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Turn, Turn, Turn

Written by Virginia DeMarce

July 1634

Father Nicholas Smithson, S.J., cleared his throat for the third time. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the wall of St. Mary’s rectory. After a pause, he cleared his throat for the fourth time.

With obvious reluctance, Father Athanasius Kircher, S.J., lifted his head from looking at the top sheet in a large pile of papers. “Yes, Nick?”

“I know you’ve been saving this evening for catching up on letters from your correspondence circle. I wouldn’t interrupt if . . . .”

“. . . it weren’t important.”

“Right.” Nick moved over toward Kircher’s desk. “Henry Gage is in town.”

“This is important why?” Kircher, naturally, did not have the familiarity with England that a native son of the island did.

“He’s from an old English Catholic family with strong ties in the Spanish Netherlands. His grandmother’s family were merchants at Liege; his wife’s mother is Flemish. Through his mother, he’s a grandson of the late Sir Thomas Copley, the exile who was knighted in France and made a baron by Philip II of Spain, much to the displeasure of the late queen. He went back to England for a while in 1627, but returned in 1630. He’s been commanding an English regiment in the Spanish service, under Don Fernando, now.”

“Is it bad that he is in Grantville?”

“Normally, I’d be delighted to see him. His Aunt Helen, Copley’s daughter, was the mother of the two Stanihursts. Given that we really need more English-speaking priests here at St. Mary’s, I’d normally recommend that you approach him about trying to interest either Peter or William. They’re both in their thirties, so they’ll have the energy to keep up with the pace of things here. But they entered the order in their teens, so they’re seasoned. It would make a nice balance.”

“What is not normal?”

“Henry didn’t drop by to catch up on old times. We had scarcely blown the foam off our beers when he asked to purchase a copy of that old report I did on spark plugs.”

“You did say that he’s an army officer.” Kircher pursed his lips. “Is he working for Don Fernando? The cardinal-infante withheld his troops from active participation against the USE this spring, under various pretexts, some colorable and some . . .”

“Not so plausible. Yes. There’s a truce, but not a treaty.” Nick moved back and leaned against the wall again. “And then there’s the man he’s traveling with. An English engineer. He’s describing himself as ‘Master of Fortifications to the Prince of Orange.’”

“Is he?”

“He’s definitely been working in the Netherlands for Frederik Hendrik. That much is true. He was born in London and the family is armigerous, I think. Or, at least, he’s claiming connection to a gentry family. So there’s no obvious reason for him to be working with Gage other than that, perhaps, someone has paid him a great deal of money.”

“Or perhaps the rumors that Don Fernando and the stadholder have come to some detente are true.”

“Possibly more interesting is a book that Ms. Mailey loaned on deposit to the state library.” Nick reached into the pocket of his soutane and read out, “History of the Pequot War: The Contemporary Accounts of Mason, Underhill, Vincent and Gardener. Reprinted from the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society. With additional notes and an Introduction by Charles Orr, Librarian of Case Library.” He paused. “1980. Reprint of the 1897 edition, published by Helman-Taylor Co., Cleveland. One of the relations in it, described as ‘among the most reliable’ by the editor, was written by Henry Gage’s traveling companion. Gardiner seems to have trained under Thomas Fairfax—the old man.”

“Puritan, then?”

“If it pays, probably. In the world in which he wrote his ‘Narrative,’ he worked for Lord Saye and Sele’s company. He's married to a Dutch woman from Woerden. They went to New England next year, and eventually managed to get a manorial grant for an entire island off the coast of New Amsterdam. Which, by then, was New York, I believe. Or soon would be.”

“Talk to them.” Kircher turned back to his reading, unwilling to give up one of his rare chances to maintain his scientific interests.

Nick turned to leave the room.

Kircher’s voice followed him. “Talk to them long enough that you find out who else they are talking to. And sell them a copy of the spark plug report. It’s old news and the parish can use the money.”

****

“Engines,” Lion Gardiner said. “All the information about engines that you can provide. Especially airplane engines. Not that anyone involved with aviation wants to talk to us about engines.”

Shelby Carpenter cocked her head. “Jesse the Mighty Colonel Wood damned well won’t, nor any of his people. The Kitts won’t either. And little as I like the Kellys, especially Madam Kay who treats me like the dirt under her feet, they won’t.” She twirled her stein around in the puddle of water that had condensed under it on the table. “But I think I’ve met someone who will.”

****

“What exactly did I do up-time? I was a mechanical engineer, that’s what. With a bachelor’s degree. Over twenty years of experience. I worked for GE in Baltimore, Maryland, that’s what I did. And if I hadn’t let my wife talk me into coming to her aunt and uncle’s damned wedding anniversary party, that’s where I still would be. Not here, slaving in a back room for Dave Marcantonio, because we were caught here with hardly a cent to our names and nothing but the clothes on our backs and I damned well wasn’t going to take charity from her family. Marina didn’t want to, either. None of the others who are doing aviation now could pay a living wage, at first, so we ...