Featured Article » Fiction

Poor Little Rich Girls

Written by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

"Will you two just give it up?" Heather asked, exasperated. "What good is that valley girl impersonation going to do you? No one here in Badenburg has ever heard of a valley girl."

"For sure, Heather, for sure," Vicky Emerson answered. "We're just getting into character. Gotta play dumb for the marks, you know."

"Like, haven't you ever seen The Sting?" Judy Wendell asked, with a sort of stupid look on her face. Then she dropped the pose and cracked up.

Heather shook her head. "This is just silly. We know what we want to buy, and we know that people, not marks, are starting to sell. The market is down since Guffy Pomeroy died, and people are nervous. All we have to do is show up at the wedding. They'll come to us. Mrs. G said so."

"Yep," Judy confirmed. "They'll come to us and pat us on the head, and treat us like a bunch of idiots, like we're too young to know what we're doing just because we're only fourteen. Then they'll try and dump their stock on us, because they'll think we're too stupid to know better. I'm getting a little tired of that part, but we can use it. Make them think there's a problem and they'll start dropping the prices."

Judy looked like she was ready to rub her hands together in anticipation, while Vicky looked energized. Susan Logsden just rolled her eyes, while the others grinned.

"Seriously, all of you," Susan remarked, "We ought to be able to double our net worth at this wedding. Mrs. G arranged a loan on our HSMC stock, so we've got a lot of cash to work with. Make the best deals you can, then get Mrs. G involved. She can look like she's trying to save us from being dumb, and people will drop their prices. It should work. I want to walk away from this with enough . . . "

Susan's voice trailed off, but Heather knew what she meant. Susan wanted to be rich enough and secure enough that she wouldn't ever have to be afraid of anything, ever again. She was still worried that something might go wrong, that she might have to go back to her mother. She didn't want that and all the girls knew it. For Susan, the building panic in the stock market was an opportunity for security. For Judy, it was a game, a game she enjoyed and played somewhat ruthlessly. Vicky seemed to be treating it like a contest between the girls, a contest she wanted to win.

Heather shook her head again. Money was nice to have, sure, but she just wanted to have a good time and enjoy herself. Hayley, Gabrielle and Millicent felt the same way. "If I can make a deal, I will. But I'm not going to spend every minute looking for them. It's supposed to be a party, you know."

"Well," Vicky explained, "all those resistors and transistors, the integrated circuits and stuff are pretty complicated. They used to have special rooms to build them in, back up-time."

At first, the older gentlemen in the group treated her with amused condescension. Gradually, though, they started to look a little concerned. The girl's comments stuck a chord matching some of the things they had read lately. Sensing the change in attitude, Vicky threw out a few more comments, this time about how difficult it was to compress natural gas and store it, and then wandered away.

Arend Nebel had never been convinced that gas-powered stoves were a good idea. After listening on the fringes of the girl's discussion, he was even less impressed with that investment. Master Drugen became interested in soldering irons first, because he thought they would be useful when making jewelry. Then he discovered that soldering irons were useful for producing a good seal on gas pipe connections in stoves. Arend didn't see the relationship.

"Henning, are you sure your father was right? That girl said the gas was hard to store, that it could leak and cause a disaster. Maybe we should sell our interest in that company before that happens."

"Arend, you know my father was careful. He believed the oven works was a good investment, or he wouldn't have put so much of his money into it. You are giving in to this atmosphere of panic. If Father was still alive, he would say the same thing. We have only to wait, and we will be rich."

"I wanted to be a goldsmith. I still want to be a goldsmith. All three of us, even Justine, must now work like peons while all we do is wait, and wait some more. I'm tired of waiting, and I do not want my future wife to work, like one of these . . . these . . . common women of Grantville."

"Research at the library is hardly common, Arend. Justine enjoys the work. She is becoming quite modern, you know. She even spoke of continuing the work, after you are married." Henning knew he shouldn't have teased Arend that way. Justine did enjoy the work, though, and Arend's attitudes were making her unhappy. Perhaps the marriage wasn't as good an idea as Father thought. Time would tell.

"Very well, we will speak to this girl. Perhaps she knows something we do not."

Vicky wondered what the two young men wanted as they approached. So help me, if someone else tries to hit on me, today . . .

But no, that wasn't what they wanted. They just wanted to talk about the gas ovens. Vicky figured that the oven works would be a success, over time. Once the problems of transporting the compressed natural gas were solved, the business would expand rapidly. Until then, business would be a little slow, but the investors' estimate of being able to sell ten thousand ovens in the next two or three years was pretty solid.

Vicky knew that the oven works had about half a dozen investors, all down-timers. The one up-timer involved led a team of down-timers trying to come up with designs for cooking stoves, camp stoves, space heaters and so on. They had a couple of working prototypes and a plan for mass production. It was a good investment, one she would be happy to have. Still, she let the young men explain all this, while she waited for them to make up their minds.

Vicki tapped her finger on her lips thoughtfully. "Well, even though it's risky, this does sound interesting. I do want to reinvest the many thousands of dollars I was fortunate enough to make in the sewing machine company."

Arend said, "I'll sell you my thousand shares at nine dollars each."

"That seems awfully high," said Vicky. "One explosion of a home and there goes my investment. What if someone died of a gas leak in their home? Of course, Heinrich, on the design team, is awfully cute!" Vicky batted her eyelashes.

Arend pulled Henning off to the side and whispered in his ear for a minute. Both nodded to one another, then walked back to Vicky.

Finally, the young men made a real offer. A good offer, the one she was waiting for. She signaled Mrs. Gundelfinger, who came rushing over, clearly intent on protecting Vicky from someone who was trying to take advantage of her youth. Her attitude increased one man's determination to sell, and he lowered the price again. Curiously, the other man seemed to believe Mrs. G's protective act. He backed out of the deal, which was a bit surprising. But Vicky was still able to buy one thousand shares of the oven works for the discount price of three dollars per share.

After finalizing the deal, Vicky asked how Judy was doing. When she heard the answer, she decided to look for another sucker.

"You are an idiot, Henning. And don't think I'm going to accept that worthless company stock as Justine's dowry. You should have sold it."

Henning studied Arend with irritation. The stock wasn't worthless, but Arend refused to see that. Even if it had been worthless, selling it to a child was more than Henning was willing to do. Arend actually seemed pleased to have foisted the stock he considered worthless onto a child. In a way, that attitude bothered Henning even more than the money he believed Arend had thrown away. It was money that, at least in part, was to have provided support for his sister.

A beautiful, warm autumn Saturday in seventeenth-century Germany was too good to be ignored. It seemed like every family in Grantville was out and about and had some business in town.

"Oh, Bill," Blake said, "will you just look at her. She's gorgeous. She's a dream. She's, she's . . ."

"A pretty girl. But has red hair." Wilhelm Magen was looking elsewhere. "That one, the one with the blond hair, is who I like. What is name?"

"That one over there? I think she's Vicky Emerson," Blake responded after following Bill's look. "C'mon, she's too tall and too thin. That redhead, Judy Wendell, now, she's the really pretty one of the bunch."

Bill Magen and Blake Haggerty were taking advantage of the crowd and using part of their lunch break to indulge in a bit of girl watching. The boys watched with interest as the group of girls known as the Barbie Consortium arrived at Tyler's Restaurant.

"Not a single one of those girls would look at you, even if you saved her from a fire or something. Stuck up, snooty rich girls aren't going to be interested in you police types."

Startled, Blake turned to see Brandy Bates standing behind him. He had known Brandy since they were kids and she had even been his baby sitter for a while. She'd been nice to him back then, when he was a little kid and wondered about his real mother and why she had left. Brandy lived just down the street and had kept him company sometimes, even when she wasn't babysitting. He had really needed someone back then and Brandy had always been ready to listen. In spite of the four-year age difference, they had been close.

The change in Brandy had happened suddenly and Blake didn't care for the results at all. One day, right after the winter break, Brandy had quit going to high school, just a few months before her graduation. She had started hanging out with her cousin, Marlene, and with the crowd at the Club 250. Hanging out with Marlene was bad enough, Blake thought, but he really didn't understand why Brandy continued to work at the Club 250. That crowd of crooks and lowlifes hadn't improved since the Ring of Fire.

"Jeez, Brandy, don't sneak up on me that way. None of those girls are stuck up or snooty. Susan Logsden is living with her grandfather, right on the same street we live on. She's always nice. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being police officers after we get out of the army. So, why wouldn't one of those girls get interested in one of us?"

A bit late, Blake remembered the lessons in manners his stepmother had tried to drum into him. "Brandy, this is my friend, Bill Magen. Bill, this is Brandy Bates."

Brandy ignored Bill's extended hand and stared past him as though he didn't exist. Bill blushed, dropped his hand, and turned his attention elsewhere.

"Yeah, right. You're short and you're scrawny and you probably don't even shave yet." To Blake's increasing irritation, Brandy continued to ignore Bill. "Judy Wendell is way out of your league, and always was. Besides, she's jail bait."

"I wasn't even thinking about anything like that, Brandy. They're just pretty girls, and I'm not too blind to see it," Blake answered sharply. "Y'know, Brandy, I used to like you a lot, but lately, you don't act like you care about anything. Ever since you went to work at the Club 250 and started hanging around with Marlene, you've just gotten mean."

"Why should I care about anyone? Being nice doesn't get you anywhere."

"It doesn't look to me like being mean is getting you anywhere either, Brandy," Blake retorted. "I liked you a lot better back before you started acting like this. Maybe you ought to find something else to do with your life. Hanging out with those losers at the Club 250 is just going to get you into a mess of trouble someday. Besides, it's pretty stupid to hate Germans, especially when you're stuck in the middle of Germany. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Blake, look at this," Bill interrupted. "Is maybe trouble coming."

Blake followed Bill's gaze and saw two men standing on the other side of the street. One of them seemed to be staring daggers at a well-dressed German woman who was about to enter Tyler's restaurant. The animosity in his eyes was obvious, even from across the street.

"He looks really pissed off. I wonder why. What do you suppose she did to him? We need to get back on duty anyway, Bill. How about we wander across the street and look official? It might stop trouble before it starts."

"Right," Brandy snorted. "Official! That's a laugh. You don't have a gun and you look like you're dressed up in your father's uniform. Real impressive."

Blake's feelings were stung again. It was true that the uniforms were new and didn't fit very well. Even so, Blake was still proud of his uniforms, and proud to have been selected for MP training after Basic.

"What's next for you, Brandy, have a bunch of kids and nowhere to go but down?" he snapped.

Turning away from Brandy, Blake said softly, "Sorry, Bill. She used to be such a nice person. I don't know what happened, but she's just not the girl she used to be. I wish . . ."

Henning Drugen stiffened as he saw the two young men head across the street. They didn't appear to be moving with any purpose, but Henning was nervous. Arend just wasn't making any sense lately.

"Arend, let's go. They look like children, but they are wearing 'MP' armbands," he muttered. "I told you this wasn't a good idea."

"They are puppies. And we are doing nothing wrong," Arend answered. "We cannot be arrested if we are doing nothing wrong. I am just watching that woman. I have done nothing."

Henning was still amazed by the Americans. They just didn't bother people who appeared to be obeying the law. There were no suspicious looks and no indistinct mutterings directed toward new people in town. Grantville's residents let you make a life on your own merits, in your own way. It was very unlike his family's experience, when they tried to start over in Jena after the destruction of Magdeburg. Henning much preferred Grantville. The town was a fine place to start a new life.

"That woman destroyed me. She and those girls, they are all demons. They gave me only a pittance. She owes me and I will make her pay. Why do you defend her?"

"They paid you, and paid in good money. They also paid exactly what you asked," Henning answered. "It is your own fault that you fell into the trap they set. I told you to wait."

"Helene Gundelfinger and that girl made a fool of me. I lost everything. We all, even Justine, must work like slaves. This is not what I intended."

"Arend, they did not make a fool of you, you did it to yourself," Henning responded. "It was my father and his gold that allowed you to join us when we left Magdeburg. I believe in my father's choice. We have only to wait, just a while longer, and the oven works will begin to pay. And you didn't lose everything, anyway. I will pay the dowry in time. The Americans have a saying . . . something about getting out of the heat if you can't work in the kitchen. You panicked. I came here only to tell you that I will have nothing to do with this plan of yours. I am leaving."

"I must have my money. I will marry Justine only if I have it."

"Justine and I wish to stay in Grantville. Now that our father has died and our property is gone, we have only the investments that he left. Justine and I must make our own way, for now. My sister does not want to marry you if you are going to cause trouble. We have jobs and we are willing to work. This idea you have, that Helene Gundelfinger owes you something, it is not right. We will not help you."

As he watched Henning's back recede, Arend Nebel's thoughts grew more and more hate-filled and angry. First, the Gundelfinger woman and that girl had impoverished him. Now, Henning had deserted him and Justine had proven she was a faithless woman. He would be avenged against them all.

"I'm not going to listen to this," Vicky yelled, while grabbing her jacket and purse. "I'll do what I want and it's none of your business. You can just count me out of this whole thing." Helene suspected that even Vicky didn't know if "whole thing" meant the consortium itself, her long-term friendship with the other girls, or just the intervention her friends had attempted.

After Vicky had slammed out of the room, the rest of the girls stared glumly at Judy. "Well, that didn't work very well," Gabrielle Ugolini muttered. Gabrielle clearly considered her overstuffed book bag the most important part of her wardrobe. She still wore her up-time clothing and probably would until it wore out or she outgrew it.

The girls had been trying to explain to Vicky the consequences of spending too much of your investment capitol. It was supposed to be an intervention, like people did up-time for alcoholics or drug users. The idea was to try to save Vicky before she blew her share of the fortune they had made. They had picked the private room at Tyler's, hoping that Vicky wouldn't want to make a scene in a public place. The idea hadn't worked very well.

"It might have gone better if you hadn't called her an overdressed scarecrow, Millicent," Judy responded. "You know she's sensitive about being so tall." Judy was dressed well, but it wasn't a new outfit. She bought what she needed, but was selective about it. Helene was convinced that if Judy began wearing old grain sacks to school, every teenager in town would start wearing the same thing.

"Well, she is. Overdressed, I mean." It was easy to see that there was a certain amount of jealousy in Millicent's comment, true as it was.

Millicent's mother, Anita Barnes, didn't seem to have realized that Millicent was growing up. Compared to the departed Vicky, Millicent looked like a child, tiny and delicate, with a mane of dark curly hair that overpowered her face. Helene knew that Millicent's tiny size was a source of great frustration to her. She often complained that "looking like a ten-year-old" was the reason she wasn't allowed to spend any of her own money, and also why, to her extreme irritation, her mother still picked out her clothes. Vicky might hate being tall, but Millicent envied her height and her mature appearance.

Susan Logsden spoke up. "There's no reason for her to buy a new outfit practically every week. She's spending money like it was water. I hoped she would see sense, and listen to us. Not Vicky, though. She's going to go right on doing the same thing until she's broke." Susan didn't seem to mind that her clothing was more worn than that of the other girls. Susan was so focused on getting rich that Helene sometimes found her intensity a bit worrying.

"Life was a lot simpler before we had any money, wasn't it?" Judy asked. "I didn't realize how complicated this was going to be. There's so much to learn. I have nightmares about being smothered in balance sheets. Sometimes I dream the market really crashes and we all wind up back where we started."

"You dream that, too? That's my mother's nightmare. Every day she tells me I need to sell everything and put the money in a savings account," Millicent said. "When I try to tell her that I'm earning a lot more than three percent this way, she just looks at me like I'm crazy. She's still trying to make me do things her way."

"It is a little scary sometimes. Even my dad thinks so," Judy responded. "Savings accounts may be safe, but you have to put money to work if you want to make more of it. Maybe we can find a way to reassure your mom. Does anyone else have anything we need to talk about?"

Gabrielle, Susan and Heather all shook their heads. "Let's get this show on the road, Judy," Heather Mason remarked in her practical, down-to-earth way. "If Vicky won't listen, then she won't listen. If Hayley can't be on time, she'll just have to learn on her own. Frau Gundelfinger, what's today's subject?"

Helene Gundelfinger smiled at her serious young protégés. She hadn't intended to become their tutor, but most of the girls wanted to understand what they were doing. They listened to her advice, took the time to absorb everything they could and based a lot of their decisions on her experience and knowledge of the area. With a bit of carefully impartial input from Judy's parents and sister, the girls were well on their way to becoming extremely intelligent business investors. They were also very good at gathering information on what was happening in the business community. Helene couldn't resist the opportunity to teach such curious and inquiring minds.

"Today, we continue the discussion on diversifying our investments," she began. "Millicent, your mother might be happier if we do this. It is not a new concept. If you buy one ship and it sinks, you have lost your whole investment. If you buy a share of a dozen ships and one sinks, the others pay for the loss. The same thing is true about investing in the businesses that are starting up. If we diversify we can invest in more risky ventures because we're risking only a small part of our money in any one venture. It is very simple, yes?"

Helene expected the girls to nod and smiled when they did. Basic theory like this was nothing new to them. Specifics were more complicated and that's where Helene came in. She had agreed to become their business manager and "adult face" after the girls had invested in the Higgins Sewing Machine Company on their own. She was impressed by their intentions and by the information they had found on a new business startup.

Helene wasn't sure where they got all their information, but between them, the seven girls knew nearly every up-timer in Grantville. At the very least, they knew someone who knew someone else in the small town. Helene had come up with some cash and joined the "consortium" when they invested in that first start-up. Helene provided experience and contacts, the girls provided information on what was going on with the up-timers. So far it was working remarkably well.

"So, we continue . . ."

Judy grinned at Frau Gundelfinger's daughter as she left the meeting. It was kind of unusual for a woman of Mrs. G's status to keep a child with her as much as she did, especially when the child was just a toddler. Judy thought that Mrs. G just wanted the kid exposed to Grantville's attitudes from a very young age.

From some of the comments Mrs. G had made, Judy was pretty sure that she'd had a rough time after being widowed. Some brother-in-law was giving her trouble, using her involvement in business as an excuse to try to take over her property. Women were allowed to do business here, something that had come as a shock to most of the up-timers. Still, there was some prejudice against them. The "glass ceiling" in seventeenth-century Germany was a lot harder and set a lot lower than it had been in the twenty-first century. Consequently, Mrs. G embraced Grantville and its attitudes.

Having the kid around didn't bother Judy or the other girls. She was a cute little thing, and was really polite and quiet most of the time. The Barbie Consortium did, now and then, worry about what would happen if Mrs. G got involved with some guy, though. Especially if he were some older dude, who might object to the amount of time and effort she put into teaching them.

"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

The anguished scream coming from her daughter's bedroom made Vickie Mason jump nearly out of her skin. "What on earth?" she asked her husband, "Arnold, what in the world?"

"I don't know, dear," he responded, "but whatever it is, it isn't going to be good. Heather hardly ever makes any kind of noise. I think she's got to be the only quiet teenager in the world."

The slamming of a door and the thumping on the stairs told Arnold and Vickie that they would soon hear about the problem. It was a bit of a worry. Heather just didn't make scenes. She was just about the most practical person in the family, and even seemed a bit coldhearted sometimes. Even the news that her favorite aunt, Gayle Mason, would be going to London and facing unknown hazards during the journey hadn't caused this kind of uproar.

"It's broken," Heather wailed as she ran into the room. "It's broken and there aren't any more! What am I going to do now?"

"Honey, it can't be all that bad. What are you talking about, anyway? What's broken?" Arnold asked, worried.

"My CD player, Dad. It just quit, right in the middle of "Walking to New Orleans." I'll never get to listen to my music again. I'll be stuck listening to VOA!"

Arnold hid a grin. It was odd for a young girl who was as practical as Heather to be obsessed. It was especially odd for a girl born in the late 1980s to have this particular obsession. Doo-wop music, early rock and roll, even early 1960s folk music were what Heather enjoyed, as well as some blues and jazz. She didn't care much for any other type of music, like country, classical, or opera. Her CD collection was pretty impressive for a young girl, but it only included the types of music she preferred.

"Maybe someone can fix it, honey. Try Larry Dotson at the hardware store," Arnold suggested.

"I could lend you my cassette player, and some tapes, if you like," Vickie offered, hiding her own grin. Arnold anticipated Heather's next reaction.

"Eeeeyyyyeeewww, Mom," Heather muttered, right on cue. "like I really want to listen to 'Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain' a million times."

"It beats nothing, doesn't it?"

"Not by very much," Heather answered, aware now that she was being teased. "Do you want anything from downtown? I need to go to the hardware store and talk to Mr. Dotson. Maybe someone will sell me a player, but it will probably cost a fortune."

"You can pick up a loaf of bread, please, and be careful in town. I swear, getting around Grantville lately must be as hard as getting around New York City used to be. So many people!"

"Yeah," Heather commented, as she grabbed her bag and turned to leave, "sometimes I wish we were back in the old days. Or up in the new days. Or . . . whatever . . . you know what I mean."

Arnold and Vickie exchanged a look. Yes, they knew what Heather meant. They felt the same way sometimes.

"Velma's either getting really drunk or really brave," Brandy remarked. "Why do you suppose she started hanging around here, anyway? She used to do her drinking out of town."

"Nowhere to go and no way to get there, I guess. She's been drinking here a lot lately, and she never stops spouting off. She's decided it's the Germans' fault that she lost her kids. It sounds crazy to me, but her money is as good as anyone's," Fenton answered. "You know, if she keeps trying to flirt with old Ape, Wilda is going to snatch her bald. That ought to be a sight to see."

Brandy started to laugh, but stopped suddenly as she felt someone press against her and reach around to grab her breast. Without thinking, she drove her elbow into the body behind her. The muffled "Oooof" sound made her smile. As the offender stepped back, Brandy turned and dumped a full mug of beer over Freddie's head. Freddie wasn't especially big or strong and stood wheezing and dripping beer all over the floor. The rest of the customers started laughing and making remarks, poking fun at Freddie.

"I told you to keep your hands to yourself, you little weasel. Touch me again and I'll break the beer mug over your head instead of just dumping the beer."

Being pawed by the clientele of the Club 250 had never been something Brandy enjoyed. The club itself had long ago lost its rather meager attractions for her. The place was a pit, and she was starting to hate it.

Blake Haggerty's question "What's next, a bunch of kids and nowhere to go but down" as well as his remarks about her "meanness," had been on Brandy's mind all day. She had to admit that Blake was telling the truth. She wasn't getting anywhere, and probably wouldn't ever get anywhere, if she kept on this way. She had watched her cousin Marlene trying to cope with all those kids after Donnie and Melodie had snuck away from home. That had been instructive, too. Why Marlene was willing to live with a man who had two girlfriends in the same house was something that no one understood, especially Brandy.

Brandy was convinced that she just didn't want to wind up like Marlene, Melodie, or Velma. She needed to do something, make some kind of change, even if she hated to think about another wrenching adjustment. Brandy wasn't sure what kind of life she did want, but almost anything would be better than winding up like those three.

"What's going on in here?" Ken shouted, obviously drawn from the office by the noise. "Can't a person get anything done around this place?"

Brandy said, "This jerk tried grabbing my boobs again. I'm sick of it and I'm not taking it, anymore. I told him last week to keep his stinking hands to himself. If you won't stop him, I will."

"And I told you last week to stop pouring beer on the paying customers, Brandy. They PAY me money, you COST me money, and you're NOT even a good waitress," Ken yelled. "You know he's harmless. Can't you even take a joke? I ought to fire you."

"Go ahead, Ken," Brandy yelled back, glad for an excuse to do it. "I'm tired of this crummy dive anyway. Better yet, I quit. I know I can do better than this. Take your rinky-dink job and shove it!"

"Tell me that when you come crawling back, you useless bitch. What are you going to do now, huh? Make a living with your so-called brain? You can't keep more than two drink orders straight and you don't know how to do anything else, either," Ken kept on. "You're useless and you're stupid on top of it! Waitresses are about a dime a dozen, so it's not like I'll miss you. Maybe I can find a waitress who can actually work this time. You damn sure don't."

Velma Hardesty, who was listening avidly, decided it was time to throw her two cents in the pot and stir up some more trouble. "I'll work for you, Ken. That pizza joint isn't any fun, anyway. There are too many precious little rug-rats, and their darling moms and pops. I'm tired of not seeing any interesting people." Leaning forward over the table, Velma flashed her cleavage at Ken. "I'm a lot more fun than that little tootsie is, I guarantee."

Ken stopped his tirade and stared at Velma with his eyes alight. "You're hired. You can start right now. Even with a few beers in you, you've got to be better than she is."

Brandy started laughing. The by-play between Velma and Ken, along with his hateful comments, had convinced her that she was right to leave. She couldn't stay here and listen to Ken's crap anymore. She had to do something, anything, else.

Brandy kept laughing as she gathered her things and began the walk home alone. As she walked, things she didn't like to think about, emotions she usually tried to ignore crept into her mind and got the better of her. By the time she got home she was nearly hysterical. She was so glad to be home, finally, that she dissolved into her worried mother's arms, and started to cry.

"So, do you want to tell me what happened?" Donna asked the next morning, as she poured Brandy a cup of coffee. The coffee was a rare treat these days. The scant teaspoon of sugar she used to sweeten Brandy's cup was just as rare. Sugar was hideously expensive and Donna couldn't afford much of it. Still, she had been waiting for what she hoped was happening for several years and felt like a small celebration was in order.

"Exactly what you told me would happen, Mom. I got sick of the job, sick of the people, and I just couldn't take it anymore," Brandy admitted. "You were right. It's no kind of life for anyone. Satisfied?"

"I wouldn't say satisfied, Brandy. I'm sorry you've been hurt, and I'm sorry you've wasted four years finding out that I was right," Donna answered. "I never wanted you to hang out with that crowd, and I'm very, very glad you've come to your senses about them. What I meant was do you want to tell me why you started hanging out with those people in the first place?"

Brandy's face froze. Donna realized that she had pushed this subject too soon, and Brandy still wasn't going to talk about it.

"What did happen last night?" she asked.

"I got tired of being pawed is what happened. I dumped a beer over someone's head and got fired. I'm sure I'll get a real good reference from Ken, won't I?" Brandy sneered. "Not that I'd get a good reference from anyone. What am I going to do now? I've never done anything but wait tables. And I've never worked anywhere but the club."

"You could take a week or so off and spend some time thinking, if you want to. We can afford that. Marvin Tipton stopped by to see me a while back. He said that he's talked to Peggy Craig and arranged a job for you, if you ever want it. You can start at the elementary school lunchroom Monday if you want to. Marvin promised that the job would be there when you wanted it."

"Great, Mom. I can go sling hash for a bunch of brats, what fun."

"Brandy," Donna snapped, "you said yourself that you've never done anything else. If you really mean this, you're going to have to get your GED and you're going to have to prove that you can work at a real job. You can't spend four years at the bottom of the barrel and expect to start at the top somewhere else. Be realistic. It takes years to get ahead."

Donna could tell that Brandy hadn't thought that far. Sitting there, surprised at her mother's vehemence, Brandy took a sip of her coffee and thought for a while. "This isn't going to be easy, is it, Mom? A GED? Go back to school after all this time?"

"Heather, have you seen Vicky lately?" Judy asked. "I tried to call her, but she wouldn't come to the phone."

"Every time she sees me, she turns around and heads in a different direction," Heather answered. "Gabrielle even went over to her house, but the housekeeper said she wasn't home. Gabrielle said she knew it wasn't true, because she had just seen Vicky go in."

"This is stupid. We were just trying to help."

"You know, Judy, the spending might not be the whole problem. It seems like Vicky's been a little weird since before the Ring of Fire," Heather mused. "Do you remember when she told us her Mom was pregnant? It seems like it started back then. She got kind of moody, and now she's competing against everyone. It seems like she's out to get people."

"Yeah, come to think of it, she hasn't been acting very happy about anything, has she?"

"I don't know what her problem is, Judy. She's still calling people 'marks,' too. It's kind of mean."

Judy fell into thought for a few moments. Vicky was competing with everyone, dressing to attract attention, trying to stay in the spotlight. Maybe jealousy was at the heart of her problem. Judy said, "Maybe she was competing with her friends, because she couldn't compete with her little brother. Maybe that's part of the problem. It's not something we can fix, but it might help if she talked to us about it. We've all been friends forever and I just hate it when we fight."

"Yeah, me, too. You don't have an extra CD player, do you?"

Heather's abrupt change of subject didn't really surprise Judy. Heather probably didn't realize how uncaring she sounded, but that was just Heather. She always tried to avoid emotional conversations.

"Afraid not, and I'm being very careful with the one I do have, too. I'm not sure they can even be fixed if they break, can they?" Judy asked.

Heather's face was glum. "Mr. Dotson is going to try to fix it. But he said not to hope too hard."

"Officer?"

Bill Magen looked towards the whisper. One of the men he had noticed a few days ago was standing in shadow, motioning at him. Blake started forward, but Bill stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Let me," he whispered, "He's German and may not have much English."

Moving toward the man, Bill began speaking in his own language. After a hurried conference, during which the man darted looks all around, Bill nodded and the man hurried off.

As Bill rejoined Blake, he noticed Blake's querying look. "Is a worried man, this Henning is. Do you remember the men we saw, the ones at Tyler's? And that man who looked so angry?"

"I remember. That one guy looked really mean," Blake remarked. "I wondered why he was staring at that woman."

"That man is Arend Nebel. The woman is Helene Gundelfinger. He was part of the stock panic a few months ago, you remember hearing about it?"

"Oh, yeah. All that stuff. I remember. A bunch of people got silly about rumors, wasn't it? So, what's his problem?"

"Is not silly, Blake," Bill answered. "Is very serious to this man, Arend. He lost a lot of money and is very angry. Henning, he says that Arend is dangerous and is planning something. Henning does not know what, but wanted we should watch Arend."

"There's not a lot we can do, Bill, except spread the word around. If he hasn't done anything, we can't just go arrest him on someone's suspicions."

"I will ask Sergeant Grooms when we report in," Bill remarked. "We can watch for this Arend Nebel, at least. He might try something."

"Well, Brandy, do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Jessica Whitney asked as she walked into the office.

Brandy's hopes sank. The tests hadn't seemed that difficult, except for the math test. Wincing, she answered, "You may as well just dump it all out, Mrs. Whitney. How bad was it?"

"Not nearly as bad as I think you think it was, Brandy. You passed the language arts portions with flying colors, as a matter of fact. Do you do a lot of reading?"

"Not especially. I used to read some magazines, sometimes. I've tried reading a few books, but I never really found anything I liked very much. Some of them were just silly. And some of them were a real bore. Who could believe," Brandy asked with a grin, "that humans could colonize the entire galaxy? And why would some woman run away to sea and become a pirate? And, if she was any good at it, why would she give it up for love? Sure. That makes a lot of sense. Come on!"

Jessica smiled in response. "Well, I suppose everyone has their own preference in entertainment. You know, you also passed the social studies portion of the test. The only problem areas are science and math. It's going to take some study and a fair bit of work, but you could have your GED in a couple or three months. Are you willing to work on it?"

"I need to pass those tests. I'll work on it and I'll study, if you tell me what I need to do. It will have to be part time, though. I'm not going to let my mother support me, so I'll have to find another job real soon," Brandy answered with renewed hope.

"Do you have one lined up, yet?"

"I guess I could go to the elementary school lunchroom. Peggy Craig says I can start there, anytime I want. I'm not real crazy about the idea. I don't really like kids very much, but a job's a job," Brandy answered.

"People say that there's nothing wrong with any kind of honest work, Brandy. And there isn't. But, have you ever thought of aiming a little higher? Anyone can serve food in a cafeteria, but not everyone can read and understand English as well as you could, if you worked at it. Have you heard about the Grantville Research Center? They could use some younger people, and it looks like you could be a help to them," Jessica responded. "Their budget isn't that large, so I'm not sure what they'll pay. And I warn you, you'd have to do a lot of reading. It won't always be interesting reading, either. Research is so much harder without the internet to rely on that you might think that the job is pretty hard to do, at first."

"You think I could get a desk job? Would they hire me, Mrs. Whitney? I haven't done anything like that, ever."

"Give me a day or so to talk to Laura Jo or Meg. I'll let you know, okay?" Jessica smiled warmly at Brandy. "You scored really well on reading comprehension. They need that. If you can pay enough attention to all the little details, you can do it."

"And how was your day?" Donna asked as Brandy slumped into a chair.

"My brain hurts. My eyes are going to cross if I have to read another word." Brandy groaned. "I never knew that so many people could have so many questions. Where do rubber trees grow? What is the melting point of . . . whatever it was, I can't remember. "What's the chemical composition of . . . something? It might be easier to wash pots and pans all day. Why am I doing this, again?"

Donna grinned at her tired daughter as she rubbed her own aching legs. In spite of her complaints about the research, Brandy seemed to be enjoying herself. Donna was glad to see that Brandy was beginning to look like her old self. She looked happier and somehow softer, less like the hard-edged barmaid. "We go through this every evening, Brandy. You're doing it to make a better life for yourself. How are the studies coming along?"

"Pretty well, I think. Mrs. Whitney says I can probably pass the test in a couple of months. I got to sit down and have lunch with Justine, today, too. She's just about my age and her English is pretty good. I like her."

"Why don't you plan to invite her over in a few weeks, then?" Donna asked. "You and I are going to have a little celebration, pretty soon."

"What do we have to celebrate, Mom?"

"Oh, lots of things. Your new job, new friends, old friends, and most of all," Donna paused as she placed a packet of papers on the table, "I made the last payment on the mortgage today. The house is all ours, finally. Now, with the extra money, maybe we can remodel that garage."

Brandy smiled at her mother. Donna had wanted to pay off the mortgage for years. Converting the garage to a room to rent would add even more money to their budget. Donna's excitement and happiness at her success was infectious. "I'd like to invite Blake, if you don't mind, Mom. And I really ought to include that pal of his. Bill Something . . . Magen, I think. I sort of owe both of them an apology."

"There is girl, again," Bill muttered with a sigh.

Blake followed Bill's gaze and saw Vicky Emerson walking toward them. Even to Blake's untutored eyes, Vicky looked like a wealthy young woman. He had recently paid the bill for having his uniforms altered to fit and was still surprised at the cost of the clothing he had seen in the shop. The simple alterations hadn't cost that much, but the price of fabric for new clothing was incredible. With fabric that expensive, Blake couldn't imagine what Vicky's outfit had cost.

Bill sighed again. "Her parents must be very wealthy for her to dress so well. They must be arranging a very good marriage for her."

Blake stared at Bill in surprise. Bill had some of the strangest ideas sometimes. How could anyone think that an American parent would arrange a marriage?

"She's only fourteen or fifteen, Bill. Her parents won't have marriage in mind for years, and even then they won't arrange it. She'll pick her own husband. Besides, she's the one who's rich. Her mom is a teacher and her dad works at the power plant. You can't get rich that way."

Bill looked at Blake in surprise. Blake had the strangest ideas sometimes. How could any responsible parent not arrange a proper marriage? And, how could any young girl be rich if her parents weren't? And, there was just no way that this girl could be only fourteen years old. She certainly didn't look that young to Bill.

"Justine, what happened?" Brandy asked. Justine had run past her, crying and in a panic.

Justine stood at the washbasin, holding a wet cloth over her left eye. Her normally neat appearance wasn't in evidence today. One of her sleeves was torn, her hair loose from its usually neat braid and her face was flushed. Her right eye leaked tears and she appeared to be shivering with fright.

"What is going on around ...