Late May, 1634
Pam Miller walked briskly down Grantville's main street, hoping to avoid the friendly looking fellow heading her way from the Freedom Arches. It looked like he may be trying to get her attention; she had no idea why and was in one of those moods where she didn't want to find out. She was about to cross the street to put some distance between them but a team of horses hauling a very heavy looking metal tank on a flatbed truck trailer had blocked her path. With a furtive glance back toward the smiling man she started to move around the back of the slowly moving procession—too late!
"Pam! Pam Miller! I've been looking all over for you!"
Pam instinctively paused slightly, losing her chance to make a break for it under the rather flimsy excuse that she hadn't heard him call out. She turned slowly toward the man walking swiftly toward her, hand raised in a cheerful wave. She made herself smile, realizing that it was Grantville's Baptist minister. What could he possibly want with me? I'm a Methodist, and I can barely call myself that anymore! "Oh, hi, Reverend Green."
"Call me Al, please, I'm out of uniform—but never off duty!" The spiritual leader of Grantville's Baptists stuck out his hand to shake Pam's; his grip was warm and gently firm, a well practiced social grace that succeeded in conveying a sincere sense of welcome.
"So, are you excited about the wedding?"
The wedding? What wedding? Pam felt her stomach lurch with anxiety. She had a sudden suspicion, but there was no point in pretending she had been informed, men of the cloth could typically spot a fib a mile away. "What wedding, Al?" This produced a nonplussed expression on the reverend's face.
"Oh! Oh my, I'm sorry, Pam. I thought you would know by now . . . Well, I suppose Walt and his fiancée would rather tell you themselves, but it is only three weeks away . . ." Reverend Green was in the very rare position for a man of his calling of not knowing what to say.
"It's okay, Reverend. . . . I heard he'd found a girl after the Ring of Fire hit. I'm very happy for them." In actuality that was a fib and she didn't care; she hadn't heard, and it hurt her feelings very much. She had no idea who her son had chosen, was she American or a down-time German girl? She could be the Queen of Sheba for all Pam knew and she tried to keep the resentment from her face.
"Well, that's good." Al's face turned to worry. "Look Pam, I know you're technically one of Simon's flock over at First Methodist but since he's out of town . . . I want you to know that if you ever needed someone to talk to, I 'm always available. I'm aware you went through a divorce and that must have been hard on you, and it's certainly never easy for kids, even teenagers like Walt. Let me help, if I can."
Pam wanted to simply walk away from the man but he was so earnest that she couldn't. She nodded, biting her lip. Later, Pam, deal with this later . . . With a stern effort she pushed her emotions aside. "Thank you, Al. I do appreciate it. The truth is my relationship with my son isn't very good, in fact I really can't say we have one right now. I hope that will change some day. Meanwhile I have a lot of work to do, the research institute is keeping me very busy and I'm helping set up a summer nature studies program with the middle school."
Al smiled, welcoming the change of subject. "Ah, yes, I've heard about that. Grantville is very lucky to have someone so knowledgeable about the natural world!"
"Well, I'm not really. I'm an amateur birdwatcher and I've read a lot of natural history and ecology books. Apparently these days I'm the only person interested in those subjects. I thought it would be a good idea to foster a love of nature with our kids in this new reality of ours, maybe we can raise them to avoid some of the environmental catastrophes we created up-time."
"Good for you, Pam! That' a very noble cause. Truth is, that was the main reason that I stopped you just now. I'd like to ask your help on a certain problem I have, or rather our church has regarding some wildlife."
Pam raised an eyebrow in surprise. "A problem with wildlife?"
"Yes, it seems a certain group of animals has made the church its home. I would very much like to see them removed safely without coming to any harm. Some of the younger fellows offered to go up there and kill them or smoke them out, but they're God's creatures, too, and a massacre certainly didn't seem appropriate in a church building . . ."
"Al, what are you talking about?" Impatience was creeping into Pam's tone.
The reverend gave her a furtive look. "Bats, Pam. In the belfry." The reverend couldn't help but give her a silly grin.
Pam couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Bats in the belfry? I thought I was the only one with that problem."
"I assure you, it is more widespread than one might think. However, in this case it's quite literal. About a year before the Ring of Fire we noticed them flying around the steeple in the evenings. Lately we began noticing the smell . . . "
"Uh oh."
"Yes, it's beginning to be a problem. It seems their guano is rather potent. It makes good fertilizer so I've heard but so far no one seems very interested in collecting it. In any event we need to somehow move the little creatures out and prevent them from coming back in. That's when I thought of you, with your knowledge of birds, perhaps—"
"Reverend, bats are not birds!"
"Yes, of course, but they do fly, and it appears you are the only expert in these matters that we have. Honestly, Pam, I don't know who else to turn to, I can't bear to have the little things killed and the smell is beginning to drive away the faithful. It's wafting right down from the belfry into the hall! Something must be done, particularly with—" He hesitated slightly, trying to gauge if this would help his case or not. "—the wedding coming. Could you please at least look into it for me?"
The wedding. Pam's mind fell into a whirl of conflicting thoughts as she took a moment to study the curb and bring things to order. The Baptist Church with Walt and his unknown bride-to-be hanging around, not to mention the possibility of her ex-husband Trent was about the last place she wanted to be. No, she hadn't been told about the wedding and it upset her a lot more than she would like anyone to know. Still, she couldn't help but want his wedding to go well, she loved her son very much even if that had become strangely difficult to show in these last years. And, the reverend was probably right; there wasn't anyone else in town who could be bothered with removing the bats without resorting to violence. Besides, since they were up-time bats they counted on her list of transplanted species she felt needed protecting . . . didn't they? Birds were lovely but not many folks had much love for bats. Still, if they were from West Virginia they should be saved according to her philosophy. She looked back up at the reverend's hopeful face.
"Sure Al, I'll try. I'll need to do some research; I hope the library has something on bats. And if they don't, I'll just do what I always do when I face weird situations our crazy new time throws at me." Reverend Green presented a questioning look.
"Fake it until I get it right." She managed to give him a sardonic grin as she continued on her way across the street.
"Bats. What have I done to deserve bats?" she whispered under her breath in the silence of the library. The issue of her son's wedding kept intruding into her thoughts and she was having a hard time concentrating on her research, which her heart was not really in anyway. Despite her distraction she had managed to learn that there were two main species of bat found in West Virginia; the poetically named 'big brown bat' and 'little brown bat.' They were both insect eaters and useful in keeping crop pests under control. Well, looks like you'd be earning your keep. I guess we better save you. Although they were known as carriers of rabies, the disease usually killed them quickly and when they did rarely pass it to humans it was because the person had foolishly touched a sickly bat with their bare hands. Important safety tip: Don't touch sickly bats with your bare hands. Pam briefly stuck her tongue out in disgust at the thought. Like, who would?
The one slim bit of wisdom she could find on getting rid of bats that had taken up residence in a building was to do it in the spring or early summer so they would be able to find a new home before winter hibernation—fair enough and good timing. Pam doodled a small cartoon bat in her notebook as she tried to form a plan. It became harder to concentrate as her personal issues pushed their way in. I haven't spoken more than three sentences with Walt this last year. I know he's avoiding me, some mother I am . . .
The page swam before her. Walt had always been his father's child. It was pretty hard to compete with "Super-Dad" Trent Dorrman who always made time to play a game of catch or help Walt with his tree houses and plastic models. She tried to stay involved but as Walt got older it became harder—she couldn't throw a ball to save herself. She had tried to get Walt interested in nature but he found the walks through the countryside like she had taken with her grandmother boring and couldn't wait to get back to his model cars or batting practice. Naturally, the duty of helping Walt with his math and sciences homework fell on her, 'the expert,' but it only served to cast her as the stern taskmistress in Walt's mind. He just didn't share her love of those subjects and her efforts to coach him through to a passing grade were looked upon with resentment. "Walt honey, I know you don't like this but it's something you just have to do!" At the end of each painful session there was her ex-husband waiting with the ball and glove—it wasn't fair, really it wasn't fair.
On the other hand, she knew it wasn't fair to blame her ex-husband. He was what he was and if he had helped drive the wedge between her and Walt, it wasn't intentional. Trent had a way with people and Pam didn't; the end. Old familiar guilt began to take hold of her; she could have made more of an effort to go to Walt's baseball games, she always made it to a few every year but she felt like a stranger there. When his dad cheered him on Walt would grin at wave at him in the stands, when she tried it just made him look embarrassed. In the last few years she had only gone to the biggest game of the year and sat quietly on the bleacher, feeling helpless and unwanted. When the divorce inevitably came, no custody questions were ever asked, it was obvious that teenage Walt would stay with his dad and that she would find another place to dwell.
Pam deeply loved her son despite the growing gap between them and the thought that she couldn't inspire that kind of love in return felt like a black wave swelling over her. The doodled bat was completely submerged now, blurred beneath warm salty water. God, Pam, pull it together. Someone's going to see you. Quietly she pulled a handkerchief from her rucksack, dabbing at her hot, moist face with rapid movements. Several high school students passed by on their way to the tables near the window so she hunkered down feigning intense interest in her notes, wiping the tears away from the misshapen drowned doodle. Bats. What the hell am I going to do about that? It certainly wasn't a task she'd wanted to take on but she knew that in some ways it was satisfying to her. That's fine, son of mine, don't invite me to your wedding. Mom will make sure it doesn't stink like bat shit for you, thank me later.
She forced herself back to her planning, the sense of spite a small, cold comfort. Despite her efforts to concentrate, nothing useful presented itself after half an hour. She suddenly felt stifled in the stillness of the room and knew she needed to just move. She might as well start by doing something she was good at: Observation. Time to get Gerbald and check things out. Walking briskly back to her little house on the edge of town, Pam did her best to shove unpleasant thoughts of her estranged family out of her mind. There was work to do and she was glad for that.
Pam's hired man and trusted body guard Gerbald was waiting for her on the narrow slab of concrete that served as her front porch, snoozing comfortably in a folding lawn chair with the misshapen brim of his ridiculous floppy felt hat pulled over his eyes.
"Wake up, Gerbald. We have a project."
"Wake up? How could you think I was actually sleeping? I, your ever watchful guardian, made only a show of sleep to hide my vigilance."
Pam raised her eyebrows at Gerbald's increasingly adept English turns of phrase. Where is he getting that stuff? It must be from all those up-time movies he's become addicted to.
"That was a very convincing snore then, bravo! Come along 'watchful guardian', no birdwatching today, we have some work to do. The Lord's work." She chuckled at the thought.
"Ah, a tedious task at best. What might the Lord need from us?"
"A flock of bats is living under the roof of the Baptist Church. Reverend Green has chosen me to get rid of them and you are going to help."
"Bats . . . what are bats?"
"They're a small brown animal that can fly."
"Oh! Bats are a kind of bird!"
"No, they're mammals, not birds—oh, you'll see."
"I have come to like birds very much, Pam. Surely this won't be so bad."
"You'll see . . ."
They arrived at Grantville's Baptist Church around three thirty in the afternoon. It was one of an imposing collection of stately brick churches towering above the main street, an impressive testament to the beauty of "late Victorian neo-Romanesque" architecture. When she was a young girl Pam had, now rather ironically, thought that this might be what Europe looked like. The presence of so many of God's houses on the street had certainly helped convince the seventeenth century natives that the up-timers were not a village of the damned risen from the fiery pit populated with devil worshipping witches and warlocks.
As she and Gerbald followed a path around the side of the beige brick structure to Reverend Green's' office, her dismay at her son's secrets returned. Please don't let any of them be here. I just can't handle it right now. Anxiety was building within her and she hurried her step. They found the reverend cheerfully tending a rose bush growing near the side door.
"Pam, how wonderful of you to come!" Perhaps seeing the short sword Gerbald wore at his belt, he very slowly and carefully laid the clippers down on the grass.
"Reverend Green, this is my friend and hired man Gerbald who is going to help me out on this."
"A pleasure to meet you, Gerbald. Do call me Al, please." The two shared a gentlemanly handshake and Gerbald favored the reverend with a small and very polite bow. Al led them in through the side door and down a long darkish hall. They entered a narrow circular stairwell that took them up into the regions behind the church's nave. Pam immediately noticed a sharp smell, a putrescent odor that grew stronger as they climbed higher.
"I'm afraid the smell gets quite bad up here, my friends," the reverend apologized. Gerbald's usually impassive face now featured a certain wrinkling of the nose and he had a rather uncomfortable air about him. They reached a small room with a pull-down stairway in the ceiling. Al, with a little help from Gerbald, tugged the steep wooden stairs down into position and tied them in place.
Pam rubbed her chin in thought. "Al, have you been ringing the church bells?"
"Every Sunday!'
"You would think that with their sensitive hearing, bats wouldn't like that."
"Yes, I thought of that, too. At the risk of creating something of a disturbance we rang the bells rather more than usual last Easter, but it didn't seem to bother them any."
"Oh well. Will you be coming up with us then, Al?"
"Ummm, I'm afraid I have some rather pressing business to attend to downstairs, so I'm going to have to leave you two here," the reverend told them rather unconvincingly.
"That's fine, Reverend. I'm sure we will be quite all right." Pam had figured as much and resisted an eye roll.
Al gave them a rather embarrassed smile. "The stairs lead up into an attic beneath the peaked roof over the main hall. At the far end you will find the adjoining belfry. If you need anything just let me know!" And with that the reverend went hastily down the stairs.
"Oh, we shall!" Pam tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice. The smell had tripled in strength and a hazy cloud of dust was drifting down from the attic's stale and stink-filled recesses. Gerbald now definitely looked queasy.
"Isn't this fun?" she teased Gerbald, who studiously ignored her while he looked longingly back down the stairs after the retreating reverend. Surely a man who had experienced bloody battlefields can handle a little guano stink. Pam climbed up the steep stairs, wishing she were just about anywhere else. The feeling increased tenfold when she discovered what a bona fide disaster she had allowed herself to be talked into.
Peering into the gloom of the church's top story, she saw a long narrow room stretching beneath the sharply-peaked roof to the height of the bell tower rising to the side of the far end. The church's attic was a study in dust and droppings; every visible surface was thickly covered in either or, in many cases, a muddy gray combination of both. Dirty brass beams of late afternoon sunlight fell thickly through the open slats in the bell tower's sides to reveal clusters of squirming brown fur clinging to the steeply slanted underside of the roof. Well, that's one way they got in. A high pitched squeaking could be heard and the stench was horrific. She pulled a handkerchief out of her rucksack and tied it around her face; it didn't help much.
She turned around to find that Gerbald had not followed her all the way up, only his head and shoulders emerged from the attic's hatch. The big man's face was positively pale and pasty.
"Those are not birds, Pam!" Gerbald hissed.
"I told you they weren't birds, Gerbald."
"Ja, but you didn't say they were Fledermaus!"
Pam gave him a surprised look. Gerbald rarely slipped into his native tongue with her, his pride in his English was too great. It only happened when he was under stress. "Well, I didn't know what they're called in German . . . are you all right Gerbald?"
"I . . . don't like . . . bats." A plaintive whisper.
"I don't think anyone really does much, but as the Reverend, who is notably not up here with us, says: 'They're God's creatures, too.' So we have to be gentle. No katzbalger." Gerbald's pride and joy was the dangerous little katzbalger short sword he wore at his belt. "The trick is, how do we get them out of here?" Pam bit her lower lip in determination as she moved slowly across the creaking floorboards. Stepping gingerly around a pile of debris, the dust enshrouded cardboard props of some circa 1950s Christmas production, she approached a cluster of trembling bats.
"Oh, great. These must be the big brown type. Gerbald, come give me a hand." She looked back to see that he was still barely emerging from the hatchway, in fact he might have crept back down a step. "Gerbald!" she called with a touch of annoyance. The former professional soldier breathed out a puff of resigned air and climbed the rest of the way into the attic. There was plenty of standing room in the center but he still stooped, a study in apprehension. Pam shook her head in exasperation.
"Come on, pal-o-mine, pull yourself together. The sooner we get this done the sooner we are outta here. I'll even pay for all your beer at the Gardens tonight." Gerbald gave an unconvinced nod. She had never seen him act like this and the truth was it was beginning to freak her out; his obvious fear was shaking her own confidence greatly.
"Yes, Pam. But what do we do?" There was none of the usual steel in those tones.
"Ummm. . . ." Actually Pam still had no idea what they were going to do. Let's just get this over with and get out of this church before the damn wedding party shows up! "Well, let's see if we can shoo them out the slats up there." She pointed at the belfry. "Here, take this." Pam indicated a cardboard camel from the nativity play which Gerbald picked up to study with an exceedingly unhappy expression. Pam chose a rather clumsily executed sheep that still had old cotton balls glued haphazardly to its front. Holding the meter long prop in front of her, Pam took a menacing step toward the bats. "BA-A-A-A!" she cried loudly in her best sheep bleat. The bats didn't move. Gerbald looked on with a pathetic mixture of horror and wonder.
"Well, you try it now," Pam urged him impatiently.
"I don't know what sound this creature makes." he mumbled, looking helplessly down at his cardboard one-hump camel.
"Oh, for Chrissakes—oops! Sorry!" She looked nervously up toward the ceiling. Just what I need, pissing off God. Gerbald followed her gaze with an expression of pleading. He was by no means a religious man but any help would be welcome at this point.
"Just say anything, the bats don't know what the hell sound a camel makes, either. Oh, I did it again, ahhh shi—" She managed to stop herself this time before further blaspheming under the Lord's own roof. Gerbald, seeing there was nothing for it but to try took a very small step forward, lifted his camel up to chest height and said in a near whisper: "Boo."
"Oh, yeah. That scared them. Here, watch this." Pam felt a wave of frustration swelling in her, she had to do something and now! She held her sheep out in front of her as if it were a knight's shield and stomped aggressively toward the bats. "ARRRRRRRRRR!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, waving the sheep crazily at the bats. "CLEAR OFF, YOU STINKING BASTARDS!!!" The bats began to make quick nervous movements as she swung the sign nearer to them.
"Pam, please, don't!" Gerbald's plea was barely a whimper, as if he were trying to call out for help in a terrible nightmare but had no voice.
"YARRRR, YOU BUG EATING SHITS, GIT!" This time the cardboard sheep brushed against the bats, knocking several from their perch. All holy hell broke loose.
Pam and Gerbald were swiftly surrounded by a tornado of bats, a swooping, flapping, screeching maelstrom of leather wings and flashing teeth. Gerbald let out a hoarse scream and fell backwards in a heavy crash, flattening the cardboard manger beneath his bulk. He had maintained his grip on the camel which he now held tightly over his face to protect it from the whirl of brown fur. Pam stood for a moment vainly waving her sheep around in what she hoped was the direction of the open slats.
"SHOO! Come on, get out! ARRRGH, ohmygod!" One of the bats had landed on her back and she could feel the little claws digging into her sweatshirt as it made its way up toward her neck. "AAAAA, get off me, get off me!" She performed a crazy little spinning jig while trying to use the cardboard sheep to brush the bat off her back. Another one joined it. Time to run.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" she screeched over the flapping din. Gerbald was already crawling toward the hatch, he had put the broken cardboard manger over his head and upper back so that he looked like some kind of mutant tortoise. He went down head first with an awful series of thumps; leaving the camel lodged in the opening so that Pam found the path to safety blocked by its tan-painted rear end. She gave it a firm kick so that it fell down to add itself to the heap of debris at the stair bottom that included Gerbald somewhere within its wreckage. She started down the stairs and realized she still had two bats on her back. With a vengeful swipe of the sheep over her shoulder Pam managed to dislodge her creepy crawly hitchhikers and then threw the prop after them as they flapped away to join the swirling chaos made by their brethren above. Once on the ground she quickly untied the rope and sent the stairs swinging with a loud creak on its spring back into place, shutting the bats behind it. Pam began to curse, loudly.
"Jesus wept, what the hell was I—oh, hi Reverend."
Al had heard the racket from below and hurried up the stairs to see if his bat removal team was all right. He gave Pam a raised eyebrow and a grin. "Don't worry, I've heard worse. Are you two all right? What happened?!" He saw movement under the pile of broken cardboard and moved to help Gerbald extricate himself. Upon finding that the big man was shaken but unhurt, he listened to Pam tell the story. When she finished, the reverend shook his head regretfully.
"Oh my, I feel terrible. I didn't realize that you were going to try to drive the bats out right now; I thought you were just having a look at them! You see, most of them leave on their own every night to feed."
Pam blinked at him slowly, a chagrined expression growing on her dusty face. "I should have known that. Everyone knows that. Why am I so stupid?" She looked at Gerbald who was pouting beneath his floppy hat—no support was going to come from that quarter.
"Now, now dear, you most certainly are not stupid! You told me yourself that birds are your forte. I just thought that with your love of animals maybe you would be more . . ." He paused to look about at the mess they had brought down the stairs with them. ". . . gentle. It's no bother really. I'm sure I can get someone else."
"No, that's all right. I want to try again. I'll come back after dark when there aren't as many. I'm going to need some stuff though; a ladder, some fine mesh to tack up over the open slots of the belfry—do you think you can get that?"
"I have a certain amount of pull amongst my flock, Pam. I'll get the word out and you'll get what you need. You two look bushed. How about tomorrow night?"
"That's fine. We'll see you tomorrow after sunset."
The next evening Pam stood at the church's side door waiting for Gerbald. He had been very quiet the night before and had even declined to take her up on the beer offer. Who would have thought a guy like that would have a phobia? Pam grinned a little guiltily at the chink she had found in the mighty Gerbald's armor. The thought was a welcome distraction from the increasingly bothersome worry that her son Walt would show up with this fiancée he hadn't bothered to bring by his own mother and, worse yet, the possibility of her ex-husband with them. It was a situation that she just wanted to have go away, and chided herself for slipping into her pre-Ring of Fire hide from the world mentality.
She jumped as she heard someone approaching, hopefully Gerbald on schedule. To her surprise it was Gerbald's wife Dore coming around the corner carrying a variety of mops, brooms and brushes.
"Dore! What are you doing here?"
"I am here to work," the doughty German announced in her usual curt, business-like tones. Pam looked behind her but Gerbald didn't appear.
"Where's Gerbald?"
Dore let loose a tremendous huff of disgust, obviously regarding the subject of the question. "He is not coming. He is sick." She gave Pam a very telling look.
"Oooohhhh, I see. Well, uh, I hope he's all right."
"Not to worry, dearest Pam. He is sick in a place that he has little use for." With a wicked grin, she tapped her forehead. The two of them shared a brief laugh at Gerbald's bat-fearing expense before going to look for the reverend.
Dore had no compunction against facing the bats, she advanced into the attic spaces with cool determination, broom held firmly at ready like a soldier's pike axe in one hand, kerosene lantern in the other. There was only one lonely light bulb hanging over the hatch door and its forty watt glow didn't push very far into the chaos.
"I will clean," she announced stoically after looking the fantastic mess over.
"That's a good idea, Dore. It will help to have this place orderly so I can find all their hidey holes." Pam had brought a personal treasure, a wall socket rechargeable flashlight—as long as the bulb lasted she had light on demand. She began methodically searching the unobstructed sections of wall first. Most of the bats had indeed left to feed on the night's insects and she and Dore moved carefully so as not to startle the remaining small clusters. We don't want to see that again! She suppressed a shudder. There were a surprising number of small openings leading out to the open air in the very old building, rotted out knots in the pine boards and crumbled away chunks of masonry where the top of the brick walls met the wood above. Pam marked each one she found with a red crayon so they would be easy to find when it was time to start closing the gaps.
The Reverend Green's voice called up through the open hatch. "Hello ladies! I have a volunteer for you! I'm sending her up!"
Pam and Dore looked at each other with surprise. Who would be crazy enough to offer to help them bring order to this reeking disaster area?
New-penny red hair and a smiling freckled face framed by two long pigtails appeared at the top of the steep stairs. "Hi! I'm Crystal!" A tall slender girl with wide shoulders and long legs emerged from the hatchway, dressed in denim bib overalls and a red and black checkered cotton shirt. She was an American girl all right, athletic and emanating an aura of confidence. Pam and Dore gave each other a small shrug and walked over to greet her.
"Hi Crystal, I'm Pam. This is my friend Dore."
Crystal shook their already dust-covered hands readily, obviously unconcerned with the dirt. "Nice to meet you both. The Reverend told me you were up here trying to get rid of these bats, what can I do to help?"
Pam gave her a brief appraising look; she seemed made of tough stuff. "Wow, that's really nice of you! I'm afraid it's a terrible mess up here . . . " Pam paused to see if the young woman would flinch, but the newcomer's copper flecked bright brown eyes met hers with a sure steadiness. All righty then, you we can use!
"Well, to start with you could help Dore move some of the old furniture and junk away from the walls. We need to find every place the bats might be able to crawl in and then we can start sealing them up." Pam fished into her jacket pocket for an extra crayon and handed Crystal a purple one. "If you find an opening, just mark it clearly with this."
Crystal smiled brightly. "Sure thing, Pam! Okay, Dore, where shall we start?"
The older German woman gave the girl a studying look up and down her entire length, approval pending. "Come with me, we start over there." Dore led Crystal to a decaying cabinet, its once polished surface now a modern art splatter of bat droppings and mold. They arranged themselves on either side, then slowly slid the heavy piece away from the wall. Pam gave them a pleased tilt of her head and went back to her own work.
Crystal proved to be a hard worker. She didn't flinch at the dust and guano and her athletic build was a big help in bringing order to the many decades worth of junk. Pam was glad to have her. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could disappear into the woods as far away from the Baptist Church and June weddings as she could get. Maybe Norway . . .
After an hour of dirty hard work the three of them paused for a break, sitting on a clean patch of floor around the hatchway.
"Pam, did you grow up in Grantville?" Crystal asked.
"Mostly. I spent some summers with my grandma in Fairmont. How about you?" It was a small town but Pam could hardly claim to know everybody, especially the younger generations. Walt had rarely brought friends home; he had preferred to be "out with the guys." Pam started to wonder why that was but made a mental effort to push the thought aside for now.
"I'm from Fairmont. My folks built a place pretty close to Grantville while I was in high school but by then I could drive myself to school. I used to come to Grantville to visit my aunt, Donna May Blocker, pretty often. I live with her now."
"Oh, I see." The subject of the Ring of Fire was a touchy one in general, especially with those out-of-towners who had just happened to be there and were swept up in the event. It had socially become poor form to ask direct questions about it, but apparently Crystal wasn't the type to have such reservations as she volunteered her story.
"I was working as a flagger with a state road crew just outside of town. I decided to go into Grantville to get some fries instead of going home for lunch—what a decision that was." The girl smiled ruefully. "So, here I am in the year 1634. Crazy, huh?" Pam nodded in full agreement.
"Do you have family here in Grantville, Pam?"
The question took her by surprise, although it shouldn't have. "I'm divorced," she answered flatly, her tone making it clear that further information was not forthcoming.
Crystal got the hint and didn't probe further. She turned her attention to Dore. "Dore, what do you think of these wacko Americans from the future landing in the middle of your country?"
Dore, who no one had ever bothered to ask such a question, took a moment to think. "It is God's will." Dore was a devout Lutheran who had the good sense to practice her faith quietly in the hodgepodge of religious and non-religious that made up the growing population of Grantville. "It is good Americans come, you teach us much. No war here now. My husband and I, we have good life, thanks to our dear Pam here." The dour expression that was Dore's usual front to the world was replaced briefly with a golden gaze of sisterly love to Pam, who blushed. "We think of her as a gift from God." This caused Crystal to look approvingly at Pam who had inspired such loyalty in her down-time friends.
"Well . . ." Pam tried to hide her embarrassment at the praise. "I wouldn't have made it without Dore and Gerbald. They've helped me deal with my new life here, if it wasn't for them I think I really would have gone crazy. And speaking of crazy—" She gestured at the mess they still faced, using it to deflect the course of a discussion that was getting way too personal for her "—we still have a lot of work to do."
With a cheerful groan the three of them got back on their feet. Crystal proved to be tireless, which certainly won Dore's respect; Pam was amazed to see that Dore was even laughing at the little jokes and funny faces Crystal made during the course of the tedious task. Pam found herself taking a liking to this sunny young person, a fellow castaway in space-time. The hours went by quickly.
"Well. ladies, it's getting late." Pam announced at last. We've marked all the entrances, let's save the patching for tomorrow. I have an idea for a one-way exit I want to tinker with that should allow any stragglers to leave." She turned to Crystal. "Thanks for all the great help, Crystal. We were really glad to have you! Tomorrow—"
"I'll be here, Pam. My pleasure. It's nice to have something positive to do, Reverend Green really appreciates it—and once this godawful smell is gone, you two are going to have a lot of Baptist friends!" They laughed, and the three of them made their way merrily down to the street, proud of the hard work they had accomplished. After saying their good nights, Pam walked home feeling pretty up. It was funny how even the worst things could come around to having some good outcomes.
Pam walked home from the research institute the next day in good spirits. She had managed to concentrate on her lab work and was now ready to focus on the task ahead of her—no time for unwelcome personal matters. As she came up the walk she found Gerbald sitting on the front porch in a glum slouch.
"Hey, Gerbald."
"Hello, Pam." There was a long painful pause as the large man searched for words. "I hope you do not think very badly of me."
"Of course I don't, Gerbald." Pam sat down on the lip of the concrete porch.
"You know I would face any that would harm you—and kill them swiftly."
"I know you would, Gerbald. I know you were a soldier and you are very brave. It's just the bats, right?"
"Bats." He spoke the word as if it were a curse. Pam waited.
"When I was a small boy we lived on a farm. The bats, they were in the barn, in the high places. One time I had to go up to where they were to get something for my father . . . I tripped in the dark and fell against them . . . it was much the same as we, but some bit me and I became sick; long time. I was lucky, because I still live." In an age before vaccines the threat of a bat bite was mortal. If not rabies they certainly might carry other dangerous bugs, especially in these times. Pam realized how very incautious she had been and felt all the more foolish. Gerbald was afraid of bats because they had almost killed him once.
"I understand, Gerbald. I'm the one who should be sorry for dragging you up there, and then acting like a lunatic. I am really sorry. I've just had a lot on my mind and I wasn't thinking straight at all that day."
"It is not my place, but perhaps the matter of your son?" Gerbald's face was filled with sincere concern.
Pam fought back the urge to give an angry conversation stopping retort. "Yes. It's been on my mind. We haven't talked in almost a year. He's getting married soon, I don't even know who she is." Gerbald shook his head slowly in understanding.
"It's something I need to work out, I know. It's just been hard, our whole world has changed."
"I cannot know how that must be for you, Pam. I try to think; what if I woke up in the time of the Christ? At least there was need for swordsmen in those days . . . What if I went to your future? I, a simple man, would not understand your ways, your sciences. I would be lost. I could only hope to make friends such as you."
Pam smiled. "Well, if it wasn't for you and Dore, I'd be the lost one."
This caused Gerbald to blush ever so slightly in the shade of his monstrous hat. He stood up in order to reach into one of his sage green coat's many voluminous pockets. "I've made something for the bats." he announced with pride. He handed Pam a square wooden tube about 4 inches in diameter and just over a foot long. One end had a square of light wire mesh, which was slightly larger than the opening, on a hinge.
Pam laughed. "You beat me to it! I was going to cobble up something like this myself." Gerbald was very much an expert handyman; his day job included a wide variety of carpentry work. Still, this level of creativity surprised her. Why should it? Gerbald is every bit as smart as any up-timer I've ever met.
"I spent many years trapping small animals for food—this is not so different. You see how it works?"
"Yes. We place this through one of their entrances and then seal around it. The bats inside can go out—" She stuck her hand into the device and out through the mesh gate. "—but the bats outside can't come back in!" Her other hand pushed against the closed mesh and then flapped away in bat pantomime. Gerbald nodded, a bit of pride returning.
"You know, Gerbald, I think you might do just fine up in the twenty-first century!"
"I do rather like the movies. It would be good to see all of Clint Eastwood's films." His eyes took on a wistful quality. "This is my sword, Clyde." In a hoarse imitation of his Hollywood hero, Gerbald was a clever mimic. "Perhaps I could find work in such movies. It seems they would have need of able fighting men, especially comely ones." He struck a heroic stance.
"I think you would make a great plumber." Dore had appeared in the front door carrying a plate of cheese and sausage sandwiches. "The American cowboys wear a decent hat. You need not apply." Dore commented coldly as she bestowed a baleful gaze upon Gerbald's constant accoutrement. Dore and Gerbald's exceedingly ridiculous floppy hat were matched in a never-ending battle of wills, with Dore prevailing only at the sanctity of the dinner table.
"You know, Gerbald, if we made a little opening here—" Pam pointed at a spot in the dirty mustard felt above the misshapen brim. "—our bats could find a cozy new home." Gerbald gave her an injured look.
"Ha! There is only room for one filthy animal in there!" Dore proclaimed righteously. Accepting defeat with a much maligned roll of the eyes, Gerbald took solace in a sandwich, devouring it in large carnivorous bites.
Neither Dore nor Pam made any comment when Gerbald trooped along behind them carrying his day job's carpentry tools and his one way bat hatch. Arriving at the Baptist Church, Pam dawdled along beside him for a moment to whisper, "You're sure you want to go up there with us? You don't have anything to prove to me, I know you're a brave guy."
This brought a wan smile from the ex-soldier. "I am all right now, Pam. I can face my childhood fears. With my carpentry skills I can close all the openings much more quickly than you and Dore could. I want to help."
Pam nodded and gave him a companionable clap on the arm. "Glad to have you as always."
Pam was pleased to find Crystal at the side door and introduced him to Gerbald who responded with a well-practiced West Virginia drawl and an overly gracious tip of the hat, "Pleased to meet you, ma'am," followed by a movie star quality winning smile.
Crystal's penny bright eyes widened. "Nice to meet you, too, Mister Gerbil." She turned to Pam who was trying to hide a mischievous grin at the young woman's mispronunciation. "You sure this guy's a down-timer?" Gerbald had stuck his thumbs in the jeans that had replaced breeches in his daily uniform and leaned smiling against the wall as slick as any up-time gambling man.
"We aren't sure just what he is," Pam replied with false gravity.
"I can tell you sure what he will not be if he continues such foolishness—alive!" Dore added, with a mighty scowl at her husband's comically flirtatious behavior. Crystal and Pam giggled as Dore gave the grinning Gerbald a firm push toward the stairs.
The evening's work went by quickly. Gerbald, with only a few minor shudders at the remaining bats, closed the openings with the various materials the reverend had managed to scrounge up. He chose a fairly large section of crumbled masonry for his bat escape hatch, widening the opening some so it would fit through and then carefully sealing around it. Meanwhile Pam, Dore and Crystal finished cleaning up the years of bat guano. With the end in sight, they worked fast with little small talk. Ridding the belfry of bats had proven to be a particularly long stinky job; it would be very good to have it over with.
At last they stopped to survey their accomplishments. The floorboards of the church's attic space were scrubbed clean and shiny as were the walls where they could reach, the years of accumulated junk were organized and arranged neatly, the many openings in the walls had been patched and the guano stench had greatly receded. The few remaining bats that had not gone out to feed were huddled high up in the belfry. Pam figured that within a few days they would find their way out through Gerbald's contraption and never be able to return again.
"I wonder where they will go?" Pam mused.
"There's some caves and unused mines around town my aunt told me," Crystal offered. "Maybe they'll hole up in one of those?"
"That would be a good place for them. You know, I never thought much about bats before. They aren't very well liked but they aren't bad critters by any means. They eat a lot of harmful insects and they pretty much mind their own business. They're even kind of cute in a way."
"Yeah, kind of . . ." Crystal didn't seem very convinced. Dore declined comment and Gerbald made an eloquently disgusted face at Pam which made Crystal laugh.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" Crystal said, with feeling. It was almost a race to see who got to the hatchway stairs first.
It was around eight p.m. as they left the building through the side door. Reverend Green had hung around waiting for them and waved through the window that he would be out to see them off. Gerbald and Dore were occupied with arranging their various cleaning and carpentry implements for the walk home.
Pam turned to Crystal. "Well, Crystal, it was really nice to meet you. You really helped a lot!"
"Thanks, Pam. It's good to meet you and your friends, too. You know, I've been wanting to tell you that I think it's really cool that you have close friends who are down-timers. It seems like a lot of up-timers kinda keep them at arm's length. I've made a few really good German friends since I got here and I'm glad I'm not the only one."
Pam felt strangely pleased at the young woman's approval. Crystal had made a good point; there was still a long way to go before the two populations would really meld into a new America. She had never considered her that her friendship with Dore and Gerbald might be seen as a good example for anyone.
"Wow, I never really thought of it that way, Crystal. Thank you for saying that, it really makes me feel good. Say, I know we are a bunch of old fogies but why don't you come by for dinner sometime? On Fridays Dore serves up quite a feast and I could use some help chowing it all down!"
"Sure, that would be fun! If there's food involved you can count on me!"
Pam smiled, a sense of warmth filling her. It had been a long time since she had felt any connection to a fellow time traveler. Having such a bright young person visit would be really wonderful, she knew that childless Gerbald and Dore would be tickled. "We have a deal then. Do you need us to walk you home?"
"No, my fiancé will be here any moment to meet me. Hang out a couple and I'll introduce you. Say, you should come to our wedding! I'll make sure you get an invite!"
Pam heard the side door swing open and the reverend greeting Dore and Gerbald. At the same time a shadow stepped around the red brick corner of the church and came up the walk. The silhouette was very familiar, although maybe an inch taller than she might have expected. Oh my. He's here.
Pam's son stepped into the light with a rather surprised look on his face.
"Walt." Pam said in a tone of neutral greeting.
"Mom." Walt returned the greeting in the same neutral tone.
"Walt!?" Crystal turned to her betrothed in astonishment.
"Walt . . ." Gerbald and Dore both murmured at once, having at last set eyes on their friend's always-absent son.
Crystal looked back at Pam with understanding dawning in her eyes. "Mom?" Her eyes were filled with a sudden wonder.
"Crystal . . ." Pam said hesitantly, feeling stunned; a storm of questions roiled in the back of her mind but her mouth was unable to shape them into words. Pam watched fearfully for her new found friend to reject her, God only knew what Walt had said about his hard-case pain-in-the-neck of a mother. The side door to the church creaked in the shocked silence and all eyes fell on the man who stood frozen there, obviously caught between entering the situation or fleeing back inside.
"Reverend Green?" Pam and Crystal said at the same time, sharing a somewhat accusatory tone.
"Oh, hi! I see everyone has met each other." An unmistakably guilty look was on the reverend's face, which was rapidly changing to worry as everyone stared at him. "Aw, heck. I was just doing my job, folks. If a man of the cloth can't meddle around trying to help folks then what good is he?" Everyone stood in silence for a moment. Walt was making a careful study of the ground.
Crystal turned to Pam. "Wait here, please Pam!" Crystal implored her.
Pam nodded shyly in consent. The young woman turned to her fiancé and began shoving him back down the path and around the building's corner. He wasn't that much taller than her and wore the slumped shoulders of someone who knew that resistance was futile.
As they went, Pam heard Crystal hiss in an audible whisper. "Come here! We are going to talk about your mom!" Pam stood rooted to the ground, so many emotions had hit her at once that they canceled each other out, leaving behind a gray fuzz of confusion.
Reverend Green approached her cautiously, well aware of Gerbald and Dore's carefully studying this agent provocateur with cold eyes. It was obvious that causing any kind of distress to Pam would be an extremely bad idea with those two around. "Pam, look, I'm sorry if this is terribly awkward for you. I was going to ask you to help with the bats even before the wedding was scheduled. I didn't know at the time you and your son weren't speaking. Then, Crystal asked if she could help and I sent her up to you. I didn't tell either of you who the other was because I thought it would be better for you two to get to know each other on your own before Walt entered the picture. She's such a wonderful young woman, I was sure she could make a bridge between you and your son." The man looked at the ground. "I hope I'm not wrong." Pam nodded her understanding. "It's okay, Al. It's a small town, I couldn't hide forever. You meant well, of course. I'm glad I met her, I really like her, too. I hope—" She didn't finish the sentence, her voice trailing away into silence. She didn't know what she hoped for.
She looked over to where Gerbald and Dore stood poised to intervene. She gave them a faint smile and tilt of the head. Stand down, you two. I'm all right. Her fierce and faithful friends relaxed somewhat but remained on guard, Dore had her arms crossed with her "I will not have more of this funny business" scowl directed at the meddling reverend while Gerbald decided it would be a fine time to polish his katzbalger.
Around the corner a vehemently whispered conversation seemed to be winding down. Crystal came back into view with a satisfied look on her face as Walt trailed along behind looking thoroughly chastised. He took his place at her side before the group as Crystal waited for him with a regal bearing.
"Pam," Crystal announced in clear, sure tones, "Walt has something he wants to say to you. Walt." The last was a command, no mistaking it.
"Um, Mom . . . I just wanted to say I'm sorry for, uhh, not coming around much . . . lately." He kept his eyes to the ground. Crystal saw this and administered what appeared to be a variation of the Vulcan nerve pinch to his shoulder, which caused him to quickly straighten up and look his mother in the eye. Pam was impressed by the girl's efficient methods.
Walt's greenish eyes met her gray ones for the first time in many, many months. Pam gazed back steadily.
"I really am sorry. I was going to invite you to the wedding sooner but I've been, uhh, busy." The young man paused for a long moment until Crystal appeared to be about to apply her special touch to his shoulder again. "Anyway, we would like you to come." A warning look came from Crystal. "I'd like you to come. Please." Pam looked at Walt's somber face and Crystal's earnest one. She swallowed a sigh at the methods and accepted the results graciously. "Sure Walt, I'll come. You've done well to find a great girl like Crystal hon, I'm proud of you." This had the effect of her son giving her a slim but sincere smile. It's a good start. A very good start.
Crystal launched herself at Pam, clamping onto her in a powerful hug. "Mom!" The girl's grip was tight and full of love.
Pam's eyes were misting. Oh dammit, I'm going to cry again. She didn't try to stop the flow. Pam whispered into the girl's chamomile scented copper red hair: "I'm glad it's you, Crystal."
Crystal replied "Me, too! You don't mind if I call you 'Mom,' do you?"
"No, please do."
"I lost my real mom in the Ring of Fire. I miss her a lot. She would be glad that I have people like you and Walt in my life."
"I'm glad, too, honey." After a while the two let go, happy tears wiped on dirty sleeves leaving dusty streaks on two bright faces. Everyone stood quietly for a long moment absorbing what had just come to pass.
Finally it was Dore who broke the silence. "Time to eat! Everyone will come," Dore announced in her patented "you will not question me" tones. "I have a dinner ready, there is plenty for all." Dore cast an eye at the reverend who realized to his relief that he had been forgiven now that Pam was happy. "You, too, Pastor. You are welcome. Honor us, please."
And with that they all trooped off to Pam's house. They ate a bit quietly but a healing had begun and Walt even hugged his mother briefly as he and Crystal left.
Things are going to be better from now on, Pam told herself as she shut the door behind them.
A few weeks later, Pam sat in a lawn chair in the little park area behind the church where the reception was taking place. It was dusk now and she watched the bats spiraling through the dark purple sky, wheeling and turning in search of insects. Pam saw for the first time how truly graceful the creatures were. They were far more maneuverable than her beloved birds. Watching them move, she realized that they had their own kind of beauty and a deep sense of satisfaction that she had been able to send them on their way with out harm filled her.
She looked over to where Walt and Crystal were dancing under a tulip tree, laughing and enjoying the start of their new life together. Things were still cool between her and her son but a thaw was happening. Pam smiled, turning back to the bats as she sipped a glass of sweet white wine. She found it amusing that the much-maligned little beasties had played such a positive role in this wedding, helping reunite a family. "God's creatures," indeed.
A voice interrupted her reverie. It was Mary Ellen Jones, the wife of the Methodist pastor and a pastor herself. She was currently manning the pulpit while her husband Simon was down in Italy.
"Pam? Hi, do you remember me?" The woman approached her politely.
"Sure, hi, Mary Ellen. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine! Congratulations, I'm so happy your son has found such a nice girl." They looked over to where Crystal was now dipping Walt in an increasingly erratic dance that was beginning to show some unsubtle sexual overtones.
Pam laughed aloud as she saw Mary Ellen's face pale ever so slightly. "I am, too. She's a firecracker all right, I'm proud of them both."
"Indeed! Well, anyway, I have something I've been meaning to ask you . . ."
Pam kept her smile firmly in place; it was well known that she had allowed her Methodist affiliation to lapse and had not been seen in the church in a good many years, but Mary Ellen was most likely here to make a last grab for her soul before she sank into agnosticism permanently or, worse yet, became a Baptist. Pam braced herself for the invite to Methodist Lady's Tea.
"Sure, shoot!" Pam answered a bit playfully. She was in as high a mood as she'd been in years.
"Great! Well, I've been talking to Reverend Green and he says that the Baptist Church had the same problem as we do . . ." A subtle influence was intoned on the competition. Pam felt her very good mood go flapping away into the gathering gloom. Mary Ellen continued on; "Well, he said you were a real cracker jack on the subject and would know just what to do. It seems we now have bats in our belfry . . ."