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A Bell for St. Vasili's

Written by Keith Robertsson

November, 1633

"Ux Te!" Kseniya hadn't at all expected what she was seeing.

 

When Princess Natalia Petrovna hired Father Gavril to come to Grantville and set up a church for the people who were coming to study, she'd mentioned that her brother Vladimir had bought a home. She'd even put Kseniya "on salary" as the housekeeper, since Kseniya would of course come to Grantville with her husband.

 

But, a home wasn't supposed to be the size of the Kremlin.

March, 1634, The Rezidentz' Kitchen Office

Kseniya slammed the pen on the desk. "Durag nummers."

Though Kseniya was a merchant's daughter and had been raised to expect a certain level of comfort and the responsibility that went with it, she was never expected to manage what amounted to a small business on her own. Hadn't her father married her off to a priest with the prospects of good parishes? The Grantville rezidentz was big, as big as one of these up-timer hotels. Impossible for one woman to handle, simply impossible.

Prince Vladimir had gone all out. The house—if house was the proper term at all—covered what she'd learned to call a "block." It was built to take advantage of natural light, two rooms and a hall wide, and two stories high, on each wing. The four wings made a large square, with a private garden in the center. A large private garden. Some of it was given over to decorative gardens, some was kitchen garden, and they had some chickens for eggs. The back wing was the stables and residential area for some of the servants, the east wing was offices, the west rooms for guests. The south wing was formal reception rooms, more offices and the private quarters for the prince. And his soon-to-be bride, Brandy Bates.

As she was ruminating, a knock came on the door to her cubbyhole office.

"Hi, Mrs. Kotova," said the young lady at the door. "Do you have a moment? I need to borrow some of your brains."

"Good afternoon, Gospazha Brandy," Kseniya said. "My time is your time. But are you sure you need to speak to me?" In the months that Kseniya had been in residence, she'd grown close to Brandy and liked the young woman quite a bit.

"Well, Mrs. K, if there's another female Russian in this house who's older than me, tell me who she is," Brandy said.

"Nu, if you make those qualifications, I'm the only one in the rezidentz or Grantville who fits them," Kseniya said. "Tell me why do you need to 'borrow' some of my brains? I didn't know I had any to spare."

"It goes back to something I heard years ago. If you don't have a lot of brain power but are a good judge of character, you can always borrow or hire the brains. It's a matter of being able to trust your sources."

"Thank you, moiya gospazha, for your confidence in me," Kseniya said. "From the sound of it, I think we need a pot of tea. Pardon me for a moment."

****

When Kseniya returned to her seat, Brandy took a deep breath and plunged into her not-so carefully planned presentation.

"Mrs. K., I feel like a stranger in a strange land. I love Vladimir to pieces and I can't think of life without him. But sometimes, I think I'm about to go nuts here. I don't know enough Russian, for one thing. Then there's running this house. It's not a house. It's enormous. I'm a reference librarian, not Martha Stewart. I don't know how to manage a household the size of Kudzu Werke. Like Charlie Brown used to say, 'Arrgh.'"

Somewhere, in her venting, Brandy started to cry. Not much, just a few sniffles and enough moisture to cause a need of a handkerchief.

Maria, the maid, arrived then with their refreshments. While Brandy snuffled, Kseniya got up and took the tray, motioning for Maria to leave quickly. She was relieved that she wasn't the only person who was having problems with this situation.

"Oy, you do have some problems, don't you? But we're in the same boat, I'm afraid. I wasn't trained for this, either. Your first problem is easy to solve. I can help you with your Russian; you can help me with my English and German."

"Okay," Brandy said. She stopped sniffling and picked up a cup of the tea Kseniya poured. "That will help a lot."

"I agree with you about your other problems. You'll be the gospazha of the household. As that, you have a staff working for you. Right now, Gregorii is your major domo. He's reporting directly to the prince. While my husband is your chaplain, I am the head of the kitchen and female staff. But, like you, I am in over my head," Kseniya said.

"We'll just have to figure something out. Do you have any ideas?"

"I'm not really trained to run a kitchen of this size. It's not just the cooking . . . that I can do. It's also the buying from the different sellers. And I'm not used to all these modern conveniences. I grew up cooking on an open hearth and in a pech, a big stove . . . not like the cook stove we have here."

"We need help. Let's think about it and do some investigating. Right now, though, I have to go see Vlad. He got another batch of letters from home. And from the czar. And the bureaus. And, and, and!" Brandy threw her hands in the air. "It never stops."

"In that case, you must be on your way. S' Bogom . . . go with God."

"S' Bogom, Kseniya," Brandy said. "Oh, yeah . . . could you please send Maria to the office with something to eat in about a half hour?"

"Of course, Branya." Kseniya was still surprised by the offhanded politeness of the up-timers she'd met.

****

"Come on in, Brandy," Vladimir called.

The couple embraced and exchanged a kiss or two.

Brandy whispered, "Ya lublu tebya."

"Your pronunciation is getting better. Who's been teaching my girl Russian?"

Brandy said, "Mrs. Kotova and Vladimir Troshin."

"I thought I knew all of the Russians in Grantville. Most of them live in this building. Who is this Troshin?" Vladimir asked, putting on his Rezident's hat.

"A singer on a record I borrowed from Ms. Mailey's collection," Brandy said. "While she's in England, Dr. Nichols is house-sitting for her. He lent it to me."

"You learned Russian from a singer?"

"At least the pronunciation," Brandy said. "The record is all Russian big band music."

"We'll have to listen to it when I go into Grantville Saturday. I want to hear your other Vladimir," Vladimir said.

"Sure thing. I think you'll like it. 'Sides it's danceable. But enough about music. What came in today's mail?"

"Mostly the usual contradictory stuff, one office not telling the other what I sent them, so the other writes asking for information I sent months ago. Here's a stack of inquiries. I've made marginal translations for you."

Taking their seats on either side of a partner's desk, the pair set to work. A soft knock came at the study door. Maria had arrived with the tea tray.

"Mein Herr und Fraulein, where do you want the tray?" said Maria.

"Here, please, Maria," Brandy said.

Maria placed the tray on the indicated empty spot on the desk.

"Thank you," Brandy said. "Dear, do you want honey on your biscuit?"

"Da," Vladimir said, deep in a piece of what was probably arrant nonsense that needed a diplomatic answer.

Brandy gave the stack of correspondence a glare, then repressed a sigh. Might as well get it done.

****

"Vlad, it's getting on to six o'clock. I need to get back into town."

"Do you really need to go?" asked Vladimir.

Laughing at Vlad's oft repeated query, Brandy said, "I told you I won't have breakfast in this house until after the wedding. Cora would be sure to spread the news all over Grantville. Besides, I'm meeting the girls at Tyler's tonight. Dinner and a brain picking session."

"What do you mean 'brain picking session?"

"I talked to Mrs. Kotova this afternoon. I found out I need to get my ducks in a row if I am going to be the gospazha here, "Brandy said. "The girls know folks I don't. And I know folks they don't."

"If you must, you must," Vlad said. "But I'll be glad when the day comes that you don't." He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Brandy laughed again. "Just hold your horses, fella. It'll happen soon enough. S' Bogom, honey."

 

The next Monday afternoon

 

"Miss Garrett, this lady is Mrs. Kseniya Kotova. Mrs. Kotova, this is Tate Garret," Brandy said.

As Brandy closed the door, Kseniya gave Tate a once over. She was short for an up-timer, maybe five and four of their feet and inches, solidly built, not too skinny and not too fat, with short, muddy-colored blond hair. And a look of leadership in her eyes.

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kotova," said Tate.

"As am I," Kseniya said, a bit flustered. The girl was much younger than she'd expected.

"Tate, we've got a problem. And I think you're the solution to it," Brandy said. "I asked some people I know and your name came up as some one with the needed skills and experience."

Tate looked startled. "Skills and experience? Brandy . . . Miss Bates, I'm the junior assistant manager at the Willard Hotel. What do I know that you can use?"

"We know that. How big do you think Grantville is?" Brandy grinned.

Brandy wasn't being nearly as formal as Kseniya thought she should be with a possible future employee. Up-timers were very odd that way. "Miss Garrett, we know where you presently work. Gospazha Brandy knows of your education and where you planned on going to school after graduation. Someplace called Johnson and Wales . . . and something called hospitality arts?"

"Boy, you ladies really do know about me. Are you sure there's no KGB agents stationed here?"

Brandy laughed. "Who needs the KGB when you've got the Barbie Consortium? We need someone to help Mrs. Kotova. And me, for that matter. You'll be chef de cuisine and other duties as assigned. This place is like a hotel, only with both permanent residents and transient guests. Not to mention, you'll have a wedding to cater in the not-too-distant future. We are also taking you on because you know the food suppliers in West Virginia County. What do you think? Want a job?"

"Good night, Brandy! Most chefs have to spend years to get the position you're offering. You're darn right I want it," Tate said.

"Good to have you with us." Brandy grinned and extended her hand.

"Da," Kseniya said. "I'm happy to have the help."

 

Three weeks later

To the casual observer, the kitchen looked the same as it did a month ago. However, Kseniya saw minor yet practical changes. Over in at the baker's station, Maria was weighing out the ingredients for the afternoon's baking. The prince liked warm fresh baked goods on his supper table. He'd even fallen in love with American-style fruit pies for his dessert. So, he was happy. Everyone else was eating better and she was staying inside her kitchen budget. For that, Kseniya decided to stop by the makeshift chapel and light three candles before the icon of St. Vasili. Her thinking was interrupted by a shout.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. K. How you doin'," Tate asked.

"Fine, Chef, slava bogu . . . errm, praise God. And you? The kitchen looks a bit more polished," Kseniya said.

"Ahh, it wasn't any thing a bit of elbow grease and some chlorine bleach solution couldn't cure. The scullery crew needed a bit of encouragement to clean the corners," said Tate. "Are we still having tea with Colonel Makoveev?"

"Yes. He may be a streletz, but I don't think he is a colonel. Maybe a captain or a colonel's nephew," Kseniya said.

"What's a streletz, Mrs. K?"

"The streletzi are the czar's musketeers. The streletzi regiments form the czar's guard regiments and the garrisons of the larger cities in Russia," replied Kseniya.

"So, what makes you think he is a fake?" said Tate.

"There are only so many streletzi colonels. They are all old, fat and in Russia. This Colonel Timofei Makoveev is too thin and too young to be a colonel and he's here."

Tate laughed. "Let's go in to the office; the mice have ears," she said. Then she waved at Maria. "Maria, have the usual setup brought to the office."

"Yes, Chef,"

"Agreed. After you, Chef," Kseniya said.

The ladies entered the kitchen office and fell to examining the accounts ledger. Kseniya was pleasantly surprised to see the neatness and completeness of the book. She was very pleasantly surprised to see the reduction in costs. One of the scullery crew brought the tea into the office and they came up for air and poured their cups of tea.

"What is keeping Makoveev? I'm on my second cup," Kseniya said. "You'd think his mother taught him better than to let a lady wait."

"I don't know." Tate shrugged. "Do you want me to send out a search party?"

Just then came two raps on the office door.

"Mrs. Kotova, Chef Garrett, I apologize for being late. I was out at the range with the Junior ROTC." Colonel Timofei Makoveev had a pleasant baritone. He also held a full cup of tea, procured from the kitchen's common tea pot, in his hand.

"Good afternoon, Colonel," Kseniya said. "Tell us, please, what in the world were you doing with a bunch of teenagers?"

"Some one talked Prince Vladimir into volunteering me as a range safety officer. I guess with a red coat and yellow boots, the instructors think I didn't look like a target. Now, how can I help you ladies?"

Tate said, "First, Colonel, in this office, unless one of our subordinates is present, we're on an informal basis. Here, I'm Tate, this is Mrs. K, and you're Tim . . . or Colonel Tim if you insist."

The soldier thought for a moment and said, "So, this is something like the Officers' Mess they talk about down at the American Legion Hall."

"Da, you're correct, Tima," Kseniya said. "We're here to support the prince and Gospazha Brandy. I am happy to see you are familiar with the American Legion."

"As the representative of the Streletzi Bureau, I need to make contacts with the various military related organizations in Grantville."

"Tim, I need a date to tomorrow's Legion pastrami roll lunch. I'm not a vet. The vets I know are all too old. If they're young and still free, I've turned them down in high school," Tate said.

Timofei looked at the woman sitting behind the desk in her double breasted chef's jacket. She was young, easy on the eyes but not drop dead beautiful and wore a uniform with Prince Vladimir's crest embroidered on it. All things considered, a worthy lunch companion. And there was just something about a girl in uniform . . . "I'll be happy to be your escort for lunch, Tate. Due to the ways armies are organized these days, the Legion allows men from friendly services to buy affiliated memberships. I get to eat and drink there but not vote."

"Tima, I saw that look in your eye. Don't get any ideas about Tate. If she tells me you got out of line, ya Mama. I'm mother around here," Kseniya said in full mother-bear mode. "Do you understand me?"

"Da, Mama Kotova. I hear and will obey," said Timofei. He looked like a mischievous boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Good, I'll watch over the kitchen for lunch," Kseniya said. "Tima, tell Old Sasha to have the carriage ready to take you to the Legion Hall at, say, about eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Mrs. Kotova," Tim and Tate chorused.

"Colonel, let's get out of here so Chef Garrett can get supper ready."

 

10:30 am, Saturday

Colonel Makoveev said, "Sasha, I won't need a driver today. Just hitch up the buggy. "

"Vanya, you heard the colonel. Get the buggy ready," Sasha ordered.

Old Sasha watched Makoveev as the buggy was readied and saw the look of a man on a trail.

"Sasha, what do you think of these Grantville horses?"

"Colonel, I never thought I'd be working with so many head of quality horse flesh. These Morgan crosses are beautiful," Sasha said.

"I need a saddle horse for my own use. Keep your eyes out for me," Tim instructed.

"Do you want a fighter or a rider, sir?"

"A rider," Timofei said. "I leave the fighting to the Scots and Finns. Also, find me a decent saddle. After four hundred years, you'd think there'd be some improvements."

As the two dove deep into a discussion of horses and tack, Tate walked into the stable yard ready for her trip into town. She expected to ride in the two horse carriage. Instead she saw the two seat buggy all hitched up and ready to go.

"Okay, Colonel Timofei Ivanovich Makoveev, what's with the seduction rig?" Tate said.

"Good morning, Chef Garrett," Timofei replied. "I thought we'd leave the larger rig for the prince's use. The post was built for cars not carriages."

"I guess the good thing about driving a horse is you need both hands. The boys I knew couldn't keep both hands on the steering wheel," Tate said.

Timofei said, "Don't worry on that account. I remember Mama Kotova and I want to live."

Sasha helped Tate up into the buggy, while Timofei climbed into the driver's position.

"Thank you, Sasha for your help," Tate said.

Sasha gave the couple a polite bow as they drove off into Grantville.

 

11:20 am, Saturday

 

The carriage drew up before the whitewashed building. Timofei handed the reins to the hostler and helped Tate down. A sign beside the front door read: "Pastrami Roll Lunch 1100-1300 hours: $4.00 members and guests, $6.00 Unescorted Visitors, Benefits Grantville JROTC Scholarship Program."

"That looks like a good price, Timofei," said Tate.

"It is. The price includes cole slaw, potato chips and the first beer," said Tim. "Let's go in. I'm hungry."

The pair went through the door. They checked their overcoats and hats with the cloakroom girl.

"'Morning, Colonel McCoy," said a voice to their right.

"Good Morning, Mr. Kindred, and it's Makoveev," said Timofei.

"Sorry, I never could wrap my tongue around those Russki names. Who's this young lady? I've always seen you on your own," Kindred said.

"This is Tate Garrett. She's the new chef for Prince Vladimir. Chef Garrett, this is J.P. Kindred."

"Tate Nadine, isn't it?" J. P asked. "It's good to see you again. You've sure grown up since I saw you last."

"Hi, Mr. Kindred. You're right; it's been a long time."

"I figure you're old enough to buy me a beer back in West Virginia. So, you can call me 'JP'. The same goes for you, son," said J.P. "Please join me. I'd like to eat my lunch without an old codger who wants to re-fight Omaha Beach with the ketchup and mustard."

"We'd be happy to join you, J.P.," said Tate.

Tate, Tim and J.P. found an empty corner table. With a courtly gesture, J.P. seated Tate in the metal folding chair. Their orders were taken by the waitress and they settled into conversation.

Tate looked around the room. "J.P. this place hasn't changed all that much. But, what's with the Imperial Legion posters?"

"It's like this. The boys decided they could either die as American Legion Post 238 or we could live on as Imperial Legion Post 2. We'd have been number one, but Jackson and his gang formed their post up in Magdeburg before we got our act together."

"J.P., you know pretty much all the legionnaires and what they might have in their attics don't you?" Tate asked.

"Well, I know the members. But I don't know all that much about their attics," said J.P.

"Like Colonel Tim said, that Russian prince over in Castle Hills has hired me to run his kitchen. I need to get the place up to speed. Not to mention, the kitchen will be catering Brandy Bates' wedding . . ."

"Yeah, I heard about that. How can the Legion help you?"

"A few years back, I read in one of those food industry trade magazines about the Armed Forces Recipe Cards," Tate said. "The article said there are over a thousand cards and that they cover every course from soup to nuts. I figure I could use a set, even if it's just for daily meals. Of course, for the fancy stuff, they probably won't be much help. But we're cooking for a hundred or so for every meal up there."

J.P. said, "I know a couple of guys who retired out as cooks. Maybe one of them has a set in the attic. Can you give me a day or two to ask around?"

"Sure, J.P.," said Tate. "A day or two won't hurt. But, I'd like to know one way or another if a set came through."

"Since I can charge this to the Streletzi Bureau, how about another beer?" said Timofei.

 

 

Three Days Later, Kseniya's New Office

 

Kseniya reached for the teapot. "Another cup of tea, Mr. Kindred, Father Gavril? We'd like to thank very much for the help you and the Legion have given us."

"It wasn't all that much, Mrs. Kotova," said J.P. "In fact, it turned out easier than I thought. Back in the '80s, a legionnaire was a cook in the Army National Guard. He donated a set to the post that the Army had declared obsolete and replaced."

"Do you need the set back soon?" inquired Kseniya. "If the post can wait, we would like to copy them so we can have a complete set."

"Not a problem," J.P. said. "Just give them back when you're done."

Since her husband wasn't talking much, Kseniya tried to bring him into the conversation. "Father, they tell Chef Garrett she'll need twenty-four pounds of ground meat to make enough golubtsi for a hundred."

J.P. said, "What ...