Eric Flint - Grantville Gazette.Volume XII

"Dore?" she called out questioningly.

" Ja, I am here!" Her voice came from the kitchen.

Pam entered followed by Gerbald who stood in the doorway so as not to crowd them in the narrow space. Dore was happily humming as she fussed over a big pot of what Pam had come to know as spetzel boiling away on the wood stove.

"Dinner!" she announced proudly.

"Dore! You didn't have to do that! I didn't expect you to work, I told you to just take it easy!" Dore, whose English was not as good as Gerbald's looked to her husband with a worried question. He spoke to her in German briefly. Dore looked embarrassed.

"You… you not like I do?" Her tone was very meek.

Pam now felt bad for embarrassing the woman. "No, I don't mean that. You did great! Really, really good, I like it and God knows I have let the place go. I just didn't expect it." Pam pulled her pocketbook out of her rucksack. "Here, let me pay you for what you did today." She begin to pull some money out but Dore looked alarmed.

" Nein! No, good lady, I not do for money. I do-" Her English faltered and she began to speak quickly to Gerbald who nodded. He turned to Pam with a slight smile.

"Dore say she like to do for you. Money, she no need. You give me good job, Dore very happy! She do-" He swept his arm around to indicate the various housekeeping Dore had performed. "She do to say thank you." Dore watched Pam with a concerned look, afraid to have displeased her husband's new employer.

Pam rushed over to her and took both her hands in hers. "Thank you , Dore. You are very kind. I am happy to know you and Gerbald." Her face felt hot and flushed. Pam was not given to displays of affection and knew this about herself. Her ex-husband knew it all too well and she had admitted that she should have been more affectionate with her son Walt. She loved Walt very much, and had loved Trent once, too, but she just wasn't good with people.

Pam realized that she had been alone for a very long time now and there was something about the simple goodness of these two people she had barely met which was filling her with unexpected emotion. Pam held Dore's hands tightly and smiled at her, her lips trembling and eyes moist. The older German woman could see the pain there, and the hope; understanding without words Dore squeezed firmly back and gave Pam a long look with her sensible hazel eyes, a look that said "You are going to be all right."

"You good lady. Good luck we meet you." Dore released her hands from Pam's grip with a last heartfelt squeeze, then led her to the door, shooing Gerbald outward. "You go, sit. We eat!"

Another Year Later

Pam, Gerbald and Dore established a routine that suited them all nicely. Five days a week, Pam and Gerbald went on birdwatching expeditions. On the fourth day, she would give Gerbald money for Dore to go shopping with for the next evening's dinner. On the fifth day, Dore came to the house with Gerbald and the groceries, did the laundry and general housecleaning and then made the wonderful dinner they would all share.

With the help of her new friends, Pam's German studies made rapid progress. Gerbald could read and helped her with her lessons on days when the weather was just too nasty to go traipsing about the countryside. The focus of her studies was of course the translation of German bird names into English, but she was learning to speak as well. She soon learned she had been mistaken in her assumption that the " kehlchen " in blaukehlchen meant "chin" in English. Even though it sounded like "chin" to her untrained ears, it meant really "throat." This turned out to be a common pitfall when learning a language that is a close cousin to one's own; the occasional appearance of "false friends," words that sound like they should mean the same things in both languages but really don't. The "bluechins," formerly "bluebibs" were now properly "bluethroats."

On the weekends Pam devoted herself to painting birds. She had perused a few artist's how-to books at the library, tried some of their suggestions and then decided that the best way for her to learn was to just sit down and do it. She had liked to doodle as a girl and recalled that she had always received A's in art, but never really believed she had any talent. It was possible she actually didn't have any talent, but she did have determination. Her paintings were not intended to be hung in a gallery after all. They were scientific works; their sole purpose was to catalog accurately the birds of Thuringia she encountered. She started by copying the illustrations in her own small collection of field guides. After she felt she had learned some of their basic techniques, she tried applying them to something closer to a live model, starting with a photo of a mallard duck. Her first attempt was definitely more "Daffy" than "Audubon" but she kept at it.

After this Pam began to paint in the field. She would quickly pencil sketch in the birds she saw, then try to capture their colors with her brushes. If they held still long enough, she would focus in with more detail. Gerbald offered quiet encouragement with approving nods as he kept his eyes open for intruders. Gerbald's steady and watchful presence made Pam feel safe, which allowed her to better concentrate on her work.

They had taken to ranging several miles past the rim on some days, seeking nesting grounds amongst the fields and forests of Thuringia. Although the situation had become fairly quiet in the region, there were still plenty of opportunities for brigands to sneak about. She and Gerbald had made it an unspoken rule to avoid strangers by staying hidden when they drew near. She had always considered herself fairly adept at moving surreptitiously in the field, but Gerbald proved to be a master of the art and a good teacher. They often made their way past other people under cover, off the road or path without those they observed ever having a clue they were in the vicinity. This pleased Pam who still preferred not to be seen wandering the area in the company of a man by fellow Grantville residents.

One Sunday afternoon in April, Pam walked into town to do a little shopping. Another year was beginning here in her new world and she felt amazingly optimistic about it. She realized that in many ways she liked her current life better than the one she had lived before the Ring of Fire. Why not? She hadn't felt this happy and focused in years. With a tinge of regret she wondered what her ex-husband Trent would think of her now. He had remarried of course. Ah well, I'm glad he's found what he was looking for. Maybe I have, too. Near the Freedom Arches, she saw a peddler's wagon parked at the curb. A cheerful-looking chubby fellow with a beard sat in a chair on the sidewalk. He reminded Pam of Burl Ives. Pam wandered over to the wagon.

"Hello good lady, welcome, welcome! I am a seller of beautiful things, please, maybe you like." He greeted her in accented but clear English. Pam was always impressed by the knack for languages Europeans possessed. She felt a surge of pride at her growing German abilities; there were a lot of up-timers who simply weren't bothering to learn the language that surrounded them.

Pam smiled at the fellow, stepping closer to look over the multitude of gewgaws perched on shelves in the wagon's open side or hanged by hooks from the propped up panel that formed a protective awning. Tin whistles, whimsically carved and painted wooden toys, mounted deer antlers, etchings of famous buildings of Europe. She wasn't much of a collector of such fancies, but she was impressed by the quality of workmanship. It was apparent that the peddler had a fairly wide range, certainly not all of his goods were locally made. She looked at the jovial peddler as an idea came to her.

"Sir, you travel a lot, don't you?" The peddler stood politely when she addressed him.

"Why yes, of course! Well, as much as is safe in these troubled times, but my business takes me all about the Germanies and even down to northern Italy on occasion. I am always seeking new fineries for my selection. Do you like what you see?"