Free Tempest at Dawn by James D. Best

mean improvements to the
Virginia Plan?”
    “ No. I’ve drawn up an entire system.
It has similarities to your plan but diverges in critical areas. I
wish to present it to the convention.”
    Madison realized that the threat to South
Carolina’s allegiance came from someone other than Sherman. “This
is awkward and your timing poor,” Madison said. “We must join the
other guests.”
    “ A simple ‘yes, of course,’ takes but
a moment.”
    “ My answer cannot be that simple. You
have promised to support the Virginia Plan. The introduction of a
competing scheme will throw the convention into chaos.”
    “ You refuse to give my plan a
hearing?”
    “ Surely you don’t intend to go back on
your word?”
    “ I’m a gentleman,” Pinckney said with
more strength than Madison would have expected. “You’ll have my
vote in the initial round, but if we reach a stalemate, I believe
my alternative can save us from a debacle.”
    Madison had spent thousands of hours
studying ancient and modern governments, argued their flaws with
the greatest minds, designed a faultless system, and artfully
secured powerful patrons. Now Pinckney, idle and vainglorious, had
jotted a few notes and demanded the stage.
    “ Mr. Pinckney, I don’t control the
proceedings, but I assure you that every alteration will be
entertained if we reach an impasse. I’ll keep your kind offer in
mind.”
    “ My offer is not an alteration. It’s a
unique design based on populist principles.”
    “ In that case, will you make a copy
for me? I’ve made a life’s study of governments and am always eager
to examine well-conceived innovations.”
    “ Perhaps … but at a later
date.”
    “ The convention will start
soon.”
    “ I must polish the finer
points.”
    Madison felt his irritation abate.
Pinckney’s answer meant that he probably had no plan. “We really
must rejoin the party.”
    “ I deserve an answer. Yes or
no?”
    “ I promise you’ll receive a hearing if
a deadlock ensues. I’m pleased that you’ve thought ahead. If the
need arises, we’ll be in your debt.”
    Lightly gripping Pinckney’s elbow, Madison
steered him toward the house. He tried to quell his indignation,
knowing he would spend the next few hours with Pinckney. He must
disguise his shock and consternation.
    Madison’s previous meals at Franklin’s home
had been small affairs, and the few guests had been dwarfed by a
room designed to seat twenty-four. This recent addition to the
house was a combination library-dining room, built after Franklin’s
return from Paris. The room stretched to over thirty feet and was
half as wide. A European marble fireplace interrupted the formation
of bookcases along one wall, while busts of great men sprinkled the
opposite wall of books. Windows at the north and south ends let in
soft afternoon light.
    The room exhibited two busts of Franklin
next to sculptures of some of the greatest men in history. Most of
the delegates probably hadn’t noticed the tall clock ticking away
just outside the door, uninhibitedly adorned with a portrait of
their host.
    The long mahogany table was set with fine
imported porcelain and silver. A crumb cloth stretched under the
entire length of the table to protect the expensive, brightly
patterned carpet. The Virginia and Pennsylvania delegations had
worked together on the seating. To accommodate the large group,
three nut-brown chairs had been interspersed with twenty-four white
Windsor chairs.
    Franklin, gout ridden, had already been
assisted to his chair in the middle of the expansive table. Madison
had asked to be seated between Pinckney and Butler, his intent to
keep South Carolina tethered to their commitments. After his garden
encounter with Pinckney, Madison thought the cautionary move
prescient.
    Washington held a place of honor at the head
of the table. Alexander Hamilton, representing New York, sat to his
immediate left and Robert Morris, to his right. Madison saw that
most of the delegates