Boston Metaphysical Society Page 8

  Samuel gazed at Elizabeth as she beamed at him. “Allow me to marry Elizabeth. I will protect her and your family name.”

  “Is this what you want, Elizabeth?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yes, Father. It is,” she replied without hesitation.

  For the first time in her life, Elizabeth saw tears in her father’s eyes.

  “So be it.” Jonathan walked away in defeat.

  Elizabeth turned to Samuel as he gathered her up in his arms. “Can you do this, Samuel? Can you live with what I am?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t live without you,” he said with every ounce of his being as he leaned down and kissed her.

  HOW DOES A RAT WITH mechanical legs clean its whiskers? Carefully.

  Tinker extended her metal foreleg. It jerked as the tiny gears whined. She tried again. This time she stretched it out until the gears stopped. She moved the leg back and forth again and again each time with greater mobility.

  The leg was comprised of fine copper filaments drilled into the scapula replacing the ligaments in her shoulder. Tinker’s clavicle and humerus were made out of copper piping as was the rest of the leg. The joints consisted of small intricate gears that weighed next to nothing. The boy said she was a marvel. Tinker agreed.

  Tinker reached up to scratch her nose and ended up poking herself. She squealed in pain.

  “Be careful, Tinker,” the boy ordered, a bit alarmed. “Don’t poke out your eye.”

  She flexed then gripped her new claw into a fist. Unlike her old paw, this one had five fingers made of a gold and bronze alloy. Soft metals to be sure, but easy to shape into fine, delicate instruments. The boy said it would enable her to pick up the tiniest of objects. The strength and flexibility pleased her and the new foreleg matched her mechanical back left leg in design. Tinker wondered why he didn’t change all her legs, but then remembered he’d said something about equilibrium and not wanting to fix what wasn’t broken. None of that mattered as he’d taken her dying body and made her whole again.

  Tinker gazed into the face of the boy the others called Jonathan. He was younger than most humans Tinker had seen. The emerging fuzz on his upper lip was no match for her gray and mottled bronze fur, yet, the hair on his head was a dark, luminous brown. It would have been the envy of any rat, except for her. Tinker was special and she knew it.

  “That’s my Tinker girl,” he spoke as he stroked her ears. “Can you move your paw?”

  Tinker flexed her right unaltered paw and chittered.

  “No, silly. Your other one,” Jonathan chided. “Okay, pretty girl, stop with the showing off. Walk for me.”

  Tinker flinched when she put her full weight on her right foreleg. Then the pain eased and she hobbled forward.

  “Steady, girl.” Jonathan placed his hands on either side of Tinker as she wobbled across the table top. It took practice, but soon she found her balance. “Well done.”

  She sat back on her hind legs and squeaked. “So, now you’re telling me it’s time for a reward.” Tinker rocked back and forth. She knew how to get what she wanted.

  “Well, you deserve it.” Jonathan reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of cracker. He placed it in front of her. Tinker reached for it with her left paw, but Jonathan covered it with his hand. “No you don’t. You have to pick it up with your new hand.”

  Tinker wiggled her whiskers and concentrated. She hated these exercises, but the boy kept insisting they were important. Tinker had no idea why, but she tried her best.

  She practiced wiggling each finger, then touched them to her nose one at a time. Then when she was confident in her dexterity, she reached over and picked up the cracker. After a moment’s hesitation, Tinker gobbled it up.

  “Brava, Tinker. Brava.” The boy clapped his hands at her achievement.

  Proud of herself, Tinker reached up to clean her whiskers with her new hand, but ended up pulling too hard. She squealed again.

  “Careful, girl. Not too much too soon,” Jonathan admonished.

  A rapping on the door startled them both. Tinker grew afraid when his face drained of color. Jonathan wrapped her in a blanket and tucked her into a drawer in a rush. She chittered at him.

  “Shh, Tinker. Be very quiet. Not a sound,” he whispered as he shut the drawer. But in his haste, the drawer didn’t close all the way, and a terrified Tinker huddled deep into the blanket, fearful that this other human might kill her.

  “JONATHAN, IT’S ME. OPEN UP,” a raspy male voice could be heard through the solid oak door.

  The boy sighed then shuffled over and slid back several bolts. He cracked it open. Outside stood his father, Charles, leaning on a cane as he wheezed and coughed.

  Charles Weldsmore was tall and spindly with little muscle on his body. Years of illness had worn him down to a whisper of a man. Though his suit was of the finest wool and embossed with gold and silver, it hung off him as if he were a human coat rack. He dabbed his drawn and pale face, then coughed into an ivory silk handkerchief. When Charles saw his son looking at the blood on it, he folded the cloth up and tucked it into his front pocket. Jonathan could not help but worry as the fresh spots of blood grew in size as the silk absorbed them.

  “Father, what are you doing up here?” Jonathan helped Charles inside the room to a rickety old chair. “You should have sent Sampson up.”

  “Your grandmother insisted,” he replied. “And you know what that means.” Charles slumped back in the chair. It barely shifted under his weight.

  “She shouldn’t be so mean.”

  Charles patted his son’s hand. “According to your grandmother, being ill is a sign of weakness. We can’t have any of that, can we?”

  “Yes, father.” Jonathan looked at the floor as he shuffled his feet.

  Charles straightened up. “Your grandmother wants you to appear for dinner on time. But I thought I’d take a look at what you’ve done up here. You are the cleverer of my two sons even if she disagrees.”

  Jonathan beamed at the compliment.

  Charles pointed his cane at the tables. Some held jars of various chemicals, but the majority were stacked with copper filaments, tubing, metal piping and cutting tools of every size and shape. One wall was lined with tools while blueprints of mechanical men and ship designs hung on another.

  But the most amazing features was the small to medium-sized ship models hanging from the ceiling and scattered about the room, each rendered exquisitely in detail and proportion. A few were complete models while others had cutaways showing the inner workings of everything from a common sailing ship to the top-of-the-line steamships the Weldsmore company built.

  “I have to say you turned this old attic into the envy of every scientist in Boston,” his father remarked.

  “I’m not a scientist, Father. I’m an engineer,” Jonathan corrected him.

  Charles gave him a sad smile. “You’re lucky to be the second son. Otherwise, your grandmother wouldn’t have put up with any of this.”

  “But it’s important,” Jonathan insisted. “Someone has to design the ships and the tools. Why not me?”

  “Because you are a Weldsmore.” Charles puffed out his chest to imitate his mother and in her exact cadence said, “We hire men to get their hands dirty. We don’t do it ourselves.”

  Jonathan tried to hold back his laughter, but failed. His father gave him a serious look then burst out laughing which soon turned into a coughing fit. Jonathan reached over to help him, but Charles waved him away. “Don’t bother. It’ll pass.”

  Across the room, a canvas sheet was draped over something the size of a small carriage. The outline gave the impression of a bullet with poles sticking up on top. Charles gestured toward it. “What’s under there?”

  “It’s a secret.” Jonathan shuffled his feet. “I mean… more a surprise. For your birthday.”

  He looked up to see Tinker had poked her nose out of the drawer. Afraid his father might notice her Jonathan hurried over to the canvas sheeting to distract him
. “But I can show you now, if you want.”

  “No, no, no. I wouldn’t want you to ruin my surprise. What’s the fun in that?” Charles leaned against his cane and struggled to stand. “I want to be surprised.”

  Jonathan took his father’s arm and ushered him to the door. “You mean like Hal surprises you?”

  Charles put his arm around his son. “Your brother’s surprises are never good ones. Yours, on the other hand, are always charming and delightful. I still remember that walking metal man you made for me last year.”

  “I’m afraid Grandmother remembers it as well.” Jonathan cringed at the memory.

  “She has no imagination. And neither does Hal.”

  “But he’s much better with people than I am, and he knows how to dance,” Jonathan said while keeping an eye on the drawer.

  Charles chuckled. “He certainly does know how to dance. A social attribute I never grasped the importance of until your grandmother explained it to me.” He removed his arm from around Jonathan as they walked toward the door. He winced a few times, then steadied himself.

  Jonathan moved to help him again, but Charles pushed him away. “No. If I fall, I’m not taking you with me.” He forced a smile though the pain. “Now, let’s go to dinner.”

  TINKER STAYED HIDDEN IN THE drawer until the boy and the man left. After the door shut, she squeezed out of the space between the drawer and the table and clawed her way up. Several cracker crumbs were still there so she gobbled those up. It wasn’t as though the boy never fed her—she just liked crackers. And well, food in general. Before the boy had found her, Tinker had to fight and scrounge for every morsel. She remembered the day a huge machine had run over her, leaving her maimed and near death.

  The boy must have overheard her squeals of pain as not long after he had picked her up in a piece of paper and tucked her in a box. His eyes held no hatred or loathing in his eyes, only compassion.

  Tinker practiced using her new hand. She flexed and tapped each new finger against the short one on the inside. The boy had told her it was called a thumb. She didn’t have one before and decided she liked it.

  She scurried across the desktop and looked over at the canvas sheeting covering the huge bulky object. Tinker wondered what it was and if there was food inside. Using the metal claws of her front and back leg, she could swing herself over the edge of the desk and grab hold of the table leg. The new paw gripped the corner with a strength she’d never felt before. As she climbed down, Tinker noticed the metal claws left tiny marks in the wood. She hoped Jonathan wouldn’t be mad.

  Tinker skittered over to the canvas and stood up on her hind legs. Whatever was under there looked massive. She sniffed and got a faint whiff of wood, glue, and oil. Tinker decided she didn’t care what it smelled like and clawed at it.

  The canvas was awkward to shift at first, but Tinker was able to move her foreleg fast enough to gain momentum. And with the new forearm, she could get a good grip on the material. After a few minutes of furious pulling, most of the canvas fell off to reveal something Tinker had never seen before. It reminded her of the objects that were cut in half and hanging the ceiling. The thing was curved on one side and straight on the other. The straight side had a bunch of cubbyholes and exposed tunnels. On top were cylindrical pieces of wood that stuck straight up.

  Tinker pondered it for a minute. She liked the tunnels and the cubbyholes and wondered if it was to be her new home. She jumped up into it and scampered through several of the tunnels until she found a cubbyhole that was just her size. Tinker settled in convinced she was right. This had been built just for her.

  “WHAT IN THE NAME OF Queen Victoria were you two doing up there? You were supposed to be at dinner a half an hour ago.” Jonathan’s grandmother glared at him and his father as they entered the sitting room. “So it falls on me to send your father to climb up those stairs to get your attention.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother. I lost track of time.”

  She pursed her lips as she glared at her grandson. “No good will come of this tinkering. You are an overindulged young man who should be studying business like your brother.”

  Jonathan shrank under her gaze for Beatrice Weldsmore was a fierce and unforgiving woman. Her face was as hard and pinched as her gray hair which was tied up in various knots by gold buckles and wire. Her body was wrapped up in much the same way. She wore a full length bronze satin dress with a high bodice and a black corset laced with pearls. Skeins of copper wire wound their way up and around her dress like snakes with no end and no beginning.

  Unlike Medusa, Beatrice Weldsmore had no fear or regrets when she looked in the mirror.

  Needless to say, several mirrors were placed strategically around the tasteful and elegant room allowing Beatrice a clear view into every corner where someone might talk behind her back. Large bay windows dominated the westside and were framed with burgundy silk drapes trimmed in ermine. Fine copper wires were woven into the material giving it a glittery sheen. Mahogany loveseats with ivory velvet cushions were positioned to give the appearance of openness, and wooden inlay end tables sat by the corner of each loveseat. A splash of roses in crystal vases sat on each one.

  It was the room where deals were made and people were broken.

  Charles cleared his throat. “Where’s my eldest? I see he’s late for dinner… again,” he commented as he plopped onto one of the loveseats.

  “He sent a note saying he was delayed at the Monplasirs’,” Beatrice stated as if the answer was obvious.

  “No doubt charming the young Miss Adaline,” Charles retorted.

  “It’s business. That girl is heir to their entire fortune. One worthy of House Weldsmore.”

  “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Mother. Hal maybe be charming, but Adaline’s smart. Something of which Hal cannot be accused,” he replied.

  Beatrice’s nostrils flared at the insult. “He’s smart enough to know what kind of wife he needs when he takes over this company. Unlike you, Hal won’t be a mere figurehead. If your grandfather were still alive, I wouldn’t be forced into this unladylike position of negotiating contracts and touring those filthy ships.”

  “You love every minute of it,” Charles wheezed. Beatrice glared at him. “And don’t bother denying it, Mother. Humility doesn’t suit you.”

  “You are an ungrateful—I can’t believe I gave birth to a weakling like you. I rue the day your dear Emily died without giving birth to a third son. One more worthy of the family name.” Beatrice eyed Jonathan without apology.

  Jonathan hated it when they got into these kinds of arguments. He tried to stay as quiet as Tinker did if a predator was nearby. That didn’t work.

  “Jonathan!” she barked.

  “Yes, Grandmother,” he flinched.

  “Speak up. What is wrong with the men in this family? None of you have any backbone except your late grandfather. And Hal, of course.” Beatrice turned her attention on Jonathan. “How old are you?”

  “F-fif-t-teen, Grandmother,” Jonathan stuttered in fear.

  “And when did you start stuttering?” Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Don’t answer. I can’t bear it.” She narrowed her eyes at Charles. “This is your doing. You’ve allowed him to sit alone in the attic playing with broken toys and machines.”

  “I don’t play with them. I fix them. Make them better,” Jonathan piped up and immediately regretted his decision.

  “Really?” His grandmother loomed over him. “And when will get to see these wondrous achievements? Humm?”

  Jonathan glanced over to his father for help, but Charles shrugged and gave him the “you’re on your own” look. He took a deep breathe. “Father’s birthday. I wanted to surprise him before the sea trial of the Hypatia.”

  “Surprise? I love surprises!” Hal’s boisterous voice filled the room as he walked in. He kissed Beatrice on a proffered cheek then mussed with Jonathan’s hair. “What have you built this time, little brother?”r />
  Jonathan loved and hated Hal. His brother was never mean to him or meant to be mean to him, but he seemed to know Jonathan would never be any competition. So he treated his younger brother with a modicum of pity and stuck up for him when it suited him and that, Jonathan definitely hated. “Stop doing that.” But Hal had moved on.

  Hal offered his arm to his grandmother. “Shall we go into dinner?”

  “Always the gentleman.” Beatrice pretended to swoon as she took his arm.

  The two of them waltzed into the dining room.

  Charles motioned for Jonathan to help him up. Jonathan took his arm as his father struggled to stand. “We may not be as pretty as them, but we get the job done.”

  “Yes, Father,” Jonathan answered as Charles leaned against him.

  TINKER WOKE UP AS JONATHAN removed her from her cubbyhole. He cuddled her in the crook of his arm as he reached into his jacket pocket. “I got more of those crackers.” He handed her one and she snatched it, accidently stabbing one of his fingers with her new hand. “Whoa, don’t take my fingers off.”

  She chittered, horrified that she might have injured him.

  “It’s fine, Tinker.” He kissed the top of her head. “It’s just a scratch.”

  Tinker rubbed her head against his jacket as he stood in front of the thing with the tunnels and cubbyholes.

  “I see you’ve discovered my secret.” Jonathan pulled the rest of the canvas off. “That my dear Tinker, is a replica of the new flagship of our company. The GS Hypatia. Isn’t she beautiful?” The boy acted as if he might salute, he was so proud.

  “Look at it Tinker.” Jonathan swept his hand across the ship as if giving a lesson. “I tried to make the bow section as sleek as possible, then widened it a bit amidships then more tapered at the stern. I used copper tubing and wood to construct the three funnels. There are five decks below the top deck. And see here?” The boy jabbed his finger at various sections. “That’s the engine room and those are the crew quarters. But this is what’s part of the surprise for my father’s birthday.” Jonathan tapped on a thin copper tube which ran through the center of the ship from the bridge to the engine room.