by Ron Carter
From the hallway came the sound of a tiny voice raising a protest at having come from the warmth and comfort of the womb into the world of cold air and chilly hands that held the infant by the heels to whack it on the bottom and bring on the gasp that inflated the lungs. The men instantly turned to look at the archway, and the little voice gained strength as it wailed. Relief flooded through Matthew.
“It’s here! Kathleen . . . I’ve got to see if she’s all right.” The others followed him down the hallway where he rapped on the door. Margaret opened it a crack and shook her head. “Not yet. We’ve got a few things to do before you come in.”
“Is Kathleen all right?”
“She’s fine. So is your daughter. Wait until we’ve had time to clean things up. I’ll call you. Trudy, you come on in. You can help.” Trudy slipped past Matthew into the room, and Margaret closed the door in Matthew’s face.
Standing over Kathleen, Doctor Soderquist tied and clipped the umbilical cord, cleared some mucous from the baby’s nose and mouth, then handed the infant to the women, who dried the newcomer and wrapped her in a thick towel. Margaret gazed into the baby’s red and wrinkled little face. There was a thick growth of dark hair above the brown eyes, and the rosebud mouth was open wide as the little person wailed her grievance. Margaret held her for a time, then carefully placed her in Dorothy’s arms as Prissy and Trudy gathered close to admire and coo at the newborn.
Doctor Soderquist’s voice stopped them all. “Whoops! Get ready! We’ve got another one coming! That’s what was giving us trouble.”
The women gaped, and Margaret exclaimed, “Twins!” and then the room was filled with action. Prissy and Trudy gathered up the bloody sheets while the two mothers grabbed clean ones and Margaret raised Kathleen’s midsection while Dorothy jammed them underneath her, and Margaret ran to the kitchen for a clean, fresh towel. Kathleen raised her head far enough to ask, “Twins?” and Dr. Soderquist answered, “You have a daughter, and number two will be here in about three minutes. Push.”
In the hallway, impatient, fearful of why he was not being allowed into the bedroom, Matthew was reaching for the doorknob when the unmistakable sound of a second high, wavering voice reached through the door, and Matthew dropped his hand to stand stock-still for a moment with the other three men, wide-eyed in surprise.
“Two?” Matthew exclaimed. “Twins?”
Caleb jabbed a finger toward Adam, grinning. “It happens.”
Another five minutes that seemed an eternity passed before the door opened and Margaret, beaming, glowing, stepped aside. “You can come in now.”
Matthew stepped through the doorway with the three other men following, and slowed for a moment. Clean sheets covered Kathleen to her chin, and on the near side of the bed, wrapped in clean towels, were two tiny squirming infants, heads covered with dark hair, red faces wrinkled as they wailed in unison. Matthew walked to the bed and knelt, touching the two tiny heads in wonder, and then reached to lay his hand tenderly against Kathleen’s cheek.
“Are you all right?”
Her eyes were weary, her voice thin. “Fine. Tired.” She smiled. “We have twins.”
“Twin girls,” Margaret announced.
Walter added. “Identical twins.”
Matthew turned to look up at the broad face. “Identical?”
“I can’t tell them apart. I judge each to be about six and a half pounds. I tied a string on the ankle of the one that was born first, so we can keep the birth certificates straight. You two get the names to me as soon as you can. Matthew, you should hold your daughters for a minute and then you’ll have to leave. The afterbirth is coming and then we’ve got to close the loin and wrap Kathleen.”
“You’re sure she’s all right?”
“Fine. She just needs some rest. She’ll start nursing tonight. Now you hold those two little people for a minute and then you and the rest of the men go on out.”
With Margaret’s help, Matthew took one in each arm, then gazed down at them, proudly studying their little faces, memorizing everything about them. After a few moments, he laid them back beside their mother, and once more leaned to tenderly touch her face. She saw the look in his face, and she held his hand against her cheek. Then he straightened and walked from the room with Billy, Caleb and Adam following him back to the parlor.
Billy said, “We three ought to get back to the office.” He faced Matthew, the brother he had never had, and extended his hand. “I’m happy for you.”
Grinning and expressing their congratulations, the others also shook Matthew’s hand. Then they buttoned on their heavy coats, pulled their tricorns low, and made their windblown way back to the wharf, one mittened hand holding their hats as they hunched forward into the freezing wind.
With Dorothy and Margaret helping, Doctor Soderquist handled the afterbirth, then washed Kathleen completely, and wrapped her loosely in long, clean cotton strips, from her knees to well above her waist. He covered her with a fresh sheet and the great comforter, then laid the two infants beside her.
“There. We’ve got the loin closed, and you should be comfortable. When you’re ready, nurse them. You’ll likely want to have someone to help with the nursing. I’ll send Henrietta Burns tomorrow. If you need me for anything, send Prissy or Adam, and I’ll come.”
He stopped beside the bed and looked down at Kathleen and there was a gentleness in his great, craggy face. “Two beautiful daughters,” he said quietly. “You’re blessed.” He walked from the room, buttoned on his great coat, and nodded his good-bye to Matthew and the women before walking out the door with his bag in his hand.
Prissy brought John home from school, and Matthew took him into the bedroom to stand beside his mother’s bed, staring at the two babes gazing about with eyes that could not see, working their tiny mouths and their fingers.
“They’re so small,” he said. “Was I that small?”
Kathleen reached to cup his chin in her hand. “Once. They’ll grow. You’ll have to help.”
“Can I touch one?”
Kathleen smiled. “Just be very careful.”
Cautiously he touched the nearest hand, and the fingers flexed and for a moment curled about his finger. He grinned at Kathleen. “She likes me.”
“Of course she does. She’s your sister.”
“What’s her name?”
“You’ll have to help us choose. Two names.”
Margaret glanced at Dorothy. “Well, the excitement’s passed for now. We’ve got a bundle of wash to do and a supper to prepare.”
Dorothy said, “I’ll take the wash home and bring it back tomorrow.”
Margaret nodded. “I’ll get something on for supper. You and Trudy come back about six o’clock and eat with us.”
The wind slowed in the late afternoon and died at sunset. With dusk settling, the first snowflakes came drifting, large and silent. By the time supper was finished and the women had gathered in the kitchen to wash and dry the dishes and fill the room with their excited chatter, the streets of Boston were white. Brigitte had forgiven the others for not getting her from her work and had gone into the bedroom half a dozen times to see the twins and watch while Matthew helped Kathleen sip at the thick, rich broth from the beef roast, and eat brown bread, and drink buttermilk.
Margaret gathered them in the dining room.
“I’ll stay here for a few days. Prissy, you’ll have to take care of our house and Caleb and Adam. Matthew, you and the men will be busy at the shipping office. I know you’re supposed to visit with the governor tomorrow—John Hancock. Things will be fine here. Dorothy, bring the wash whenever you finish it. If we need anything, I’ll send for you and Trudy. Will that be all right?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s the plan. The day’s over. Let’s all go on about our business and let Kathleen and the babies have some rest.”
Early the next morning, with snow still falling, Henrietta Burns arrived just as Matthew was leaving the house. She was to help nurse the t
wins and care for Kathleen in her confinement.
Walking in the quiet of the white wonderland, toward his meeting with John Hancock, Matthew carried beneath his arm his leather case filled with the documents and maps he thought might be needed to persuade the governor to support ratification of the Constitution.
He stopped inside the door of the Statehouse to shake the snow from his heavy cape and tricorn, then walked briskly to the governor’s office and was seated for a few moments before being taken to the heavy door into the governor’s office. He entered at the governor’s invitation and walked toward a large desk covered with documents. Governor Hancock rose to meet him.
“Mr. Dunson. Nice to see you again. I understand you’ve been busy getting ready for the convention next week.” Hancock reached to shake hands, smiling, cordial, eyes shrewd, calculating what Matthew would want of him. Everyone wanted something from the governor. Hancock coveted the power.
“Thank you, sir,” Matthew replied. “I appreciate your time.”
“Not at all. Please. Have a seat.”
They had met three times previously, exchanged letters, knew at least in large part what the other was about. Hancock, average size, regular features, a Harvard graduate with a fortune gained from commercial enterprise and five times governor, saw no sense in the usual waste of time spent in dancing around issues. He leaned forward in his chair and came directly to it.
“What can I do for you?”
Matthew laid his leather case on his side of the desk. “It’s possible we can do something for each other.”
Hancock’s expression did not change. He could not remember how many times he had heard those words in the world of politics. He waited, and Matthew did not waste time or words.
“The ratification convention convenes next Wednesday. You will attend, and those of us who support ratification of the new constitution will give you full support for president of the convention. In return, we ask that you consider giving your support to ratification.”
Hancock’s face was an inscrutable mask. Matthew continued. “We know that Sam Adams has invited Elbridge Gerry to attend the convention to answer questions about why he did not sign the document. We don’t know what Gerry will say. But whatever it is, your support of ratification will be helpful. Probably crucial.”
Matthew sat back and waited. Hancock dropped his gaze to his hands on his desktop and a few seconds passed.
“I’ll have to think on that. You should know that I am among those who share Mr. Gerry’s concern that the constitution does not include a bill of rights.”
“I’m aware of that,” Matthew said and waited, fully aware that the game of politics was based largely on one’s ability to know what parts of a plan to reveal, and when. He had said enough; the remainder of what he was prepared to give Hancock would wait.
When the governor did not respond, Matthew observed, “I think Mr. Gerry will finally support ratification. He was a major contributor to the document as it now stands, with or without a bill of rights, and when the time comes, I think he’ll support it.”
Hancock smiled woodenly. “That could be. Time will tell.”
They passed the necessary brief pleasantries, Matthew took his cue, rose, picked up his leather case, shook hands with Hancock, and walked back out into the snow-covered streets of Boston.
On Wednesday, January ninth, the Massachusetts convention convened and took up its business, but governor John Hancock was not present. He had been stricken with a serious flare-up of gout and begged to be excused; he would be in attendance as soon as possible. In the meantime he wished them every success as they proceeded. Back hall rumor was to the contrary. Some delegates whispered that Hancock had not yet made up his mind as to which faction would win, the supporters or the non-supporters, and until he made that determination, he would continue to be absent. Hancock had to be on the winning side; much of his consuming ambition for future political office depended on it.
Matthew sat in the gallery as the business of the convention proceeded, watching, making notes. Gerry appeared on schedule and sat quietly, waiting to be questioned publicly about his refusal to sign the document he had helped draft. He held his peace until Saturday, January twelfth, when a delegate launched into an attack on the horrendous debate held in May and June of 1787 in Philadelphia that had brought the entire constitutional convention to the verge of dissolving the United States, and had resulted in the pivotal compromise between the large and small states that saved the Union. Matthew watched Gerry squirm and control himself as long as he could, then rise and request permission to speak.
The hall fell silent until Francis Dana and other delegates sprang to their feet to loudly claim Gerry was out of order. In five seconds the chamber was locked in a verbal brawl that took the acting president minutes to quiet. To prevent further uproar, and perhaps violence, he loudly announced, “We stand adjourned until further notice.”
Matthew stood, relieved and concerned at the same time. Would this rupture in the proceeding result in worse animosity between the two groups? At the same time, he knew that at that moment the opposition would win if it came to an immediate vote. Thus, the supporters needed all the time they could get to argue their case behind the scenes. With Sunday to give the delegates time to cool, he wondered what Monday would bring.
They reconvened on Monday, and the most obvious person in the convention was Gerry, not because he was present, but because he was not. Offended, humiliated, he had refused to return to the chamber for any reason, and he never did. Matthew listened to the opposition as they sensed victory, and watched as they mounted steady pressure to bring the issue to a final vote. Matthew’s heart sank. With the opposition in the majority, they were succeeding, and there appeared to be no way to stop them.
Then Samuel Adams stood and was recognized. Sam Adams, the firebrand of the Revolution, who had not been hesitant to speak his views against ratification. Matthew leaned forward in his seat in the gallery, heart in his mouth, waiting for Sam Adams to deliver the death knell to the supporters.
Sam waited for quiet before he spoke. “Gentlemen, I sense these proceedings moving rapidly toward a conclusion. A final vote.” Murmuring broke out and subsided. “It concerns me. The matter we have before us—the question of the newly completed constitution—is of weight. It merits thought and reflection. I wonder at the wisdom of rushing these proceedings for any reason, least of all political gain. I think we ought not to be stingy of our time. Given the purpose for which we are gathered, may I suggest we have the obligation to give the debate on the question of ratification its due.”
Matthew straightened in surprise. Sam Adams, who had been against ratification?—giving the supporters more time, rescuing them from the brink of defeat? Matthew searched for an explanation, but could find none. He left the gallery and fairly trotted back to the office to try to invent a way to use the precious time to rally support. For three days he attended the convention sessions, seated in the gallery, listening, probing, seeking the answer. In the late afternoons he gathered knowledgeable persons at the office and sat in council with his people, arguing, scheming, searching. On Friday one of them brought a copy of the Massachusetts Sentinel newspaper, dated January twelfth, and read an article by an anonymous writer who styled himself as a “Republican Federalist.” The man proposed ratification of the constitution, but with “ . . . proposed amendments . . .”
Amendments! Matthew and Billy and Adam had talked of amendments before, and had prepared a few for John Hancock to consider when the time came. The time was now!
Hastily Matthew arranged a second meeting with Governor John Hancock, this time at the governor’s home, bringing Adam along to serve as his silent support. With his case beneath his arm, he rapped on the door and was shown into the library where John Hancock rose from behind his desk to shake their hands. Ever the politician, the governor smiled broadly as Matthew introduced Adam.
“Governor, this is Adam Dunson, my youngest brot
her. Harvard graduate, professional navigator, and personal assistant in the effort to obtain ratification of the constitution.”
Above the smile, Hancock’s eyes were severe, probing, watching Adam. “It is my pleasure, Adam,” Hancock said. “There is always room for a bright, educated young man. Won’t you both be seated?”
Adam watched Hancock move, aware that there wasn’t the slightest hint of gout in his legs. The luxurious appointments in the library and the wall covered with oak shelves and books on every subject were lost on Adam as he studied the governor. Matthew laid his case on the desk before him and waited for Hancock’s invitation, and Hancock took his cue.
“I’ve been distressed that my health has prevented my attendance at the convention,” he began. “I’ve been reading the daily journal of the proceedings. Interesting. I was surprised at Sam Adams. I presume you were too.”
Matthew answered, “I think Mr. Adams has had a change of heart.”
Hancock interrupted. “Sam? I doubt it. But who knows?”
Matthew read the message correctly. Don’t count on Sam just yet. Matthew wasted no further time. He opened his case and drew out a handwritten document. There was a firmness in his voice as he spoke.
“I have here several—about eleven—proposed amendments to the constitution. They include some—many—of the guarantees the citizens have been asking for in the form of a bill of rights. Among them is an amendment providing that all powers not specifically delegated by the constitution to the general government, are reserved to the states. We were going to introduce these on the floor of the convention ourselves, but on reflection, we now offer you the opportunity of introducing them.”
Matthew saw Hancock’s eyes narrow for a split second, and then Hancock took the paper, and for thirty seconds he scanned it, closely, carefully, then laid it down. Both he and Matthew knew that some of the strongest arguments against the constitution were the feeling that it robbed the states of their sovereignty, and left the people with no bill of rights. The proposed amendments made a giant leap toward giving the people what they wanted.