Augsburg, September 1634
"Horatio Alger Burston, this is totally unlike you!" a rather exasperated Catharina said. She would very much have preferred for her new husband to leave the hiring of staff completely up to her as he always had before. Well, almost always, anyway. For some reason she never understood he had insisted that the head cook had to be French, and that he-yes, it had to be a man-was to be referred to as "the chief," like the Indian leader in the movie they saw at the Higgin's Hotel in Grantville the one time he took her to his home town.
Then again, when she chose the carriage driver he wanted an Englishman named James but he hadn't insisted on it like he was doing now. It was well and good that he hadn't insisted on it since there was nary a James to be found. He had nothing to say when she hired the chamber maids and her personal maid. When she hired his valet, his only comment was to laugh when he found out he now had a valet. When he quit chortling all he said was, "Well, that's service for you." She asked what he meant but he never did manage to explain. Sometimes up-timers could be so completely incomprehensible.
But, now, for some completely inexplicable reason, he was insisting on having his own way on the question of hiring a nurse for their youngest child. Little August was Horatio Alger's stepson and he was two and a half years old. She was expecting again so it was time and past to hire a nurse. With the third child coming she would have less time and the children would have completely different needs. She very much remembered the troubles she had when Casimir was jealous of his baby brother.
When she proposed bringing another member on staff Horatio muttered something about a live-in babysitter. Then he smile that smile that he'd been known to call "a shit-eating grin," and said, "That's fine, dear, as long as she is Irish."
"Irish?" Catharina was truly puzzled. "Why do you want an Irish nurse?"
"Well, the Irish speak English with such a delightful accent."
"That is an absolutely ridiculous reason to choose a staff member. Besides, where will we find an Irish nurse? Now, there are any number of fine healthy young German girls to hand to choose from."
"Nope. If you want a nanny, she is going to be Irish," Horatio said.
"But, darling, be reasonable. Where will we find her?"
"I don't know. But, I'm sure you'll manage. If you don't then I guess August will just have to make do with the walking stick on hand instead of his own private nursemaid."
Catharina knew what he meant. This was one oddity he had managed to explain. A walking stick was a staff so the staff collectively was a walking stick. "But dear," Catharina said, "I've found this perfectly marvelous-"
"Nope."
"But-"
"Nope."
Well, that was the third time he said no and the soup was still on the table. Catharina knew when to back off. She waited for desert before she brought it up again. "Horatio, Chef Andre's paramour has a niece visiting from out of town and she is looking for a position for the girl. I've met her and she seems such a lov-"
Horatio cut her off. "We already have more staff than we need. I have no idea what the chamber maids do all day. Reclean already clean chambers, I guess. We aren't running a home for wayward girls here. I'm sorry, but tell her no."
"Well, we were thinking of her as the nurse."
"Is she Irish?"
"Of course not."
"Then the answer is still no. If you can't find an Irish nanny then you will just have to raise the kids yourself."
"Don't be ridiculous. That is simply impossible."
"My ma raised six kids, kept the house clean, did all the cooking and worked part time. I don't see what you're complaining about."
"I meant finding an Irish nurse, not raising the children."
"Well, impossible or not, if you get a nanny, she will be Irish. I gave in on an English driver named James because we had to have one right away since neither of us can handle a team of horses, much less harness them. But this is different. You've got all the time you need to look for what we want, so it's an Irish nanny or no nanny. Oh, and see to it that she has dark red hair."
"Horatio? Just what is this all about?"
"It's about hiring a nanny."
"No, it isn't. If it was, then any healthy, steady, lass would do."
"Well, maybe I want another somebody about the house who speaks English as a first language."
"Then you don't want an Irish. If they speak English, it's a second tongue."
"Really? Then what do they speak?"
"Irish."
"Is that a language?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"So then, if she doesn't speak English as her mother's tongue it will be all right to hire a-"
"No!"
"No?" Catharina almost wailed in frustration. "Why not."
"Because I want an Irish nanny for my son."
A completely annoyed wife demanded of her absolutely irrational husband, "But why? Give me one good reason!"
"Well, an Irish nanny is romantic."
" Oh! " Catharina lost it and it showed in her slipping English grammar. "So the true comes at last. You want an Irish mistress."
Horatio laughed. Catharina shook with anger. Horatio laughed louder. When she realized it wasn't going to work she changed to a pout and Horatio laughed with renewed vigor.
At last he ran down. "No, my dear," he finally said. "But there is a toast my father taught me." At that he raised his wine glass and said, "Here's to the happiest days of my life, spent in the arms of another man's wife." He paused for her to blow up, which she did. As she took a deep breath the better to cuss him good and proper like, he concluded the toast with the words, "my mother."
As the meaning of what he said filtered through the red haze of fury, the power went out of the gale force wind which was lodged in her lungs.
"If my son is to have a love in his life to rival that of his mother, then it should be someone special, exotic, beautiful, unique, someone who has a chance of competing, not something he can see by the dozens passing in front of the house any hour of the day. Anything less is not fair to him, or her, or you."
Suddenly Catharina not only lost the steam she had for a good screaming fit, she also lost any momentum she had for the argument. Horatio's id quietly congratulated his ego on a very good save.
"But, where will we find such a person?" Catharina asked.
"I'm not sure you can, dear, but do your best."
"Horatio…" Catharina suspected that she was somehow being swindled. Still it might be as he presented it. After all, American's had some really strange ideas. "Are you sure this is the reason?" She hadn't completely let go of the idea that he was the one who wanted a lover.
"Okay, I admit it," Horatio said, throwing his hands up in a theatrical gesture. "I've always wanted an Irish setter." Then he laughed.
"What is an Irish setter?" Catharina demanded.
Horatio never did manage to explain.