10

This was it…the hour of judgment.

John Dickinson had awoken very early that morning, dressed in a hurry (not even giving himself time to triple-check the puffiness of his cravat), and departed from his home without eating breakfast. He arrived at congress at about eight thirty. As soon as he entered, he realized that this had been a mistake. Just because he was enthusiastic over the prospect of this being Dr. Bachmeier's last day in congress did not mean that anyone else was. Not even McNair had bothered showing up yet. Dickinson shuffled from side to side, not sure if he should just return home, and he was about to turn towards the door when a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Dickinson! What are you doing here so early?" Dickinson rapidly turned to see Dr. Bachmeier.

"Oh… I just thought I would… get an early start. What are you doing here?"

"This is where I've been staying." Dickinson stared at him, puzzled.

"Here? Mr. Hancock did not provide you with lodgings?"

"It's quite comfortable here. This way I never have to leave my work."

"You are telling me that Hancock forced you to spend the last week living in your office?" Dr. Bachmeier's face flushed and he quickly looked away. "Wait! He didn't even let you sleep in the office? Where have you been staying?"

"Uh…Well…I've been quite happy staying up in the…bell tower."

"Oh dear lord!"

"It's not as grim as it sounds, Mr. Dickinson. To be sure, I was frightened the first few mornings when I opened my eyes to see a pigeon staring at me. But I got used to it and now… I don't know how I will ever go back to staying in a regular bed chamber!" Dickinson scoffed and placed his belongings on his desk. "Perhaps you came early because you wish to speak with me privately. Is that it, Mr. Dickinson?"

"Certainly not! I believe I made my feelings towards you and your little experiments quite clear the last time we conversed!"

"All right. If you are sure," Dr. Bachmeier said with a quick shrug. "Have you been getting along with Mr. Adams?"

Dickinson's eyes quickly went to the floor. "Our chicken is doing well, if that is what you are asking."

"That wasn't really what I had in mind. Has he been civil with you?"

Dickinson began to scrape the corner of his desk anxiously. "He has been quite civil with me."

"And… How have you acted towards him?" Dickinson did not reply. He just continued to rub his fingernail along the table's edge. "Was it that terrible, sir?"

"Terribly difficult, Doctor! Can you imagine how these gentlemen would react if I suddenly became friends with John Adams? They would think I had gone positively insane!"

"Does it matter what they think?"

"Of course it does! I have gained a fair amount of respect from every member of this congress except from Mr. Adams. I can't just ignore this and be his friend! That would look incredibly weak!"

"Or it would make you out to be the better man! Just because Mr. Adams doesn't show any regard for your ideas it does not mean that you cannot show any for his! On the contrary, I think that if you were to be respectful, people would have even more admiration for you."

"Perhaps."

"But, Mr. Dickinson… What makes you think that Adams has no respect for you? Are you really still upset about the letter? I guarantee that most people do not even remember it."

"It's not only the letter… People think that the reason why I stopped speaking to him was because it was a public disgrace for me. And to be sure, that was part of it. But… I genuinely believed that he was my friend. Yes, I was angry with him on the day of our first argument. But I did not truly believe that that would be enough to annihilate our friendship. And whether he had sent the letter or not, it just told me exactly how he felt about me. Tell me, Doctor. Do you really believe that he impulsively conjured up all of those cruel insults? No. He had been thinking it ever since he met me. That was just the first time he put it into words."

Doctor Bachmeier breathed deeply and watched Mr. Dickinson silently for what felt to be the longest two minutes of John Dickinson's life. "It's all so clear now," he finally muttered. "The constant bickering, the insults, the occasional fights… It had nothing to do with public humiliation, did it? He had attacked your character. If it had been anyone else, you could have just ignored it. But this was your best friend and yet he spoke of you as if he were your adversary."

"That's what he has become, has he not?"

"Mr. Dickinson… I feel that I know you so much better now."

Before they could continue with their little session, the door swung open and in came McNair. Without even glancing at Dickinson and the doctor, he began to open the windows one at a time, which was obviously a rather difficult task for a man of his small stature.

Once McNair finished with his chores, he departed, and Dr. Bachmeier took this opportunity to continue speaking with Dickinson who, for the first time since the doctor had arrived, was being completely honest with him. Several hours passed in this fashion, but when gentlemen of the congress began to show up, Dickinson made it clear that he had no desire to continue.

The first to arrive was "Old Grape N' Guts," as McNair called him. Everyone else referred to him as Stephen Hopkins. Unfortunately, he explained, he had been stuck with Caesar Rodney as a partner, so he had done most of the work. And as a result, the egg was crushed within the first hour. The chicken survived, but was permanently crippled to the point where it could not chirp, could not flap, but once in a while its eyes would bulge out and it would go into a mild seizure, returning to its vegetable state within a few minutes…usually.

The next to arrive was Mr. Rutledge, whose chicken was in much better health that Mr. Hopkins'. Ever since it hatched the previous day, Rutledge had been giving it hourly baths, rubbing its wings down in rose pedals to make it smell sweet, and feeding it a small variation of seeds, trying to discover which its favorite was. That morning, Mr. Rutledge, caught up in parental enthusiasm, went so far as to make it a little hat and dress coat, hoping it would be the most dandified chicken out of the bunch. If nothing else, he definitely succeeded in turning a few heads while carrying the little guy to congress.

As the congressmen entered one by one, Dickinson watched the door, anxiously waiting for Adams to arrive. Finally, at approximately ten o'clock, John Adams entered the room with Johnny Junior, who was sleeping soundly on his cushion. Dickinson leaped from his chair and crossed to Adams.

"Uh…" Dickinson was not exactly sure what he had wanted to say for so long. "How is the bird?"

"Fine…" Adams murmured, arching a brow at the awkwardly intense Dickinson. "What? Did you think that I was going to kill it in one day?"

"No. I trust your abilities." Adams whipped his head up and stared at Dickinson, perplexed.

"Please, Dickinson. It's too early for your sarcastic criticism." Adams headed towards his desk without giving Dickinson a chance to defend himself.

"Gentlemen," the Doctor called out. "As you all know, this is the last day I will be meeting with you. I hope that I have helped each of you… I have had more success with some of you than with others. But I have enjoyed conversing with each and every one of you. You all interest me exceedingly. Take Mr. Rutledge, for example. His one method of surviving is pretending to be someone that he's not, just to feel good about himself…even if it means disappointing the people he loves."

Rutledge looked up at the doctor, confused. "What? Oh! Right! Uh… Oh yes. My wife… That."

"And there's Mr. Adams, who has struggled his entire life with tactlessness and a quick temper, which has destroyed relationships that he had treasured at one time." Adams glanced at Dickinson and then down at Johnny Junior, trying to suppress a guilty expression. "And then there's Mr. Dickinson-" Before he continued, the Doctor glanced at Dickinson, who was staring at him horrified, his eyes begging the Doctor not to speak. Dr. Bachmeier sighed and briefly nodded at Dickinson. "But what can I really say about Mr. Dickinson? Anyway… to get to the point… I am sure that Mr. Hancock has learned very interesting facts about all of you that may help him stay patient with you. But more importantly, I think you have all learned a few interesting facts about each other. And with this knowledge and understanding, I know it will become easier to work with one another and to make choices that will benefit your country. Now… I know you are all shaking with anticipation, so let us start presenting our chickens. Who first?"

At first no one responded, but finally Hopkins and Rodney decided to be the brave ones. In a way, Hopkins was rather cocky about his half- brain dead chicken, who had served as a high source of amusement for him these past two days. Every time the little guy started one of his shaking fits, he would give him a little swig of rum and that would calm it down. Though Dr. Bachmeier really did not see how this had anything to do with the original purpose of the exercise, he decided it would be easier just to thank Hopkins for participating and move on. Many other presentations went on in the same fashion. The Doctor was pleased to see that the only pair who had killed the chicken was Samuel Chase and Lyman Hall… mainly Samuel Chase. No one in the room was brave enough to actually ask Mr. Chase what he had done to the helpless little bird, but everyone immediately thought the worst. The last two to present were the two Johns.

"Mr. Adams, Mr. Dickinson, tell me what you two did in order to raise this chicken together."

"Well…" Adams began. "There's not a lot to say. He took care of the chick while it was still in its shell. I had to deal with it when it actually required attention."

"Yes, that is true," Dickinson announced. "But it was not because I wanted Mr. Adams to do all of the work. Rather… it was because I felt he was far more competent in this particular field. I realize that sounds ridiculous. But Mr. Adams is far more generous with his time than I am. Additionally, he is much gentler with animals and would be willing to take the time to find out what the chicken needed in order to survive. I, however, am extremely impatient and unmotivated." The room was disturbingly quiet and everyone, including John Adams, was staring at Dickinson in amazement.

"Thank you for your candor, sir," Dr. Bachmeier said. "How do you think this particular exercise relates to your positions here in congress?"

"To be sure," Dickinson announced, not giving Adams a chance to speak. "This particular experiment shows how well we can work together to take care of something, even if we are forced to work with people with whom we might not be compatible. This was the case for Mr. Adams and me. Yet I believe that in the past three days, he and I have learned more about one another than ever before, and this helped us to take care of something from its very beginning. This, in my opinion, is more important than anything political that we have ever been forced to do together… even if it was as insignificant as a baby chicken." The silence continued.

"Mr. Adams," Dr. Bachmeier said. "What have you learned about Mr. Dickinson in the past three days that made it easier for you to complete this experiment successfully?"

"Uh…What have I learned about him?"

"Yes. What have you learned-"

"If I may," Dickinson interrupted. "I believe I may be able to answer this question, regarding my own opinion of Mr. Adams."

"All right. Proceed, Mr. Dickinson."

"Gentlemen… If you had asked me what I thought of Mr. Adams a week ago, I would have tried my best to ignore the question, but if it had been pressed, I would have announced that I thought he was deceitful, obnoxious, and dangerous. But now… I would have to say that he is one of the most decent men that I have ever had the great fortune to meet." A low murmur buzzed through the room and each man began to shuffle in his seat nervously. Adams' mouth dropped open yet he could not make out words. Eventually, he just fell into a chair.

"Again… Thank you, Mr. Dickinson. I'm sure that was not easy for you to admit in front of a crowd." By now, Dickinson had turned to Johnny Junior and began to pat him, not yet able to face the crowd's reaction. "My dear congressmen," Dr. Bachmeier called out. "Now do you believe that it is possible for two people to put aside their differences in order to accomplish a common task? You all know even better than I do that Mr. Adams and Mr. Dickinson were always in a constant battle, hardly even able to stay in the same room as one another. But now look at what has happened! I'm sure that you all realize that it is possible for every single man in this room to take an active role in this congress. It does not necessarily mean that you have to become the best of friends. But as long as you can make decisions without brutally attacking each other, I think that these colonies should be proud to have you as their congressmen. And… on that note… I must be going. I'm going abroad, back to my homeland. What an interesting journey this has been… and not only for myself. Good bye, Mr. Hancock." He briefly bowed at John Hancock, who had been unusually quiet these past few days. "And good bye, gentlemen." All of a sudden, each man began to violently beat his hand against the desk in front of him, creating a rather loud, obnoxious racket. Dr. Bachmeier took a step back, surprised. "What a very odd way of saying good bye." The Doctor examined the room one last time, knowing that he would most likely never see any of these gentlemen again and at last departed.

"Well," Hancock said, sitting up in his chair. "I hope you all learned something from the Doctor. If nothing else, I hope that now, whenever you have the impulse to attack one another, you will think back to this past week and realize that it all could happen again if you all bother me enough." Hancock rose, gathered his belongings, and departed.

"This may be a little strange," Lee began. "But I wish the Doctor could stay forever!"

"I don't know about that," Sherman muttered. "But I did enjoy talking to him in private. He actually understood my love of shoes… unlike some people!" He glared accusingly at Jefferson, who was still staring into space.

"I guess Mr. Hancock's idea was a success. Was it not?" Franklin asked cheerfully. "But why are we all so down? Let's all go down to the tavern and celebrate!"

"What are we celebrating?" Wilson inquired.

"Who cares?" Hopkins snapped. "It's rum! Let's go!" Hopkins stood and waddled out of the room at a speed that was rather impressive for a man of his age. Eventually, others began to follow his example.

"Are you coming, John?" Franklin asked, nudging Adams.

"Oh, I'll be there in a few minutes." Once the others had made their way out of the building, Adams nervously made his way to Dickinson, who was sitting on his desk, holding Johnny Junior. Adams had no idea what he should say, so he just stood there, watching Dickinson stroke the chick. Normally, he would have felt extremely uncomfortable, but he was under the impression that Dickinson was not even aware that he was in the room.

"I wonder what we are supposed to do with the chickens," Dickinson murmured. Adams raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

"I wonder if he even thought of that. I suppose I can take it if you don't want it."

"No!" Dickinson exclaimed. "I mean… If you really want it, you may have it, of course. But I was thinking I might give it to my eldest daughter."

"By all means, give it to her." Dickinson placed Johnny Junior back on the cushion and covered him with the velvet cloth. "Mr. Dickinson… What you said before… About me being a decent fellow… You were just saying that to impress the Doctor… Right?"

"Is that what you think, Mr. Adams?"

"To be honest… I don't know! You spend most of your time trying to find new ways to make me miserable. Now you are standing in front of all our colleagues, spouting on and on about how wonderful I am. To be quite frank, you are a complete enigma." For once, Dickinson smiled, and it wasn't his regular sneer. He was genuinely amused.

"As I said before, it was not me who sent that letter. Before then, I never had any negative feelings towards you."

"That's not true! I only wrote the letter because of the way you acted in congress that day!"

"No, Mr. Adams. Never once did I actually attack you as a person. I admired your character and I never stopped admiring it. Just because I happen to disagree with you on certain issues it does not mean that I dislike your character."

"Oh…" For the first time, John Adams understood. "Does this mean that we can be on friendly terms again?"

"If that is what you want," Dickinson said nonchalantly. "It might seem a bit strange to the others if we start fighting again after my performance this morning." Adams smiled, hardly able to believe what was happening. "Come. Let us venture towards the tavern." As Dickinson headed towards the door, Adams began to fidget nervously. It took a moment for Dickinson to notice. "Something wrong?"

"Just one question… Are you going to continue going against me in my pursuit for American independence?"

Dickinson grinned deviously. "I have no doubt that I will." Adams smiled as well, gathering Johnny Junior's cushion in his arms.

And so the battle continued.

THE END