Golems of Steam, Steel and Bone chap 25 (after this, it was all downhill to crash point. not sharing that)

Morning, and the throng at the forge surprised Elisa Felderov deeply. Most of the village was there, doing something to help make the parts of the Steamed Plum Cafe, a name that despite being a joke from someone, actually expressed the place well. Those not helping where indirectly aiding, bringing food, water, and moral support.
Ivan came in and took three boys, a girl and two new apprentices from back east under his wing. "Elisa, I will start these on the dig, they will work with me on the boiler for the *big* mammut. You work with the ones here, to get us bear sign for next week, yes?" Wandering off waving his good hand and singing some russian folk song she never heard before, he seemed better indeed.
Then came the laying the bed of coal, stocking the bins, and setting up the tools. At last, satisfied, she started the fire, using the great bellows to fan the flames evenly across the rocks that fueled the fire, and to increase the heat for a moment with each push of air working them shot into the furnace.
Plates of ready made steel came out first, small for this great civic project, but the right size to begin the cylinders of the boilers for the beasts she planned now to have ready. Laying out the designs she called the apprentices to the drafting table, and walked them through what would be done, working with the first pair as they worked their plate to the red glow that said the metal was now malleable again, ready to take the shape their hammers and tools would guide it to. Using tongs the carried the plate to the rollers, running them by hand crank for now, as the metal got its first bit of curve, and then was set to the wet section of tree trunk brought in this morning after soaking in the lake all night.
Steam came off the wood as heated metal seared out the moisture load it absorbed was released, to the first rhythm of many to come that day. Hammer beat on metal, the tapping that formed the hot steel to mimic the curves it lay upon, slowly but surely. Every ten minutes, the steel returned to the fire, Elisa explaining to all how the two sided entry to the oven on this furnace, and its size let two or more projects, depending upon size, be worked at once.
She stressed again and again the need for care with the forge fire and the heated metal, still some minor burns occurred as other plates began the process, and Meachum and his guild people built a wooden frame outside the forge, on an area few understood the reason for having extended the stone floor to, but would soon. Many of them were mixing barrels of clay to a putty they could form, then pouring the mix into the frame once finished. This was something some necromancers performed themselves, but for Elisa, letting the whole community have a hand in crafting the kitchen actually made sense.
And it was a community, not just disparate populations of Indians and Whites, but a true community. Few even noticed that one of the tool crafters was a woman of African blood, darker in skin by far than any of the tribe folk had. She worked alongside whites, all treating each other as equals, creating their share of the clay material for the great plate. A second tree trunk was lifted from the pond down the hillside, and carried up, leading one of men new to the area, a farmer back east, to ask if a canal to bring the water along the bench closer to the forge would work, or pehaps above the bench.
This lead to a new group outside dealing with concepts and talk of clay, rock the lay of the land that escaped even Elisa, who tried to listen with half an ear. As the forge was on the upstream side of the dig compared to the branch that now was dammed for the water mill below, it seemed and that made it feasible, to even return it, from a quenching pool to the pond for more use, and to let the race down the hill power things for the forge  and any other industries to come.
This was the type of cooperation that built the nation early on, one absent until the Southern States had rebelled, and once more the crafts in the North united to save the nation from division. She looked about and realized the town really had become a town, one of equals, not what existed in other places. A smile touched her face, as she heard the calls from the dig during a rare silent moment, Ivan's rough voice calling instructions, and the answering voice of Black Coyote directing men setting up plaster barrels for the casts of the big mammoth bones.
At last a holler from Meachum brought her outside to the form his crew had finished filling. Now tape measures came out, and the changes to the clay inside began to be made, the uniform depth of an inch and a half thick, created by building up clay around the edge that high to form the plate within. Next came the plans Elisa had drawn, with the toolmakers around them, nodding as she explained the needs, and a simple smith taking charge of it all.
"Casting steel, casting iron, casting bronze, this I can do for you, necromancer. Trust my skills, and I will take your guidance on this project." The deep bass of the man had hints of the south in his pacing, but the practical nature of smiths made them lack politics, preferring profit and progress to revolutions. Not that all smiths stayed out of the fracas, indeed, many fought or supplied the South during the Rebellion. But not out of the blind ideology so common still among those fled west after the defeat of General Lee.
Then came the making of the rivet plates and rivet holes. By using special molds, circular pillars rose in at very specific distances from the edges, even as around those, hands created slopes to the edge to make the overlaps not impossibly thick when riveting closed and welding the seals.
At last all was done on the mold, and those less skilled were paired up with one of the metal working folks to keep the mold moist but still solid until the steel would pour out of the forge the next day. Inside the cauldron for making the steel in sat in position on the track of overhead iron beams to reach the furnace. Pig iron bars settled into the bucket, as did many other ingredients. This was to be as close to Damascus steel as they could get. Then the crucible was swung into the furnace and long time of stoking the flames to make the metal alloy began.
Well after darkness fell, still urging her apprentices in the hammering, a strong hand took her arm, startling her. Ivan was there, smiling. "Go, sleep, debeitsa, I shall wake you near dawn. Coyote will wake me an hour after midnight. We must rest, or we may fall asleep at a wrong moment later. Let these ones finish under the aid of each other and the smith."
Elisa reluctantly agreed, trusting the smith, but this was a project for a friend, and the whole community. She felt more pressure to keep an eye on every step then any previous job she undertook. It became obvious that her uncle had been correct when she reached the wagon, moved to midway between the dig and the forge. Making tea and something to eat was an effort, but there was jerky and biscuits left for her, and some apples carted in by a man named Morton from below the Platte in Nebraska Territory.
Eyes heavy she dozed off, but only after being assured the letter to the former President left on time and with no problems.
"Sleep, Els, sleep. The letter left, and I sent two riders, one to watch the other, on the best endurance horses in the camp, two, maybe three weeks and we will have an answer." Geranof's voice was gentle, lulling her at last to give up the battle, turn to her bed and rest.
Ivan sat up though, through the night, taking small sips of vodka when no one looked. This was not the day he wanted, the job had not eased the ache in his heart, or the rage against his lover turned enemy. He dared not sleep again, lest the skeleton of his dead daughter walk into his dreams, and shatter what was left of his sanity.
So he watched over the steel to be, praying the work and tedium would drive the demons away. And those could not, at least hope that doughnuts could once the cafe opened.