by Tim Black
“Hello, Mr. Franklin,” Victor said. “Allow me to introduce my teacher, Mr. Greene.”
“Good day, sir,” Franklin said, nodding to Mr. Greene. “Pray sir, are you a Patriot or a Tory?” He sat down in a chair opposite Mr. Green, his hands covering the top of a walking cane made of bamboo.
“A Patriot, Mr. Franklin,” was all Mr. Greene could manage. Mr. Greene seemed starstruck. Victor knew Ben Franklin was Mr. Greene’s hero, but the sage of Philadelphia was frowning at Mr. Greene. Mr. Greene seemed to have realized his faux pas and corrected himself.
“Doctor Franklin, excuse me,” Mr. Greene said, assuaging the great man’s ego.
Franklin’s face brightened and Mrs. Ross brought the old man a chair. She also brought Mr. Greene his mended glasses.
“You are the cousin, I believe, of General Greene?” Franklin began. “From the British colony in Florida?”
“Yes, Dr. Franklin,’ Mr. Greene replied.
“Are you friends with your Spanish neighbors?” Franklin asked.
Victor wondered how Franklin knew so much about Florida in the 21st century and its Hispanic population, and then he realized Franklin was talking about 18th century Florida, which was a Spanish colony, except for the twenty years between 1763 and 1783 when the British ruled the peninsula—a result of a settlement of the Seven Years’ War and Spain backing the losing French.
“Yes, of course,” Greene replied.
“Well,” Franklin said. “If Spain will help us obtain our independence, perhaps we can help them regain Florida.”
“I see,” Mr. Greene said.
Franklin was a wheeler-dealer, Victor had learned. Mr. Greene told them Franklin was much more complicated than the stereotype of a crazy old coot who loved to fly his kite in the rain and chase the French ladies around the palace at Versailles. Besides being one of the premier scientists in the world during the 18th century, he was perhaps the most skilled diplomat the United States had ever had, able to cajole the French into an alliance that saved Uncle Sam’s bacon and birthright: Franklin oversaw the negotiation of the Treaty of Paris, an agreement that not only gave the United States its independence, but ceded the nascent nation the entire swath of land between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mississippi River, save for Florida, which was indeed returned to Spain in repayment of Spain’s assistance to the United States in the American Revolution. Victor realized Franklin intended a quid pro quo—one thing or another—with Spain. You help us, Spain, and we will return your precious Florida in return.
“I’m intrigued by your spectacles, Mr. Greene. I was at the silversmith’s on another matter when Mrs. Ross brought your eyeglasses in for repair. What is that odd material at the end of the arms?”
Oh no, Victor thought. Franklin was asking about the plastic ends of the glasses that set over a person’s ears.
“That is a strange wood we have in Cassadaga, Dr. Franklin,” Mr. Greene lied.
Victor had never considered Mr. Greene capable of deceit, nor had he heard him lie, unlike some of the teachers he endured in his education. He smiled slightly to think Mr. Greene was fibbing Franklin, his all-time hero.
“Cassadaga?”
“Our home in Florida, Dr. Franklin. It is a rare wood,” he repeated, referring to the plastic at the end of the arms of the spectacles.
“Indeed, very odd. And what is this line across the lens?”
Oh no, butterfly danger! Butterfly, Mr. Greene, butterfly. “Did I just see a butterfly, Mr. Greene?” he said.
Mr. Greene frowned at Victor and said to Benjamin Franklin, “Two lenses, Dr. Franklin. One for distance, the other for reading.”
“May I see?”
Mr. Greene handed him his glasses.
“You know, Mr. Greene, I am forever taking spectacles off and putting them on for reading and then distance. And here you have two in one, a bi lens, a bi-focus, so to speak. It is remarkable.”
Of course it is remarkable, Dr. Franklin, Victor thought. You invented bifocals!
What was Mr. Greene doing by “butterflying” Ben Franklin? He remembered the morning and Thomas Jefferson’s complaints of moving his chair to catch the light as he read or wrote, and Mr. Greene hinting at the word “swivel,” like in swivel chair. Was it okay to do that since Jefferson developed the swivel chair and Franklin invented the bifocal lens?
“Well now,” Franklin said, standing up. “Mr. Greene, you must join me for supper at City Tavern this evening and tell me more of this marvelous wood and your interesting lenses.”
“Dr. Franklin?”
“Yes, Mr. Greene?”
“Your cane. What is that odd wood?”
What was going on? Victor wondered. Mr. Greene knew it was bamboo. There were bamboo plants in Florida. Heck, Victor had seen bamboo in Georgia and South Carolina. Of course, he doubted bamboo grew in Pennsylvania, so it was probably an exotic item for Benjamin Franklin.
Franklin beamed. “It is called ‘bamboo,’ it is from Siam, Mr. Greene. It is technically a ‘grass,’ not a wood,” he explained.
“May I examine it?”
“Surely,” Franklin said with a pleased look on his face.
“It is so light, Dr. Franklin.”
“Yes, but durable. Take it. I make it my gift to you.”
“Why, Dr. Franklin, that is nice of you, sir. Please take my hickory cane in exchange.”
“That is not necessary, Mr. Greene.”
“Please, Dr. Franklin, it would be my honor.”
Franklin half-bowed to Mr. Greene and took the hickory cane.
“Perhaps later for supper then, Mr. Greene?” Franklin said.
“If I can make it, sir,” Greene replied. “I have obligations to my students.”
“Well, bring them along, especially that young lass Minerva,” Franklin said, giving Mr. Greene a man-to-man wink.
Why you old… Victor thought. What was he thinking? Wasn’t he the guy who was going to ask Dr. Franklin for tips with girls? If he paid attention to the old guy, he might pick up something, he reminded himself.
After Franklin had gone and Mrs. Bridges and Mrs. Ross were attending customers in the front room, Victor said to his teacher, “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean, Victor?”
“The bifocals?”
“He invented them in 1780, Victor.”
“Yes, but this is 1776, Mr. Greene. Four years too soon.”
“I don’t think that’s going to make a difference. He probably would have invented them in 1776 anyway if he hadn’t been sent off as ambassador to France after the Declaration was signed.”
“The bamboo cane?”
“A talisman. Rodney’s riding crop is effective, but one has to still retrieve it later in the day. This cane—” he stroked it like he was petting a dog “—can replace the riding crop on the next visit without the worry of an inability to retrieve it, like Rodney’s riding crop. I realize it is a calculated risk, Victor, and perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, but after all these years chasing down the darn riding crop, well, I saw Franklin’s cane and decided to go for it.”
“So you used Dr. Franklin?”
Mr. Greene smiled. “Yes. It is something that Dr. Franklin could appreciate, for it was in his nature as well: the ability to get something from someone without them realizing what you had done.”
“But I thought Franklin was your hero?” Victor said. He didn’t understand how Mr. Greene could take advantage of a man whom he claimed to be his hero.
“Franklin is my hero, he’s our country’s hero, and only by studying Franklin could I have managed to pull it off and obtain a new talisman. This one is good until 1790, Victor!”
“1790?”
“That’s the year Franklin died. We’ll be able to visit the Constitutional Convention of 1787 if we wish. You know they had to carry him into the hall in 1787 on a sedan chair carried by four convicts from the Walnut Street Prison?”
“His gout?” Victor asked.
“
Yes, it was really bad by 1787. Too much meat and not enough fruits and veggies in his diet,” Mr. Greene explained.
“He’s already suffering from it, Mr. Greene.”
“Yes, I noticed. He really needed that chair. What time is it, Victor? Discreetly check your iPod. I don’t want to rely on Mrs. Ross’s clock to leave here.”
Victor made sure Mrs. Bridges and Mrs. Ross were busy in the other room and fished his iPod from a pocket, caught the time and replaced the device.
“Nearly 4 P.M., Mr. Greene.”
“I hope the girls return soon. We need to be getting ready. This trip has been a disaster, I’m afraid, Victor.”
“I don’t know, sir. I’ve found it to be most educational.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, I’ve chatted with Benjamin Franklin and caught flies for Thomas Jefferson. I listened to Rodney address the Continental Congress and cast his vote for independence.”
Mr. Greene nodded. “That is indeed a productive day. I can’t say the same for the Anderson twins though, Victor.”
Victor thought for a moment, then replied, “But sir, they got to see a side of 18th century life that none of your prior students has ever seen.”
Mr. Greene managed a half-smile. “Well, Victor, a few years ago, I did have a boy who was severely intoxicated in a tavern. We got him home, but I assigned him to Saturday School for his misbehavior. Strangely, he arrived back at school completely sober. I found him in the tavern spouting off about the future to an audience that seemed to think him crazy as he went on about trips to the moon on rocket ships and so forth. Still, I had to give him Saturday School for that. We were lucky that when we got back to Cassadaga nothing had changed. We’ll have to check textbooks when we get home, Victor, to make sure nothing we did today impacted history. I know, the bifocals, but he was going to do it anyway, so I only sped up the process by a few years. That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I hope not, Mr. Greene.”
“Be a good lad, Victor. Go down to the docks and see if you can see what happened to the girls, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Victor said.
Before he left, Victor asked Mrs. Ross for the loan of her sword cane and she gave it to him. He didn’t think he would need the cane, but he wanted to have it in case of an emergency, because nothing that had occurred that day had followed the lesson plans that Mr. Greene had developed.
Chapter 12
Minerva and Bette docked the shallop. The Anderson twins jumped out without helping the girls, and Bette tied the little boat to the dock and thanked the elderly fisherman for the loan of his equipment.
“Anything for Mrs. Bridges, miss,” he smiled, revealing missing teeth.
Bette smiled in return, showing a smile perfected through the modern magic of orthodontics.
Minerva joined Bette Kromer on the wooden dock. The ghosts of the Beards were arguing. Minerva was surprised. She didn’t know that ghosts argued. Of course, Minerva had heard her parents arguing before, and some of those arguments got a bit heated and some of the words her parents used with one another pained Minerva, for she felt so uncomfortable when her parents fought. And here were Mary and Charles Beard, and while Charles might have been the more famous scholar, his wife was getting the best of the argument with him.
“That’s the best you could blow, Charles, that was pathetic,” Mary said, referring to Charles’ help in guiding the boat back to shore. “We’re lucky the children are still alive. But then children are a woman’s work, aren’t they, Charles? Isn’t that what you always said? Women’s work?”
“Mary, I am dead. That’s sort of cut my wind power. What do you want from me” Charles groused, but his tongue wasn’t able to progress any further before Mary let forth another verbal assault. “Useless, useless,” she said, shaking her head in disdain.
“Don’t call me ‘useless,’ that’s what John Wilkes Booth said just before he died when he looked at his hands.”
And so it went: Back and forth. Back and forth. The ghosts kept arguing.
Minerva was confused. Weren’t people in heaven supposed to be happy? Why were the Beards arguing?
“Please don’t fight,” Minerva begged.
“Ah, let them fight, Minerva,” Heath said. “I’ve never seen ghosts fight. It’s kind of cool.”
Mary Beard looked at Minerva on the wharf as Bette and the Anderson twins left the dock. While Mary was staring at Minerva, Charles took the opportunity to float off and away from his wife, muttering, “It was supposed to be ‘till death do us part’ not eternity.”
When Mary realized her husband had fled she called after him, “Coward, come back and fight!”
“Mrs. Beard, why are you acting that way with Charles?”
“I want to put some life in the man, dear,” she replied.
“But Mrs. Beard, he’s dead.”
Mary shook her head. “Heck, he was dead when he was alive. Never wanted to have any fun. Just sit all day in a dusty library at Carpenter’s Hall. That’s all he wanted to do on this trip. Sit in an old library. Hang out with some musty old books. I mean, really, why bother to even come? You don’t think there are archives in the afterlife?”
“There are?”
“Of course, dear. Filing cabinets everywhere.”
“Why don’t they use CDs instead of paper?”
“They do, dear. You should have seen it before the seraphim went digital with the records. It was a mess, let me tell you. I mean, I couldn’t believe some of the people they let into the place, and I blame that on sloppy paper work from days gone by. I think we’ll see less riff raff in Beulah Land with computerized records. St. Peter doesn’t need that dusty old book now, he has a laptop and just types in a name and click, your whole life comes up. Peter calls it ‘Whoogle’ because they find about whoever they want. They can even bring up video clips from a person’s life,” Mary went on.
“Like YouTube,” Minerva said. She remembered the Christmas song from her childhood: “He knows when you’ve been sleeping; he knows when you’re awake.” It was kind of scary to think that St. Peter could just click a moment from a soul’s past and play the “vitae video,” as Mrs. Beard called it. Minerva listened to Mrs. Beard until the ghost started complaining once again about her husband.
“Mrs. Beard?”
“Yes dear?”
“I’m a bit worried about the soldiers on Mud Island. I think we ticked them off.” Minerva thought of saying the vulgar version of “P.O.,” but Mrs. Beard was not only dead, she was a really old lady too, and that would be improper, as her grandmother always said. “Could you float over there and see what they might be planning?”
“Reconnaissance?”
“Yes, see if they are going to chase us, if you can.”
“I can do that, dearie,” Mrs. Beard replied, and floated off across the Delaware River.
“Where is Mrs. Beard going?” Bette said to Minerva as she joined her peers on Front Street on the dry Philadelphia cobblestone.
“I asked her to fly over to Fort Mifflin and see if the soldiers were going to chase us,” Minerva replied. “They did shoot at us, after all.”
“Smart thinking, Minerva,” Bette said, as the Anderson twins walked ahead of them. “Look at them, Minerva, Dumb and Dumber.”
Minerva chuckled. “Well, this certainly turned out differently than Mr. Greene planned, didn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I think it has been sort of fun. One good thing came out of it, I think.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“I got to know you better.”
Minerva stopped and gave Bette Kromer a big hug. “That’s a nice thing to say, Bette.”
“Yes,” Bette smiled. “You’re not as evil as I thought you were.”
“Neither are you,” Minerva replied. “You know, we never saw or heard much of the debate on independence, but I got the gist of it all by just sitting down with Benjamin Franklin.”
“That amazes me, that you
sat next to Franklin,” Bette said.
“Well, you spent a lot of time with Betsy Ross,” Minerva replied.
“That’s true. Look, here comes Victor.”
“He’s carrying a cane, but I hope he got the riding crop. I don’t think I want to spend my life in the 18th century, do you?”
“Heck no. I mean, outhouses and chamber pots. And the smells,” Bette went on. “It’s like one big boys’ locker room with smelly socks.”
“How do you know about boys’ locker rooms, Bette Kromer?”
“I have two brothers, Minerva, and they leave smelly socks in the bathroom all the time, and their athletic supporters too.”
“Gross.”
“I’ll say,” Bette said. Then, putting her voice up an octave, she said, “Hello, Victor.” As usual, the change in voice had no positive impact on Victor.
Victor ignored Bette, as he was busy exchanging punches to the shoulder with the Anderson twins. That was the weird way boys showed affection, Minerva realized. Why couldn’t they just hug? Finally, the ritual punching completed, Victor said hello to the girls. The kids formed a huddle on Front Street, moving to the sidewalk as a carriage came their way.
“Did you get the riding crop?” Minerva asked.
“Yes. I gave it to Mr. Greene. We’re set for departure at five. We’re going to have to carry Mr. Greene though. He seems to have sprained his ankle…”
“How mad is Mr. Greene with me?” Heath asked.
“Very,” Victor said. “I’d say ‘Green Hornet’ stage.”
Green Hornet was the nickname the students gave Mr. Greene when he was angry with his students.
“Detention, you think?”
“I’d say Saturday School.”
“No, not the ‘Breakfast Club.’”
Minerva smiled. The kids at Cassadaga Area High School had nicknamed Saturday School detention after the 1980s movie The Breakfast Club. It was the ultimate pain: going back to school for a kid’s day off. Saturday was the only non-school, non-church day of the week, the only day when a kid was free, and to be locked up in Saturday detention was worse than an outbreak of acne before the prom. Minerva watched the change in Heath Anderson. He hunched his shoulders and reminded Minerva of a balloon that had suddenly lost its air, for he seemed limp and lethargic.