The Later Journeys - 12. Amends

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Ben came out of his room late that night. The guys had gone to their rooms relatively early, promising to get up with the sun the next morning and let me sleep in if I kept watch. I knew they would, and that they wouldn’t sleep well. This whole thing with Ben was weighing on us. I kept busy by doing my favorite thing: Organizing. As inefficient and downright boring as the kitchen was, I could still think of ways to improve it. I made sure all the plates were in a good place (good meaning low enough so I wouldn’t have to stand on something to reach them); found non-perishable foods and laid them out on tabletops so they wouldn’t be forgotten, and dusted with a rag.

If all went well tomorrow, we were going to broach the subject of electricity with Ben. Everyone associates him with that, but of course, he hadn’t really done much with it. Given a few more decades, he undoubtedly would have given Edison a run for his money, but most of what he did was to lay the groundwork for later generations to think about electricity and know that its use was a possibility.

I felt protective and compassionate toward Ben, picturing him with a kite in a thunderstorm. He had been 46 at the time. No youngster, especially by 18th-century standards, but with an earnest enthusiasm and a strong faith that God would protect him and help him succeed. I hoped that whatever emotions had struck him today would not leave him permanently discouraged. It was beginning to look like he’d be with us for some time. It was too easy to beat ourselves up for having embarked on this crazy plan in the first place. If he really was Benjamin Franklin (and so far, absolutely nothing had given us any hint to the contrary), we’d gotten him stranded in a completely strange time -- he had yet to find out how strange it was -- with no way back.

I went through the drawers, sorting and discarding some things we had thought we’d need but turned out not to. I found Trevor’s Samsung Galaxy where he’d put it among the dish towels and made sure it stayed tucked in. We were going to perhaps touch on the rudiments of electricity. Cell phone technology was a tad advanced. We didn’t want to blow all of Ben’s circuits. The pun made me smile. I straightened and there was Ben, still fully dressed, his shirt loosened somewhat but otherwise looking normal. He seemed rested and offered me a smile.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I feel better than before,” he said.

I gestured for him to have a seat, and offered him some food. I could tell he didn’t want to put me out but was hungry. “Stay right there, it’ll just be a minute.” I went out again, but not to the ice house. The weather was cold enough to keep food safely. The makings of a sandwich were just outside the door, wrapped in a dry cloth.

“Have you ever had bacon, lettuce and tomato?” I asked.

“Certainly,” he replied.

“All together, on bread?”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. I reheated the bacon and arranged it for him. The aroma was tempting and I found myself getting hungry again. It had been a few hours since the lackluster meal I’d shared with the guys. So I used the excess bread and butter and fixed myself a plate as well. There was still wine in the decanter and I poured some for Ben.

Ben hesitated, looking at his plate. Out of politeness, I was waiting for him to start eating, and assumed at first that he was offering a silent prayer of thanks. But he looked up at me with puzzlement. Instinctively, I picked up my sandwich and took a bite. He watched me, then followed suit. Gradually, the good taste of the food registered on his face. I kept eating and a few minutes later, I was done.

Ben politely used his napkin and said “What a convenient style of meal-making!”

“It’s known as a sandwich.”

“Interesting.”

“They say it was invented by the Earl of Sandwich,” I said, hoping I wasn’t going to cause a problem, because for the life of me, I couldn’t remember whether that historical tidbit lined up with Ben’s time. If it had been earlier, no problem, but later? I was too tired to think of the ramifications.

But Ben sat up straigher. “John Montagu?”

“Yes,” I replied cautiously, not really being sure and hoping that was right.

Ben chuckled. “I am wondering how that might have come about. He was an active admiral in the British Navy. I cannot imagine him busying himself in the scullery, at least during that time. Of course, he did withdraw in some bit of disgrace over handling of his ships.” He appeared lost in thought, and I made a mental note to check my history sources and clarify the legend for him.

I noticed him looking at me and realized he was studying my hair. Finally, he attempted to comment but seemed unable to find the words.

“I don’t believe I have ever seen such a vivid shade of red,” he said at last, and even in the middling light, I could see he was blushing.

“Probably not in nature, unless you’re looking at a bird,” I responded. “Hair dye is fairly common nowadays for both men and women. You buy it at the store, mix it up, slap it on, wait a half hour and...” He was amused. “This red is pretty tame. There’s purple, pink, blue...” I shrugged. “I like it and can always change it. Say... hope you don’t mind that we took our wigs off. I don’t think any of us like wearing them. I certainly don’t. We weren’t sure if you expected them. But I notice you don’t wear one.”

“Certainly not now,” he replied. “They were de rigueur when I addressed the English House of Commons some years ago. I agree with you, though: It was a heavy, itchsome affair. Removing one’s wig at evening could be the highlight of one’s day, indeed.”

Neither of us was chewing food at the moment. We looked at each other and in unison began to speak.

“I hope--” we both said, and stopped. Ben, ever the gentleman, gestured with an open hand, encouraging me to speak first.

“Just saying, I hope you can make sense of what happened today. We were also under the impression that the inn was still operating, and our friend, Mr. Greenfield, who owns it, said he was surprised as well. He’s trying to find out what happened. Both Warren and Trevor agree: It was fully operational when you arrived and they brought you here.”

He was silent for a moment, looking absently down at the table. “I am doubly glad for a comfortable lodging place, superior fare and fine companions. This has been a strange journey indeed, but it is still an enjoyable one.”

I was touched. “We hope to be your hosts for...” I wanted to say “a long time,” but wasn’t sure how that would sound. But I said it anyway. He seemed fine with the sentiment. We both had a tiny bit of wine in our goblets and clinked glasses in a casual gesture of friendship.

He pulled out a pocket watch then. “Is this the correct time?” he asked. We had been careful to purchase a good analog wall clock and keep it running. It was indeed after midnight.

“Surely, you must retire,” he encouraged me. I was feeling fatigued now, but didn’t want to leave him alone with his thoughts.

However, he seemed to read mine. “Good madam, I assure you that my wits are sufficient to keep a watch in the night. I shall make myself comfortable with the lamp and resume my study of the American map, as well as other illuminative materials offered by your colleague. And on the morrow, we will speak more.”

Beyond that, there was no reply to be made, and so I said goodnight; he bowed, and I was done for that day.

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