Featured Article » Fiction

Chip's Christmas Gift

Written by Russ Rittgers

Chip and Joachim had just finished working out with quarterstaffs, six-foot-long hardwood sticks, at the von Thierbach estate manor, absorbing a new collection of bruises to join those of the previous two days. Chip wanted to practice techniques he'd previously learned in the army and Joachim simply wanted to gain another weapon in the event they were attacked while on the road. Chip hadn't exactly had quarterstaff training but his close combat training sergeant had taught his company something about using his rifle to block sword strokes. At the same time he'd also said, if they're that close to you, run like hell if you're alone, otherwise block, use your rifle butt, or punch him with your bayonet if you've got it fitted.

Chip didn't have a rifle at Joachim's home in Thierbach where he'd come for the Christmas holiday or in Jena for that matter, but he did have six feet of salvaged galvanized pipe his dad had kept when he replaced their home's plumbing ten years ago. Wrapped in sticky black electrical tape with a dirt covering, it didn't look like metal, didn't resonate like metal. No sword would ever slash through it like Alex Mackay's had destroyed Chip's pool cue on that fateful night at the Thuringen Gardens.

He and Joachim had padded their arms and legs and wore old helmets pulled out of storage from the days his von Thierbach ancestors had worn them into battle. Fortunately or not, with the advent of the crossbow and firearms, armor was on the way out and it wasn't going to be coming back.

"I'm exhausted, sweaty and need a bath," Chip said, pulling off the tight padded metal helmet which showed a number of fresh dents. Sweat was pouring down his face as he stripped off his arm padding and upper clothing to cool down. The horse barn they had been using was dim and cool but out of the wind and snow. "I haven't had a series of workouts like this since I was in the army," Chip said, wiping his upper body with a linen towel.

"What's it like, being in the American Army?" Joachim asked, sitting down next to him, placing his helmet on the bench and stripping off his own padding.

"I don't know," Chip mumbled, as he loosened the padding covering his legs. "A lot of exercise, getting your body into shape, practicing maneuvering into formations so they can be used during battle, close combat training, a lot like this but with and without our rifles. Actually, after we achieve a certain proficiency, we hardly ever shoot our rifles. Then there are all the lectures. Medical, technical, history, battle tactics, what's probably happening now in the world, and of course, patrol duty."

"So that's how you fought Josef with a knife and lived?" Joachim asked.

"Ja, and got the scar to prove it," Chip answered, tapping his scabbed-over healing cheek. "It was good that I was almost sober when we met that night. You were enjoying yourself with Inga at the time."

"Speaking of Inga, don't mention her to Papa, at least in connection with me."

"He doesn't want you to use a prostitute? That's a more up-time position than I would have expected of him."

"Oh, it's not that. He doesn't mind that at all. In fact, he thinks of it as a part of my education. But having a long-term relationship with her, especially with her having someone else's child, never. That should be for wives only."

"Ah," Chip smiled, nodding sagely. "The double standard is alive and well out here in the countryside, I see," he said, redressing himself in his cooled linen shirt. He tucked it into his pants and but left the collar string untied. "Boys get to play house but not the girls," he explained.

"The maid Karla began heating water an hour ago and a bath is waiting for both of you in the usual place with your usual clothing," Frau Thierbach told them as they reentered the manor house. "Four days you've been here and three baths. How can you be so dirty?" she dramatically asked, throwing up her hands.

"Mama, you are so forgiving when it comes to the smell of soured sweat," Chip said affectionately, winking and then kissing her cheek next to her ear. She giggled and gave him a playful swat in return. On the second day after they'd arrived, she'd told him to call her "Mama" and used the familiar "du" with him.

"I don't know how you do it," Joachim sighed as they entered the room where their bath had been set up.

"Do what?"

"How you charmed Mama that way. I've never seen Papa do what you just did."

Chip shrugged and grinned. "Mostly it's confidence, then spotting her mood and having the knowledge on how to use it. She knew I wasn't serious, just having fun. I'll bet your father knows every mood your mother has, so it's just a matter of if he's in the mood. Now if it was just the two of them in the room . . ."

Both young men rinsed their once-sweaty shirts in the tub's clean warm water and hung them to dry on a piece of string stretched across the small ground floor room otherwise used as a summer kitchen. They decided their first day to alternate who should bathe first while the other waited and this time it was Chip's turn to go first.

"I want to soak a bit," Joachim remarked lazily, resting in the large wooden tub, used in the fall for wine fermentation. "Would you tell Karla to bring in some more hot water? This has gotten just a little cool."

It wasn't that cool, Chip thought sarcastically. More likely he wanted the von Thierbach's housemaid Karla to help scrub his back. Or something. Well, it wasn't like she objected or it was a secret from his parents.

He was walking towards Karla at the end of the hallway and just as he was about to talk to her, he heard the sound of music. A violin? "What is that I'm hearing?" he asked Karla.

"Fraulein von Ruppersdorf brought her violin with her, Herr Jenkins," Karla answered politely.

"Ah. Thank you. By the way, the young Herr says the bath water is getting a little cool and specifically asked that you bring him some more hot water."

Karla wasn't fat nor was she thin; she was what Grandpa Hudson called "healthy." She was plain-faced but when she bowed her head and blushed with a smile, she became almost attractive.

Chip followed the music to the library. Its door was closed but Chip knocked. "Come in," he heard Katerina respond.

The young brunette with striking features was sitting on a straight-backed chair with the sheet music spread on the table before her, the base of the violin tucked against her collar bone. "Oh, Herr Jenkins!" said Joachim's second cousin, with a surprised look, her fair face flushed, a strand of black hair escaping from her bun. "I'm sorry if the errors in my playing bothered you. I try to practice only when the men are out."

Chip smiled delightedly. "I didn't have the opportunity to be bothered, Fraulein von Ruppersdorf," he replied, delighted by her lack of composure at his appearance. "In fact, I'm a poor player myself. At least you can play the music as you read it. Everything I play, I have to struggle to read to get the notes right first and then play by ear. I've made far too many errors to ever complain about someone else. Please continue."

He'd never heard the work she was raggedly playing and both the violin and bow looked strange to him. The first major difference he noticed was that her violin was narrower than the one he had in his room in Jena. The bow was also significantly shorter than the one he used and it curved out, not in. The third was that her violin didn't have a chin rest and definitely no shoulder rest. And finally, the sound of the music was also softer. Gut strings, he supposed, made from young sheep gut rather than cat gut, a common misconception up-time. Hey, let's hear it for another use of lamb intestines, he mentally cheered.

Katerina stopped playing abruptly. "I am so sorry, Herr Jenkins, I simply cannot concentrate on the music this afternoon. Perhaps . . . you would care to play something that you know," she offered, lifting her violin and bow to him.

"I'm not certain," he said, taking the violin reluctantly. "There are many changes between your time and mine to the instrument and besides, I haven't practiced since I left Grantville two months ago."

"Please," Katerina requested, her dark eyes meeting his and her lips imploring. "For me. I should like to hear a tune from your time."

Fortunately, he thought, the tuning of the strings hadn't changed in four hundred years, still in fifths, whatever that was. He tucked the violin under his chin and drew the strange bow across the strings. It sounded right but what should he play?

"This is a tune from almost a hundred fifty years before my time and was popular with both armies in our only civil war," Chip said finally. "The lyrics are of a man describing his loving relationship with a girl when he was a boy. They then parted and have ...