Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume XIII

"Well, that's good to hear Pam, but do tell me just why I'm a 'genius' sometime. Ain't never been called that before!"

Pam hurried down the asphalt road to Fluharty Middle School. She had already walked at least three miles today and would walk many more before the day was done. She allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction, back up-time she would not have been able to sustain such a pace. If the Ring of Fire had not brought an unexpected end to things as they were she wondered how long she would have continued her bonbon eating binges of self pity. Now she could barely imagine an alternative future up-time for herself; this was her life, right now, in sixteen hundred and thirty four. It didn't matter to her how they got here, act of god or the devil himself; she was here and making things happen. It felt like a second chance.

At the school Pam sought out Mrs. Antoni. She explained her idea and asked if the students could be brought to the task. Mrs. Antoni shared Pam's excitement.

"That's a wonderful idea, Pam! This will be an excellent learning opportunity, a good dose of civic action. Why not start now since you're here? I have them this next period and my lesson plan can wait for a good cause."

The sixth graders listened to Pam eagerly, after all she was the nice lady who broke them out of the stuffy old classroom ("School in summer? It's not fair!") to go on fun nature walks ("Our hero!"). Anything Ms. Miller needed she would get. As Pam explained the project Mrs. Antoni was readying the butcher paper and poster paints.

"In your notebooks you've drawn a lot of pictures of the birds you've seen. First we are going to make a list of all the American birds from your notes. Next we will assign each student, or group of students, one of those birds to make a poster for. We need a painted picture of the bird and text in both English and German asking people to please protect this species. The more posters you can make, the better!"

Soon the room was a buzzing beehive of activity. There were some pretty good artists in the group; Pam was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the paintings as she walked from table to table. A menagerie of tempera birds was taking shape; a common loon seen down by the power plant, a cedar waxwing found just down the drive from the school, a red head duck spotted on Plum Run, a summer tanager sighted on a fence post beside a farmer's field. The American birds had survived the trip intact and their numbers were increasing. Pam had not dared hope for so many species; it was another example of the resiliency of nature.

A painted slogan above a fair rendering of a Baltimore oriole caught her eye, big bold red and white striped letters with a blue outline: "Don't shoot! I'm an American!" Pam laughed. That will do!

"That's great!" Pam cheered them on. "You guys are doing great! I have to get going but I want to thank you all for the help!" Pam left to a chorus of cheers and encouragement from her nature program students. The future birdwatchers of America, and maybe more. The seeds have been planted and a crop of nature lovers is growing.

As she went up the long sunflower-lined walk to her front door Pam felt that something was amiss. The door was open and she could hear the sound of bustling activity inside. The lawn chair that Gerbald would have waited for her in on the narrow concrete porch stood empty.

"Gerbald? Dore?" She called through the door.

"I am here but you will not find that foolish man!' Dore's voice rang out harshly. Uh-oh. Pam entered to find Dore dismantling the temporary duck shelter, her hands moving with a harsh precision that spoke of a towering rage.

"Where is Gerbald, Dore?"

"Gerbald? You mean The Great Soldier? Why he is out hunting of course, hunting for blood." The towel the ducklings had slept on flew into the laundry hamper with hurricane force.

"What do you mean? What's going on, Dore?" The older woman paused in her frenetic cleaning. Her face was red and her eyes puffy; she was full of anger but there was also something of fear written across her broad face. She blew a hot puff of air from her button nose, her shoulders slumped as if letting go of some heavy load.

"The men who killed your wooden duck." Dore's English had greatly improved but still had some idiosyncrasies Pam often found too amusing to correct right away. "Gerbald knows them."

"What? How?" Pam moved closer, stunned at this revelation.

"They were soldiers with Gerbald. He knew them by the way they made trap, it was Gerbald who taught them that. They are bad men." A gray, worried expression swept the red from her face. "Pam, Gerbald is not like them, you do understand? He was a soldier, but he never did the bad things, the things to women and children. He hated the men who did those evils. He spoke against them. It became trouble for him."

"Is that why he left that army? I knew it was something like that. What happened?"

"Dear Pam, it is not my story to tell you. Gerbald will when he is ready. But now those old troubles have found us here." Tears were building in Dore's eyes, her wrath had run its course and left a tired woman afraid for her husband. Pam gave her a fierce hug. Dore hugged back, nearly hard enough to break Pam's ribs. No words were needed. After a minute Pam released herself from Dore's powerful washerwoman arms.

"How long ago did he leave, Dore?"

"An hour. He had the look that comes before battle. He said that you that you must stay here with me."

"I'll stop him. I can catch him." Oblique terror came to Dore's hazel eyes.

"No! You must not go Pam, it is dangerous! Gerbald is a strong man, a good soldier. You must let him do as he will."

Pam stood undecided. Dore was probably right, Gerbald could take care of himself. But what if something went wrong? She had come to love the man like a brother, he was without a doubt her closest friend in the world, and when it came down to it, other than Dore, he was her only close friend.

"Goddamnit, that stubborn billy goat! I'm putting a stop to this." Pam grabbed a gnarled oak walking stick from the corner of the room, it had been her grandmother's. It was hard as a rock and the only thing she had resembling a weapon; carrying it would make her at least feel somewhat safer. It wasn't going to come to that anyway, not if she could help it.

"Pam, no, you are crazy! They will kill you, those bad men, or worse, I know… Don't do this, please!" Dore moved her solid frame between Pam and the door. Pam felt sorry for her friend but she had made up her mind.

"Dore, don't be afraid for me, please. I'll stay hidden if I can't catch him first, and if he's hurt I'll bring help. They won't see me unless I want them to. Let me go, please." Pam met Dore's fretful look with a cool, confident gaze. There would be no changing her mind. Dore relented, crumpling into a shape much frailer than Pam ever could have expected of the seemingly indomitable woman.

" Ja, I know. You have a soldier's courage in you my Pam. Go then, find Gerbald. Damn fools the both of you. I will clean up this barnyard you have made of your house." With a curt gesture of her chin Dore turned to advance menacingly on the soiled kiddy pool. Pam hurried down the walk, not saying good-bye.

She ran up the road as fast as she could. If she could only catch him before he left the inlet. She exited the road to head up the trail, moving fast on the well packed earth. She kept her breathing as regular as possible, she was in the greatest shape of her life but sustaining an all out run was taking its toll; she was no track star. Fast enough, I'm fast enough. He's hunting men and will go slow, he'll never think that I would dare come after him. Doubt threatened her as she huffed along. Should I really be doing this? What if we both end up getting killed? This isn't a game Pam, these people are killers. The walking stick she carried before her in sweating hands suddenly seemed an ineffectual and foolish hope-what good would it be against trained soldiers? She almost dropped it beside the trail but held onto it anyway, it was all the protection she had if something went wrong. Stop thinking, it isn't helping. Just catch him.