1634: Turn Your Radio On (20 page)

Someone tapped his shoulder. Terrell stood there with tears streaming down his face. "Brother Fischer, it's Reverend Chalker. He collapsed at the last service today in Grantville. They don't know if he's going to make it."

Chapter Twenty

June 1634, Grantville

The first person Fischer saw as he entered the room was Lana Soper. Ever since Reverend Chalker was released from the hospital and moved into the Manning Assisted Living Center, Lana had been his constant companion.

Chalker lay asleep. He had not been shaved today and you could see a stream of dribble working it's way down his gray whiskered cheek. He looked much older than the energetic old man who had led Fischer to the presence of his own Holy Spirit.

Sure enough, on the other side of Chalker's bed sat Georg Fleitner. During the two weeks that Chalker spent in the Grantville hospital, any time Fischer had seen Georg cleaning up around the church, he seemed like he was in agony at having left Reverend Chalker to others' care. Now that Lana was there to split the duties with him, Georg seemed much calmer when he tended to his other chores.

After Fischer greeted them both, they updated him on the condition of the senior minister. Doctor Nichols had dropped by this morning, satisfied that his obstinate heart patient was finally being kept off his feet. Pete Enriquez had also dropped by first thing this morning to check on Chalker before heading off to his job site. Several other members of the congregation had stuck their heads in the room to pay their respects, only to be chased away by Georg.

"Reverend need rest," Georg kept repeating.

"All right, Georg. Please tell Reverend Chalker I dropped by." Fischer said a prayer for Lana, Georg, and Chalker, then headed on to his next meeting. This meeting was one he was very nervous about. He was going to meet Constanzia's father for the first time.

Thankfully, Constanzia's brother was out of town. Fischer was always very aware of Martin's disapproval of him and his faith. Martin treated him as if he were that snake oil salesman, the self proclaimed "Doctor" Gribbleflotz, whose peddlers hung around the outskirts of the revival tour selling miracle blue pills and radio magnifier devices.

Herr Garb had arrived in town a few days ago. Constanzia called Fischer, inviting him to meet her father. Ever since then, Fischer had been a wreck. This morning as Phyllis freshened up his haircut; he hadn't been able to stop fidgeting for worrying that she was going to make a mistake and he wouldn't present the right appearance to Herr Garb.

When he boarded the trolley at the Assisted Living Center, he spread out the cloth he brought to sit on. He didn't want to chance getting dirt on his new, tailored black suit. Then to take his mind off his nervousness, he started to read a new book Reverend Wiley loaned him. It was by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor of the 1930s who stood up to the evil dictator of the other future Germany.

****

"Papa, Dieter, would you like some more hot chocolate?" Constanzia asked as she gathered up the empty china cups.

"No, thank you, Tesorina. I am well stuffed with your sweetbreads and chocolate already."

Fischer smiled and indicated his polite refusal as well. The meeting had been nothing like Fischer had feared. Marco Garb was a very personable man. It was obvious to how he had become so successful. While the conversation had begun with Herr Garb drawing Fischer out on his relationship with Constanzia, and Fischer's calling to the Pentecostal ministry, it quickly enough had shifted to matters of Fischer's prophecy and how that prophecy was affecting the political and financial future of the Germanies and the rest of Europe.

Herr Garb had a very firm, intuitive, grasp on the power that radio possessed to motivate the masses.

"The right person could go a long way toward making this new country an economic powerhouse if he knew how to motivate them and had the right influential people to back him," Marco said. "Who knows where that would lead in this new world? After all, I have it on good authority that Herr Stearns expects not to remain as Prime Minister after the next election."

Fischer had heard that rumor as well. But he'd dismissed it. He couldn't believe that the all-powerful Mike Stearns would allow the former duke of Saxe-Weimar to replace him in office.

"So, Dieter, when are you planning on returning to your revival tour?" Marco asked.

"That depends, Herr Garb. Frau Kurger tells us that she expects her husband, the Reverend Hans Kurger, to muster out of his army chaplaincy any day now. When he returns to take over the podium at the church, then we can plan what to do next."

"Constanzia tells me you will be taking the new rail line west from Halle to Erfurt."

Fischer nodded his agreement.

"I have a number of good contacts along that line. Perhaps I can arrange some introductions for you along the way. These are business people who would be valuable to you and your future."

Marco Garb was very impressed with this young minister friend of his daughter. It was obvious that she had found a man who could be very valuable to the ambitions of their family and their business associates. All in all, Marco could very easily see this young man as a member of his family.

Hamburg, United States of Europe

"A fine meal that was." Colonel David Leslie belched after draining his flagon of beer.

"Aye, it's been good to see you again. Your mother says you don't write to her often enough." General Alexander Leslie smiled, knowing that Patrick Leslie's widow believed that her fifth son should be writing to her every day, even after this long European adventure.

"Ah, yes. The good Lady Lindores reminds me of the same matter in each of her letters to me." David laughed. "Perhaps now that I'm going back to a more permanent encampment, I'll have more time to keep in touch with my dear old ma."

"Speaking of that, David. Are you sure you wouldn't like for me to intervene on your behalf so you can spend a few months back home in Fife?"

"Ye know as well as I that until we have a cavalry weapon that matches the Cardinal, the danger of war is not over. Having faced it in combat now, I can see why the Southern American army said that you could load it on a Sunday and shoot it the rest of the week."

"A very dangerous weapon to have in the hands of the good cardinal and his forces for sure. You should see the American gnomes and how they look so apologetic for not having figured out how to make percussion caps when the French figured it out on their own."

"Aye, I've seen that very look. No, my orders are to move my cavalry command back to Erfurt to muster out. Then, I'm to proceed with my cadre to Fulda to help develop hopefully a better version of the up-time Sharps rifle or something called a Henry and work out the drill to incorporate it into our forces."

"I'm glad to hear you say that." General Alexander picked up his wine and swirled it. "In fact, I have a wee mission of my own that I'd like for you to handle."

Gulping a swallow down, he continued, "Have you ever heard of a 'Der Fischer'?"

"Aye, uncle. He's that fellow that sends out the song sheets with Bible verses printed on them. My men sing them all the time."

"He's a bit more than that. In fact I met with Axel Oxenstierna a few weeks ago, at the Congress of Copenhagen. Nothing official you understand, but he has his concerns about Fischer. Now that the League has been shattered and the French seem to be involved in internal problems of their own, it's likely that the Germans may start questioning why the Swedish forces are remaining behind. After all, there's an argument to be made that there is little reason for the Swedish nobles to continue to fund this adventure since the immediate danger to Protestantism has passed." Alexander took another drink, then continued. "Unless, of course, there's more to it than the House of Vasa's natural desire to increase his rule.

"That's the question we fear may be driving a number of groups to Der Fischer.

"What I'd like for you to do is to learn more about him and what his beliefs and motivations are. Should he continue this revival of his, try to attend and gauge the atmosphere of those in attendance.

"Hopefully, His Majesty's advisors worry too much, but it needs to be investigated."

Chapter Twenty-One

June 1634, Grantville

"Good Morning, Mr. Grover!"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, good morning, Helga." John Grover barely glanced at Helga as he continued through the VOA reception area to his own office.

"Mr. Grover?" Helga was concerned. Normally her boss was so positive and upbeat when he got in each morning.
Of all the days for him to feel gloomy.
She was wearing her brand new, royal blue summer dress. The one that showed off just a little cleavage and these beautiful up-time, oversized, white plastic beads that Frau Kurger found for her at the Emporium last Saturday.

"Yes, Helga? What do you need?"

At least that got him to stop
. "I just wanted to let you know that Frau Kurger and Reverend Fischer are in the conference room with Marc going over the figures from last week's mail receipts. You know, in case you wanted to pop in and say hi."

Grover scowled, "Just what I need. I had to pay for the repair of a broken piece of critical equipment already this morning, and now that preacher shows up. Great."

He thought for a moment, then added, "Listen, if they're still here in fifteen minutes, ask me again. I've got a couple of things I need to handle in my office first."

Grover disappeared into his office and forcefully shut the door behind him.

Helga was perplexed. She'd heard about the equipment repair, but what spy? She reached down into her handbag and pulled out her compact. After carefully examining her makeup and hair, she put it back and decided that she must figure out some way to get her boss back in his usual good mood. Meanwhile, she'd just finish up her filing. Maybe that would give her some time to think of an idea of what she could do.

****

Marc Kronzburg was in a very uncomfortable position. How did he . . . how could he . . . what could he do or say to turn down business? Ever since the two live broadcasts from Magdeburg, the atmosphere around the station front office had been so tense you could cut it with a knife. He'd sat in on several meetings with Mr. Grover and Deanna Dee trying to find a loophole in the station contract with the Pentecostal Church. They had even called in Huddy Colburn, the GE's business broker consultant, to examine the contract to see if there were any errors that they could use to invalidate it.

But it was no use. Roy Copenhaver had tightened up every clause that John Grover originally proposed. They were stuck with the Saturday night show. So far, at least, no broadcast since had caused any surprises. They were the same mixture of good music, talent contestants, and upbeat moral values that continued to make the
Old Timey Radio Hour
the most popular show on the station.

Marc continued to increase the price on the spots inside the hour so many times that he'd lost count. When he said, "the only radio sets that aren't tuned into this show are the ones that are broken," advertisers just nodded and signed the price bump.

The live weeknight revival remotes, however, that was another story. Basically, they didn't
have
to sell any time to the church during the week at all. There was nothing in their contract that covered that one-way or the other. The problem was, they did have a contract with Art Berry to make available to him at least three hours a month for his RCE remotes as a condition to his providing remote broadcasts for the station's regular news reporting. At the time, they had all been thinking of it as five or ten minute opportunities for Art to generate a little more remote business. But it wasn't clearly specified in the contract. As Huddy pointed out, "Folks, you done opened up your barn door and pulled down your trousers on this one."

It seemed, in John and Janet Rogers hurry to lock up Art's capabilities so her newscasts and stock and agricultural market reports could continue uninterrupted by one of Art's inevitable tantrums, they had forgotten to assign a value to the three hour blocks. All it said was that if the station had a pre-existing scheduled live show on during that hour Art couldn't have it. But they hadn't specified morning or evening, or most importantly, they had forgotten to reserve the internal spot sales to the station!

Art hadn't noticed the flaw either; at least so far he hadn't mentioned it. But if they turned down Fischer and friends from buying direct, he could easily go to Art and get a much cheaper rate and they'd be out the ad revenue, and still have to broadcast a shortened Old
Timey Radio Hour
! Sure, the church would have to cut back to a half hour each Saturday night, but they would be wide open to sell their own spots to the same advertisers that were paying the station right now.

Luckily, several weeks had gone by with no mention of continuing the revival or the revival broadcasts. Now that Maria's husband had returned home to take over the church pulpit, that good fortune had come to an end.

"Marc? Are you still with us?" Fischer smiled, but also looked puzzled at his friend's non-response to his question.

"Oh! Yes, of course, Reverend Fischer." Marc improvised, "It's just we've got so much going on at The Voice of America this summer. I was just trying to work it out in my head if we can find an open slot before the Fourth of July.

"Let me tell you what. Let's finish up here with the collections, and I'll get with our program manager and see what we can do. Is that fair enough?"

Even Maria Kurger looked up from her tally sheet when she heard that. In all the years she'd been dealing with Marc, he had never once paused a second to come up with the exact number of spots in each hour of the broadcast year that he had available to sell. When she learned how to use the new church computer, her first thought was that it must have been modeled after Marc Kronzburg's brain.

"That's fine, Marc," Fischer answered after a moments thought. "But, we'll be happy just to wait here while you go get the station schedule. It would really mean a lot. Okay?"