The Dreeson Incident(22)

The term Sepharad was the word used by Europe's Sephardic Jews to refer to the Iberian homeland from which they had been driven almost two centuries earlier. As always, Nasi was struck by the name, used as the name of a child—and, still more so, by the complexities of the gentile father who had chosen that name. Complexities which had, in the end, produced something as simple and clear-cut as Nasi's own firm allegiance to the man.



But it was a complex world, after all. And there was always this, too—working for Michael Stearns was invariably an interesting experience. Sometimes, even an exhilarating one.



"Kathleen," said Ed, rolling the name. "After a relative?"



Mike's grin got a bit crooked. "Uh, no. It was my ex-fianceé's name."



Ed looked a bit startled. Nasi, who knew the story, said: "The woman who died in the car crash. In California."



Ed was still looking startled. "And Becky didn't mind?"



"It was her suggestion, in fact," said Mike.



That led Francisco to reflect on the complexities of the woman Rebecca Abrabanel. With some regrets, even. Had she not married Mike Stearns, she might have wound up marrying Francisco himself.



Possibly. That had been his family's plan, at least. But what was done, was done, and Nasi was not a man given to fretting over the past.



Speaking of which—complexities, that is . . .



"Is it possible to speak to her?" he asked. "Or is she maintaining seclusion?"



Mike's grin got very crooked, now. "Yeah, sure. We'll have to manage something discreet, though. Becky maintains most of the rituals and customs, but not all of them, especially the ones she thinks are—her words, not mine—'stupid and pointless leftovers from tribal pastoralism.' But she tries not to rub anybody's nose in it."



Nasi chuckled. "Especially in Amsterdam, whose rabbis are notoriously rigid."



" 'Reactionary scoundrels,' is the phrase Becky herself uses to describe them." Mike shrugged. "She doesn't care at all what they think. Still, most Jews in the city are religiously very conservative, if not always politically, and she doesn't see any point in needlessly irritating them. So, although she's not maintaining the forty days of seclusion, she's not flaunting the fact either. Come by our place tonight, after dark."



Nasi nodded. Mike cocked his head quizzically.



"What do you need to talk to her about? If it's something personal, of course, you can ignore the question."



"No, it's political," said Ed. "And you should be part of the discussion anyway. The problem is with Becky's seat in the SoTF Congress. She's been gone for a long time, Mike. Is she planning to come back to Grantville? If so, we'll figure on running her again as the candidate of the Fourth of July Party. But, if she's not coming back—or not coming back soon—we really need to run somebody else. We just can't keep that seat held for somebody in absentia."



Mike scratched his jaw. "Yeah, I understand. Becky and I have talked about it, but—what with this and that and this and that—"



"It's been a hectic few months," Ed said, chuckling.



"—we never came to any conclusions. And, yes, I can see where it'd be a problem for the party in Thuringia."



"We'll be by tonight, then. In the meantime . . ." Ed winced. "I suppose we may as well go see Gretchen."



Mike frowned. "What's the problem? She's not hard to talk to—at least, if you can pry yourself through the small mob of CoCers who are usually surrounding her." He glanced at his watch. "And, this time of day, that's where you'll usually find her. At the CoC headquarters downtown."



"Well . . . this is a personal matter. Henry Dreeson asked us to talk to her while we were here. He's wondering—and he's getting pretty damn dyspeptic about it—when Gretchen's planning to come home and start taking care of that mob of kids of hers. She's been gone just as long as Becky, you know."



"Oh." Now, Mike made a face. "Yeah. Good luck. The old saw comes to mind. 'Better you than me.' "



That made his grin re-appear.



"That's really a pretty disgusting grin," Ed observed.





In the event, though, Gretchen wasn't belligerent. In fact, she looked downright shame-faced when Ed finished passing on the message from Henry.



"Well, yes, I know. But . . . we've been very busy . . ." She made a fluttery sort of gesture, very out of character for Gretchen. "The struggle against reaction . . ."



Ed just waited. Under the circumstances, that seemed the wisest course.



Eventually, Gretchen stopped muttering and mumbling about the needs of the struggle and started muttering and mumbling noises on the subject of returning to Grantville. After a couple of minutes or so, Ed decided he could excavate enough of those vague phrases to mollify Henry.