by Al Lacy
“They’re waving newspapers, and they seem awfully happy about something,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s go out and see.”
The women hurried through the parlor, and Cleora went ahead of them to open the door. The family gardener hurried toward Elizabeth, waving a newspaper. “Miss Elizabeth! Miss Elizabeth! It’s the morning edition of the Boston Globe! The war is over!”
“Let me see, Jason!”
The gardener handed her the paper, and the other women crowded close.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” Elizabeth cried, running a forefinger over the headlines and the article just beneath. “General Lee surrendered to General Grant in the town of Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia, yesterday afternoon at three o’clock! There is no longer a Confederate Army! The Union soldiers are coming home!”
Elizabeth felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and embraced her sister. “Oh, Judith,” she said, breaking into tears, “he’s coming home! My Gordon’s coming home!”
Up and down the street neighbors joined together in their yards to celebrate the Union’s victory over the Confederacy.
Jason pointed out a paragraph near the bottom of the front page. President Lincoln was quoted as saying it would be many weeks, even as long as two months before all the Union soldiers would be back to their homes. Their families should be patient as they waited for their return.
Elizabeth thumbed tears from her cheeks. “Oh, Jason, it won’t be easy to wait for him to come home, but I can be patient!”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll all be glad to have him back.”
Someone in the street shouted, “Hey, they must’ve let out school!” A group of children were running from the direction of the school, and they dashed inside their homes to join elated relatives and neighbors.
Little Evelyn Burke was left behind by her siblings when they turned into the yard and ran to their mother. Elizabeth folded them in her arms, holding them tight as Adam and Laura cried, “Mama, Papa’s coming home! Papa’s coming home!”
Little Evelyn bounded up the steps, rushed past Jason, and threw herself between her brother and sister, shouting that the war was over and Papa was coming home. Elizabeth made room for her and hugged all three children as they wept for joy.
A buggy turned up the street, its occupants waving joyfully at the people they passed.
“Oh, look, children!” Elizabeth said. “It’s Uncle Sidney and Aunt Darlene!”
The buggy turned into the wide circle drive, and Adam, Laura, and Evelyn ran to it. The five came back to the porch arm-in-arm, then Sidney and Darlene broke from the children and embraced Elizabeth in jubilation.
When emotions had settled some, Darlene said, “Liz, we’re going to have a big celebration dinner this evening. Before we left the house I told Maggie to cook up a banquet. Sid and I went to the office and invited our top executives and their families. Everybody’s so excited that Gordon is coming home! We’ll have to give Maggie till eight o’clock to have it ready. Is that all right with you?”
“Wh-why yes,” Elizabeth said.
Evelyn jumped up and down. “Oh, goody! We get to have a party at Aunt Darlene’s house tonight ’cause Papa’s coming home!”
It had been a long time since there had been an occasion for a celebration this big. The massive dining room table was resplendent with snowy white tablecloths and napkins. The silver was polished to a high sheen, and glowing candles cast a gleam over it all.
The table fairly groaned from the abundance of food. Succulent ham, golden-brown fried chicken, and tender roast beef were the main items, with sweet and creamy mashed potatoes, gravy, stewed tomatoes, corn, applesauce, biscuits, and fresh-baked savory bread.
There was much talk and laughter around the table that night. Even the smallest child had caught the feeling of elation, and spirits were high. Gordon Burke was coming home, and once again Boston Clothiers would have both of its top executives to lead the company.
When everybody at the table was filled almost to bursting, Sidney called toward the kitchen, and Maggie appeared. “Yessir, Mr. Sidney?”
Burke rose from his chair. “Maggie, dear, that was the most delicious meal I have ever eaten. Thank you for doing such a wonderful job to make this celebration even more special!”
There was sudden applause all around the table.
A smile split Maggie’s dark face, and she gave a slight curtsy. “I hopes all of you saved some room fo’ dessert.” With that, she hurried back to the kitchen, and the guests laughed and agreed they would find room.
Moments later, Maggie reappeared, pushing a small cart that bore a four-layer chocolate cake with white frosting, a favorite of her “family.”
When everyone had been served their slice of cake, Sidney looked across the table at young Adam and said, “I can imagine how excited you must be, my boy. I know you and your papa used to do things together when he had time.”
“Yes, sir. I’m hoping that when Papa comes back he won’t be as busy with the company as he was before. I’d like to have more time for us to do ‘man’ things together.”
Sidney smiled. “Well, we’ve got a larger staff now, Adam. When your papa gets home and is ready to go back to work, I’ll talk to him about scheduling time for his son.”
Laura leaned toward her uncle. “How about making Papa schedule some ‘daughter’ time too, Uncle Sidney?”
“I’ll have to work on that too, honey,” said Sidney, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand.
“Me too, Uncle Sidney?” Evelyn asked.
“You too, darlin’,” he said, winking at her. “I’ll see that your papa has time for each of you.”
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY MORNING, Elizabeth Burke stood on her wide front porch, kissed her children’s foreheads, and said, “Now, I want you to have lots of fun with your friends. But don’t forget, I want you home by eleven. That will give you a full two hours to play. I told Mrs. Babcock to shoo you out of the yard when it’s time. But if she forgets, it’s up to you, Adam, to remember.”
The twelve-year-old pulled out the gold pocket watch his father had given him for his seventh birthday and grinned up at his mother. “I won’t forget, Mama. We will leave at exactly ten fifty-five.”
The Burke children hurried down the steps and ran toward the street. Within a few strides Evelyn was left behind, even though she was running as fast as she could, her long braids flying.
“Adam! Laura!” Elizabeth called.
The two slowed and looked over their shoulders.
“Don’t run so fast! Evelyn can’t keep up with you. You’re always leaving her behind.”
Adam and Laura smiled at their mother and put Evelyn between them. They all held hands and hurried on down the street.
Smiling to herself, Elizabeth went inside and climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. When she topped the stairs, she saw Cleora at the hall linen closet, gathering sheets and pillowcases in her arms.
“You can hold my bedroom till last,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll be in there rearranging the bureau drawers to make room for Mr. Gordon’s things again.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’s gonna do Master Adam’s bed first. I already swep’ his room. After the bed’s done, I’ll do the dustin’.”
Elizabeth nodded and went on to the master bedroom.
When Cleora had finished making up Adam’s bed, she moved around the room, using a feather duster on the furniture and the pictures on the walls. There were six framed photographs of Abraham Lincoln in different poses. Two of them were front page pictures from the Boston Globe. One showed Lincoln in front of an army tent with the diminutive General George B. McClellan. The other was a similar background, this time with General Ulysses S. Grant and several other army officers.
Cleora giggled softly while dusting the pictures, unaware that Elizabeth had entered the room. She jumped slightly when Elizabeth said, “What’s tickled you, Cleora?”
A smile spread across Cleora’s face. “I was jus’ thinkin’ �
��bout these pictures of Mr. Lincoln. There prob’ly isn’t another twelve-year-old boy in all the Union states with six pictures of the president on his wall.”
“Probably not,” Elizabeth said. “But Mr. Lincoln is Adam’s hero, as you know.”
“Yes’m. I loves Mr. Lincoln, too. He done set my fambly free, an’ I loves him fo’ that. An’ I know that Master Adam has set his heart on bein’ a lawyer ’cause what he read about Mr. Lincoln in school all these years inspired him to wanna be a successful attorney jus’ like his hero.”
“That desire has been in Adam’s mind for a long time,” Elizabeth said. “Have I ever told you about the time Mr. Lincoln came to Boston back in 1860, when he was campaigning for the presidency and—”
“Oh, yes’m! That was when Master Adam got to shake Mr. Lincoln’s hand … an’ you an’ Mr. Gordon had to make him wash his hand.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, after we found out he had gone three days without. And the boy was only seven years old!”
“That is some boy you have there, Miz Elizabeth. That is some boy.”
“Don’t I know it! He has a certain determination about him, Cleora. He was seven when he made up his mind that he wanted to follow Lincoln’s example and be a lawyer. He hasn’t changed his mind since then, and I’m positive he never will. He’s going to go to Harvard Law School and become a lawyer as sure as I’m standing here.”
The door knocker clattered downstairs and echoed through the house. “I’ll see who it is, ma’am,” Cleora said.
Elizabeth followed her down the hall and paused at the top of the stairs. She heard Sidney’s voice first, then Darlene’s. Cleora invited them in, saying she would fetch Miss Elizabeth.
“I’m right here, Cleora,” said Elizabeth, descending the stairs. When she saw their faces, her heart lurched. “Sidney … Darlene … what’s wrong?” Elizabeth reached the last step and saw a folded newspaper in Sidney’s hand. “Tell me, what’s happened?”
Cleora closed the front door and excused herself.
Sidney raised the newspaper chest high and let it unfold so Elizabeth could see the headline on the special edition of the Boston Globe that had just come off the press.
PRESIDENT LINCOLN SHOT!
Cleora stopped when she heard her mistress gasp. She turned and hurried toward Elizabeth and saw the shocking headline for herself.
“Let’s go into the parlor,” Darlene said, moving up to take hold of Elizabeth’s arm. “I think we all need to sit down.”
“I’ll bring some water,” Cleora said. She hurried down the hall, tears forming in her eyes.
Darlene guided her sister-in-law to one of the love seats and sat down beside her. Sidney took a seat facing them and quickly recounted the events reported in the paper.
Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. “But … but why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Elizabeth touched her trembling fingers to the tears on her cheeks. “I have such love and respect for that dear man. Poor Mrs. Lincoln. What horror she must be experiencing.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Darlene said.
“And their sons,” Elizabeth said. “Robert will probably handle it better than Tad. The younger boy and his father are so close.” Her eyes widened. “And what of my own son! This is going to devastate Adam, especially if … if Mr. Lincoln shouldn’t make it.” She drew a tremulous breath. “What does the paper say about Booth, Sidney? Since they know he did it, have they caught him?”
“No, but they will. They think he might have broken a leg in his escape.”
Cleora entered the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and three glasses. “Here’s the water. Mr. Sidney, is President Lincoln gonna be all right?”
“I don’t know, Cleora. His doctors aren’t giving him much of a chance.”
Tears welled up in the maid’s eyes. “Oh, I’s so sorry.” Then to Elizabeth, “If you needs me, ma’am, I’ll be upstairs cleanin’ in the bedrooms and makin’ up the beds.”
“All right. Thank you, dear.”
Sidney poured water into the glasses and handed one to Elizabeth and to Darlene. The sound of childish chatter and laughter came from the front porch. Elizabeth’s gaze swung to the clock on the mantel. It was five minutes after ten.
“Oh my, it’s the children. They’re home early.” She went to the parlor door and took a half-step into the hall. She watched her three young ones troop into the house, one behind the other.
Evelyn ran toward her mother. “Mama, we had lots of fun! We’ve been talking to Billy and Susie and Kathy about Papa coming home! We’re so happy!”
“That’s wonderful, honey,” Elizabeth said. “But how come you’re home so early?”
“Mr. Babcock came home looking sort of upset,” Laura said, “and took Mrs. Babcock into the kitchen. He came back out in a minute and said they all needed to talk about something important. He was sorry, but we would have to go home.”
“But he was nice, Mama,” Adam said. “He asked us to come back again real soon.”
Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip. “That’s good, son.”
Adam frowned as he looked closely at his mother’s face. “Mama, are you all right?”
“Are you sick, Mama?” Laura asked.
“I’m not sick. Uncle Sidney and Aunt Darlene are here. Come into the parlor.”
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Adam said. “Is it something about Papa?”
“No, honey.” She put an arm around his shoulders as they entered the parlor together. “As far as we know, Papa is fine and will be home soon.”
“Then what is it?”
“Come and sit down,” Elizabeth said. “Something bad has happened. Not in our family but to someone we all love and respect.”
Laura and Evelyn sat between their aunt and uncle, and Adam took a seat beside his mother.
Elizabeth took both of Adam’s hands in hers and said softly, “It’s President Lincoln, Adam. He’s been shot.”
“Shot?” Disbelief filled Adam’s eyes.
“He’s still alive, honey. The doctors aren’t giving him much of a chance to make it, but as long as he’s alive, there’s hope.”
Silence filled the room, then Adam said weakly, “Who—when—?”
Elizabeth squeezed his hands. “I’ll let Uncle Sidney tell you about it.”
Sidney knelt in front of the boy. As he told the story to Adam, Elizabeth watched the fire rise in her son’s dark eyes.
Suddenly Adam jumped up from the couch, his fists clenched, and looked at the floor through tear-dimmed eyes. “Mr. Lincoln led this country through that awful Civil War. He … he freed the slaves. He’s done nothing but good for all of us; especially us northerners. Now the thanks he gets is a bullet in his head!”
Sidney rose to his feet and sent a helpless glance to Elizabeth.
Suddenly Adam whirled about. “I hate that John Wilkes Booth! I hope they catch him and shoot him!”
Sidney laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I know how you feel, Adam. I want to see Booth pay to the ultimate for what he did.”
“I’d like to be the one who tracks him down, Uncle Sidney! I’d shoot him in the stomach so he’d die real slow! I’d stand over him and laugh while he clutched his bleeding belly!”
“Adam!” Elizabeth said. “Your hating John Booth will only dry you up on the inside. Don’t concentrate on him. Put your mind on Mr. Lincoln, and hope that he gets well.”
The boy took a deep breath, then said, “Mr. Lincoln is tough, Mama. He might just fool the doctors and come through it.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. “Just hang on to that hope. Maybe you’re right! Maybe Mr. Lincoln is tough enough to come through this.”
That night, Adam Burke lay in his bed. Sleep refused to come. He thought about praying but wasn’t sure how to do it. He had heard someone pray only one time, and that was when he attended the funeral of a neighbor, and the minister had said a prayer over the grave.
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Adam threw back the covers and left his bed. Moonlight filtered into the room through the lace curtains. He stood before the pictures of Lincoln and studied each one, then began pacing from one end of the room to the other.
“Why? Why did John Booth hate Mr. Lincoln so much that he would shoot him like that?”
He lost track of the time and was surprised when he heard a light tap at his door. He grabbed his robe and shrugged into it, tying the sash around his slender waist. It was Cleora. She whispered softly, “Master Adam, is you all right? I can hear you walkin’ back an’ forth from down in my room.”
“I … I’m just so upset about Mr. Lincoln, Cleora. I don’t want him to die.”
“Me either. He’s such a good man. All my folk down in Alabama has been slaves fo’ so many years. An’ now they ain’t slaves no mo’ ’cause Mr. Lincoln made ’em free. God bless him.”
“Yes. God bless him.”
“ ’Course I’s so thankful I was brought up north by my mother’s frien’s when she died, an’ yo’ mama and papa give me a job. I has truly been blessed. Adam, is there anythin’ I can do fo’ you?”
“No, but thank you. I’ll go back to bed and try to get to sleep.”
“Well, you’d better hurry to sleep, ’cause it’s gonna be mornin’ in ’bout two hours. G’night.”
“Good night,” Adam whispered, quietly closing the door.
Sunday morning arrived with a brilliant sunrise that stabbed Adam’s tired eyes as it shafted through the windows. He had not slept.
The atmosphere at breakfast was dismal until Elizabeth said, “Now, children, I know we’re all concerned about our president, and it is right that we should be. But let’s be glad for what’s good in our lives. Papa will soon be home.”
Her words helped to lift countenances. Elizabeth talked about how Papa always liked for her to fix a picnic lunch on Sunday afternoons in the summertime, and he would drive the family down to Boston Harbor in the horse and buggy so they could have their picnic and watch the sailboats.
