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STORIES

Poor Little Rich Girls

by Paula Goodlett and Gorg Huff

"Will you two just give it up?" Heather asked, exasperated. "What good is that valley girl impersonation going to do you? No one here in Badenburg has ever heard of a valley girl."

"For sure, Heather, for sure," Vicky Emerson answered. "We're just getting into character. Gotta play dumb for the marks, you know."

"Like, haven't you ever seen The Sting?" Judy Wendell asked, with a sort of stupid look on her face. Then she dropped the pose and cracked up.

Heather shook her head. "This is just silly. We know what we want to buy, and we know that people, not marks, are starting to sell. The market is down since Guffy Pomeroy died, and people are nervous. All we have to do is show up at the wedding. They'll come to us. Mrs. G said so."

"Yep," Judy confirmed. "They'll come to us and pat us on the head, and treat us like a bunch of idiots, like we're too young to know what we're doing just because we're only fourteen. Then they'll try and dump their stock on us, because they'll think we're too stupid to know better. I'm getting a little tired of that part, but we can use it. Make them think there's a problem and they'll start dropping the prices."

Judy looked like she was ready to rub her hands together in anticipation, while Vicky looked energized. Susan Logsden just rolled her eyes, while the others grinned.

"Seriously, all of you," Susan remarked, "We ought to be able to double our net worth at this wedding. Mrs. G arranged a loan on our HSMC stock, so we've got a lot of cash to work with. Make the best deals you can, then get Mrs. G involved. She can look like she's trying to save us from being dumb, and people will drop their prices. It should work. I want to walk away from this with enough . . . "

Susan's voice trailed off, but Heather knew what she meant. Susan wanted to be rich enough and secure enough that she wouldn't ever have to be afraid of anything, ever again. She was still worried that something might go wrong, that she might have to go back to her mother. She didn't want that and all the girls knew it. For Susan, the building panic in the stock market was an opportunity for security. For Judy, it was a game, a game she enjoyed and played somewhat ruthlessly. Vicky seemed to be treating it like a contest between the girls, a contest she wanted to win.

Heather shook her head again. Money was nice to have, sure, but she just wanted to have a good time and enjoy herself. Hayley, Gabrielle and Millicent felt the same way. "If I can make a deal, I will. But I'm not going to spend every minute looking for them. It's supposed to be a party, you know."

* * *

"Well," Vicky explained, "all those resistors and transistors, the integrated circuits and stuff are pretty complicated. They used to have special rooms to build them in, back up-time."

At first, the older gentlemen in the group treated her with amused condescension. Gradually, though, they started to look a little concerned. The girl's comments stuck a chord matching some of the things they had read lately. Sensing the change in attitude, Vicky threw out a few more comments, this time about how difficult it was to compress natural gas and store it, and then wandered away.

* * *

Arend Nebel had never been convinced that gas-powered stoves were a good idea. After listening on the fringes of the girl's discussion, he was even less impressed with that investment. Master Drugen became interested in soldering irons first, because he thought they would be useful when making jewelry. Then he discovered that soldering irons were useful for producing a good seal on gas pipe connections in stoves. Arend didn't see the relationship.

"Henning, are you sure your father was right? That girl said the gas was hard to store, that it could leak and cause a disaster. Maybe we should sell our interest in that company before that happens."

"Arend, you know my father was careful. He believed the oven works was a good investment, or he wouldn't have put so much of his money into it. You are giving in to this atmosphere of panic. If Father was still alive, he would say the same thing. We have only to wait, and we will be rich."

"I wanted to be a goldsmith. I still want to be a goldsmith. All three of us, even Justine, must now work like peons while all we do is wait, and wait some more. I'm tired of waiting, and I do not want my future wife to work, like one of these . . . these . . . common women of Grantville."

"Research at the library is hardly common, Arend. Justine enjoys the work. She is becoming quite modern, you know. She even spoke of continuing the work, after you are married." Henning knew he shouldn't have teased Arend that way. Justine did enjoy the work, though, and Arend's attitudes were making her unhappy. Perhaps the marriage wasn't as good an idea as Father thought. Time would tell.

"Very well, we will speak to this girl. Perhaps she knows something we do not."

* * *

Vicky wondered what the two young men wanted as they approached. So help me, if someone else tries to hit on me, today . . . 

But no, that wasn't what they wanted. They just wanted to talk about the gas ovens. Vicky figured that the oven works would be a success, over time. Once the problems of transporting the compressed natural gas were solved, the business would expand rapidly. Until then, business would be a little slow, but the investors' estimate of being able to sell ten thousand ovens in the next two or three years was pretty solid.

Vicky knew that the oven works had about half a dozen investors, all down-timers. The one up-timer involved led a team of down-timers trying to come up with designs for cooking stoves, camp stoves, space heaters and so on. They had a couple of working prototypes and a plan for mass production. It was a good investment, one she would be happy to have. Still, she let the young men explain all this, while she waited for them to make up their minds.

Vicki tapped her finger on her lips thoughtfully. "Well, even though it's risky, this does sound interesting. I do want to reinvest the many thousands of dollars I was fortunate enough to make in the sewing machine company."

Arend said, "I'll sell you my thousand shares at nine dollars each."

"That seems awfully high," said Vicky. "One explosion of a home and there goes my investment. What if someone died of a gas leak in their home? Of course, Heinrich, on the design team, is awfully cute!" Vicky batted her eyelashes.

Arend pulled Henning off to the side and whispered in his ear for a minute. Both nodded to one another, then walked back to Vicky.

* * *

Finally, the young men made a real offer. A good offer, the one she was waiting for. She signaled Mrs. Gundelfinger, who came rushing over, clearly intent on protecting Vicky from someone who was trying to take advantage of her youth. Her attitude increased one man's determination to sell, and he lowered the price again. Curiously, the other man seemed to believe Mrs. G's protective act. He backed out of the deal, which was a bit surprising. But Vicky was still able to buy one thousand shares of the oven works for the discount price of three dollars per share.

After finalizing the deal, Vicky asked how Judy was doing. When she heard the answer, she decided to look for another sucker.

* * *

"You are an idiot, Henning. And don't think I'm going to accept that worthless company stock as Justine's dowry. You should have sold it."

Henning studied Arend with irritation. The stock wasn't worthless, but Arend refused to see that. Even if it had been worthless, selling it to a child was more than Henning was willing to do. Arend actually seemed pleased to have foisted the stock he considered worthless onto a child. In a way, that attitude bothered Henning even more than the money he believed Arend had thrown away. It was money that, at least in part, was to have provided support for his sister.

* * *

A beautiful, warm autumn Saturday in seventeenth-century Germany was too good to be ignored. It seemed like every family in Grantville was out and about and had some business in town.

"Oh, Bill," Blake said, "will you just look at her. She's gorgeous. She's a dream. She's, she's . . ."

"A pretty girl. But has red hair." Wilhelm Magen was looking elsewhere. "That one, the one with the blond hair, is who I like. What is name?"

"That one over there? I think she's Vicky Emerson," Blake responded after following Bill's look. "C'mon, she's too tall and too thin. That redhead, Judy Wendell, now, she's the really pretty one of the bunch."

Bill Magen and Blake Haggerty were taking advantage of the crowd and using part of their lunch break to indulge in a bit of girl watching. The boys watched with interest as the group of girls known as the Barbie Consortium arrived at Tyler's Restaurant.

"Not a single one of those girls would look at you, even if you saved her from a fire or something. Stuck up, snooty rich girls aren't going to be interested in you police types."

Startled, Blake turned to see Brandy Bates standing behind him. He had known Brandy since they were kids and she had even been his baby sitter for a while. She'd been nice to him back then, when he was a little kid and wondered about his real mother and why she had left. Brandy lived just down the street and had kept him company sometimes, even when she wasn't babysitting. He had really needed someone back then and Brandy had always been ready to listen. In spite of the four-year age difference, they had been close.

The change in Brandy had happened suddenly and Blake didn't care for the results at all. One day, right after the winter break, Brandy had quit going to high school, just a few months before her graduation. She had started hanging out with her cousin, Marlene, and with the crowd at the Club 250. Hanging out with Marlene was bad enough, Blake thought, but he really didn't understand why Brandy continued to work at the Club 250. That crowd of crooks and lowlifes hadn't improved since the Ring of Fire.

"Jeez, Brandy, don't sneak up on me that way. None of those girls are stuck up or snooty. Susan Logsden is living with her grandfather, right on the same street we live on. She's always nice. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being police officers after we get out of the army. So, why wouldn't one of those girls get interested in one of us?"

A bit late, Blake remembered the lessons in manners his stepmother had tried to drum into him. "Brandy, this is my friend, Bill Magen. Bill, this is Brandy Bates."

Brandy ignored Bill's extended hand and stared past him as though he didn't exist. Bill blushed, dropped his hand, and turned his attention elsewhere.

"Yeah, right. You're short and you're scrawny and you probably don't even shave yet." To Blake's increasing irritation, Brandy continued to ignore Bill. "Judy Wendell is way out of your league, and always was. Besides, she's jail bait."

"I wasn't even thinking about anything like that, Brandy. They're just pretty girls, and I'm not too blind to see it," Blake answered sharply. "Y'know, Brandy, I used to like you a lot, but lately, you don't act like you care about anything. Ever since you went to work at the Club 250 and started hanging around with Marlene, you've just gotten mean."

"Why should I care about anyone? Being nice doesn't get you anywhere."

"It doesn't look to me like being mean is getting you anywhere either, Brandy," Blake retorted. "I liked you a lot better back before you started acting like this. Maybe you ought to find something else to do with your life. Hanging out with those losers at the Club 250 is just going to get you into a mess of trouble someday. Besides, it's pretty stupid to hate Germans, especially when you're stuck in the middle of Germany. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Blake, look at this," Bill interrupted. "Is maybe trouble coming."

Blake followed Bill's gaze and saw two men standing on the other side of the street. One of them seemed to be staring daggers at a well-dressed German woman who was about to enter Tyler's restaurant. The animosity in his eyes was obvious, even from across the street.

"He looks really pissed off. I wonder why. What do you suppose she did to him? We need to get back on duty anyway, Bill. How about we wander across the street and look official? It might stop trouble before it starts."

"Right," Brandy snorted. "Official! That's a laugh. You don't have a gun and you look like you're dressed up in your father's uniform. Real impressive."

Blake's feelings were stung again. It was true that the uniforms were new and didn't fit very well. Even so, Blake was still proud of his uniforms, and proud to have been selected for MP training after Basic.

"What's next for you, Brandy, have a bunch of kids and nowhere to go but down?" he snapped.

Turning away from Brandy, Blake said softly, "Sorry, Bill. She used to be such a nice person. I don't know what happened, but she's just not the girl she used to be. I wish . . ."

* * *

Henning Drugen stiffened as he saw the two young men head across the street. They didn't appear to be moving with any purpose, but Henning was nervous. Arend just wasn't making any sense lately.

"Arend, let's go. They look like children, but they are wearing 'MP' armbands," he muttered. "I told you this wasn't a good idea."

"They are puppies. And we are doing nothing wrong," Arend answered. "We cannot be arrested if we are doing nothing wrong. I am just watching that woman. I have done nothing."

Henning was still amazed by the Americans. They just didn't bother people who appeared to be obeying the law. There were no suspicious looks and no indistinct mutterings directed toward new people in town. Grantville's residents let you make a life on your own merits, in your own way. It was very unlike his family's experience, when they tried to start over in Jena after the destruction of Magdeburg. Henning much preferred Grantville. The town was a fine place to start a new life.

"That woman destroyed me. She and those girls, they are all demons. They gave me only a pittance. She owes me and I will make her pay. Why do you defend her?"

"They paid you, and paid in good money. They also paid exactly what you asked," Henning answered. "It is your own fault that you fell into the trap they set. I told you to wait."

"Helene Gundelfinger and that girl made a fool of me. I lost everything. We all, even Justine, must work like slaves. This is not what I intended."

"Arend, they did not make a fool of you, you did it to yourself," Henning responded. "It was my father and his gold that allowed you to join us when we left Magdeburg. I believe in my father's choice. We have only to wait, just a while longer, and the oven works will begin to pay. And you didn't lose everything, anyway. I will pay the dowry in time. The Americans have a saying . . . something about getting out of the heat if you can't work in the kitchen. You panicked. I came here only to tell you that I will have nothing to do with this plan of yours. I am leaving."

"I must have my money. I will marry Justine only if I have it."

"Justine and I wish to stay in Grantville. Now that our father has died and our property is gone, we have only the investments that he left. Justine and I must make our own way, for now. My sister does not want to marry you if you are going to cause trouble. We have jobs and we are willing to work. This idea you have, that Helene Gundelfinger owes you something, it is not right. We will not help you."

* * *

As he watched Henning's back recede, Arend Nebel's thoughts grew more and more hate-filled and angry. First, the Gundelfinger woman and that girl had impoverished him. Now, Henning had deserted him and Justine had proven she was a faithless woman. He would be avenged against them all.

* * *

"I'm not going to listen to this," Vicky yelled, while grabbing her jacket and purse. "I'll do what I want and it's none of your business. You can just count me out of this whole thing." Helene suspected that even Vicky didn't know if "whole thing" meant the consortium itself, her long-term friendship with the other girls, or just the intervention her friends had attempted.

After Vicky had slammed out of the room, the rest of the girls stared glumly at Judy. "Well, that didn't work very well," Gabrielle Ugolini muttered. Gabrielle clearly considered her overstuffed book bag the most important part of her wardrobe. She still wore her up-time clothing and probably would until it wore out or she outgrew it.

The girls had been trying to explain to Vicky the consequences of spending too much of your investment capitol. It was supposed to be an intervention, like people did up-time for alcoholics or drug users. The idea was to try to save Vicky before she blew her share of the fortune they had made. They had picked the private room at Tyler's, hoping that Vicky wouldn't want to make a scene in a public place. The idea hadn't worked very well.

"It might have gone better if you hadn't called her an overdressed scarecrow, Millicent," Judy responded. "You know she's sensitive about being so tall." Judy was dressed well, but it wasn't a new outfit. She bought what she needed, but was selective about it. Helene was convinced that if Judy began wearing old grain sacks to school, every teenager in town would start wearing the same thing.

"Well, she is. Overdressed, I mean." It was easy to see that there was a certain amount of jealousy in Millicent's comment, true as it was.

Millicent's mother, Anita Barnes, didn't seem to have realized that Millicent was growing up. Compared to the departed Vicky, Millicent looked like a child, tiny and delicate, with a mane of dark curly hair that overpowered her face. Helene knew that Millicent's tiny size was a source of great frustration to her. She often complained that "looking like a ten-year-old" was the reason she wasn't allowed to spend any of her own money, and also why, to her extreme irritation, her mother still picked out her clothes. Vicky might hate being tall, but Millicent envied her height and her mature appearance.

Susan Logsden spoke up. "There's no reason for her to buy a new outfit practically every week. She's spending money like it was water. I hoped she would see sense, and listen to us. Not Vicky, though. She's going to go right on doing the same thing until she's broke." Susan didn't seem to mind that her clothing was more worn than that of the other girls. Susan was so focused on getting rich that Helene sometimes found her intensity a bit worrying.

"Life was a lot simpler before we had any money, wasn't it?" Judy asked. "I didn't realize how complicated this was going to be. There's so much to learn. I have nightmares about being smothered in balance sheets. Sometimes I dream the market really crashes and we all wind up back where we started."

"You dream that, too? That's my mother's nightmare. Every day she tells me I need to sell everything and put the money in a savings account," Millicent said. "When I try to tell her that I'm earning a lot more than three percent this way, she just looks at me like I'm crazy. She's still trying to make me do things her way."

"It is a little scary sometimes. Even my dad thinks so," Judy responded. "Savings accounts may be safe, but you have to put money to work if you want to make more of it. Maybe we can find a way to reassure your mom. Does anyone else have anything we need to talk about?"

Gabrielle, Susan and Heather all shook their heads. "Let's get this show on the road, Judy," Heather Mason remarked in her practical, down-to-earth way. "If Vicky won't listen, then she won't listen. If Hayley can't be on time, she'll just have to learn on her own. Frau Gundelfinger, what's today's subject?"

Helene Gundelfinger smiled at her serious young protégés. She hadn't intended to become their tutor, but most of the girls wanted to understand what they were doing. They listened to her advice, took the time to absorb everything they could and based a lot of their decisions on her experience and knowledge of the area. With a bit of carefully impartial input from Judy's parents and sister, the girls were well on their way to becoming extremely intelligent business investors. They were also very good at gathering information on what was happening in the business community. Helene couldn't resist the opportunity to teach such curious and inquiring minds.

"Today, we continue the discussion on diversifying our investments," she began. "Millicent, your mother might be happier if we do this. It is not a new concept. If you buy one ship and it sinks, you have lost your whole investment. If you buy a share of a dozen ships and one sinks, the others pay for the loss. The same thing is true about investing in the businesses that are starting up. If we diversify we can invest in more risky ventures because we're risking only a small part of our money in any one venture. It is very simple, yes?"

Helene expected the girls to nod and smiled when they did. Basic theory like this was nothing new to them. Specifics were more complicated and that's where Helene came in. She had agreed to become their business manager and "adult face" after the girls had invested in the Higgins Sewing Machine Company on their own. She was impressed by their intentions and by the information they had found on a new business startup.

Helene wasn't sure where they got all their information, but between them, the seven girls knew nearly every up-timer in Grantville. At the very least, they knew someone who knew someone else in the small town. Helene had come up with some cash and joined the "consortium" when they invested in that first start-up. Helene provided experience and contacts, the girls provided information on what was going on with the up-timers. So far it was working remarkably well.

"So, we continue . . ."

* * *

Judy grinned at Frau Gundelfinger's daughter as she left the meeting. It was kind of unusual for a woman of Mrs. G's status to keep a child with her as much as she did, especially when the child was just a toddler. Judy thought that Mrs. G just wanted the kid exposed to Grantville's attitudes from a very young age.

From some of the comments Mrs. G had made, Judy was pretty sure that she'd had a rough time after being widowed. Some brother-in-law was giving her trouble, using her involvement in business as an excuse to try to take over her property. Women were allowed to do business here, something that had come as a shock to most of the up-timers. Still, there was some prejudice against them. The "glass ceiling" in seventeenth-century Germany was a lot harder and set a lot lower than it had been in the twenty-first century. Consequently, Mrs. G embraced Grantville and its attitudes.

Having the kid around didn't bother Judy or the other girls. She was a cute little thing, and was really polite and quiet most of the time. The Barbie Consortium did, now and then, worry about what would happen if Mrs. G got involved with some guy, though. Especially if he were some older dude, who might object to the amount of time and effort she put into teaching them.

* * *

"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

The anguished scream coming from her daughter's bedroom made Vickie Mason jump nearly out of her skin. "What on earth?" she asked her husband, "Arnold, what in the world?"

"I don't know, dear," he responded, "but whatever it is, it isn't going to be good. Heather hardly ever makes any kind of noise. I think she's got to be the only quiet teenager in the world."

The slamming of a door and the thumping on the stairs told Arnold and Vickie that they would soon hear about the problem. It was a bit of a worry. Heather just didn't make scenes. She was just about the most practical person in the family, and even seemed a bit coldhearted sometimes. Even the news that her favorite aunt, Gayle Mason, would be going to London and facing unknown hazards during the journey hadn't caused this kind of uproar.

"It's broken," Heather wailed as she ran into the room. "It's broken and there aren't any more! What am I going to do now?"

"Honey, it can't be all that bad. What are you talking about, anyway? What's broken?" Arnold asked, worried.

"My CD player, Dad. It just quit, right in the middle of "Walking to New Orleans." I'll never get to listen to my music again. I'll be stuck listening to VOA!"

Arnold hid a grin. It was odd for a young girl who was as practical as Heather to be obsessed. It was especially odd for a girl born in the late 1980s to have this particular obsession. Doo-wop music, early rock and roll, even early 1960s folk music were what Heather enjoyed, as well as some blues and jazz. She didn't care much for any other type of music, like country, classical, or opera. Her CD collection was pretty impressive for a young girl, but it only included the types of music she preferred.

"Maybe someone can fix it, honey. Try Larry Dotson at the hardware store," Arnold suggested.

"I could lend you my cassette player, and some tapes, if you like," Vickie offered, hiding her own grin. Arnold anticipated Heather's next reaction.

"Eeeeyyyyeeewww, Mom," Heather muttered, right on cue. "like I really want to listen to 'Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain' a million times."

"It beats nothing, doesn't it?"

"Not by very much," Heather answered, aware now that she was being teased. "Do you want anything from downtown? I need to go to the hardware store and talk to Mr. Dotson. Maybe someone will sell me a player, but it will probably cost a fortune."

"You can pick up a loaf of bread, please, and be careful in town. I swear, getting around Grantville lately must be as hard as getting around New York City used to be. So many people!"

"Yeah," Heather commented, as she grabbed her bag and turned to leave, "sometimes I wish we were back in the old days. Or up in the new days. Or . . . whatever . . . you know what I mean."

Arnold and Vickie exchanged a look. Yes, they knew what Heather meant. They felt the same way sometimes.

* * *

"Velma's either getting really drunk or really brave," Brandy remarked. "Why do you suppose she started hanging around here, anyway? She used to do her drinking out of town."

"Nowhere to go and no way to get there, I guess. She's been drinking here a lot lately, and she never stops spouting off. She's decided it's the Germans' fault that she lost her kids. It sounds crazy to me, but her money is as good as anyone's," Fenton answered. "You know, if she keeps trying to flirt with old Ape, Wilda is going to snatch her bald. That ought to be a sight to see."

Brandy started to laugh, but stopped suddenly as she felt someone press against her and reach around to grab her breast. Without thinking, she drove her elbow into the body behind her. The muffled "Oooof" sound made her smile. As the offender stepped back, Brandy turned and dumped a full mug of beer over Freddie's head. Freddie wasn't especially big or strong and stood wheezing and dripping beer all over the floor. The rest of the customers started laughing and making remarks, poking fun at Freddie.

"I told you to keep your hands to yourself, you little weasel. Touch me again and I'll break the beer mug over your head instead of just dumping the beer."

Being pawed by the clientele of the Club 250 had never been something Brandy enjoyed. The club itself had long ago lost its rather meager attractions for her. The place was a pit, and she was starting to hate it.

Blake Haggerty's question "What's next, a bunch of kids and nowhere to go but down" as well as his remarks about her "meanness," had been on Brandy's mind all day. She had to admit that Blake was telling the truth. She wasn't getting anywhere, and probably wouldn't ever get anywhere, if she kept on this way. She had watched her cousin Marlene trying to cope with all those kids after Donnie and Melodie had snuck away from home. That had been instructive, too. Why Marlene was willing to live with a man who had two girlfriends in the same house was something that no one understood, especially Brandy.

Brandy was convinced that she just didn't want to wind up like Marlene, Melodie, or Velma. She needed to do something, make some kind of change, even if she hated to think about another wrenching adjustment. Brandy wasn't sure what kind of life she did want, but almost anything would be better than winding up like those three.

"What's going on in here?" Ken shouted, obviously drawn from the office by the noise. "Can't a person get anything done around this place?"

Brandy said, "This jerk tried grabbing my boobs again. I'm sick of it and I'm not taking it, anymore. I told him last week to keep his stinking hands to himself. If you won't stop him, I will."

"And I told you last week to stop pouring beer on the paying customers, Brandy. They PAY me money, you COST me money, and you're NOT even a good waitress," Ken yelled. "You know he's harmless. Can't you even take a joke? I ought to fire you."

"Go ahead, Ken," Brandy yelled back, glad for an excuse to do it. "I'm tired of this crummy dive anyway. Better yet, I quit. I know I can do better than this. Take your rinky-dink job and shove it!"

"Tell me that when you come crawling back, you useless bitch. What are you going to do now, huh? Make a living with your so-called brain? You can't keep more than two drink orders straight and you don't know how to do anything else, either," Ken kept on. "You're useless and you're stupid on top of it! Waitresses are about a dime a dozen, so it's not like I'll miss you. Maybe I can find a waitress who can actually work this time. You damn sure don't."

Velma Hardesty, who was listening avidly, decided it was time to throw her two cents in the pot and stir up some more trouble. "I'll work for you, Ken. That pizza joint isn't any fun, anyway. There are too many precious little rug-rats, and their darling moms and pops. I'm tired of not seeing any interesting people." Leaning forward over the table, Velma flashed her cleavage at Ken. "I'm a lot more fun than that little tootsie is, I guarantee."

Ken stopped his tirade and stared at Velma with his eyes alight. "You're hired. You can start right now. Even with a few beers in you, you've got to be better than she is."

Brandy started laughing. The by-play between Velma and Ken, along with his hateful comments, had convinced her that she was right to leave. She couldn't stay here and listen to Ken's crap anymore. She had to do something, anything, else.

Brandy kept laughing as she gathered her things and began the walk home alone. As she walked, things she didn't like to think about, emotions she usually tried to ignore crept into her mind and got the better of her. By the time she got home she was nearly hysterical. She was so glad to be home, finally, that she dissolved into her worried mother's arms, and started to cry.

* * *

"So, do you want to tell me what happened?" Donna asked the next morning, as she poured Brandy a cup of coffee. The coffee was a rare treat these days. The scant teaspoon of sugar she used to sweeten Brandy's cup was just as rare. Sugar was hideously expensive and Donna couldn't afford much of it. Still, she had been waiting for what she hoped was happening for several years and felt like a small celebration was in order.

"Exactly what you told me would happen, Mom. I got sick of the job, sick of the people, and I just couldn't take it anymore," Brandy admitted. "You were right. It's no kind of life for anyone. Satisfied?"

"I wouldn't say satisfied, Brandy. I'm sorry you've been hurt, and I'm sorry you've wasted four years finding out that I was right," Donna answered. "I never wanted you to hang out with that crowd, and I'm very, very glad you've come to your senses about them. What I meant was do you want to tell me why you started hanging out with those people in the first place?"

Brandy's face froze. Donna realized that she had pushed this subject too soon, and Brandy still wasn't going to talk about it.

"What did happen last night?" she asked.

"I got tired of being pawed is what happened. I dumped a beer over someone's head and got fired. I'm sure I'll get a real good reference from Ken, won't I?" Brandy sneered. "Not that I'd get a good reference from anyone. What am I going to do now? I've never done anything but wait tables. And I've never worked anywhere but the club."

"You could take a week or so off and spend some time thinking, if you want to. We can afford that. Marvin Tipton stopped by to see me a while back. He said that he's talked to Peggy Craig and arranged a job for you, if you ever want it. You can start at the elementary school lunchroom Monday if you want to. Marvin promised that the job would be there when you wanted it."

"Great, Mom. I can go sling hash for a bunch of brats, what fun."

"Brandy," Donna snapped, "you said yourself that you've never done anything else. If you really mean this, you're going to have to get your GED and you're going to have to prove that you can work at a real job. You can't spend four years at the bottom of the barrel and expect to start at the top somewhere else. Be realistic. It takes years to get ahead."

Donna could tell that Brandy hadn't thought that far. Sitting there, surprised at her mother's vehemence, Brandy took a sip of her coffee and thought for a while. "This isn't going to be easy, is it, Mom? A GED? Go back to school after all this time?"

* * *

"Heather, have you seen Vicky lately?" Judy asked. "I tried to call her, but she wouldn't come to the phone."

"Every time she sees me, she turns around and heads in a different direction," Heather answered. "Gabrielle even went over to her house, but the housekeeper said she wasn't home. Gabrielle said she knew it wasn't true, because she had just seen Vicky go in."

"This is stupid. We were just trying to help."

"You know, Judy, the spending might not be the whole problem. It seems like Vicky's been a little weird since before the Ring of Fire," Heather mused. "Do you remember when she told us her Mom was pregnant? It seems like it started back then. She got kind of moody, and now she's competing against everyone. It seems like she's out to get people."

"Yeah, come to think of it, she hasn't been acting very happy about anything, has she?"

"I don't know what her problem is, Judy. She's still calling people 'marks,' too. It's kind of mean."

Judy fell into thought for a few moments. Vicky was competing with everyone, dressing to attract attention, trying to stay in the spotlight. Maybe jealousy was at the heart of her problem. Judy said, "Maybe she was competing with her friends, because she couldn't compete with her little brother. Maybe that's part of the problem. It's not something we can fix, but it might help if she talked to us about it. We've all been friends forever and I just hate it when we fight."

"Yeah, me, too. You don't have an extra CD player, do you?"

Heather's abrupt change of subject didn't really surprise Judy. Heather probably didn't realize how uncaring she sounded, but that was just Heather. She always tried to avoid emotional conversations.

"Afraid not, and I'm being very careful with the one I do have, too. I'm not sure they can even be fixed if they break, can they?" Judy asked.

Heather's face was glum. "Mr. Dotson is going to try to fix it. But he said not to hope too hard."

* * *

"Officer?"

Bill Magen looked towards the whisper. One of the men he had noticed a few days ago was standing in shadow, motioning at him. Blake started forward, but Bill stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Let me," he whispered, "He's German and may not have much English."

Moving toward the man, Bill began speaking in his own language. After a hurried conference, during which the man darted looks all around, Bill nodded and the man hurried off.

As Bill rejoined Blake, he noticed Blake's querying look. "Is a worried man, this Henning is. Do you remember the men we saw, the ones at Tyler's? And that man who looked so angry?"

"I remember. That one guy looked really mean," Blake remarked. "I wondered why he was staring at that woman."

"That man is Arend Nebel. The woman is Helene Gundelfinger. He was part of the stock panic a few months ago, you remember hearing about it?"

"Oh, yeah. All that stuff. I remember. A bunch of people got silly about rumors, wasn't it? So, what's his problem?"

"Is not silly, Blake," Bill answered. "Is very serious to this man, Arend. He lost a lot of money and is very angry. Henning, he says that Arend is dangerous and is planning something. Henning does not know what, but wanted we should watch Arend."

"There's not a lot we can do, Bill, except spread the word around. If he hasn't done anything, we can't just go arrest him on someone's suspicions."

"I will ask Sergeant Grooms when we report in," Bill remarked. "We can watch for this Arend Nebel, at least. He might try something."

* * *

"Well, Brandy, do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Jessica Whitney asked as she walked into the office.

Brandy's hopes sank. The tests hadn't seemed that difficult, except for the math test. Wincing, she answered, "You may as well just dump it all out, Mrs. Whitney. How bad was it?"

"Not nearly as bad as I think you think it was, Brandy. You passed the language arts portions with flying colors, as a matter of fact. Do you do a lot of reading?"

"Not especially. I used to read some magazines, sometimes. I've tried reading a few books, but I never really found anything I liked very much. Some of them were just silly. And some of them were a real bore. Who could believe," Brandy asked with a grin, "that humans could colonize the entire galaxy? And why would some woman run away to sea and become a pirate? And, if she was any good at it, why would she give it up for love? Sure. That makes a lot of sense. Come on!"

Jessica smiled in response. "Well, I suppose everyone has their own preference in entertainment. You know, you also passed the social studies portion of the test. The only problem areas are science and math. It's going to take some study and a fair bit of work, but you could have your GED in a couple or three months. Are you willing to work on it?"

"I need to pass those tests. I'll work on it and I'll study, if you tell me what I need to do. It will have to be part time, though. I'm not going to let my mother support me, so I'll have to find another job real soon," Brandy answered with renewed hope.

"Do you have one lined up, yet?"

"I guess I could go to the elementary school lunchroom. Peggy Craig says I can start there, anytime I want. I'm not real crazy about the idea. I don't really like kids very much, but a job's a job," Brandy answered.

"People say that there's nothing wrong with any kind of honest work, Brandy. And there isn't. But, have you ever thought of aiming a little higher? Anyone can serve food in a cafeteria, but not everyone can read and understand English as well as you could, if you worked at it. Have you heard about the Grantville Research Center? They could use some younger people, and it looks like you could be a help to them," Jessica responded. "Their budget isn't that large, so I'm not sure what they'll pay. And I warn you, you'd have to do a lot of reading. It won't always be interesting reading, either. Research is so much harder without the internet to rely on that you might think that the job is pretty hard to do, at first."

"You think I could get a desk job? Would they hire me, Mrs. Whitney? I haven't done anything like that, ever."

"Give me a day or so to talk to Laura Jo or Meg. I'll let you know, okay?" Jessica smiled warmly at Brandy. "You scored really well on reading comprehension. They need that. If you can pay enough attention to all the little details, you can do it."

* * *

"And how was your day?" Donna asked as Brandy slumped into a chair.

"My brain hurts. My eyes are going to cross if I have to read another word." Brandy groaned. "I never knew that so many people could have so many questions. Where do rubber trees grow? What is the melting point of . . . whatever it was, I can't remember. "What's the chemical composition of . . . something? It might be easier to wash pots and pans all day. Why am I doing this, again?"

Donna grinned at her tired daughter as she rubbed her own aching legs. In spite of her complaints about the research, Brandy seemed to be enjoying herself. Donna was glad to see that Brandy was beginning to look like her old self. She looked happier and somehow softer, less like the hard-edged barmaid. "We go through this every evening, Brandy. You're doing it to make a better life for yourself. How are the studies coming along?"

"Pretty well, I think. Mrs. Whitney says I can probably pass the test in a couple of months. I got to sit down and have lunch with Justine, today, too. She's just about my age and her English is pretty good. I like her."

"Why don't you plan to invite her over in a few weeks, then?" Donna asked. "You and I are going to have a little celebration, pretty soon."

"What do we have to celebrate, Mom?"

"Oh, lots of things. Your new job, new friends, old friends, and most of all," Donna paused as she placed a packet of papers on the table, "I made the last payment on the mortgage today. The house is all ours, finally. Now, with the extra money, maybe we can remodel that garage."

Brandy smiled at her mother. Donna had wanted to pay off the mortgage for years. Converting the garage to a room to rent would add even more money to their budget. Donna's excitement and happiness at her success was infectious. "I'd like to invite Blake, if you don't mind, Mom. And I really ought to include that pal of his. Bill Something . . . Magen, I think. I sort of owe both of them an apology."

* * *

"There is girl, again," Bill muttered with a sigh.

Blake followed Bill's gaze and saw Vicky Emerson walking toward them. Even to Blake's untutored eyes, Vicky looked like a wealthy young woman. He had recently paid the bill for having his uniforms altered to fit and was still surprised at the cost of the clothing he had seen in the shop. The simple alterations hadn't cost that much, but the price of fabric for new clothing was incredible. With fabric that expensive, Blake couldn't imagine what Vicky's outfit had cost.

Bill sighed again. "Her parents must be very wealthy for her to dress so well. They must be arranging a very good marriage for her."

Blake stared at Bill in surprise. Bill had some of the strangest ideas sometimes. How could anyone think that an American parent would arrange a marriage?

"She's only fourteen or fifteen, Bill. Her parents won't have marriage in mind for years, and even then they won't arrange it. She'll pick her own husband. Besides, she's the one who's rich. Her mom is a teacher and her dad works at the power plant. You can't get rich that way."

Bill looked at Blake in surprise. Blake had the strangest ideas sometimes. How could any responsible parent not arrange a proper marriage? And, how could any young girl be rich if her parents weren't? And, there was just no way that this girl could be only fourteen years old. She certainly didn't look that young to Bill.

* * *

"Justine, what happened?" Brandy asked. Justine had run past her, crying and in a panic.

Justine stood at the washbasin, holding a wet cloth over her left eye. Her normally neat appearance wasn't in evidence today. One of her sleeves was torn, her hair loose from its usually neat braid and her face was flushed. Her right eye leaked tears and she appeared to be shivering with fright.

"What is going on around here?" Barbara Monroe boomed, causing both young women to jump. "What on earth? Justine, what happened to you?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out, Mrs. Monroe," Brandy answered, "but Justine hasn't had a chance to answer me."

Barbara approached the shivering Justine and coaxed her to lower the cloth. The flesh around Justine's left eye was beginning to show some spectacular color. It was going to be a remarkable shiner.

"Who did this, Justine? Tell me. I'm going to call the police right now." Barbara was outraged. "Who ever it was is going to spend a few days in jail."

"No, please," Justine cried. "Please do not, Frau Monroe. Do not, I beg you."

"Young lady, no one is going to attack you and get away with it. Who was it?"

Justine stubbornly refused to answer, until Barbara gave up her questioning. "Brandy, I don't know what's going on, but if she won't let me call the police, why don't you take her to your house? She's in no state to work. Besides, I don't want anyone to see her this way. You'll both still get paid for today, I'll see to that. Keep her with you for the weekend, even. Maybe by Monday she'll come to her senses and turn this person in. Wait here, while I go get Reardon Miller to walk you two home."

* * *

Brandy could tell that Justine had been a little afraid to leave the building, but the presence of Mr. Miller reassured her. The walk to Brandy's house was fairly short and no one bothered the girls. The streets weren't exactly deserted, but almost everyone in the neighborhood worked, so the area was nearly empty. Once they had entered the house and locked the doors, Mr. Miller headed back to the research center.

Brandy got Justine settled on the couch in the living room and made a couple of cups of mint tea. After serving Justine, she sat down and tried to organize her thoughts.

Brandy looked over at Justine, who sat quietly and seemed to be beginning to relax. "Who did this?"

Justine began crying quietly. Brandy was dismayed at how quickly the tears began. "Justine, just tell me. I'm not going to call the cops. I just want to know so we can stay away from whoever did it."

Justine seemed to calm down and finally began to speak. "It was Arend. He was the man I would marry, if Magdeburg had not been destroyed, if we had stayed at home. My father, he brought him with us, when we fled. He has gone mad, Brandy. He did this when I told him I must come to work. He screamed that I have helped to destroy him, and that I am becoming too much like the Americans. He screamed that he would kill me, if I did not stop."

Brandy could tell that this wasn't the whole story. Her own experience left her feeling that Justine was leaving out a lot of details.

"What else did he do? This isn't all of it, Justine."

Justine couldn't answer at first, she was crying so hard. "Henning, he does not know. Arend, when we ran from the city, he . . . he . . ."

"He got you alone, when your brother and your father were doing something else, and he raped you, didn't he?"

Justine wept hysterically and it seemed a long while before she was able to speak.

"I have been so afraid. Arend swore to me that he would kill me if I told of this. He was to be my husband, he said, and I must obey. Mein brudder, Henning, Arend, he would kill him, too. Arend, he is mad. I fear to tell Henning. Arend will kill him and I will have no one. I do not want to be alone in the world. We have no home, no money, and now I am . . ."

When Justine shuddered to a halt, Brandy knew what words she had been unable to speak. "No, Justine. You are not spoiled. You are not ruined. It wasn't your fault, and you didn't deserve it," Brandy asserted. "No matter what you think, no matter what he said, that much just isn't true."

"You do not understand . . . You do not. I feel so . . ."

Brandy's own tears started rolling down her face. "Dirty. You feel dirty and ashamed and you don't think you'll ever be clean again. You feel so dirty that you can't imagine ever being worth anything to anyone. Not even to yourself."

Justine's eyes widened in shock as she looked into Brandy's eyes, and understood what she saw there. "You! It happened also to you?"

"Oh, yes, Justine," Brandy said. "It happened to me, and I don't even have the excuse that I was running from soldiers. I deliberately went somewhere I wasn't supposed to go and was doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing . . ."

"Like at a certain frat party, with a certain young man I told you to stay away from, maybe?" Donna knew she should have kept quiet. She hadn't been able to stop the words. Both young women stopped talking, exactly what Donna didn't want.

"How long have you been standing there, Mom?"

"Long enough, Brandy, long enough," Donna admitted as she walked into the room. "You two were so intent that I guess you didn't hear me come in. I've thought for years now that something must have happened to you and that whatever it was, it had to be pretty ugly. You just wouldn't tell me and I wasn't sure what to do except wait. Go on, finish your story," she continued, as she sat down and put her arms around her daughter. "Get it out."

"I don't know all of it, Mom. I think he slipped me some kind of drug, maybe. I have flashes of memory, sort of pictures in my head." Donna held her daughter tightly as Brandy started shaking. "They're awful. He did things, things that make me sick to think of. I couldn't talk about it. What would you have thought of me, if I told you? What would anybody think?"

All three women were crying, and talking at once. In Brandy's case, years of poisonous thoughts, self-recriminations, fears of betrayal and discovery poured out. For Justine, it was months, but the feelings of degradation weren't limited by the time. Eventually, the emotional storm began to wear down. Gradually, over a space of time, the weeping diminished. Finally, Donna stood and shook herself into some kind of order.

"Okay, you two. It's out. You can go on with life and we can make it better. There's not a thing we can do to the man who hurt Brandy, Justine, but there is something that can be done about this Arend person. You need to tell your brother."

"Mein Gott, Henning! It is so late, he will be worried. I must go. He does not know where I am. He was to meet me after the work, and I am not there."

The knock on the door startled everyone. Donna was relieved to find Blake Haggerty standing on the porch, along with another young man in an MP uniform. Behind them stood another man who, judging from his looks, could only be Henning Drugen, Justine's brother.

"Mrs. Bates, do you know where Brandy is? We were passing the research center and found Henning here going a little crazy trying to find his sister. Mr. Reardon said that Miss Drugen might still be with Brandy."

"They're both here, Blake. Gentlemen, come in," Donna answered. "There's a bit of a problem, and you're just the people we need to see."

* * *

Mary Emerson smiled as Gannon sat down at the dinner table. For a change, all four of her family would have a chance to talk over dinner. The last two years had been incredibly hectic. Between Gannon working the "B" shift, her own work at the library, young David's birth, and the Ring of Fire, Mary sometimes felt like she had lost touch with her family.

"There's nothing like a dinner with two beautiful women to make a guy happy," Gannon joked. "A couple of gorgeous blondes, a bouncing boy, and a quiet dinner at home seems like heaven to me."

Mary and Vicky both grinned at Gannon, pleased to be together. Even the two-year-old David gurgled happily in his highchair, chanting "Da, Da" sounds and making the usual mess with his food.

So much has been going on in our lives, Mary thought. The addition of the housekeeper and her daughter to the household, while relieving her child-care concerns and domestic responsibilities, had also added an element of reserve between Mary, Vicky and Gannon. Tonight, with Margrethe and Eva away, Mary had both the time and the privacy to pay attention to her husband and daughter.

"Vicky, I swear it seems like you've grown-up all of a sudden. I never noticed that outfit before tonight. It looks really good on you."

Vicky blushed, a bit, and breezily answered, "Well, I haven't had it very long. All my old stuff was getting kind of short. I wonder if I'm ever going to stop growing up and start growing out."

Gannon looked a little embarrassed suddenly. He hastily changed the subject, "All your investments must be going pretty well then. I was kind of surprised when I had to buy a new shirt. Just couldn't believe the cost."

"Oh, I'm in pretty good shape, Dad. I can afford a few things."

"You know, Gannon," Mary said, "that reminds me about our own savings. That money is just sitting in the bank, not doing much. Don't you think that we should probably take advantage of having a financial genius in the house? Vicky, I used to think that you might be a little young for this, but now, with you so grown up and all, maybe you could recommend some investments for me and Dad."

* * *

Vicky sat at her desk and thought hard. "You've been stupid," she told herself, "You've been stupid, silly, jealous, and acting like a brat." The other girls might have a point. She had been a little extravagant lately. Maybe she hadn't really needed quite so many new things.

Still, Vicky knew she was good at this investing game. Not quite as good or as focused as Susan, but certainly as good as Judy. She could be even better if she wanted to. And, suddenly, she did want to. If Mom and Dad trusted her, she wasn't going to let them down.

Vicky reached for the phone and glared at the offending instrument. Making this call wasn't going to be easy. She had to stay in the consortium. She needed their input. She was going to have to talk to Judy.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Millie," Anita said. "I didn't realize you were in here."

Millicent blushed furiously as she wrapped the towel around herself. "I hate being called Millie, Mom. It sounds like a name from 'Little House on the Prairie.' It seems like I'm old enough that you could call me by the name you gave me."

Mom looked a little strange, kind of shaken up or something. She didn't even complain that Millicent had been rude, just stood aside and let her leave the bathroom.

* * *

Anita stared at her own reflection while she washed her hands. When she realized that she was looking for wrinkles or gray hair, she shook her head at her own vanity. Of course she was getting older; everyone did, unless they died young. She just hadn't thought about Millicent being a part of "everyone." She was going to have to rethink some things. Millie, No, Millicent she corrected, might be small, but she definitely wasn't a little girl any more.

* * *

The young trainees, Blake and Bill, knew the correct procedures and called in the person Donna needed to see. After Marvin Tipton finished taking Justine's statement and left, the boys stayed for a few minutes, talking to Brandy.

Noting that Justine and her brother were having an intense, emotional conversation, Donna drifted a bit closer. If Henning was blaming Justine for what had happened, he was going to get an old-fashioned chewing out.

In fact, Henning was blaming himself. "No, Henning, is not your fault," Justine was insisting. "There was no other thing to do. He did not touch me, after that time. He never touched me at our rooms, not until today, when I would not listen to him."

"What!" said Donna. "You've been forced to live with this wretch! It's going to be a little crowded, Justine, but you and Brandy can share her room. Henning, you can sleep on the couch. Neither one of you is going back to anyplace this guy might be able to get into. You'll just have to stay here until he's caught."

Donna overrode any protests, and directed Blake to go with Henning to collect any belongings, right now, and hurry up about it. Henning and Justine gave in with good grace and a show of relief. Bill Magen would stay at the house and wait for Blake and Henning to get back, just in case.

* * *

Arend Nebel stood silently in the deepest shadow he could find, seething to himself. So far, he had managed to avoid the police. He had returned to his rooms only to see Henning and the young MP leaving the premises. That they were burdened with bundles and bags as they left only made Arend angrier. They were going to pay for this. They were all going to pay.

His jumbled thoughts settled on one object of his anger. The blonde girl, the one who had stolen his stock that day, she was the responsible one. Yes, that one, the girl who had acted as though the stock was worthless until he dropped the price, she would be the first to die. Arend fingered the knife he carried. When he finished with the blonde, he would take care of the other witches, the faithless Justine who had gotten away, and then the Gundelfinger woman.

* * *

"Oh, yes, I am too going to work," Brandy said. "And so is Justine, so is Henning and so are you, Mom. We're not going to live in fear of that creep. We're still going to have our celebration this weekend, too. I just got my normal life back, and I'm going to keep it. No cowardly little weasel is going to stop me."

Donna smiled inwardly as she looked at her daughter. Brandy might not be completely healed, but she was improving, just a little bit, every day. So was Justine. Living life the way you wanted to was the best revenge against a bully. Never let the bastards get you down, Donna thought.

"Fine, Brandy," she answered. "You will be careful, though? You won't go running off alone, or into dark alleys, stuff like that?"

"Yes, Mom, we'll all be careful. We'll either be on the bus or in some other public place all the time. Just don't worry."

"Frau Bates," Henning began, "I must talk to you. It is not right, that you should open your home to us this way and not accept some payment. You must let me . . ."

Donna interrupted, brusquely, "Henning, I'm not going to charge someone for a bed on the couch. It wouldn't be right. But, I have been thinking about something, and maybe you could help. This isn't a very big house, and it's been around a few years, so it isn't very fancy. Now that we're here and cars are pretty useless, so is the garage, at least as a garage. I think we could make that space into a bedroom, or maybe even an apartment to rent to you and Justine. Do you know anything about that sort of thing?"

Henning grinned. "I learn. I learn the electric, for the 'Kelly Construction.' I learn it so I may teach, someday, that all may have the lights. I will ask my friends. Maybe I can get, what is it, a discount."

* * *

Vicky was preoccupied as she walked toward another meeting with her friends and Helene. The last few days had been really busy and very informative. She had learned that her parents just didn't understand business, and that they knew it. They were even a little intimidated by the thought of investing. There wasn't that much in the family savings account, although there should have been more. Her parents had good jobs that paid pretty well, but they tended to spend most of their salaries.

Most of the family's wealth was tied up in equity on the house and in a boatload of up-time equipment stored in the garage. Back when she had realized that she had sold her Barbie dolls too soon, and for too little money, she had made a comment about selling stuff too quickly. So, Mom and Dad hadn't sold anything, just stored it. Vicky hadn't realized that they were waiting for her to tell them what they should do.

The realization that her parents weren't uninterested in her, that they were just not sure what to do, was a shock. Mom and Dad didn't want to mess up her chances by trying to second-guess her decisions. They were proud of her but didn't want to put any pressure on her.

Vicky was so busy thinking and planning that the arm that snaked out and grabbed her was a complete surprise. The rage on the man's face scared her and being thrown hard against the building made her see stars for a couple of seconds. She felt the front of her blouse being grabbed and then she was being dragged into the space between two buildings.

"Bitch, harlot, thieving Daughter of Eve," he hissed. "You thought you could cheat me, destroy me, all to buy pretty clothes. You will not do this, not to me. I am a man, not one of you whimpering, soft up-timers. You hide behind evil magic. You cheat me. You use your looks to trap me. Maybe I fix the looks."

Vicky felt a sting on her cheek and saw a knife in front of her eye. The man giggled, with a high-pitched insane sound. The face was familiar, but she couldn't place him. Her head hurt and she couldn't remember.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this? Let me go," she screamed, trying to pull away.

He threw her against the wall again, hissing "You do not remember Badenburg, little whore? You stole my life in Badenburg. I steal your life now. I will use your beauty, yes, and then I will destroy you."

Vicky felt him grab her blouse again and saw the knife begin to come up. "No!" she screamed and pushed him as hard as she could.

He fell back a little and she felt the blouse tear. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a nightstick came down. It hit the wrist of his knife hand and she heard the sound of cracking wood as the knife flew away. Then there was a blur as someone else pushed the madman away.

Tears still blurred her vision and she blinked rapidly to clear them. Blake Haggerty and another young man were handcuffing the madman, even while he struggled and kept screaming that she was a demon and had destroyed his life.

Another policeman, this one in civilian clothes, had arrived and was helping Blake control the lunatic. The other uniformed young man approached Vicky and pressed a clean cloth to the cut on her cheek. She realized that her blouse was torn to a rag when the young man handed her his jacket. The madman was screaming, "She destroyed me. She stole my life to buy clothes. Women, they are all whores." Vicky looked down at the expensive rag she wore and began to wonder if some of what he screamed was true.

* * *

Susan and Judy were the first of the Barbie Consortium to arrive at the mob scene that the street had become. By the time they learned that Vicky had been attacked the rest of the girls had shown up, as well as half a dozen police officers. The police officers were trying to weed out the real witnesses from the crowd and telling people to move along, trying to clear the area. The officers told the girls that they could take Vicky to the doctor's office and then home. They also reminded Vicky that they would need to take her statement.

* * *

Doc Adams cleaned and bandaged the cut on Vicky's cheek, but insisted on calling her mother. "She'll want to know, Vicky," he responded in answer to her protests, "and she needs to know. You are a minor, after all"

The cut wasn't especially deep, so only cleaning and bandaging was needed. "She just needs to be careful and keep the cut clean and dry. Yes, she'll have a very faint scar for a while, but it should fade in time," Doc Adams said, in answer to Judy's worried questions.

* * *

Mary Emerson, frantic with worry, met the girls as they were leaving the doctor's office. "My God, Vicky, what's going on? The nurse said you were attacked! Who did this?"

"I'm fine, Mom, just fine," Vicky said, as the rest of her friends clustered around her. "Mom, let's just go home, please. We'll talk about it there, okay?"

Once at home, Mary heard the whole story. After the explanations, Vicky said, "We drove him to it, Mom. It's our fault. If we hadn't taken advantage of him, and of other people like him, it wouldn't have happened."

"What are you talking about, Vicky?" Heather asked. "You know as well as I do that a whole bunch of people laughed themselves silly when we bought their stock. They thought we were a bunch of stupid kids. They were glad to sell, and didn't care if we took a big loss. I heard some of them laugh about it, when they thought we couldn't hear them."

"Not everyone, Heather. Some of them were just regular people who were scared, and afraid of losing everything. We encouraged it and we took advantage of it. Some people asked for a lot less than they should have. You know they did," Vicky said.

"We paid them what they asked for, Vicky. It's not our fault if they didn't know what they were doing," Heather insisted stubbornly. "All they had to do was hold on, and everything would have been okay. I'm not taking blame when someone acts like an idiot."

"Don't you think we should have told them?" Vicky asked, earnestly. "Maybe we should have tried to teach them, not just take advantage."

"Everyone we bought stock from was selling that stock for more than they thought it was worth," Judy said. "It didn't matter if they were rich or not. It didn't matter if they were in a panic or not. The one thing we know about every person that sold us stock that day is that they were willing to dump what they thought was worthless paper on anyone who would buy it. If they were willing to dump it on people they thought were a bunch of dumb girls who didn't know any better, they don't get any sympathy from me.

"I did tell a couple of people, you know. I tried to tell one guy, some cousin of the mayor of Eisenach. He was scared to death about his investment, but he wouldn't dump it on someone he thought didn't know what it was worth. He wouldn't listen to me so I got Mr. Kunze to explain it to him. Besides, I agreed to pay what they asked. It's just like a run on the stock market back up-time. Some people panic and some people . . ."

Bang! Bang! Bang! The knock on the door sounded like gun shots and startled everyone. Mary, not at all amused, went to answer the door.

* * *

"Do we really have to do this, Bill?"

Bill got a really stubborn look on his face. "We will. I wish to know about this Vicky, und how she is. We have only to knock on the door and ask that she is all right. Then we will leave."

Blake wasn't convinced that things were going to be that easy. Girls still made him a little nervous. They just didn't think the way he did. Still, he followed Bill up the walk to the Emerson house, determined to see this through.

It wasn't Vicky who opened the door. It was her mother. Bill stumbled a bit, introducing himself, and Blake stepped in to explain that Bill wanted to check on the welfare of her daughter. Mary Emerson's eyes seemed to see right through Blake's lame explanation.

"Come on in, officers," Mrs. Emerson said, with an odd emphasis on the word "officers." "I'm sure the girls will be glad to see you."

"Girls?" Blake asked.

"Oh, yes, didn't you know? All of Vicky's little friends are here. They brought her home and stayed to make sure she's okay." Again, there was a funny emphasis, this time on the word "little." Blake had the feeling that that Mrs. Emerson might be trying to send him some sort of message.

The young men followed her into the living room, and found a cluster of girls, all talking at once. The girls fell quiet for a moment, until Vicky recognized Bill as the man who had saved her from harm. She even stood up and thanked him sincerely for saving her life. Blake was just a little miffed by this. After all, he was the one who hit Arend Nebel with his baton. Bill hadn't been the only one there.

Blake came out of his momentary rush of memory only to hear Bill inviting everyone to Mrs. Bates' celebration, tomorrow afternoon. Somehow, Bill had phrased his invitation to include everyone in the room, as well as anyone else who wanted to come. Mrs. Emerson, faced with the joint acceptance of all seven girls, didn't say anything right away, but she did drag Blake into the hall for a quick talk. His ears still burning, Blake left with Bill a few moments later.

"Uh, Bill, there's something we need to talk about," Blake muttered. "Something that Mrs. Emerson told me."

"The mother, she worries, as all mothers worry about young girls," Bill acknowledged. "I know girl is too young, now. But, I will marry her one day. I know this. I wish only that she will remember me while we are in army. I will be ready in six, seven years. She will marry me then."

Bill's absolute certainty confounded Blake. Blake couldn't imagine what would be happening to him in the next six days, much less in six or seven years. How could Bill, who was only a couple of months past eighteen, just like Blake, be so sure of the future?

"If you say so," Blake remarked. "That's if you live through the next few hours."

Surprised, Bill looked at Blake, the question written all over his face.

Grinning, Blake answered the unspoken question. "Buddy or not, I'm not going to be the person who tells Mrs. Bates that a bunch more people have been invited to her party. You get to do that all by yourself, my friend."

* * *

"Bill and Vicky, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Hayley chanted, much to Vicky's chagrin.

"Good grief, Hayley," Millicent muttered. "Grow up, why don't you?"

Hayley grinned as she answered, "Well, maybe they aren't now, but they will someday."

"I don't think so," Mary said, glad to see that the girls were recovering their normal natures. "At least, I better not catch them at it anytime soon."

The girls all giggled and blushed and continued to poke good-humored fun at Vicky for a while, until Vicky asked, "Millicent, what did you do to yourself? You look different."

"Oh, just a little haircut." Millicent preened, pleased that someone had finally noticed. "The stylist said that my hair was overwhelming my face, so she got rid of a bunch of it. She said it detracted from my looks."

"Ohhhh, a stylist, was it?" Susan grinned. "You couldn't just go to the beauty shop, like the rest of us?"

"Beauty shops are for peons," Millicent pretended to sniff haughtily, "Us real rich folk go to see a stylist."

Even Mary had to laugh. Millicent did look much different. Without the mass of hair, she no longer looked like a moppet, but more like the young woman she was. She still looked like a little pixie, but she didn't look like a child anymore.

* * *

Vicky was the first to arrive at the Bates home, along with Judy. Arend Nebel's screamed imprecations had had a profound affect on her. She felt she had to make amends, somehow. She knew that most of the group didn't really share her view. Still, some people had been hurt, and Vicky felt responsible.

When Brandy answered the door, Vicky handed over the covered dish that she had brought for the party. "I know we're early, Brandy, and I'm sorry. I just really need to speak to your guests."

Brandy looked at Vicky in surprise. "How do you know Justine and Henning?" she blurted out.

"I don't know them, exactly. But, I've done them some harm and I have to fix it. Could we see them, please?"

Brandy escorted Vicky and Judy into the kitchen, where Justine and Henning were sitting at the table, enjoying a quiet moment before the party began. After introducing everyone, Brandy sat down with the rest of them and stared at Vicky and Judy, curiosity in her face.

Vicky touched the bandage on her cheek, and tried to speak, but wasn't able to. Judy, watching with concern, decided to step in.

"The reason we're here is that Vicky kind of thinks we may have done something bad. We didn't mean to, exactly, but looking back on it, maybe we did. We took advantage of people and we didn't realize that they were people just like us. People trying their best to get ahead and do well. We feel kind of bad about doing it, and we want to make it up to you, somehow."

Henning looked at the girls with interest. He could tell that they meant their words. The shame on Vicky's face was clear to see. He recognized her, just as Arend had. She was the girl who had driven down the price of the stock Arend had sold. She had convinced Arend that a lower price was better than no price at all. Arend had sold all the stock he owned and come close to ruining himself.

Henning; however, was a sharper player of the game. In spite of Arend's urging, Henning had continued to hold on to his father's investments. Those investments would begin paying, and soon, he felt. Not everyone had sold their stock at bargain prices. Quite a few people besides the girls had continued to buy instead of sell.

"You should not worry. Arend, he was always a bit impatient," Henning explained. "Always, he was in a hurry, never able to wait. You did not cause his madness. I discovered, recently, that he was always not the man I thought I knew."

Vicky started crying. "I feel so bad. I never meant to hurt anyone. I keep wondering how many people are in the same boat, just because of me. I'll never do that again. Never. I'll be honest and give honest value, I swear."

"Is not so bad, to be, how do you say . . . sharp trader," Henning answered. "What is American saying, Ah, yes, I have it . . . 'never give a sucker the break even.'"

Judy burst into laughter. It took a while for her to calm down and explain.

* * *

"How did this happen?" Donna wondered. From a small celebration with a few friends, her "mortgage-burning" get-together had somehow become a full-blown party, complete with covered dishes, music, and dancing in the street. It wasn't exactly what she had counted on. It was nice, even enjoyable, but not what she had planned.

She wandered around, talking to people she knew and meeting the people she didn't know. Some of Henning's friends from work had stopped by, ostensibly to check out the garage she wanted to remodel, and wound up staying. Susan Logsden and all her friends were here, along with a German woman and her little girl. Susan had introduced Mrs. Gundelfinger as her teacher although Donna wasn't too clear on what the woman taught. Young Blake Haggerty had even set himself up as a DJ, with one of those silly microphone things.

Donna headed toward Blake, intending to ask him for some slightly quieter music. Heather Mason apparently had the same idea, since Donna heard her pleading with Blake to play her favorite Fats Domino CD. Blake good-humoredly gave in, and the loud music got toned down a bit.

"Thanks, Heather," Donna said. "I was beginning to wonder if my hearing would survive that last number."

"Me, too, Mrs. Bates. I just hate that stuff," Heather said. "It's a really nice party, you know. I'm having a lot of fun."

"I'm glad to hear it, dear. It isn't exactly what I had planned, but what the heck. I'll have a big audience when my time in the spotlight comes."

Heather looked at Donna curiously. "Spotlight?"

"Oh, yes, Heather. This whole thing started out as a little celebration for me. I made the last payment on my mortgage a couple of weeks ago. The house is paid for, finally."

"But that's just nuts, Mrs. Bates." Heather blushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes when that exclamation rang out. During a lull in the music, Blake's microphone had picked up her words and sent them flying through the crowd. Everyone around them turned to look at Heather, who now seemed to be a complete loss for words.

Donna stared at the girl and said, "Perhaps you'd like to explain that remark, young lady."

As the flustered Heather looked for a way out of the limelight, Vicky Emerson started to apologize for her. "She didn't mean it the way it sounded, Mrs. Bates. Heather just isn't very diplomatic."

"I should say not. I've worked and slaved for years to get where I am. Some teenager doesn't need to be telling me I'm nuts."

"I'll be glad to explain it, Mrs. Bates, really, I will. Vicky's right, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I was just surprised that you'd be willing to keep your money locked up that way," Heather said.

"Money? What are you talking about? I said I paid off my house, nothing about money." Donna was becoming interested in spite of her annoyance. The whole town knew these girls were getting rich, and knew they'd gotten their start by selling their toys.

"Money, Mrs. Bates. This house represents money, and quite a bit of it, at that. Every house in this neighborhood is worth a fortune, at least a half-million dollars. Some of them are worth even more than that. What you've got is a great big chunk of money that's just sitting here, not growing and not doing you any good. I'm sorry, but it isn't the smartest thing you could do," Vicky explained. "I'm recommending that my parents pull their equity out of their house, with a second mortgage. Then, we'll invest that equity. Some of it will go into OPM, and some of it will go into new companies, to spread the risk. It's called diversifying."

People from all around the neighborhood were listening with interest. Everyone knew about savings accounts, but hearing business theory from teenagers who were getting rich was, well, weird. The attention had grown beyond Vicky and Heather's ability to cope with. They desperately wanted out of this. Judy, always the showman, stepped up and took Blake's microphone.

"Okay, everyone. Give us a few minutes. Listen to some music and relax. Since everyone seems so interested in this subject, we'll get something organized and be back in a few. Just enjoy the party."

* * *

The audience watched as seven teenaged girls and one adult went into a huddle. They huddled so long that some people, who were just watching them, started to get bored. It was almost thirty minutes before Judy returned to the microphone and started speaking.

"The first thing that we really need to mention is the difference between what's happening now and what was going on back up-time. Economically, I mean.

"Up-time, we had what's called a saturated economy. That means that there was business and production from all over the world. There wasn't room for a lot of expansion, unless you had some fancy new technology or something. If you wanted to open a business, you had to compete with all the businesses what were already there, so it was really hard to make money.

"Down-time, things were different. Most of Germany, most of the world we landed in, was in the middle of a big depression, as well as in the middle of a big war. It's not like that, now, here in Thuringia. We have all sorts of things that people know how to make, and all sorts of things we are making. And, we have millions of people to sell these things to. My sister says it's like the beginning of the Golden Age, back in America, near the end of the nineteenth century. Right now, right here, we have the beginning of what's probably going to be about fifty years of rapid expansion, a 'bull' market.

"That means that what you should do with your property is different. We already have tourists coming to see the Ring of Fire. The roads and the waterways are going to get better, so more and more people will come. That means that your property is worth a lot more than it was up-time."

Nothing that Judy was saying was really new to anyone. Everyone had heard the same words, or read them in the paper, or seen people talk about it on TV. It was the same old thing, but now the information changed a bit. Judy took a note card from Susan and started talking about a subject near and dear to the hearts of average Americans, taxes.

"Even up-time, having your home paid off wasn't really the most profitable thing to do. It was safe and it was simple, but not profitable. Now, in a new Golden Age, it isn't even very safe. As the property values go up, so will the taxes. It will take a few years for the taxes to catch up, because the government has put a twenty percent per year limit on those taxes. The government had to limit the growth of the taxes or half the people inside the Ring of Fire would get evicted when the taxes come due in a few months. Think about that.

"The taxes you pay will go up twenty percent per year for at least the next ten years. That's just to catch up to the value of your property today. It's like it was back in the Silicon Valley, in California, when houses that people bought for fifty thousand dollars in 1960 were worth three million dollars in 1999. The government is protecting you from being forced out of your property, because no matter how much the assessed value of your home goes up, the taxes aren't going to go up more than twenty percent. That's still a lot of money, though. Taxes that were a thousand dollars last year are going to be twelve hundred this year. In ten years, they'll be about sixty-three hundred. How hard is it going to be to save that kind of money?

"If you leave your equity in your home, you're probably going to have to sell it in a few years, just to pay the taxes that are going to come due. You'll have to do that unless you have something else to make you rich. Bad news, isn't it?"

The crowd began to murmur. Hearing this on TV didn't have quite the same impact that an earnest young woman talking from the heart had. She made it so clear.

"Now for the good news. Investing in stocks and bonds is probably safer now than it was up-time, as long as you're even a little bit careful. Don't go financing a trip for someone to raid King Tut's tomb, okay?"

Laughter echoed through the crowd. There had been a lot of silly talk about gold rushes and treasure hunting, nearly ever since the Ring of Fire had happened.

"A lot of new companies are starting up. For the first time in history, an awful lot of them are going to make it, too. But, there's a little more bad news. If you don't invest, you're going to get left behind. With the property values going up, the taxes are going up, and without some kind of investments, you're actually more likely to lose your house if you pay it off.

"What you need to do is refinance your home and get about half or three-quarters of its market value. Then, you invest the money, either in new businesses starting up, or in mutual funds that will probably pay you something like ten percent a year interest. A good new business could pay you more like fifty percent a year on your investment.

"So, even after you make your mortgage payment, the investments will pay you more money than you pay out. Probably a lot more, but it depends on what you invest in. You just have to be careful, like I said. That's why Heather said what she said."

Judy then stepped away from the microphone and found herself answering question after question. She and the rest of the Barbie Consortium, as well as Helene, after people got more used to her, spent the rest of the evening answering questions for their half-disbelieving audience.

* * *

"The thing is, money gets really complicated," Vicky explained. "Everything is all tied together, like the value of your property, and the value of the dollar. The value of the dollar is so high right now that wages probably aren't going to go up very much for a few years, but the taxes will. It will get harder and harder to save money, so you need to invest while you have the chance.

"And, we've all got to stop thinking like we did back up-time. Almost every up-timer is an irreplaceable resource and knows more about how to do things than the down-timers do. We all need to start good businesses, or invest our money, and even get every bit of training we can. Just being able to read English puts you ahead of the game, so don't waste your time in a job anyone can do. If you have things that people want, sell them and then invest the money. Just ask Heather what she'd be willing to pay for a new CD player."

Donna was trying to both listen and maintain her grip on Helene's daughter. The little girl was determined to get to her mother and squirmed loose just as Helene was trying to bring one of her discussions to an end. While she was running as swiftly as she could, the little girl naturally tripped and fell with a thump. She began crying at the top of her lungs.

The man at whose feet she fell gently helped her stand and brushed her off a bit. Donna had met him earlier and even asked him about matching the brick on her house. He was very tall, with broad shoulders and a thick mane of black hair that he wore in a single braid. If I were only a few years younger, Donna remembered thinking during the introduction.

The little girl stared trustingly into his face and held up her arms, wanting to be picked up. He hesitated a moment, looking around for the child's parents. Helene caught his eye and nodded. He then picked her up with great care and set her on his shoulder so she could look all around. Her excitement and glee were really something to see.

Donna and Helene moved toward him, arriving at about the same time. Helene stood, mute, and stared up at him, obviously intrigued. Donna grinned to herself. This might be another budding romance, like the ones she had noticed this day. Bill and Vicky, while much too young, were obviously interested in one another. And, to Donna's extreme relief, Brandy seemed to be developing an interest in Henning. She had been afraid that Brandy might have lost all interest in getting married after her experience. Donna wanted grandchildren, someday, and was glad to see that it might happen.

Well, there's no point in just standing here, Donna decided. I guess I can go introduce them. 

* * *

Judy didn't like what she was seeing. Mrs. G looked kind of funny. Like she was really interested in the man she was talking to. She got Susan's attention and motioned toward Mrs. G. "Look at that, Susan. What do you think? Is it what I'm afraid it is?"

Susan took a long look. "Probably." She sighed. "Probably."

* * *

So many changes, Vicky thought as she looked at the people gathered in Tyler's Restaurant. She had been changed by the events of the last few weeks, she knew. In a way, though, she had found her place. She had a mission, now. She wanted to teach the up-timers and the down-timers, too. Not everyone understood the opportunities and dangers of their new world. She didn't want another Arend, but there were reasons, good reasons, to work the stock market.

Susan still wanted to be rich enough to be safe. Gabrielle wanted money to pay for medical school and become a doctor. Millicent still wanted to be treated like a grownup with something to contribute. Hayley and Judy had things they wanted to do, too, although they didn't really talk about it much. Heather, even after buying another CD player, spent a lot of her time researching ways to transfer her music to some other media, just in case this one broke, too.

Mrs. G stood at the front of the room, giving a lecture, as she did every month. This meeting; however, was a little different. Instead of teaching half a dozen young girls, Mrs. G now spoke to a growing, enthusiastic audience. Blake Haggerty was here, learning how to invest the money Heather had paid for his CD player. His friend, Bill Magen was here, too. Mrs. Bates and Brandy were taking notes, learning everything they could about investing the money they received for the new mortgage. So were about ten more people, all determined to learn everything she had to teach.

"Maybe," Vicky thought, "the biggest changes are still to come."

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