Adam came back soon, mounted the wagon, and they continued down the busy street.
“Look, Molly!” There was excitement in his eyes as he pulled the team to a halt in front of a plain white building, and he pointed up to a sign that read: BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, PRINTER. “He’s still here.”
“Do you think he’ll remember you, Adam?” Molly asked.
“Why, I don’t reckon so. That was—let’s see, this is 1754 and I was only thirteen, so that’d be—why, it’s been fourteen years ago!” He shook his head, then got out and helped her down. “No, Mr. Franklin’s now a famous man; I don’t think he’d remember me.”
He led her into the shop and was surprised to see that very little was changed. He had remembered it as being much larger, and now there were at least five men working a series of presses that lined the walls instead of the single one that had stood in the middle of the floor.
“Help you?” a tall man asked, leaving his press to come and stand before them.
“Is Mr. Franklin in?” Adam asked.
“Yes, but somebody’s with him. He ought to be able to see you before too long.”
“We’ll wait.”
The tall man eyed the long rifle case that Adam carried easily under his arm, and said, “Don’t guess that thing’s loaded?”
“No.”
Reassured, the printer went back to his press, and the pair stood there watching the work for ten minutes. The door to the inner office swung open and two men walked out talking. Adam recognized Franklin at once, for the man was little changed. Indeed, except for a larger girth and a hairline that had crept upward, the famous man looked almost the same as he had at their last meeting.
He stopped abruptly, took a look at the pair, and there was a puzzled look in his small brown eyes. He stepped forward saying, “I know you, sir—but the name is gone.”
“Why, I’m surprised you remember me, Mr. Franklin. It’s been a long time ago—fourteen years. I’m Adam Winslow, and you printed a book for my father—”
“Of course!” Franklin slapped his high forehead with his palm, and a smile spread over his round face. “The journal of Gilbert Winslow, your great-grandfather—why, it’s one of the finest pieces of work ever put out in my shop! And your father, how is he?”
“Gone, Mr. Franklin. He died five years ago.”
“Ah, well, I’m sorry, my boy!” Franklin shook his head, and put his hand out impulsively.
“I think he got as much comfort out of your book as anything,” Adam said. “He was very proud of it.”
“Well, now, I’m very happy—very happy!” Franklin nodded his head and there was a smile on his thin lips. “So much of the work I do is ephemeral—much of it not worth a great deal, you know. But Winslow’s Journal was the first book I was really proud of—and still am! Not only a first-class piece of printing, but the subject matter—oh, my word!”
“May I meet your friend, Benjamin?” Franklin’s companion, spoke up suddenly. The moon-faced man dressed in buff broadcloth declared, “I always said that was the best thing you ever put out of this shop. I’ve read it many times.”
“Why, that’s so! This is Adam Winslow—great-grandson of Gilbert Winslow. This is Mr. Paul Revere.”
“Gilbert was my great-grandfather,” Adam said, shaking the hand Revere offered.
“And you have another beautiful young lady with you, I see,” Franklin said. He smiled at Molly and added, “The last time, I recall, your lovely sister was with you.”
“This is Miss Molly Burns—Mr. Franklin and Mr. Revere,” Adam returned. He was always a little awkward introducing Molly, so he said quickly, “I remember we went to hear Mr. Whitefield.”
Franklin was admiring Molly with a steady glance, but he looked back at Adam and smiled broadly. “Why, so we did! Twice, if I remember correctly.”
Revere seemed amused by the reference. “People can’t really understand your fascination with that preacher, Ben. Every time he comes to America, he practically lives with you. You sure he’s not made a convert out of you?”
Franklin sighed regretfully. “Unfortunately, not, Paul. I’m still just a seeker after the Lord. But—there is something about that man—there really is!” He shrugged and changed the subject quickly. “Well, Mr. Winslow, can I help you in any way?”
“I came to Philadelphia to get some advice on a new type of rifle I’m working on, Mr. Franklin, and I remembered that you were interested in inventions.”
Revere threw up his hands, exclaiming, “Heaven help us, Mr. Winslow! You’ve touched on his madness! If there’s one thing Ben dotes on more than politics, it’s some hare-brained invention—the wilder the better.” He snorted impatiently and added, “Why, right now he’s working on some fool thing that’ll bring a fire right into the middle of the room without even a fireplace! He’ll burn the town down before he’s finished!”
Franklin shook his head, and reached out for the rifle. “You’re a fine one to talk! Why, you spend half your time tinkering at that shop of yours.”
The two men argued mildly as Franklin pulled the rifle out of the soft leather case. But when both men began to examine it, they gave cries of approval. “Why, this is fine work!” Revere said instantly, then added, “But what’s this part here?”
“That’s the new firing mechanism I’ve been working on,” Adam answered.
Franklin looked at the part Revere was pointing to. “Come back into my office, Winslow,” he said, “I want to examine this more closely. Goodbye, Revere.”
“I’m dismissed, you see!” The other man laughed and added as he shook hands with Adam, “He’s afraid I’ll steal your idea—and he may be right. But you’d better keep your eyes open—and you, too, Miss Burns.” He lowered his voice so that Franklin, who had walked away toward the office, could not hear. “An invention—a pretty woman—those are Ben Franklin’s weaknesses!” Then he winked and left the shop.
Adam led Molly into Franklin’s office, and for the next hour she listened as the two talked about frizzens, pans, priming, and other matters. At first Adam was in such awe of Franklin that he said little, but soon he forgot himself and argued loudly over the design of the mechanism.
Finally, Franklin looked up and said, “Why, Miss Burns! We’ve quite neglected you!” He shook off her denial, adding vigorously, “You must be bored to death with all this technical talk.”
“Why, no, Mr. Franklin, I’m not.”
“Mr. Winslow, would you mind stepping over to the inn and getting us a pot of tea? I’ll entertain Miss Burns.”
Adam left and Franklin looked closely at the girl, taking in the clear gray-blue eyes, the golden tan that no woman of fashion would have, the strong hands and erect carriage. He had been conscious of her beauty, but now he began to speak with her, and he was quite adept at the business, his questions seeming quite artless.
Soon, however, she found herself telling the printer all about herself—and Adam. He had asked where they lived, and she hesitated, then said, “Well, we moved from Boston to the Ohio Valley in 1751. Mr. Winslow has a large tract of land there.”
Franklin stared at her. “But—that’s not a very safe place, or so I understand. And you were with him?”
“Oh, yes.” She saw a question flicker in his eyes and knew what he was wondering. “I’m indentured to Mr. Winslow. My time will be up in another year.”
“I see,” Franklin said simply, “I’m sure that’ll be a happy day for you.”
Molly had grown accustomed to people being curious as to her rather unusual relationship with Adam, but her face grew warm under the scrutiny of Franklin. “I—I suppose it will. I don’t think of it.” Then she said quickly to change the subject, “We’re living in Virginia now.”
“Virginia?”
“Yes, a little town near the Potomac River, Woodbridge.”
“I know Woodbridge. It’s not far from Alexandria.”
“Adam’s brother Charles has a large plantation close to there—
the family business. Their cousin is Saul Howland—you may have heard of him?”
“The businessman from Boston? Yes, a very shrewd man, so I hear. And what do you do in Virginia?”
“Why, I work.” Molly looked up in surprise, and then she added quickly, “Adam’s going to have a shop in town. That’s all he wants to do, Mr. Franklin—work on guns. For the last few years he’s been so busy with the fur business he had to put it off, but then he finally told his brother that he was going to quit—so that’s when Mr. Howland and Mr. Winslow agreed that Adam should start a shop close to the Virginia property.”
Adam came in just then, bearing a pot of steaming tea. Franklin took the teapot and insisted on serving them. As they drank the beverage, the printer remarked, “I think your new matchlock will not work—not as it is, Mr. Winslow. But it has promise.”
Adam flushed with pleasure and replied, “That’s my own thinking. I thought you might be interested in doing some work on it yourself.”
“I’ve no time, unfortunately—too many irons in the fire as it is!” Franklin shook his head, but there was a steady light of interest in his eyes. “You and I both know that the answer is in breech-loading rifles—but nobody’s been able to come up with a workable model, not yet.”
“It’s got to come—but if I could just perfect this firing mechanism—why, any army in the world would jump at it.”
“Yes, and do you know . . .?” He paused and seemed struck by a new thought. “Miss Burns was telling me you’re going to settle down in Woodbridge?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I know some people there who might be of help to you. I had a very good friend, a Mr. Lawrence Washington, who died a little over a year ago. He was very interested in the Ohio land where you’ve just been.”
“Yes, he was one of the founders of the Ohio Company, so my brother Charles tells me.”
“Ah, yes. Well, his brother, a young chap named George, has taken over for Lawrence—and I believe you ought to talk with him.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“Because he will be very interested in your views on the land in the Ohio Valley, for one thing. He’s been there himself. He and a man named Van Braam took a message to the French to clear out of the land claimed by the Crown.”
Adam smiled grimly. “You know how much good that did? The French are dug into that country and nothing short of a war is going to put them out!”
Franklin sipped at his tea, staring at Adam, then nodded. “That’s exactly the sort of view that Washington needs to hear, my boy! He feels the same way himself, so I hear, but the politicians are blind to the situation.”
“They won’t be when the French turn the Indians loose to butcher the settlers there.”
“You think they’ll do that! Surely not, Mr. Winslow—I mean, they are civilized—the French, that is!”
“They’ve already done it,” Adam shrugged. “That’s why I took Molly and cleared out. The Iroquois are champing at the bit! You don’t hear about it here, but every month some helpless settler and his family are butchered!”
Franklin nodded. “Yes, you must see Washington. Not only to pass this word along about the French in the Ohio Valley; he’ll be interested in this rifle as well. He’s a lieutenant colonel in the Virginia militia, and his brother Lawrence often told me how fascinated he was with small arms and cannon.”
Molly spoke up suddenly, “Adam, don’t you remember that name?”
“What name, Molly?”
“Why, George Washington. Charles mentioned him in his last letter—no, it was the one before last. He said his plantation was called Mount Vernon.”
“That’s Washington’s home, all right,” Franklin confirmed. “A fine place, so they say.”
“I can’t remember,” Adam said thoughtfully.
“It’s at his home that the ball is going to be.”
Adam snapped his fingers, saying, “That’s right, Molly!” He smiled at Franklin, adding with a twinkle in his dark blue eyes, “I came to Philadelphia to see somebody about my rifle—but Molly came to buy a dress. My brother tells me we’re going to go to a ball, and it’s at Mt. Vernon. I’d forgotten.”
“You’ll be moving in high society,” Franklin smiled. “Along with the Hugers and the Lees, the Washingtons are at the top of the ladder.”
“Maybe you could suggest a place to get a fancy dress for Miss Burns?” Adam asked.
“And a suit for you, Adam,” Molly added quickly. “You can’t go to a ball wearing those buckskins.”
“I think we can find you something suitable,” Franklin offered with a smile. “Philadelphia has quite a few shops, and a beautiful young lady such as Miss Burns will have no trouble.” He nodded to Adam, saying, “You tell Washington about those Indians—and make him look at your rifle.”
“Don’t see myself taking a rifle to a fancy ball, Mr. Franklin,” Adam grinned. “Just the thought of goin’ is pretty scary after being out in the woods for so long. But I want Molly to go. She’s not had many fancy things, and I want to see her all dressed up in silks myself!”
Franklin did not miss the expression that swept across the young woman’s face as Winslow spoke, but he only nodded and said, “It will be quite good for both of you—that ball at Mount Vernon!”
* * *
“You say this brother of yours has been living with the savages, Charles? Can’t see how he’ll fit into a ball!”
Lord Stirling leaned back against the rich leather of the seat, pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his pocket, and flicked away a spot of dust from his sleeve. He was a big man, slightly corpulent, with large bold eyes in a florid face. He had the air of one who was accustomed to being obeyed, but he appeared indolent as he turned his eyes to the tobacco field they were passing through.
“I dare say you’re right, Henry,” Charles shrugged. “My brother never was much for things of this sort. A diamond in the rough, you might say.” He cast a glance at the large man beside him and added, “He’ll be useful, I think.”
“How could a bumpkin be useful? Seems he’d be quite out of place and a bore. Don’t suppose he’s shaved or had a bath for years?”
Charles laughed. “Oh, he’ll be presentable, never fear. But he knows that Ohio country like a book—and we’ve got to convince the others to come into the Ohio Company.”
“You’ve been at me for a month about the blasted company, Winslow!” Stirling complained. “I’m not sure it’s going to be as profitable as you say.”
“Then I’ll have to do a better job of selling you on the thing, Henry!” Winslow laughed. “You made a fortune in the slave trade—now I want to see you make another in the fur business.”
“And make you a bundle of money at the same time?”
“Of course!” Charles Winslow shrugged and replied, “I’ve never lied to you about that. You wouldn’t believe me for a second if I told you I was only out to serve you. We’re two of a kind, Henry—get rich and stay that way!”
Stirling suddenly threw his head back and roared with laughter, his large teeth gleaming in his wide mouth. “Now I believe that!” he cried. “So we’ll have this rural brother of yours to entice the Lees and the other rich fish into the company, eh?”
“Adam may not look like much—but he’s spent the last four years working among the fur traders and the Indians out in the wildest part of that country. He knows every inch of it, and somehow he’s gained the confidence of some big chiefs—Indians, you know.”
“All very well, but you should have sent your man to clean him up—dress him like a gentleman!”
“Oh, I told him to go by a shop in Philadelphia and buy some good clothes.”
“It’ll have to do, I suppose.”
Stirling leaned back and looked over the small town that they were entering. He said nothing until the driver pulled up and asked a passer-by where the gunsmith’s shop was located, then moved on down the street.
“I hope he’s ready,” Stirling gru
mbled as they pulled up in front of a neat frame building with the sign GUNSMITH over the door.
Charles swung down, saying, “He just moved in three days ago, but I sent word yesterday we’d pick him up early today.” He moved to the door and entered without knocking. Inside he saw a room about twelve feet wide and at least twenty feet long. There were weapons of all kinds hanging from pegs, and several large workbenches were covered with parts of rifles, muskets and pistols. A burly man with a shock of thick black hair beginning to go silver stood up and asked, “Yes, sir? Can I serve you?”
“I’m looking for Adam Winslow.”
“Ah, yes, sir, I’ll just call him for you.” He moved to the back of the shop, called through the door, “Mr. Winslow? Can you come to the front?” He came back to stand beside his bench, and said with a smile, “You’d be Mr. Winslow’s brother?”
“Yes.”
“I’m James Tanner, Mr. Winslow. Your cousin, Mr. Howland, hired me to come and help Mr. Adam. Me and my wife live here with Mr. Winslow.” He looked at the back door, then added, “He’s a fine gunmaker, sir. But then you know all about that.”
Charles nodded and started to speak, but Adam came into the room. “Why, Adam, I wasn’t expecting you to look so—”
“Civilized, Charles?” Adam laughed. He was wearing a plain suit of brown, with a white linen shirt and a light blue waistcoat. His muscular figure gave the simple attire a certain air, Charles saw, and he was relieved that he would not be embarrassed over his brother’s dress.
“You look very well, Adam,” Charles said with a smile. “Are you ready?”
“Let me call Molly.”
“Molly?”
There was such surprise in Charles’s voice that Adam stared at him. “Yes, she’s going with me.”
“But—she’s a servant!”
Adam settled in his tracks and the familiar stubborn look came to his jaw. Charles knew there was no need to argue, and he smiled, saying, “I’d forgotten about Molly, to tell the truth. Does she look presentable?”
The Indentured Heart Page 20