Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume VII

Somehow he eventually fell asleep. But the last thought he remembered was still… what the hell was he going to do with his life?

Josh was up before Joe. He moved quietly around the kitchen. When the phone rang he jumped to grab it before it could ring twice. "Hello?"

"Hi, Josh. Father Mazzare here. Is Joe awake yet?"

"No, he's still… wait a sec…"

Joe yawned and walked into the kitchen, still in the clothes he'd slept in.

"Gramps, it's for you. Father Mazzare."

Joe nodded and took the phone. "What can I do for you, Father?"

Josh listened to the conversation. He could tell it was about housing. The meeting the previous night had made it clear that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of refugees out in the woods around Grantville. Housing them was going to be a real problem.

"Nope. Sorry, Father. Those houses on Clarksburg are packed with Vince Masaniello's relatives and guests from his fortieth wedding anniversary party," Joe said. "At least until they can make other arrangements. But I've got a spare bedroom in the studio over the garage and you're only a couple of blocks away."

Joe listened again and then nodded. "Talk to Josh, he speaks French really well."

Josh took the phone from Joe. "What's up, Father?"

Father Mazzare sighed. "As you know from last night's meeting, we've got one heck of a refugee problem. In fact, the rooms on the second story of the parish hall are already packed with people. Most of them seem to be German, but one group of three seems to speak French better than they speak German. Can you come over and talk to them, get their story? From what I can gather the older man is a close relative or friend of the family, while the woman and boy are brother and sister. The man, Henri Bex, had a bullet in his left shoulder that Dr. Nichols took out day before yesterday. The wound was festering a bit, so they have him under observation over at that makeshift hospital they put together at the high school."

"Sure, Father. When do you want me to come over?"

"How about right after lunch?"

"Sounds good, I'll be there." Josh hung up the phone. "What do you think, Gramps?"

Joe motioned for Josh to have a seat at the kitchen table while he got out milk and Cheerios for both of them. He tossed two bananas to Josh. Josh peeled and sliced them both into the bowls he'd already set up in anticipation of their usual morning breakfast ritual.

"Did I ever tell you the story about how your great-great-grandfather, John Modi, first came to Grantville?" Joe asked.

Josh shook his head. "Don't think so. You told me lots of stories about his tinker and peddler business, though."

Joe nodded. "Well, my grandfather came from a town in Lebanon called Beit Meri. Somehow, he'd heard about the opportunities here in Grantville at the turn of the century and came to make his fortune. He didn't know anybody in town, of course. But, through the kindness of people at the railroad station, he found a family to put him up for a week or two while he figured out what he was going to do and learned enough English to get by."

Joe took a bite of Cheerios and bananas, then wiped his mouth. "I think its payback time, don't you?"

Josh smiled. "No problem as far as I'm concerned. I'm in total agreement with what Mike Stearns said last night. We are way too small to fight off the entire population of seventeenth-century Europe. So you want to put up this French family?"

Joe nodded. "You speak excellent French. I think that would make them feel more comfortable. They may stay or they may not, but if they're good people and hard workers, well, those are the kind of folks we'll need to help us. We can house them for awhile."

"Okay. So put the woman and boy in the studio? And what about the man? I can sleep on the couch, it's pretty comfy." The couch in Joe's living room was actually a sleeper that folded out into a family size bed.

"Yeah, let's put the sister and brother in the studio. The uncle, or whatever he is, can have your bedroom until he's healed up."

Around ten o'clock that morning a second call came.

"Hey, Sparks. Nat Davis here."

Josh smiled. "Been a long time since anyone called me that."

When Josh had been kicked out of his home in Pittsburgh after a ferocious argument with his father ("chess won't make you a living, son!") Joe had offered him a place to stay and had gotten him a job at Nat Davis' machine shop. He'd gotten his nickname when he was using a cutting torch and failed to notice where the slag from his cut was going. It had set Lou Giamarino's pants on fire. From that day forward Josh's nickname at the machine shop was "Sparks."

"Joe talked to me last night. Got a job for you, if you're interested."

Josh sat up in his chair. "What kind of job?"

Nat explained some of the details of the previous night's Executive Committee meeting, especially the need for steam engines to provide power for the electrical system.

"Last night Joe told me that you were working on a paper for a symposium about pre-Bessemer steel. The machine shops are going to need some direction so we don't squander our material. We also need to get a better handle on what kinds of resources might be locally available. Think you can come up with something to help us?"

Josh thought a moment. "Sure, Nat. How much time do I have?"

"I don't know," Nat said. "How about a week? Is that enough time?"

"No problem. I'll check with Lou and other people. Maybe Bart Kubiak. I've got a couple of books that came in just before the Ring of Fire. So figure a meeting next Thursday? And who's my audience?"

"Sounds good, Sparks. Your audience will be mainly the machinists and the owners of the machine shops, but Greg Ferrara and Bill Porter will probably be there, too. Listen, I'm on a coffee break and the meeting is starting up again. Call me if you need any help."

Over the next hours Josh worked through what he had, and needed. He called Lou and others to arrange a Saturday morning meeting. At noon Josh walked the two blocks to St. Vincent De Paul's and met Father Mazzare outside the parish hall.

When they walked into the parish hall a woman with honey-colored hair was sitting with a boy of about ten. The boy had jet black hair similar to Josh's, but his facial features resembled the woman's and they were clearly related.

The woman looked up from the book she was reading and their eyes met.

She's very attractive. Josh was surprised by the thought.

The woman rose as they came near and extended her hand. "Hello. My name is Colette Dubois."

Josh shook hands with her. "A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle. My name is Josh Modi. Or is it Madame?"

"No, monsieur. It is mademoiselle." Colette turned to the boy. "And this is my brother, Colas. He is twelve."

Josh extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Colas."

"Thank you, monsieur." Colas smiled shyly. "Colette has said that we will be staying at your house?"

"Actually, my grandfather's house. But yes, you will be staying in a one bedroom studio with your sister and your uncle… Henri, is it?" Josh looked at Colette. "He will be staying in my bedroom while I sleep on the couch. Father Mazzare said that he would be out of the hospital this afternoon some time?"

Colette shook her head. "Yes, but understand that Henri is not really a blood relative. He was my father's best friend and married my father's sister, but she died many years ago. We have always considered him to be an uncle."

At that moment a woman Josh recognized as one of the Parish council members appeared at the door of the hall and motioned at Father Mazzare. "Phone call, Father. I think it's important."

"You okay here, Josh?" Father Mazzare looked a bit harried.

"No problem, Father. We'll be fine." Josh turned to Colette as Father Mazzare strode away. "Do you have all of your belongings?"