1634: Turn Your Radio On (3 page)

Susannah smiled at the little girl. She placed her load on the table and noticed the sly grin on Tony's face as he climbed into his chair and stuffed the napkin into his collar. "Don't worry, my little ones. I have enough dessert for all."

"Don't be so sure, Fraulein Becker. Our task master of a boss almost worked us to death today," Anton Beyer said as he entered the room hand in hand with his wife Sybella. "It's good he invited us to dinner, or Belle would have had to spoon feed me after I finally was able to pluck the chicken that we would otherwise have had tonight."

"Huh," Belle retorted, "I practically spoon feed you most days anyway. How any man ever gets along without a woman, I'll never know." Anton feigned a hurt look, but he laughed just as hard as the rest did.

"That's why I'm so glad that Pete found Susannah, Sister Belle," Fischer added as he followed the Becker family to the table. "Just two bachelors like us in this big of a house wouldn't, how do they say it . . . wouldn't have been fit to shoot!"

"That makes two of us, Fischer." Pete made his way to the chair at the head of the table. "Who would have figured that a Mennonite would be able to prepare Cuban Pork Roast so expertly and keep this house looking like something out of
Good Housekeeping
magazine?"

Susannah came back from the kitchen with the main course, then sat down at the foot of the table. She had, at first, resisted sitting at the main dining table as if she were a member of the family. But, as with so many curious habits of these up-timers, she had found that they were stubborn in their sense of equality.

After Pete said grace, and everyone had filled their plates, the conversations continued interrupted only by the Beyer's Tony. He seemed intent upon grabbing everything that came into his sight. His mother picked him up out of the high chair and nestled him close to her breast to finally quiet him.

"I suspect that the Lord knew what He was doing when he took Adam's rib," Fischer commented.

"So, then why are two of the most eligible bachelors in Grantville sitting at this table unattached?" Belle inquired.

"Whoa! Don't look at me," Pete responded. "Kelly Construction has kept me busy six days and at least five nights a week since we got here. I haven't had any time to date. Now, Fischer, here's another story."

Fischer felt his face flush when Pete brought him into the line of fire.

"A fine young minister like Fischer, always working with the new prospective members, should be able to find a wonderful young lady very easily."

"A time for all things, Brother Peter, a time for all things," Fischer responded. "Maybe you're right, though. Maybe I should be looking for the proper match for you while I meet the new visitors to our church. Yes, that's exactly what I need to do."

Pete didn't expect to have his argument turned on him quite this smoothly and couldn't think of a retort. Luckily, Susannah did it for him. "That's a wonderful plan, Brother Fischer! You look for Peter. Belle and I will look for you!"

All but the children laughed at this comeuppance and continued with their meal and conversations. Afterwards, when Susannah and Belle had cleared the plates from the table and served the fresh hot streusel, the idea came back to her.

Why not keep an eye out for Brother Fischer? He was always with Reverend Chalker when Pete didn't have him working on a job. His nose was always buried in his Bible or scribbling some notes when he came home. Maybe he needed some help adjusting to this strange place from the future and its secular ways. She must talk further with Belle about this later.

****

"Honey, what's wrong?" Ingrid exclaimed, woken from a sound sleep by her husband bolting upright in their bed.

Paul Nemeth was now sitting upright, bracing his arms behind him, and feeling sweat beginning to glisten on his exposed skin. Leaning over to turn on the light beside the bed, he pushed himself up into a fully sitting position, "It was the weirdest dream. I was at my own funeral. You were dressed in black, Brother Chalker was dressed in a white suit, and Brother Fischer was there in a grey suit. But the oddest thing . . . there were flames flickering behind his head!"

He looked down at Ingrid, still lying on her pillow, "When he went over to comfort you, the flames didn't burn you or harm you in any way."

"Paul, if that was the Holy Spirit talking, what could it mean?"

Paul thought for a moment. "I hope it was no prophecy, but why the flames?"

Ingrid scooted up next to him and took his hand. "Well, it could be a prophecy. Fischer is the best chance we've got right now for our faith to continue after Brother Chalker passes. Maybe the time is at hand for him to be baptized in the Spirit.

"I'm more worried why it's your funeral that it happens at. Are you feeling all right? I've been worried about your coughing lately."

Paul frowned. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to go get a check up."

****

"Why, Reverend Chalker, what a nice surprise to see you today." Lana Soper just beamed as she sat in her wheel chair in the recreation room overlooking Buffalo Creek.

"Well, I had to get some things at the Rainbow Center next door, and thought I'd drop in." Chalker pulled a chair over to where Lana was sitting and eased himself into it. Lana was one of the few babies born in the United States during the 1960s with birth defects due to mothers being given prescriptions for Thalidomide. As a result, she had been born with toes but no legs or feet, and flippers with finger nubs instead of arms and hands. "And how have you been feeling?"

"Fine, fine." Looking over Chalker's shoulder, Lana called out, "Johann! Could you come over here, please?"

She turned back to Chalker, "We've got a brand new nurses aide I want you to meet, Reverend. He's just arrived in Grantville and I told him about you and the church."

"Johann Friedrich, I'd like you to meet Reverend John Chalker. He's the man I've been telling you so much about."

Chalker stood and grasped Johann's hand with both of his. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Friedrich. Lana's telling me you're taking wonderful care of her."

Johann smiled. "Thank you, Reverend Chalker. She tells me you have the gift of the spirit."

"God blesses us all with that. You've just got to listen closely when He tries to tell you about it." After a short conversation, Friedrich went about his duties and Chalker sat back down with Lana.

"So what book of the Bible shall we go over, Reverend? Oh! Wait a minute. This is your anniversary, isn't it?"

The sad smile that flashed on Chalker's face confirmed that Lana had remembered correctly. "God bless you, Sister Lana. This would have been Helen and my fiftieth anniversary."

Helen Chalker had introduced her husband to Lana Soper. She'd moved into the Manning Assisted Living Center when the symptoms of her Parkinson's disease had advanced beyond John Chalker's ability to provide for her care himself. Before she passed away a few years later, she had been like a lighthouse at the Center, always holding the hands of those who were depressed, and praying for them. She had practically adopted Lana.

"Reverend, did you ever think about what might have happened if you had found a different care center back in Fairmont instead of way up here in the hills? You might have still been back up there today instead of in the middle of the seventeenth century."

It seemed like this train of thought gave Chalker a fresh head of steam, "Why, child, it was the best thing that ever happened to me! Dropped in a whole world of souls to save who have never heard of the power of the Holy Ghost. What more could I want?

"Just last week the Lord brought me a fine young man, a trained Lutheran minister no less. He just wandered into our revival and, halleluiah, he heard the call of our message." Chalker looked out at Buffalo Creek flowing by. "I tell you, Lana, he's hurting right now, but it's all part of God's plan somehow. You mark my words, he's got the gift."

****

Running his fingers through his hair, Fischer grinned. He still wasn't used to this up-timer fashion of short haircuts. Sister Doreen Murray had offered to cut his hair shortly after he started coming to the Wednesday night Bible study after he joined the church in April. Short on the sides, with longer bangs in the front to somewhat hide the scar on his forehead. Now it was August, and he still thought his hair looked funny, but it was the up-timer fashion, so that's just what it would be.

He again thought about what a pretty view it was from up here. He had found this spot by an old logging road above the Five Hollows. It overlooked the roofs of Grantville. With the sun just over the horizon, the morning dew made everything glimmer like jewels.

When Reverend John Chalker found out that Fischer was an ordained minister, he just beamed with joy. Ever since the Ring of Fire had taken Chalker away from his home and congregation, he had been trying to record all the things he knew of the history of the Pentecostal movement and beliefs. There were some books in the Grantville Library that covered a bit, and some of the local churches had books that covered some of the details, but John Chalker believed that the fire behind the central tenets of his church would be lost if he didn't get them back in written form somehow.

Now, with a university-trained convert at hand, Chalker was sure that Fischer was sent by God to translate his papers into German so that they could convert others. Chalker may have been able to speak German well enough, but he certainly couldn't write it with any skill.

Not as easy as it seemed, thought Fischer. I read and I think, and I pray about it, then I have to ask more questions to make sure I understand what he means.

For some reason, Fischer found this secluded little spot the best place to try to understand Chalker's ideas. Life had been good to him since he found his way to Grantville. Brother Pete Enriquez had invited him to move out of the Refugee Center and in with him. Pete had even gotten him some work as a carpenter's helper that didn't interfere with the time Fischer devoted to learning the Pentecostal faith as Chalker understood it.

True, he hadn't yet been blessed with the gift of tongues, but as Brother Chalker said, "Son, you just need to keep on seeking and be open. God will fill you in His time. Luke 11:9 and 13. 'And I say unto you, Ask and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?'

"I think we can afford to wait just a little bit longer, don't you?"

Fischer turned back to studying his papers and lost track of time . . . until the Other brought him to instant awareness with a vision of fire and blood. He grabbed all his books and papers and dove down the hill behind a big rock without any conscious thought.

What happened? Why did I do that?
He felt the state of panic and the memory of flames subsiding. Still with little control over his own actions, he began listening as carefully as he could to what was going on around him.

It was the birds. He must have heard a flock of birds startled from their roosts. But why should that scare him? After all, here he was in the middle of the Ring of Fire! The mighty army that defended this place had crushed forces in ways unequalled since biblical times. Then he heard the hoof beats. It was a fast, trotting noise, but unaccompanied by any clattering or other extraneous sounds whatsoever.

That can't be a group of up-timers out for a ride.
Fischer grimaced. It must be danger.

Sure enough, when the six riders came past Fischer's hiding place, he knew the danger was real.
Croats!

The panic once again overcame him as he drifted into the dark recesses of his own mind.

****

He heard a series of quick pops from below, which then erupted into the sound of a hail of up-time gunfire. Fischer moved up into a crouch to look at what was happening in the town below. Smoke from the gunfire drifted up over the rooftops of Grantville and he saw several hundred Croat cavalrymen bolting away in an unorganized retreat.

It was already noon. Fischer stood up and, after examining the newly ripped patch in his up-timer jeans, made his way down the hill to see what these up-timers had done to this latest threat that had been hurled against them.

The street leading to the bridges looked like a butcher's market. Dead horses were stacked like cordwood, bodies of dead Croats were still being pulled into neat rows on the sidewalk, and the faint smell of that acrid smoke from the tailpipes of the school buses lingered in the air. But, Fischer noted, there was not one up-timer body to be seen.

"Brother Fischer! Are you all right?"

Phyllis Dobbs, also a member of the congregation, was rapidly walking toward him with a deer rifle resting in the crook of her right arm. "These sinners will sin no more, hey, Brother?" She grinned. "Slater and the rest of the men lit off to help out at the high school. That's where the rest of these murdering snakes came to attack."

She looked him over and asked, "How are you? You didn't get hurt, did you? How'd you rip your new jeans?"

"Oh that. It's nothing, Sister Phyllis. I fell as I was making my way down the hill into town." Holding up the bundle of paper in his left hand, Fischer explained, "I was up there translating Reverend Chalker's work again when I heard the noise down here. I'm fine.

"How can I help?"

Fischer pitched in to help the women and old men pull even more Croat bodies to the row on the sidewalk and kept thinking.
Even here we are not safe, but it is better. Yes, it is better.
Then frowning, he thought, I could have done something. I could have helped.

It was hard to concentrate. He kept imagining that he saw, out of the corner of his eyes, a reflection of fire in the store windows around him.

Slater Dobbs laid down his hammer, stretched, and sat down on a keg of nails to roll a cigarette. September already. "Summer's almost gone; winter's comin' on," he whistled. Not that he'd be going anywhere. This job was the kind of work that he enjoyed doing, when he enjoyed working. Mostly, however, he enjoyed fishing and hunting in the back woods.