Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume VII

"Anna now, she was the oldest. She married Harold Stearns, that's Mike Stearns' great-grandpa. My mama was Bethany and she married an Atkins. Charity married Joshua Reardon, Phil Reardon's pa, but she died before they had any kids so he married Nina Curtis, as I recall. Deborah married William Hudson, Willie Ray's uncle and Esther, the baby, married Joe Newton, your grandpa. They're all gone now. Folks always joke about how West Virginians always marry kinfolk. In your case, it was hard not to."

"That's interesting." Chad set his cup down. "Mom probably has it all down in her genealogy records but I never took much of an interest."

"Well, you should. Talking about your mama, she used to be the wild one. Took after her fiddlin' papa, I expect. My little brother, Tommy, and her used to run around together." She stopped, coughed and dabbed at her eyes with a dish towel. "Tommy never got off Omaha Beach." She sniffed and wiped her eyes again. A moment later she cleared her throat and resumed. "She always swore she'd never get tied down by any man. I figured some boy would change her mind after the war. Course, your ma went from being a wild girl to as straight-backed and upright a woman as you can find after she married your pa. Reckon having a kid right off the bat can make some real changes in you." There was a knowing look in her pale blue eyes. Yeah, she'd counted the months.

"Oh, just to give you fair warning, Grandpa Williams was a horse-trader. I used to go around with him when I was a girl. I ain't going to be as easy a touch as that lumber yard boy, even if you are kin."

"You gave her how much?" Debbie's eyes were wide with amazement.

"Twenty percent of the profits," Chad answered glumly. "How she got me to agree to that number is beyond me. It was like she could read my mind every time I made a counter-offer. At the end, I thought I was doing well to hold her down to that number. Her husband probably never had a chance against her in an argument."

"What did she give you other than the wringer-washer?"

"Well, she said she thought she might have an older one her mom used around somewhere. That and some other things she brought in from the farm after her mom died. She said she'd look a bit and I should come out to help her do it. I think she just wants me to clean out the shed behind her house."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Then Debbie gave him a crooked smile. "Bet you could have gotten a better deal from Ursula Mitdorff."

Chad smacked his forehead. "Arrgh! Totally forgot about her. Damn!" He shook his head. "But I did learn you and I are kissing cousins. And we're related to the Stearns and the Mathenys as well. Almost to the Reardons. Huh! Mike Stearns and me. Who woulda thunk?"

"Well, it does explain why neither you or Mike gets the better of the other in making a deal. So how long do you have to pay that royalty?"

Chad sighed. "To her, until she dies. After that, I pay it into a trust that gives half to help support her daughter-in-law until she dies. Sylvia's got M.S. From then on it's split between her grandkids. The other half will go to support war orphans during their education. It stops twenty years after the war's over. She says she'll have it written up by tomorrow and I'll take it to a lawyer. I can live with it."

Two wooden rollers. Six gears. Spacers. All on the workbench in the service garage. Along with four bearings, several pieces of wood, housings for each side to hold the gears and bearings, a bent iron bar used as a spring and a long iron arm with a wooden handle.

"What do you think?" Chad asked his former lead mechanic. Bob Szymanski now had a nice little nest egg from the natural gas conversions and was gainfully employed by the Mechanical Support group.

"No problem to assemble them," Bob answered. "In fact, it's dead easy. Your problem's going to be getting the gears, spacers and the iron bar. Forget bearings, they're impossible for years. The rollers, distance separation and handle can all be made of hickory or another tough wood but the gears? For that you're going to need some machining. You might be able to make cast gears out of iron, one by one. Then cut the cogs with a file and match them up with the other cogs on the other gears." Bob rubbed his forehead with his palm. "I sure wouldn't want to, though. The down-time blacksmiths are supposed to be pretty good. You might give them a try."

"Thanks, Bob. Could we, I don't know, stamp them out?"

"Me? Nope. Anything I could stamp would bend every which way. But I'll bet a down-time blacksmith could hot stamp your gears out of cast iron. He'd finish them with a file until they're just right. If it was a master blacksmith, all he'd really need is to see how the thing works and he'd be ready to go to town."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Chad gloomily chewed on the corner of his lower lip. "I want him to be making them for me, not himself."

"Aw, come on, Chad, lighten up." Bob grinned. "You never made cars, did you? Your job's always been to sell the product, not make or fix it. Give him a share of the biz and that'd get you past all the guild problems at the same time."

Chad smiled as what Bob said sunk in. A broad grin spread across his face. "By George, I think you've got it! Now what I need to do is get some well-seasoned hickory and oak. Then find a good blacksmith. I don't really want to get him from Rudolstadt. The Count's just a little too sharp as far as I'm concerned and might start asking questions. I'll check with the refugee center to see if there's a blacksmith who hasn't gotten gobbled up by USE Steel and isn't already too busy. If not, Chip will know if there's a master or journeyman blacksmith in Jena who lost his forge because his town got destroyed. All he'll need is metal. I think we can scrounge some from USE Steel. They're talking tons. We won't need much, at least not in the beginning. Probably never."

"Dad, I've got the perfect guy for you. I asked a blacksmith here in town who would be willing to relocate. He suggested Ulrich Dauer. The guy's an absolute genius. I watched him do things with iron you wouldn't believe. Trouble is, he knows it. Absolutely zero people skills and is an insufferable ass, which is why he hasn't been accepted by the local guild. Lost his wife and later his forge when his town was destroyed. He's got an apprentice he abuses and travels to work in nearby small towns like Cosberg or for minor nobility. They won't let him set up a forge in Jena.

"One thing you should know. This guy's an absolute suck-up to nobility. Worse than some Americans I could mention. Joachim talked with him. Told him you had even more money and land than his father, which may even be true. Anyway, he talked to me like I was the Emperor's son.

"Let me know if you want me to discuss a deal with him. Regards, Chip"

Chad refolded the letter and smiled. Not only an insufferable ass but was also desperate to associate with nobility? Piece of cake.

"Honey, I'm going to be hiring a blacksmith for the wringer business and I want to impress him, like we were nobility. A 'von Grantville' evening. So the best china along with the kind of meal only you can prepare. I want Mom, Missy and Gertrude to dine with us as well."

Debbie looked at him warily. "Do you want us to go formal, too? The dress I wore to the national sales awards dinner fits better than it did then. I'll talk with your mom."

"Great. The girls, well, as good as we can get them. Can't have you seen in the kitchen, so we'll…"

"Let me handle it, dear. You just worry about where to put him up."

"Herr Dauer?" The short, strongly-built older man with a mustache looked towards the speaker. Chad had gotten Veit Kruger, one of Gertrude's teenage German admirers to meet the smith. At the look from Dauer, Veit went on. "Herr Jenkins has arranged for you to stay in a private house with your apprentice." The sturdy adolescent apprentice was struggling with the smith's heavy work chest.