All's Well Indeed

All’s Well Indeed

A Parable of Grace

By Roger Erdvig

He was dirty, unkempt and forgotten, like the back alley ways of Boston where he lived, if it could be called living.  Gregor was 11 years old, and had lived among the trash and rodents in the underbelly of late 18^th century Boston, since the house fire that had stolen the lives of his mother and father soon after they arrived in the colonies.  Alone, with no family or friends to board with, and unable to pay for the costly trip across the Atlantic, Gregor was forced into a life that would have been better suited for a rat:  he stole whatever he had, and spent many suppertimes rummaging through the trash heaps in search of any edible scraps left by the wealthy patrons of the upper class of the greatest city in the colonies.  The contrast could not have been more pronounced.

Gregor brushed the long, course brown hair back across his forehead as he tried to make out the printing on the half-crumpled piece of paper.  “Wanted: Boys for hire to muck stalls, groom horses, and – Here a dark brown smudge on the paper made reading it impossible.—Must be strong, obedient, and trustworthy.  Work in exchange for – again, the writing on the stained paper became too hard to read.—At the bottom, though, he could make out, “Sign up in person at Campbell’s Chandlery, Tuesday night, September 17^th at 11 o’clock.” 

“Strange—“ Gregor thought to himself.  “Why would they have boys sign up so late at night?”  In an instant, Gregor’s thoughts went back to when he lived at home with his small family.  He’d often lay awake late into the evening just to hear the night watchman call his tidings in the middle of the second watch of the night. “11 o’clock and all’s well!”  For Gregor, all was well then, as he’d contentedly drift off to sleep, knowing that mother and father were sleeping just beneath his loft in the room below.  Remembering that sense of well being, however, only brought fresh pain to Gregor’s heart as he reminded himself of how “un-well” things had become.  No matter the time of night or day, he was plagued with the dull, aching sound of the night watchman of his soul calling out to him from every intersection, every corner of his heart, “All’s not well!”  Gregor carelessly allowed a tear to drop to the paper he held in his hand, and then quickly dammed them and decided to sign up to be a boy for hire.

On the 17^th of September, at exactly 11 o’clock, Gregor waited at the darkened entrance to the Chandlery, looking for anyone who looked like the author of the announcement he had read earlier that week.  The streets were empty and quiet.  The church bells at Copley Square struck 11:30, and as Gregor was about to leave, he saw two dark shapes ambling down the street.  As they got closer, he squinted in the dimly lit night to see if he knew who they were.  One was a broad, mustached man, much taller than the other, and wearing a sloppy brown leather hat.  His companion was round and red-faced, and seemed to be almost twice the taller man’s age.  As they approached, Gregor began to feel uneasy, and thought about running quickly into the welcoming shadows of the alley next to the Chandlery.  The two men walked straight toward Gregor, and called out, “You there!  You looking for work?”  Gregor was partially relieved to realize that these were the men he was waiting to meet. 

“Yes, sir.  I- I- found your announcement about needing boys for hire.” 

“Well…” the older man said as he walked closer to Gregor, and looked at him as though he were sizing up a cow at an auction.  “I don’t know about you, young feller.  You see, we need boys that can work hard, and that don’t ask a lot of questions.” 

“I can work hard as any,” answered Gregor.  “And I aint used to talkin’ much, seeing as how I live alone.” 

“Whad’ya mean, alone?” said the older man as he slowly raised one eye brow above the other.

“I ain’t got’ny family.  They died in a fire.  I’ve lived alone ever since.”

“Well, now, he may be just the boy we need, Pop,” the taller man said to his squat and thickset father.

“Yeah, Ronnie.  I think he might do us real good.  What’s you name, boy?”

“Gregor.  Gregor Hillford.” 

“Well, Gregor Hillford, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” said the father.  “And we’d like to offer you a job.  We are what you might call brokers.  We provide boys for rich folks to work their stables.  You work for them, they feed you and give you a place to sleep, and we make sure you always got work.  In return, you help us out.”

“Help you with what?” Gregor asked.

Ronnie slapped Gregor hard across the mouth, his hand darting so quickly Gregor hardly had time to flinch.  “Ow,” he said holding his jaw  “Whadg’ you do that for?”

“That’s what happens when you ask too many questions, boy!” sneered Ronnie.

“But, sir, I only asked one.”

“That’s too many,” barked Pop.  “Now, do ya’ want a job or no?”

Gregor nodded his head hesitantly and then reached out to shake Pop’s hand, which was waiting impatiently in front of him.

“Done!  Now let’s get moving,” hissed Ronnie and they roughly led Gregor down the dark Boston road.

As they walked, Pop began to tell Gregor the plan for the next day.  He was to be hired out to the Robinson’s, one of the wealthiest families in Boston.  Their last stable boy left to work in Philadephia, and they hadn’t found a reliable replacement.  The next morning, they told Gregor, he was to get cleaned up and go knock on the Robinson’s door, and offer his services in exchange for room and board.

“But I thought you made the deal with the people.  Why do I have to knock on the d--?”  Just then, Gregor remembered what happened last time he asked a question, and he stopped short. 

                “Hey, boy.  I think you’re getting to understand our contract.” Ronnie said,  “Just do what we say, don’t ask questions, and everything will be just fine!”

The next morning, Ronnie and Pop led Gregor up to the lane that led to the Robinson’s house. 

Long white split-rail fences bordered both sides of the cobblestone lane, and the house stood erect on a grassy hill in the center of the property.  Horses lazily grazed in the cool fall air, and maids beat rugs hanging by the kitchen door with long stick brooms.

“Now remember everything we told you, boy.  You work hard for the Robinson’s, and make sure they like you real good.  Then, exactly a week from today, you meet us around the back of the stable at 11 o’clock at night with some of their rich-folk stuff.”

“What?  You didn’t say anything about stealin stuff!  I thought—“ Ronnie raised a clenched fist, and Gregor instinctively clenched his teeth, pushing out, “Yes sir, I’ll see you then.”

“Go on, boy.  Get to work!” Ronnie said with a laugh.  “We’ll be lookin’ for you!”

As Gregor walked up the lane, the terms of his “contract” with Ronnie and Pop became more and more clear.  He would work for a family, gain their trust, and then help Ronnie and Pop rob them blind.  Gregor didn’t want to do it, but he feared his new bosses enough to keep walking to the house.  When he reached the door, he paused and turned to see Ronnie and Pop clambering away into the woods near the Robinson property.  With a heavy heart, Gregor knocked on the large raised panel door. 

Within seconds a maid appeared and asked Gregor to state his business. 

“My name’s Gregor—Gregor Hillford.  I’m here for the stable boy job, miss,” answered Gregor as he nervously wrung his hat in his hands.  “May a speak to Mr. Robinson.” 

Gregor was led into the house, down the main hall, and into the library, where Mr. Robinson was sitting behind a mahogany desk writing with a fountain pen.  The maid cleared her throat and said, “Mr. Robinson?”

He slowly looked up and smiled at Gregor.  “Who are you, young man?  You must be here to apply for the stable boy job.”

“Yes sir,” said Gregor, looking away from Mr. Robinson’s kind, penetrating eyes.  “I am.  Gregor’s the name, sir, and I’d sure like to work for you, sir.”

“Well, now, let me see,” said Mr. Robinson as he got up from his work, moved close to Gregor, and put two strong hands on the boy’s shoulders.  “You seem like a good sturdy boy.  I believe you’ll do just fine.  Jesse,” Mr. Robinson said as he turned to the maid, “take Gregor here out to the stable and show him around.  But wait… What was I thinking?  Gregor, do your parents and family want you to work here with us?” 

“Well, sir, I can’t right answer that.  You see, I don’t have any parents.  They died a few years ago, and I’m all there is in my family.”

“I see.  I’m sorry to hear that young man.  I suppose that makes it all the more fitting that you come here to live and work with us.  I expect you’ll do just fine, Gregor, if you work hard and if you’re honest,” said Mr. Robinson, purposefully making eye contact with him. 

Without thinking, Gregor turned away again, and said, “Yes sir.  I’ll do my best.”

And so began Gregor’s new life.  He worked hard for Mr. Robinson, who quickly came to like and appreciate him.  As the weeks passed and fall faded into early winter, the Robinsons allowed him into the house more and more, even sometimes having Gregor sit down for supper with them.  Of course they had no idea that every Friday night at 11 o’clock, Gregor was meeting Ronnie and Pop behind the stable to give them the small things he had stolen from the Robinsons.  The first week, it was an old harness.   The next, a vase Gregor found in the attic of the stable.  Then, some silver cream and sugar goblets.  Gregor would give them what he’d stolen, and in return Ronnie and Pop would treat him roughly, hitting him hard and cursing at him, as if to remind him that he was really their slave.

Everything was going according to Ronnie and Pop’s plan, all except one small problem that they didn’t know about.  Since coming to work for—and steal from—the Robinson’s, a strange thing was happening in Gregor.  He was beginning to love them, and to feel bad for taking from them.  He had spent years stealing to survive on the streets without regret, but now, as he sensed love and kindness from the Robinson’s, he felt guilty and unclean.  After more weeks of stealing, meeting Ronnie and Pop, and stealing some more, he made a decision.  The Robinson’s had only loved and embraced Gregor, while he had only stolen from them.  It wasn’t right.  Something had to change.

That Friday, Gregor met Ronnie and Pop behind the stable empty handed. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said. 

“Whad’ya mean can’t?  You have no choice boy.  Remember our contract?  You shook on it!” whispered Ronnie, in not much of a whisper, as he raised his massive arm to club Gregor over the head.

“But the Robinson’s… they’re so kind.  I just can’t steal from them anymore.”

“OK, boy.  I see you’re goin’ soft on us.  We can put an end to all of this real quick like,” said Pop as he held back Ronnie’s cocked arm.  Then, he paused and scratched his chin.  “They let you in the house a whole lot, now, don’t they?”

“Yes,” said Gregor cautiously.

“Good.  Here’s how you can end this.  Tomorrow night, real late-- Say at maybe 2 or 3 in the morning, you sneak into the house while everyone’s asleep, and just unlock the front door.  Then Ronnie and I will go in and help ourselves to what we need, and we’ll be done with the Robinson’s.  You’ll meet us around back the stable here, and we’ll all be off, like nothing ever happened,” explained Pop.  “You got it?”

Gregor quietly nodded his head, and crept back towards the stable.  Just as he was about to go in, Ronnie hissed after him, “Don’t be goin’ soft on us, boy.  You have a contract to fulfill!  You belong to us now.”

Sleep didn’t come for Gregor that night.  He tossed and turned, agonizing over what was supposed to happen the following night.  “How could I get myself into this mess?” he kept asking.  “How can I fix this?”

The next morning, a thought jumped out from nowhere and surprised Gregor as he pulled on his trousers.  “Tell them the truth.” 

“I can’t,” Gregor answered back, “They’ll have me thrown in jail—or worse!”  As he wrestled with his thoughts, he tried to picture how Mr. and Mrs. Robinson would respond to the truth.  In his mind, Gregor put Ronnie’s clenched, flying fist on the end of Mr. Robinson’s arm, coming straight at him.  But, somehow, the picture wouldn’t stick.  Instead of fury, he saw compassion.  Instead of a flying fist, he saw outstretched arms.  Instead of a beaten and bruised face, he felt a warm hug.

As he did his duties that morning, Gregor kept thinking of Mr. Robinson’s smile and hearing his full, hearty laugh.  Somewhere between a pile of sweet, fresh hay and a wagonload of manure, Gregor made a decision, and said out-loud, “I’ll tell them the truth!” 

The mare in the stall next to Gregor neighed loudly and bounced her head up and down several times the way horses do when they’re excited.  Gregor reached out and held her by the sides of her lowered head.  “OK, girl.  I see you agree.  I’ll tell them this afternoon.”

After the day’s work, Gregor cleaned himself up, put on a fresh set of work clothes, and purposefully walked to the back door of the house.  He hesitated for a moment, looking around half expecting to see Ronnie and Pop watching from the edge of the woods, and then knocked.  Jesse answered and welcomed Gregor into the homey kitchen that smelled of fresh-baked apple pie. 

“What can I do for you this afternoon, young man?  You’re looking mighty fine.”

“Thanks, Jesse.  Where are Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?  Can I see them?” Gregor asked.

“Well now, that’s a strange request for the middle of the afternoon.  But, I suppose you can, seeing as how they like you so much,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “You go on ahead.  They’re in the library with a guest.  Just knock before going in, son.”

Gregor walked slowly out of the comfort of the kitchen and down the hallway to the library.  Deciding to tell the truth was much easier than actually telling it.  He dreaded facing Mr. Robinson, but somehow he felt drawn to him.  He resolved to admit his wrongdoing, and take the punishment that was rightfully his. 

Gregor gently tapped on the door, and waited for an answer. 

“Come in,” invited Mrs. Robinson. 

Gregor pushed the door open.  The hinges creaked in complaint as he walked in and found the Robinsons sitting on the couch facing one another with several papers on the cushion between them, and an important looking visitor standing behind them.

“Oh, Gregor.  What perfect timing.  Please,  Come sit down,” said Mrs. Robinson gesturing for him to sit on the chair directly across from the sofa.  “This is Mr. Jacobs, one of Boston’s senior magistrates.”

“Yes, we were just discussing with Mr. Jacobs you and your time here with us,” began Mr. Robinson with a serious tone. 

Gregor’s palms become instantly more sweaty than they already were, and he felt his face begin to flush.

“How long has it been since you came to live here?” Mr. Robinson asked.

“I guess, I guess… two months, give or take,” stammered Gregor.

“Yes, that’s about what we figured.  And since you’ve been around, Gregor, we’ve noticed something missing…” Mrs. Robinson began.

Gregor gasped out loud, and gripped the arms of the chair, bracing for what was coming.

“Yes, Gregor,” continued Mr. Robinson, “something is missing.  Something from our lives.  You see, Gregor, Mrs. Robinson and I have never had any children of our own.  And you—you have stolen…” he paused to wipe a lone tear from his eye.  “You have stolen our hearts.  We love you Gregor, and we were just going through these papers here that Mr. Jacobs had drawn up so that we can legally adopt you as our son.”

Gregor’s eyes immediately shot to the floor and became leaky reservoirs of tears.  Shame overwhelmed him in the face of such great, and undeserved love.  “You don’t want me,” he said with a resolute tone, shaking his head deliberately.  “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Whatever do you mean,” said Mrs. Robinson as she got up from the sofa and put a gentle arm around Gregor’s drooping shoulders. 

Gregor carefully and truthfully told Mr. and Mrs. Robinson the story of all he had stolen from them, and how he was in a contract with Ronnie and Pop.  “You don’t want me.  I’m so sorry.  Please, let me work to pay back all I have stolen, and then I’ll leave you for good.”

After a pregnant pause, Mr. Robinson rose to join his wife, got down on one knee in front of Gregor, and lifted his chin with a kind hand.  “Gregor, we love you very much.  And we forgive you for all that you have stolen from us.  Will you be our son?”

“But what about all that I owe you?  What about Ronnie and Pop?  What about my contract with them?” Gregor protested.

“We forgive you, Gregor—and you owe us nothing.  Today you have been honest with us, and we are even more convinced that you will be a fine son.  As for these Ronnie and Pop characters, I’m sure Mr. Jacobs can arrange to deal with them tonight.  Will you be our son… Will you let us be your parents?” pleaded Mr. Robinson.

Gregor couldn’t believe his ears, but he could his heart as the night watchman of his soul told him that the Robinson’s love and forgiveness were real, and that once again, “all’s well  indeed.”