couldn’t answer came up. He and his “wife” needed to talk more than they had, but that was going to be a challenge.
“Are you Wesley Burrows?” the man called a few minutes later.
“I am.”
“Go right in.” He pointed to a door.
“I was expecting you.” Instead of sitting behind a desk as Wes had expected, Mariah’s father sat on an upholstered chair, a table holding stacks of paper beside him. “Have a seat.”
Wes took a chair across from his. The older man had a narrow face bracketed by neat sideburns laced with gray. He wore trousers and a dun-colored work shirt. “You here for a job?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Know anything about making lager?”
“That I don’t.”
“Drank your share?”
He grinned. “Is that a job requirement?”
Friederick laughed. “No. Just the remark I most often hear from townspeople who apply. Not everyone here is family.” With his elbows on the arms of the chair, he laced his fingers and looked at Wes over his knuckles. “Plenty of us have wondered about you.”
Wes gave him an understanding nod. “That’s normal.”
“Questioned more at first. It was hard to understand how a newly married man with a baby could leave them to fend for themselves while he sought his fortune.”
Wes wasn’t sure what to say. He had no idea how a man could do that, either.
“I know you sent her money,” Friederick said. “Money wasn’t what she needed. She and my grandson have always been well cared for. What she needed was a man at her side. A father for her boy.”
“I know that, sir. That’s what I intend to be. Now.”
“Nothing to say for yourself?”
“What could a man say that would make up for that?” he asked. “I have to prove myself to her now. ToJohn James. To all of you. A man deserves a chance to do that, doesn’t he?”
“You have six years to make up for,” the man said. “That’s a pretty big job.”
“I believe I can do it, sir.”
Friederick scrutinized him long and hard, taking measure…weighing. “I guess we’ll see.” He lowered his hands. “Don’t hurt them.”
“No, sir.”
Friederick got up and walked to the window. “You realize that just because you’re married to Mariah doesn’t give you special rank here.”
“I expect to earn my way. Always have.”
“You have a lot of catching up to do in order to learn this business. Learning will take extra time and effort. You up to that?”
“I am.”
“Can’t help but notice you have a limp.”
“My leg has healed. I can do a day’s work like any man.”
Friederick turned back to face him. “All right then. I’m sending you to the mash house. My nephew Philo is the superintendent of that building. You’ll answer to him.”
Preparing to leave, Wes stood. “Which building is the mash house?”
Philo Ulrich stood as tall as Wes, but was a whole lot broader across the chest and shoulders. Wes hadnoticed him at the party the evening before, but some of the family relationships were still confusing.
“You’re gonna pull your weight just like every other man here,” Philo yelled in front of a dozen men in the high-ceilinged building. Sweat plastered his reddish hair to his forehead. Steam engines, belts and pulleys were so loud that he had to shout to be heard. The smell, like sickly sweet oatmeal, was almost overpowering.
“Mr. Fuermann wants you to have a working knowledge of what goes on here, so today you’re going to watch and learn about starch conversion. Tomorrow I’m starting you out on the heat tanks.”
By Mr. Fuermann, he meant Friederick, Wes figured out, and listened as Philo spouted orders to each man. Wes noticed that though quite a few women were employed at the brewery, the workers in this particular building were all men. It didn’t take long to figure out why. The work was hot and dirty and took a lot of muscle.
By lunchtime, Wes’s head was ready to explode from the smells, the lengthy explanations of tanks and malt-mills. Grist
“Are you Wesley Burrows?” the man called a few minutes later.
“I am.”
“Go right in.” He pointed to a door.
“I was expecting you.” Instead of sitting behind a desk as Wes had expected, Mariah’s father sat on an upholstered chair, a table holding stacks of paper beside him. “Have a seat.”
Wes took a chair across from his. The older man had a narrow face bracketed by neat sideburns laced with gray. He wore trousers and a dun-colored work shirt. “You here for a job?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Know anything about making lager?”
“That I don’t.”
“Drank your share?”
He grinned. “Is that a job requirement?”
Friederick laughed. “No. Just the remark I most often hear from townspeople who apply. Not everyone here is family.” With his elbows on the arms of the chair, he laced his fingers and looked at Wes over his knuckles. “Plenty of us have wondered about you.”
Wes gave him an understanding nod. “That’s normal.”
“Questioned more at first. It was hard to understand how a newly married man with a baby could leave them to fend for themselves while he sought his fortune.”
Wes wasn’t sure what to say. He had no idea how a man could do that, either.
“I know you sent her money,” Friederick said. “Money wasn’t what she needed. She and my grandson have always been well cared for. What she needed was a man at her side. A father for her boy.”
“I know that, sir. That’s what I intend to be. Now.”
“Nothing to say for yourself?”
“What could a man say that would make up for that?” he asked. “I have to prove myself to her now. ToJohn James. To all of you. A man deserves a chance to do that, doesn’t he?”
“You have six years to make up for,” the man said. “That’s a pretty big job.”
“I believe I can do it, sir.”
Friederick scrutinized him long and hard, taking measure…weighing. “I guess we’ll see.” He lowered his hands. “Don’t hurt them.”
“No, sir.”
Friederick got up and walked to the window. “You realize that just because you’re married to Mariah doesn’t give you special rank here.”
“I expect to earn my way. Always have.”
“You have a lot of catching up to do in order to learn this business. Learning will take extra time and effort. You up to that?”
“I am.”
“Can’t help but notice you have a limp.”
“My leg has healed. I can do a day’s work like any man.”
Friederick turned back to face him. “All right then. I’m sending you to the mash house. My nephew Philo is the superintendent of that building. You’ll answer to him.”
Preparing to leave, Wes stood. “Which building is the mash house?”
Philo Ulrich stood as tall as Wes, but was a whole lot broader across the chest and shoulders. Wes hadnoticed him at the party the evening before, but some of the family relationships were still confusing.
“You’re gonna pull your weight just like every other man here,” Philo yelled in front of a dozen men in the high-ceilinged building. Sweat plastered his reddish hair to his forehead. Steam engines, belts and pulleys were so loud that he had to shout to be heard. The smell, like sickly sweet oatmeal, was almost overpowering.
“Mr. Fuermann wants you to have a working knowledge of what goes on here, so today you’re going to watch and learn about starch conversion. Tomorrow I’m starting you out on the heat tanks.”
By Mr. Fuermann, he meant Friederick, Wes figured out, and listened as Philo spouted orders to each man. Wes noticed that though quite a few women were employed at the brewery, the workers in this particular building were all men. It didn’t take long to figure out why. The work was hot and dirty and took a lot of muscle.
By lunchtime, Wes’s head was ready to explode from the smells, the lengthy explanations of tanks and malt-mills. Grist
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