The president waited for their joy to quiet, then began again. Annabelle felt herself leaning forward to catch his words, though they drifted over the crowd with ease. He spoke with fervor, much like the first time she had seen him, and the people held on to his every word.
“The evacuation of Petersburg and Richmond and the surrender of the principal insurgent army give hope of a righteous and speedy peace whose joyous expression cannot be restrained.”
The people cheered again at this, proving his words true with gusto. Grandmother gave a hearty yell along with them, and Annabelle could not help but smile. As the cries began to fade, Lincoln continued.
“In the midst of this, however, He from whom all blessings flow, must not be forgotten. A call for a national thanksgiving is being prepared and will be duly promulgated.”
Indeed, Lord, Annabelle prayed. We do thank you that this time of horror has come to an end.
He spoke again on the need for reconstruction and how things would be difficult, since they were not two independent nations, but one that had fractured and must be restored. Annabelle let her mind wander as she scanned the crowd. A head taller than most men, Matthew would have been plain to spot. So, unless he stood behind her, he was not here.
“We all agree that the Seceded States, so called, are out of their proper relation with the Union, and that the sole object of the government, civil and military, in regard to those States is to again get them into that proper practical relation. I believe it is not only possible, but, in fact, easier to do this, without deciding, or even considering, whether these States have ever been out of the Union, than with it.”
Grandmother gave Annabelle’s arm a squeeze. “You see, dear? He is a good man and will see that the South is not punished, but that it will be healed.”
She hoped it would be true. Though her own loyalties had always leaned Northward, she had secretly feared what would become of them should the South lose. She offered Grandmother a hopeful smile and leaned close to her ear. “All the more reason to see he remains unharmed.”
Something flashed in Grandmother’s eyes, but Annabelle couldn’t pin the emotion behind it. Guilt, perhaps?
Lincoln continued, “Finding themselves safely at home, it would be utterly immaterial whether they had ever been abroad. Let us all join in doing the acts necessary to restoring the proper practical relations between these States and the Union.”
Annabelle felt tears gather in her eyes. The president spoke with such conviction, such enthusiasm, that any doubt of the South’s good future and the blessed reign of peace fell away. The president turned to speaking about the government in Louisiana, and something about the affairs of the colored men and the schools.
Her mind drifted instead to thoughts of Uncle Michael, George, Matthew, and Grandmother standing at her side as she claimed the rights to her lands. If President Lincoln would be giving rights to former slaves, then how could she not have the rights, even as a woman, to own her family lands? Miss Wesson seemed to have no problems in doing so.
The crowd began to shift and people started grumbling. Annabelle pulled herself from her thoughts and looked over to her left, where the jostled people cut annoyed glances at a man pushing his way out of the crowd.
Annabelle’s mouth went dry, and she clutched Grandmother’s arm.
“What is it?” Grandmother whispered.
Annabelle could not pull her eyes away from the gentleman as he moved closer to her, his face a mask of pure rage. The styled hair and perfectly tended mustache were exactly the way she had remembered them from that day on the road.
“That’s John Wilkes Booth,” Grandmother exclaimed. “He surely seems riled over something.”
The man came closer, and Annabelle froze with fear. Booth walked right up to her and she thought her heart would never beat again. But, not even the slightest hint of recognition tempered the storm of anger on his face, and he stepped past her, moving through the crowd.
Annabelle turned wide eyes on Grandmother as those around them turned their attention back to the president’s words. “You see? I told you about him.”
Grandmother scoffed. “I, too, am standing in this crowd.” She gestured to those pressed in around them. “As are hundreds more. It means nothing.”
Annabelle opened her mouth to retort, but the crowd had started shifting again. This time the grumbles grew louder and a few people even flung rude remarks at the man who strutted through the crowd, a huge grin on his face.
If Annabelle’s heart had slowed at the sight of Booth, it now froze at the sight of David O’Malley. She yelped, and tried to scramble away, but the press of the crowd was too tight.
“Annabelle! What are you doing?” Grandmother hissed.
Annabelle ducked her head, turning her back to O’Malley as he neared and pressing so close to Grandmother that the older woman had to shift her weight to maintain balance. Annabelle’s heart remembered its function, and began pounding rapidly. “Is he gone?” she whispered, her face pressed close to Grandmother’s shoulder.
Grandmother was silent, but she stiffened. Annabelle tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She dared a glance over her shoulder, and found O’Malley to be only a step away. She whipped her head back around, praying he didn’t see her.
“He is gone,” Grandmother said, wrapping her arm around Annabelle’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Annabelle straightened and turned back toward the White House, ignoring the looks from the people around her. She and Grandmother stood quietly for a moment, and soon the curious looks ceased and the crowd once again ignored them as their attention returned to the president.
She leaned close to Grandmother’s ear. “That was David O’Malley. And my guess is he was here with Booth.”
Grandmother gave her a sharp glance, but then relented with a single nod. She gestured with her chin back toward the White House. They stood with the crowd for the remainder of the speech, though Annabelle could not focus on a single word the president said. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, willing him to finish quickly. Finally, Lincoln gave a wave, and disappeared back inside the White House.
The crowd began to disperse, and Annabelle and Grandmother walked silently back toward the eatery where they’d left George. George had been wise to keep away from the crowd. It seemed unlikely, but what if O’Malley had looked at George and guessed his identity? Annabelle shuddered. Something about the look of fevered glee on O’Malley’s face left her stricken.
One thing was certain. She couldn’t wait any longer. The time had come for her to act on her own.
Matthew urged the horses forward, wishing he had left the wagon behind and had come into Washington on horseback. The streets were flooded with people, and the sheer number of horses, carriages, and pedestrians clogged the streets so that what should have taken minutes had drawn on for a half hour.
The warm afternoon sun lit the jubilant faces of the swarms of Yanks, still flush with their joy over his country’s defeat. Next to him, Harry’s jaw remained clenched as he watched the people around them. The man had mellowed during their travels, but Matthew had not felt at ease since they’d left the Smith house.
Finally, the crowds began to thin, and most people seemed to be heading away from them now, toward the main part of the city. Whatever was going on, it had drawn a large crowd. So much the better. If the city occupants were going that way, he’d just as soon go the other.
Finally, Matthew spotted what he’d been looking for. A bit run-down, perhaps, he thought, but still better than the cold ground. And, more importantly, it stood a good measure away from the Surratt boarding house.
“You plan on stayin’ here?” Harry asked, turning to spit over the side of the wagon as he judged the crumbling structure.
“Best I can afford,” Matthew replied, his voice cold. And folks here are less likely to ask questions, he added to himself. He put his hand in his pocket, fingering the few coins remaining within and h
oped it would be enough for a couple of nights and something to warm their bellies. He hadn’t felt right taking anything from the Smith storage shed, so he and Harry had survived on the last of his supplies—a few meager provisions left over from when he, Annabelle, and Peggy had left Washington to find George.
After more than a week of hard travel, stopping only when they had to rest the horses or catch a few hours of restless sleep, Matthew regarded anything with four walls as a luxury. His stomach growled with the thought of filling it with something more than a few bites of hardtack.
Harry regarded him thoughtfully. “You mean your lady friend didn’t give you none of her wealth for this venture?”
Matthew glared at him, then pointedly turned his attention forward and guided the horses to the edge of the road in front of the building marked as Hob’s Inn.
Harry grunted, as if pleased that Annabelle would toss Matthew aside. Matthew ground his teeth so hard he felt certain Harry could hear it. But, if the man took notice, he didn’t mention it.
Smartest choice he’s made all day.
Matthew pulled the horses to a stop and shifted the reins to one hand, using his other to pull his knife from his hip. He eyed his prisoner. It had been easy to keep Harry in line on the road, where they had avoided towns and other people, but here in Washington, it wouldn’t be so simple.
Harry looked at him and frowned. “You still think you need that? Done told you I ain’t taking part in nobody’s plans no more.”
So he had. Pleaded, even, for Matthew to let him go free when they reached Washington. Harry had sworn, multiple times, that he would disappear and Matthew would never have to see him again. Tempting though it had been to be free of the rat, Matthew still needed the leverage.
Matthew nudged Harry off the seat. “Can’t have you running off now, can I? Need you to go with me to call on O’Malley.”
Harry’s eyes widened as he stepped off the wagon. After the third day and Harry giving him no trouble, Matthew had left the man’s hands and feet unbound. He told himself it was because he could catch him if he ran, but the truth of the matter was that Matthew had grown tired of Harry’s complaining about his chafing wrists.
“I said I would go with you to the law,” Harry hissed, “not to see O’Malley!”
Matthew gathered the horses’ reins and tied them over the post, watching people as they passed, their eyes quickly sliding past him as they hurried on their way. Folks in this section of town didn’t seem to be inclined to friendliness.
The buildings along this row sagged, and people kept to themselves as they came and went past them. A few men hung around in doorways, the sort that spent too much time in a bottle and too little keeping their hands busy.
Matthew’s muscles bunched as he grabbed Harry’s arm, leaning down to speak in his ear. “You go with me to O’Malley, then after that, I won’t bother you again. You’ll be a free man.”
Harry barked a bitter laugh. “And you think O’Malley will just tell us howdy and send us on our way?”
Matthew growled and pulled Harry away from the horses. He lifted his bag from the back of the wagon with his free hand, keeping a firm grip on Harry’s elbow even though the smaller man made no effort to slip free. Harry’s words unnerved him more than he wanted to show. “We will discuss it once we are inside.”
Harry spat on the dirt road, but said nothing. Matthew hauled him through a door that protested their entry with rusty hinges and up to a heavy-set woman standing at a rickety desk in the small entry. He flicked a gold coin at her. “Need a room and meals for a week.”
She caught it, and put it in her mouth, biting down. Satisfied, she slipped it into her apron. “Won’t get you a week, not plus meals for two.” She eyed Harry, and Matthew clamped his fingers so tightly that Harry winced.
Matthew’s patience had long since worn thin. “Fine. How many nights?”
She looked back at Matthew. “Three.”
He snarled, and she recoiled slightly, her gaze darting back to Harry.
“Four,” Matthew barked. “And no questions, or we take our business elsewhere.”
She narrowed her eyes, her puffy cheeks reddening. Matthew feared he’d pushed too hard, but she fished a key out of the drawer under the desk. “Fine. Four. But you get the small room we usually give to the cleaning girl.” She shrugged. “She ran off with that stable boy last week and we ain’t heard from her since.”
Matthew’s nostrils flared. “Fine. I’m sure you provide stabling for your guests’ horses, regardless of the rooms you give them.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Do, but it costs extra.”
Matthew pulled another coin from his pocket, loath to part with it. He would never take his family’s wealth for granted again. He’d thought he’d learned that lesson camping with the army, but now, knowing that he might not get a meal once his coin ran out, made things a bit different.
The woman smiled as he reluctantly handed it over. She added the coin to his other and nodded toward the stairs. “Room’s the only one on the third floor. The boy will get your horses unhitched and stalled at the livery two streets over and will fetch them when you need ’em. Don’t serve morning or noon meals, but you’ll get dinner at five.”
Matthew clenched his fist and stalked away without reply, Harry stumbling along in tow. Crafty woman. She’d conned him out of two meals a day. His fault, really, for not asking specifics.
Matthew prodded Harry to take the lead, and they clopped up stairs that groaned under their weight. At the end of the second floor hall, they found a narrow staircase leading to the attic. Harry drew to a halt and eyed Matthew over his shoulder. “You sure your Yank lover didn’t give you none of her spy coin?”
Matthew growled and stuck two stiffened fingers into Harry’s back. The man flinched. “Fine, fine,” he mumbled. “I’m going.”
At the top of the stairs stood a single door. Matthew had to reach around Harry in the narrow staircase to put the key in the lock, their bodies uncomfortably close. Finally, he got the tumblers to click and shoved the door open. Harry stumbled inside and turned slowly, eyeing the humble accommodations. He lifted a brow at Matthew, but kept his peace.
Matthew assessed the room in a single glance – a bed with a lumpy mattress, a threadbare rug, and one tiny oval window. Not even a fireplace. But this far into April, the days had warmed pleasantly, and the small room should trap the rising heat of the rooms below enough to keep away the nightly chill. It would do.
Matthew tossed the bag down by the window. “You take the bed,” he said, tilting his head toward the shoddy thing that likely wouldn’t hold his weight, not to mention his height.
Harry looked surprised for only a second. “Whatever you say. Looks like you’re running this here operation.”
“It’s not an operation.”
Harry gave him an if-you-say-so shrug that only further plucked at Matthew’s already frayed emotions. “I’ll not stand by while O’Malley plots murder,” he said, trying to bring his frustration down to a tolerable level, but finding the task difficult. The vein in his neck began to pulse again.
“What’s it matter to you?” Harry replied. “That man is responsible for the murder of thousands of our own. Not to mention what his soldiers did to our homes and women.” He flopped down on the bed, stretching his spindly legs out in front of him on the floor. “I won’t stick the knife myself, ain’t my way.” He lifted his palms. “But, if it happens, can’t say I’ll lose sleep over it.”
Matthew clenched his teeth and kicked the bottom of Harry’s boot. No sense explaining to this fool that if Lincoln were murdered, things would get all the more worse on the defeated South. They would be nothing more than wasted words. “Get up. We are going to Surratt’s.”
Harry stared at him flatly, unperturbed that Matthew had kicked him, and appeared to have no intentions of getting up. “Always with the orders with you. Ever thought of asking a fellow polite like?”
The words s
tartled Matthew more than he would have thought, and he lowered his brow. Had he taken to ordering folks about like he were still in command of a company? Those days were gone. He was a captain no longer, and his country would soon be dissolved.
“Well?” Harry prompted, wriggling his eyebrows.
Matthew’s frustration dissipated a fraction, his amusement at Harry’s audacity tampering his ire. Matthew barked a laugh. “Fine. Will you please get your sorry behind up so we can go to Surratt’s?”
Harry chuckled and made a show of slowly rising to his feet. “Close enough. I reckon there ain’t nothing left but to face the piper. But, didn’t you already send the horses to the stables?”
Matthew pulled the door open and stepped down the first stair immediately outside. He’d hate to need to get up in the middle of the night in any hurry. A man would break his neck tumbling down these steep steps in the dark. He dismissed Harry’s concern. “We are going to walk. It’s not that far.”
And I can keep a hand on you, so you don’t get any ideas about leaping out of the wagon or galloping away on one of my horses, he added to himself.
Harry shrugged and followed him to the second floor then he stopped. “Look, we’ve been on the road together for nigh on a week.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ain’t you figured out by now I have no thoughts on trying to kill you?” His eyes darted down to the knife Matthew had palmed without thought.
Matthew sneered. “Only because you couldn’t best me.”
Harry stared at him with cold eyes. “Could have shot you a hundred times when you weren’t looking. Could have taken that girl, too, if I’d wanted, and been gone before you even knew she wasn’t in the privy.”
The vein in Matthew’s neck began to pulse anew and his fists balled. Two steps and that coward’s face will be busted again.
Harry kept Matthew’s gaze and kept talking, not even flinching when Matthew turned those two steps into one. “But I didn’t,” he said evenly, craning his neck to keep Matthew’s gaze. “I’d agreed to see what you were going to do. Have to admit, I was a mite curious myself. But, when O’Malley sent word to take you out after you found your brother, if you ever did, I drew my own line. Like I said, I ain’t no murderer.”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 52
