I am in an office in a city. I think it is Philadelphia, but why I think that I’m not sure. It is a government office. The tired, dreary furnishings and untidy appearance of the place would never be tolerated in the office of a private entrepreneur who knew that his livelihood might depend on making his place of business attractive and welcoming to the public.
There is a counter, and behind the counter stands a young man who seems to be about thirty years of age, an official of some kind. His dress is drab and uncared for, his manner is one of boredom or indifference, and all in all he matches the appearance and atmosphere of the office exactly. In front of him on the counter are several documents, ink on parchment, in formal script, but because of I am too far away, I cannot read them.
In front of the counter stands an old man. His appearance has changed since I saw him in the house at the top of the hill, but I know it is Jacob. He has aged greatly; his body is thin, and I see that he is in pain and walks with the aid of a stick. Not only that, but there is a young woman with him who is giving him additional support for walking and standing. Her name is Isabel. How I know that, I cannot say. His clothing is worn, and he has no hat. He is in conversation with the young man, and their demeanor suggests that the conversation is not going well.
‘And I repeat, sir,’ the young man is saying, ‘that there is no gold to pay such claims. If it were a matter of twenty dollars I would pay you, but I have no authority to pay such sums as you claim, even if you were to bring me proof of them. The country is not yet recovered from the war.’
‘The war? The war has been over these twenty years,’ Jacob protests. ‘I doubt you were more than twelve years old at its end.’
The young man seems briefly amused by this.
‘You speak truly, sir. Yet our credit abroad is uncertain, and after the war the government caused such masses of currency to be printed that the value of our scrip is even today far less than that of a like amount of gold. There is much distress among the people, and we have as yet no guarantee of our security from our enemies.’
He pauses.
‘I beg you to understand, sir, that I have this from my superiors, not of my own knowledge. I have no such authority or position that I am privy to such matters myself. But my superiors tell me that such gold as we have must be expended for the public good.’
‘There would be no public good,’ Jacob exclaims, ‘except such as the King of England would allow us, unless I and others like me had saved the General and his army from ruin when he camped at Valley Forge. It was after that winter that the war began to turn in our favour.’
‘Be that as it may, sir, you bring me no proof of the debt owed to you. The Congress stipulated that those who loaned their gold were to be issued certificates which stated the amount thereof, and on presentation of those certificates to this office, they should be recompensed with the interest allowed by the Congress.’
He points to the documents in front of him.
‘When you last came to me, you asked that I make a diligent search of the office. I have done so. The documents I found, you see before me. Two certificates I have from gentlemen I believe to be your brothers, one for some twenty-five dollars and the other for some forty. These were presented to this office and the amounts were repaid to them.’
‘I have told you of my proof, both on the last occasion I came here and on this occasion,’ Jacob replies in a loud voice. He is angry now. ‘I was instructed by the General himself to retain my certificates until such time as he had ensured the repayment and to submit them with a letter indicating his interest in the matter.’
‘Yet you say you have not retained them?’
He is getting bored and frustrated with this discussion, and wants only to get rid of Jacob in any way he can. Jacob is also frustrated.
‘Sir,’ Isabel reminds him quietly, ‘you dealt with another officer when you yielded the certificates. You must explain to this gentleman why you did so.’
‘I have explained…’ Jacob replies.
‘Yet you must do so again. Be patient, sir, I beg you.’
‘Very well,’ Jacob agrees. ‘‘You must understand, sir, that when I first came with my certificates I spoke with another officer, your senior in rank – you will forgive me, sir, I mean no offense by this.’
‘I take none. When came you?’
He looks at Isabel.
‘Fully fifteen years ago,’ she replies.
‘More, I think,’ Jacob says. ‘Before our Treasury removed from Philadelphia to the new District. Notwithstanding, I brought with the certificates a letter, as General Washington had instructed me, indicating his surety for me in this matter, which letter was to be placed before the highest officers of state for their consideration.’
‘Then, that could not be done in this office.’
‘So I was advised. The officer with whom I dealt proposed to take the certificates and the letter with him and to present the same to the high officials who must see them.’
‘No doubt that was done?’
‘I have no intelligence whether it be done or not. I know only that I am not repaid. I have returned to this place to inquire many times, and am met with the same response, that the officer now in charge has no information, and must make inquiries in the Treasury. Then, when I return again, it appears that no one in the Treasury has intelligence of it. The certificates and my letter are nowhere to be found, as if they are vanished into the air, spirited away by some malicious hobgoblin.’
The officer shakes his head.
‘I know not what I may do, sir.’ A thought occurs to him. ‘Did this officer, with whom you dealt, offer you no receipt for the documents you gave him?’
Jacob hangs his head, and does not reply for some time.
‘I thought not to inquire for one,’ he admits. ‘It was foolish of me, perhaps. But I believed I was dealing with men of honour, who would deal with me honourably, just as the General had. I would believe it of them still, but I must tell you that my confidence has waned, and I no longer know whether I believe it.’
‘I will report the matter to my superiors, sir. I can do no more.’
‘I had the word of the General himself. He would have pursued my cause. He undertook to do so.’
‘President Washington is deceased these ten years and more, sir.’
‘Notwithstanding. I had his word.’
‘I can do no more, sir.’
My clock radio is telling me what the weather will be in the DC area for today. It is time to get up. I make coffee. I call Arlene, and tell her I will be late in this morning. I call Arya, and ask whether I can come to see her and talk. Of course I can, she says, without asking any questions of me.
As I am getting ready to leave my apartment, it suddenly occurs to me that it has been more than twenty-four hours since I last thought about Jordan.