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The Salon

Written by Gorg Huff and Paula Goodlett

"Ah . . ."

The sound of a throat clearing drew Heather's attention away from the paperwork on her desk at Trommler Records. "Hey, Jacob. What's up?"

"It is Thursday, Heather. I wanted to leave about three so I can attend the salon."

"Salon?"

"The salon at Rachel Hill's house. Surely you've heard of it? People come from all over to attend them."

Heather had to search her memory. "Hill. Hill. I know an Ashley Hill; she's on the geology survey team. But I don't remember a Rachel."

Jacob shook his head. "You amaze me, you up-timers. There's a treasure in your midst and you don't realize it. You should come with me, meet her. See the electric car."

"Oh. Her. I remember seeing the car. But I never met her. Grantville isn't that small and I was a kid back then." Heather wondered if he meant to ask her on a date. She liked Jacob, although his taste in music was horrible. On the other hand, his taste in music was one of the reasons Trommler Records had made such a splash. The oldies she preferred sounded like horrible screeching, at least that's what Jacob said.

"You should come."

"Sure. But I want to break for lunch now, then I'll come back and we'll go." Once Jacob nodded and left, Heather headed for the one place she knew she could get the low-down on anyone in town, the City Hall Coffee Shop. Cora would know all about Rachel Hill. Cora always knew everything about everybody.

***

"Come on, Jacob." Heather grinned over at Jacob, who didn't get nearly enough exercise, apparently. "It isn't that far and the road isn't all that tough to walk."

"We could have waited for the bus," Jacob grumbled. "Or a cart. Or a wagon."

"Silly. Not that many vehicles come out this way. Now, let's hurry a bit. This was your idea, after all. It's your own fault."

The gravel road wound a bit, but not as much as some in Grantville. It was also quiet, very much so. Heather looked around, enjoying the fall color and the peace. These days, Grantville was much busier than it had been in her childhood. More people came in every day, it seemed.

People from everywhere, just about. One of the truly big surprises to many of the residents was just how much—well, tourism—there was in the seventeenth century. Young men went on grand tours all over Europe. Young women came in for the economic opportunities that abounded in the area—not to mention the right to vote.

But this road was quiet, which was a welcome relief.

"There's the little bridge." Jacob pointed. "And that's what used to be the garage, but the Mehlers made it into a nice little cottage. We go left when we get there."

"Ah."

Jacob grinned. "I always feel that way when I see Rachel's house. Once you get here, you feel like there isn't another person within a thousand miles."

They stopped to admire the view. It did feel like there couldn't be another person anywhere near. The hills reached up and blocked any view of the town, and there wasn't another house near. It was perfect. Today was a bit misty, the fall colors were at their best; and the deep red house was in a perfect setting. Across the graveled road, a tiny waterfall trickled down the rocks.

These days, since the Mehler's arrival, what had been lawn was mostly garden. Herr Mehler had become seriously interested in what one of Rachel's many books called "French intensive gardening," so he had deeply dug three-foot wide beds with paths between them.

"It still seems strange that so few people in the town knew about Rachel," Jacob said. "Now that her salons are so well attended."

"She kept to herself, mostly." Heather hesitated. "After the accident, when she couldn't get around very well, she got to be pretty reclusive. In a way, the Ring of Fire did her a favor, I guess. That's what Cora said. I mean, people sort of knew who she was, since she grew up here. But she went off to college and didn't make a real big splash when she came back."

***

The house was laid out in a typical farmhouse pattern, with four rooms on the ground floor. Considering the number of bodies in the living room, Heather was glad the ceiling fan was turned on. Jacob introduced Heather to Rachel with what seemed a proprietary air. What Heather couldn't figure out was what he was being proprietary about, Rachel and her salon or Heather. He seemed to be showing off the cultural jewel of the salon to Heather and Heather to the gathered group. It was quite a group, at that.

There were eleven people in the living room. Jacob introduced Heather to them all. Father Gus from Saint Mary's was there, along with Father Nick Smithson. There was also a Spaniard who introduced himself as Don Diego Valdez y Mendoza. He immediately wanted her to confirm that up-timers really did believe in astrology. After all, they published horoscopes in the newspapers up-time. It was immediately apparent that this was a conversation that was repeated with each new up-timer to join the group. Apparently he wouldn't, or couldn't, give up on his pet notion.

A Frenchman with the name of Pierre de Cancavi claimed "I'm going to build an airplane as soon as I can put together the money."

He was arguing with an Italian named Gasparo Berti, who insisted, "Waste of money. Lighter-than-air craft are the real future of aviation. It was no more than an accident ...