Ring of Fire III

6

Strong-Arm did not hesitate this time before entering the tent of Walks-In-Deep-Woods. The shaman sensed his anger and looked alarmed, but did not attempt to get to his feet.

“How may I be of service, mighty chief?” he asked, touching his thumbs to his forehead.

“Stand and walk,” Strong-Arm said. “Walk out of this camp and do not turn back.”

“I do not understand.”

“Understand this, you snake,” he said. “I shall burn this tent, and everything in it-including you — if you do not heed my words. You will leave the Oneida. Go wherever you wish. But if your shadow is seen in Oneida lands again, I will kill you. Slowly.”

Walks-In-Deep-Woods scrambled to his feet, perhaps realizing for the first time that Strong-Arm’s anger was genuine-and dangerous. In his haste he disturbed the blankets in his sleeping-place, and Strong-Arm saw something peeking out from under it: a bundle of paper, hidden among the other bits and pieces of the shaman’s art.

He pushed past the shaman, nearly knocking him off his feet, and picked up the bundle. “What is this?”

“It is-well, you see-”

“This is white man’s work.” He touched the pages in turn: there were many letters, and a single picture-of a man with the hair and beard of a Frenchman, next to a pattern…something familiar…

A banner. With the flowers of France.

“Can you read this? Is this your-your death medicine, old snake?”

“No. Yes. I-please, mighty chief!” he said as Strong-Arm grasped the necklaces at his throat and twisted them tight.

“You sent us to our death,” he said, and shoved Walks-In-Deep-Woods onto his back. The old man looked genuinely terrified now.

He took the papers and tossed them into the fire, then turned his back on Walks-In-Deep-Woods.

“Run,” he said. “Or burn. I do not care. I must go and tell my people the words of the great chief Champlain.”

“Champlain,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods managed. “He-he lives?”

Strong-Arm did not favor the old shaman with an answer, but left the tent.

After a moment, Walks-In-Deep-Woods could see the light of torches coming closer.

Eric Flint

Ring of Fire III

And the Devil Will Drag You Under

Walt Boyes

Georg Schuler groaned. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to still the pounding and stabbing inside his head.

“Aaaaah!” he groaned.

He opened his eyes, closed them again, and slitted them open. All he could see was a gigantic horse turd that his face was pushed into. He raised himself up on his arms, and slowly levered himself into a kneeling position. He had been lying face down in a puddle of slime and a large pile of horse manure, relatively fresh.

Worse, yet, it was morning. And from the noise from the street at the end of the alley, he was late for work. Georg staggered to his feet, and wound up braced against a wall. He wiped the manure off his face with his hand, and wiped the hand on his already sodden shirt.

“I smell like shit,” he muttered aloud, “which is just wunderbar, and I feel like it, too.”

Georg waited until the world stopped spinning, and then walked unsteadily to the mouth of the alley. The bright light from the sun caused him to stop, close his eyes and wait until they adjusted. His head throbbed.

“Let’s get it over with,” he announced to the uncaring passersby who were giving him wide berth on the street.

“Schuler! Komm hier, schnell! ”

So much for sneaking into work, Georg thought. He turned and walked to the office door from which the bellow had come.

“ Ja, Ich komme,” he said to the tiny office’s occupant. “Yes, boss, what did you want?”

“The innocent act won’t wash, Schuler,” Gerhard Mann said, looking him up and down. Mann was a huge man, well over six feet, and brawny. He had been a blacksmith until he read about up-timer production techniques and realized that one of the biggest needs in Magdeburg for a long time to come would be nails. Mann just barely fit behind the desk, and as he stood, he knocked some papers to the floor.

“You’re hungover, you’re still drunk, you’re covered with horseshit, and you are full of it, too. This is the third time in a week you’ve showed up late like this. Here’s your final pay. You’re fired.”

Mann threw some coins at him, and Georg scrambled to pick them up off the floor. He didn’t bother to argue. Besides, Mann was right. What did the up-timers say? What was their word? Loser, Lo-oo-ser. That’s it. Well, I am.

Schuler headed out the door, turned down the street, and looked for the nearest Bierstube. Ah, there was one. Since he had money, he might as well drink it.

He walked into the place, and went up to the bar. The tavernkeeper looked at him, as he walked down the bar toward Georg.

“You stink. Let’s see your money.”

Georg slapped a coin on the bar.

“There. See, I have money! Bier, bitte! ”

“Fine, but you stink too much to have in here for long. I’ll give you one beer. After that you leave.” The tavernkeeper palmed the coin, and moved to a tap. He filled a stein and set it down in front of Georg.

“Drink up, and then get out.” The tavernkeeper turned away, moved to the far end of the bar, and began drying drinking cups.

Georg upended his beer, downed it, and turned toward the door. There was a commotion outside, and what sounded like music. Georg headed outside, and stopped stock still.

Across the street was, well, something. It was a small group of people dressed alike, with a kind of uniform, and musical instruments including the largest drum Georg had ever seen. There was a large bearded man to go with the drum and he was beating it to a rhythm that made Georg’s head pound. There was a trumpet player, who, as far as Georg could tell through his headache, was not very good. There was another one of the uniformed people playing really energetically on what Georg thought was a kind of guitarra. The rest of them, three or four, were singing loudly. Georg spent a few seconds trying to figure out what they were singing, then it penetrated his drink-fogged and hungover brain.

“ Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott… ” they sang. “A mighty fortress is our God…”

Georg shook his head, trying to clear away his headache. What next, he thought. Lutherans in uniforms on street corners. What are they doing?

“ Ach, who cares?” He shook his head again, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Things started swimming around again. The noise from the Lutherans just wasn’t helping. He held onto the building wall as he moved away from the Bierstube.

Georg woke, muzzily, at first unaware of his surroundings. Slowly, he focused, and realized he was in bed in his tiny rented room. How he got there, he wasn’t quite sure. He had a headache, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. There was light coming in the small window that was high on one wall, and he was naked. His clothes were in a smelly pile near the door.

He stood up, grabbed his clothes and quickly headed out the door toward the community bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty and he was able to wash himself, and brush most of the horse manure off his clothes. He wished he had another suit of clothes so he could have these cleaned. He hadn’t had a new suit of clothes since he was in the army.

Georg dressed and went back to his room. How much longer it would be his room, he couldn’t say. Without work, he wasn’t going to be able to pay rent, and with the number of people coming to Magdeburg to help with building the new capital and rebuilding the city, his landlord wasn’t going to be very willing to let him stay on until he could pay. Well, he thought, it isn’t like I have much to move.

Georg sat on his pallet and thought about what to do next. Obviously, he needed to find another job. That shouldn’t be too hard, he thought. As he was getting to his feet, he heard a clink noise from under his pallet. He reached under, and found a stoneware jug. It was not large, and it wasn’t full.

“ Ach! Ginever! ” Georg grinned as he pulled the cork. “Dutch Courage! I forgot I had this!”

He lifted the jug of gin and took a swig. It went down hard, but the liquor felt pleasantly warm in his stomach. Even though his stomach was empty, he started to feel better. “Dr. Silvius’ fine tonic,” he said. “Just what the doctor ordered. It shouldn’t be hard to find a job again, so I’ll do it later.” He took another swig. And then, another.

He was feeling just fine as he slipped from his pallet onto the floor. But he wasn’t feeling so well when he woke up a couple of hours later.

“ Mein Gott in Himmel! ” he shouted, and then grabbed his ears as the sound of his own voice made the inside of his head ring.

Georg coughed. The smoke was beginning to be very thick. He coughed again. “Stupid idiots! First you pillage, then you burn!” There were few houses in Magdeburg that weren’t burning now. This was really going to cut down the amount of plunder. Sheiss! Georg stumbled through the smoke, hacking.

Suddenly the smoke cleared and he saw he was standing in front of a house that hadn’t yet been touched. Lots of loot, maybe!

Three of Tilly’s pikemen came up and Georg drew his hanger and waved it. “Mine, you bastards! This one’s mine! Beat it!”

He wasn’t sure why, but they turned and ran away. Maybe he just looked crazy enough to take on all three of them. He turned and kicked at the door. It didn’t move, so he kicked it harder, and it began to splinter. He used his hanger to cut more of the door apart, and then with a final kick it blew apart. Georg raised his hanger and went through the door.

It was dark inside, so he kicked open a shutter and let both light and smoke in. He turned to see what loot there was, and he heard a noise. He raised his hanger and advanced to the back of the front room. He kicked the door in, and saw a woman on a bed. She had a big cavalry man’s horse pistol, and it was cocked. She raised it in her shaking right hand, and fired. As she did, Georg threw himself forward and severed her hand, dropping the pistol to the floor amid a shower of blood.

“Nooooooo!” There was a scream behind him, and he turned, sweeping his hanger around. He couldn’t stop in time, as his blade cut a small child in half.

Georg dropped to his knees and vomited. He stumbled out of the room, and out of the house into the smoke filled street. He vomited again.

All he could hear was the little girl screaming, “Noooooooo!”

He woke, as he always did, screaming and shaking. He felt waves of cold and hot flashes and he was sodden with sweat. It was the damn dream again. It was the dream that had made him leave Pappenheim’s cavalry. It was the damn dream.

Georg wondered what was wrong with him. He used to be able to drink like a fish. He used to be able to put away much more Ginever than that with no trouble, and be completely functional the next day. But since that day, he couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe it was the judgement of the Herr Gott for what he’d done, killing a mother and her child.

He made it to the chamber pot and puked. He crouched there shaking. I’ve got to get myself together, he thought. After a few moments, he thought he could stand up, so he slowly got to his feet.

“I’ve got to get a new job,” he said to himself. He took a few half-hearted swipes at his grimy, smelly clothes, and walked out the door.

There was a makeshift labor hall near the old moat where they were rebuilding the city walls. Georg stood in line until he was called to the table where the job broker sat. The broker looked him up and down, and handed him a piece of paper with a number on it. Georg looked at it. It was 351.

“This is your number,” the broker said. “As soon as we have some labor for you to do, your number will be called. If you don’t come when it is called, the next number will be called and you will lose your place.”

“ Ja, Ich verstehe,” Georg said.

The broker pointed to a big group of men standing at one end of the hall. “Go there. You will be called. People are busy. You shouldn’t have much of a wait.”

Georg walked over to the group. He looked the men over, just as they were looking him over. They mostly looked like him. Dirty, down on their luck, ragged and poor. Just like him.

At first, nobody said much. A little fat man came bustling importantly over and called out, “ Nummer zwei hundert sechs, sieben, acht, neuen, mit gekomm, schnell!”

Georg turned to the man closest and said, “Two hundred nine! And I am three hundred fifty one! Will there be work for my number?”

“Probably, maybe,” the man said. “It is still early. If you want a low number, you have to get here when the hall opens at dawn. I come an hour before usually, but I had a problem last night.”

“Ah!” Georg said, noncommittal.

“A problem I think you may have had,” the man said. “I got drunk and didn’t wake up.”

“Yes,” Georg said. “I’ve been known to do that. Last night, in fact. And the night before.

“ Ich heisse Georg,” he said. “Georg Schuler.”

“Pieter,” said the man. “Pieter Doorn.”

“Ah, a Hollander!” Georg said.

“Yes, but I have not been home for many years. And you, where are you from?”

“Originally, Bavaria,” Georg said, “but I’ve been around here a few years now.”

Just then, the officious man returned and called out quite a few more numbers.

“Ah, that’s me,” Doorn said, “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Georg replied.

Doorn moved off with the group of men whose numbers had been called.

It got later. More numbers were called. But they were nowhere near 351. It got later still, and still no work for Georg. Finally, the little fat man returned and said, “That’s it. No more work today. Come back tomorrow.”

Georg crumpled the piece of paper and threw it on the floor. He thought he should feel disappointed, but in truth, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. It was just the way things kept happening to him. Ever since the army. Ever since that day.

He headed home. Ha, he thought. A little rented closet in a rickety fast built house is home. He put his hand in his purse, but it was empty. He’d spent all his coin getting drunk after being fired. He couldn’t even get a beer.

The next day, not being hung over, he woke before dawn. The small window high in the wall of his room was not quite dark. It was that time before dawn that sentries slept, and surprise attacks were made. His eyes went wide at the thought. Ah, you can take the man out of the army, but you can’t take the soldier out of the man.

He rose and put on his smelly jacket and his broken-down shoes. Then he headed off to the hiring hall.

This time, his number was lower. Even though he’d gotten there before dawn, there was still a line of men outside the hall waiting for it to open. Somehow, he was unsurprised to see Pieter Doorn standing a few places ahead of him in the line. Doorn turned, and nodded at him. They both got called at the same time.

“What are we going to be doing?” Georg said to Doorn.

“Probably moving rocks. They are rebuilding the city walls.”

“Why are they doing that?” Georg asked.

“The burghers have contracts with the people who live about and around the city to shelter behind the city walls in the event of danger. No walls, no contracts,” Doorn said, shrugging.

“That certainly didn’t happen in ’thirty-one,” Georg said. “It didn’t protect anybody.”

“That’s true,” Doorn said, “but now this is the new capital, and the Swedish king has new weapons and allies.”

“Ah, so…” Georg said.

Doorn proved right. The group was taken a short distance away, and was put to work loading stones into carts. The work wasn’t that hard, and the sun was out. Pretty soon, Georg was feeling better than he had in a while. It was like the sun and the work were sweating the alcohol out of him.

“Oh, yes,” she said, “my husband is one of the supervisors on the project to rebuild the walls, and also is helping to design the new water system.”

“And where did you come to Magdeburg from, Frau…?” The woman was clearly one of the new elite and it showed in her clothing. She was wearing over her dress a jacket of the new up-timer material called blue jean that was probably worth a year’s pay to her husband.

“Schuesslerin, Katerina Schuesslerin. My husband is Friedrich Wahlberg, who works for Herr Gericke.”

“Otto von Gericke is my husband, Frau Schuesslerin.”

“ von Gericke? Oh, my!” Frau Schuesslerin turned bright red and lowered her eyes. “My deepest apologies, there was no intent to offend!”

“No offense taken. It is still very new. So new in fact, you must not have heard. His Imperial Highness has read in the encyclopedias that in the future, the Holy Roman Emperor would ennoble my husband, and since that is not likely to happen now, His Highness decided to make my husband a noble now, in honor of his work rebuilding His Highness’ new capital.”

“Ah. My felicitations to both you and to Herr von Gericke,” Katerina said.

She paused, and then she said in a rush, “This is the first time I have been invited to a ‘movie’ and I don’t really know what they are.”

“It is an up-time thing. They had the ability to record things like plays so we can watch them long after the performance was done with. They call these recordings movies, and what we will see tonight is a movie that is from what they call ‘musical theater.’ It is much like a masque. This one is called Guys and Dolls.”

Katerina said, “They are starting to go in, now. Thank you for your help, Madame von Gericke.”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, Friedrich, it was wonderful!” Katerina said, “I could not believe that the people in the ‘movie’ weren’t alive right there in the theater with us all!”

“Um…hmmm.”

“The story appeared to be about a group of men who were interested in a gambling game, and one man, Nathan Detroit, trying to avoid marrying his mistress.”

“Um…hmmm.”

“There were some excellent songs, too. There was one that was sung by a men’s chorus and one of the main actors called ‘Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat.’ It was very good. It had a refrain that stuck in my head.”

“Um?”

“It went, ‘and the devil will drag you under by the sharp lapels on your checkered coat…sit down you’re rocking the boat.”

“Ah?”

“But a very interesting part was the Save-a-Soul mission. It seems that there was an army dedicated to saving souls.”

“Eh?” Friedrich Wahlberg looked up from his textbook. “An army for salvation? That is an interesting idea. We have plenty of armies. We have the Protestant armies, the Swedish armies, the French army and the Imperial armies. But even though they say they are fighting in the name of religion, they don’t seem to care about the souls of the people they kill and maim.” Wahlberg shook his head. “It is too bad we don’t have an Army of Salvation.”

“Maybe we shall.”

“What?”

“I have been looking for something to do here in Magdeburg. You are so busy with your engineering, and we have no family here.”

“Hmmm. You know, we are having a real problem with the workers on the wall and drunkenness. It would be good if there was some way we could stop them from getting drunk and not being fit to work the next day. Do you think your Salvation Army might be able to do something about that?”

Katerina thought.

The next morning she went to get an appointment to see the abbess of Quedlinburg. To her surprise, after a wait of perhaps an hour, she was ushered into a sitting room, where the abbess awaited.

Getting straight to the point, Katerina told the abbess what her husband had suggested, and said she wanted to make it come true.

“I want to start an Army of Salvation. My army would not carry weapons. We would be like the mission in Guys and Dolls, have you seen it?” she said.

“Yes, I have,” the abbess replied. “An interesting story, was it not?”

“Yes, especially the mission. I looked up the Save-a-Soul Mission in the up-timers’ books, and found out that it was actually called the Salvation Army. I want to have a Salvation Army, a Heilsarmee, here in Magdeburg.”

The abbess gestured for Katerina to go on.

“Particularly we would work with the workmen who are building our new city. My husband tells me they have terrible problems with drunkenness and absenteeism. We have to help these poor men!”

“I like it,” the abbess said, after some thought. “We must see how this can be done.”

“Did you know, Frau Schuesslerin, that there is a long tradition in Magdeburg of street singing?” Friedrich Spee said. “The university students sang for Christian charity on street corners.”

“I had no idea,” Katerina said. “I am not from here originally. I followed my husband who works for Herr von Gericke on the construction.”

“Yes,” the Jesuit said. “In fact, it is said that even Dr. Luther sang on the street with his fellow students. But why have you come to me?”

“I wish to start an army,” Katerina said. Spee’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. “But my army will not have arms. It will be a Salvation Army.”

“Ah, like the up-timers, I see,” Spee said.

“Not exactly. That is why I have come to see you.”

“Ah…?”

“We have Catholic armies and Protestant armies. What I want is an army for everyone. So I have come to you. You are close to the cardinal, and you are also a musician and hymn composer of some note. I want to have Catholics and Lutherans in my army.” Katerina folded her arms and waited.

Spee smiled. “What would you have me do?”

“Georg, you cannot keep coming to the hiring hall later and later,” Doorn said, as they were sitting on the lip of a ruined stairway eating their lunch. “Sooner or later, they will tell you to stop coming.”

“I’m not sleeping well, Pieter,” Georg said, rubbing his palms over his temples.

“And you are drinking a lot, ja? ”

“Not any more than always.”

“You need to stop.”

Georg looked at Doorn.

“What do you mean, I have to stop? You have been known to get drunk, too!”

“Not anymore.”

“What?”

“I have put myself into God’s hands, and I have stopped drinking.”

“Come to think of it,” Georg said, “We haven’t been to a tavern together in quite some time. What do you mean, you have put yourself into God’s hands?”

Doorn looked directly at Georg.

“I have found some help, and I am living one day at a time,” he said quietly.

“What help?”

“I have been going to a meeting in the basement of St. James,’ ” Doorn said.

Georg looked at him and sneered. “How can going to a meeting in a church make you stop drinking?”

“I have had to look at my life and see that it wasn’t working,” Doorn said.

“And you do this at a meeting?”

“No, I do it in my life. I am doing it now. But I learn how at the meeting.”

“So some priest preaches at you until you stop drinking, eh? I thought you Hollanders were all Calvinists anyway. I’ve never had a priest tell me anything that made me better. All they do is tell me how I am going to go to Hell.”

“The priest isn’t even there most of the time. There are a group of us.”

“Well, I don’t understand how this would make you quit drinking,” Georg said.

“I could explain it to you, Georg, but I won’t. When you are ready, let me know and I will bring you to a meeting. You will understand better there.”

Doorn levered himself upright. He stretched his shoulder muscles.

“Time to go back to working,” he said as he walked off.

Georg stood staring at Doorn’s back.

Georg turned. He was back in the house in Magdeburg. The woman was keening, holding her blood-spurting wrist. But strangely, the little girl was standing, staring at him, holding her body together with one hand. He was holding the bloody hanger. The little girl said, “Why?” and blood came out of her mouth in a gush. “Why?” Her eyes stayed on Georg’s as her body fell away in two pieces.

As always, Georg woke shaking. His eyes were wide open and gradually, he became aware of his real surroundings.

He went to work that morning as if nothing had happened. He was shaky, though, and his friend Doorn noticed quickly.

“Georg, are you all right?” Doorn said.

“ Ja, of course… No, I…am not all right.”

“Can I be of help?”

“I…I would like to hear more about this meeting you were talking about.”

“Of course. There is likely to be one tonight. We use a program that the up-timers knew about. It is called ‘twelve steps.’ ”

“What are the steps?” Georg asked.

“In the first step,” Doorn said, “we admit that we are powerless over alcohol.”

“Well, that’s certainly true enough,” Georg said.

“There are eleven more steps,” Doorn said, “that lead us to recovery and the ability to live a good and sober life.”

There were chairs in a circle. The meeting had started already when Doorn and Georg came in. After a few people stood up and spoke, it was obvious how to participate. After one of the speakers paused and sat down, there were some people who were looking at Georg expectantly. He stood up.

“My name is Georg Schuler. And I am a drunk.”

“Schuler, come in, come in!” Friedrich Wahlberg said, rising from behind his desk and coming around with his hand extended. “Thanks for coming in!”

“What can I do for you, Herr Wahlberg?” Georg was concerned and a little nervous.

“You’ve been doing well, now, for a couple of months, Schuler,” Wahlberg said. “And we need steady workers. I’m going to put you on permanently, if you wish.”

“No more day labor?” Georg said.

“No more day labor.”

“When do I start?” Georg said.

The word got around quickly on the jobsite. Georg kept getting congratulations on his good fortune all day long. At quitting time, his workmates suggested that he come to the Bierstube with them to celebrate his new status.

“Georg! It is time to go, my friend,” Pieter Doorn said, coming up to the group.

“I’m sorry, fellows,” Georg said, “I have a meeting to go to.”

At the meeting, the leader said, “Tonight we are going to look at steps two and three. ‘We have come to believe that a power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity’ and ‘made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understand him.’ ”

Georg raised his hand. “What does that mean? Is this a church? Are we Catholic or Protestant?”

“Neither, Georg. We are not a church, either Catholic or Lutheran or Calvinist. We are open to all. That’s what it means to give ourselves over to the care of God as we understand him.”

“This is something that came from the up-timers?”

“Yes, but you do not see any up-timers here. Anyone can use these steps, anyone. We just call it the meeting. But up-time, they called this thing of ours Alcoholics Anonymous.”

One of the other attendees chimed in. “It’s like that new army that they are organizing. The Salvation Army.”

“The what?” Doorn said, eyebrows raised.

“That’s what they call it. It is an army aimed at doing good, while all the other armies are aimed at doing harm. It was started by a woman named Wahlberg. Both the Lutherans and the Catholics are in favor of it.”

“Both?” Georg said, unbelieving.

“Both. The Lutherans are supplying funds, and the Catholics are as well. The cardinal and Father Spee both have been seen singing with the Salvation Army on streetcorners.”

“Oh,” Georg said, “I think I have seen the Salvation Army. There were some people in uniforms playing music and singing ‘ Ein feste Burg ’ the other day on the corner across from the Bierstube. ”

“ Ja! That was them, or some of them anyway,” a middle-aged man, who looked like he’d been through a lot, said.

“So it doesn’t matter what faith we follow,” said the leader, “as long as we turn our lives over to the higher power.”

“Well, it is certainly true that I cannot control my drinking on my own,” Georg said.

Georg continued to attend meetings, stay sober and work through the steps. One day, Wahlberg called him in again.

“I wish to promote you to being a work-gang boss. You have shown that you are responsible and we have need of reliable supervisors. Do you accept?”

“Of course,” Georg said, “and thank you, Herr Wahlberg!”

Georg’s friends were waiting for him and they carried him, protesting, all the way to the ale house and pressed a jack of beer into his hands. Before he knew it, he’d downed the beer and was on his second and then his third. He’d fallen off the wagon, and by the time he stumbled out of the Bierstube and headed home, he’d fallen hard.

That night, the nightmare returned for the first time in several weeks.

In the morning, he went looking for Pieter Doorn, who was not only his friend, but had been serving as his sponsor in AA.

“I got drunk last night, Pieter,” Georg said. “I fell off the cart, hard.”

“That was last night,” Doorn said. “Today is a new day. We have to live our lives one day at a time. Sometimes it winds up being one minute at a time.”

“But I…”

“What?”

“I have done some horrible things. I do not think God wants me to give him my life.”

“I think,” said Doorn, “that God forgives us our sins. But, as the steps say, there are some things we must do, in order to make ourselves worthy of forgiveness.”

“What should I do?”

“What religion are you?”

“I was a Catholic, but now I don’t know. We did vicious things in the name of the Catholic Church.”

“You know what the next steps are?”

“Not really,” Georg said.

“Well, next, you have to make a searching and fearless moral inventory.”

“Oh, I know what I’ve done, and what a horrible mess I’ve made of my life.”

“Have you admitted to God, to yourself, and to somebody else, the exact nature of your wrongs?” Doorn said.

“I…no. I’ve never told anyone else what happened. God knows, of course, and I do.”

“What did you do?”

“It was during the sack. I was in Pappenheim’s troop, and we had a sector of the city to loot. I…I killed some people.”

“You were a soldier.”

“Not like that. I…” Georg stopped.

“What? You have to spit it out, Georg. Tell me.”

“I killed a woman and I killed a little girl. They haunt me and I have been drinking to forget what I did.” Georg sagged with relief that he had finally been able to tell someone what he’d done.

“I cannot judge you for what you did during the sack, Georg,” Doorn said. What you did is between you and the people you injured and God. Have you tried to make amends?”

“How? They’re both dead, and I don’t think I can even find the house again since the sack. I quit the army. I’ve been drunk most of the time since. Things are very different now. Nothing is the same, except for the Dom and St. James’ church, you know.”

“Then you are going to have to figure out how to make amends indirectly,” Doorn said. “You will be in deep danger of losing your sobriety, and maybe your soul.”

“I think I’ve lost my soul already, Pieter,” Georg said.

“Can you sing?” that night’s meeting leader, who went by the name of Hans, asked Georg on the way out of the basement of St. James’ church.

“Loudly,” Georg said.

“But not well, then.”

“Nobody has asked me to be a soloist at the new Opera House, if that’s what you mean,” Georg said. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, the woman who is in charge of that new Salvation Army is looking for some singers. Some bandsmen, too. Do you play an instrument?”

“No.”

“You might talk to the Army, anyway, Georg. You need to start taking care of the eighth and ninth steps.”

“I…”

“Just think about it. You have shared about your background in the meeting, Georg, and I think it might be what you need.”

“I don’t know,” Georg said. “I feel like I’m being pushed around. I don’t have control, and I don’t know when I will slip off the cart and fall into the mud again. And for me, it isn’t mud. It is always horse shit.” He laughed bitterly.

Hans held out his hand. “You take care on the way home. There are footpads now, I hear. Magdeburg is the very model of a modern city now.”

“I will,” Georg said.

“Just remember, trust God, Georg.”

“Here, Georg, have a beer.”

Herr Wahlberg had taken to having a dinner for his supervisors every month or so, and Georg had finally gotten invited.

The men milled around in the Wahlbergs’ front room. There were some finger snacks, and there was, of course, beer.

“ Nein, danke,” Georg said. “I don’t drink anymore.”

“How did you do that?” Wahlberg asked him, “if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I have placed my life in God’s hands, Herr Wahlberg, and I live one day at a time,” Georg said.

“I’ve heard that before, somewhere,” Wahlberg said. “Ah, yes. One of the people that my wife works with in her Army of Salvation says it.”

“Your wife started the Salvation Army?”

“Yes. She did. It keeps her busy, praise God!”

Georg felt as though he was on the receiving end of a message from God. He had been seeing the Salvation Army musicians playing on street corners for a while now. Hans had told him that he should talk to the Army. Now, his boss’s wife was the actual creator of the Army of Salvation.

“I…Herr Wahlberg, I thank you for inviting me to your home. I must be going now,” Georg stuttered, “I have a meeting to go to.”

Georg walked up and down across the street from the nondescript storefront. The sign on the building said “Die Heilsarmee”-the Salvation Army. He kept stepping off the sidewalk and stopping, going back to pacing. He knew that he was making an important decision. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Now that it had come, he was having trouble committing to doing it.

He recited the first steps to himself. “I have realized that I am powerless over alcohol-and that my life is unmanageable. I have come to believe that a Power greater than myself can restore me to sanity. I have made a decision to turn my will and my life over to God…”

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and marched across the street to the storefront. He put his hand on the door.

“I have made a list of all the people I have harmed, and I am willing to make amends to them all.”

He turned the doorknob, and went inside.

Pieter Doorn watched as the Heilsarmee Marching Band played its first concert on the steps of St. James’ church. For months now, they had been playing on streetcorners and in their storefront mission. Today, they were playing selections from Guys and Dolls as well as the hymns, both traditional and up-timer, that they were becoming famous for.

When they got to “Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat,” Doorn heard Georg Schuler’s voice. Georg was certainly the loudest, if not the most melodious, he thought to himself. But then they did “Amazing Grace,” and Schuler sang with tears streaming down his face.

“Amazing Grace,” Georg sang as the band played, “how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, Was blind, but now I see.”