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Except for his visits to the roadhouse, Franklin avoided close contact with others and washed his hands
thirty to forty times a day. He even carried pre-moistened towelettes for those times when he was unable
to access soap and water.
With business his only passion, meals were looked on as inconvenient, but necessary, refueling. Most
meals consisted of cottage cheese and canned fruit, except when okra was in season. Then he would gorge
on his favorite meal, okra and dumplings, which he had learned to love in the Lincoln University dining
hall.
Franklin was five foot eight, and at one hundred thirty-five pounds, he appeared frail. He had
inherited his father s long nose, which on his completely bald and tiny head, looked like a chicken beak.
Bald since youth, and uncomfortable with casual human contact, Franklin never developed a way with the
ladies. As a consequence, his only sexual release came at the roadhouse, which was conveniently located
across Route 16 from the Pardoe Farm.
Though the hand-carved wooden sign beckoning to men passing by read Queen of Sheba in foot-tall red
letters, everyone called the place Big Leg Irma s, after its Madame. And many men made a point of
stopping by.
The roadhouse was typical of the structures built in lower Delaware during the early days of the
nineteenth century. It was a square two-story building with a dormered attic to make a third floor. The
pastel yellow paint on the clapboard siding looked fresh and the white trim clean. The roof was made of
imported slate tiles from the Neander Valley.
The house had been built by a Dutch sea captain who had wearied of the sea. Heinrich Van Horn had
harbored a dream throughout his lonely days at sea. Never in one place for long, the Captain had come to
appreciate the comfort offered by a good friendly brothel. He considered them a boon to the public good
and the girls who worked in them as selfless as missionaries. It was Heinrich s secret wish to become the
proprietor of a whorehouse.
He had solid ideas about what constituted a respectable house of ill repute. During long sea voyages,
he would picture himself ensconced in his establishment and visualize every aspect of the place. By the
time he d ended his career, he had planned his enterprise down to the tiniest detail. This had kept him
occupied while off duty, and since there were few places to spend his money aboard ship, it was easy to
maintain the frugality that enabled him to amass sufficient funds to execute his dream.
Van Horn had wide experience with the hospitality of houses around the world, and he wasted no
time putting it into practice once his final voyage ended. He chose to build his house outside Harriston,
Delaware because he held title to a piece of property there.
Years before, he had been taking on salted menhaden at Lewes, Delaware. The town that he
referred to by its old Dutch name, Whorekill, held a special appeal because it had been established as a
Dutch Colony in the 1600 s after the Delaware Bay was discovered by Heinrich, or Henry, Hudson. So
when he found himself with some free time on his hands, the Captain decided to take in the sights.
As he strolled along the quay, a strange little man who d stepped out of the shadows accosted him.
When the Captain asked his name the man said, Call me Ishmael.
Ishmael said he desperately needed passage to anywhere out of the country. The Captain mentioned
that he would soon be bound for Venezuela and would like to help out, but there was the matter of the
fare. The man had little money, but he did have the deed to several acres of land a few miles west of
Lewes.
Van Horn got directions, rented a hack, and journeyed to the location. It was a good dry piece of
ground at a busy crossroads and he deemed it perfect for his purpose. He returned, took Ishmael to the
notary, and after signing the paper, the pair of them returned to the ship. In the years at sea that
followed, many was the time that the Captain would open his sea chest and gaze on the paper, it being the
first tangible step in the realization of his dream.
When at last he retired, he sailed into Lewes, discharged his crew, and put his ship, the Queen of
Sheba up for auction. With his savings and the proceeds from the sale, he hired most of the carpenters in
Lewes and headed for the crossroads. The only memento he kept of his ship was her figurehead a
bare-breasted Nubian beauty that created quite a scandal when he mounted it beneath a decorative
bowsprit above the front entrance.
The inside of the house was exotically appointed. Mementos and memorabilia that the Captain had
collected over his career adorned every wall and corner. Most of them had been given as gifts by
merchants in his various ports of call in an attempt to get their goods shipped first, or to get first crack at
the Captain s cargo. The collection was not displayed in a garish fashion, but worked into the décor in a
way that made those who walked through the door feel they d entered another world.
It was like going to a museum for the Sussex County locals who had never been more than a score of
miles from home. The guests could almost smell the spice of Madagascar, hear the market in
Constantinople, or imagine themselves in a Japanese tea house. Objets d art were in great evidence.
Elaborately carved ivory pagodas, porcelain boxes, scrimshaw, jade mermaids, ebony figures, and Bali
masks graced the parlor.
Though adjusted to life on land, every now and then Heinrich would say he needed to, get a taste of
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