. She thought that the family ought to go to France and let their daughter find someone suitable. But the old man hadn't managed to steal that much money or he hadn't managed to hang onto enough for that, so it just wasn't going to happen.
"Well now, the odd part of the story was that most of the women in town seemed to agree that she shouldn't settle for a local boy. My Pa told me once he thought it was because they didn't want their daughters to have to compete with her.
"At any rate, a fellow by the name of Dupont showed up in town along with a Frenchman who couldn't speak a word of English. Now, I don't know whether this Dupont was related to the Duponts that had all the money or not, but folks assumed that he was. They had come to go bear hunting. Most of the bears were shot out by that time. But, there was a she bear with cubs in a cave down in a holler on the Jones place. The only reason they were still around was because old man Jones was a really bad shot and he sure wouldn't let anyone else go hunting on his place.
"Well, they went up to Jones place to see if they could get permission to bag that bear. Mrs. Jones had heard all about them, of course. A rich industrialist and a world-touring French noble showing up at the same time was just too much. She suddenly had to decide which man they were going to let marry their daughter.
"Of course, the two of them had heard all about the beautiful daughter of the Joneses and when they arrived they were met in the front yard by Papa Jones, Mama Jones and Pretty Little Miss Jones. Mama Jones was a bit put out when all they wanted to know was about the bear. But then she got a gleam in her eyes and insisted that her husband take them all up there right that instant.
"Well, when they got to the top of the bluff looking down into the rift where the cave was, Mrs. Jones took her daughter's hat and sailed it off over the edge into the mouth of the cave. Then she announced that which ever one of them brought her daughter's hat back to her would have her hand in marriage. The Dupont fellow looked at the daughter, looked at the hat in the cave, looked at the climb in between and the noises coming out of the cave and shook his head no. The Frenchman, without a word, climbed down, retrieved the hat, climbed back up, used the hat to dust himself off and then sailed it off back into the gulch. "It's your hat," he said, "if you want it get it yourself.
"Thanks for the beer." Jimmy Dick rose to leave.
"But Herr Shaver, what does it mean? Are you saying I should let my daughter marry this no-account that she is taken with?"
"I ain't got no idea. But let me tell you something about American kids, which includes your daughter if she's been in the public school for more than a year. You tell them they can't have something and you make them want it all the more. Shoot, we took over an entire continent just because one party or another kept telling us we couldn't have it. If you're convinced that this kid she wants to take up with is no good, then why don't you help her to see it?"
"We have told her. She will not listen."
Jimmy Dick shook his head. "I can see why. She came by it honest like. You don't listen either. I didn't say tell her. I said help her see it."
"How do we do that?" the Kraut asked.
Jimmy sighed and sat back down. Then he waved for a round of beers that he paid for. "Okay, if this kid is beneath you, then his table manners ain't up to your standards. Have him over to dinner with the family. Pull out the stops. Put out the best china, the real silver, have soup and salad, lay out three or four forks, and let her see what an embarrassment he is. Does she really want to set across the table and watch him slurp his soup for the rest her life?
"If you ain't got the wherewithal to spread the table, take the kids out to Grantville's Fine Dining and tell the fancy pants with the menus that you want a cloth napkins table, not paper.
"Put them together often." Jimmy held up a hand to forestall an objection. "Have him over to your house or let them go where you or someone can keep an eye on things. If he ain't no good, give her plenty of time up close and personal to figure it out. I guarantee he'll look different up close."
Having said that he tipped his beer and walked out.
It was a month or more later that Jimmy saw the troubled father in the store.
"Hey there, guy. How did you come out on that trouble with your daughter?" Jimmy asked.
The man looked sad. "What you said, about things looking different up close and personal? You were right. He is a nice boy, a good boy, he is working hard and doing well in school. He has a promising future. I would be proud to have my daughter marry him. But, it is so sad! She will not, how was it said? She will not give him the time of day."