by Brock Law
give herself as many opportunities as possible to glance at Will through the archway. Her eyes then turned back awkwardly each time he caught her looking. Will admired the surroundings while she fluttered around, on one occasion launching a fleet of French swears when she slammed her knee against something.
The place was a perfect museum. A great stone hearth centered the space, with a colonial era oil portrait of a finely dressed woman hanging above. Equally old were the leather bound books that flanked it, squeezed into overcrowded shelves, beleaguered from overuse. A crystal chandelier hung above them from a lavishly molded ceiling. A great hunt board was pressed against the wall supporting decanters, ceramics, and small statuary. There wasn’t a single item that didn’t belong in the Smithsonian. Even the chair wiggled a little from age.
“You’re extremely observant, Will,” Franklin said. “Are you a police officer?”
“No sir, a quarterback,” Will offered.
Vivienne dropped something heavy in the kitchen.
“I loved a bit of pigskin in my day,” Franklin exclaimed. “Where do you play?”
“Penn. I’ll be a junior this year,” Will replied.
“Excellent!” Franklin chortled. “My own school.”
“You mean because it was founded by Ben Franklin?” Will clarified.
“Yes, of course,” Franklin laughed. “I’ll have to come see a game in gratitude. I have an original league rule book somewhere around here.”
Franklin got up from his seat, wavering a little, but with general ease. Will flashed forward to help the old man, but Franklin managed miraculously. He walked over to the book shelf and began to peruse as he spoke.
“Darling,” Franklin said into the kitchen, “could you get us a couple beers? It always helps put the color back in my cheeks.”
Vivienne appeared again. “I’m sure Will has places to be, Father, we don’t want to keep him too long.”
“Nonsense,” Franklin said into an opened book. “Will, you’re not in any hurry are you? Stay and have a drink.”
“Sure, thank you,” Will replied with a note of caution.
“It’s my own brew. I love passing it on to new friends,” Franklin explained. “A junior, you say? Same age as my daughter.”
Again, something heavy fell in the kitchen, and Will caught the resulting smirk on Franklin’s face over the dusty pages. Will stayed firm, but felt his heart speeding up from the uncomfortably forward conversation. Vivienne entered a moment later with two beer glasses.
“Are you sure you’re alright? I know linebackers who can’t take hits like that,” Will said.
“Quite alright. I can still take a punch in my old age,” Franklin replied, “and it’s not that I mind being old so much…”
“So much as you mind being fat and old, we know,” Vivienne snidely interrupted.
“Thank you, Vivie,” Will said, accepting a libation.
Their fingers touched around glass. Both her mouth and eyes smiled behind a strand of hair that fell from behind her ear. As she turned and walked towards Franklin, her hips seemed to sway a little bit more than was natural.
“You won’t need any painkillers with that, but I think I do,” Vivie said.
“What’s the worst it could do?” Franklin replied.
She elbowed him in the ribs, very near the stab wound. However, instead of screaming, he laughed a little. She muttered something, which hummed inaudibly to Will.
“I’ll run to Wawa and get some,” Vivie said while walking out.
“I’ll keep Will with me until you get back,” Franklin mused, “in case something happens to me while you’re gone.”
Vivienne stopped in the hallway and turned slowly to glare at him. A murderous intensity from the scorn of an embarrassed child darkened her face. Franklin looked up over another manuscript, with a satisfied countenance.
“If Will doesn’t mind,” Vivienne corrected. “I’m sure we’ve been very rude, keeping you so long already.”
“Not at all,” Will comforted. “I’d hate for anything else to happen to you.”
Vivienne softened up, her gait curving to further expose a ribald intention.
“That’s very kind of you,” she purred. “I won’t be long.”
She drifted idly for a second as he turned his attention back to her father, then swiftly exited. Franklin put another book back on the shelf and scratched his head.
“How’s that beer? It’s my own brew,” Franklin repeated.
Will took a sip. The invading flavors startled him with familiarity. It tasted herbal, like something Will had tried before. He savored it while turning the sparkling glass in his hand.
“It’s made with boiled spruce clippings,” Franklin glowed.
“I can tell,” Will exclaimed. “It’s very good, thank you.”
“So, Penn,” Franklin continued. “Are you a history student?”
“Business.”
“A fine place to be in business. The very first collegiate business school,” Franklin encouraged. “So what brought you out to the tour today? You have some interest in history?”
“I had a free afternoon, so I thought I’d tag along. My dad is a history professor so I’ve always had an interest in it. The family has lived in the city since the Revolution.”
Franklin perked up. “Did they serve? Anyone I know?”
“Know?” Will probed.
“Know of?” Franklin corrected with a stammer.
Will paused before commenting. “They were militia, farmers from Chestnut Hill.”
“A militia that had the undeserved moniker as the worst from any state. They proved valorous in several occasions though,” Franklin remarked with a reminiscent air. “It wasn’t easy to pull together so many first-generation Americans from so many different countries, especially the German inhabitants from that neighborhood. Many of them had left their homeland seeking peace. At the time that region was not unified and a viciously plundered crossroad between several great empires. Turning them against their ancient Hessian rivals at the Battle of Germantown, however, was a stroke of genius on General Armstrong’s part, and the most successful portion of that battle. So I’ve read.”
“My family served at that battle so far as I know. They were masons as well,” Will added, “which is why those men who attacked you seemed so suspicious to me.”
“Oh?” Franklin said curiously.
“Well, I’m sure you hear rants like that all the time. They were oddly aggressive,” Will said.
“Yes, and I should have known better in the first place,” Franklin confessed. “I am also a mason, so the matter seemed strange to me. Your family, were they lodge members in the city?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that much about them,” Will explained. “You sound like you’re also a history teacher.”
“Only when engaging tourists,” Franklin smiled. “I retired long ago.”
“What did you do before?”
“I was in publishing,” Franklin answered.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” Franklin reprised with a chuckle. “My family has lived here for a long time as well, which also spurred my interest in local history. Perhaps because of what I was reading, or eating, or both, as I grew older I found my true calling staring back at me in the mirror. To be honored in the pages of history is the finest success.”
“I don’t remember that quote,” said Will.
“It might be new,” Franklin mused. “Do you live in the city?”
“Yes, with the rest of my family,” Will answered.
“And what do they do?” Frank delved.
“My mom works at one of the banks nearby, and I have two younger sisters in high school,” Will replied.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Franklin asked quietly with a smile.
Taken aback, Will stuttered, “Not at the moment.”
“Good to know,” Franklin said coyly.
The host walked back to his seat, beer in hand, with
the heels of his buckled shoes lazily brushing up the carpet fibers. His tight cotton vest bundled up around his belly, wrapping him tightly like a sausage. His shirt was still torn at the spot where Vivie was working, its edges smudged red. Throughout the conversation he’d apparently never once given it a thought, or bothered to find new clothing. Neither the cotton breeches, nor the tattered shoulder gave him the slightest discomfort.
Franklin tipped the glass up to his lips and took three large gulps of beer, after which he sighed loudly with relief. Feeling impolite Will did likewise, pouring the brew down his throat. Franklin burped up a spicy bubble and brought a closed fist to his mouth, upon which to disperse the hot air.
“Will,” Franklin began, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone. I’m sure we don’t need to involve the police. It would probably just be a waste of time.”
“But those men seemed to know you,” Will countered. “They addressed you like they had been looking for you.”
“I see you overheard quite a bit,” Franklin charged. “They were just muggers, probably long gone by now. After the hits you delivered, I doubt they’ll be preying on tourists again anytime soon.”
“They should be easy to spot with those injuries,” Will insisted. “The police might be able to identify them on the street. You never know, they could come back. They might have killed you.”
“You didn’t miss a moment, did you? I’ll consult with Vivie when she gets back, and see how she’s feeling. Perhaps we’ll call it in if she’s still ruffled. It’s the city, these things happen. I’ve been living in it for a very long time,” Franklin said with tapering volume.
“I guess,” Will said. “I’ve never met
