There was a camping hatchet he'd never used and an old Coleman lantern. The hatchet he pitched into the crate and he placed the lantern with the power tools. Two boxes of 30-06 sh.e.l.ls from twenty years ago appeared among the junk. Into the crate they went.

Juanita's wedding dress took a moment for him to make a decision about. He didn't remember putting it out here. Hadn't he thrown it away with her other things? He folded it and placed it into the crate. d.a.m.n! He had to dig out one of the hammers he'd packed to nail the lid down and start a new crate.

Three coffee cans of screws and nails went into the next crate. Clothing came next. These clothes were made from synthetics and were still in good shape. Regrettably, the pants and shirts didn't fit him anymore, but they might again. Additional clothing went into another crate. If he couldn't use them, he might be able to trade them. The clothes filled the second crate. Juanita would have donated the stuff to the church long ago. He'd just tossed them into the garage like so many other things.

Juanita's sewing machine appeared once the clothing was moved. It was just one more thing he thought he'd gotten rid of. How much more of these reminders remained? The small Singer needed electricity to work. He would sell it because Amy probably wouldn't want it.

Julio found the trowel and masonry tools he'd invested in when he thought he'd be a bricklayer. The job had never panned out. He put the masonry tools into the third crate on top of the extra clothes. They could still be of use; though where he would get cement, fire clay, and lime, he had no idea. Sand wasn't a problem. It was everywhere.

He finally found their old hand cranked meat grinders. He carefully packed them away. They would be needed, along with the spatulas, and two old barbeques. Charcoal would be no problem. Everythingneeded to be taken apart, cleaned, and oiled.

By the time he'd packed five crates, he'd weeded through the entire contents of his home and garage.

Julio took the discarded materials he didn't think Amy could use out into the drive after he shoveled the snow clear and laid out a blue plastic tarp to protect everything from the dampness. He hammered a sign to the black walnut tree in front of the house and sat back in his lawn chair. It was colder than a witch's t.i.t; but with a beer and the heavy mackinaw coat, he waited as pa.s.sersby stopped to buy those items useless to him. One man's trash was another's treasure-or something like that.

It didn't take long for people to wander up and start asking how much for this or that. His answer was always the same. "Make me an offer."

His yard sale quickly turned into an auction. Things like the toaster went for more than he thought it cost new. That was figuring for the value of the dollar now as compared to before the Ring of Fire. The sewing machine went for a king's ransom, or so it seemed to him. He'd planned to spend the day sitting outside while bored neighbors went through his junk. Instead, it seemed like half of Grantville showed up to buy things he didn't want anymore.

What would he have made if everything had been maintained properly? He hadn't realized just how badly he'd let everything slide over the last twelve years. The only reason the house hadn't been the mess the garage had been was the babysitter, Barbara, had cleaned the place once in awhile.

Papa and his friends had two wagons filled with wooden cases. They had rented the wagons and teams from Old Man Bickrodt, promising to leave them with a friend of his who ran a stable and smithy outside of Magdeburg. Now Papa was going to find out she intended to go with him. Angie had already snuck her few plastic bags onto Papa's wagon while they had been inside having breakfast. They hadn't even noticed her things when Papa and Fenton had loaded the rest of his crates.

Angie made her way toward her father with the twins in tow. It was hard going because the girls were only toddlers, unsteady on their feet. Besides, she wasn't used to having them with her. It had been Barbara's job to take care of them. But without Papa paying most of her money, Barbara had found other employment.

Angie's mouth dropped open when Julio looked up. "Took you long enough. Well, get into the wagon and I'll pa.s.s Juanita and Julie up to you."

"But Papa!" Angie sounded more like a ten year old than a woman of nearly twenty-eight.

Her father shook his head. "If you thought I wouldn't find out what you were up to, you shouldn't have been smart mouthing Connie Cooper. Didn't you think that woman would track me down and start demanding I hurry up and get you out of town? She was so happy I was taking you away from her poor daughter, who you were corrupting with your whoring ways."

Angie started to protest but Julio glared at her. "Don't say a word, Angie, or I'll change my mind and leave you. If I can decide to start over somewhere else and get away from this place and everyone who knows me, I can give you the same chance. It's up to you whether you screw it up or not."

Angie climbed aboard and her father pa.s.sed the girls up to her. Both were crying for Barbara. They didn't want to be with her. For some reason, it hurt. It hurt just the way her father talked to her. It had been a long time since anything had hurt like today.

Fenton had not been pleased about having Julio's daughter along. Angie was a waste of s.p.a.ce. She was part of the party girl pack that included the Cooper girl. He didn't have much interest in them. There was no telling who they had been with and he didn't want to be p.i.s.sing razor blades. No penicillin to get rid of that anymore. Three doses of the clap in his life had been enough for him. He had lived like a monk for the last two years. At least pretty much like a monk.

They'd brought their American weapons, but the up-time ammunition wouldn't last forever. They also purchased Struve-Reardon made musket-rifles and a set of the Hockenjoss and Klott revolvers each.Julio had misgivings about the revolvers. It was a matter of the supply of percussion caps.

That was why old Julio had also purchased a pair of flintlock pistols. He didn't want to be without weapons that would be easy to get the powder and lead for. Things wouldn't be all that safe on the road, even if the war was a long ways off and they were only traveling to Magdeburg. After all, they were leaving a place where real Americans were and heading deep into Krautland.

They had to travel through the snow and cold to get to Magdeburg. They were driving a treasure train with all their valuables aboard. Fenton smiled to himself. If they were attacked, maybe they could trade Angie off to the bandits and get them to leave the rest of them alone. No. It wouldn't be fair. The bandits would get the worst of the deal.

Fenton secured the last of the ropes. He checked the thirty-eight in the shoulder holster and prepared to climb into the wagon seat. Julio would lead out with his s.l.u.t daughter and his b.a.s.t.a.r.d grandkids. Why the man wanted to drag them along was beyond him. It was just one more reason this trip was beginning to seem like a bad idea.

They had to face bad weather, days riding on a wagon, and finally starting over in Magdeburg.

Fenton pulled himself into the seat next to Odetta. He picked up the reins and followed Julio as he led out. Julio had come up with this hare-brained scheme. Hopefully, Julio knew what he was doing.

Fenton no longer did.

Odetta spit a large brown stream of tobacco juice over the side of the wagon. Fenton shook his head. What a choice. Ride next to Angie and her screaming brats or the tobacco chewing human toothpick and her continual spitting.

It was going to be a long trip.

Fenton felt unsure about the outcome of their new adventure. What would happen if, for some reason, their plans didn't work out the way they hoped? Was this a new beginning for them, or was it the end of all their hopes and dreams?

Only time would tell. Farewell, Grantville. It's a nice place to be from.

Julio looked around their first night's camp. He had made a mistake in not stopping for the night in the last village. They were camping out in the sh.e.l.l of a hut of some type. This place had not been resettled for some reason. Whatever it was, it gave them some small amount of wall around their wagons and a break against the chill night breeze.

Already, Fenton had a fire going and Odetta and Angie had found the sleeping bags. With the exception of Fenton's bag, all the sleeping bags had come from him, left over from when Juanita had been healthy. There were four bags in all. There would have been a fifth, but he'd left it for Amy with the other things. The sleeping bags, like everything else that had been part of his life before Juanita's accident, had been thrown into the bas.e.m.e.nt or garage. After the accident, there had never been another weekend of camping. The sleeping bags had been just another painful memory to be buried out of sight.

The twins screaming for Barbara had gotten on his nerves. They had finally stopped screaming for her by mid-day; but by then old, haunted memories had returned to add to his distraught nerves. Twice he'd started to pa.s.s the reins over to Angie and cradle his rifle at the ready as if it had been an M-16.

People in the villages they rolled through watched them from the sides of roads. It reminded him of riding as co-driver in a deuce with his M-16 pointed out the window while d.i.n.ks along the road watched their convoys roll by.

He had thought that he was getting a good job as a driver or co-driver on the convoys and not having to tramp through jungles and rice paddies of Viet Nam. He had been too young and dumb to realize that "convoy" actually meant "big target." Back then, he'd been a kid right out of Grantville and boot camp.

When he'd been in convoy, he had never known who might wave as he drove by and then shoot at him or toss explosives into the deuce when they pa.s.sed. Here, the stares of the people they pa.s.sed had brought back those old memories. It wasn't a good thing.

Julio knew they had nothing to fear in their present camp; but old memories were haunting him. He moved out beyond the shadows and squatted, his rifle at the ready. It would be a long night. He would take the first watch-maybe all night long-and let Fenton sleep. He could always switch places with Odetta and sleep in the wagon Fenton drove if he was up all night.

Angie made sure the twins were okay and rolled up the sleeping bags. Odetta was busy with a camp pot full of corn meal mush. The old blue speckled coffee pot Papa and Mama had used on camping trips was steaming with hot water. There was no coffee. But there was herbal tea, not the real stuff. There had been no Lipton for ages and coffee was an expensive luxury that none of them drank any longer. It seemed to Angie that with the remaining wealth from the sale of the house and personal junk, Papa could have well afforded it. But the past couple of years of doing without had had its effect. He hadn't even thought to purchase any. Besides, Fenton had brought along four cases of hooch. The last thing he needed was a shot of that right now with his nerves jumping as badly as they were.

Next Morning Angie put the sleeping bags back into the wagon. She had even rolled up Papa's bag. He had been up all night. She hadn't seen him like that since Mama's accident-all wired up and lost somewhere. She had approached him when she'd first woke up and found herself staring down the barrel of his rifle. It was like he didn't recognize her at first.

She had been afraid he'd shoot her. But he snapped out of it. "Don't you never sneak up behind me on tip toes again!" She wouldn't.

"Come on, girls. Let's get something to eat." The two just gawked at her. "Come on. Don't make me come get you!"

Odetta looked at her and chuckled. "Them kids is too young to understand everything like they were already in school or something. They can't even walk all that good yet."

Odetta set down the brown plastic bowl and spoon she'd been using to have her breakfast and stood up. "I'll get them over here and fed."

Angie wanted to cuss her out for interfering. After all, the twins were her kids. But she bit back the response. For the last week now, she'd been finding out the twins took a lot of work, and Tiffany hadn't been willing to help her none. In fact, Tiffany had razzed her about having kids and being pregnant again.

d.a.m.n! Why couldn't she have accepted Uncle Sergio and Aunt Janie's help, like John and Amy, instead of deciding that since Papa didn't care and Mama was so bad off, she was old enough to do what she wanted? At least she had listened well enough not to get knocked up while she was still in high school or until the birth control pills ran out.

She would have blamed Papa and Mama for ruining her life-she did quite often. But she had John and Amy to look at and see that they hadn't turned out like she had. She was the one who had become the town s.l.u.t in capitol letters. Miss Party Girl. Mama hadn't had that accident just to ruin her life and Papa hadn't just given up on her, though it was easy to blame them for her own actions.

Angie watched as Odetta put up two more plastic bowls of mush and set out two more plastic spoons. "Don't touch!" The twins looked at her and at the bowls.

"Hot!" Odetta said.

"Ooo," the girls responded.

Feeling bitter, Angie sat down and poured a cup of hot water. She spooned some of the tea into one of the old tea b.a.l.l.s Mama had used for her bead work decorations and dunked it into the cup. She hadn'tseen one of the cheap metal things in at least twelve years. Like everything else of Mama's, it had just disappeared from the house.

When the mush had cooled enough for the girls to safely eat, Angie gave each of them a bowl. She ended up cleaning up a mess. She had forgotten the lesson she had been learning during the last week.

The twins were really messy eaters and needed help.

It didn't help for Odetta to laugh at her when she got frustrated. Barbara had always done this for her. She usually wasn't even up this early.

Odetta Thorpe was happy. It had been a long time since she'd been on the road-too long. She had forgotten how good it felt to get up, make a quick breakfast, and breath open air.

It wasn't that she had traveled like this. She'd never before traveled in horse drawn wagons or camped out in burned out barns. But she hadn't always ridden the bus or caught a ride with a trucker, either. There had been times when she had moved on with just a backpack, her accordion, and what she could carry when the urge to move on had hit her.

It felt good being on the move again. And this was probably the last. She was forty-nine, going on eighty, judging from the stiffness and pain in her joints.

She enjoyed watching Julio's high-and- mighty daughter struggling to care for her kids. Julio had been right. Angie didn't know jack about taking care of kids. Odetta knew more, and she'd never had any kids of her own.

Fenton had asked her to take over for him on the reins off and on yesterday. She had a feeling that today her practice was going to be put to the test. Julio had been up all night. She had the feeling she would be driving his wagon. If that happened, Fenton would take the lead.

Julio had been up all night, guarding them while they slept. He would probably crash today. Actually, she liked the idea. She had spent nights on the road, her pocket gun in hand, trying to sleep in places she knew were less than safe when she'd been wandering.

One thing she had learned very well: never figure you're safe for the night. She'd been lucky not to be Jane Doe on a slab somewhere because of her own carelessness a couple of times. She had a few scars to prove it, too. Some things, like the tattoos, were courtesy of one- or two-year stints in prison for shop lifting; theft; and-once-knifing a guy who had tried to rape her. But that had been when she was young and stupid-younger than Angie even. She'd learned not to get caught at things like that later.

"Come on, girl," Odetta said. "Get them cleaned up. Your father's coming in to eat. You want him to see what a ditz you are?"

Odetta smiled when she was rewarded with a scathing glare. Nothing like starting the day right by ticking someone off, especially old Hot Pants' running mate. Those two girls had taken more than one decent man from her over the last two years. Any man who would chase those two wasn't getting a chance to come back to her afterward, either. She did have some standards. Odetta drank the last of her tea, pulled out some tobacco, and crammed it into her cheek.

It was going to be a longer day today than yesterday had been. A bit of cushioning on the wagon seat would have been welcome. She now wished she had been blessed with a bit more padding on her rear.

Maybe Angie would loan her a bit. She had more than enough for both of them. Odetta laughed to herself as she spooned up a bowl of mush for Julio.

Fenton was glad when they were allowed to stop for the night again. This time, they had a dry barn in which to spend the night. Odetta had talked the villager in charge into letting them pay for the night's use.

Fenton was glad for the dry place to stay. Between the cold drizzle and colder wind gusts that occasionally caught them during the day, it felt good to be under a roof, even if it smelled of livestock and wasn't heated.He was also glad that he and Julio had let Odetta come along. She had picked up German palaver pretty well. He knew just enough German to run a stray Kraut out of the Club, if one was foolish enough to stick his head through the door. He now realized he needed to learn German if he planned to get along. And like the villagers who were letting them spend the night in his barn, Germans weren't all bad.

They seemed like regular folk.

He would have been as suspicious as they had been, if a couple of wagons carrying armed people had rolled up in front of his trailer, women folk or no women folk.

Odetta pulled the thick blocky suitcase she'd loaded from the back of the wagon and opened it.

Fenton swore. She had a real, honest-to-G.o.d, polka-playing squeeze box-a fancy, mother-of-pearl-inlaid red beast. She broke it out, set the straps to her scrawny shoulders, and opened out the accordion.

Fenton didn't know what impressed him more: that Odetta had something that fancy or that she knew how to play it. He watched her fingers work the keys on one side and the b.u.t.tons on the other as she opened and closed the bellows. d.a.m.n he knew that song-Daisy Polka. He reached inside his coat and broke out his harmonica. Time to join the fun. He hadn't played with anyone for years. Just played in the trailer to entertain himself.

Julio watched as Odetta and Fenton started to play their music. It had been ages since he'd been around anyone playing anything. He hadn't touched his git box since Juanita's accident. So long that he probably couldn't play it anymore. Besides, he'd never been into that polka garbage. He was almost tempted to dig out his old hollow box Fender, but decided against it. It would be really embarra.s.sing to mess up Odetta and Fenton's music by adjusting the strings and then not remembering how to play.

He joined Angie and the twins by the lantern as they listened to Odetta and Fenton start to play another piece. He thought he'd known all about his traveling companions, but apparently not. He hadn't known Odetta spoke decent enough German to be understood, and he hadn't known either of them played any instruments.

Julio saw that Julie and Juanita were both curled up in a sleeping bag with their heads on Angie's lap.

Both girls were sound asleep. He hadn't realized how much they looked like Angie. It was the first time he'd really paid much attention to them. It was even worse that he had pretty much ignored them for almost two years. They had just been Angie's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds to him, even if they were his grandchildren.

Julio did something he hadn't done in a long time. He put an arm around Angie's shoulders and gave her a fatherly squeeze. Angie actually smiled at him. They hadn't been this close since . . . well, since back then. Julio smiled back.

Odetta started to sing, "Roll out the barrel; We'll have a barrel of fun . . ." She wasn't half bad.

Julio looked up to see one of the villagers, with his wife and kids, at the barn door, watching and listening. Probably the first time they'd heard real American music.

Julio looked back on the trip from Grantville to Magdeburg. They had finally made it. During the first couple of days, he thought they would kill each other on this trip. Angie with the twins; Odetta with her sarcasm and abrasive comments; and Fenton either predicting gloom and doom or making the Kraut comments he spouted out of habit more than actual belief; and finally, his own flashing back to a time he'd rather forget. All had been irritants and causes for discord in their little group.

Today, they were turning the horses and wagons over to Herr Knaust, who would see that Herr Bickrodt was notified of their arrival. Apparently, they had an arrangement. These horse and wagons actually belonged to Herr Knaust and were just being returned to him.

Julio smiled to himself. Well what do you know? A German U-Haul system, horse and wagon style.

Herr Knaust was going to allow them to store things in one of his buildings, for a price. They neededa place to store nearly everything.

The idea had been, sell everything, move to Magdeburg, buy a place near the naval base construction, and open a burger flipping place for the sailors and Marines.

Well, they were here. The problem now was finding a place they could afford. From what Odetta had found out from Herr Knaust, they certainly weren't buying anything with the money they had. But the old German was taken with Odetta. Why? Julio couldn't figure it out. The woman was gross with her anorexic, Ethiopian-famine-victim look. But, Herr Knaust had volunteered to help them find a place they could rent.

The old stable owner and blacksmith had recommended an inn where they could stay. Julio couldn't decide if Odetta was actually taken with the heavy set, gray bearded man or was just shining him on to get what she wanted. Odetta was much more complicated than she seemed.

Odetta had flirted with Georg Knaust for the last three days. The man reminded her of one of the old wrestlers. Not those tall, painted freaks who had been replacing the old wrestlers. He reminded her of men like Ivan Putski or Moondog Mane-big chested, ma.s.sive armed, and a gut to go with it. His short, gray beard blended into his moustache.

Georg was a widower. He had lost his wife, children, and grandchildren when Magdeburg had been overrun by one of the German armies fighting in the area. Georg, himself, had nearly lost a leg and had been stabbed three times, according to what he'd told her. He had been left for dead with his family.

Odetta could believe it. Georg certainly looked like a tough old buzzard, like a biker she had run with for awhile before the New York State Patrol arrested him for stealing cars.

The inn they were staying in was slightly rundown. But for having been rebuilt from a burned out sh.e.l.l, it looked pretty good.

Georg had found them a two-story building that had been an inn before it had been burned. After it had been rebuilt, it had been a warehouse for awhile.