Free Bon Marche by Chet Hagan Page A

walked slowly to the knot of men around Statler.
    â€œGood day, Marshall,” he said sullenly.
    â€œJohn,” Statler nodded. “May I present Mr. Charles Dewey?”
    â€œI’ve heard that you had a Frenchman in your household now.” He studied Charles as he would have examined a horse or maybe a slave. As a commodity. “Funston tells me that you’re late of the French navy.”
    â€œThat’s correct, sir.”
    â€œMr. Dewey,” Statler explained, “had the good fortune to have been at Yorktown.”
    â€œYorktown,” Lee snarled, “was the ultimate victory of the rabble.”
    Statler laughed. “Don’t let Squire Lee frighten you, Charles. He’s inclined to pretend to be a Tory, although he’s in the same boat as we … uh … rebels. He delights, however, in the role of devil’s advocate.”
    â€œYou may be content with the republican nonsense of Mr. Jefferson and his ilk, but I’m not!” Lee’s fat face was flushed. He looked directly at Charles. “And I place that young upstart, the vaunted Marquis de Lafayette, in that same dangerous company.”
    Charles bridled.
    â€œCareful,” MacCallum warned under his breath.
    Statler laughed even louder. “See—what did I tell you?” To Lee: “Young Mr. Dewey comes to us under the aegis of our mutual friend, George Milton.”
    â€œMilton!” Lee exploded. “That scoundrel is no friend of mine. He robbed me on my last consignment of tobacco to him.”
    â€œJohn, John,” Statler chuckled, “entirely predictable.”
    Lee snorted in derision.
    A young man came to the door of the church and called out, “Gentlemen, the services are about to begin.”
    III
    A S one body, the men trooped into the church and noisily took their seats on the side opposite the women.
    To Charles, the service appeared hurried. Prayers were mumbled hastily. The minister—MacCallum said his name was Lawrence Smith—spoke for only a short period on what he called “being,” with liberal mention of Aristotle and Plato, speculating on whether there was anything permanent in the changing phenomena of nature and whether God the Creator bore the same relationship to nature as to man.
    It was confusing. And boring, made more so by the monotone in which Pastor Smith read his text. Fortunately, the sermon lasted just about a quarter of an hour. It was followed by the desultory singing of a hymn, a cappella, and a final rapid prayer. The entire service was concluded in half an hour.
    As they left the church, Charles asked MacCallum: “What was that about?”
    Andrew grinned at him. “Metaphysics.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMetaphysics,” the tutor repeated. “The study of—let’s see if I can recall my philosophy classes—of fundamental problems relating to the ultimate nature of reality. Of ‘being,’ as Mr. Smith put it, and of human knowledge. There,” MacCallum added proudly, “I did remember!”
    Dewey stared at him. “But that doesn’t make any sense, Andrew.”
    â€œI admit it’s abstruse. Old Aristotle could be that way at times.”
    â€œBut as a sermon?” Charles was still confused.
    â€œOh, that. It’s safe, you see. Also, a lot of ministers like to show off their scholarship. But, primarily, it’s a safe subject.”
    MacCallum drew him aside. “What you have to understand is that the church in this country is as much involved in the Revolution as is the political structure. In somewhat of a nutshell, Charles, the Anglican church, or the state church, has been equated with British royalty. Wherever the Anglican church was established, the colonists had to pay taxes to support it. Many Americans were not inclined to do so.
    â€œBut they were, nevertheless, believers and didn’t want to disassociate themselves from God.