Centennial
Part 2
CHAPTER TEN
Refreshed by a good night’s sleep, Little Joe was all sunshine and smiles as he waited for his breakfast order to be delivered. “What are we going to do today, older brother? Go back to the Exposition?”
Adam smiled over his coffee cup. “Nice try. You know perfectly well that I said we wouldn’t be returning there ‘til Monday.”
Joe shrugged. He hadn’t expected to get his way, but it didn’t hurt to remind Adam of where his preference lay. Sometimes, though rarely, big brother could be worn down. “So, what are we doing today, then?”
“We’re going to concentrate on your education for the next couple of days,” Adam said, setting the coffee cup down to await the inevitable. Though he had anticipated an explosion of protest, Joe merely groaned aloud, so Adam promptly dropped the stern lecture he had planned. “No, it won’t be that bad,” he assured his young brother with a chuckle, “especially today. We’re going to visit some of the historic sights in Philadelphia and see if we can’t make colonial days come alive for you.”
That didn’t sound too bad to Joe. “Independence Hall?” he inquired.
“Among others,” Adam replied, lifting his coffee cup again.
“Woohoo!” Joe exclaimed, almost tipping over his water glass in his exuberance.
Seeing several of the other diners turn in their seats, Adam castigated Joe soundly for his rowdy behavior.
Chagrined, Joe murmured, “Sorry.”
Adam arched an eyebrow in mock severity. “Getting to be your favorite word, little buddy, or at least the one most frequently employed.”
Joe sighed. “Yeah, I know; I’m s-”—he put his face in his hand as the word almost slipped out again.
Adam grinned, but spared his brother further teasing when their breakfast plates arrived. The two brothers made short work of the meal and were soon walking north on Seventh Street, Adam refusing to answer Joe’s questions about where they were going first until they arrived at Market.
Looking at the three-story brick building on the southwest corner, Joe cried, “Hey! I was shopping here just yesterday.”
“And paid not a bit of attention to the historic significance, I’ll wager,” Adam snickered.
Joe studied the building again. “It’s just a clothing store, Adam. You’re not gonna tell me George Washington bought his pants here or something stupid like that, are you?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t always a clothing store, Joe,” he grunted, then draping an arm around his brother’s slight shoulders, he added, as he pointed to a second story window, “That, my boy, is the parlor where the Declaration of Independence was written by . . .”
“Thomas Jefferson,” Joe answered in quick response to the test question he’d perceived Adam’s tapering drawl to indicate. “Can we go up and see the room?”
“No, it’s privately owned,” Adam replied.
“We could ask,” Joe suggested.
“We could not,” Adam dictated firmly, “unless, of course, your goal is to demonstrate what uncivilized boors men of the West are.”
Joe cocked his head and gave his brother’s face close scrutiny. “You ashamed of being from Nevada?”
Shocked by the question, Adam shook his head. “No, of course not,” he affirmed, “but I would prefer to show people what we’re really like, rather than live up to the popular image.”
Sporting a saucy grin, Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and started up Market Street, his legs as bowed as if he were riding Hoss’s big black, Chub.
Adam snared Joe’s elbow and pulled him back. “You’re headed the wrong way, pardner. Independence Hall is back the way we came.”
Joe cackled and resumed his normal gait as they walked back toward Chestnut and east to the marble-trimmed brick building, which was once the most impressive in the colonies. “Its architecture is Georgian, a style that originated in England,” Adam stated as his hand swept from one wing of the structure to its mirror on the opposite end.
“Uh-huh,” Joe muttered, clearly disinterested in a scholarly lecture. He leaned his head back to gaze up at the tall steeple over the center of the building. “Is that the Liberty Bell?” he asked, squinting to see into the bell tower.
“No, it’s been taken down,” Adam explained, “but you’ll see it inside.”
“Well, let’s go in, then!” Joe urged.
Adam laughed at the boy’s enthusiasm. “Seeing as how that’s what we came here to do . . . let’s.”
Joe grinned and led the way. Inside, he glanced around in search of the famous bell, but saw no sign of it. “Where is it, Adam?” he demanded. “You said—”
“All in good time, impatient child,” Adam said, steering the boy toward the eastern hall. They passed through a door, above which hung a medallion with the head of George III, King of England during the time of the Revolution, and began to look at the furnishings.
Little Joe touched the green tablecloth spread over one of the square tables scattered across the room. “These really the same things used back then?” he asked, recalling the information from the Philadelphia guidebook.
“The furniture, yes,” Adam said, running his hand over the smooth wood of one of the spindle-backed armchairs beside the table. “National treasures, Joe.”
“Yeah,” Joe whispered with wonderment.
“Come here,” Adam said, taking his arm. “This is really special.” He led his brother to the east end of the room, where an elaborate chair graced a dais. “This was used by John Hancock, President of the Continental Congress,” he told Joe, “but this is what I wanted you to see.” He touched with near reverence the silver inkstand, from which protruded a white quill pen. “This inkstand was used by Hancock and the other men who signed the Declaration of Independence; it was only found again last year, so not many Americans living today have ever seen it.”
Joe whistled, tentatively touching the treasure. Then, looking at the walls lined with portraits of the signers of the famous document and other Revolutionary War heroes, he murmured, “So this is where it all happened, where we became our own country.”
Adam rubbed the back of his brother’s neck. “Where we proclaimed our independence, yes. As you know, just saying it didn’t make it so. A lot of men gave their lives to make what was declared here a reality.”
Overwhelmed with pride in his country, Joe could do nothing more than nod. He followed Adam to gaze, mesmerized, at the Declaration itself, framed and raised on a stand elsewhere in the room. “Oh, wow,” Joe whispered and then fell speechless.
Adam smiled. Though he had seen the Declaration once before, during his years in the East, he, too, felt the same sense of reverent awe. For several moments they simply stood there, gazing in silent respect at the inspiring words that began, “We the people;” then Adam tapped Joe’s arm. “We should move on,” he said. “Others want to see this, too.”
Coming out of his reverie, Joe smiled at the people behind him and moved out of the way. “Now the Liberty Bell?” he queried.
“Not quite yet,” Adam chuckled. “Let’s look at the exhibits in the west wing first.”
With a sigh Joe followed where he was led, wondering why they had to do everything Adam’s way. As soon as he entered the newly opened Museum of National Relics, however, he became engrossed with all there was to see: furniture, weapons, clothing, silver, china, pictures, embroidery and parchments of the colonial period, as well as visiting cards engraved with names memorable in American history. He saw the ale mug belonging to naval hero John Paul Jones and General Anthony Wayne’s field glass, but had to laugh at the case containing the baby clothes of President John Quincy Adams. “Say, Adam,” he asked with a cheeky grin, “has Pa saved any of my baby clothes, just in case I become famous?”
Adam lightly swatted his brother’s backside. “Sorry, buddy,” he commented drolly, “but we got rid of your smelly diapers as soon as we could!”
The joke being as malodorous to him as any soiled diaper, Joe crinkled his nose in distaste and said sharply, “Now who’s acting like an uncivilized boor!”
“All right, all right,” Adam chuckled, giving the boy’s shoulder an appeasing pat. “To make up for my boorishness, I’ll let you see the Liberty Bell next.”
A bright smile lifted Joe’s countenance as the promise was made. They quickly viewed the few remaining exhibits and left the museum, walking to the ground floor of the steeple, where the giant bell hung suspended from a wooden frame. Little Joe rested his palm against the cool metal, and Adam placed his hand, in similar position, next to that of his brother. Joe slid his hand over until it was touching Adam’s, as if only through touch could he share the emotions welling up inside.
As if inadvertently, Adam brushed his fingers over the back of Joe’s hand and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s see how much you’ve absorbed about the history of this bell,” he began didactically. “Can you name some occasions on which it was rung.”
Joe’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Well, uh, lots more times than I know about, I’m sure. Uh, when the Declaration was signed, for sure.”
Adam arched an eyebrow. “That’s my little brother, always going for the easy answer first.”
“Okay, I’m thinking,” Joe protested. “You didn’t tell me there was gonna be a test!”
“All of life is a test of what we’ve learned before,” Adam philosophized. “Now, is there anything else you can pull out of that muddled brain of yours?”
Joe searched his memory furiously, his face lighting as another response finally flashed through his mind. “When the war started,” he related hastily, “and, and”—he fought frantically to retrieve the bit of information niggling at the edge of his thoughts—“when Washington was named Commander-in-Chief,” he finished in triumph.
“Not bad,” Adam assessed. “Among other occasions, it was also rung after the surrender of Cornwallis, at the proclamation of the Treaty of Peace and when the United States Congress assembled for the first time.”
“I didn’t know all those,” Joe admitted. “Are they gonna ring it again for the centennial Fourth?”
Disappointment flickered in Adam’s eyes and was reflected in Joe’s as the older brother answered, “No, they were planning to, but decided the old bell was just too fragile to be rung, except on very special occasions.”
“The one hundredth birthday of America isn’t special enough?” Joe demanded.
“Evidently not,” Adam said quietly.
Uncomfortable with the somber mood, Little Joe quickly pointed to the stairway ascending the steeple. “Hey, let’s climb up,” he suggested. “Bound to get a good view of the city from up there.”
Adam emitted a startled cough. “There are easier ways to see the city than climbing up that steeple,” he maintained.
“Aw, come on, Adam. You’re too young to be that old!” Joe challenged with an impish grin.
“All right,” Adam agreed reluctantly. “I’ll need to get the tickets from the superintendent before we can go up.” That necessary preparation made, he began to climb upward in his energetic brother’s wake.
Little Joe reached the top quite a bit before his more deliberate brother and was ready to point out the sights when Adam arrived. “There’s the Delaware River,” he said, excitedly gesturing one direction; then swinging his arm toward the opposite side of the city, he added, “and there’s the Schuylkill and the Exposition grounds.”
“At least, we know you don’t need your eyes checked,” Adam quipped.
“Can’t you see them?” Joe asked, eyes wide with astonishment.
“Yes, Joe, I see them,” Adam said, pulling his brother close to his side. “They are pretty small from up here, though.”
“We going back there tomorrow?” Joe pressed and when Adam shook his head, muttered, “Don’t see why we can’t.”
“Because it’s not what I have scheduled,” Adam said bluntly.
Joe started to pout, but the reproachful look in his brother’s eyes made him bite his lower lip, instead. “Well, okay, as long as there’s other fun things to see.”
Amused, Adam shook his head. “Is fun all you ever think about?”
“Don’t you ever think about it?” Joe countered swiftly.
Adam gave his brother’s jaunty straw hat a tug. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself today.”
Joe’s mood softened almost immediately. “No, Adam, I am. Where to next?”
“Carpenter’s Hall, where the first Continental Congress met in 1774,” Adam announced.
“Let’s go, then!” Joe scampered down the stairs, setting a pace Adam feared to keep.
“No wonder Pa has white hair!” the older brother mumbled to himself.
Since Carpenters’ Hall, originally a colonial guildhall, was only a couple of blocks east, the Cartwright brothers were soon standing before it. “Kind of like a little Independence Hall, isn’t it?” Joe observed.
“Hmm?” After looking puzzled for a moment, Adam understood what Joe was saying. “Oh, you mean the architecture? Yes, it’s the same style on a smaller scale.”
Joe threw his palms up. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”
“Well, sort of,” Adam chuckled. “And do you remember what this type of architecture is called?”
Joe moaned, raising a hand in defense against the withering look his brother gave him. “I know, I know; all of life is a test. Just wish someone would tell me what’s gonna be on it!”
Adam delivered his finest smirk. “Fine. Architecture will be on it—regularly.”
“Fine,” Joe spat back. “Georgian, like that king’s name.”
“Precisely correct,” Adam said, giving the boy’s cheek a pat of approval, from which Joe flinched away. “Very popular style in Philadelphia.”
Now that he’d passed the test, Joe relaxed. “Yeah, I was noticing that the other day. I was gonna ask you what kind of houses they were.”
Adam looked flattered. “You were?”
Joe scrunched up his nose. “I don’t lie worth a hoot, remember? Yeah, I was; I just forgot.”
Pleased to see that Joe did have a spark of intellectual curiosity, Adam smiled. Perhaps his desire of seeing the boy properly educated was not such an impossible dream, after all.
As it was shortly past noon and their hotel was nearby, the brothers returned there for dinner, where Adam was once more amazed by the amount of food his slender brother was able to pack away. When they finished eating, Adam escorted Joe to a horse car stop, once again refusing to tell him where they were going. The destination proved to be the Penn Treaty Monument on Beach Street in Kensington. Little Joe was less familiar with the earlier period of history from which this landmark derived its existence, so Adam explained how William Penn had made peace with the Indians under the branches of a spreading elm tree. “Penn did it the right way, buying his land from the Delaware Indians,” Adam commented, “and he never broke the treaty he made with them, although those who came after him were not as scrupulous in keeping it as Penn himself.”
“There’s no tree here,” Joe observed.
“No, it blew down in 1810,” Adam told him, “but this monument marks the spot. It was much revered while it stood. Even when the British occupied Philadelphia during the war, their commander, General Simcoe, stationed a guard beneath it so the soldiers wouldn’t cut it down for firewood.”
Joe looked at the simple obelisk for several minutes, and then asked, “Did Pa do it the right way? The Ponderosa, I mean.”
“In a manner of speaking, though no money changed hands,” Adam observed. “When he saved the life of Chief Winnemucca’s son, Winnemucca granted him permission to stay on the land, and you’re aware, of course, of how often Pa has sent food to the Paiutes and the Washos, as well, during hard times.”
“Tell me again,” Joe cajoled. He’d heard the stories before, from his father, as well as his oldest brother, but he rarely tired of family tales from the days before his birth and Adam told them especially well. As he listened to Adam once more recounting those early days on the Ponderosa, Joe reflected that the motto engraved on the simple monument, “Unbroken Faith,” could have been said of the Cartwrights as much as of William Penn, and his heart filled with pride in his family.
After indulging in lemon ice cream, purchased from a passing wagon labeled Breyers, the Cartwright brothers caught a horse car back to the center of town, where after resting a short time in their room, they again dined downstairs at the Washington. Over plates of veal cutlets with corn oysters and tender asparagus, dripping with drawn butter, they talked of all they’d seen that day. “Thanks for showing me all those places, Adam,” Joe said sincerely. “Like you said, it really makes the history come alive when you see where things happened.”
Adam couldn’t resist the temptation. “Just one of the benefits of coming back east for your education, Joe.”
Joe pulled a pout. “Oh, you’re not gonna start that up again, are you?”
Adam laughed. “Yes, I am, seeing as we’re paying a visit to your first college tomorrow.”
Suddenly, the expensive cut of meat seemed less appetizing to Little Joe. He had a feeling tomorrow would be one miserable day, but there was no way to get out of it. The time had come to pay the price tag for this wonderful trip. As he pushed the food around on his plate, Joe asked himself what he could possibly do to convince Adam that his mind was set against more schooling. Big brother could be mighty stubborn when he wanted something. But not as stubborn as me, Joe decided, cutting the tip from a spear of asparagus, especially when I know I’m right!
Little Joe’s demeanor, as he and his older brother toured the Gothic stone buildings of the University of Pennsylvania the next morning, was decidedly glum. To him, it had definitely not been worth the long streetcar trip to West Philadelphia, and not even the hearty chicken pie, which he and Adam had ordered for dinner, seemed likely to lift his spirits.
Adam was getting fed up with his brother’s sour attitude, but he felt compelled to create in the boy at least minimal interest in a college education. “If you were to pursue a course of study, what do you think you might prefer?” he asked.
Little Joe stabbed a large chunk of chicken. “Horse training, cattle ranching, timber management, checkers strategy,” he listed snappishly and popped the bite into his mouth.
Adam folded his arms and leaned over the table. “Could you be serious five minutes?”
“I am being serious, Adam,” Joe insisted, as he forked a bite of flaky crust, along with some of the vegetables in the pie. “There is nothing here I need; it’s all back home. I’m just not cut out for this, but you can’t accept it.” You can’t accept me.
“You promised to keep an open mind,” Adam reminded him, slicing off another piece of ham. “Now, if you’re not interested in liberal arts, how about studying the law? It would certainly benefit the Ponderosa to have legal counsel.”
Little Joe almost choked on the food in his mouth. “Me a lawyer? You gotta be kidding!”
Adam shrugged. “I suppose not. Too likely to need one yourself. Medicine, then?”
Joe shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, sure, Adam, I’d make a great doctor. Can’t hardly stand watchin’ a calf birthed or a horse foaled and you want me doctorin’ people?”
Despite his irritation with his provoking little brother, Adam had to laugh. “No, I don’t think I’d want you doctorin’ me, little buddy, and I have to admit, you’re more likely to need one than to be one.”
Joe sneered contemptuously. “Can’t you think of a new joke? Gotta keeping rehashin’ the same one? You’d think a college-educated man could find new words to say!”
“Oh, all right,” Adam conceded, pushing away his empty plate. “Time to put you out of your misery, I suppose. We need to catch an early supper, so we’ll have time to dress for this evening, so if you’re finished . . .”
“What’s happening this evening?” Joe demanded, using his spoon to scoop up the last bit of savory chicken gravy. “Don’t tell me there’s some school that meets at night!”
“Well, there are, of course, for working men who want to improve themselves,” Adam replied testily, “As education goes, however, I think you’ll find tonight’s class relatively painless. Now come on!”
Joe’s lips puckered. “I want dessert,” he demanded.
Adam exhaled gustily. “All right, fine, if that’ll improve your disposition.”
Joe quickly sported a self-satisfied grin. “Oh, that’ll sweeten me right up, big brother.”
“Well, something sure needs to,” Adam muttered with a shake of his head. “What do you want?”
Little Joe had already discerned that Madeira Cream Pudding was the most expensive dessert on the menu, so he ordered that right away, as Adam surveyed him with an appraising glance from the corner of his eye.
When his young brother’s supper choices also ran to the expensive end of the menu, Adam smiled knowingly, but said nothing. Let the kid have his petty revenge. I can always call him on it, if it gets out of hand, and maybe it’s one way of getting him to cultivate a taste for finer things. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach; maybe it’s also the way to whet a foolish boy’s appetite for spending a few years back east.
As instructed, Joe had laid out his new formal suit, which had arrived from Wanamaker and Brown’s that afternoon, so it would be ready to change into immediately after supper. Toying with his water glass while waiting for the meal to be served, he hinted to be told what their evening’s activity actually was. “I know it’s not really night school, not with the fancy clothes we’ll be wearing.”
Adam chuckled. “No, it’s not. I know today wasn’t overly enjoyable for you, so I thought I’d make up for that with an evening at the theater.”
“Which one?” Joe asked, eyes sparkling.
“The Arch Street,” Adam replied, “and I might as well tell you now that we’ll be seeing Shakespeare.”
“Not Romeo and Juliet,” Joe pleaded. His sentimental schoolteacher, Abigail Jones, had ruined him forever on that particular work of the immortal bard.
With a throaty laugh, Adam assured him that none of Shakespeare’s tragedies were on the bill that night. “We’ll be seeing a historical drama, Henry V,” he said, “which should be to your liking.”
“Yeah,” Joe murmured with relief, for while he wasn’t as enamored of the English playwright as his older brother, he enjoyed a good play, and this one promised to have plenty of action. He glanced shyly across the table, “If you’ll help me with the history . . . ”
“I will,” Adam said warmly. Whenever he and his younger brother had attended any Shakespearean drama together in Virginia City, Sacramento or San Francisco, he had delighted in explaining the play’s background for Joe and was looking forward to doing so tonight. Those evenings at the theater had always seemed to draw the oldest and youngest Cartwright brothers closer, and Adam thought they needed just such a break from the perpetual sparring in which they’d been engaged throughout this trip.
The theater on Arch Street was only a few blocks north, so Adam and Joe walked there. “Sun’s down, and it’s still hot,” Joe grumbled, running his hand over the sweat-beaded back of his neck.
“I know,” Adam murmured in shared misery. “According to the Public Ledger, Philadelphia’s been experiencing unprecedented heat since the summer solstice—just about the time we arrived, in other words.”
“I swear I’m not to blame,” Joe pledged with upraised hand.
“Don’t swear,” Adam said in pretense of scolding; then he threw an arm around Joe’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Let me tell you a little about the play. I’m sure it will please you to know that Henry V, like all the Plantagenets, was more than half-French. In fact, his claim to the throne of France was just about as good as that of the man wearing the crown, although it came through the female line.” Throughout the remainder of the short walk, he offered comments he felt would help his brother better understand what he was about to see.
They paused a moment outside the theater for Adam to admire the stylish marble front. When he noticed, however, that Little Joe’s eyes were fixed on the draped nude figure holding a lyre above the center second-floor window, he grabbed the boy’s elbow and dragged him through one of the three arched doorways.
“Oh, this is nice, real elegant,” Joe murmured as Adam walked up to him after purchasing their tickets.
“One of the best arranged and most comfortable in the city,” Adam observed.
“You been here or is that the guidebook talking?” Joe asked impishly.
“Guidebook,” Adam admitted. “Shall we find our seats?”
Joe nodded and they entered the auditorium. He noticed that the seats Adam had purchased were quite good, definitely better, in fact, than those he was used to sitting in when he paid for his own ticket. “Thanks, Adam,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“We should be able to see real well from here,” Joe amplified.
“Yes, of course; that’s why I requested this location,” Adam said, still not quite following his brother’s train of thought. There was no time to inquire further, however, for the curtain rose, and an actor portraying William Shakespeare spoke the Prologue to Act I. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely entered the scene, and the Archbishop began to describe the king:
“The course of his youth promised it not.
The breath no sooner left his father’s body,
But that his wildness, mortified in him,
Seem’d to die too; yea, at that very moment
Consideration, like an angel, came
And whipp’d the offending Adam out of him,”
Joe looked at his brother with a naughty grin, as if to say that there was another “offending Adam” he sometimes felt like whipping. Seeing Adam arch a reproving eyebrow, he straightened up at once and gave his attention to the play, as he really needed to do if he were to follow the tale told in unfamiliar language.
From time to time, Adam would lean close to his brother’s ear and whisper a quick definition of some Elizabethan word, and during the intermissions between acts, he clarified for Joe anything that required fuller explanation. As usual, though, the action itself helped Joe understand enough to follow the drama, while Adam’s additions served to take his comprehension to a deeper level.
Everything was going well until the beginning of Act III, when King Henry, dressed for battle, delivered his stirring speech to the English troops:
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.”
Suddenly, a high-pitched giggle pierced the quiet auditorium, and heads turned to stare in censure of the inappropriate response. Adam’s censure took a more physical form; drawing his foot back, he gave his tittering brother’s shin a sharp kick.
“Ow!” Joe yelped.
“Be quiet,” Adam hissed. “One of the finest monologues in the entire play, and you have to distract everyone from hearing it.”
Seeing the attention they were attracting, Joe slid down in his seat. “Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just that I suddenly realized where you got that saying. You really can’t think of new words for yourself, can you?”
Adam tried to hold onto his irritation, but couldn’t. Joe saw the twitching lips with which his older brother shushed him and knew he was forgiven. With a grin he sat up straight again in time to enjoy the second scene.
* * * * *
“Wasn’t she beautiful?” Joe sighed as they exited the Arch Street Theater.
Adam chuckled as he steered the starry-eyed boy down the street. “Princess Katherine, I presume?”
“Um-hmm,” Joe murmured. Giving his brother a more focused look, he asked, “Say, Adam, you have that play at home, don’t you?”
“Of course, the complete works of Shakespeare. Surely, you’ve at least seen the covers,” Adam replied, with a trace of condescension, for which he almost immediately rebuked himself. After all, if the kid was expressing interest in classical literature, he should be encouraged. “I’m sorry, Joe,” he apologized quickly. “Would you like to read this play?”
“Well, just parts,” Joe muttered, reddening. He thought King Henry’s speech about the “sugar touch” of Katherine’s lips might work well on the girls of Virginia City, but he wasn’t about to trust big brother with a confidence that incriminating. Fishing for a safer response, he mentioned, instead, “I kind of liked what the Dauphin said about his horse.”
“Ah.” Adam began to quote the passage to which he thought Joe was referring. “‘When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.’”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Made me think of—”
“Cochise!” Adam burst out laughing. “You and that horse! What’s the matter, little buddy, homesick for your pony?”
No longer were there stars in Joe’s eyes; daggers had replaced them. Trust Adam to find some excuse to twit him, no matter how hard he worked to avoid it! “Just ‘cause you don’t have any feeling for that flea-bitten nag of yours.”
Adam’s laughter only intensified. “Feeling! Well, I may not treat Sport as if he were human, the way you do Cochise, but he and I have a fine working relationship, as is proper between man and beast.”
“Oh, shut up,” Joe growled. Finally becoming aware of his surroundings, he realized they were not headed toward the hotel. “You don’t seem to have much of a working relationship with north and south tonight,” he snorted.
“I know exactly where I’m going,” Adam said, bringing his mirth under control. “It’s rather customary to take refreshment after a night at the theater, so restaurants near here stay open late for that purpose. Since we had a rather early supper, I thought we might indulge in the custom. Of course, if you’re not interested . . . ”
“I’m not starving,” Joe said, his mood improving at the mere mention of another opportunity to empty his uppity brother’s pockets, “but I could eat a bite or so.”
Certain he could read his brother’s childish motive, Adam worked his tongue inside his mouth before saying, “Whatever you want, but I would advise you to eat lightly this late at night or you will regret it in the morning.”
Knowing that was simple truth, Joe didn’t argue, and Adam was pleased to see that his brother’s selection, when they reached the restaurant, amounted only to a bowl of oyster stew, a small slice of pound cake and coffee. One battle of the budget won, with numerous others yet to be fought, Adam had little doubt.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Little Joe stumbled, bleary-eyed, from his room the next morning, Adam folded the newspaper he’d been perusing. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens,” he teased.
Joe yawned. “Well, you could’ve woke me, if we needed an earlier start.”
“I’m averse to wrestling grizzly bears before my morning coffee,” Adam said, chuckling at the scowl that met the remark. “Actually, I figured we could both use a little extra sleep after coming in so late last night.”
“Umm, good figuring,” Joe murmured, stretching his arms behind his back. As he looked more closely at his brother, his brow wrinkled at the familiar black shirt and pants that Adam customarily wore back home. “You’re not dressed,” he said in shock.
“I most certainly am!” Adam chortled.
“Not for the East,” Joe insisted, “unless you mean to hang around the room all day.”
“Are you that tired?” Adam asked with a smile.
As Adam had expected, Joe hooted at the idea. “‘Course not. What are we—”
“Having breakfast, for a start,” Adam chuckled, “unless you’ve lost your newly prodigious appetite.” At the firm shake of Joe’s head, he added, “Then hustle into your duds, little buddy.”
“Ranch clothes?” Joe asked.
“Whatever you like,” Adam said. “I just thought we were due a day with more relaxed garb, even if the easterners do think we’re western boors.”
“Thanks!” Fully awake now, Joe dashed into his room, pulled off his nightshirt for a quick wash at the basin and dressed in the comfortable gray slacks and tan shirt that he’d worn the first couple of days on the train, which had been freshly laundered since their arrival in Philadelphia.
Little Joe had learned over the past several days that Adam simply would not respond to questions about the day’s activities until breakfast was served. Being especially curious today because of the easing of older brother’s stringent wardrobe standards, Joe all but exploded with the question the minute the waitress presented his sausage and waffles. “What you got planned for today, Adam?”
Smiling to himself as he cut his slice of Smithfield ham, Adam replied, “Not a thing.”
Joe almost dropped his fork. “Huh?”
Relishing the look of total surprise on his brother’s face, Adam laughed. “Your choice today, little buddy. What would you like to do, excluding the Exhibition itself, that is?”
“Y-you’re kidding, right?” Joe stammered.
“Nope,” Adam said laconically. He put the meat in his mouth, chewing slowly to savor the distinctive flavor the pigs’ diet of peanuts gave to pork raised in Virginia.
“You mean it? I really get to choose?” Joe pressed, eyes wide with wonder.
“I mean it,” Adam said, feeling slightly chagrined when he saw how much that freedom of choice obviously meant to his young brother. Should’ve listened to Pa, I guess, when he talked to me about letting the kid have some voice. “So what’s it to be?”
Joe didn’t need to give the decision much thought. Obviously, he wanted to pick a place that Adam himself wouldn’t select, as he’d eventually see everything his big brother considered worthwhile, anyway. “Could it be the zoo?” he asked tentatively.
Feeling as if he were the one being tested today, Adam nodded. “The zoological park it is.” Joe had made exactly the choice he’d expected, that assumption the real reason behind his personal wardrobe choice that morning. Though he would not tell Joe until later, he planned to combine the trip to the zoo with a walk through one of the rustic sections of Fairmount Park, and eastern suits simply weren’t appropriate for a ramble through the woods. Lifting his coffee cup, he couldn’t resist a little teasing, however. “Unless you would prefer to tour the House of Refuge for juvenile offenders, that is. They admit visitors on Saturdays, and we could get tickets at the Public Ledger Building. Might give you extra incentive to stay out of trouble.”
For a moment Little Joe thought his brother was serious. Then his characteristic grin broke wide, and he gave Adam’s knee a playful tap under the table. “You had me going there for a minute, Adam!”
“Well, it doesn’t happen often,” Adam laughed. “Fellow has to pick his shots with you, kid.”
Joe tapped his index finger against his cheek. “Hmm. I might just have to drop a line to Pa about you taking pot shots at his favorite son.”
Eyebrow arched, Adam surveyed his brother coolly. “I could probably drop Pa a line or two he might find interesting, as well, ‘favorite son.’”
Good-naturedly conceding that round to his older brother, Joe laughed and thrust out his hand. “I won’t if you won’t. Deal?”
Adam reached across the table to close the bargain with a handshake. “Deal.”
Having finished breakfast, the two brothers again caught the horse cars out to the narrow strip on the west side of the Schuylkill River, where America’s first zoological park had opened only two years before. A number of families were standing in line at the small, peak-roofed building that served as entrance, so it was several minutes before Adam handed the gatekeeper two bits each for himself and Joe and they were able to enter.
Once inside, Adam found keeping up with his lively little brother almost impossible, for Joe dashed from one pavilion to the next, only slowing down when he spotted some exotic animal hitherto seen only in pictures in a book. Pausing to study the attractive architecture of the towered Carnivora Building, Adam suddenly realized that Joe was nowhere in sight, and he hurried in to find his young brother staring, mouth gaping, at lions, tigers and other ferocious beasts.
Leaving that exhibit, Joe pummeled toward the next building, and Adam chuckled when he saw that it was the Monkey House. Now, who says opposites attract? he mused as he watched Joe mimicking the mobile facial expressions of the chimpanzee. May have to rethink all I’ve been taught about magnetic principles after a demonstration like this. “Trying to prove Darwin’s theories?” he suggested as he sauntered up to Joe.
“Hmm?” Joe murmured, eyes fixed on the simian.
“Darwin’s theories on evolution,” Adam began, stopping at the tight frown replacing Joe’s animated smile.
“No lectures today, professor,” Joe declared. “You said it was my choice today, and listening to you spout all your supposed wisdom on every subject under the sun is not what I choose.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to learn a little in the midst of the fun, would it?” Adam demanded irritably.
“Yup, it’d be downright painful,” Joe insisted as he walked toward the cage containing a small, black-haired monkey.
With a sigh, Adam followed. Maybe a college education would be lost on a kid as determinedly ignorant as Little Joe.
After spending extensive time with the monkeys, the Cartwrights left that pavilion, and Joe tore toward an outdoor enclosure with a group of people surrounding it. Adam charged after him to see the zebra and other denizens of the African grasslands.
Whistling, Joe craned his neck back to look up at the long-necked giraffe near the fence. “Did you ever think they’d be that tall, Adam?” he asked breathlessly.
“Of course,” Adam said pedantically. “I’ve read their vital statistics and compared their height with that of buildings before.”
“Statistics!” Joe screeched in horror. “Oh, Adam, no! Look at him. What a beautiful piece of work he is!”
Smiling, Adam looked more closely at the animal, trying to see it through Joe’s exuberant eyes, and had to admit the kid had a point. An animal like this should be seen and enjoyed and analysis of his makeup left for another time. “Yes, as beautiful a piece of architecture as any building, I must admit.”
Joe clapped him on the back. “That’s better. Now, no more talk about statistics, brother. They’ll take the fun right out of anything.”
Adam chuckled. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now, would we, Joe?” He turned to his right, where his younger brother had been moments before. “Joe? Joe!”
“Over here,” Little Joe called. “You gotta see this, Adam!”
Shaking his head, Adam walked over to see “this,” which turned out to be the rhinoceros donated to the zoological park by P. T. Barnum. “Will you quit doing that?” he scolded.
“Doing what?” Joe asked, turning back to the animal before his brother could answer. “Hey, Pete,” he called to the rhino, having read the animal’s name on the plaque outside the cage. “How you like it behind those bars? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Feel the same way myself, fellow.”
“Sure sign of addled wits,” Adam snickered, “when you start talking to the animals. Oh, but wait. You always did—to that persnickety pinto of yours, at any rate.”
“You’re just jealous,” Joe accused, knuckling his brother’s biceps, “‘cause your uppity chestnut can’t carry on a conversation.” Cackling, he careened toward the bear pits.
Adam rolled his eyes in disbelief. Sure, he talked to Sport, but he didn’t delude himself into thinking the horse talked back. When it came to Cochise, however, his little brother lost all sense of reality; he really did think that temperamental little black and white communicated with him. Adam sauntered down the path to stand next to Joe, who was leaning over the stone wall to gaze at the grizzly bear in the deep pit.
“Hey, Adam, meet Rose,” Joe said with a grin.
“On speaking terms already?” Adam twitted.
“Of course not,” Joe snorted. “She’s just a bear, big brother.”
“Ah, I see,” Adam teased. “It’s only horses that talk.”
Joe’s nose wrinkled. “Only the intelligent ones. That’s why you got no experience—nothin’ smart to listen to.”
“Why, you little”—but Joe was gone again, running across the road to see Jennie the elephant, whose pavilion was always surrounded by children. Adam couldn’t help noticing the similarity between Joe’s open delight and that of the other youngsters watching the elephant. What must it be like to let your heart take wing that way and not worry about how people perceived you? Ah, to be a child again, Adam thought; then a dark cloud passed across his thoughts. When had he ever been a child?
“That’s sad,” Joe was whispering as his brother ambled up to his side.
“Hmm?” For a moment Adam feared he might have spoken his dismal thought aloud.
“That chain around her leg. I’d hate that.”
“Joe, Joe,” Adam chided gently as he rested his folded arms on the fence between them and the elephant. “It’s a dumb beast; it doesn’t have the same feelings as a man.”
“You don’t know that,” Joe argued. “Horses like to run free. Why wouldn’t an elephant need freedom just as much?”
Adam cocked his head and gazed thoughtfully at his brother. “Maybe so, Joe, maybe so. You ready for something to eat?”
“Half starved, but I don’t want to leave ‘til we see it all, Adam.”
Adam draped an arm around his brother’s shoulder and turned him around. “You don’t have to leave; there’s a restaurant on the grounds.”
Joe grinned. “In that case, brother, lead on. I have worked up a hearty appetite out here this morning.”
Adam uttered a throaty groan. “Oh, I wouldn’t doubt that for one minute.”
The zoo restaurant had an almost picnic-like atmosphere, with its tables set beneath towering shade trees. The menu was simple, compared with that of the hotel dining room, but neither boy was likely to go away hungry. Joe ordered a large bowl of beef stew, while Adam opted for a salad of chicken and celery, dressed with mustard, vinegar, sweet oil, egg yolk, cayenne pepper and salt. Both boys indulged in a plate of sliced, ripe tomatoes and selected wedges of cool, fresh watermelon for dessert.
“Seems like a shame to pen wild animals up this way,” Joe observed, thinking of the bars and chains again.
“How else would you ever see them?” Adam pointed out. “Not everyone can make a safari to Africa or Australia.”
“Yeah, I know,” Joe admitted, “but such small cages, Adam! You’d think they’d make ‘em bigger, give the animals room to run.”
Adam smiled. “Not a bad idea, buddy. You know, with the proper education, you could develop those ideas and design—”
Joe jumped to his feet. “You’ve got the proper education. You design ‘em.” He stalked off in a huff.
Leaving the last of his watermelon, Adam chased after Joe. Catching up, he snared his brother’s elbow and pulled him to a stop. “Sorry. No more lectures on education the rest of the day, I promise.”
Easily appeased since he was enjoying himself so thoroughly, Joe smiled, and the Cartwright brothers walked into the aviary arm in arm. When they came out, Joe saw a balloon vender just outside the door and bought a bright yellow one, gazing up at it, face beaming with delight at the way it danced against the cotton-clouded sky.
“You are such a child!” Adam chuckled, secretly envying that carefree spirit.
His pleasure in the sunny shape spoiled, Joe frowned and put some distance between himself and his brother as he headed for the pavilion exhibiting mammals and birds from Australia.
“Boy, he’s touchy today,” Adam muttered, trailing behind.
Next they visited the deer and buffalo parks, and to make amends, Adam recounted the story of Pa’s first buffalo hunt on the trail west, congratulating himself on how easily he seemed to have dissipated Joe’s fit of temper. Making short work of the beaver dam and prairie dog town, both of which were familiar sights to boys from the West, they then toured the winter house for tropical animals.
Afterwards, walking toward the historic home that housed the snakes and white mice, Joe overheard a small child whimpering. Turning, he saw a little brown-haired girl, pointing at another balloon vender with one hand, while with her other she wiped her tear-stained cheeks.
“Darling, I’m sorry, but we can’t afford one,” he heard the child’s mother sadly explain.
Looking at the balloon in his hand, Joe moved quickly toward them and tipped his hat to the woman. “Ma’am, I wonder if you could help a stranger to your city,” he said.
Taken aback by the forward young man, the mother pulled her daughter close to her side. “Well, I don’t know how I could assist you, young man.”
Adam, coming up in time to hear the concern in her voice, started to apologize for his brazen brother, but Joe only raised his voice to speak over him. “It’s like this, ma’am. I’m getting awful tired of carrying this balloon around, and I was wondering, maybe, if your little girl would take over the chore for me.”
“Oh, Mama!” cried the child, eyes luminous with hope.
The mother’s view of the forward young man underwent a radical change, and she smiled warmly into his kind eyes. “Why, yes, young man, I believe she would be willing.”
Flashing his brilliant smile, Joe knelt to tie the balloon string to the little girl’s wrist. “So it won’t fly away,” he explained.
“Thank the young man, Jenny,” the mother directed, and Jenny did so by planting a kiss on Little Joe’s cheek.
When Joe stood up, he saw Adam looking at him. “I’m sorry I interfered,” Adam said and tried to express his pride by adding, “You’re quite a kid.”
Still disgruntled with his older brother, Joe glowered. “Yeah, you already told me that, remember?”
Adam’s breath caught in his throat. The offense he had thought so easily smoothed over was obviously still eating away at his brother, beneath the calm exterior. “I was trying to compliment you, Joe.”
Joe shrugged it off. “Yeah, I know, but you were right before; balloons are for kids.”
As they walked toward the exit, Adam pondered how to heal the hurt, his young brother’s slower pace continuing to hint at inner pain, but he couldn’t come up with any easy solution. Like Pa always said, it was hard to call words back, once spoken. Maybe a direct apology was the best way. “Joe, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he finally said as they were leaving the zoo.
“I know. It’s okay, Adam,” Joe replied, and though the words were the ones Adam had wanted to hear, somehow there wasn’t enough force behind them to make them convincing.
“If you’re not too tired, I have an idea,” Adam began.
Joe cut him off abruptly. “You said today was my choice!”
“It is,” Adam assured him with deliberate patience. “This is only a suggestion. If you don’t like it, you can choose something else.” At this point he would even have consented to visiting the Exhibition itself, just to bring back Joe’s child-like smile, though the change would play havoc with his meticulously outlined schedule. When Joe made no response, he asked, “Want to hear it?”
“I guess,” Joe whispered, feeling ashamed of his foul mood after what had really been an enjoyable excursion. Not quite ready to give up his affronted attitude, he added, lips pouting, “It had better not be anything educational, though.”
Adam solemnly raised his palm toward his brother. “I promised, and I do hereby reaffirm my vow. Not one elucidating word will pass these lips until the next rising of the sun.”
A soft smile flickered on Joe’s lips. “Okay, what’s the idea?”
“East Park,” Adam replied. “A few sights to see, but mostly just some pleasant scenery: rocks, trees, ravines.”
Joe’s smile grew less tentative. “That sounds real good. How do we get there?”
“Just cross the Girard Avenue Bridge over there and then follow the carriage road underneath it on the other side,” Adam said, pointing, and the brothers began to walk toward the northeastern section of Fairmount Park.
The further they went, the broader Joe’s smile became. “Oh, this is great,” he sighed in contentment as they passed beneath arching oaks and gazed up at the cliffs overhanging the curves of the river.
“If you don’t think this is being too educational,” Adam said, pointing to a structure under construction, “I’ll mention that that is the new water reservoir for the city.”
Joe chuckled. “I guess I can handle that much.” He licked his lips. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bear this afternoon, Adam.”
“Serves me right for taking you to see Rose,” Adam chuckled. He cuffed Joe’s neck and drew him close. “It’s okay, kid. I had some of it coming.”
Joe nodded in agreement, but put out his hand. “Peace treaty?”
Adam laughed and gave the slender, but strong hand a solid shake. “And may we keep it as well as William Penn did his.”
“Got my doubts about that,” Joe admitted ruefully, remembering how briefly any pact he made with Adam tended to hold, “but I’ll try.”
“And I will, too.”
Near the lower end of the reservoir, they walked up a romantic ravine and stopped to refresh themselves in the cold, clear water of a rivulet making its way to the Schuylkill. Just to the north, they came to a stone colonial mansion. “Mount Pleasant,” Adam responded to Joe’s inquiring look, “once the property of Benedict Arnold.”
“Boo!” Joe hissed noisily. “Who wants to see that traitor’s home?”
Slipping an arm around his brother’s waist, Adam amplified, “Well, he never actually lived there, though he bought it as a wedding gift for his bride. The state of Pennsylvania confiscated it because of his treason.”
“High price to pay for going your own way,” Joe murmured, thinking of how much losing the Ponderosa would mean to him.
Despite his earlier promise, Adam couldn’t resist the temptation to wax didactic. “Yes, our homes and families are always affected by our actions. Something to remember, little buddy, next time you’re tempted to ‘go your own way.’”
Joe jerked out of his brother’s grasp. “Doggone you, Adam! We’re supposed to be doing what I want today, and I dadgum sure don’t want to listen to another one of your brotherly lectures. You promised!”
Though Adam might have made a case that admonitions concerning responsible behavior did not fall under his promise to curtail educational lectures, he conceded easily. “Okay, buddy. Today is your day. No lectures ‘til tomorrow—and then maybe just from the preacher.”
“We going to church?” Joe asked.
Adam shrugged. “I figured we would. Not much open in staid old Philadelphia on a Sunday, anyway.”
“Yeah, I guess it beats sitting around the hotel all day,” Joe agreed.
Adam shook his head, amused by his brother’s need for constant activity. “Ah, the boundless energy of youth!”
“Yeah? Well, let’s see if you can keep up, old man,” Joe challenged and took off.
With a groan Adam gave chase. He knew from attempts back home that there was no catching Joe when he had a head start. For that matter, it was getting harder by the year to best the kid in a race that started even. Adam had length of limb on his side, but Joe seemed to have more native athletic talent, not to mention more practice at eluding some earnest pursuer, whether Pa, one of his brothers or the irate father of a pretty girl.
When he finally caught up, Adam discovered his brother seated beside a rippling stream, pulling off his balmorals, which he’d learned were more comfortable for long walks than his western boots. Huffing, Adam dropped beside him. “If I hadn’t made you that promise, I’d be giving you some strong words about taking off like that.”
Joe grinned. “Didn’t it feel great, though?”
Leaning back on his elbows, Adam smiled. The run had, indeed, done him good. “Planning a swim?” he queried with a glance at Joe’s bare feet.
“Just gonna wade a little. My feet are hot.”
“Be my guest,” Adam said, lying down and folding his arms behind his neck. He closed his eyes, muscles relaxing as he listened to the splashing sounds coming from the stream. His breathing slowed, and he drifted between the realms of sleep and wakefulness until a dash of cold water slapped him alert. Eyes jolting open, Adam saw his brother’s open hands, dripping wet, inches from his face. With a quick grab he imprisoned Joe’s wrists and pulled him to the ground. “You little brat,” he scolded, rolling Joe onto his back and crouching over him. “I oughta toss you bodily into that creek.”
“Go right ahead,” Joe giggled. “Won’t bother me none.”
Adam sat back, laughing. “All right. You win that round.” Looking around, he noticed that the sun was starting to drop. “About time for supper. I presume you’re hungry?”
“Oh, always, big brother,” Joe replied with a maddening grin. “You can count on that at least three times a day. Do we have to go back to the hotel?”
“Only if that’s your choice,” Adam said, preparing to spring another surprise. “Strawberry Mansion up ahead has been turned into a restaurant, so we can eat there if you like.”
Any place different sounded good to Joe, so he lifted his arm for Adam to help him up, and after putting his socks and shoes back on, he was ready to leave. The restaurant was only a short distance away, atop a hill with an excellent view of the surrounding countryside. After enjoying it a few minutes, the Cartwright went inside and ordered. While Strawberry Mansion did not serve the traditional catfish and coffee available at other restaurants near the Falls of Schuylkill, fish was prominent among the menu choices, and both Adam and Joe selected that as an entrée. Adam took his boiled with egg sauce and mashed potatoes, while Joe opted for pan-fried crappie with slices of potato, fried with onions and sweet peppers. Strawberry short cake, topped with rich, whipped cream, completed the meal, and both boys declared themselves as stuffed to the gills as if they were being bred for the table.
“Could you tolerate one more suggestion from your big brother?” Adam asked as they were leaving the restaurant.
“Oh, I guess you’ve behaved well enough to earn that,” Joe chuckled.
“Amazing what a good meal will do for your disposition,” Adam teased. “Come this way.” Pausing a few moments to admire the stone bridge of the Reading Railroad, Adam crossed it, pulling Joe along. “There, take a look,” he said.
Joe smiled at the low building, from which emerged a couple of men carrying long poles. “Hey, could we go fishing?” he asked eagerly.
“I think you have to be a member, Joe,” Adam said. “I just wanted you to know that there were places to get away from the bustle of city life, if—”
“Adam . . .” Joe drawled out in warning.
“I remember,” Adam assured him. “I’ll say no more. Anyway, it’s getting late. We should head back to the hotel.”
“Can we take a boat?” Joe asked.
Adam smiled at his brother’s newfound love of the water. “Maybe you inherited some of the salt water in Pa’s veins, after all.”
“Did you?”
Adam grew wistful. “Yeah, some. All the stories he told when I was a kid. Sometimes I think I’d like to sail off on a sleek clipper and see the world the way he did.”
Joe bit his lip nervously, disturbed by the thought of Adam’s leaving home again. As irritated as he sometimes got with his older brother’s imperial ways, he knew the Ponderosa just wouldn’t be the same without Adam, but he said nothing, covering his emotions by running down the ramp to the steamboat waiting to take them back to Fairmount Park.
As they steamed toward their destination, Adam puzzled over his boisterous brother’s unusual quietness. Probably just tired, he decided. I know I am. It’s been a long day, a series of long days. Maybe it’s a good thing Philadelphia does shut down for the Sabbath. He draped an arm across Joe’s shoulders as they leaned over the rail and felt Joe lean close, kind of the way he had when he was a child. Smiling, Adam ruffled the boy’s wind-tangled curls and knew by the smile he received in return that all was once more at peace between the Cartwright brothers. Now, if we could just keep it!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Melodious chimes were ringing as Adam and Joseph Cartwright walked toward Christ Church that sunny Sunday morning. “It’s an eight-bell chime,” Adam observed, “supposedly the oldest in America.”
“Yeah?” an impressed Little Joe murmured. He looked up at the huge white bell tower gracing the brick building. “Is it still Georgian, even with that?”
“Yes, it’s Georgian. You’re getting to be quite an expert on that style of architecture, my boy.”
Joe chuckled. “Not too hard when almost every building in town has the same style.”
“Remind me to point out some other varieties,” Adam said, hoping to whet his brother’s interest in that field of study.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Joe cautioned, reading his brother’s mind.
“I don’t want to argue today, Joe,” Adam said. “Shall we go in?”
The morning service had not yet begun, so the brothers took a few moments to examine the interior of the colonial church, ornate with fluted columns and sweeping arches supporting the balconies on either side. Walking down the center aisle between the enclosed pews, Little Joe fingered a brass plaque on the end of one. “Look, Adam,” he whispered in awe. “It’s George Washington’s pew.”
“He worshipped here regularly during the early years of the government,” Adam said, “as did many others whose names you would recognize from history: Patrick Henry, James Madison, Betsy Ross, even Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin on occasion.” He decided not to mention names from the opposing side of the Revolutionary conflict, such as Lord Howe and General Cornwallis and certainly not Benedict Arnold. While all of them had also worshipped in the historic church, Adam didn’t trust his impulsive younger brother’s response and judged silence to be a wise precaution.
The service began, and the Cartwright brothers relaxed in the quiet peace that pervaded the house of worship. In fact, Joe almost fell asleep, simply becaus