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Silver Age
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Grantville, March 1635
Pam Hardesty squatted down next to a set of encyclopedias in the National Research Center. Tuesday. Cross-training for would-be librarians. Someone, somewhere up the food chain, had decided that they would be better-prepared to help researchers in the future if they had some research experience in the present. 
"Missy, can you come over here?"
"What's up?"
"Have you ever heard of this before? Some guy wants Grantville to provide him with the dates of the Age of Gold, Age of Silver, Age of Bronze, and Age of Iron."
Missy frowned, leaning down over Pam's shoulder. "There actually was a Bronze Age and and Iron Age. We studied those in middle school—seventh grade world history, I think." She reached out. "Try 'P' for 'prehistory.'"
"What about the other two?"
"Umm. I thought it was a Stone Age before the Bronze Age. Not a Silver Age. I don't remember a Silver Age." She turned around. "Mrs. Bolender, can you come over here?"
After she had read the letter from the scholar seeking knowledge, Elaine Bolender laughed. "You're not going to find dates for the Age of Gold and Age of Silver in the encyclopedia. Try . . ." She looked around at the shelves. "Over there. Bulfinch's Age of Fable."
***
A few days later, Pam stood outside her apartment, looking blankly at the envelope she had just pulled out of the mailbox. What on earth? Why would Mom be writing her a letter? Mom hadn't written her a letter since she got married—again—last fall and went off to the Netherlands. Her stomach tied itself in knots. Her hands shook as she opened it.
"Dear Pam,"
At least it wasn't "Pammie." That nickname had always been a bad sign.
"Since you were working at the library anyway, last time I heard, please see if you can find an article about making lava lamps and send me a copy."
Lava lamps? Lava lamps?? Lava lamps?!?!?
"It can't be very complicated. There was one in the Science Fair the year you were in seventh grade."
Little did Mom have any idea how elaborate and complicated some of those science fair projects got. Especially those brought in by kids whose parents helped them. Parents who weren't like Velma.
"It is very flat here."
What was she thinking? Almost anyplace was flat compared to West Virginia.
"Love, Mom.
"PS. Please mail the article to Jean-Louis LaChapelle in care of the University of Leiden. He is Laurent's nephew. I'm sure that I wouldn't understand it myself."
Pam would have thrown the letter away, if it hadn't been for the postscript.
She should have known that if she didn't just freeze Jean-Louis to dry ice the first time he showed up in Grantville and started panting at her like an overenthusiastic Chihuahua, she'd end up having to deal with her mother again. And again. And again. Not that Jean-Louis could help being the nephew of the guy that Mom had married.
****
Pam stared at the fresh sheet of paper. God only knew what caused her to actually research lava lamps for her mother and even God probably didn't know why Velma would want to know about lava lamps now that she was living in Holland, but even with a mother like her it didn't pay to be impolite.
Especially not when Velma had gotten Jean-Louis involved. And Velma was now married to Jean-Louis' uncle. And Jean-Louis was really . . . quite a bit better than okay, when you came right down to it.
Pam shook her head. Mom had been wandering around town talking about Spiritual Enlightenment before ...
That ends the preview. Probably in the middle of a sentence. Sorry.