Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume 22

One night, after he had spent over an hour helping her get the tune and the words to an English song just right, Maire finally asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Henrich smiled. In a voice full of piety he answered, "It is an act of Christian charity, my child."

Marie looked down and counted her toes. She couldn't bite her lip because she was too busy gritting her teeth.

Henrich laughed. "Very good, Maire. If I didn't know better I would indeed believe it.

"Very well, lass, I will tell you why. It might make things go better if you know. There is a man in Augsburg, an American from Grantville. I'm sure you've heard of those. He is doing quite well. He is the merchant's agent in Augsburg for a great many concerns. The business that passes through his hands is worth several fortunes. I want a slice of that trade. If the man owes me a favor then I will turn a profit on it. You are that favor. For some reason, he has told his wife she may only hire a redheaded Irish lass as a nursemaid for his child. There isn't one to be had in all of Augsburg. I know at least three men who are racing to Ireland and back or scouring the army camps for such a lass. By chance, I stumbled over you. If they will take you on as part of the household, then every time I come to Augsburg, your uncle Henrich will look in on you to see how you are doing and he will leave you some small trifle he has found on his journeys that he thinks you will like.

"Of course, while I am about it I will brush past this rich American commercial agent and ask in passing if there is any freight he needs hauled or something he needs fetched. And perhaps they will let you keep…" Henrich looked to the toddler on Maire's hip. ".. . him below the stairs. If not then perhaps I can find someone near by to raise him where you can keep an eye on him. I would like it if I knew that someone who loved the boy was watching out for him. If not, then I need to find something else to do with my grandson. Is that enough reason for you?"

Maire counted her toes and nodded.

"Look at me, Maire." He waited for eye contact. "Is that enough of a reason?" he demanded.

Her hard, cold eyes said not a word. Her mouth said only, "Yes."

"Then you will do it?"

"Yes."

"Good."

By and by she found herself in the city of Augsburg, freshly bathed, in new and modest apparel, on her way with Henrich to a meeting with H. A. Burston and his wife Catharina.

"Horatio Alger Burston," Catharina said, "I don't know why you are wasting your time. This Henrich hasn't had time to go to Ireland and back. So this girl will have been through the wars like the last two you turned down. I do wish you would be sensible and just let me hire a local girl."

H.A. knew his young wife was annoyed with him when she addressed him by his full name. It was by way of being formal. He thought he had her, mostly, trained to his more comfortable, informal, West Virginian ways. "Catharina, Henrich is a man of business, in a small way, with a good reputation. It would be unthinkable to not even look at what he has to offer. Yes, the last two prospects were not what we wanted, but in time, if we are patient, what we want will walk through the door."

"Horatio Alger Burston, you are a most infuriating man. When it comes to business you have all the common sense in the world. Why can't you apply those same principles to a simple family matter?

"What you want does not exist. Any wet nurse, will have a sad tale of misery and woe or she would not be hiring herself out while she is still in milk."

"Perhaps you are right, my dear," H.A. admitted. "Perhaps what I want is just a fantasy." He knew his dreams of how a rich man should live were, after all, a product of the twentieth-century entertainment media. The best cooks were French chefs, so he insisted they hire a Frenchman to cook for them. A rich man got into his car and said, "Home, James," in that upper class almost-British accent, so he wanted an English coachman named James. In the movies, the servants who knew how to have fun were Irish. It was okay to have straitlaced, stern German chambermaids keeping things clean, but his children should have fun growing up. He was rich. He should be able to have what he wanted. What he wanted was an Irish lass to raise his children.

"Horatio Alger, face reality. There is no perhaps about it. You are not being fair with me in this matter. At best, a wet nurse is a tragic woman who recently lost her child or she wouldn't be in milk. She probably just lost her husband as well, or she wouldn't need to be self-supporting. And that is if she ever had a husband. The truth is, most likely, her tale will be a sordid one. Or if she has been a wet nurse for a long time, and she is looking for a job, then you can be sure she has no personality or no skills. If she had either she would have been kept on in the household after the child was weaned and she would no longer be a wet nurse."

"You're probably right. It is just that… well… oh, never mind." H.A. sighed. "You are completely right about one thing though. Henrich said Maire recently buried her husband and her child."

Catharina didn't let her smile show. Horatio was on the verge of giving in. She was sure, when the coming interview was over, he would give up and let her hire whomever she wanted. There was no possible way any woman could look good after she got through questioning her. What she said next was carefully calculated to make her seem reasonable, to disarm her spouse and set him up for the next round, which she was now-finally-sure she would win. "Well, Tio Al, let's give this one a fair chance, shall we? After all, maybe she will be what you want." She knew using the shortened form of his first and second names would please him and make him feel like he was gaining ground in their clash of wills over cultural matters.

One of the maids showed Henrich and Maire into the room H. A. called the front parlor. He started to rise to greet his guests but Catharina's hand on his arm kept him in his seat. She had, after all, her own firm ideas on what was and wasn't proper, and she also was working on training her new spouse.

Catharina watched H.A. smile when he saw the lute Maire was carrying. She took one glance at her husband's face and sharpened her questions to be sure the girl came off looking badly lest Horatio should decide to let her hire this one.

The girl was young. She was clean and appeared demure or even shy. Her long, dark red hair framed a pretty face. Indeed, if Catharina did not already have someone picked out and waiting she might have wanted this girl as part of the household.

Horatio addressed the prospective employee and her escort. "Please be seated."

Catharina squeezed his arm. H.A. knew her thoughts on how the help should be treated. He did not agree. Besides, if the lass played the lute she probably needed to be seated to do so. H.A. nodded at the instrument. "Are you any good with that thing?"

Maire looked down and bit her lip to smother a chuckle. She unwrapped the lute, risking the rapid change of temperature just this one time. She quickly tuned the stings and began to sing a slow song in her native Irish tongue in a soft, sweet voice. It was nice but H.A. steeled himself for the employment interview which would follow. Maire started a second song in charmingly accented English without a pause, "Dough is for the rising bread, ray is for the rising sun. Me is a name for my rising self-"

The words and the tune were almost, but not quite, familiar. It nagged H.A., while at the same time it set him at ease. At last he made the connection. The song was almost like one of the signature tunes from the Maria von Trump… or von Trap… well, von something, anyway… story, the one where the failed nun was sent to raise a family of children and ended up marrying the father. H.A. made up his mind with a smile.