"Ten bucks to hire me for a week, to go to Pittsburgh?"
Nell looked at Frederick with some confusion. He'd never said anything before about hiring him as a temp worker. He'd just mentioned coming to help out, fifty bucks a month, which was already better than working in the coal mines.
Besides, Frederick's family ran a hotel, and their busiest times were on paydays and late at night. What kind of temporary worker would they need during those hours? They'd need more... specialized labor, and Nell, as a man, didn't exactly fit that category.
"Buying supplies. My father doesn't trust me to go alone," Frederick answered casually.
"Alright then."
Nell understood immediately—buying supplies could only mean one thing: bootlegging liquor. Smuggling always needed trustworthy people. Nell and Frederick were close—one of life's "iron trio"—and both were from the same county. Their families were all local, so they were easy to track down if anything happened.
And as for the risk of getting caught? Pretty low. Around the Great Lakes, nearly every official was fattened by the bribes of vibrant new social groups. The Prohibition enforcers had practically become informants themselves. Prohibition was a farce; making side money was the real game.
"We leave tomorrow. Go home and pack," Frederick waved his hand after Nell agreed, then turned and left.
Nell thought, Maybe I should buy a bicycle. Relying on legs wasn't practical—town was five or six kilometers away. It wasn't just far, it also wore down your shoes. Hitching a ride wasn't always an option, and paying for transport was a waste. With that small change, you might as well buy a Coke and enjoy yourself.
Maybe this trip to Pittsburgh would be a good chance to get one. Prices might be cheaper in a big city, especially one like Pittsburgh—the nation's largest steel hub. Steel products had to be relatively affordable.
Nell told Aunt Ginger about the trip. She thought it over. For a farming household, a bicycle was a big purchase. But it made sense—out here in the countryside, you couldn't exactly ride a horse.
Honestly, horses weren't a very cost-effective animal to raise. Even among nomadic peoples, cattle and sheep were more common. Good horses were prized on the grasslands too. A serious herding family might have hundreds of sheep and dozens of cows—but only a few horses.
For families like Nell's, raising horses was simply not worth it. Better to raise more piglets—you'd get more cured meat by year's end.
As for cars—steam-punkish automobiles were not even in the realm of poor folks' consideration!
Aunt Ginger agreed, figuring Nell would need a bike once he started working in town. She gave him the money and told him to be sure to haggle at the bicycle shop. In those days, everything was negotiable—whether you were buying warships or apples.
Nell packed up, tucked the money into the sole of his shoe, and set out. Most US currency was paper now. Had he time-traveled a century earlier, he'd be stuck using coins, which were much harder to hide.
With the traveling court gone, the town had settled back into peace. The buildings along the main road were irregularly placed. Some shops had signs hanging out; others had displays set up. Old men lounged in deck chairs, playing chess with friends—except instead of goji berries in thermoses, they sipped iced whiskey.
Most people Nell passed were familiar. Some Irish folks even tipped their hats to him. Word had spread about how he'd helped Ivor and Karla in court. The Irish community praised him as a smart and helpful young man—with some education, no less.
If he landed a steady job or had a bit of land and livestock, he'd surely have matchmaking aunties trying to set him up with their daughters or nieces.
Haha, not thinking about that now. Nell waited at the administrative committee building until Frederick came out on leave. Clearly, the crates of wine he gifted were effective—the normally stern officials didn't even ask what he was taking leave for.
The two didn't need much—just packed a bag and left. At the time, Amtrak (or American rail companies in general) was mostly private. Whether they'd collapse during the Great Depression was uncertain, but for now their service was excellent due to competition for passengers and freight.
They started off on a coal transport train from the mining area. Nell didn't know much about steam locomotives, but they certainly had a unique beauty—something industrial, born of the revolution.
Smoke and soot billowed near the already-active engine. The coal cars were fully loaded, and two passenger cars were attached at the back.
There was logic to this setup. In regular seasons, passengers rode in the rear to avoid smoke and noise from the front. But in winter, they'd be moved behind the engine, where it was warmest. Not as comfy as modern heating, but bearable.
In Brook County, Frederick's face was a train ticket. The conductor smiled and waved them aboard. Once they got bootleg liquor, the conductor would get his cut too. A few dollars in ticket fees meant nothing by comparison.
They transferred in Washington County to a train coming from Washington. The name was a bit confusing—but that was typical in the US. As an immigrant nation, places were often named after famous figures—some local, some national—so it was common to travel from one "Washington" to another.
By the time they switched trains, it was noon. They went straight to the dining car. Frederick, being something of a young master, wouldn't just eat a sandwich like Nell. He needed proper soup, dishes, and a glass of wine. Nell got to enjoy the perks of tagging along.
The rich young master had to feed the farmhand, after all.
Pittsburgh was a bustling metropolis of over 500,000 people. It was lunch hour, and the dining car was filling up. Luckily, they arrived early enough to grab seats.
The waiter first brought two glasses of lemon water, then listed the day's menu—chicken, fish, simple fast food, and of course, steak. But the star of the day was a special dish: stewed lamprey.
That's what they ordered.
Just as they finished placing their order, a young man in his twenties—blonde like Frederick—approached and asked if he could share their table.
Why not? Frederick saw the similar hair color and guessed the guy was probably a fellow German-American. He was dressed well too.
Might as well get to know him.