Chapter 29
By late afternoon, the last of the six intact sets of aqualators was up and running. At last, Ivy got her chance to sit down and work the revised loom. She had to take turns with Lily Dale, but the two of them did pretty well. Aaron went over to watch them. He was impressed by how skillful they were at managing the weave. Ivy caught his gaze, then lowered her eyes as if she was shy. Aaron felt disappointed. He wanted her to look at him. It wasn’t often that a pretty girl paid attention to him, and he wanted to enjoy every minute of it. There were always better looking or more athletic guys in his school. The geeky ones like him got ignored almost all the time. If he and his friends didn’t band together, they’d probably have gotten bullied by the jocks. That was just life in high school. But here, he was the big man on campus, the guy with all the answers. That felt good.
“So, what do you call these?” Ivy asked, gesturing at the roses in the pattern with her free hand.
“Rosen,” Aaron said, with the “R” far back in his throat.
“Wosen,” Ivy said. Her bright green eyes tilted up to meet his, and he felt his heart skip. Don’t make a mistake now, he cautioned himself.
“Nein,” he said. “‘Rosen.’”
“Now, you say it in English. ‘Roses.’”
Aaron let out a big, theatrical sigh. “Roses.”
“See! You can do it. You know the difference now.”
“I do,” Aaron said, careful to keep the accent because it was expected, and would be until they left for Hamburg. The thought of going away from Ivy suddenly made his heart drop into his stomach. How could he be getting a crush on her? He’d only known her two days! He really wanted to open up to this very nice girl, but he was afraid of her father, as well as making trouble for Miz Margaret and her family.
The teasing look in her eyes faded. “It’s got to be hard for you, living in a different country like this, with people speaking a whole different language,” Ivy said. “I know I’d feel strange being swept away from everything I ever knew.”
You don’t know the half of it, Aaron thought. He opened his mouth, but his father gave him a look of caution.
Aaron let out a huge sigh. He’d been a small boy at the time of the Ring of Fire, but he missed so many things from before. In an instant, the town had been dragged into the past, and their whole lives had changed. What they had come to depend on was all gone, all at once. Mike Stearns and the other people who were in charge had had to regiment everything, all the resources. Suddenly, no TV, no rides in the country, no candy or peanut butter, soldiers in weird uniforms marching through their town, like being in a movie but never being able to get out of it.
He and his friends had adapted pretty fast. His mom, Effie, said it was because they were children, and children coped with change. But he wasn’t sure that was true of everyone, and it was like there was a small part of him that hadn’t changed, either. He knew what the English people here felt, getting this new technology shoved in their faces, and having to accept it or lose their jobs. It wasn’t fair. But it would do them so much good once they accepted it and learned how to use it.
“You are right,” he said, in English. “But I am learning.”
The weavers nearby nodded their approval. Not only was he “learning” English, but they were picking up Amideutsch words, too, which they threw around like slang especially when they were sure he could hear them. Dad thought it was funny, and told Aaron it was their way of making the two of them feel welcome.
The humming of the looms was hypnotic. Once there was nothing to do but watch out for problems, Aaron sat on a bench and drifted off. After all the anticipation of learning the skills needed to code aqualators for weaving, overseeing the building of the equipment, getting ready to go and traveling by ship all the way to England, and putting the mechanisms together, all while pretending only to speak Amideutsch and doing his homework late at night, he had used up all his energy. All around him, people were working like bees in a hive, and the sound put him into a trance.
Suddenly, a number of voices rose in a shout, rousing him from his doze.
“It’s done!”
“Stopcock!” barked Daniel Taylor. His apprentice hurried to turn off the water to the aqualator. The shuttles drifted slowly to a halt. People crowded close around the loom, murmuring in wonder.
“God bless my soul!” Master Blackford said, crossing himself.
Hands grabbed Aaron and pulled him off his bench. They hustled him toward the first loom. Daniel Taylor sat on the bench, a look on his face as smug as if he just won an Olympic gold medal.
“There, ye see, gentlemen? Did I not tell you such a thing was possible?” He thrust his hand toward the cloth beam. A thick roll of cloth clung to it, and the last of the warp was stretched out over the knee beam. On the field of ecru fabric, the pattern of five-and-four roses and leaves across was complete. Daniel scanned the room. “Mistress Margaret, will you do the honors?” He took a massive pair of shears from a peg on the wall and handed it to her.
Miz Margaret came forward, her eyes shining, but she didn’t take the big scissors.
“The honor should go to my father,” she protested. Sir Timothy laughed with delight.
“Indeed, no,” the squire said. He brought the shears to Aaron and closed his hands around them. “This young man has traveled far and made a marvel appear before us, my friends. Do you not think he should be the one to cut free the first of the brocade that will make our fortune?”
Aaron looked around in confusion as the room erupted in shouts of acclaim.
Not all the faces were smiling. The one master, Cedric, was no longer skeptical, but still looked displeased. A few of the others matched his expression. The rest looked excited.
“Everything’s changed now,” his father murmured. “Go ahead, son. You’ve earned it.”
Very carefully, as he had watched Herr Oberdorn’s apprentices do on fabric that was almost as precious as the one before him, Aaron clipped the threads against the warp beam to leave enough to tie off, and eased the loose end of the cloth onto the beam. He couldn’t help but pat the loom as if it was a faithful dog. It did a good job. The weavers cheered. With the help of his apprentices, Daniel unhitched the ratchet and folded the newly crafted bolt with the brocaded side out, showing the roses and leaves.
“There, my friends,” he said. “There’s the future for ye.”
* * *
With six brocade looms in operation, each with the potential to make a bolt in a day or two, Sir Timothy became full of plans.
“The dyers have the first lot now,” he told Delfine at the dinner table a few days later. “And once it’s been treaded, fulled and dried, I want to send it all to Master Bywell in London. He’ll know the best eyes to put it before, so that it will attract attention from the court.”
Margaret swallowed a bite of food and opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Lowering her eyes, she cut another piece of meat and speared it with the fork. Unfortunately, her father had noticed her expression.
“What is it, my kit?” he asked. “Do you think that I’ve forgotten your promise to our benefactors?”
Margaret felt her cheeks burn.
“I did promise Lady Rita that she—or rather, her goodmother—should have the new fabric to wear before anyone else. She has been so kind to us. They all have.”
Sir Timothy sighed. “And I’d be more than glad to oblige her, but we need capital. In order to fulfill the orders from…from there,” he said, cautiously, “then we will need more raw materials. Abbot Lincoln has a surplus of thread from his spinners. He was going to sell it on to merchants on the continent, but I believe we can make an advantageous bargain. You have created a new problem for us, gentlemen,” he said to Aaron and Martin, who sat at the table between Margaret and Nathaniel. “We suddenly have more capacity to weave more wool than our sheep can produce. The spinners’ fingers are wearing to the bone trying to keep up.”
“That’s good for everyone,” Martin said. “By and large, your weavers are on board with the new program. They’re very impressed, although it sounds like they wouldn’t tell you straight out. Most of them are already daydreaming about what they’ll do with their bonuses.” Sir Timothy looked a question at him, and the other man laughed. “I’m a high school janitor, sir. People talk in front of me all the time. I’m used to it. They think I’m not listening, or I can’t understand. In this case, the weavers think I don’t know much of the language. But you have a couple of dissenters in the flock. Master Cedric and his friends. I don’t know whether they’re jealous, or they just don’t like bringing in something new.”
“My goodness,” Sir Timothy said, alarmed but amused. “I didn’t realize I had imported a spy.” He raised a hand to stay outcry. “Pray do not take that amiss, sir; you’re giving me valuable information that I would rather have than not. What about Master Blackford? It is important that he supports us. To go against the rules of the guild would ruin us swiftly.”
“Oh, him? I get the idea that Blackford wants to hold onto his post, but benefit from the new technology. He wants credit for allowing you to introduce it. More than anything, he’s afraid that it won’t fall into his purview, as the aqualators bear no resemblance to anything ever used in weaving before.”
“As indeed they do not. I had hoped that would be his view. Thank merciful heavens for his alliance. I’ll make certain to cultivate his agreeableness and include him in decisions.” He glanced at Aaron. “But you, young man, you look as though you, too, have something on your mind. Is there a concern with the aqualators?”
Aaron’s mouth worked, then words just spilled out of him. “No, sir! That girl, Miss Ivy. She’s awfully sweet. But she comes on pretty hard. She wants to teach me English, you know, and I’m willing to let her help me. The sooner I can stop having to speak nothing but Amideutsch, the happier I’ll be. She’s asked me to dinner some evening, and promises me she’ll get me speaking English like a local in no time.” Margaret chuckled, and Nathaniel snickered loudly. “But I dunno. What’s the right way to act around her? I’ll be completely respectful, I swear.”
“Bless you,” Delfine said, shaking her head, and regarding him with a motherly look. “The question, my child, is not whether you behave respectfully toward her, it is how she will behave with you.”
That comment made Aaron’s face go beet red.
“Don’t worry about it!” Nathaniel said, adding to the teasing with a wicked smile. He and Aaron had formed a friendship over Aaron’s hidden stash of records. They’d gotten to the point where they could razz one another. He gave Aaron an outrageous wink. “Just let things go naturally, and I’m certain it will all work out well.”
“Nathaniel!”
“She’s got a lot of talent,” Aaron said, fighting through his embarrassment. That evoked another snort from Nathaniel. “I think I could teach her to draft patterns for the aqualators.”
“Really?” Margaret asked, surprised.
“Oh, yeah. She’s really smart. It’s too bad the guild doesn’t admit girls.”
Delfine smiled. “I would love to see all her energy channeled into a useful skill. She’s not a bad girl, just a little willful. It’s a shame she wasn’t born a boy.”
“Mother!” Margaret exclaimed, surprised.
“My dear, I may not be strong of body, but I am not weak of mind. I see what people do, and what they are capable of. Enjoy your time with her, Master Aaron. If you can teach her how to use these devices better, you’ll be giving a gift to all of us.”
“Perhaps later,” Sir Timothy said, shaking his head. “We are putting a mighty cart before what is at the moment a very small horse. I have spoken to Master Piers about arranging transport. The bolts will be on a wagon to London soon. May divine Providence favor us.”
* * *
In order to gain even more of Heaven’s grace, Sir Timothy asked the vicar of St. John the Baptist’s Church, the Reverend Peter Olney, to give a blessing to the covered wagonload of woolen cloth as it departed.
The family and Churnet House’s weavers gathered around the cart as though it was a ship about to sail into unknown waters. All of the workmen wore their Guild finest. Over his black velvet suit, Master Blackford had on a cope of lace with his golden collar on the shoulders. His beadle, Paul Thornton, stood at his shoulder, an elegant feathered hat balanced on his arm. Mr. Olney’s sonorous voice was caught by the high ceiling of the weaving shed, amplifying it as though it came from the speaker of Aaron’s record player. Margaret kept her head lowered so that James could not catch her eye. She didn’t know whether to be angry with her brother or laugh along with him at the absurdity of invoking heaven for the brocade as though it was a newborn baby. On the other hand, she had fought so hard for this that she felt she should appreciate the invocation. But it was hard. Nat had chosen the latter, to the dismay of their mother. He wriggled around more impatiently than their two younger sisters, stifling snickers. The house servants, too, did their best to contain their merriment.
“Shh!” Mrs. Ball snapped. Nat subsided, and Margaret had to swallow her own giggles.
“…And may this work of Your Hands gain favor wheresoever it shall go, and send blessings back to this place and these, your faithful servants. Amen.” Mr. Olney made the sign of the cross and bowed his head.
Everyone echoed the final word and gesture, then the men clapped their hats back onto their heads. James said his farewells to the family and climbed into the cart. Ranulf Bracey’s elder son, Lewis, clicked his whip. The cart rolled toward the manor’s gate. Margaret felt a part of her heart going with it. Since the fabric had been finished, she’d barely let it out of her sight. She, Ivy, and Lily had draped it against themselves, imagining grand gowns all covered with the roses.
Godspeed, she thought. Let others see what I saw.
“Thank you, Vicar,” Sir Timothy said.
“My pleasure, Squire,” Mr. Olney said. “I have never seen anything like this textile. If it was not for the sin of vanity, I wouldn’t mind possessing a coat of it, myself.”
“We would like for it to become so common that it is no more extraordinary than the fustian you are wearing now, Vicar,” Sir Timothy said, heartily.
The vicar ran his hand down the front of his modest black vestment. “I do not wish to twist the Lord’s words to find excuses, sir. But if such a thing does come true, I will agree that we are all to be equally blessed.”
Fred Wilkinson grunted. “Back to work, then.”