Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

  “Stand still, Grandmother. Tinker won’t hurt you,” Jonathan pleaded.

  “Tinker? This rodent is yours?” Beatrice yelled.

  A frightened Tinker ran between and around Beatrice’s feet as the woman continued to try to crush the rat with her gilded boots.

  Desperate to save Tinker, Jonathan did the unthinkable. He yelled at his grandmother. “Stop moving!”

  Stunned, Beatrice stopped prancing around and glared at Jonathan. He used the moment to grab Tinker and tuck her in his jacket pocket. The poor rat ducked her head and chittered.

  “I want that rodent dead,” Beatrice fumed.

  “No.” Jonathan backed away. “I saved her and she helped me build the model.”

  His grandmother loomed over him. “A rat has no place in this house.”

  “No, I won’t do it. She’s done nothing wrong.” Jonathan stood his ground.

  Beatrice scanned the remaining servants, then pointed at Sampson. “You! Take the rat and kill it.”

  The color drained out of Sampson’s face. “Please, Mrs. Weldsmore, the boy….”

  “Do you wish to remain employed here or not?” She spoke with such vehemence that spittle soared across the room.

  Clearly torn between his heart and his lively hood, Sampson sighed, then walked over to Jonathan and extended his hand. “I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered.

  Devastated, Jonathan reached into his pocket and pulled out Tinker. The few remaining people gasped when they saw the alternations he had made to her.

  “What have you done to that creature? It’s… it’s… an abomination.” Beatrice backed away in horror.

  “She was run over by a buggy. I saved her and repaired the parts that were broken.”

  Charles hobbled over and put his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “It would have been kinder to have let the poor creature die, son.”

  “Look at the pair of you weaklings. Getting misty-eyed over a rat. It’s disgusting. Sampson, take the thing and kill it,” Beatrice ordered.

  Sampson held his hands out to take Tinker, but Jonathan held the frightened animal closer. “No.”

  “Son, please. Give Sampson the rat. He will be quick. Won’t you, Sampson?” Charles asked.

  “Yes, sir. Quick and painless,” the underbutler assured him.

  Beatrice threw her hands up in disgust. “If one of you does not kill that thing this instant, I will do it myself.”

  Tears streamed down Jonathan’s face as he handed Tinker over to Sampson. The underbutler struggled to keep his own emotions in check as he cradled the rat in his hands, then turned to leave.

  “Stop,” Beatrice ordered. “Do it here.”

  Sampson stood immobile, mortified at the request.

  “Mother, may I remind you that we have guests.” Charles gave her a look which questioned her decision, yet deferred to her.

  Beatrice’s eyes fell upon the mayor and his wife, who looked aghast. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to upset anyone.” She motioned for Sampson to leave. “Go, boy. Get it done. And I want to see the body later.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Weldsmore,” Sampson answered as he fled the room.

  Jonathan’s body shook with grief and anger. Charles put his arm around him and ushered him out of the room, but Beatrice wasn’t done with him yet.

  “Jonathan!” she barked at him. “For that utter disregard of respect for me and especially your grandfather, you will not be allowed to attend the sea trials of the Hypatia tomorrow. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” the boy choked.

  “We will discuss later how your actions will affect your future within this family. Now, let me see if I can salvage this disaster.” Beatrice swept by Jonathan and Charles as she exited the room.

  Blinded by the tears in his eyes, Jonathan felt his father’s hand on his shoulder as he led him away.

  THE OIL LAMP FLICKERED ON Jonathan’s workbench. The main part of the house contained electric lights, but did not extend to the upper reaches of the old servant quarters. Not that Jonathan cared.

  He sat in his chair and stared vacantly at what remained of the ship model. The servants had carried it back up the stairs before Beatrice thought to have it destroyed. Music from the ballroom filtered up through the vents and the window. The party continued, though he was sure the gossips were taking great pleasure in humiliating his grandmother over his behavior. He knew she would never forgive him.

  There was a hesitant knock at the door. Jonathan didn’t bother responding until he heard a voice.

  “Jonathan? It’s me. Adaline. May I come in?” Her concerned voice seeped through the cracks in the door and pierced his heart.

  “Please. Go away,” he said, his voice reflecting his misery.

  The door creaked open, and Adaline poked her head around it as she stepped into the room. “Your father and I were worried about you, but I wouldn’t let him climb those stairs. They’re too dangerous for him.”

  “What do you want?” Jonathan asked.

  She walked across the room and kneeled in front of him. “To tell you how sorry I am. I was going to stand up for you, but my father forbade it and dragged me from the room.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.

  “It was everyone’s fault. Including mine. I wish I had known Tinker. I thought what you did with her was marvelous and creative and simply wonderful.” She put her hand on top of his. “Don’t let them destroy you, Jonathan. You’re smarter than everyone in that room, and they hate you for it.”

  Footsteps distracted them and Adaline removed her hand from his and stood. They turned to see a stunned Sampson standing in front of them. He looked like the proverbial kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

  “Sampson? What are you do….” Jonathan’s voice trailed off when he noticed Sampson was carrying a bag in one hand. “Tinker?”

  Sampson shook his head. “No, sir. I mean, yes.” Jonathan noticed one of the underbutler’s jacket pockets moving on its own accord.

  “Tinker!” Jonathan yelled.

  The rat’s head popped out of the pocket when she heard his voice. Tinker squeaked in delight. Jonathan leapt of his chair and scooped the rat out to cuddle her next to his cheek. “You’re alive! You’re alive! Thank you, Sampson. Thank you. I’ll never forget it.”

  “I hope not, sir, for if Mrs. Weldsmore ever found out....” Sampson looked at Adaline.

  “Well, I’m not going to tell her. But won’t she expect to see her… dead?” she asked.

  “That’s where I need your help, young sir.” Jonathan held up the bag. “I found this dead rat in the cellar and thought maybe you could make it look like Tinker.”

  With Tinker on his shoulder, Jonathan took the bag, opened it, and looked inside. He grimaced. “It doesn’t look like her.”

  “Your grandmother isn’t going to look too closely at a dead rat, Jonathan. Trust me,” Adaline declared. “And you’re going to have to find a cage for her. You can’t have her running loose again, or it will cost Sampson his job.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  “I will never betray your faith in me, Sampson. I guarantee it.” Jonathan nuzzled the fuzzy creature who then squirmed out of his hands and jumped on the table searching for bits of cracker.

  Jonathan dug into the drawer that held the old parts from previous experiments and failed designs. He found two small prototype legs with leather straps. “These should do.” He handed them to Sampson.

  The underbutler took them and tucked them into a side pocket. He turned to leave, but stopped and glanced back. “If it’s not to presumptuous young sir and Miss Adaline, you both make a fine-looking couple.”

  Jonathan blushed. “I don’t think you should say such things, Sampson,” he stammered.

  Adaline grinned, leaned over, and kissed Jonathan on the cheek. “But he’s right.”

  Stunned at the turn of events, Jonathan gaped at the young woman.

  “That being said, miss, let me escort you out o
f the servants quarters before you are missed. Then I will return to my other duties.” Sampson held out his arm for Adaline.

  She waltzed over and took it. “I’m so sorry you won’t be at the sea trial, Jonathan. Hal has talked about nothing else.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t care. I’ve got Tinker back. Besides, there’ll be other sea trials.”

  Adaline gave him a sweet smile and small curtsy before she exited the room.

  NOT WANTING TO FACE THE servants or anyone else, Jonathan slept in his workroom that night. An old rickety cot was stuffed in a corner along with a moth-eaten blanket that he curled up under. He tied a string from Tinker’s leg to his waistband to make sure she didn’t wander off. He found a few crackers tucked away in a drawer for her to nibble on.

  Jonathan tossed and turned on the mattress thinking about where he could hide Tinker and what his grandmother had planned for him. Around three o’clock in the morning he dozed off only to be awakened by the sound of a loud “ouch.”

  He hid Tinker in his jacket while he sat up to see what had happened. A body lay sprawled across the floor. Jonathan reached over and turned the oil lamp up. The amber light revealed a very drunk Hal rubbing his nose with his hand.

  “Did you move the stairs?”

  “Hal, what are you doing here?” Jonathan asked.

  “I’ve come to rescue you from your tower,” Hal giggled. “You’re Rapunzel.”

  “And you’re drunk.” Jonathan shook his head as he stood up and moved the light to his work table. “Grandmother will be angry.”

  “Not at me.” Hal leaned against his elbows.

  Jonathan wrapped the blanket around him as he as he sat in his chair, using it to hide any movement from Tinker. “Tell me something I don’t already know. Like, why are you here?”

  “First, I’m sorry about the rat. That was nasty business, but Father was right. You should have put the poor thing out of its misery when you found it.”

  “Hal?” Jonathan grew impatient.

  “Fine.” He staggered up from the floor and used one of the worktables for support. “I can get you on board the Hypatia.”

  “What? How?” Jonathan almost jumped out of his chair in excitement, but then caught himself in case he exposed Tinker. “Grandmother would never let me on the bridge.”

  “Who said anything about the bridge? You dress as an ordinary seaman, and I’ll arrange for you to swab the ducks… I mean decks. Or is it ducks?” Hal looked puzzled.

  “It’s ‘decks,’ Hal.” Jonathan sighed. “Besides, I’d rather be in the engine room.”

  “Now you’re getting picky?” Hal puffed his chest out. “I’ll make sure the master chief is properly compensated for having to babysit you.”

  “No one has to babysit me,” Jonathan fired back.

  “Do you want to come or not?”

  Jonathan nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Hal.”

  “Come along, then. We have to get you appropriately attired.” Hal gestured for Jonathan to stand up. “I’ve got a buggy waiting downstairs with a change of clothes inside.”

  Jonathan hesitated for a moment, then stood up, being very careful not to dislodge Tinker from her hiding place.

  “You are such a girl,” Hal said as he threw his arm around his younger brother. “And don’t worry about Grandmother. When she dies, I’ll bring you back from whatever god forsaken place she’s exiled you to. Though I’m guessing her first choice will be one of our subsidiary steel mills out West.”

  “You know she’s going to live to be a hundred,” Jonathan replied, then stopped and glared at Hal. “Wait a minute. You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

  “There’s a pool going on. I put three to one on the steel mill. Devon disagrees. He’s betting ten to one she’ll post you on a tug,” Hal answered with more enthusiasm than was appropriate. “I think he’s hoping to win back what he owes me.”

  “If you weren’t my brother, I think I’d hate you,” Jonathan grumbled.

  “But I am and you don’t.” Hal mussed up Jonathan’s hair much to his annoyance. “Hurry up. The tide shall wait for no man.”

  JONATHAN TRIED TO CONVINCE HAL to wait outside the buggy while he changed by telling him he was embarrassed to have someone watch him undress. He could tell Hal wanted to smack him across the head, but then his older brother had an urgent need to vomit, letting Jonathan off the hook—temporarily. Unable to leave Tinker behind, he was grateful his seaman’s uniform had several large pockets with flaps and buttons. He quickly changed and tucked Tinker away into one of them.

  When he let Hal into the buggy, his brother looked better and was sobering up. He signaled the driver to proceed to the docks as fast as possible. Aware of how he should present himself at public and family events, Hal always arranged to have a spare suit of clothes wherever he was going. Jonathan wondered if Hal might be good at managing the family’s vast holdings if he spent half the time on business as he did on his appearance, but he doubted it.

  The sun was just coming up when they arrived at the docks. Jonathan hung out the buggy window to get a good view of the Hypatia. He was not disappointed.

  Strands of sunlight pierced the upper port holes of the ship, reflecting back a golden hue. The funnels stood like mighty columns holding up the sky. Her lines were clean, white, and streamlined. Below the water line, her midnight-blue paint was visible. It gave the appearance that she floated upon the sea as if she weighed nothing. In truth, she was a redesigned warship, and her bulkheads were stronger than anything else on the sea. Inside the engine room were thirty boilers that could bring the speed up to an incredible thirty knots when fully loaded. Otherwise, average cruising speed was around twenty knots.

  One would think this was overkill for carrying cargo, but House Weldsmore was responsible for shipping the majority of goods between the Great States and Europe. Without them and the other Houses, much of the civilized world would suffer starvation and economic collapse. By building top-of-the-line ships, they were not only protecting their investment but stabilizing the world’s economy.

  When the buggy stopped, Jonathan hopped out and took a good deep breath. He loved the sea air and couldn’t wait until they launched. Tinker squeaked, so he looked to see the rat’s nose poking out of the top flap of the pocket. Jonathan tapped her nose with the tip of his finger.

  “Be quiet, girl. We’re going on an adventure,” he said.

  Two seamen and the master chief approached them. “Mr. Weldsmore,” the master chief spoke with a harsh Scottish drawl. He nodded at Hal then looked Jonathan over. “His hands aren’t calloused enough, sir. They’ll be bloody blisters by the end of the day.”

  “I don’t care,” Jonathan piped up. “I’ll work.”

  The master chief did not appear impressed. “You bet you will, laddy. And every bone in your body will feel like the devil himself ate them up and spit them out.”

  The seamen chuckled, then one of them reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. He tossed them at Jonathan. “That’s ’cause I don’t want to hear you moaning about how your hands hurt. I hate whining.”

  Jonathan put his hand over the pocket where Tinker hid and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  The master chief loomed over Jonathan. “Do we look like officers, boy? You call me Master Chief. And there be Seaman Mallory and Johnson. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir… I mean Master Chief,” Jonathan stammered.

  The master chief pursed his lips and looked over at Hal. “You sure about this, Mr. Weldsmore?”

  “Are you kidding? He’s going to love every minute of it.” Hal hopped back in the buggy, closed the door, then leaned out the window. “Now, Jonathan, whatever you do don’t let Grandmother see you. I’m afraid if she does she’ll have you thrown overboard.” Hal tapped on the roof. They drove off to where the passengers would be boarding.

  The master chief and the seamen turned and headed back toward the ship. Jonathan ran to catch up.
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br />   BEFORE THEY SET SAIL, JONATHAN, along with the rest of the crew, lined up on the various decks and stood at attention. Since he was on one of the lower decks, Jonathan had a partial view of the passengers who boarded. Only a few hundred were allowed on for a sea trial, but he did manage to see Hal, his grandmother, and several dignitaries with the usual pack of reporters who were assigned to such events. As always, the captain and his officers saluted Hal and his grandmother. It made him proud to see how the crew showed their respect toward his family. He imagined what being treated that way would feel like, but his brief reverie was broken by a soft squeak from his pocket. Several of the seamen gave him odd looks. Jonathan stuck his finger in his pocket and petted Tinker on the head to quiet her.

  Jonathan was put to work in the boiler room shoveling coal ash from the boiler burner compartment. Above him the automatic stoking machine wound its way through the room. Its massive metal gears were quiet, and Jonathan was so enamored with watching it work, he almost lost his shovel on the conveyor belt. That earned him a stern glance from the master chief and general laughter from the rest of the men. He apologized, put his head down, and started shoveling again. Though he had been on many of his family’s ships before, this was the first time he had been allowed in the boiler room while the ship was under power.

  The room was larger than any city building Jonathan had seen. Thirty boilers were lined up in rows of five abreast. They sat like giant steel-and-iron mushrooms each being fed coal by the automatic conveyor. Two smallish men ducked under the conveyor belts, reached through a narrow space and removed the ash by each boiler. Covered in coal ash, sweat, and grime, some of the crew removed their shirts if the master chief wasn’t present. However, Jonathan soon learned it was better to wear long sleeves when one of the boilers belched out hot coal and hit a man in the arm.

  The master chief noticed Jonathan tapping his foot to the speed of the gears and their rotation. “Have you figured it out yet?” The older man gave him a look like Mr. Maximillian did during a pop quiz.