Her thoughts traveled back to the table, when she noticed that the boys were studying a book. An American chemistry schoolbook.
". . need a bowl of china. ." Hannes was reading haltingly. Then translating "eine Schussel aus China. . Where do we get a Chinese bowl from?
". . eventually you get. . eventuell bekommst du. . Why 'possibly'? Why not in every case?"
"Boys, you're wrong," Nikki interrupted them. "These are false friends."
"Hey, girl, don't get fresh at us," Johann said scowling. "We're honest friends, not fraudulent."
Nikki blushed. "Sorry, I didn't intend offense. Look, here 'false' means 'not fitting.' These are words which seem to be equal in German and English, but have a different meaning.
"'China' is porcelain-you know that as modern pottery-and 'eventually' means 'at last.' Didn't your English teacher tell you that?" Nikki wondered.
"We don't have an English teacher any more. Only a dictionary."
"And let me guess: You only look into the dictionary when you think there's something you don't understand."
The four boys nodded in unison.
"So you need someone to tell you about the subtleties of modern American."
"What about you?" The voice came from behind her.
Nikki turned around and saw Marshall Ambler standing there. How long was he listening?
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"It seems you just found your market niche. Do you want the job?"
"Teaching English? ESOL? I'll need a certificate for that first."
"Not in Germany. Not here in the Lokschuppen. We need people who can do something, regardless of certificates. We have journeymen who run shops; we will have high school graduates who work as engineers. We don't have the time to wait for them to finish their BS at the college.
"Oh, and come to think of it, we don't even have a college for this. The only thing we can do is on-the-job training. And it seems you have just started it." He waved over to the four boys who had obviously tried to follow the Americans' discussion.
"I'll talk with Archie Clinter. He can organize teacher training at the middle school for you, and we'll pay for it. Then you'll have a contact when you need help. They're only a radio away."
Nikki took a deep breath. Yes, he was right. Tutoring her classmates had always been something enjoyable and satisfying. To see that her 'A' grades in English mattered for something, even in this new and wild world made her feel good. Eventually. She laughed.
The four boys at her table looked quizzical.
"Wollt ihr mich als Lehrerin?" she asked them.
"Yeah, Miss Schoolmarm!" Johann shouted.
"Darned good idea!" Hannes added.
"But you'll have to work on your diction," Nikki said laughing. "Slang words are not what you'll learn from me."
"Nae bother," Hans interjected with Scottish slang. All of them laughed.
Road from Rudolstadt, near Jena
September 1633
Wolfgang Hilliger shifted his hat to his neck and looked around. The traffic here was not normal. There were not only the normal merchants on the road between Jena and Rudolstadt, but many, mostly young, men transporting all kinds of things around.
Weird wagons dragged or pushed by horses or men, and suddenly even a steaming wagon appeared without any draft animal, but with a young man on a kind of chair behind a horizontal cart wheel on it. The wagon blew smoke or steam from a small chimney. Other young men were running behind it and cheering.
Wolfgang jumped aside to leave room for the crazy thing and its obviously equally crazy coachman.
"Stop it, stop it!" another young man cried from behind, and the wagon slowly came to a halt. Now Wolfgang could see what weird kind of clothes they were wearing. Dark blue pants with a patch going up their chest, held by cloth belts over their shoulders.
Since they were completely occupied by their strange wagon, Wolfgang decided to make his way to the gate they had emerged from. Two burly watchmen were standing there. They had followed the motion of the wagon with their eyes, but now concentrated on the young man approaching them.
Wolfgang reached into his bag and produced the broadsheet which had brought him here.
"Craftsmen wanted!" it read. Fortunately for Wolfgang, who couldn’t read English and could speak only the most necessary sentences to get something to eat and drink in Grantville, it was printed in two columns, the other one in German: “Handwerker gesucht!”
"Experienced journeymen preferred. All crafts needed. Report to JenaLokschuppen of Jena-Eisenach Eisenbahngesellschaft."
"Guten Tag," he greeted the watchmen. "Is this the L-o-kschuppen?" he slowly spelled out the uncommon word.
"Ja, junger Mann," the older of the two watchmen answered friendly, and then pointed to the next building. "You're lucky. The boss is holding the hiring interviews in person today. Just proceed into the office."
"Danke," Wolfgang said and made his way into the building.
A young woman was sitting behind a desk there and looked up when he entered the room.
Wolfgang removed his hat. "Guten Tag," he said, but before he could continue, the young woman interjected.
"Want a job? Here's a pencil. Fill out this form and give it back to me! Sit down over there until you get called."
"Ah, thank you."
He sat down on a bench and studied the "form." It was a sheet of paper, partly printed, with space to fill in his name, date and place of birth, and much space to write about his career.
Freiberg, Sachsen, 7/17. im Brachmond 1607he wrote behind the text "Geboren/born." He stopped, then struck Brachmondand wrote the modern name Juni above it.
Four years at the Elementarschule, just enough to learnreading, writing and calculating; thenten years working in the family's foundry. They were not rich enough to let the children waste time on books.
Son of a bell founder, grandson of a bell founder, great-grandson. . back to the early fifteenth century.
Apprentice-bell founder, what else. .? Then his journeyman time at the places where bells were cast. Or cannons; in the last ten years more and more bells were melted down to make cannons. In Prettau at the Lofflers' foundry; in Augsburg at the Neidhardts'; in Nurnberg at the Herolds'. At least one year and one day at each, as determined by custom.
Next station would have been, perhaps, Aachen, but first a visit in this new town, Grantville. Wolfgang was overwhelmed from the achievements of the new time. And then he had seen this broadsheet. Perhaps they would need some bells for the railroad. Jena was on the way to Aachen, anyway.
"Hey, you."
His thoughts returned to the present, to Jena, to the woman who had called him.
"Yes?"
"Are you finished with your form? The boss awaits you."
The "boss" was a tall, haggard American. Middle-aged, but for an up-timer that could be forty or up to sixty.
"Guten Tag. Ich bin Marshall Ambler, Chefingenieur," he said in very good German and extended his hand.
"Guten Tag. Ich bin Wolfgang Hilliger, Glockengie?er," Wolfgang answered while shaking the hand. The American's hand was hard, callused, the hand of a man who worked. Not the hand of a noble who directed.