Enlightened

The last copper screw was set in place as the sun crept in a new dawn. Daylight seeped through dew-lined windows, throwing tiny prism rainbows across the mahogany floors. He meticulously scanned the cipher one last time through half-mast eyes, making a final adjustment to his carefully drawn plan.

He then refolded it in quarters and placed it smartly within its secret compartment. For a man of relatively sound reason, recent actions were proving askew of his well-known character.

Patience, he conceded, was not built into man’s natural traits.

Outside the weathered print shop, wheel tracks left deep entangled imprints in the mud - a remnant of the bustling activity from last night’s chaos. He pulled a brass pocket watch from his tan waistcoat, clicking it open. The courier would soon be approaching.

If arrangements went as planned, the courier should arrive before daylight drenched his shop. The whole plan hinges on perfect timing.

In a short time, the streets would fill again with merchants, weary neighbors, and ‘the rabble’ - namely redcoats and Tories. As he typically praised cleanliness, he didn’t mind the grime-laden windows if it deterred prying eyes.

Weary from task, he stood back to gaze upon his latest accomplishment. A sense of elation intertwined with fatigue. His right thumb still throbbed from the hot candle wax used to cauterize a hasty wound. Wincing slightly, he smirked in reward of his own cleverness as the candle flickered its reflection across the final installation.

It truly was a handsome contraption, constructed of glass, wood and wires. Nine bowls suspended in alignment with the next, graduating larger in size from the one before in an oddly tiered design.

A deep breath expanded his chest, filling with pride tinged in wood shavings. He remembered the day this idea was born of another. His favorite invention. Until now.

It was a year ago. A tall, stocky curmudgeon visited his home, looking to gain acceptance into the Junto, uttering obscure scientific terms of which the man knew very little. It was quickly clear the visit was propelled by a more political nature rather than of pure goodwill.

He knew this game very well.

The man continued his uttering while taking visual inventory of his home, before resting eyes upon the armonica. “A handsome instrument, indeed, Mr. Franklin,” he sniffed. “However, a terrible waste of one’s goods and perspiration. Hardly the kind to capture lightning, wouldn’t you say?”

He simply smiled at the man. Not yet, he mused silently.

Thank you, dear friend.

Exhausting in design, this newest invention proved more daunting than anticipated. Even with his high-browed connections, materials were difficult at best to maneuver through the crown. This newest venture successfully embraces the Junto’s school of thought, smartly concealed in a design fit to adorn the most elite of establishments. Like him, It would be the perfect secret in plain sight.

Sitting level atop a tired workbench, the invention was an apparatus wavering far from standard Colonial furnishings. His print shop was much like his home: furnished in practicality, absent of the grandiose status he carved for himself through un-presumptuous means. In contradiction, the invention’s properties were indeed extraordinary. He decided to leave the task of naming the invention to its finder. It was only right - considering the finder would be solely responsible for its triumphs. And ramifications.

Wiping his brow, He retired the small hand tool to his workbench, allowing a last few seconds to absorb his newest endeavor in all its tangible splendor. He took visual inventory of every intricate curve, scrollwork and tine.

An amiable marriage of raw aesthetics entangled in its potentially promising function. This, he determined, spoke true of his what he wished for mankind - opportunity for new ideas. New bridges. New hope. It only lacked a heartbeat.

Working by candlelight in the wee hours over several months had weathered his already-aged eyes, not to mention proving a taxing challenge to his gout. A cruel price to pay for a new country. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he mused what Congress would say if realization threw light upon this new idea. He only prayed his eldest son did not catch wind of his scheme - for that would truly be a battle he would much prefer to avoid altogether.

The objective was now before him in plain view. A courier was due to arrive before the light of day summoned the commoners to their early morning dealings.

A trusted source in the Junto arranged for a new courier to transport the invention, to be smartly hidden in plain view until the appropriate moment presents itself.

The time would come when the world would discover its existence. He prayed the world would be ready when that time arrives.

It was obvious the capability of its purpose would not arrive on his horizon. He held faith in the light of reason that a soul beyond this era with cunning and curiosity equal to his own would surely devise a means to finish his work.

A distant apprentice.

It is inevitable in the science of his era that his death will have come and gone long before his secret would unfold. With a timeframe impossible to define, it must be triggered by another’s hand. Who would come forth to learn the invention’s great secret? Who would harness it’s great gift? He stood frozen with intrigue, basking in the wonder of it all.

Fatigue began to win over his aged body. He took a swallow of Madeira, reflecting on its soft amber glow. With a knowing wink, he recalled raising this same spirit among fellow “traitors,” toasting one another for placing their marks upon a most daring and inspirational document designed to call forth a unity this country so desperately thirsted for.

It is a great risk to push ink across the paper with a calculated passion that decidedly will launch war - and possibly place a noose around the neck of each man who lent his mark. The cost for freedom is always high. But man without passion does not really live.

An ache and stiffness began calling out for relief, paying unfriendly compliment to every vertebra in his spine. With a slow, deep breath, he straightened in every effort to reclaim full height.

He took another sip. The Madeira’s telltale tingle reminded him that such drink was better used to calm to a stupor rather than refresh the palate. He returned the remaining drink to the sill and gazed outside. Soon it will be busy with the day’s usual business - that is, to say, if one considers violence and tyranny usual.

Everything was now prepared. Precision was of the utmost expediency.

It was Wednesday. By nightfall he would depart for his beloved Paris, while his invention will have reached its new destination. Months of planning would finally be underway. He recalled one of his well-known quotes: “He that can have patience can have what he will.”

Timing is essential. Enlightenment is key.

He removed his signature round rimmed glasses, rewarding his aching eyes a well-deserved rest.

He smiled. “Let the experiment be made.”

A slight breeze swung the sign outside his shop’s door. He looked up, expecting the courier had arrived.

Approaching the window, he noticed a large gray mare outside. No carriage was attached. He froze.

The door opened. Placing his glasses back upon his nose, his eyes grew wide. A familiar figure with a stocky build filled the doorway.

“You!?” Ben gasped.

“Good Morning, Mr. Franklin,” the curmudgeon replied cooly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”