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chief intelligence analyst at the CIA. Not the kind who listened to chatter from satellites.The kind who put
it all together and briefed the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
* * *
Anders van Aelsten and Barbola Harczy, the "right" spellings having been determined by the Bureau of
Vital Statistics, were married the following morning as Andrew Alston and Barbara Hershey, since
when the clerk asked, "Do you want those names in German or American?" as flatly as pre-RoF she
would have asked, "Do you want fries with that?" Anders had expressed a preference for American. The
deacons had hauled the piano out the front door of the old church building and onto the stoop, so there
was music for the ceremony. Inez chose, "Guide Me, O Thou GreatJehovah " to start the ceremony and
"O, That the Lord Would Guide My Ways" to end it. She didn't want the guidance for them: she wanted
it for herself. In between, she played, "Restore Thy Brother" once more.
Since the first agonized cry from a subscriber "Ouy you not write ouat I ouear? You write ouat ozzer
brides ouear?" Beryl Lawler had developed a completely standardized form for the reporting of
weddings in the society column of theGrantville Times . She had a flying squad of young women and
high school girls in each congregation who took notes. When Susan Hardesty turned these in to the
newspaper office, Beryl rested her forehead on her palms and moaned.
The groom wore olive green cargo pants and a red-and-brown plaid shirt. The bride wore a pair
of orange maternity slacks topped by a long, full, boat-necked, black-and-white striped, tee-shirt
with three-quarter-length sleeves. They exchanged halves of a coin. Official witnesses were
Deacon Guy Russell and Mrs. Henny DeVries. The couple was also attended by their children,
Miklos and Ilona. The groom, formerly with the count of Mansfeld's military unit, is employed at
the mine. The bride is at home.
* * *
After church was over, Inez sat with Barbara and Henny on a bench outside the Bureau of Vital
Statistics while the minister and Anders filed the record. She found out, in a conversation mediated by
Henny and by Miklos, who was otherwise chasing his little sister around the parking lot, that Barbara
was really a rather sociable woman. She found the isolated camp, although it was far preferable to being
seized by her demons, rather lonesome and a little frightening when she was there alone all day with the
little girl. She had preferred her years of living in the train of a mercenary army, where there were other
women to talk to, and other children about. Weatherpermitting, she walked into town with the little girl at
least one day a week in order to see friends she had made there. If "The Zoning" would permit it, she
would much ratherhave a place to live in the town. But it wouldn't, so she was prepared to make the best
of things.
She hadalso, it turned out, picked up a small amount of English."Yard sale," at least."Bargain."And,
"cute." She delivered herself of "cute" quite emphatically as she admired her daughter, all dressed up for
the wedding in a little pair of chartreuse capri pants and a chartreuse-and-white checked gingham top
with a machine-appliquéd daisy on the front, her hair held out of her face by two plastic barrettes.
Barbara called Ilona over and demonstrated what she hoped to find at a "yard sale" most of all.Her
current heart's desire. She pulled Ilona's hair back."Pony tail maker."
Inez made a deal. She had pony tail makers at home. All but one of her granddaughters had been left
up-time, but the pony tail makers that accompanied their passage through life, strewn around their
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grandparents' house, she had just gathered up two years before, tossed in a drawer, and forgotten. If
Barbara would come to her for a prenatal check-up each week from now on, when she was in town, a
pony-tail maker would be her reward.
* * *
"You can do it, or someone else can do it," Inez said firmly to Henny, "in our garage.With the door up.
Stop fussing about privacy. Anyone who stares in at a woman having a prenatal just has a dirty mind. I'll
clean the garage."
Seventeen teenagers cleaned the Wileys' garage Monday afternoon. They scrubbed it with lye soap and
sand; then hosed it down. It hadn't been so clean since the day it was built. It had a dirt floor, but that
couldn't be helped. It was packed down hard. They swept it and threw a layer of sand on the top.
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