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1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz: Chapter Eleven
Last updated: Wednesday, August 3, 2016 18:56 EDT
Dr. Phil’s Friends
May 1632, Grantville
The owners of Grantville’s three pharmacies had gathered together to share out the latest shipment of Dr. Gribbleflotz’ Sal Vin Betula, or as it was known colloquially, Dr. Gribbleflotz’ Blue Pills of Happiness. Tino Nobili, by virtue of his connection with the Kubiaks and HDG Enterprizes, was in charge of sharing out the pills.
Lasso Trelli trusted Tino not to take more than his fair share, so he let his mind wander a bit. His eyes wandered around Tino’s office, and came to a shuddering stop when they fell on the old ceramic chemical jars Tino had lined up on a shelf. A light-bulb moment followed. “You know, guys,” he said as he tried to suppress his excitement.
Tino and John Moss turned to Lasso. “What?” John asked.
“Yeah, what’s got you so excited?” Tino asked.
“I just had a great idea for something we can sell,” Lasso said.
“What?” Tino asked.
“Chemistry sets,” Lasso said. He saw Tino and John’s eyes light up. “Yeah, children’s chemistry sets. Not the silly politically correct things they were making back up-time, but the proper ones, like the ones that got us interested in chemistry in the first place.”
John grinned. “Did you make stink bombs?”
“Of course,” Lasso said. “Didn’t everyone?”
John and Tino nodded. “There’ll be resistance from the mothers,” Tino warned.
“So we offer them in junior, intermediate and senior levels,” Lasso said, “with each level adding more chemicals and experiments.”
“Anyway,” John added, “it’ll only be the American mothers that want to keep their babies in leading strings. The down-timers will see the fortunes Tom Stone and Dr. Gribbleflotz are making and decide they want their children to be just like them.”
Lasso stared at John. “You know,” he said before stumbling to a halt.
“I know what?” John asked.
“If we could get Dr. Gribbleflotz to lend his name to the chemistry sets . . .”
Tino whistled. “That’d be great. We could have a line of Dr. Gribbleflotz chemistry sets, suitable for different agers and levels of ability, why . . .”
“So how do we go about approaching him?” John asked.
“I could ask Tracy, I suppose,” Tino said with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.
“Jonathan Fortney might be a better bet,” Lasso said.
“What makes you say that?” Tino asked. “Tracy has a direct line to Dr. Gribbleflotz.”
“So does Jonathan,” Lasso said. He smiled conspiratorially at John and Tino. “Late last year he asked me about getting some iodine for Dr. Gribbleflotz. I told him I could get it, but that Tracy would probably buy it from you”
Tino nodded. “That’s right. I sold Tracy a couple of pounds, though what he wants to do with it . . .”
Lasso snorted in disbelief. “Can’t you guess?” he asked. Tino looked back at him blankly. “Spirits of Hartshorn,” he said, giving him a clue.
“Triiodide!” Tino’s eyes lit up. “You think Dr. Gribbleflotz is making ammonia triiodide?”
“I know he is,” Lasso said. “Jonathan told me that Dr. Gribbleflotz has included a simple demonstration of triiodide in his regular public seminars.”
“So you think Jonathan might be able to persuade Dr. Gribbleflotz to lend his name to a line of chemistry sets?” Johan asked.
Lasso shrugged. “It won’t hurt to ask.”
“Before we ask him to talk to Dr. Gribbleflotz, it might be a good idea to find out what chemicals we can get, and what sorts of things can be done with them,” John said.
A couple of weeks later, Grantville
Jonathan lined up the stone on the drive and kicked it. It shot away a satisfying distance. He should have known better than to volunteer to do anything. Of course, he wouldn’t have felt half so disgruntled if he hadn’t punctured halfway up Mahan Run and discovered he didn’t have a tire lever. A few minutes later he turned up the drive to Ted and Tracy Kubiaks home. He wheeled his bicycle up to the house and leaned it against the wall.
“Hi, Jonathan. You got a problem?”
Jonathan looked up and saw Ted leaning against the deck’s railing. “A puncture. I don’t suppose you have a tire lever? I’ve got a repair kit, but I seem to have left the tire lever at home.”
“There’re a couple of forks I use in the kitchen,” Ted said as he pushed himself off from the railing. He glanced back to Jonathan and waved for him to take the stairs onto the deck. “Truth be told, I was actually wondering what brings you out this way. We’re a bit off your beaten track.”
“Mr. Trelli and the other pharmacy owners have an idea they wanted to put to Dr. Gribbleflotz.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here?” Ted said.
Jonathan grinned. “I’m here because, although I think it’s a great idea, I’m pretty sure Dr. Gribbleflotz won’t be interested,” he said as he collected the promotional material Mr. Trelli had given him and started up the stairs.
Ted stood aside to let Jonathan past. “Interested in what?”
“In lending his name to a line of chemistry sets.” Jonathan pulled out a roughed out sketch of a possible box cover and handed it to Ted. “Mr. Trelli and the other pharmacy owners want to launch a range of chemistry sets, and they’d like to use Dr. Gribbleflotz’ name.”
Ted held the paper up and looked at it. “A ‘Dr. Gribbleflotz Junior Chemist’?” He grinned at Jonathan. “What makes you think Dr. Gribbleflotz won’t be interested?
“It’s not that I think he’d object,” Jonathan hastened to say, “but I don’t think he cares about anything other than his research.” He shrugged. “If it was presented to him in the right way, and he didn’t have to do anything, then I’m pretty sure he’d agree to let his name be used.”
“What’s in it for you?” Ted asked.
“For me?” Jonathan stared at Ted. He hadn’t thought of asking for anything. “I’m just doing Mr. Trelli a favor.”
“You’ll never make a businessman,” Ted said as he guided Jonathan into the house. “Tracy, Jonathan’s here,” he called out as he led Jonathan through the house. “What else is in the box?” he asked.
Jonathan readjusted his hold on the box. “Mr. Trelli and the other owners collected what equipment they could and made up some sample chemistry sets.”
“Well,” Ted said as he guided Jonathan into the lounge, “I’m sure Dr. Gribbleflotz will appreciate the extra chemicals.”
Jonathan had time to see that Mrs. Kubiak was comforting a tearful Richelle before her adopted teenage daughter looked up, saw him, and bolted. “Was that because of me?’ He asked, hurt that anyone would run away from him like that.
“Sort of,” Tracy said. “Some boys at school are giving her a hard time.”
“So I got tarred with the same brush,” Jonathan muttered.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Don’t take it too much to heart, Jonathan.” Ted turned to Tracy. “Tell me who they are and I’ll sort them out.”
“I’d rather it didn’t come to that,” Tracy said, “but they’re pestering her while she waits for the bus to Mahan Run.” She signed heavily before turning to Jonathan. “What brings you here?”
Jonathan licked his lips. Now was probably not a good time to make his sales pitch. He glanced at Ted, who nodded. Taking that as an indication to go on, Jonathan laid the wooden box he’d been carrying on the floor and grabbed the various promotional sketches the pharmacy owners had put together and offered them to Tracy. “Mr. Trelli and the other pharmacy owners would like to start selling a range of children’s chemistry sets.”
Tracy shot a glance towards the door Richelle had bolted, sighed, and then turned back to Jonathan. “What’s that got to do with us?” she asked as she accepted the papers.
“Look at the advertising Jonathan handed you, Tracy,” Ted said. “They want to use Dr. Gribbleflotz’ name on their chemistry sets.”
Tracy looked at the various proposed box covers and other advertising she’d been handed for a while, then handed it back, shaking her head. “I can’t see Dr. Phil being interested.”
“Dr. Phil?” Jonathan asked.
Tracy blushed.
“It’s a pet name for Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Ted said. “We’d prefer that you don’t use it, especially not around him.”
“No problem,” Jonathan said with a cheeky grin. “I don’t fancy trying to explain Oprah to Dr. Gribbleflotz.” He turned back to Tracy. “I agree that he probably won’t be interested, Mrs. Kubiak, but I don’t think he’ll mind if you were to approve the licensing agreement. It’s not as if Mr. Trelli and the others expect him to actually make and market the chemistry sets.”
Tracy nodded absently. Jonathan could see that most of her attention was still on the door Richelle had run through. He shot the door a quick glance, and thought he caught a glimpse of the girl before she drew her head back. He didn’t like to think that she was being victimized by some kids at school and offered a possible solution to the problem. “My sister’s attending some dance classes Miz Bitty is giving to her old students after school. I could ask Lynette to keep an eye on Richelle while she’s waiting for the bus.”
“Dance class?” Richelle appeared in the doorway. “I could dance?”
The life in Richelle’s face was a revelation to Jonathan. She looked like a completely different girl. “It’s ballet,” he warned.
“Dancing,” Richelle said with a distracted look on her face. “I loved to dance.”
“Then that’s settled,” Tracy said. “I’ll call Bitty and arrange for you to join her after school classes.”
Richelle ran across the room and hugged Tracy. She shot Jonathan a wary look before dashing out of the room.
Jonathan had been watching the girl all the time, and now, with her out of the room, his eyes drifted back to Ted and Tracy Kubiak, whom he discovered were both looking at him.
“Thank you,” Tracy said.
It was a simple statement, but Jonathan knew it came from the heart. “I didn’t do anything,” he protested. Still, seeing the tension leaving Tracy’s body, he resolved to ask his sister to keep an eye on Richelle anyway.
“You did more than you can imagine,” Ted said. “That’s the most animated I’ve seen Richelle since we took her in.”
A couple of days later, Jena
Phillip was busy writing up his latest experiment in his journal when Hans called from over by the window. “Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz, Herr Fortney has just arrived on his bicycle, and he’s got a big box tied to the carrier.”
Phillip thrust his dip pen into the holder and rushed over to the window, just managing to catch a glimpse of Jonathan before he passed through the door into the main office. He was carrying a large wooden box in his arms. Phillip turned to look at Hans, who’d turned to look at him. Both then looked over at the fume cupboard, which Hans had only recently cleaned after their last experiment. Their eyes then checked the work benches. Everything was tidy. Their eyes met again, and as one they started for the door. Hans, being the subordinate, paused long enough for Phillip to go first. Within minutes they were in the kitchen, which tended to double as the place where everyone congregated when they weren’t working, or as in this case, when someone interesting turned up.
“Hello, Jonathan,” Phillip said as he gently pushed his way through the laborants who were eagerly looking at the smaller boxes Jonathan was removing from the larger box. Phillip got close enough to identify the boxes. “Chemistry sets? I already have chemistry sets.”
“Not like these, Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Jonathan said as he laid some sheets of paper out on the kitchen table.
Intrigued, Phillip wiped the new spectacles Dr. Shipley, the Grantville optometrist, had made for him clean before having a good look at the papers. They looked like the covers of some of the up-time chemistry sets the Kubiaks had given him a few months ago, except these were slightly different. “The Dr. Gribbleflotz Junior Alchemist Set?” he asked after looking at the first one.
Jonathan nodded. “The Grantville pharmacies want to sell a range of chemistry sets, and Frau Kubiak is agreeable to licensing the use of your name, if you’re willing.
Phillip caught the “range of chemistry sets” and checked out the other papers. In addition to the junior set there were also intermediate and advanced versions. “Why do they want to use my name?” he asked.
Jonathan smiled. “Brand awareness. To most people in and around Grantville your name’s synonymous with alchemy. Anyone who hasn’t heard of your blue pills of happiness must have been asleep the last six months, and then there’s the Gribbleflotz jingle.”
Phillip winced at the mention of the jingle. He cringed every time he heard it. It was tacky, and it reeked of advertising. Still, according to Frau Mittelhausen, sales of all of their products had jumped since they started sponsoring some program on the radio. “What would I have to do if I agree to them using my name?R#8221;
“Nothing, Dr. Gribbleflotz. Although they might want you to record a few advertisements, sort of like you do for the ‘and now a few words from our sponsor‘ segment before each episode of ‘Robin of the Committees of Correspondence‘.”
Phillip realized he was nodding and hastily stopped. He didn’t enjoy recording those messages, but Frau Mittelhausen insisted. No doubt she would insist on him making some sort of speech about the alchemy sets. He sighed. Women were so bossy and managing. “Very well,” he said, “you may tell Frau Kubiak that I’m agreeable.”
“That’s great,” Jonathan said. “Herr Trelli’ll be pleased.”
Phillip tried to fit the name to a face, but he couldn’t imagine the Herr Trelli he knew having anything to do with selling chemistry sets. “Herr Trelli at the Vo-tech?” he asked, just to be sure.
“No, Herr Lasso Trelli of Trelli’s GoodCare Pharmacy. He owns my local pharmacy, and he asked me if I thought you’d license them the use your name to sell chemistry sets.” Jonathan sent Phillip a wry smile. “He’s the guy I asked about iodine and the medical uses of mercury.”
“Ah, yes, that’s right.” Phillip smiled at Jonathan. “You doubted that mercury could be used to treat the great pox because you understood that it was too dangerous. What did your Herr Trelli have to say about that?”
“He said that that right up until a year or so before the Ring of Fire you could buy a mercury based paint-on antiseptic, and that topical use, that means applied to the surface of the skin, might be able to treat the ulcers you see in stage one syphilis.”
“So my great grandfather was right?” Phillip asked.
Jonathan glanced around at the interested faces of the laborants and sighed. “Yes, Dr. Gribbleflotz, your great grandfather was right.”
“Naturally,” Phillip said, trying not to appear too smug. Of course he’d known that his great grandfather, the great Paracelsus, would never have prescribed a treatment that damaged a patient’s health, but it was nice to know up-time medicine agreed with the treatment. “Now, what should we do with these alchemy sets?”
“I think you should let your laborants try them out, Dr. Gribbleflotz, just to see if you think the instructions are adequate.”
Phillip was aware of a sudden change in the room. He glanced along the surrounding laborants. A few of them had practiced begging faces on. Others were merely looking at the alchemy sets like starving children around a table of food. He picked out his three best laborants, Hans, his personal laborant, and Michael Siebenhorn and Kurt Stoltz, the two eldest and best educated of his laborants. “Hans, Kurt, and Michael, I want the three of you to each take one of the alchemy sets and supervise a small group of laborants as they try the experiments provided.”
Phillip would have said more, but the laborants were making too much noise as they quickly formed themselves into three groups. He glanced at Jonathan, who was looking enviously at the laborants. “You can join them if you wish,” he said.
“Thanks, Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Jonathan said before joining the throng.
Monday night, Grantville
Tracy was on edge as she waited for Richelle to get home from dance class. Her adopted daughter had never been out alone this late before, and if Ivan hadn’t offered to pick her up after dance class, she wouldn’t have let her go. She leapt to her feet, disturbing Toby, who’d been sleeping peacefully on the window seat, and started pacing.
“Stop worrying,” Ted said from the safety of the kitchen. “Richelle’ll be okay.
Tracy stopped her pacing to shoot her husband a glare. “She’s never been out this late, and you know how strangers scare her.”
“She’s attending ballet class,” Ted said. “What could possibly go wrong?”
Tracy shuddered as she started to imagine what could go wrong, but her imaginings were interrupted by the sound of a pickup truck coming down Mahan Run. Moments later light from the vehicle’s headlamps passed across the windows, and Tracy rushed out onto the deck.
Richelle climbed out of Ivan’s pickup and with Lenya in her arms, danced across the drive and up the steps onto the deck. “It was wonderful, Mama Tracy.” She stopped dancing long enough to kiss Tracy before dancing to the railing and calling down to Ivan. “Thank you for the ride, Herr Drahuta.”
Tracy watched her adopted daughter dance into the house with her baby in her arms before walking down the steps to her husband’s cousin, who was unloading Lenya’s baby buggy from his truck. “Thanks for picking up Richelle and Lenya,” she called.
“Hey, no trouble,” Ivan said as he passed the collapsed baby buggy to Tracy. “I have to go past the school on the way home from the station.” He shot a look in the direction Richelle had taken. “If that’s what happens to a girl who attends one of Bitty’s ballet classes, I’m glad our girl is only three.”
“Did you talk to Bitty?” Tracy asked as she accepted the baby buggy.
Ivan shook his head. “No, but I wouldn’t worry about Richelle. I had to tear her away from her new friends.”
Tracy read the grin that accompanied Ivan’s comment to indicate that he wasn’t really serious. “Who was she with?”
“Lynette Fortney, Bitty’s Melanie,” Ivan paused for a moment before continuing, “and Cathy McNally.”
Tracy sniggered. “You do realize Cathy took up ballet before she was five?”
“Noooo.”
Tracy nodded. “Lolly told me that Cathy was so hyper-active that it was a choice of ballet, karate, or medication, and the local karate school didn’t take students that young.” She smiled at the anxious glances Ivan was sending across the road. “Has Caecilia stopped running around everywhere yet?” she asked.
Ivan shook his head. “Do you think we should enroll her in a ballet class?”
“Talk to Lolly,” Tracy said. “Well, thanks again for looking after Richelle. We owe you.”
Ivan shook his head. “Nah. Richelle’s already got that covered.” He shot Tracy a grin. “She’s agreed to babysit the horde this weekend.”
Tracy shook her head ruefully. “You’re taking unfair advantage of the poor girl. There’s no way picking Richelle up on the way home from the fire station is worth taking on your mob for a weekend.”
“But you will let her stay at our place all weekend?”
Tracy hesitated to answer. There were lots of good reasons why she should object, but. . . .
“The boys like her,” Ivan offered, “and you are just across the road.”
That was true, but . . . Tracy was still hesitant.
“And there are plenty of guns in the house.”
That was probably meant to reassure Tracy, but it failed. “She doesn’t know how to shoot.”
“What?” Ivan protested. “Why not? If you don’t have something suitable, I’m sure I can dig something up.”
“It’s not that,” Tracy said. She sighed. “Richelle’s got issues . . .”
“Something to do with Lenya’s father?”
Tracy nodded. “And now some boys at school are giving her a hard time over being an unwed teenage mother.”
“You think she might pull a gun on them if she knew how to use one?” Ivan grinned. “It’d probably scare some manners into them.”
“I’m not worried about her pulling the gun. I’m worried about her using it on them.”
Ivan whistled. “That might be going a bit too far. What about running her through one of your Ladies Self-defense courses?”
“I’ll think about it,” Tracy said, “but I’ll need a couple of male training dummies, are you volunteering?”
“Jeez, Tracy, you could at least pretend that the guys aren’t there to get beaten to a pulp.” He shook his head. “Sorry, you’re going to have to find some other poor sucker. Meanwhile, you should teach Richelle to shoot.” He held up his hands. “She’s too young to have a carry piece, but with so many guns in the house, she needs to know how to handle them safely.’
Tracy signed. “You’re right. I’ll get on to it.”
“Right. See you same time tomorrow.”
Tracy waited for Ivan to start down the drive before going back into the house, where the first person she saw was Ted.
“Richelle seems to have enjoyed her dance class,” he said.
Tracy nodded. “She enjoyed it so much that she volunteered look after Ivan and Belle’s mob this weekend as payment for bringing her home.”
Ted whistled and shook his head. “Still, it’ll do her confidence a world of good to be given the responsibility.”
Saturday morning, a couple of weeks later.
Richelle noticed Jonathan Fortney the moment she stepped into the Middle School gymnasium. She couldn’t really miss him, because he and another young man were sparing on some mats in the middle of the floor with most of the women and girls enrolled in the self-defense class standing around watching. “What’s he doing here?” Richelle muttered. She winced at just how petulant she sounded. A glance to the woman beside her told her that Mama Tracy had heard, and was amused.
“Tommy Karickhoff is probably the highest ranked martial artist in Grantville. He used to be an instructor at a dojo in Fairmont, and he’s helped me with the self-defense courses before,” Tracy Kubiak said.
Richelle rolled her eyes. “I mean Herr Fortney.”
Tracy’s lips twitched. “I told Tommy I needed an extra warm body and he said he knew someone who might be suitable.” She smiled innocently at Richelle. “It seems Jonathan was that someone.”
Richelle turned her attention back to Jonathan and Herr Karickhoff just in time to see Jonathan lunge forward with a knife. What followed happened so quickly that Richelle wasn’t sure what she’d seen. But it looked like Herr Karickhoff grabbed Jonathan’s knife hand in both of his hands, ducked under the arm, and somehow stabbed Jonathan with the knife Jonathan was holding. It was only when both of them stood up and Jonathan handed the knife to Herr Karickhoff that she realized he hadn’t been hurt. She turned to Mama Tracy. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked.
Tracy shook her head and waved the combatants over. “Hi, Tommy, Jonathan. Richelle wants to know if the knife counter you were doing is dangerous.#8221;
Tommy tossed the knife he was carrying to Richelle, who had a panicky moment before she caught it and realized it wasn’t a real knife.
“Even a real knife it takes a real effort to actually stick it into someone with that move,” Tommy said.
Richelle handed back the rubber knife. “Will you be teaching us moves like you were doing, Herr Karickhoff?”
He shook his head. “The best thing to do when someone starts waving a knife around is be somewhere else.”
Richelle’s brow screwed up as she considered what she’d just heard.
“Tommy means you should run,” Tracy said. “I’ll cover what else you should do later in the program.”
Richelle nodded her acceptance of Mama Tracy’s dictate, but something still bothered her. “If your best advice is to run, why practice fighting someone with a knife?”
“Because sometimes running away isn’t an option,” Tracy said. “Enough of this. Are you two ready to get started?” she asked Tommy and Jonathan.
“Any time you are,” Tommy said. Jonathan nodded in agreement.
Richelle gave the two men one last glance before hurrying off with Mama Tracy to join the other women assembled for the Ladies Self Defense class.
Four hours later Richelle stumbled out of the gymnasium with Tracy for the lunch break. “He’s horrible,” she said.
“Who?” Tracy asked.
“Jonathan. He was always grabbing me.”
Tracy grinned. “He’s only supposed to be trying to grab you. It’s not his fault you haven’t been able to avoid his attempts.”
Richelle glared at Tracy. “He hurt me.” He hadn’t really hurt her, but she hadn’t liked being grabbed.
“And you hurt him back.”
A smile flittered across Richelle’s face as she remembered some of the things she’d done to Jonathan. There had been the kicking and punching, which hadn’t been quite as satisfying as she would have liked because of the protective padding he was wearing. Although she had managed to drop him with one knee attack to the groin even with the protection he was wearing. Then there had been the grappling. She’d had him writhing on the floor with one particular finger hold.
“Don’t get too cocky, Richelle. Jonathan could have countered any of your attacks.”
Richelle snorted her disbelief.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her round until she faced Tracy. “I mean it, Richelle. After lunch you can pad up and run through the same drills, but this time Jonathan will be allowed to use any counter he knows. It’ll be a whole new ballgame.”
“Bring it on!” Richelle said, using an Americanism Papa Ted often used.
That afternoon
Richelle was grabbed from behind. Immediately she grabbed for Jonathan’s right hand. Her right hand clamped his against her body while she ran her knuckles across the tendons on the back of the hand. When it released its grip she grabbed a couple of fingers and pushed them back. Her hand clamping Jonathan’s hand against her body formed a fulcrum against which she could apply pressure on Jonathan’s fingers. She smiled at him, confident that she had control of him.
Then something hit her in the midriff and she folded up. A moment later Jonathan wasn’t just free, he had her in an unfamiliar hold. One arm was levering her bent right arm so that she wanted to bend forward, while his other hand was pushing back at her shoulder. He wasn’t even really holding her, and he was still able to make her stand on tip-toes.
“Okay, you can let her go now, Jonathan,” Tracy said.
“Only if you grab hold of her so she doesn’t try and hurt me,” Jonathan said.
Richelle glared at Jonathan. He’d guessed that she was just waiting for him to let her go before retaliating.
Tracy grabbed her hand and Jonathan released his hold and jumped back a safe distance. Richelle made a move to attack him, but Mama Tracy had a firm grip on her.
“I told you not to be so cocky,” Tracy said.
“He hit me,” Richelle protested as she took in the interested expressions on the women who’d gathered around to watch the demonstration. “#8220;That wasn’t in the drill.”
“What did you expect him to do when you just stood there like that?” Tracy asked. She turned to Jonathan. “Would you like to demonstrate how Richelle should have reacted?
“Richelle, I want you to play the aggressor and grab Jonathan like he’s been grabbing you,” Tracy said.
Richelle ran her eyes up and down Jonathan’s nearly six foot frame, stopping when she met his eyes. He was smiling, and she just knew he was going to make her look foolish. “Do I have to?” she asked.
“The best way to learn is by experiencing the hold being applied to you,” Jonathan said before turning his back on Richelle and just standing there, waiting for her to start.
Richelle glanced around the gymnasium. Everyone but Jonathan was watching her. She swallowed and stepped up behind Jonathan and swung her arms around him. The next thing she knew she was yelping in pain because of the tension on her fingers.
“Okay, you can let her go now,” Tracy said.
Richelle settled her sore fingers safely under her arms and stared hard at Jonathan. He can’t have seen the daggers she was shooting at him, because he just smiled at her.
“You were too tentative,” Tracy said. “Now try again, but with a little more aggression.”
“Do I have to?” Richelle asked.
“Could I have a go?” Melanie Matowski asked.
Melanie was Miz Bitty’s youngest daughter, and she attended the same dance classes as Richelle. She was also one of a number of girls in the dance class that considered Jonathan Fortney cute. Richelle didn’t agree. Kittens and puppies were cute, not men like Jonathan.
“Okay,” Tracy said. “Are you ready, Jonathan?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Melanie, in your own time.”
Richelle watched as she swung her arms around Jonathan and hugged him. The thought that she seemed to be enjoying the contact flashed through her mind and she missed how Jonathan broke Melanie’s hold and skipped to one side while maintaining the finger lock. Melanie tried to lash out at him, but Jonathan was able to manipulate his hold so Melanie was unable to strike him no matter how much she tried.
“Okay, you can stop now!” Tracy said.
“How are we supposed to do that?” Richelle said. She waved at Jonathan. “He’s probably had years of training.”
“He has a name,” Tracy said pointedly, “And yes, Jonathan has had years of training.” She turned to Jonathan. “Do you have your black belt yet?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Sensei has invited me to grade this year.”
Tracy nodded before turning to the class. “Obviously none of you have the training to control someone like Jonathan was controlling Melanie, but then, I don’t expect you to.” She smiled. “No, if you are ever attacked and you get a finger lock like Jonathan just demonstrated, what you should do is immediately apply maximum force to dislocate the fingers.”
Richelle winced. Her fingers were sore enough as it was, she didn’t want to even imagine what they would feel like if Jonathan had dislocated them. She saw Mama Tracy was still talking and tuned back into what she was saying.
“Your demonstrated ability to hurt your assailant may cause him to cut and run, but if he does stick around, not only will the dislocated fingers make it difficult for him to grab you, the damaged hand will be extremely sensitive to being struck. If you are ever in that situation, don’t hesitate to attack that hand.” Tracy glanced around the class. “Okay, girls, pair off and take turns trying the counter you’ve just seen. Tommy, Jonathan, and I will roam around helping.
Late June, Jena
Philip was frowning at the letter he’d just received when he noticed Jonathan Fortney at the door of his study. Hastily he dropped the letter on the little occasional table beside his armchair. “Come on in and sit. Pull up a chair. How have you been?”
“Bad news?” Jonathan asked, gesturing to the letter Phillip had been reading as he limped over to one of the spare armchairs and collapsed into it.
Phillip glanced down at the letter he’d been reading and shook his head. “Just an inquiry from and old student of mine.”
“Anyone I might have heard of?”
“Johann Rudolf Glauber.”
Jonathan’s brows shot up. “The Johann Rudolf Glauber? The man who discovered Glauber’s salts?”
Phillip nodded reluctantly.
“And discovered how to make hydrochloric acid by adding common salt to sulphuric acid, and nitric acid by adding saltpetre to sulphuric acid?”
Phillip shot to his feet. “Johann Glauber did not discover how to make acidum salis by the action of Oil of Vitriol on common salt, nor did he discover how to make aqua fortis from Oil of Vitriol and saltpetre.”
“The encyclopedia I read seemed pretty sure, Dr. Gribbleflotz.”
Phillip started pacing. “I discovered those methods for myself more than ten years ago.” He stopped pacing to turn and glare at Jonathan. “Johann was my laborant for a year back then, and I taught him how to make acidum salis and aqua fortis using Oil of Vitriol.”
“Oh!”
Phillip nodded. “Yes, oh! Like everyone else with access to Grantville’s encyclopedias I too searched them for my name . . .”
“And didn’t find it,” Jonathan chipped in.
Phillip nodded. “And didn’t find it. But I did find my former student’s name, and that he was laying claim to my discoveries.”
“But not until 1648,” Jonathan said. “Why would he wait so long before claiming the methods as his own?”
Phillip shrugged. “Who knows? For that matter, who cares? In your history I was forgotten while Johann was remembered. Why? Because he was a self-promoter while I wasn’t. But this time I will beat him. I’ve learned from my mistakes. This time I’ve grasped the idea of self-promotion. This time I shall be remembered as the man who discovered how to make acidum salis and aqua fortis using Oil of Vitriol. Not some self-taught technician.”
“Didn’t you say he was your student for a year?”
Phillip glared at Jonathan for picking up on that little detail. He might have held his gaze long enough to force Jonathan to drop his eyes, or maybe that should have been eye, if he hadn’t suddenly noticed that Jonathan had a rather impressive black eye. “What happened to you?” he asked, gesturing towards the eye.
Jonathan brushed a finger lightly over the swelling that was trying to close his right eye. “I helped out at Frau Kubiak’s latest Ladies Self-defense course, and one of the girls accidently hit me in the eye.”
Phillip studied the eye and winced in sympathy. “I have an ointment that might help. Let me get you some.”
Jonathan held up a hand. “There’s no need, Dr. Gribbleflotz. I’ll be okay. I’m more interested in knowing why you wanted me to stop by?”
Phillip held up a single finger. “One moment,” he said before hurrying over to his desk and extracting three files from a drawer. “Have a look at these while I get the ointment.”
“What are they?” Jonathan asked as he accepted the folders.
“The laborants kept asking about the science behind the experiments in those sample alchemy sets you brought over, so Hans, Michael, and Kurt got together to prepare a booklet for each set that explains the science behind the experiments. We have them in three languages. I’m confident that the German and Latin versions are correct, but the manuscripts you have are the English translations, and while I can read and understand language very well, things go wrong when I try to speak or write in English.”
Jonathan flipped through the pages of one of the booklets, pausing to skim over what was written a couple of times. He looked up at Phillip. “But why do you want an English version? Hardly any of your laborants know more than a few words of English.”
Phillip nodded. “That’s true, but English is still a language of instruction in some technical subjects.”
“Only because the teachers aren’t sufficiently fluent in German or Latin yet.”
“Of course, but it means people are learning English, and that means that there is a market for an English translation, and best of all, with the three versions in the same booklet, the booklets can double as a language learning aid.” Phillip gestured to the file. “You have a look at them. I won’t be a moment.” He left Jonathan reading one of the manuscripts and hurried off to the store room and grabbed a jar of his special cure-all ointment with the added extracts of maggot. Jonathan was well into the first manuscript when he returned.
“How does it look?” Phillip asked as he opened the jar and placed it on the work table beside Jonathan.
Jonathan smiled at Phillip. “You were right. Things go wrong when you try to write in English.” He waved the manuscript. “Someone’s going to have to go through this and mark all the corrections that need to be made.”
“That’s the task for which I asked you to come.” Phillip smiled as he tilted Jonathan’s head back so he could study the swelling around Jonathan’s eye. “Hold still a moment.” He dug a finger into the ointment and applied it liberally to the swollen area before gently massaging it in.
“Ouch!” Jonathan’s cry of pain had Phillip backing off for a moment. “You want me to check the English in those manuscripts? Why?”
“Because you’re a native English speaker,” Phillip said as he started to gently massage in the ointment again, “and you don’t need to ask who wrote the original English translation.”
“Ah.” Jonathan tried to nod, but Phillip’s hold on his head prevented him from doing so. “You still haven’t told the Kubiaks that you understand English.”
“No. And I’d like to keep it a secret a little longer.” Phillip used a rag to gently wipe the excess ointment from Jonathan’s face before stepping back to inspect his handiwork. He nodded in satisfaction as he put the lid back on the jar and handed it to Jonathan. “I want you to gently massage a liberal coating of the ointment into the swelling twice a day for a week.”
“Thanks, Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Jonathan said as he accepted the jar.
Phillip waved away Jonathan’s thanks. “So, will you check my translation? I will pay you.”
“I’ll be happy to look at them, Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Jonathan said, “and there’s no need to pay me.”
“I insist.”
Jonathan held up the jar of ointment. “Then consider this payment.”
“It’s a lot of work,” Phillip said.
Jonathan shook his head. “I’ll type it all up on the computer at home and run it through the grammar and spell checker. It’ll hardly take any time at all. Then I can print everything out and pass it on to Herr Trelli to check the science.”
“If you’re sure,” Phillip said. He’d heard about the wondrous computers, but he’d never seen one working yet.
Jonathan nodded. “I’ll get onto it as the moment I get home.”
Phillip walked Jonathan to the door and watched him put the folders and jar of ointment into one of his bicycle’s saddlebags. Then, with a quick wave Jonathan was on his bike and pedaling away. Phillip waved him off and turned round, to find the expectant faces of Hans, Michael, and Kurt watching him.
“Jonathan has agreed to check the English translations before passing them on to Herr Trelli to check the explanations you wrote,” he told them.
“Herr Trelli won’t find anything wrong with the explanations,” Kurt said.
Phillip was in total agreement. A lot of the booklets were taken straight out of a selection of up-time chemistry textbooks. The only way the booklets could be wrong was if the textbooks were wrong, and that was unlikely, because surely the textbooks had been written by knowledgeable up-timers.
A few days later, Grantville
It was a fine Saturday afternoon when Jonathan walked over to Trelli’s GoodCare pharmacy with the printouts. As he entered the pharmacy he looked around. Not seeing Mr. Trelli anywhere he headed for the counter. “Hi, Mrs. Little. Is Mr. Trelli around? I’ve got something I want to show him.”
“Lasso’s . . .” Susan Little looked up, and whistled. “What happened to your eye?”
Jonathan sighed. The bruising around his eye couldn’t go down soon enough. “I was helping out with Tracy Kubiak’s Ladies Self-Defense course and I caught a swinging arm,” he explained for what felt like the thousandth time.
Susan winced and leaned closer to have a better look at Jonathan’s eye. “Are you using anything for the bruising?”
“Dr. Gribbleflotz gave me something that seems to be working.”
“Oh? What?”
Jonathan shrugged. “Just some ointment.”
Susan looked skyward for a few second before shaking her head and looking at Jonathan. “I haven’t heard of any Dr. Gribbleflotz ointment. How long has he been making it? We’d be happy to sell yet another Dr. Gribbleflotz product.”
“I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “I guess I can ask him next time I see him.”
Susan nodded. “You do that. Just remember though, that Lasso will want to know what goes into it before he’s willing to sell it.”
“Willing to sell what?” Lasso Trelli asked as he appeared at his office door. “Hi, Jonathan. What brings you here today?” Lasso’s eyes locked onto Jonathan’s eye. “Who hit you?”
“One of the girls at Mrs. Kubiak’s Ladies Self Defense class accidently hit me,” Jonathan explained for the one thousand and first time. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Jonathan pulled the printouts from the satchel he had across his shoulder and offered them to Lasso. “Some of Dr. Gribbleflotz’ laborants have got together to prepare a multilingual booklet for each of the Dr. Gribbleflotz alchemy sets that explains the science behind each of the experiments, and I offered to ask you to check out their chemistry.”
Lasso had a quick skim through the pages. “Did you type these up?” he asked.
Jonathan nodded.
“You used a spellchecker, didn’t you?”
Jonathan nodded.
“It shows,” Lasso said. He waved the printouts. “What’re they planning on doing with these?”
“They want to sell booklets to accompany the chemistry sets.”
Lasso nodded. “I’ll have a look at them. If they’re any good, we might cut a deal to include them in the chemistry sets.”
“Thanks, Mr. Trelli.”
“No, thank you, Jonathan.” He studied Jonathan’s eye for a few seconds. “I’ve got an ointment that’ll help with the swelling,” he offered.
Jonathan shook his head. “Thanks, Mr. Trelli, but Dr. Gribbleflotz has already given me something for my eye.”
“Really? Is it any good?”
Jonathan nodded. “You should have seen my eye before I started using it.”
“Do you have some I can run some tests on?”
Jonathan shook his head. “I’d rather you talked to Dr. Gribbleflotz before doing anything like that, Mr. Trelli.”
Lasso nodded. “Fair enough.” He shook the printouts. “I’ll have a look at these and get back to you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Trelli,” Jonathan said. He waved to Susan as he walked out of the store. He paused outside the door to consider his options. He was felling hungry, but he didn’t like paying for food when there was plenty waiting back home. With the thought of saving a couple of dollars he turned to head home. A short distance away he thought he recognized Richelle Kubiak pushing a Baby Jogger. He let his eyes follow her as she walked away from him.
Richelle was obviously enjoying a walk in the sun, waving to people she knew, and Jonathan was just about to turn the other way and head home when he saw her do a double-take and speed up. Where previously her progress had been carefree, now there was a sense of urgency as she took the side street that led to the shortcut over the hill to Mahan Run
Jonathan searched for what had scared her, and saw a heavyset man staring after her. That wasn’t unexpected. Lots of men stared at attractive young women as they walked past. But then the man started walking purposefully in Richelle’s wake. It could just be nothing, but Jonathan felt sure something about that man had scared Richelle. He started after them.
Richelle was desperately trying not to panic. Had that really been her step-father’s brother? Had he recognized her? How had he found her? Was it just an accident that he’d been visiting Grantville and seen her, or had he come to Grantville because he knew she was living there? She glanced back over her shoulder, but the trees meant visibility along the dirt track she was following was limited to twenty or so yards. She increased speed.
Jonathan didn’t like the idea of Richelle being followed up the shortcut by a man who scared her and the sooner he caught up with her the better. He started jogging. A few hundred yards later he heard screaming and started running.
He rounded a corner in time to see Richelle swing a branch at the man. It broke, leaving her weaponless and off balance. The man threw her to the ground and pulled a knife.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Jonathan shouted. It was a silly question, but it served the purpose of distracting the man’s attention. He continued to approach, breathing heavily as he struggled to recover his breath.
“This is none of your business,” the man said. “This harlot have been condemned to death for the crime of incest.” He turned his head to spit in Richelle’s direction. “She entrapped my brother, and they were both convicted and sentenced to death. My brother was executed immediately while the whore’s execution was delayed until after she gave birth to my niece. But she escaped.” he turned to glare at Richelle. “You will tell me who helped you before I execute you.”
Jonathan was scared. The man was shorter than him but probably had thirty pounds on him, and none of it looked like fat. He was also armed with a knife. The man didn’t look particularly skilled with the knife, but it still gave him an advantage. “Drop the knife,” he said. “Your laws don’t apply here in Grantville.”
“God’s law applies everywhere,” the man said as he turned to face Jonathan. “She’s entrapped you too has she? Just like she entrapped my brother.”
There was a religious fervor in the man’s eyes that told Jonathan he wouldn’t listen to reason. Not that Jonathan was particularly interested in getting him to listen to reason. He’d heard enough to know that the man constituted a risk to Richelle’s continued safety. The law in Grantville might not condemn a victim of incest to death, but he wasn’t sure were Grantville’s law stood on extradition. That left him with only one possible course of action. Jonathan licked his dry lips and advanced on the man. “I’m not going to let you hurt Richelle.”
“Then I will kill you first,” the man said as he came at Jonathan, swinging the knife in front of him in an arc.
Jonathan kept his eye on the knife as he slowly closed the distance.
A backhanded swing of the knife forced Jonathan to skip back out of reach, but when the man swung the knife back the other way Jonathan’s long hours of training took over. His left hand swung, grabbing the man’s knife hand. Moments later his right hand joined his left hand. With a double-hand grip on the knife hand Jonathan twisted the wrist as he swung his arms up and spun under the swinging arm. This caused the man’s arm to bend so that the knife was now pointed at his gut. At this point Jonathan’s brain caught up with what his body was doing – a number four knife counter. He pushed hard, trying to drive the knife into the man, but he lacked momentum to stick more than the point into the man’s body. It was a conscious decision to slam his knee into the pommel of the knife, driving it into the man’s body.
The man screamed and crumbled. Jonathan released his grip on the knife hand and stood there, staring at the man whimpering on the ground, clutching at the knife buried into his body just below his ribs.
Jonathan staggered back a few steps, almost standing on Richelle as he fixated on the handle of the knife moving as the man breathed. The look on the man’s face as he struggled to remove the knife was just as distressing. “Don’t remove the knife!” he called, to no avail.
After a struggle the man managed to pull out the knife and tried to sit up. The bloodstain on his jacket grew, and then he fell backwards.
Jonathan swallowed the bile trying to rise from his stomach as he gingerly approached the man and felt for a pulse. It was there, barely. He stared at the still growing bloodstain on the man’s abdomen. He knew the theory. A knife left in place could stem the flow of blood from severed veins and arteries, but if you removed it, the blood could flow. The man had only minutes before he would be beyond help.
Jonathan turned his mind back to the living. Richelle was just getting back to her feet and appeared deeply shocked. He thought about offering her his jacket, but he caught sight of Lenya with her blanket lightly covering her. Under the circumstances, he thought, that would probably be better. He quickly exchanged his jacket for the blanket and draped the blanket around Richelle’s shoulders. She pulled it tight and inhaled. Jonathan saw her shoulders relax and mentally complimented him on his good sense. He wasn’t sure how she would have reacted if she’d smelt the sweat on his jacket.
“We have to go back to town and report this,” Jonathan told Richelle.
She stared at him blankly, so Jonathan wheeled the baby buggy around to face the way they’d come and gently nudged Richelle along until they were both heading back to town. Jonathan glanced over his shoulder. The man was in shadow, so he couldn’t tell if he was still bleeding. He might have a better chance of survival if Jonathan ran back for help, but that would have meant leaving Richelle and Lenya alone.
Grantville Police Station
“Hold that position,” Fred Sebastian said.
Jonathan did the best he could to do what he was told as the flash illuminated him.
“That’s it. I don’t think there are any more angles I can take,” Fred said. He turned to Jonathan. “Do you have any injuries that I haven’t photographed?”
Jonathan shook his head. “No, you’ve got them all, and I don’t understand why you’re bothering. He touched his black eye. “This wasn’t caused by the guy I fought today. He didn’t touch me. I got the shiner from Richelle.”
“During Tracy Kubiak’s latest ladies self-defense class,” Officer Estes Frost hastened to say.
Fred looked up from winding back the spool of film he’d just shot. “You volunteered to help out at one of those blood fests?”
“Sensei said I had to prove my temperament if I want to go for my black belt this year,” Jonathan said.
“Was it worth it?” Fred asked.
Jonathan thought of how Richelle had fought back today. “Yes,” he said.
Fred shrugged. “Well, if you think a black belt is worth getting beaten up by a bunch of dangerous females. . .” He turned to Estes. “How soon do you want the prints?”
“Any time in the next couple of days,” Estes said. He turned to Jonathan. “Now, let’s get your statement.”
Jonathan watched Fred Sebastian, who had to be at least seventy, walk away. “Why did you make him walk up the hill to photograph the body?” he asked.
“Because he’s the guy with the camera and the dark room. Until someone starts making more photographic supplies, Fred’s the best we have.”
Jonathan was feeling ill. He’d just killed a man, and now he was sitting in an interview room at the police station opposite Officer Estes Frost describing what had happened. He looked up when the door opened. An attractive American woman in her late twenties entered.
Estes looked up. “Hi, Dita. I’m just about finished with Jonathan.” He turned back to Jonathan. “This is Dita Petrini, licensed professional counselor.”
“A shrink?” Jonathan asked. He felt able to smile, even if only slightly. Surely they wouldn’t be calling in a counselor if they were going to arrest him.
“You’ve just experienced something very traumatic Jonathan, and Chief Frost asked me to have a little talk with you before you were released.”
“I’m free to go?” Jonathan asked.
“Sure,” Estes said, “just as soon as you sign your statement.” He smiled at Jonathan. “Hey, you’re a hero, and we don’t arrest heroes.”
Jonathan knew he was going to be sick. He held a hand over his mouth, shot to his feet, and made for the door.
“To your left, three doors down,” Estes called out as Jonathan passed through the door.
Dita turned to Estes. “What’s to the left three doors down?” she asked.
“The men’s toilets.”
Dita nodded. “I guess Jonathan’s going to be otherwise engaged for a while, so I might as well drop into the other interview room and check on Richelle.”
“You do that. I’ll let you know when Jonathan comes back.”
Richelle had both arms around Lenya, who was still wrapped in Jonathan’s jacket while she still had Lenya’s blanket draped around her, as she sat at the desk in the interview room. Across the table from her sat Officer Erika Fleischer, whom she’d met when she first arrived in Grantville, and one of the female dispatchers, who’d been called in to record the interview.
While Officer Fleisher and Frau Carson conferred over the interview notes Richelle mentally reviewed the fight. In her mind’s eyes she could see Jonathan perform the knife counter she’d first seen Tommy Karickhoff demonstrate at the self-defense course, and she remembered Herr Karickhoff saying that it wasn’t easy to stick a knife into someone with that move. In her mind the action slowed down until she could see the deliberate effort Jonathan made, driving his knee into the pommel of the knife to drive it home. She’d seen the look in Jonathan’s eyes, and she knew he’d been trying to kill her step-father’s brother. “Is Jonathan in trouble?”
Erika looked up from the interview transcript. “From what you’ve said, and the evidence at the scene, it appears to be a clear case of self defense.”
Mimi Carson nodded in agreement. “Jonathan was protecting a young mother attacked by a knife welding man. He could have emptied a gun into him and there still wouldn’t be a jury that would convict him.”
Richelle relaxed. Jonathan wasn’t going to get into trouble for saving her.
The door to the interview room opened and Dita stepped in. “How are you holding up, Richelle?” she asked as she stepped into the room.
“Okay,” Richelle said. She’d had a number of counseling sessions with Frau Petrini, and knew her reasonably well.
“She was worried about Jonathan being in trouble,” Mimi said.
Dita turned and smiled at Richelle. “Chief Frost is treating it as a straight case of self defense.”
“Can I see him?” Richelle asked.
“He’s not feeling very well at the moment,” Dita warned. “Last I saw of him, he was making a mad dash for the men’s toilet.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Richelle demanded as she shot to her feet.
“I think it’s started to hit him that he’s just killed a man,” Dita said. “I’ll be scheduling some counseling sessions with him when he’s feeling more himself.”
Most of what Dita said was said to Richelle’s back as she ran out of the interview room.
She found Jonathan kneeling in front of a toilet, crying and shaking. She adjusted Lenya’s blanket until it covered both of them and held Jonathan tightly. “You saved me, Jonathan. You did what you had to do to save me.”
Erika, Mimi, and Dita were still looking at the door when Tracy Kubiak turned up.
“Where’s Richelle? How is she?” she demanded.
“Richelle’s okay,” Erika said. “She’s a little shaken, but basically unharmed.”
Tracy slumped and swayed. She had to plant her hands on the interview table to maintain her balance until Dita could maneuver her into the chair Richelle had recently vacated. “Where is she?”
Erika, Mimi and Dita exchanged looks. “I think she went looking for Jonathan,” Mimi said.
“That’s good,” Tracy said, a smug smile appearing on her face.
“I hope you aren’t imagining a romance, Tracy,” Dita said.
“Of course not. Jonathan’s six years older than Richelle, but that doesn’t mean she can’t have a crush on him.” Tracy said.
Dita pursed her lips and shook her head. “He’s still a guy, Tracy, and Richelle still has issues.”
“I thought she was getting better,” Tracy said. “Under the circumstances, you’d expect her to hate Lenya, but she absolutely loves her daughter.”
“She does,” Dita agreed, “and for a very good reason. Her step-father’s abuse stopped when the community discovered that Richelle was pregnant. Then, her pregnancy kept her alive when they executed her abuser. In Richelle’s mind, Lenya saved her.”
“Oh!” Tracy mumbled.
“Yes, oh,” Dita agreed. “Richelle’s got a long way to go before she recovers from what happened to her, if she ever does.”
July 4, Grantville
Richelle stood beside Jonathan watching the Fourth of July parade march past. Perched on Jonathan’s shoulders a happy Lenya followed the beat with her hands on his head.
Suddenly Jonathan hunched his shoulders and reached up for Lenya. “Someone, who shall remain nameless,” he told Richelle, “needs her diapers changed.”
Richelle glanced at the back of Jonathan’s T-shirt as he lifted Lenya. Yes, there was a damp patch around the neck. She felt a grin coming and tried desperately to smother it as she reached out to take Lenya. Then she saw the look on Jonathan’s face and lost it. She pulled Lenya close before turning and running, laughter ringing out as she ran.
Jonathan caught up with her a short distance down Market Street from Main Street. “It’s not that funny,” he said as he caught up.
Richelle struggled to stop laughing. “You should have seen your face.”
“It’s a bit awkward to see your own face,” Jonathan said.
Richelle wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and smiled at Jonathan. Surprisingly enough she’d enjoyed the day in town with him. He was fun to be with, and he was safe. A movement to the side attracted her attention and she stopped laughing as she recognized a couple of the boys who’d been pestering her. They stared at her for a while before bolting.
“Who were they?” Jonathan asked.
A quick glance confirmed that Jonathan had seen the boys, which probably explained their hasty departure. They didn’t want to mess with Killer Fortney. “I don’t think I need to worry about any of the boys at school pestering me again.”
“Were they a couple of the guys who’d been pestering you?’
“Yes.”
“Then it looks like your mother’s plan worked.”
“Yes, but I’ve really enjoyed today. Thanks for agreeing to walk out with me.”
“Hey, no trouble,” Jonathan said. “I’ve enjoyed today too.”
They fell into step as they headed towards Trelli’s GoodCare pharmacy, where they’d stashed Lenya’s baby buggy rather than struggle with it in the crowd. “I still want a gun,” Richelle said.
“You can’t have one. The law’s pretty clear on that. You’re what, sixteen?” Jonathan asked.
“In September.”
“Right, and the legal minimum age to openly carry a gun is eighteen.”
Richelle skipped around in front of Jonathan and looked imploringly at him. “You’re twenty-one. We could get married.”
“What?” Jonathan roared. “People don’t get married just so they can carry a gun.”
Laughter rippled from Richelle as she stepped up beside Jonathan again. “And you call yourself a West Virginian.”
“Yes I do, and I can just imagine your Mama Tracy’s reaction if we told her we wanted to get married.”
Richelle grinned back. “The explosion would be impressive.”
“Which is why it’s not going to happen.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Richelle agreed, although she would have preferred that Jonathan not be quite so empathic about it not happening.
They walked in companionable silence towards Trelli’s GoodCare pharmacy. Richelle noticed the signs advertising the new Dr. Gribbleflotz alchemy sets in the window. “Why are they pushing the alchemy sets now? I would have thought they’d wait for Christmas, or at least until Halloween.”
“#8220;They couldn’t possibly miss the fourth of July,” Jonathan said.
“What’s so special about the fourth of July?” Richelle asked. “I know it’s your independence day, but what does that have to do with selling alchemy sets?”
“This is your first Fourth of July, isn’t it?”
Richelle nodded.
“Thought so,” Jonathan said. “Well, they end the day with a fireworks display.”
Richelle nodded. “So Mama said. We’re supposed to be going to the Fair Grounds to watch the fireworks tonight.” She looked up at him. “Will you be there?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Oh.” Richelle wasn’t aware of how disappointed she must have sounded until a hand landed lightly on her shoulder. She just barely managed not to try and shrug it off.
“I’ll call and arrange a time and place to meet you.”
She smiled at Jonathan, and stepped away just enough that his hand slipped from her shoulder. “That’d be nice.” Both of them stared at each other as Jonathan shoved his hands into his pockets. She was happy to see that he hadn’t taken offense at her maneuver. Maybe he understood that she hadn’t felt comfortable with him touching her. “You were explaining why Herr Trelli is pushing the alchemy sets.”
#8220;Fireworks use gunpowder, and the alchemy sets all have the ingredients needed to make your own fireworks. There are going to be a lot of kids making their own fireworks for their own fireworks displays this evening.”
Richelle stopped to stare at Jonathan. “Are you telling me those alchemy sets give instructions on how to make gunpowder?”
“In excruciating detail,” Jonathan confirmed.
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Sure, but it’s a lot safer than leaving the kids to make gunpowder based on what they can find from sources like The Anarchist Cookbook. At least Dr. Gribbleflotz’ instructions contain safety warnings.”
Inside Trelli’s GoodCare pharmacy
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to buy Troy a chemistry set for his birthday,”‘ Phebe Morton said. “He’ll only be twelve.”
“Elisabeth Hockenjoss got a Dr. Gribbleflotz Junior Alchemist set for her birthday, and she’s only ten,” Tracy Morton said.
Phebe glared at her ten year old daughter. “But she’s a down-timer,” she said.
Tracy looked questioningly at her mother. “Why does Elisabeth being a down-timer mean she can have a junior alchemist set for her birthday and Troy can’t?”
“Can I help you?” Susan Little asked.
Phebe grasped the lifeline she’d just been thrown. “It’s Troy’s birthday soon, and he’s got his heart set on a Dr. Gribbleflotz Junior Alchemist set, and I’m worried that it might be dangerous.”
Susan nodded her head. “That is a reasonable fear. Of course there is an element of danger. That’s why the boxes are marked ‘parental supervision recommended’. However, the instructions for all of the experiments have all been carefully written by Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz himself. They explain in great detail how to perform each experiment, and come with warnings of what to look out for.”
“But I’ve heard that it is possible to make gunpowder and other explosives from the chemicals in the chemistry sets.”
“You’re right about the gunpowder. There’s not much we can do about not including charcoal, sulphur, and potassium nitrate. However, that’s the only ‘explosive’ you can make from the chemicals in the Junior Alchemist set. You need the intermediate set for the triiodide, and the advanced set for fulminates and guncotton.’
“You can make triiodide from an Intermediate Alchemist set?” Truman Morton asked.
“Truman, you’re not helping,” Phebe said.
“Sorry dear.”
Phebe glared at her husband, who she could see was reading the advertising for the Dr. Gribbleflotz Advanced Alchemist set. “We are not buying one of those for Troy.”
Morton grinned at Phebe. “I was thinking of getting an advanced set for me. Come on, Phebe. You know Troy’s got his heart set on a Dr. Gribbleflotz Junior Alchemist set.”
Phebe released a heavy sigh. “Okay, but you better supervise him when he’s using it.”
“Of course, dear.”
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