CHAPTER 12

REVEREND TONGESTON

Franklin looked fixedly at Edward, then turned round to address the minister.  Edward was curious but had a hunch as to Ben’s intentions.

As always, Franklin began with the appropriate courtesies, except this time with a twist.

“I am at your service sir.  I hope, however, that you will forgive me if I omit my name until later.”

“Certainly, sir.  I am Stanley Tongeston, minister of this parish,” and he looked from Franklin to Edward.

“And I am Edward Blank, of Wilton, Connecticut.”

Franklin, resuming, said, “Reverend, do you have a moment to hear us out?”

“Please everyone calls me Stan, and yes, a moment or two.”

“Then I would ask that you open your mind as ever you can, further, it is most likely, than your dreams have ever taken you.”

Tongeston looked steadily at Franklin, then said, “I will.”

“Now that you have so pledged, I will tell you my name, though I have no illusions of converting you to my story.  My name is Benjamin Franklin,” and Franklin paused.

Tongeston continued to look Franklin steadily in the eye, and Edward saw that Franklin was using the pause to carefully observe Tongeston.

Franklin continued, “This morning, my man Williams had just sat me down in my drawing room when, without any drowsiness or other indication of sleep coming on, I found myself beside Edward here, riding in his vehicle, transported both as to time and place.”

Again Franklin paused, but Tongeston was onto him.  His thin lips pursed slightly as he stared back.  But Franklin held the stare a moment longer, and Tongeston’s look shifted, his brow contracting in a slight frown.  By all appearances, it was an expression he made frequently, his forehead marked by vertical lines slightly visible in the weak light of the nave.

Franklin then told their tale, in as much detail as five minutes’ time would permit, leaving off with their decision to come to St. Paul’s for refuge.

Naturally, Franklin waited again after relating all this.  The three of them sat in the pew together.  Edward felt strangely relaxed.  In the short interval before Tongeston responded, he was for once off the hook.  Nothing was expected of him.  Behind the minister, he caught a brief glimpse of a man and woman working to roll a harp case up the side aisle, perhaps for a Noon performance.

Tongeston opened his mouth and said, “And no one will believe you?”

“You are the first to hear our story, but yes, a lack of belief has been evident in all others we encountered.  So much so that, until you, we have not attempted to tell the story,” said Edward.  And he saw by a slight nod from Franklin that he had been right in anticipating what to say.

“Perhaps you could give me some more background about yourself, Edward,” said Tongeston.

“Certainly, it’s only natural you should want to know,” said Edward, all the while knowing that Tongeston could not, at least yet, ask for “additional background” about Franklin.  At least, he could not pose such questions and adhere to his earlier pledge.  

“I’m a commuter, working at Moody’s just around the corner.  Each morning, I drive from my house in North Wilton to the train station in South Wilton, there to ride to Grand Central.  Ben and I took the subway from that point, just as I do every day.”

Tongeston did not say anything, and Edward did not see any need for another pause, so he added, “I have a small family in Wilton, just my wife and son, who is three years old.”

“Moody’s, that is another financial firm?” asked Tongeston.

“Yes, credit ratings.” Edward replied.

“Has anything like this happened before?”

“No.”

And now it did seem the occasion to pause, this time to let Tongeston think, perhaps decide.