Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume XIII

"The male of this species was considered to be one of up-time America's most beautiful birds. There are no other ducks like it in Europe, fossil studies told us that it originated in North America and its closest relative is the Mandarin duck of China. I'm really glad they came along with us. If we're lucky we will see this group's poppa before we end the day." The kids oohed and aahed appreciatively. Their accompanying schoolteacher asked the kids to open their sketch books to record their sighting as the family of wood ducks paddled around in the nearby shallows. Pam wandered over to where Gerbald stood careful watch farther up the hollow's steep side. Despite his usual impassive expression Pam could see wrinkles of pleasure had formed around his bright blue eyes. Gerbald was such a softy under that stony exterior, the retired soldier was immensely enjoying playing bodyguard for the children.

The summer nature program was proving to be a resounding success; everyone involved was having a lot of fun, even stoic Gerbald. Pam felt proud of the program that had been her brainchild. Her interest in birds had grown to include the entire ecology that they were a part of, she had spent long hours in the National Library devouring all the material she could find; she was a well trained researcher and had rapidly absorbed a vast amount of information. She was also making progress on her pet project, writing and illustrating her Birds of the USE -A Field Guide. It was fun to think that she would be the default 'John J Audubon' of this universe, something that would have been impossible to imagine in her old life. She smiled up into the blue skies of seventeenth-century Germany, a place that was finally feeling like home.

The next day, Pam and Gerbald led a group of lively sixth graders up the now well worn trail to the lake. She enjoyed their cheerful banter as they lollygagged along, even though the noise was probably scaring off all the birds within a mile radius. Pam marveled at the adaptability of children, the mixed group of up-time and down-time Americans were yakking away in an untidy mishmash of English and German. Pam's German had progressed to where she could catch most it but apparently an arcane slang vocabulary was already developing, indecipherable to the hopelessly un-hip ears of an adult.

As she walked through the sun dappled woods listening to the babble around her, Pam reminisced on a long ago dinner party at the home of a work colleague from Morgantown who had spent many years working in Japan and had returned with a Japanese wife. At the table the two of them spoke in perfectly normal English. Of course, his very charming wife barely had an accent; but, when they were alone together in the kitchen bringing out more wine or another course, Pam overheard them both switch to a nearly incomprehensible mix of their respective languages. " Atsui yo, use the oven mitts, neh! " Pam didn't want to embarrass them, but couldn't help but ask them about it; her hosts just laughed. "Forgive our 'Japan-glish', we can't help it!" They explained that some words just "sounded better" in one or the other languages and so when trying to get an idea across they chose freely from both vocabularies. Listening to her junior birdwatchers Pam was sure she was hearing the sound of the future of their hybrid nation. Up-time Americans were going to have to get bilingual fast or they wouldn't be able to understand what their own kids were talking about!

Pam shushed the exuberant group as they arrived at the inlet. "All right everyone, it's time to be quiet and see which birds are here with us today. Yesterday there was a mother wood duck with her ducklings and they were darn cute!" The kids quieted down more quickly than she would expect. An excellent German influence on our up-time kids-when it's time to be quiet they do it, no argument! Pam was not one who flinched at applying some strictness in a child's upbringing, and rather admired the Germans for their expertise on the subject. She hoped her own Walt didn't resent her too much and she was awfully proud of how he had turned out. I wasn't the easiest mother to have, I know… I liked things my way and was damned picky! But maybe the discipline I taught him is making things easier for him as a young adult in this age. I hope so, anyway.

The kid's school teacher at Fluharty Middle School, Stacey Antoni, a very pleasant lady who had lost a husband to the Ring of Fire, had gathered them by the shore in a semblance of order, ready for Pam to get started. Gerbald had taken his usual watchful place on the hill side, their safety was in good hands. Pam began her introduction.

"This lake is an excellent example of the adaptation and mixture between North American and European ecologies along the Ring of Fire's rim. These reeds are a native German species that find they like the richness of West Virginia's soil much to their liking. The reeds are providing excellent habitat for a North American duck species, the wood duck, which we will hopefully-" Pam stopped her lecture when she noticed she had completely lost the attention of several schoolgirls nearest the water's edge.

"Oh, look! The liebchen, they are so cute!"

Baby ducks. Pam smiled ruefully. There is no competing with baby ducks.

"-see today. Well everyone, it appears that we have met our American ducks. The mother wood duck has grown accustomed to our visits and is no longer very shy. They like to stay in shallow water where they can find a lot of small insects to eat-"

"Ms. Miller!" A sweetly gawky-looking boy whose weight hadn't caught up with his latest growth spurt interrupted her. "Ms. Miller, where is the mother duck?"

Pam stepped closer to the still waters. The ducklings were huddled together beside a clump of marsh grass. They were strangely quiet and weren't engaged in their usual search for food. Pam scanned the shore for the wood duck hen; she was nowhere to be seen.

"That's odd." Pam looked back at the silent ducklings. There were only eight of them-the day before there had been ten.

Pam saw Gerbald, who seemed to possess an uncanny sixth sense when it came to trouble, was already coming down the hillside toward the group; a flash of blue as well trained eyes scanned the terrain from the shade of his monstrous hat's floppy brim.

Pam turned back to her group of students. "Well kids, it is a bit unusual for a mother duck to leave her babies unattended, but not unheard of. She may just be out looking for food and thought they would be safe here. Now is a good chance for you to get out your sketchbooks and get a picture drawn of them while they are sitting still." Pam flashed a quick concerned look to their teacher who returned a subtle nod. Message received, good teachers have an instinct for trouble. The teacher quickly went about getting the notebooks deployed and the students distracted with work. Pam walked casually but quickly to Gerbald who had moved quietly along the shore toward the inlet's mouth, his gaze alternating between the muddy ground and the vicinity.

"Gerbald, the mother duck and some of her ducklings are missing. I have a bad feeling about it… Maybe a fox?"

"Pam, I am looking for tracks. If they are here I will find." They didn't discuss the subject much but Pam knew that Gerbald had extensive hunting experience. As a former professional soldier there was no doubt a good many of his meals had come from the region's many forests. Gerbald was a very savvy woodsman. Born and raised in West Virginia, Pam was no stranger to the hunter's art. She had even brought down a buck herself on a hunting trip with her uncles and cousins back in her teens. She hadn't burst into tears as so many do, she had established too tough an exterior for that, especially in front of her boy cousins; but she hadn't relished the experience one bit either, and felt some regret at the sight of the death she had made. She accepted her family's praise, ate the venison, enjoyed the taste; but once was enough. Hunting was all right and a fact of life-within reason.