****
The interior of the bank was about as plain as anywhere Marie had ever been. But it was sparkling clean, with polished wood desks and counters, as well as with some kind of floor covering she'd never seen. It wasn't a rug, since it was too big. How would you ever take it out to beat it clean? Still, it was kind of pretty, with its grey and faded-purple swirls. And the glass walls were amazing. Everywhere she looked, people were sitting at desks behind glass walls.
"May I help you?" someone asked.
"We are here to discuss a problem," Pastor Althus said. "And perhaps find a solution."
"SFC or HFC?" the dark-haired man asked. "We can't really help you with HFC. For that you'll need to get in touch with Hardegg, Selfisch and Krapp. But we are buying out SFC, or so I'm told."
It turned out that Pastor Althus didn't really have to explain very much. The Abrabanel Bank was on top of it all and even had SFC's records. There was one mismatch, but Pastor Althus was able to prove with the parish records that there wasn't a Hermann Smittel living in their village. Just as well, since if he had been, the village would never have approved the purchase of a gold-cased pocket watch.
"Our terms are ten percent," the clerk told them. "Compounded annually, of course. And you have several years to pay it off. Which gives you a smaller payment, yes. You will wind up paying more over the long run, but that's only if you take all the time to pay off the loan. There's no penalty for early payment."
The Full Disclosure part of the contract was in print large enough for someone with the worst of middle-aged eyesight to read. And because the payments were so much lower, Pastor Althus felt that he could-very conservatively-request additional funds for additional tools. That, plus Johan's windfall, would let them buy quite a bit.
****
"I visited the Grange Headquarters today," Johan said. "After I went to the photography shop and bought more film. They suggested some new seeds for us to try. Soy beans, they called them. And some corn. Along with many others, but they claim that those two will sell particularly well. And I've got brochures and pamphlets. Lots of them."
Pastor Althus nodded. "Good, good. And you, Marie?"
"Lots and lots of brochures and pamphlets," she said. "Some more equipment, small stuff. And I did find a bargain on chicks for Herr Keller. They'll be a real mess to transport, but he was very earnest about them. And besides, I like eggs, too."
Lightweight carts for people visiting Grantville were common these days. So many people came and bought so much stuff that some enterprising soul had figured out a way to supplement his income by building them rapidly. He even bought them back, if the owner decided he didn't need it.
****
"So, none of that zucchini today, right?" Papa muttered.
"No, dear," Mama said. "You may not like it, but the pigs are getting fatter than ever. So stop complaining and eat your dinner."
That sounded like good news to Joseph, because he loved pork sausage with lots of pepper.
Papa sniffed. He did that a lot these days, since Mama had started listening to Fanny Farmer. "What are those?" He pointed to the bright orange fruit that filled a small dish.
"I'm not sure," Mama admitted. "I'm hoping that Marie brings more information about them. But you can pickle almost anything. So I did."
"Go ahead, Papa," Joseph said. Some of the Fanny Farmer recipes were really good, but some of them were yucky, like the squash which had almost no flavor. Still, Joseph liked trying new things. How else were you going to find out if something was good?
"I'm not sure I want to."
Joseph tried to hide his snicker, but Papa saw it anyway.
Papa took a deep breath and picked up one of the little orange fruits. Joseph wondered what they would taste like. Carrots? They were orange, like the up-time carrots, after all. Joseph liked the carrots.
"Aieeeee!"
Joseph's eyes widened as his father jumped out of his chair and danced around the room.
"Aieeee!"
Papa grabbed his mug and gulped down his beer. Then he reached over and grabbed Mama's beer and gulped it down, too.
"Good heavens, Karl! What's wrong?" Mama asked.
"What are those things!" he screeched. "I've never tasted anything so vile!"
Joseph was a bit worried, but really, really curious. How could something so pretty be bad? He took one of the fruits, and sniffed it. It smelled like pickles. With a shrug, he plopped it in his mouth and started chewing. Joseph's mouth was filled with fire. But that was all right. At least it tasted better than the squash. He kept chewing, then swallowed.
He looked at Mama. "Mama, can I have some milk? These fruits are kind of hot."
Papa sat back down, his eyes as big as the new dishes. "You like those!"
"Well, at least it's not bland and mushy, like the squash."
****
Pastor Althus, Johan and Marie were greeted like they were returning heroes. Which, in a way, they were.
Johan Keller was thrilled with the chicks, Greta figured out that the bright orange peppers were called habaneros (she'd already discovered that they were an acquired taste), and the cooks were pleased with the Grantville Extra Fine Sorghum Sugar that their travelers brought back.
It made the zucchini bread taste so much better.
****
Pipe Line
Kymi Mills, Winter 1636
Ari was complaining again. Or perhaps the correct phrase should be "still complaining." It was claimed Ari complained all day, every day. There was some truth to the accusation.
"Man, I really hate it when we're downwind of the glue works. That stuff stinks to high heaven. I wish we didn't use it," Ari said.
There was nothing to do while the borer turned besides clean up the shavings. Ari seemed to complain just to pass the time. When they backed the borer out and loosened the clamps, Ari lifted the ten-foot section of bored water pipe out of the jig.
Normally two men, one on each end, would handle the stock going into and coming out of the jig. The first day they worked together Ari scoffed when Kaapo tried to help. "Look," Ari told him, "you stay at the head end. Just get the clamp open when the borer is out, and closed when the next log is in the jig, then start the borer. I'll move the logs and clamp the tail end. If you muck around helping me move the stock, it will slow things down. And I don't need any help."
Working hard was about the only thing Ari didn't complain about.
Kaapo and Ari consistently bored more wooden pipe in a shift than any other team. The stock was turned on a lathe to a six-inch diameter. Ari took it off of the pile on a four-wheeled cart and put it in the jig. Kaapo clamped it down and engaged the borer.
An overhead power shaft, powered by a water wheel, drove the leather belts which turned the borer. As it was coming back out, Kaapo had to make sure the shavings were blown off of the threads, since they could jam up the worm drive. If they had to shut down and free it up, Ari would complain about it for the rest of the shift, and all of the next day too. The last thing Kaapo did before he freed the bored water pipe from the clamp was blow it out, using a leather hose connected to a compressed air line made out of the same pipe stock they were boring.
As soon as the clamp was loosened Ari lifted the pipe over his head, and put it on the second cart. Then he stepped through the empty space in the middle of the jig to grab the next log. He expected his partner to secure the clamp the second the log was in place, and to have the borer head in place to start cutting a second later. If Kaapo didn't hit the reverse within two or three seconds of the bit clearing the tail end of the stock, Ari, of course, complained about it. He always had the tail clamp opened before the borer was clear of the pipe.