1635:The Dreeson Incident

Chapter 49

Magdeburg, March 4, 1635

The news about what was going on in Grantville reached Magdeburg, via radio, almost immediately. Even though it wasn't the best window, the radio people threw every bit of power they had, combined and consolidated, into getting out word of the incident.

From there, the news hit the streets almost at once. It was already being called "the Dreeson Incident." That was perhaps unfair to Enoch Wiley, who'd been the other man murdered, but most people assumed the mayor had been the target of the assassin, not the minister. Which, indeed, was true enough.

The other name spread widely by the news, of course, was Buster Beasley's. It wouldn't be long at all before Buster had become a national hero for those people inclined toward the CoCs or the Fourth of July Party, especially the youngsters. Not on the level of Hans Richter, perhaps, but awfully close.

Partly that was because he'd died in what all such people considered a good cause. By the spring of 1635, almost four years after the Ring of Fire, anti-Semitism and witch-hunting had become associated in the minds of just about everyone in Europe with opposition to the newly-arrived Americans and the changes they represented. And that was true whether the person was a partisan or an opponent of Mike Stearns and his people. If you were for Stearns and what he represented, then you were automatically opposed to anti-Semitism and witch-hunting, even if those two traditions had been deeply rooted in your family or craft or village. And if you were hostile toward Stearns and his people, then you tended-though not with quite the same rigor-to lean favorably toward anti-Semitism and witch-hunting, even if in times gone by you wouldn't have been.

Not very sensible, perhaps, but much of human social behavior is tribal and ritualistic rather than well-reasoned.

But, just as much, Buster's rapidly growing popularity as a folk hero was due to the sheer ferocity of his actions. This man was no "martyr," in the usual sense of the term. Yes, certainly, he wound up getting killed-but, oh, he took so many of the swine with him! Roland at Roncesvalles couldn't have done any better.

An interesting side effect of the incident was that, throughout the continent and in all of its many languages, the term "harley" became the commonly accepted term for motorcycle-despite the fact that most of the motorcycles in Grantville were actually of Japanese manufacture. And, even more quickly and thoroughly, the term "buster" became a term used everywhere to refer to a stalwart and upright fellow, not to be thwarted by miscreants.

By the evening, the word had reached almost every place else in Europe-not just in the USE-that had a receiver. The next day, the newspapers from Amsterdam to Frankfurt, to Paris, Venice, Prague, and Austria, were on the streets with it.

Almost the only places that had to wait for land communication were Spain and Poland.

In Stockholm, Charles Mademann studied the news reports carefully. Very carefully.

There was no chance now to carry out the planned assassination of Sweden's queen in co-ordination with the Grantville actions. Unfortunately, the weather had been uncooperative and Mademann's ship had been delayed in port. He hadn't been able to reach the Swedish capital until two days after the target date.

And there was no point in even considering the action at the moment, of course. Security had been tightened up considerably, even for someone like Maria Eleanora whom no one seriously thought was at risk.

So be it. Eventually, security would become lax again. Mademann would simply wait. He had enough funds to remain comfortably ensconced in this inn for months. He wouldn't stand out, either. The Swedish capital was full of men from the Netherlands and the Germanies and northern France, brought there by Sweden's burgeoning industries and commerce. Quite a few of them were Huguenots.

Stockholm was a dull city, and hardly the place Mademann would have voluntary chosen to while away his time. But at least it wasn't Scotland.

On a Train Running Parallel to the Elbe

The train, again. Another full, frustrating, utterly unavoidable day on the train. A day on the train with very little news-only what boys, at the various stops, ran alongside the cars shouting through the windows.

Gretchen was breathing fire. She was in full avenging fury mode.

If she only knew whom to direct it at.

How was her grandmother? How was Annalise? What about the children?

Someone had killed Henry.

Nobody knew who had killed Henry. About the only thing the police had concluded, pretty much for certain, was that it hadn't been any of the people directly involved in the demonstration against the synagogue. There had obviously been some sort of connection, of course. The general opinion that was forming-Gretchen's also-was that the vicious act was the responsibility of one or another of the USE's many reactionary extremist groups, all of whom were anti-Semitic to one degree or another.

She wanted vengeance.

All the more so because she was feeling quite guilty that they hadn't come back right after the election the way they had promised, to take the children.

That had been her decision. There had just been so much that she still had to do.

Jeff sat next to her, watching her stew.

Grantville, March 1635

"A state funeral of some kind," Ed Piazza said. "No, I don't know exactly what the protocol will be. We've never had a precedent for anything like this. Not a USE-level state funeral. Neither Henry nor Enoch them held any office under Gustavus Adolphus. Never had. Never would have. Not really a province-level state funeral, either. Neither of them held any SoTF office. Never had. Never would have. But we have to give them some kind of public recognition."

He was pacing the floor.

"I've never organized anything like this."

"No help from me, either." Chad Jenkins shook his head. "If Simpson weren't still up north, he might have some ideas from when he was in the navy. Or Mrs. Simpson, perhaps? Just on general principles, that she knows how to pull off these ceremonial-type things?"

Preston Richards pulled his head up out of his hands.

"Ask Dan Frost if he can come down. Talk to Sylvester Francisco. We're going to have to do police funerals for the officers who went down. Both of them have been involved with those before. We could start with the protocol for that, maybe, and work something up."

That seemed like the best idea anyone had so far.

Preston nodded toward Ludwig Guenther. "We should lean on his advice, too. He does protocol stuff all the time-grew up with it. Between him and Dan, we can invent our own. A mix of what the up-timers and down-timers will expect. His steward can write it down, so we'll have it the next time we need it. Not that I want there to be a next time, God knows."

The count of Rudolstadt nodded deeply, indicating his willingness.

"Good idea," agreed Chad.

Inez then pointed out that Henry had been a Presbyterian and Enoch had been the Presbyterian minister. That didn't leave anyone to preach the funeral-either one of them. At least, not anyone obvious.

"So who's going to do the honors?"

Inez shook her head. "Charles Vandine and Gordon Partow are still in Geneva, being trained to succeed Enoch. We knew he wouldn't live forever. But they can't get back in time for the funeral. There's no Scots Presbyterian minister in Grantville. No other Calvinist minister of any persuasion, as far as I know, whether French, Dutch, Palatine, Swiss, Hungarian, or 'other.' "

"Who, then?"

Veronica stood up. "Elder Orval McIntire. Henry liked him. They were friends."

Inez concurred.

"At the church?"

"No. Even after the remodeling, there wouldn't be room for everyone who'll want to come. A lot of people will. There've been lines all day and nearly all night at the funeral home, for the viewing. And I don't want to be in the position of saying, 'you qualify to come inside, but you don't." Inez shook her head. "That's. .. invidious."

"Where, then?"

"At the fairgrounds, I guess. Outside, and hope it doesn't rain. If it does rain, the families will need to be inside. Mike and Becky are flying in. Ed and the rest of the SoTF officials-the department heads, Chad Jenkins, Ableidinger. The county board. The elders and deacons. Then let as many more people as possible inside. First come, first served. And borrow every umbrella in town for the rest of them."

Preston Richards put his head down on his hands again.

"I'm so glad Gustav Adolf decided he needed to stay in Copenhagen. Having the emperor here, too-sorry, the Captain General-would have been a little much. At least we don't have to handle everything that would have been involved with having him here."

"Which reminds me. What about other prominent guests?" Arnold Bellamy gestured at Count Ludwig Guenther. "You'll be there, won't you? And your wife? The mayor of Badenburg, certainly; several other mayors are still 'maybes. Jena, almost certainly; Erfurt, perhaps. People like that?"

The count nodded. "Duke Albrecht and his wife, as well. Plus, since Duke Ernst is in transit from the Upper Palatinate to Magdeburg in any case, his brother. Wilhelm Wettin will apparently be staying in Magdeburg. Unwise, that, in my opinion. But…"

Ludwig Guenther shrugged. "I suppose he had to keep from irritating his own followers. Duke Johann Philipp from Altenburg and his wife and daughter will be here. I'll have my steward furnish you with a head count."

Inez resigned herself to the inevitable. "We can borrow folding chairs from all the churches, I guess. And the American Legion and the lodges."

At the funeral, Veronica went through everything with a perfectly calm face. Then she went home and locked herself in their bedroom for a while.

Inez had to go through it all in a wheel chair, because of her injured leg, which was worse. She couldn't go home and lock herself in afterwards, because they took her right back to the hospital. Doctor Nichols thought he would have to operate on the broken leg, not that Wilton hadn't splinted it right, but because there had to be some injury in addition to the break. Inez still didn't have any feeling in it.

Will rode back to the hospital with her in the ambulance. He didn't leave right away, which meant that he was still there when Gina brought Brette.

When he looked up and saw them standing in the door of the room, he said, "The restraining order expired a long time ago."