Benjamin Franklin's Bastard: A Novel by Sally Cabot

Author:Sally Cabot
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Literary, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062241948
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

27

ANNE SAT IN THE captain’s cabin and made a fierce effort to collect herself. She knew she had little time; she was surprised the captain hadn’t already burst through the door, claiming his next charge against her fare. She attempted to erase the image of William’s face turning away from her and struggled to call up Franklin’s words; she needed to concentrate on a certain few of them, like mantua maker and Boston but she heard instead gunwale. Was Ezekiel Lee right? Was she the mad one? Was Franklin right, that the only true danger had come to William when Anne had brought him aboard this ship? Certainly Deborah’s great lapse at the wharf could be called nothing worse than what Anne had allowed this night. Perhaps Franklin was right that Deborah would never purposely hurt the boy. Anne would need to believe this if she were to depart with any peace of mind for Boston.

Boston. Anne ripped open the seal on the paper Franklin had given her and discovered folded inside it two pound notes. The letter was headed, To Mrs. Jane Bellamy, at Frog Lane, Boston, and began Honored Madam. It went on to plead with this Mrs. Bellamy to find the bearer a situation in her shop. Unlike Allgood’s letter, it said nothing of Anne’s character one way or the other. It was signed, Ever your Friend and Servant, B. Franklin. Anne looked again at the words in the heading—Frog Lane, Boston—and discovered she misliked them. She found frogs repulsive; she didn’t know this Boston, or anything of mantua making; come to that, she didn’t know anything of Franklin’s good faith. Philadelphia was where her family lived. Philadelphia was where the shipwright and others like him lived, people she could rely on for subsistence, by one or another means. On the other side of it, Franklin had spoken at least one true thing: She couldn’t enchant them all forever. There was blackmail such as she’d used on Allgood, of course, but thus far it had not proved successful. The additional Boston advantage was that Anne was not known and could, indeed, make a new name for herself if she desired. Anne pondered the thing back and forth for a time, but soon enough realized all such musing counted for little.

William was in Philadelphia. So Anne must be.

Anne put the pound notes into her pocket; she gripped Franklin’s letter between thumbs and fingers, about to rip it up and discard it in the river, but then reconsidered; for once, Franklin had affixed his name to a document, and it might yet prove useful to her.

Anne’s next difficulty was going to be extricating herself from the ship unnoticed. She sat still and listened; she heard more than one tread on the deck above her, and even one would likely be enough to stop her unless she could think of something cleverer than she’d managed thus far. She tried the captain’s door and it did indeed crack open, but only

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