“Stop that, Thomas McAndrews! Stop that, all of you!” a hoarse voice commands.
I don’t have to turn to know it’s Franklin. All hands drop away and I am free.
“Aren’t you in enough trouble, Thomas? How many more weeks to your sentence?”
“Two,” the big man answers gruffly, looking embarrassed.
“If you don’t want to make it ten, leave my clerk alone.”
“Clerk? I … I didn’t know—”
“You never do! That’s why you’re here instead of helping my grandson at the printing office and taking care of your family. Jesu, man, you look awful. And you stink of rum. How many times have you been told to stay away from spirits? You have no head for ‘em.”
“They’re a comfort.”
“A home, food on the table, a fire in the hearth, and a bed warmed by a good woman, those are true comforts, wouldn’t you say? Comforts that your drinking has put at risk. Am I right?”
McAndrews stares at the ground.
“Hopeless!” Franklin sighs. “Well, no matter.” Fishing some coins from his pocket, he says: “Thomas, here are five pennies: two for you and one each for the men you will gather to bring the sedan from my house and convey me to the home of Robert Morris at Sixth and High Streets. Send me the jailor and I’ll square it with him. The rest of you, go back to work.”
As the men disperse, Franklin puts his hand on my shoulder for support.
“The gout and stone are bad today, Marcus. Come into the garden and wait with me.”
I help him through the State House into the walled garden where we sit on a stone bench. Entirely deserted, it is so quiet there, so peaceful. There is a gentle wind. Mourning doves coo.
“I am very cross with you,” Franklin says after a while. “Don’t speak, in case someone is watching from a window. But nod if you understand.”
Turning my back to the State House and its windows, I shake my head instead.
“Just what did you think you would accomplish with that display?” he asks.
I shrug.
“Ah, I see. You didn’t think.”
“Oh I thought, alright,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “You guys! Using slaves to give the Southern states more votes in Congress so slavery will always be legal!”
Franklin raises an eyebrow at that.
“Very astute,” he says.
“Astute, my ass! How can anyone even think that way?”
Franklin sighs unhappily.
“It’s an imperfect world, Marcus. Right now, southern states believe they need black slaves if their farms and plantations are to survive. If they have no guarantee that slavery will not be abolished, they will separate from the United States and form their own country; or turn to a foreign power like England, France, or Spain for protection; or both. Once again, we will have foreign armies on our soil and our revolution—all those deaths, all that destruction—will have been for nothing.”
“Maybe England, France, or Spain would be better. Maybe they’d abolish slavery.”
“Hah!” Franklin scoffs, slapping his thigh. “Who do you think began this monstrous trade in the first place? Europe! Why, there are more slaves in South America and the Caribbean than in all our thirteen states! Europe’s hands are much bloodier than ours.”
“Didn’t know it was a competition.”
“Marcus, why is this so important to you? These are not your people.”
“Yes, they are!”
“They are? Who says so?”
“Mom and Pop. They taught me and Gus that all people are part of the same human family, no matter where they come from or what they look like, and that you have to be kind to everyone and cruel to no one if that’s the way you want the world to be and how you want to be treated.”
“Can this be true? Has our Enlightenment progressed this far? Tell me, do all people believe this?” Franklin asks excitedly.
“No … not everyone … not even most,” I answer; and his face falls. “But a lot of people. Including me and Gus. Like he always said, “You’ve got to be the change you want to see in the world.”
“Refresh my recollection. Gus is?”
“My brother—”
“Ah yes, I remember now. He was the soldier killed in battle—”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I just about bark, but then rein myself in. “I mean, since it’s the future.”
“His death makes you angry?”
“Like I said, I don’t want to talk about that.”
“No … quite right.” He lays his hand on my arm. “What were we saying? Oh yes, slavery. Marcus, believe me when I say there are men in that room just as opposed to slavery as I am. Men like James Wilson and Alexander Hamilton and Gouverneur Morris. Even Washington and Madison from Virginia—even though they own slaves—are beginning to recognize how harmful it is. But each state has different needs and if we are to forge a nation—a true United States—everyone will have to compromise—”
A coughing fit doubles him over. I slap his back, trying to help him get rid of whatever is choking him. He motions for me to stop and I help him sit upright.
“Jesu, that hurts!” he says as one hand goes to his lower belly and the other wipes thick, yellow phlegm from his chin with a handkerchief.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“Fine. I’m fine. Just need to catch my breath.”
I watch Franklin carefully as he recovers and the color comes back to his face.
“I am impressed that you so quickly grasped the cruel irony of the ‘three-fifths rule.’ You are learning. Of course, you are correct. Black slaves may well be used to increase population numbers to strengthen the South’s legislative power, and that power may well be used to perpetuate slavery.
“But things are not as grim as they seem. I can’t promise this will happen, but some delegates want to completely end slavery by a certain date. I don’t know what that date will be. It will have to give everyone time to prepare for complete emancipation, as we have done in Pennsylvania with our Act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery.
“And preparation will be needed. States relying on slaves will have to find a new source of labor or pay Negroes for work and provide decent conditions. All citizens will have to accustom themselves to the idea that blacks will walk amongst us free. And blacks will have to learn how to be free—not an easy task when you’ve been told what to do all your life and had all your decisions made for you.”
Franklin plants his walking stick and I help him stand.
“Let us go back out to Chestnut Street. The jailor and McAndrews and his men should be arriving.”
“Where are you going?” I ask softly as we pass through the deserted State House.
“To Robert Morris’s home, to see General Washington, who is residing there.”
“Why?”
“Why is Washington residing there?”
“No, why are you going to see him?”
“Because I have been summoned.”
“Summoned? How come—why?”
“I assure you, I don’t know, but I would wager all the money in my pocket it has something to do with your … protest … this afternoon. Marcus, your head may well be on the chopping block. Fortunately, you do fine work—work I desperately need. So I will do everything I can to keep you in that chamber. But you can never react like that again. No matter what you hear. Agreed?”
I don’t want to agree to anything, not if there is something I can do to make the delegates see that how they are treating slavery is just plain wrong. So I deflect.
“You could always tell him my leg cramped up and I stood to work it out.”
“Agreed?” he repeats, staring at me hard. “Don’t speak, just nod.”
Which I do.
“Good. Now help me to my chair. Then go home and change. You’re a mess! … Cramp indeed,” I hear him mutter. “Although …”