Marie had finally finished the crystal radio last night. She had worked from a set of instructions in a broadsheet, and had gotten the copper wire and the bits of iron from the smith for doing some extra chores for him. She had worked on it for weeks. Thankfully, she'd finished it after the brat had gone whining to bed. If there was a bright center to the world, and apparently there was now, Marie and her family lived in the village farthest from it. At least, it seemed that way to Marie.
Actually they lived in a village about one hundred and twenty miles northeast of Grantville as the crow, or the radio wave, flies. Almost due north of Dresden in Saxony. Grantville was Marie's bright center to the universe. Mama and Papa were not convinced of the central place that Grantville held in the cosmos, though.
With the brat hogging the radio, Marie couldn't listen to the rest of her English lesson. There was just the one earphone and it wasn't either particularly clear or loud. Sort of a scratchy whisper. She pouted quietly, though. You didn't argue with Papa, especially when he had had too much beer the night before.
Her impression that her village was the end of the earth was more cultural than physical. They were just so . . . primitive. It had taken her weeks to get the thing tuned just right and now she had to yield to the brat.
* * *
Karl started grousing after the children had gone to do their chores. "I'm tempted to break the darn thing if it's going to be that much trouble."
Greta snorted. "It's harmless enough, husband. And it isn't like the girl has that much to look forward to."
Karl liked to grouse but he was unlikely to do anything that would upset Marie. He doted on the girl, even if he didn't show it well. Part of it was guilt. Marie was not pretty. Aside from a beak for a nose, she had caught the pox when she was ten and her face was permanently scarred. Absent looks or a good dowry—which they would not be able to afford—the girl was unlikely to ever make a good marriage. Not that marriage was going to be a consideration anytime soon; Marie was only fifteen, after all. But even another ten years were unlikely to improve her prospects. Right now, they were happy enough to have her help at home.
Karl nodded. "True." He sighed. "She did build it. We should make sure she gets time to listen. Joseph can't be allowed to just throw temper tantrums to get what he wants."
Greta nodded. Joseph would get the farm, what there was of it. Things had not gone well for the family. Karl was a half farmer, who—truth be told—was not the brightest man in the village. Marie had the brains in the family, which was an awful waste. What would a girl do with them?
"I need to buy bread today." Greta sighed a bit. "It's getting more expensive every day." Greta didn't know why. There was no real way for anyone in the village to understand the economic situation. Unlike Grantville or Magdeburg, their part of Saxony was experiencing a depression combined with inflation. Everything cost more and no one had any money. What little money the area had poured into Magdeburg to buy all the new products.
* * *
"And on the weekly farm to market report, brought to you by Castelanni Brothers, the price for wheat is up a bit from last week. From $89.67 a bushel to $90.54 . . ."
Greta cocked her head and listened harder. Greta was listening because, well, Karl had a little trouble following that sort of thing. The important point was that the crop report didn't sound that much like what Herr Berger had been telling them. Herr Berger said that prices for wheat were down in Magdeburg because up-timers and their "magic" would be providing the food needed by Magdeburg.
She listened even harder. "In spite of the improved farming techniques that have been introduced, Thuringia will still be importing quite a bit of grain. The increased population in Magdeburg, as the city is rebuilt and new industry moves in, means that prices for the fall harvest are expected to be higher along most of the rivers that feed into that city."
"Did you hear me?" Greta looked up at her husband. "Prices are up, not down. Herr Berger said they were down."
Karl grunted. He took a sip of beer. "We don't know that what's reported is the truth, do we? Berger is the factor. He knows what he's doing."
Greta didn't doubt that Berger knew what he was doing. She just wondered if the village knew what Berger was doing. Berger was in the business to make money, wasn't he?
* * *
"Oh, don't be silly, Greta." Eva Katharina sniffed in scorn. "That useless toy! I don't intend to tell Hans anything about what this so called Farm to Market report said. He's not going to give any credence to words out of the air."
Greta sniffed back. "Well, you'll have to send him to our house this evening, then. Let him listen for himself."
Most of the women had reacted that way. Greta headed back for home, griping all the way. The villagers all knew that Marie was working on some sort of toy based on a broadsheet provided by a peddler. They even knew that it was supposed to produce sound sent from Grantville. Most of them didn't believe it was possible. Those that did—there were a few who had been to a neighboring town that had one—didn't believe that you could make one from a broadsheet. And they certainly didn't believe that a teenaged girl could do it.
* * *
"It's too much mumbling." Hans handed the earphone to another farmer. "I can't make head or tail of it."
It was a less than entirely successful demonstration. While not near the edge of the broadcast radius of the radio station, neither were they sitting in the great stone tower's shadow. There was a storm between the radio station and them that evening, though they didn't know it. That wasn't helping reception at all. They could hear the voices and mostly make out what was being said, but it was scratchy. Which was not helped by the fact that Marie had made the earphone herself and it wasn't very good.
Johan motioned Hans to be quiet. He was listening intently. "In the money markets this week, the dollar is holding steady. It's down only eight cents against the guilder which is slowly recovering after the Amsterdam panic."
"They buy money? Why would you buy money?" Johan looked around. Everyone shrugged. Why indeed?
"My turn." Another man took the earphone and listened. "Not money this time. Stocks . . . doesn't make much sense. It's not any stock I have ever heard of. How do you milk an oh-pe-em? Can it plow a field? Something called USE Steel . . . ah . . ." He handed the earphone to the next man. "Doesn't make any sense."
The earphone got passed around most of the evening, much to Marie's irritation. She still wasn't getting any listening time and it was her radio. By the time she finally got a chance to listen, a music program was playing. She didn't like it much, but listened anyway. All the while wondering what blue suede was. Still, it was English. Probably.
* * *
So it went until the next week. Marie and Joseph argued over the crystal set. Karl complained about the wasted money for the tiny magnet, though, in truth, it wasn't much money, even for them. And Marie had earned it, running errands for people or doing extra work for others. Greta mostly ignored all the shouting matches. She became interested in the little radio while Joseph was at school and Marie running errands.
"So, you see, the percentage of acidity is very important in vinegar . . ." This was a "rebroadcast" of a "how to" show. The radio had said so. The woman had talked about the techniques and dangers involved in preserving foods. Much of it Greta already knew. She had been making sauerkraut and pickled beets since she was Joseph's age. She hadn't known the why, though. This could be useful. And there was a book on the subject that was available through mail order. It was advertised at the end of the show.
"Mama, can I listen now?" Marie was back from the baker. Greta held up a hand. "Just a moment."
Marie thought this was incredibly unfair, but wisely refrained from commenting on it. It was Greta who heard the sign off for the morning broadcast segment.
"Paper, quickly." Marie handed her mother a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal. Greta began writing as quickly as she could. The sign off included the present Grantville
time, the time of the next sign on and the schedule for the week. The next seven days, to be precise.
"Ha." Marie jumped. Her mother rarely sounded triumphant.
Greta waved the scrap of paper. "They do the Farm to Market report in two days. On the evening broadcast. And Herr Kreger must come to listen. Must. "
* * *
Johan Kreger wrapped the wire around the log. No paper tubes for him. He'd already smashed two of them. If Beak Nose can make a crystal radio, I can. He was, after all, the son of the head of the village council. She was just a girl, the daughter of a half farmer. His would be better than hers. He worked steadily, if a bit sloppily, and if wire touched wire every now and then, so what? His radio would be clearer and louder than hers. Poor Johan. While it's certainly true that size matters, bigger is not always better.
"I bet she did something else. Must have." He had hooked everything up right, he was sure of that. "Some girl thing. Secret girl thing." Johan was getting a bit frustrated. As is often the case, he was convinced that if he wasn't winning the other guy, or especially the girl, must be cheating. She must have done some secret thing. Probably some weird ritual and possibly something demonic.
Pastor Althus looked down his fairly pointed nose at Johan. "Don't be silly. Marie is a good girl. She only followed the instructions better than you have. I asked her about it and got a lecture, complete with details and gestures, on just how it was made. No secret rites, just quite a bit of fiddling to get all the bits just right and a bit of calculation. Calculation I taught her." Pastor Althus paused. "And you."
Johan winced a bit. Telling his theory to the pastor, who was also the schoolmaster, might not have been his best ever idea.
* * *
"I still say it's a useless toy." Johan was the son of the head of the village council. So his opinions carried a certain amount of indirect weight. By the time of the next Farm to Market report, most of the adults in the village were of the opinion that the crystal set was a mostly harmless, but definitely useless, hobby.
* * *
"You should come and listen." Greta had been talking about that Farm to Market report for half an hour. Peter Kreger finally agreed, just so she'd get off his back.
"Enough, Frau Shultz. I will come and listen. But let that be an end to it."
That evening, Peter Kreger found himself listening intently. Much to Marie's dismay, he kept listening. "I guess I'm going to have to build another one," Marie said. "I certainly never get to listen to this one."
Peter held up his hand for silence. Then he looked at her and smiled. It wasn't until the program was over that he handed her the earphone. "Here, child. You're right and I apologize. I really did need to hear the whole report. You did a good job on this radio of yours. It works well. " He glanced over at his son. "Unlike some."
Johan started to protest, but Peter waved him silent. "You should ask Marie for help. I'm sure she'd be willing to assist you."
Johan looked a bit miffed. Peter ignored it. He'd made up his mind. He looked at Greta and Karl. "We must investigate. If the information on this broadcast is correct, we can get a better price for our wheat than Herr Berger offers us. At the least, we'll have a stronger bargaining position when it comes time to sell the crops."
Karl nodded. So did Greta. The fifteen percent higher price quoted on the Farm to Market report would be the difference between being relatively comfortable and barely making the rent.
"So." Peter slapped his hands on his thighs. "I will go to Riesa and investigate. And you. . ." He pointed to Marie. "You will go with me. You know more about the radio than anyone else."
"But, Papa . . ." Johan began.
Peter shushed him. "She does." Peter looked at Karl and Greta again. "Agreed?"
Karl nodded. "It isn't a toy. " He grinned. "Well, not just a toy. I think we need more of them if our house is not to be invaded every night. " Then he winked at Marie. "And if Marie is ever to get to listen."
* * *
Riesa was some twenty miles away. They would take the hay wagon which was pulled by a pair of oxen. The trip would take a day, perhaps a bit more than a couple of days in Riesa and another day back. It would mean almost a week away from home and it was coming up on harvest time. That was why Peter needed to make the trip now. He wanted to be sure, before Berger came to buy the wheat. After thinking about it, Peter decided to include his son on the trip, as well. Johan was, he thought, a bit jealous of Marie. But Peter was convinced that she had the most knowledge about radios. Perhaps she could teach Johan more about them.
Besides, Peter had no intention of wasting a trip. He loaded the wagon with fruits, vegetables and walnuts picked from the trees around the village. If he was going to the big city, he was going to take something to sell.
He was, in his own mind, convinced that the radio was telling the truth. He couldn't see anything for the people who gave the reports to gain by lying about the price of grain in Magdeburg. He could see a great deal for Herr Berger to gain. Peter wasn't even particularly angry about it. It was just business. But armed with the knowledge that the prices were higher, their bargaining position had greatly improved. Still, he needed the confirmation.
"Your mother says that there are a lot of different programs." Peter looked down at the girl beside him. She was a plain little thing.
"Oh, lots and lots." Marie's excitement was obvious. "And someday there will be a lot more of them. I heard them say so. Someday the radio will have programs and music all day and all night long. They had them, back up-time. I heard them say so."
"What sort of things will be on the radio?" Peter knew that the Farm to Market report was useful and was beginning, sort of vaguely, to think that the radio might be a more generally useful device.
"Well, there is an English class and a Latin class. Those are on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Then there is 'Civics for Children' on Monday mornings. It talks about how the government works and tells little stories to explain how rights work and stuff like that. There's a show on bookkeeping and how to keep your finances in order. Mama likes that one and the one on cooking . . ." Peter let the girl rattle on about all the shows. In general, the morning broadcast seemed to be dominated by education talks. The evenings had the entertainments, though there were exceptions. It might be a good thing if the village had more radios, or perhaps one of those amplifying speaker things. Considering the educational talks in the mornings, perhaps a radio in the school house would be good.
* * *
"I still don't see why we had to bring her." Johan cast a look at Marie, who was walking for a while. Finally. He had had to walk all morning. She was a bit ahead of the wagon.
"Shut up."
Johan looked up at his father in surprise.
His father gave him that disappointed look. "If you had asked her to help, you'd have your own radio working. Think, son. Am I the best baker in the village?"
"You don't cook, Papa." Johan was totally confused by his father's comment.
"No, I don't. I am no good at it nor am I a good carpenter or smith. Have you once heard me suggest that your mother, Karl Vight, or Stephen Schmidt has a compact with the devil or is cheating because they can do things I can't?"
Papa's voice was quiet but Johan still found himself looking at his shoes. He really didn't want to look up and see the disappointment in his father's eyes. "No, Papa." Then it slipped out. "But she's so good at everything. It's not fair."
"That's a good thing, son. It makes the village a better place if people are good at things. You need to stop complaining and see what you can learn from her."
* * *
Marie grinned to herself. She'd heard every word. And was delighted to hear them, especially to hear Johan say she was good at everything. Johan had been consistently unwilling to ask Marie about how the radio worked or listen to any advice she offered. She liked the idea that Johan thought she was better at everything than he was. It wasn't really true. Johan was better at drawing and music and
a bunch of things.
There was a certain amount of jealousy involved in their relationship. Though Marie was loath to admit it, it went both ways. They had gone to school together. Johan was handsome and had a marvelous singing voice. He was usually second in the class standings. Marie was generally first. She hadn't been nice about that, she knew. He was a boy. His father was the head of the council. He wouldn't have to go off and be someone's servant. Unlike her.
Marie knew she didn't have much chance at marriage. She wasn't pretty and didn't have a dowry. Wouldn't ever have one, probably. But she didn't want to be a servant. She wanted more.
* * *
Marie and Johan stared around in wonder. Peter's observation had a bit less wonder and a bit more calculation in it, but he had been to Riesa before. Riesa was much, much larger than the village. Much more crowded, too. For a wonder, there were radios in several places. Peter noted the antenna wires. It wasn't hard. Marie was constantly pointing them out.
They had spent the night on the road. Not by preference; they had run out of sunlight and it wasn't safe to travel at night. That brought them into Riesa fairly early in the morning. Business in the market square was brisk. The fee for a stall wasn't all that bad, though it seemed so at first. Peter was surprised at the prices they were getting for the fruits and vegetables they brought into town. They had sold most of their produce by noon and went looking for a likely tavern. Marie pointed out a tavern with a radio wire showing.