The Dreeson Incident(107)

Dumais frowned. "Stearns is not married to a 'Kraut.' Rebecca Abrabanel is not a German. She is a Jewess. Her family was originally from Spain. She grew up in the Netherlands and England."



"I don't give a damn whether she's Jewish or not. I haven't met a half dozen Jews in all my life. Hell, except for the Roths, I've never actually met any as far as I know, and I don't have anything against Morris and Judith. Their boy was five years or so younger than me, so I didn't know the kids well, but they were perfectly ordinary people. Spoke English, went hunting. Americans, if you know what I mean. Not foreigners."



Jacques-Pierre pondered the matter. Mrs. Haggerty had, upon occasion, expressed similar ideas. Most of these Grantvillers, even the most unpleasant such as those who frequented the 250 Club tavern, truly did not seem to care whether someone was Jewish or not. There were a few exceptions, such as the man named Cooper, but most of them did not.



In fact, he thought, although there were some tensions, most of them did not care whether a person was of any particular religious persuasion at all, which was somewhat unnerving.



They did, many of them, seem to care whether someone was "foreign" or not. This was something he would have to pass on to Rohan.



The question for even the most dissatisfied among the up-timers, apparently, was whether someone was . . . different . . . or not. It was something to think about. What caused enough difference between people for an up-timer to take notice of it and to resent it? Was there such a word as undifferent? It couldn't be "indifferent." That was a word in the English language, but it had another, quite distinct, meaning.



Difference. He had been allowed to learn a great deal—more, really, than he'd expected—in large part simply because he said that he wished to become like them. Take, for example, his acquaintance through the Genealogy Club with Mrs. Sandra Prickett, who also worked for the Bureau of Vital Statistics. She had been so willing to explain how things worked. And then to show him how to look things up.



Most of the up-timers probably would not want to act against the hospital, either. How many of the down-timers living inside the RoF would have absorbed that attitude?



As he reflected on what might make a person completely "undifferent" in this town, he continued chatting. "You are returning to Magdeburg next week?"



"I was supposed to be," said Holloway. "Now, though, it looks like I'll have to run some other errands for high-and-mighty Stannard on the way. Halle for a couple of weeks. Naumburg for a while. It could be the middle of February before I actually get there. In fact, I might have to come back here first for a while."



Jacques-Pierre looked at him for a minute. "Do you have any 'spare time' when you are in these cities for your work?"



"Usually, yeah."



"You do work with down-timers, don't you. Even though you do not enjoy it?"



"No way to get around it. Most of the fire companies outside of Grantville and Magdeburg are all-Kraut. There are millions and millions of them in this stupid country, even in this state it seems like, and nowhere near enough of us to go around."



"So you have contacts. Could I employ you in your spare time? I need to hire some men. Day laborers, casual workers. Strong men, physically. 'Toughs' are okay. Hooligans; thugs, as long as they will do what they are told in exchange for their pay. Could you ask around for me? Not too many from any one city. They would need to be in Grantville by the first of March. A commission for each successful hire?"



"What are the Garbage Guys up to now? You must have a contract for some kind of big project." Holloway waved his hand. "But that isn't any of my business. How much commission?"





PART SIX





January 1635


Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage





Chapter 34





Grantville

New Year's Day, 1635



"That was a pretty comprehensive defense of yourself for staying out all night with Ron on New Year's Eve, Missy," Chad Jenkins said. "Designed to drive your mother to maximum distraction, I'm sure."



"Then why are you laughing?"



"Because I was listening. Outside the door, but listening. That's a lot of what a salesman does. And through all of your pointing out that the two of you don't have to sneak around in hotel rooms or anything because Ron has a whole house at his disposal out at Lothlorien where you can do whatever you please in perfect comfort and have a kitchen in which to cook breakfast to boot . . . not once did you say that you actually were there."



Missy gave her father a lopsided smile.



"We were over at Pam's. Playing cards with her and Cory Joe. And a guy named Jean-Louis LaChapelle, who is a nephew of the man that Velma Hardesty married. He's really a student at the University of Leiden. If this was back home, we'd say that he was a hard science major, I guess, with a sideline in engineering. They're not as specialized here as majors were at Fairmont State or WVU. He's in town on business for his uncle and also learning what he can while he's here. He's been here several weeks and took the 'how to use a research library' training that we give out at the state library. Very, very, French, for a Calvinist who was born and grew up in the Netherlands. All charm. 'Oozing charm from every pore,' like the song said."