Chapter 2

Center leg ... were Bull’s last words to me, and although I had, of course, already known about the center leg, his words were my bequeathment, and the bestowing of Bull’s estate. I already knew he loved me, but he honored me by placing the results of his life’s efforts in my hands himself.

His real legacy to me was his example, his training and guidance, and his patient love.

The funeral was held the next Sunday in the evening, after we all worked the half, and there were several hundred men who held themselves as a friend of Bull’s, and they all had a word or two for me. I paid attention to it all, remembering their faces and words (and names.)

The dining table was even now a formidable piece of furniture, although it was much reduced in circumstance. The only thing he had left from his former life in his Country of origin, all the leaves were missing, and it bore many battle scars of it’s journeys in spite of being lovingly attended. Still, it was quite large even in it’s collapsed form, thick, solid, and heavier than it should be. We never discussed it, but in addition to being the foundation of our home, it was the bank where Bull deposited his life’s savings.

We sat to every meal together at that table, offering prayer every time. It was work station, operating theater, bier, and had been on occasion barricade.

The center leg was revealed when the catch was sprung to expand the table with inserted leaves, and one of the brads holding the brass manufacturers plate on was a long pin, two were fakes, and one was a swivel. Under that plate was a slot sawn through the wood into the hollow center leg, and down that slot had poured tens of pounds of silver coins over the years, and perhaps from before Bull’s time as well.

Now that I had the means to do so, I seriously reconsidered the offer the Architect had made me earlier, to sponsor me to Engineering School. Before it had just been as if I was offered the Presidency, too ridiculous to entertain even as a whimsy. While it was fine to be a working man, perhaps I had better choices I could make now as a fifteen year old orphan. I had always admired the Collegians in their tailored suits.

Bull had been too proud to accept his settlement, along with his exile when he had been by Royal Will swept under the rug, although the wronged party; He was just as glad to be out of it and he had come away with Mama, so he was well enough content. He had however been persuaded to accept it in trust for his children.

The documents were to be found within a hidden compartment in the center leg, and once translated and parsed, entitled me to a Remittance Annual for myself and descendants, in perpetuity from trust.

Meaning, a Royally generous financial trust was established with the sole purpose of paying me (and my children) what it could, every year, forever- while still preserving it’s self.

All was forfeit if I or any offspring ever again set foot on Sweden’s soil.

I had the Danish solicitor draft the acceptance to initiate the terms of the Remittance, and went to School, now able to pay tuition and sit a seat instead of peering through the windows like the other back-alley brats. Within a few months I soaked up enough English and Grammar to balance out my Mathematics, and by the end of the year, I was graduating out of School.

My penmanship won awards, and I was ready to enter College.

My good manners shouldn’t have been confused with servile-ism, but these young turks of ‘good breeding’ had been raised to privilege and wealth, and despite my fashionable wardrobe and man-servant, I found myself being ordered to haul some baggage as if I were a porter. I softly replied “Very well young sir, but know that my keep is twelve cents an hour.” He blinked at that, and wondered at how high I valued myself, and I answered that be as it may, those were the wages I was willing to work at, did he still require my hire? He declined.

It was called Dormitory living, but in addition to shared areas, each of us had our personal sleeping cubical. I had a superior lock installed on mine, and made my bed on top of my dining table which took up almost the entire room.

I discovered the library, and evaded curfew and lights out by creating a study space under the table which contained all rays of the oil lantern I used to read by. I hadn’t chosen a field of study yet, but felt drawn toward material physics. Mostly, I was filling in the cultural knowledge gaps, the shared trivia which those in this cultural class had in common.

Carlton, my man-servant, was a bit too lower class for most young gentlemen, which made him perfect for me! He was able to instruct me in the finer points of behavior, while being perfectly conversant with the usual sentiments and mores of my working class. I actually was a Fauntleroy, my pretty manners were quite posh, (old Bull had been high enough class to get mucked up with Royal intrigues after all, ) and Mama had been the Duchess of the neighborhood, the washer women her court.