“The Helen Bennington Clark Museum. We shall set standards that the professors in Jena will envy!” Carl clapped Rob on the shoulder.
Heinrich looked thoughtful. He leaned forward and grasped Rob’s hand.
“We’ll do it. It will be a fitting honor. She gave us refuge and helped us reclaim our land. Speaking of which, Herr Hartzschorn was here yesterday. He’s found the last claimant for the woodlot.”
It was Rob’s turn to nod. He’d talked to the lawyer two days before. “I’ve authorized him to negotiate for it. Once we get the paperwork signed I’ll turn the landrights over to the Gemeinde on the same terms as the rest of the leases.”
The two men relaxed and smiled. Rob’s aunt had set those terms before she died. New Hope was the result of the survivors of two villages destroyed by the war combining forces. Before the Ring of Fire, the villagers had managed to build five houses and plant gardens but they hadn’t been able to pay their leases for several years.
Sliding Rock Farm lost the far end of the valley it sat in to the Ring of Fire. Now the steep slopes of West Virginia hills opened out into a gently rolling vista. While the Clarks lost about a third of their property, the German farmers lost closer to three hundred acres. It took Rob’s aunt a month to find Ernst Hartzschorn, a down-time German lawyer, among the refugees crowding Grantville. She’d set Hartzschorn to work finding a way to settle the mess fairly. Before her death she’d charged Rob to finish the job.
A noise from outside interrupted Rob’s thoughts. As he realized he was hearing a car engine Liz Manning burst through the inn’s door and stumbled against a table.
“Rob! Hey, Rob! It’s the baby! Lannie’s water broke and Aunt Maggie sent me down to get you.”
The room was quiet. Minutes before, Maggie O’Reilly and the midwife had finished cleaning up and gone downstairs, chatting amiably. Lannie slept while Rob gingerly cradled his newborn son. He looked down at this tiny bit of humanity. Love, joy, wonder, awe, fear, and guilt all bubbled within him blending and mixing until he couldn’t say exactly what it was he felt. The baby opened his eyes and stared up at him.
“Scary, isn’t it?”
Rob looked up to see Ev Parker standing in the doorway. “Yes, sir.” Rob sighed and smiled down at the child. “Guess it’s starting to hit me just how scary parenthood can be. Horses I know. Business I know. With him I don’t even know where to start…”
“Like anything else, son. You start at the beginning. For now you love him, feed him, diaper him, and do your best to keep him safe. Later, as he grows, you love him, teach him, discipline him, show him how to behave, and worry about him.” Ev eased down into the big old rocking chair. “You’re a good man, Rob. You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, sir. Would you like to hold him?”
“I surely would. He’s my first great-grandchild, at least as far as I know.” Ev’s voice was soft and he cradled the baby gently.
“Did you tell Grandpa what we named him?” Lannie asked sleepily from the bed.
“Not yet. Why don’t you tell him?” Rob leaned over and took his wife’s hand.
“Coward.” Lannie smiled up at him.
“No, just a bit overwhelmed.”
“Hey, buster, I’m the one who did all the work.” Lannie squeezed Rob’s hand and looked over at her grandfather. “Grandpa, meet Everett Henry Clark.”
The light from the bedside lamp glistened off the tears that rolled down the old man’s cheeks.
September 1635
Mike Tyler slid off his horse, staring around. The slope in front of him was pockmarked with holes. Anger burned across his mind. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started counting. By the time he reached thirty-seven he had to open his eyes.
Calmer, he surveyed the hillside again. The damage wasn’t as bad as it first appeared. Holes did litter the dig site but there were only about ten of them.
He could hear voices coming from the far side of the shepherd’s hut he’d been using for storage. He strode toward the hut, trying to catalogue the damage. Four days ago this had been this universe’s second scientific archaeological dig. Now his carefully laid out grid of stakes and string was gone. The straight sides of his three-meter square test hole were gone, collapsed, and in the center was a ragged hole. Pottery shards were scattered in the dirt piles. The holes weren’t completely random. Whoever had done this had used Mike’s site map. The biggest hole was where he had guessed the main house might be.
When he stepped around the hut two men nodded warily at him. His assistants from New Hope, Carl Heimpol and Peter Matz, stood next to a pile of newly dug dirt, leaning on their shovels. Carl tilted his head toward three figures uphill of them and shrugged. Mike recognized the loud voice and rotund figure stuffed into clothes more suited for town than a German hillside. Herr Martin Schuler was holding forth at full volume.
The two listening to Schuler were Rob and Lannie Clark. Mike didn’t have a clue why those two would be standing in the middle of his dig, talking to Herr Schuler. Lannie saw Mike and smiled. She called out as she walked down to meet him.
“Glad to see you.” Lannie gave him a brief hug and a peck on the cheek. Very quietly she added, “Keep quiet and let us handle Schuler.”
Mike swallowed hard, glad to comply. He didn’t trust himself to speak to Schuler just now. Linking her arm with his, she tugged him up the hill.
Rob shook Mike’s hand, quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head toward Schuler. Mike returned a slight nod. Whatever was going on, he’d let Rob and Lannie do the talking.
Herr Schuler frowned, apparently unhappy to see Mike. A week before, when Mike said that he was going up to Grantville for a few days, Schuler had reminded him that Mike had been hired to conduct this dig, not run around the countryside. The man had complained so much that Mike had cut his trip short and returned two days early. It was one more puzzle. A happier thought struck. Maybe Schuler wasn’t mad at Mike. Maybe he was just unhappy to have the up-timers’ attention shift away from himself.
“Now, Herr Clark,” Schuler began. “As I was saying we will find wonderful things here. Many wonderful Roman marble statues await discovery. Of course, it would be easier and faster if I could have one of the, ah, mechanical diggers-one of your wonderful oxdozers, perhaps.” There was an anticipatory gleam in the man’s eyes. His fingers played with his belt purse. “Sadly, because of recent business reverses, temporary to be sure, a small sum to support the workers will be needed. But think of the opportunities to own a piece of art that belonged to Caesar Augustus! Perhaps we will find a gold necklace or two to adorn your charming wife’s neck.”
Mike’s temper rose. He’d repeatedly told Schuler that this wasn’t a Roman site. He’d told Schuler that as often as he’d told him that at best they might find a few lost coins. What was the man up to? Glancing at Lannie, Mike caught her frown. He shook his head and remained silent.
“If I want Roman statues I’ll have one of my agents in Italy buy them,” Rob drawled. He dropped an arm across Mike’s shoulders before continuing. “I am willing to support a proper archaeological dig organized and run by Mr. Tyler. I do not and will not lend support to wild goose chases or treasure hunts.”
“Whatever would I do with another gold necklace?” Lannie said. “Rob’s aunt left me dozens.” She grinned maliciously. “You know, I was in Germany in 1998. This place looks like the dig I visited. The only statue they found was a battered old sandstone head. Come on, guys, the innkeeper promised me veal schnitzel for dinner.” She started off down the hill with the men trailing behind her. Schuler sputtered and followed, protesting all the way.
A road meandered along the base of the slope. Near it a number of horses stood in the shade of a grove of trees. As the group approached, three men started slipping bridles on the animals. After a moment Mike recognized them. He had heard Rob use the term “battered old fireplug” to describe the shortest man. It certainly fit Wilf Jones. The second man was Dieter Wiesskamp, four or five inches taller than Jones but as solidly built. Christian du Champ’s whip thin build and disapproving face rounded out the three.