Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume VII

"My shoulder is healing well, Colette." Henri and Colette were sitting in Joe's small backyard. The fence around the yard was six feet high, just tall enough to prevent passersby from observing them as they sat at the wooden table with its large blue umbrella. "We can leave tomorrow if you wish."

Colette was playing with her hair, a far-off look on her face. "I am not going, Henri," she said calmly. "And neither is Colas. You may do what you wish. We will stay in Grantville."

"But your father would have wanted…"

Colette stopped him with a gesture. "My father is dead, Henri. There is nothing else for me. If I could get to Amsterdam…" Colette shook her head. "No, not even Amsterdam attracts me now. The Ring of Fire was a sign from God, Henri. If it had not happened when it did, Colas and I would be dead. I am certain of it."

She gestured around her. "This will be my home for now. The people in Grantville will need our help, Henri. They are master mechanics but they are very few in number."

Henri looked at her skeptically. "You expect this Joshua Modi to marry you? Like you expected Etienne to marry you?"

Colette stopped playing with her hair and glared at him. Then her glance softened. "I loved Etienne, Henri. As much as you loved either of your wives. He would have married me if he had not died at Dessau. I am sure of it. But I have mourned him long enough. And Josh Modi is not an unattractive man. His family has been left in another universe, except for Joe. He will be totally alone when Joe dies."

"Eh?" Henri grunted. "What do you mean?"

"Joe told me the first morning we were here. He has a disease that requires medicine they cannot manufacture anymore. He will live no longer than three months." Colette reached out and touched Henri's hand. "Henri, I need your help."

Henri sighed. "What do you want of me, Colette?"

Colette gave him three packages of letters. "I have written several letters. This first package is to be delivered to my aunt, Annette, at the beguinage de Hermee in Liege. She is executing my father's will and she must know where I am so she can forward the monies from the selling of his businesses. I have decided to sign over the house on the Rue Chodelistree to the beguinage de Hermee. That is the second document I have in there. Once you reach a secure Thurn and Taxis post house, I want you to send the second package of letters to Marie de Gournay in Paris. The third package of letters is to be delivered to my uncle, Louis de Geer, in Amsterdam. He has a keen eye and an even keener nose for business. What I have told him about Grantville in these letters should catch his interest. Grantville will have a need for wealthy patrons I think."

Colette looked at him. "Will you do this for me, Henri? The letters to Annette and Louis de Geer must be hand-delivered. I dare not take the chance that they might be misplaced or lost."

Henri nodded. Simon Dubois, Colette's father, had died in Henri's arms in February of 1631, a victim of the political infighting in Liege. Henri had promised to look after Simon's family. Henri had taken Colette and Colas back to his home in Magdeburg when men associated with the political machinations began hunting them.

"I will, Colette. I promised your father I would take care of you. But do not expect to see me for several months. I will send word by post when I have accomplished what you ask. Do you want me to wait for return messages from your aunt and uncle?"

Colette shook her head again. "No. I trust my aunt and I know that what I have written to my Uncle Louis will be sufficient for him to come here as soon as he can. He may be in Sweden at the moment, though. I expect him in Amsterdam within the next few months." She smiled at Henri. "You would not mind waiting a few weeks in Amsterdam?"

Henri laughed. "No, not at all."

Colette reached across the table, serious now. She clasped Henri's arm. "This is very important to me, Henri. But so are you. Ride safely and may God be with you."

Henri sighed. Oh, to be twenty years younger. You would have a fight on your hands for this young woman then, Joshua Modi. Indeed you would.

In the second week after the Ring of Fire Josh met with the machine shop owners and their employees. Colette and Amy Kubiak sat in the back of the audience to provide moral support. The most critical points in Josh's lecture concerned the importance of good cast iron with a high silicon content for steam engine cylinders and the need to make their own cast steel, since that process in Europe hadn't been introduced until the mid-eighteenth century. When alloy steels were brought up, Josh laughed.

"That will take some time. Tungsten we can get from the tailings of tin mines, according to the encyclopedias. Chromite would be damn useful, but the deposits are spread all over the place, from Kemi in Finland, to Turkey, to Baltimore. If we could get to Maryland, the deposits there would be pretty easy to get. Vince Masaniello even has a brochure of a nature preserve where they used to mine it. Just a few problems, of course. Like getting to the sea and then crossing three thousand miles of ocean."

Josh nodded towards Greg Ferrara. "Here's Greg to help refresh you on metal chemistry."

Josh moved to the back of the room. Amy moved over so he could sit next to Colette.

"How'd I do?" he whispered to Colette.

"Excellent," she whispered back. "Having Vince and Monty speak was a good idea. They seem to be respected masters of their guild."

After the meeting, Bart and Josh walked back to town. Amy and Colette walked ten feet in front, occasionally laughing and looking back at them.

"Thick as thieves those two," Bart said musingly. "Thick as thieves. I think you're in trouble, Josh. They're scheming about something."

Josh sighed. "I know it. I just don't know how much resistance to put up."

Bart chuckled. "Knowing my daughter and judging from what I've seen of Colette, I don't think they're going to settle for anything less than unconditional surrender."

The two women turned to look back at him again.

Who knows, thought Josh. Unconditional surrender can't be too bad, can it?

Joe Modi lapsed into a coma on August seventh. He died six hours later. The funeral was on August tenth. Josh Modi kept his composure throughout the ceremony, accepting condolences and murmurs of sympathy.

Men, after all, don't cry.

"Keep a stiff upper lip."

"Be a man."

"Grin and bear it."

Society frowns on men who cry.

But men do cry. Often it is late at night or upon awakening from a bad dream. Then the walls come down.

For Josh Modi the walls came down the first time he slept in his grandfather's bed the night after the funeral. He woke from a sound sleep and found himself staring at the ceiling. He began remembering the simple things he and his grandfather had done. The chess games. The shared meals. The laughter.

Brick by emotional brick his wall crumbled. Loneliness seized his soul. Ah, Gramps!

Josh began to cry. Not simple tears, but the wracking sobs of a man who had kept things inside for too long. Josh didn't know how long he cried that night, but he would always remember when he stopped.

A hand with long supple fingers began stroking his hair. Colette slid into the bed at his back, spooning him.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"Shhh," she said. "Shhh. Sleep now."

Slowly his body relaxed. Alone no more, he slept.

The next day they began to clean out the basement using the inventory lists that Joe had developed over the previous three months. The first place they went to was the large brown metal container Joe had shown him back in May. When he opened the container for Colette and Colas he was surprised to see the BM-59 still there.