"My own daughters don't want me around. Fine, I'll go," Velma began to rant. "I'll go home and throw all your stuff outside. Don't come to me for any help when your lives go down the toilet."
"Don't bother with that, either, Velma," Fred interjected. "As soon as we heard you were coming I called your sister, Betty. She went in and got all the girls' things. There's nothing left for you to damage, and there's no one left who wants to deal with you. Betty didn't even want to set foot in the trailer. She only did it as a favor for Susan and Tina. You've burned all your bridges, Velma. Go home and live with that."
Velma stood and threw her coffee cup at Fred. Fred barely managed to catch it and set it on the table. "Go away, Velma," he said. "Just go away."
Tina, Susan and Fred kept their faces expressionless and waited for Velma to leave. After a searching look at each of them, Velma seemed to deflate and suddenly looked much older. She turned away and left the house.
After a few moments silence, Fred looked at the girls and grinned. "Well, that was easier that I thought it would be. Welcome to your new program, girls. What do you think we should call it? I vote for 'Grampa knows Best.' Or maybe 'Rin Tin Tito.' What about you?"
Susan, still a bit shaken by events, began to smile. "Neither one, Grampa. We don't have to call it anything. It's going to be just a regular life."
Of Masters And Men
By Karen Bergstralh
November, 1631
Master Carpenter Herman Glauber walked from the open door to the forge in the blacksmith shop Martin Schmidt ran for him. Putting down his bulging briefcase he stood warming his hands above the coals. Glauber nodded pleasantly at Martin and, looking around the shop, beamed.
"Rolf, Jakob, finish these up and then take your lunch. Forging the rest of the blanks can wait." Martin dismissed the two youngsters and walked over to greet his boss. His stomach turned over as he wondered what new scheme Herr Glauber was going to present.
Normally the only thing Glauber's schemes had in common was that they made money—often a lot of money—and required a great deal of labor for everyone involved. Few had any connection to carpentry. The master carpenter was involved in many little ventures and each one appeared to lead to others.
The Americans had a phrase for it: a finger in every pie. Martin would admit Herr Glauber did his share of the labor. "Hard work and new ideas make for wealth" was Glauber's favorite saying. In truth, judging from results, the man was right. Still, Martin often wondered if he would ever get used to Herr Glauber or, more rightly, Herr Glauber's enthusiasms.
"Good day to you, Herr Glauber."
"Good day, Herr Schmidt," Herman Glauber said pleasantly. "Might we talk in your office? Today is cold, and while your forge is warm I'd like to talk somewhere out of the draft."
"Certainly, sir. Will we be long? If so, I'll send Rudy to fetch sandwiches and beer." Martin eyed his staff—all visibly interested in what Herr Glauber might say.
"Excellent idea! Yes, I think this might take some time." Herr Glauber smiled and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, giving the impression of barely suppressed energy.
Turning back to his crew Martin called out orders. "Rolf, spend the time between lunch and class working on your math. I expect a better grade this semester. Jakob, take those steel rings down to the harness shop and see what else they need. Your math also needs some work. See that you spend the rest of the day on it. I want to see your homework tomorrow morning, before you go to class. Rudy, here, take this and get a plate of sandwiches and a keg. Get a sandwich for yourself while you are there. You will have to hurry or you will be late for your classes. Max I'd like you to go out to the steel plant and find out what is holding up our order. Carl-Maria, the laundry people have some problem, would you please find out what they want? I think you will find Adolf Glauber there." Martin glanced at Herr Glauber and seeing his nod continued. "He should know about their problem."
Herr Glauber watched silently as the staff of Kudzu Werke scattered. When the two men were alone he turned to Martin and asked, "Masterfully done! How long will we be alone?"
"It will take Rudy about three quarters of an hour to get to the Gardens and back if he hurries. After he's gone we'll have about two hours before the cleaning crew comes in. I can send them off if you need more time."
"No, son, we shouldn't need that long," Glauber said, as the two walked toward the shop office. "I do hope I've not put you off schedule with my visit?"
"No, sir. Actually this break is good for the men. Things have gone very well and we are ahead of schedule on everything. If Max can kick a few lazy dogs into delivering our steel we will be further ahead. That is why I've not started a second shift yet."
"Ah, yes. That is good news. No need to add bodies and cost until you need to. What about the MaidenFresh problems?"
"I'm sure Adolf has told you about those. Most of it is extra hooks and tongs but from what Adolf said I think they have a problem that will need pulleys. Carl-Maria is good at designing lifting systems. Here, sir, please take this chair." Martin pulled out an up-time high-backed office chair for Herr Glauber. Glauber paused, staring down at the chair thoughtfully. A sly grin flashed across his face as he sat.
Closing the office door, Martin sat behind his desk and began clearing the litter of drawings and paperwork. He knew that the contents of Herr Glauber's overstuffed briefcase would soon be scattered across every inch of it. Martin considered the briefcase as Herr Glauber's declaration he was no longer just a master carpenter but now a man of business.
A Grantville man of business, for Martin could not remember ever seeing anything like that briefcase before. The briefcase itself had started life as an up-time Boy Scout project, earning a leatherworking badge. The Boy Scout's father had used it to carry his lunch to the mine and proudly endured his friends' ribbing over his "executive lunchbox." By the time of the RoF the father was dead and the grown-up Boy Scout had moved away from Grantville. Herr Glauber had found it while cleaning out an attic during another of his projects. The house's owner had explained its history and its intended purpose. As his son Adolf told the tale, Herr Glauber had been enchanted.
"Others," Adolf proclaimed, "may believe in magic rings or spears. Father seems to think there is magic in that case. He may be right. Since he got it, all his little ventures are doing well."
Instead of the expected blizzard of papers, Herr Glauber plumped down a thin book. No, not a book, but what the Americans called a "magazine." The cover had a color picture of a huge up-time room centered on a massive stone fireplace and full of furniture.
"This house, imagine, this very house sits not three miles from here." Herr Glauber's callused fingers thumped down on the picture. "And," he said as he flipped the magazine open, "Sliding Rock Farm is full of wonderful furniture. Just look at the furniture!"
Glauber turned the pages slowly, pointing out particular favorites and rhapsodizing about the clean lines and deceptively simple designs. Martin looked and saw what appeared to be handmade hardware on the chests and cabinets. In one picture, a chandelier of iron and wood hung on pulleys over a massive table. He started to trace the lines of the ironwork with his finger but jerked his hand back. His hands were grimy from working iron, hardly fit to touch this marvelous picture.
"Ha! That's got your attention! Thought it might." Herr Glauber was grinning like a fool but Martin didn't take him for one. Never. No matter how Herr Master Carpenter Glauber might laugh or grin or caper about, the man was no fool. He did wonder, especially about his own part in Herr Glauber's schemes.
"Well, Journeyman Schmidt, can you and your shop build something like this?" he asked in a challenging voice.
Martin peered down at the picture, drinking in the details. "Yes . . . I need to see more of the details, but yes, I believe I could."
"How about the fittings on this chest?"
"Oh, yes. That's pretty straightforward. I think even Rolf or Jakob might make such with a little guidan
ce. They would enjoy it, a break from the tedium of nuts and bolts." Martin mused. "Depending on how many you want, we'd have to expand the shop."
"Ah, good man! Yes, I'm setting up a furniture shop to build this type of furniture. We'll have to have hardware—and who better to make it than our own blacksmith shop?"
"I'm curious, sir. Who will buy such furniture? I mean, it isn't fancy looking
so . . ."
Martin had learned to respect Herr Glauber's ideas, for hardly a one had failed so far. Several, such as this blacksmith shop, were paying off very well indeed and even the failure might make a profit in the end. Still, the furniture pictured in the house looked plain and severe, especially compared to some pictures on other pages.
"A point, son, a point. Who will buy my American furniture? Well, first, most of it will not be overly expensive, thus any good solid farmer with a little extra money can buy a piece or two. His wife can proudly show it off to her friends and relations. In turn those friends and relatives will want a piece or two for themselves."
Glauber smiled and thumped the magazine. "This furniture has the advantage of being sturdy and the cushions are covered with good strong leather. A man can come in from the fields and sit down in comfort and his wife will not fuss at him."
Flipping a few pages he found pictures of the dining room and commented, "Think how a table such as this with this set of handsome chairs will look when the relatives come to dinner. Our good farmer's wife will have little trouble keeping it clean and nice looking. That's one market. It will be small and local to start but from small beginnings can grow big profits. As for other markets, there is a great curiosity about Grantville and the Americans. Right now almost anything 'American' sells for a good price among the wealthy and the noble. That lawn chair we pulled from the old shed is an example. I had it re-made using colored leather strips in place of the old plastic. It now resides in Jena under the backside of the dean of the Law faculty. He paid a nice price for it, more than triple what it cost to replace the seat. While I was selling it I was asked about providing a table and chairs with suitable gravity and grace for a scholar's dining hall. I'd been out to Fraulein Clark's house to make some repairs and I thought of this table immediately."
"But if you make a copy of this it won't be a real American table . . ." Martin mentally kicked himself for forgetting the demand for "real" American items. Even he wasn't immune—in his pocket was an up-time pocket knife,
"Ah, you forget. We are all Americans now! Besides, every one with an ounce of sense knows there is a limit to the number of up-time items. What I will give them is a table in the same design, the same materials, and made in Grantville. What could be more American than that? Besides, when I talk to prospective customers, I will have this magazine to show them. Not only will my furniture be from American designs, but this also shows it was used in the homes of very rich Americans. This magazine, from their universe, will show what was good taste in house designs and furniture. When Fraulein Clark gave it to me she told me all about it. All the wealthy and important people wanted their houses shown off in Architectural Digest."
"I see." Hearing the outer door open, Martin looked up. "Ah, Rudy is back. He must have run both ways. In here, Rudy!" Relieved to have a time to think about what he'd just heard, Martin smiled at the teen.
"Your sandwiches, sirs. And a keg of the good Oktober beer." Rudy cheerfully placed a bag and the small keg on the desk. He craned his neck, obviously trying to look at the pictures in the magazine.
"Here, Rudy. What do you think? Can you make something like these hinges?" asked Martin, imitating Herr Glauber's earlier question.
"Oh! Yes sir! But . . ." the young man peered closer at the pictured cabinet. "Why didn't the smith curve this part up?"
"Simplicity, boy," Herr Glauber stated, peering closely at the young man. "The point of the design is simplicity and the beauty of the materials and workmanship. The up-timers call this style 'Craftsman.'"
"Yes, sir. It's easier to hide a problem if the design is really fussy. Simple makes an error stand out." The boy flashed a glance Martin's way and Martin remembered when he'd made just that point.
Rudy, back to concentrating on the pictures explained, "This looks like the smith just cut it and never finished it off. If you made this a nice gentle curve on both sides it will look nicer, not so unfinished. That's not fancy, just finished looking. Here, like this on this chest here." Rudy pointed to the other page and both older men looked carefully.
"Martin, I think your young man is right. It would look better and it isn't fancier." Herr Glauber smiled up at the boy.
"And I think we've found the craftsman for your furniture hardware." Martin smiled also, his mind racing. "Rudy, can you shift to night classes at the end of the semester?"
"Yes, sir!" The boy sucked in a breath. "Does this mean I get to make this kind of stuff? All by myself?"
"Yes, you get to make 'this kind of stuff,'" Martin replied, trying to keep his voice stern while watching the joy in the boy's face. "Not all by yourself, not at first. Later, if Herr Glauber's furniture sells well and you do well in your classes . . . You may end up making furniture hardware all by yourself."
"Does this mean I'll be a journeyman?" Rudy asked breathlessly.
"Yes, yes, it should. You'd better head off now or you will be late for school. For now say nothing to the others. I'll talk to everyone tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir!" The delighted boy spun around and raced out of the office.
Martin stared ahead. Here now was a problem. . . .
"You are worried, my friend Martin," Herr Glauber said. "Is it about how the rest of your men will take to Rudy doing furniture hardware? Here, take a sandwich and fill a mug of beer for me. All our talking has made me dry."
"Yes, I am worried. Not about the rest of the men. Carl-Maria and Max are journeymen already. They've both commended Rudy's work. They won't be a problem. Jakob and Rolf are promising, but their work is still apprentice-level. Rolf won't be happy because he's older but he knows Rudy has more skill. Still, this brings up a problem. None of the boys are properly apprenticed. I cannot apprentice them, as I'm only a journeyman myself. And I certainly cannot raise Rudy to journeyman status."
Glumly considering these problems, Martin tapped the keg and filled two mugs.
"Ah, yes. Your status," Herr Glauber stated gravely. "Master Blacksmith Hubner has stopped claiming you are not a proper journeyman, at least."
"Oh, yes. He's choked properly on that letter you had from Masters Ritterhof and Eisenbach. Still, he's not happy with a journeyman running this shop. Especially when that journeyman is me."
"No, I've been accosted by him on more than one occasion about it. He'll not help raise your Rudy to journeyman. Fortunately there is another master blacksmith who can." With that strange statement, Herr Glauber deliberately took an immense bite of his sandwich and began chewing slowly, his eyes dancing.
Baffled, Martin tried to decipher these cryptic remarks. The only other master blacksmiths in Grantville were all close friends of Herr Hubner. Not one of them so much as acknowledged Martin when passing on the street, so it was unlikely they would help.
At last Herr Glauber finished chewing and took a long slow swallow of beer. "Ah, that's good beer. I wish I'd had enough forethought to get in on the partnership at the Gardens. Still, I am working on the building so not all profit is lost. And, I think some of these tables and chairs would do well in a beer garden."
A sly grin shifted on Glauber's face into a solid, wide grin. "Puzzled, aren't you? And you can't figure out which question to ask me first, can you? Well, Journeyman Martin Schmidt, I've had a letter. Or I should say another letter. A letter from Master Blacksmiths Bruno Ritterhof and Joseph Eisenbach."
His spirits lifting, Martin leaned back in his chair. Clearly whatever the two masters had written was good news or Glauber wouldn't be grinning. Still, a few small butterflies fluttered up from his stomach and into his t
hroat.
"My good friends and fellow masters have decided to make a trip down to Grantville." Glauber passed his mug to Martin and waited until it was refilled before continuing. "They will be here sometime next week and they intend to stay for some time—to settle a few problems, is what they wrote. It seems that Hubner has written them, repeatedly and at great length, complaining about you and about my 'interfering' in blacksmithing matters."
"Oh." A sick feeling began to settle at the bottom of Martin's stomach. A master's complaint about a journeyman hardly boded well for the journeyman. Even if the journeyman was in the right, masters stuck together.
"It would seem that Herr Hubner has failed to understand certain points. Firstly, Bruno Ritterhof and I are old friends, very old friends. And we are related. His sister was my lovely Maria. Joseph Eisenbach is my cousin, my mother's oldest brother's son. I first wrote them about Grantville back in June. Since then they've also had word from others they trust. Neither of them are very happy with the way Hubner and his friends have behaved." Peering over the top of his mug, Glauber appeared to measure Martin's reaction.