The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [179]
“Grandfather! Let me help you!”
The young man carried a blanket, wrapped Franklin, and he didn’t protest.
“Come inside, Grandfather. It’s too cold for a walk.”
Franklin felt the young man’s hands lifting him, and he tried to shift his weight, ease the pain in his foot. They began to move, Temple holding him tightly by the arm. He wanted to say something, but the sadness was overwhelming him. He was limping even more than before, and after a few steps, said, “We have failed, it seems. A fitting conclusion to our efforts, a long walk in the desert of winter.”
Temple seemed not to hear him, said, “Grandfather, Mr. Deane is still waiting to speak to you. He is concerned about you.”
“Hmm, yes, it is his nature. What of Lee?”
“Mr. Lee is gone, sir. He said he would seek some new solution to our difficulties.”
“Wonderful. I shall await that with childlike glee.”
They were close to the house now, and Franklin could see the door opening, Deane stepping out.
“Doctor, you should not venture out so.”
“Yes, Mr. Deane, my grandson has imparted that lesson already.”
They climbed the short steps, and Franklin could feel the heat from the house, saw the fire in the hearth, limped his way back toward his chair.
Deane sat across from him, his customary place, waited for Franklin to warm his hands, then said, “Doctor, we have another course.”
Franklin flexed his fingers, rubbed at the redness.
“What do you suggest? We can always pack our bags and move this expedition to Moscow, spend our remaining days courting the favor of Empress Catherine.”
Deane made a small grunt, looked at Temple, who stood behind Franklin’s chair.
“Mr. Franklin, would you allow me a private moment with your grandfather?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Temple was out of the room now, and Franklin was curious, saw a different expression on Deane’s face, hard, angry.
“Doctor, I wish you to cease this course!” The words came out in a burst, and Franklin was surprised, said, “What course is that?”
“You are not the victim in this matter. Yet you behave as though the French have given affront to you alone. I would rather spend our energies in constructing a positive result for our nation, than . . . forgive me, Doctor . . . than in wallowing in our own personal despair.”
He had never seen Deane angry before, felt himself swelling up with responses, but the force of Deane’s temper kept him quiet.
“As you know, Doctor, I have been in discussion with Paul Wentworth. He has been in Paris for some time, representing the interests of the British ministry. He wishes to speak to you.”
Franklin knew that Deane had been approached by British representatives, had kept far away from any of that. It was a risk to his relationship with Vergennes that Franklin would not take.
“Doctor, Mr. Wentworth claims that there is a movement afoot in the British cabinet to find the avenue toward a reconciliation with America. There is considerable regret that this war has gone beyond anyone’s expectations. Without the French alliance, what choice do we have but to consider some agreement with England that might prevent further bloodshed?”
“Are you suggesting that we enter into a discussion of surrender terms?”
“No, Doctor. And neither is Mr. Wentworth. He has not gone so far as to state it plainly, but I believe there is great fear in London that our alliance with France is close at hand. He has communicated a desire to