Poplar Hall

Heat permeated the July 3, 2023 day. Gray Tomlin, thirty-one, light skinned with gray-green eyes stepped into the John Dickinson House on John Dickinson Plantation in Dover, Delaware. He wore all black with black and white sneakers. Standing at six feet even, he had to duck to enter the household. The echoes of a voice bounced off the walls of the spacious place. It was the tour guide, Millie Lattimore. Wrapped in brown skin, fit, and somewhat short so she didn’t have to duck so much, her alto voice projected even without a microphone.

She led the group through the house and fielded questions regarding the premises and what went on there over two centuries ago.

“These areas would be the slave quarters. Although Delaware was part of the North, it still had slaves. It was a border state so it was one of the only locations to house slaves but not represent the Confederacy.” Millie’s words resided in the minds of her listeners as she walked past the kitchen area and outside.

Tomlin paused and found the bathroom. He just had to freshen his face. He looked in the mirror and washed his hands. He looked around for the paper towels but found the air dryer. It’s oppressive heat seemed to mock him on this day. After the machine powered down, Tomlin found the exit to the bathroom and smelled the stench of horse manure. The profundity of the smell mixed with the sweetness of apple pie baking in the kitchen tickled his nose. He journeyed down to the cellar. It was dank and dark but cooler and smelled better than the mixture upstairs. Glints of light shone through the floorboard like tiny drops of sun glistening on casks of wine. He heard footsteps coming towards him. It was the man himself, John Dickinson on June 3, 1776.

Tomlin didn’t look afraid or ashamed but Mr. Dickinson appeared to be a bit confused.

“Do I know you?” he asked Tomlin. “What kind of getup is that?”

“No, I––” Tomlin began.

“I do know you. You are my scribe. You are to accompany me, no?”

Tomlin looked confident. He didn’t feel it but his face showed absolute control over the situation.

“Why, yes sir, I’m a freeman from Wilmington here to escort you to Philadelphia to meet up with Mr. Jefferson,” Tomlin said as if he were not pulling all of this from his pants.

“Yes! We must be off. Time is winding down and we mustn’t be late.”

The carriage driver, Horace, was a black man who had to be in his mid forties. He was blue black but carried with him a sense of nobility, not arrogance but a confidence that had buoyed him all of his life. The sound of the trotting horses intensified as the two men came close to speak.

“I think that the Colonies are in trouble,” Dickinson said as if he were delivering a eulogy. “I wanted Great Britain to reconcile and have proper standing with us. I think it’s only appropriate that we should be able to connect as one unit, embracing the powers of the British government.”

“No,” Tomlin said. Dickinson’s face turned into a rockside.

“No?! What on Earth do you mean ‘no’?”

“It is my understanding that this Declaration that Thomas Jefferson is drafting is going to revolutionize the world for all time.”

“If what you are saying is true, it goes against all of my ideals and principles.”

“Then you ought to change them right here and now, sir,” Tomlin explained. “Respectfully,” he added.

The wheels clattered in a pattern that resembled kettledrums. The staccato rhythm caused Tomlin’s mind to turn. Dickinson sighed.

“I know Caesar, Thomas, and George are all about signing the thing. I just don’t see a point in being independent from the world’s greatest power.”

Tomlin turned to him. “It’s not just about the break from Britain. It is part of that but the main thrust of the document is to announce to the world through all generations that the United States of America is the noblest experiment ever devised by man.”

Dickinson looked sullen at first, then grinned. “You know I should have tasted some wine before we left. It would have eased my nerves a bit. You sit here and tell me that this piece of paper will alter the course of history. For what?”

“For the individual,” Tomlin answered.

“That would include you and people who look like you?”

“Yes. Just a few alterations and we will see a groundswell of liberty wash over this continent.”

Horace grinned a bit as he overheard the two men speaking.

“Will all negroes be free?”

“Yes, and more.”

Dickinson’s face turned yellowish-gray as if he had been stricken with jaundice. In his mind he contemplated his slaves. He searched his soul for the reason to own another human being. Color returned to his face as he patted himself with a handkerchief.

“I--I am going to manumit them. I’ll free them,” Dickinson said. But I still want Great Britain to be a major force on this land. The slaves I can let go, but King George should be respected for his sovereignty.”

“That’s just it. This political document will be the most excellent example for freedom from any nation for all time. Some changes from ‘Creator’ to ‘Nature’ in the wording and a few other instances of altering the words here and there will be ironed out, of course. There is, however, no other piece of governmental writing that will ever be created to match the glory and simplicity and clarity of the Declaration of Independence. If you take care of the problem of slavery, we may not need to have resistance.” Horace’s face turned down as his buggywhip kept the horses in good speed.

Dickinson looked out the window but he was actually peering into his soul. The foundation that he had laid in his life consisted of learning and being able to be a master to hundreds of slaves on his thousands of acres. Yet, he held forced servants in order to increase his value as one of Delaware’s wealthiest men. He tapped his lap with his finger. He leaned over to Tomlin.

“I will manumit,” he repeated. “I don’t care about the rest of it. I will release my slaves and they will breathe liberty like any white man. Also, I will ensure that all of America will be free.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about. This document will stand even in America’s darkest days. It will stand up against wars, deoughts, depressions, recessions, and all kinds of negative bits of history.”

“Are you a soothsayer, now?” Dickinson raised an eyebrow.

Tomlin laughed. “I’m no seer, sir. I just know that if you sign this document and persuade Mr. Jefferson on how to best implement the alterations I spoke about, what already is a great political tract, it will be more perfect.”

“More perfect? How do you get to be more perfect?”

“It is in the ability to oversee how this Declaration will be challenged, denigrated, and damned. But it will be more perfect than anything else that has ever been devised,” Tomlin explained.

They finally arrived in Pennsylvania. Blacks and whites roamed the streets where floral dresses and sharp suits adorned the place.

The sun beat down on the unlikely pair with the heat rising in the city of Philadelphia. Tomlin looked about his surroundings. The sounds of the horse hooves struck against the cobblestone. He took in nature as well. Trees seemed different and the air again smelled of horse dung. But the sweet scent of flowers wafted on the breeze as well. There seemed to be a balance everywhere he traveled.

Dickinson got out of the carriage as well. People in the street greeted him with reverence: black, white, male, or female. He entered the house with Tomlin. The door maid took in both gentlemen and showed them the living room.

“Would you like refreshments?” The black woman named Tilda possessed brown skin and actually got paid to be the housemaid. She had a round face and spectacular, white teeth. The two men said, “no thank you.” Tilda went about her housework.

With Dickinson and Tomlin able to sit down, they looked at each other.

“You know, Thomas has been eager to pen this document for some time now. Notwithstanding my misgivings about it, I still respect his authority and his position as one of the Founders. If we could––”

Footsteps bounced against the walls of the house. They came to the landing and continued to the living room. Before them was Thomas Jefferson.

Tomlin and Dickinson rose. “It’s such a pleasure to see you, Thomas,” Dickinson said.

“The pleasure is all mine. And you have a slave with you….”

“Actually, I’m Mr. Dickinson’s liaison,” Tomlin corrected politely.

“That’s not all he wants to correct,” Dickinson added dryly.

“Oh?” Jefferson said.

“Mr. Jefferson, I’m here to tell you that the Declaration of Independence will not just dent the universe but fracture it.”

Thomas Jefferson looked Tomlin up and down and breathed.

“I’d love to hear your input. I’m actually putting the finishing touches on the work.”

The three men ventured upstairs to the place where Jefferson kept a few small candles next to his writing on a desk.

“So, Mr….?”

“Tomlin. What exactly needs to be fixed according to your sagacity?”

“First….” Tomlin started.

Dickinson interrupted. “He wants to free the slaves.”

“Really? That’s certainly a ground shaking ideal.”

“Yes I want that, of course, but––”

“He wants us to be free from not only Britain but any other nation for now and forevermore,” Dickinson scoffed slightly.

Jefferson’s mouth drew up a little. He thought of the great philosophers before him including Locke, Aquinas, and Aristotle. His mind began to spin as the flickering lights from the candles danced around the three men.

Tomlin started again. “The Declaration’s central purpose is to protect the individual from the government. It is to place the State as a servant to the individual and not the other way around. It is to say to the countries of now and in the future that America stands for liberty for all of its inhabitants. By striking the correct chord, the document will be a symphony of ideas that will be passed down through generations. That is if we can fully understand just how crucial the individual is, we’re going to have a republic that will shine as a beacon for the individual.”

Jefferson shook his head slightly and looked directly into Jefferson’s eyes. “I guess I will have to revise this and edit it more than I had originally thought.”

Dickinson stood with his hands behind his back. “Yes it is a rather dramatic take, wouldn’t you say, Thomas?” Dickinson asked.

“Tell me how you come to understand such writing, Tomlin?”

“I studied Political History at New Sweden University,” Tomlin replied.

“Funny, I didn’t know they accepted negroes. Anyway, I accept your astute observations. Whatever way that you could offer any more thoughts would be much appreciated.”

Dickinson smiled. Jefferson walked over to his work and started slashing at the document like a swordsman. Tomlin asked, “May I use your washroom?”

Jefferson looked at Dickinson and turned around. "Of course," he said. Dickinson leaned over to the document as Tomlin exited. He washed water over his face from a basin and peered into the mirror. When he opened the bathroom door, he stepped back into July 3, 2023 and found the group of people observing the Dickinson House.

Millie looked from the restroom and greeted Tomlin in the hallway. “Welcome back to Poplar Hall. We’re just getting started with the history of Dickinson’s involvement with the Declaration of Independence.

And just like that, a replica of the document hung on the wall. The signers from Delaware included Caesar Rodney, George Read, and Thomas McKean. Just underneath, John Dickinson had placed his own signature. Tomlin smiled at that little addition and then began his ascent up the stairs to be on the level where his car sat in the sweltering heat.