Magic Tree House #47: Abe Lincoln at Last!

by Mary Pope Osborne;Sal Murdocca

“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Willie?” said Annie.

  “I’m sure,” said Jack. He hurried down the carriageway. “Even if Willie took us back to the office to meet his dad, we wouldn’t be alone with the president. Lots of other people would be there, too. We couldn’t ask him for a feather. And we sure couldn’t give him any hope. Everyone would laugh.”

  “You’re right,” said Annie.

  Jack shook his head. “How can the president even think in that place, with Tad jumping on him, his relatives visiting, his secretary yelling—”

  “And a thousand people scheduled to meet with him,” said Annie.

  “And another thousand who are trying to meet with him!” said Jack.

  They had arrived back at the tree house. “Whew. No wonder the president needs to take a ride in the countryside by himself,” Jack said. He grabbed the sides of the ladder. “Let’s go up and look at the book.”

  “Wait,” said Annie. “I have a good idea.”

  “What?” asked Jack.

  “Right now we really need to have our own meeting with Abraham Lincoln, alone,” said Annie. “Right?”

  “Yes … so?” said Jack.

  “So if that’s the one thing we need, our book can’t really help,” said Annie. “But I know something that can.”

  “What?” said Jack.

  Annie reached into her apron pocket. She pulled out the bottle and read the label aloud: “ ‘Take a sip. Make a wish for one thing to help you on your mission. Remember: Trust the magic.’ ”

  Annie looked up at Jack. “So why don’t we make a wish to have a private meeting with Abraham Lincoln?”

  “Isn’t it too soon to use our only magic?” said Jack.

  “Maybe. But maybe it’s the perfect time,” said Annie.

  “So we wish to have a meeting with the president all by ourselves?” said Jack.

  “Yep,” said Annie.

  Jack couldn’t think of another plan. “Well … okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  “Just remember, we have to trust the magic,” said Annie.

  Jack nodded.

  Annie took the top off the bottle. She raised the bottle to her lips, then swallowed a quick sip of the potion. She handed the bottle to Jack, and he did the same.

  “You can make our wish,” said Annie.

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “We wish to have a meeting with Abraham Lincoln!” he said. “Alone!”

  There was a deafening WHOOSH and a ROAR. The earth shook, like a speeding train passing by. The ground opened, and Jack felt as if he were falling through space,

  through a tunnel,

  down through blackness,

  into a world of daylight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Trust the Magic

  Clouds hid the sun. Jack and Annie sat in a clump of dead weeds beside a dirt road in the countryside. A chilly wind blew the creaky limbs of bare trees.

  “You okay?” asked Annie.

  “I think so,” said Jack. “Where are we?”

  “Looks like we’re somewhere in the country,” said Annie.

  “No kidding, but where? Why?” said Jack.

  “Wait, wait,” said Annie. “Mr. Nicolay said if the president had a free moment, he’d take a ride in the country. I’ll bet we’ve come to a spot where we can catch Abraham Lincoln on his ride! Alone!”

  “Oh, wow … cool,” said Jack.

  “Look!” said Annie. “Someone’s coming this way now! On a horse!”

  A slim figure on a horse was coming down the dirt road. Jack and Annie jumped to their feet. When the rider on the bony white horse got closer, Jack sighed. “It’s not the president,” he said. “It’s just some kid on an old horse.”

  “Maybe this kid is supposed to help us somehow,” said Annie. “Remember, trust the magic.”

  Jack nodded, but he couldn’t imagine the boy would be much help. He looked to be ten or maybe eleven years old. His matted black hair stuck out from under a coonskin cap. His thin face was dirty, and his buckskin pants and moccasins were stained and torn. A frayed burlap sack hung from his shoulder.

  Annie stepped into the road and waved. “Hello!” she called.

  The boy pulled the old horse to a halt. He took off his cap and bowed his head. Then he put his cap back on and looked at them with tired gray eyes. “How do?” he said without a smile.

  “We do good,” said Annie. “We’re wondering if you can help us. We’re looking for Abraham Lincoln. Does he ride his horse around here? Have you ever seen him?”

  The boy’s eyes brightened. “You’re looking for Abraham Lincoln?” he asked.

  “Yes, we are,” said Jack.

  “Why?” the boy asked.

  “Um … well, we just want to say hi to him,” said Jack. “Do you know if he goes riding in this area?”

  The boy nodded. “He does,” he said. “In fact, he is in this area as we speak.”

  “Really?” said Annie. She smiled at Jack, as if to say, See! The magic’s working!

  Jack couldn’t help smiling back. “So, can you tell us where we can find him?” he asked the boy.

  “Yes,” said the boy, nodding. “But I think it’s better if I take you to him myself. I just have to grind some corn at the mill first.”

  How long will that take? Jack wondered. How long will the president be riding in the countryside?

  “Maybe you could just tell us where we could find him,” said Jack. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Wait,” said Annie. She whispered to Jack, “We have to trust the magic.”

  Jack sighed. He looked back at the boy. “Okay, we’ll go to the mill with you,” he said, “but it would be good if we could hurry, so we don’t miss finding Abraham Lincoln.”

  “You won’t miss him. I give you my word,” said the boy. “Come along. The grinder’s around the bend. Giddyup, girl.” He shook his reins, and the old horse started plodding down the road again.

  Jack and Annie walked after the slow-moving horse. “Our names are Jack and Annie,” Annie called. “What’s yours?”

  “You can call me Sam,” the boy said over his shoulder.

  “Okay, Sam,” said Annie. “Thanks for helping us.”

  A gust of wind stirred the branches of the trees. The old horse neighed and stopped. “Keep going, girl,” said Sam.

  But the horse wouldn’t budge.

  “She doesn’t hear well. She gets spooked by the wind,” Sam explained to Jack and Annie.

  The lonely sound of the wind spooked Jack, too. Something felt wrong. This weather was different from the weather at the White House.

  “Giddyup, girl!” said Sam.

  The horse started plodding down the road again. When they rounded the bend, Jack saw a strange-looking machine in a clearing. It had a barrel-like container with a wooden beam attached to it. Metal rods hung from the end of the beam.

  “What’s that?” said Jack.

  “The grinder,” said Sam. “You ain’t never seen one before?”

  “Sure, we have,” said Annie.

  No one was tending the grinder or waiting to use it. Sam dropped his sack to the ground and dismounted. He was tall and skinny. His buckskin pants were too short for him.

  “What’s in your bag?” asked Annie.

  “Twenty pounds of corn,” Sam said. “Shelled it all by hand.”

  “Wow,” said Annie.

  Sam poured the corn kernels into a funnel over the barrel. Then he hitched his old horse to leather straps attached to the metal rods.

  Jack and Annie stood to the side and watched Sam walk his horse around in a circle. After a while, Jack grew impatient. The corn grinding seemed to be taking forever. Before he could say anything, though, a gust of wind came up and the horse reared.

  “Keep moving, girl!” said Sam.

  The horse neighed and tossed her head.

  “Go on, girl! Giddyup!” said Sam. He slapped her backside. “Giddyup, I said!”

  The horse didn’t bu
dge.

  “These nice folks are waitin’ on us!” said Sam. He pushed the horse from behind.

  The wind picked up, tossing dead leaves into the air. The horse neighed again, then kicked out with her hind foot. Her hoof hit Sam in the head! His coonskin cap flew off as he fell backward and sprawled across the ground.

  “Sam!” cried Annie.

  Annie and Jack knelt in the dirt beside the boy. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his head. His eyes were closed.

  “Sam?” said Annie. “Can you hear me?” She wiped the blood with her apron.

  Sam didn’t answer or open his eyes.

  “Hey, Sam!” Jack said loudly. “Wake up!”

  But Sam didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  Jack and Annie looked at each other.

  “Is he dead?” whispered Annie.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sam’s Farm

  “I don’t know,” said Jack. This was one of the worst things that had ever happened. He pressed his finger against Sam’s wrist to feel for his pulse, like he’d seen on TV and in movies.

  Sam’s eyes opened. “Giddyup,” he said weakly.

  Jack laughed with relief. “Whew, we were afraid you were dead!” he said.

  “Ain’t dead yet,” Sam whispered, blinking, “but I am seeing stars and my ears are ringing.”

  “Does your head hurt?” asked Annie.

  “Yes, bad,” Sam said quietly, his eyes squinting with pain.

  “You might have a concussion,” Jack said. “Is there a doctor nearby?”

  “Thirty-five …,” said Sam.

  “Minutes?” asked Jack.

  “Miles,” Sam whispered.

  “Whoa, that’s really far,” said Annie.

  “I have to go home … to our farm,” said Sam. He struggled to sit up.

  “Careful,” said Jack. He couldn’t remember what to do if someone had a concussion.

  With Jack and Annie’s help, Sam managed to get on his feet. “Thanks,” the boy said. He staggered toward his horse, then swayed and collapsed onto the ground again.

  “Sam!” said Annie. She and Jack gently helped him back up to a standing position.

  “Dizzy … just dizzy,” whispered Sam.

  “We’ll help you get home,” said Annie. “You can’t do it by yourself. Right, Jack?”

  “Right,” said Jack. He knew it was the right thing to do. But as soon as we get him home to his parents, we have to find Abraham Lincoln, he thought.

  “Sam can sit in front of me and I’ll hold on to him,” Annie said to Jack. “You can take the reins and walk alongside us.”

  “Okay.” Jack kept holding Sam, while Annie unhitched the straps, freeing the horse.

  The wind had died down. The horse was calm as Annie coaxed her to a tree stump. She climbed onto the stump and then onto the horse’s back.

  “Your turn, Sam,” said Jack.

  Jack held Sam’s elbow as the gangly boy climbed onto the stump. Then Sam hauled himself onto the horse in front of Annie. He started to slump forward. Before he could slide off, Annie grabbed him and held him up.

  “Got him?” said Jack.

  “My cornmeal,” Sam whispered.

  “I’ll get it,” said Jack. He found a panel in the bottom of the grinder and opened it. Then he grabbed the empty sack and scooped the ground corn inside.

  Jack slung the sack over his shoulder. Then he picked up the reins and turned the horse around. Annie held Sam as Jack led the horse along the lonely road back the way they had come.

  This isn’t the way things are supposed to happen, Jack thought. He knew they were supposed to trust the magic. But now they were helping the person who was supposed to help them.

  “Where is your farm, Sam?” Jack asked after a while.

  The boy didn’t answer.

  “Sam!” said Annie, giving him a little shake. “Your farm? Where is it?”

  Sam opened his eyes. “Here,” he said.

  Jack didn’t see any sign of a farm. The only things up ahead were a small, windowless log cabin and a shed. A curl of smoke rose into the white sky.

  “Here where?” asked Jack.

  Sam pointed to the cabin and shed.

  That’s it? Jack thought. Sam’s family must be really poor.

  The cabin and shed were in a scrubby clearing. The clearing was dotted with piles of stones and stumps where trees had been chopped down.

  Not much of a farm, Jack thought. But at least they hadn’t wasted a lot of time getting Sam home.

  Jack led the horse toward Sam’s farm. The cabin not only had no windows—it didn’t even have a door! A black bearskin hung over the entrance. The horse stopped near the lean-to shed. The sound of a cow mooing came from inside.

  “I’ll help you, Sam,” Jack said, dropping the sack of cornmeal to the ground. “Careful, careful.”

  Sam lowered himself down from the horse. When his feet touched the ground, Jack grabbed him. “Lean on me,” he said. He put Sam’s arm around his shoulders.

  “Got him?” said Annie.

  “Yep,” said Jack.

  As Jack and Sam stumbled toward the cabin, Annie slid off the horse and tied her to a fence post beside the shed. Then Annie grabbed the sack of cornmeal. She ran to the cabin and pushed aside the bearskin, so Jack could help Sam inside.

  No one was home. The only light in the one-room cabin came from daylight streaming through big cracks between the logs of the walls. A low fire burned in a fireplace, but the air was cold and damp. The floor was made of dirt, and the crude furniture was made of planks of wood and tree stumps.

  “Thank—thank you, Jack,” Sam said, breathing heavily. “You can just leave me right here.” He took his arm from Jack’s shoulders and crumpled onto the dirt floor. He curled up and lay shivering on his side.

  This is not good, thought Jack.

  “You can’t lie on the dirt, Sam,” said Annie. “Don’t you have a bed?”

  Sam pointed to a loft.

  “We’ll help you,” said Jack.

  Jack and Annie pulled Sam up from the floor. He put his arms around their shoulders, and they brought him to a row of wooden pegs that led to the loft. Sam managed to pull himself up the row of pegs. When he reached the top, he disappeared.

  “Now what?” Jack whispered to Annie.

  Sam moaned from the loft above.

  “Poor kid,” Annie murmured to Jack. “There’s no one here to take care of him.”

  Jack didn’t know what to do. He wanted to help Sam, but they still had to find Abraham Lincoln in the countryside before he returned to the White House. And he wasn’t sure how long the magic would work.

  Another moan came from the loft.

  “We have to help Sam,” Annie said decisively. She climbed up the wooden pegs. Jack followed. As he crawled into the loft, he had to be careful not to bump his head on the ceiling.

  Light and cold air came through the cracks between the logs. Sam was lying on a bed of corn husks and dried leaves. His fingers were pressed against his head.

  “Does your head still hurt?” asked Annie.

  “Bad,” said Sam. He kept pressing his forehead, as if trying to push away the pain.

  “Where are your parents, Sam?” asked Jack.

  “Pa’s gone,” Sam said hoarsely. His eyes were squeezed shut. “Went to Kentucky last month.”

  “Where’s your mother?” asked Annie.

  Sam just shook his head.

  “Can you tell us where your mother is?” Annie asked.

  “Dead. She’s dead. She died last year,” said Sam. He covered his eyes with his arm.

  “Oh, no,” said Annie.

  “Is there anyone who can take care of you?” Jack asked. He couldn’t imagine being so alone.

  “My sister, Sarah,” Sam said in a muffled voice.

  “Where’s Sarah now?” asked Jack.

  “School,” said Sam.

  “When does she get home?” asked Jack.

>   “After dark,” said Sam.

  “After dark?” said Annie.

  “Short days in December,” said Sam.

  December? thought Jack. When they’d landed at the White House, it had been March. Maybe Sam’s head injury had confused him.

  “We’re not leaving you, Sam,” said Annie, “not until Sarah comes home.”

  “Don’t … have to stay,” said Sam, wincing with pain.

  “We know we don’t have to,” said Jack. “But we want to.”

  And he meant it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Into the Rough

  Jack and Annie huddled in the loft near Sam. As the wind whistled between the logs, Jack could feel the boy’s sadness.

  “Thank you,” Sam said. “But I have to get up now—have to do chores—help Sarah.”

  “No, not now,” said Annie. “Maybe Sarah can take care of your chores when she gets home.”

  “She’ll be too tired,” said Sam. “She has to walk a long way home. With Pa gone, she can’t sleep—hears wolves and wildcats all night.”

  “Really? Are there wolves and wildcats around here?” said Jack.

  “Plenty,” Sam said. “I have to do my chores—” He tried to sit up.

  “Not until you feel better,” Annie said firmly. “You lie here and rest. We’ll do your chores. Just tell us what to do. We’ll be happy to do it. Won’t we, Jack?”

  “Uh, sure …,” said Jack. “What are your chores, Sam?”

  Sam lay back and took a deep breath. “Split wood,” he said, closing his eyes, “milk cow, get water from spring …”

  Jack slipped the pencil and notebook out of his back pocket and wrote:

  split wood

  milk cow

  get water from spring

  “Where’s the spring?” asked Jack.

  “Just a mile away, through the rough,” said Sam.

  “The rough?” said Jack.

  “No problem,” said Annie. “Anything else to do?”

  “Make corn bread, then do homework in speller book …,” said Sam.

  Jack added to his list:

  make corn bread

  homework in speller book

  “That’s it?” said Jack.

  “Yes,” said Sam.