The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Booth stroked his mustache thoughtfully.

  “But I suppose you know that already,” David continued. “Since that’s what you went to New York for, isn’t it? To make sure I had not let any loose lips run free?” He placed his feet into a defensive stance and straightened his spine. “As you can see, I have handled it.”

  Booth tugged on the lapel of his jacket, his expression flat. “And how have you handled this…what did you say? Problem with Daniels’s brother?”

  David set his jaw. Surely he couldn’t be serious. He acted as though he didn’t remember anything about what David had told him. How could Booth have so easily forgotten how David had first conned the big man into his plan and had delivered Booth his prize? He forced a smile to turn up the corners of his mouth. “You remember, of course, that the giant wanted to see his brother released from prison with our leverage?”

  Booth lifted his shoulders. “Yes, of course.”

  “Anyway, after our failure….”

  Booth’s face tightened, and David could see the word chewed at him as much as it did David. Good. That meant he would not see the thing failed again. This time, they would succeed in hauling the tyrant away, and then…oh, then they would make him pay for his crimes. In blood.

  David grinned. “After the first attempt,” he said again, “I let Daniels go to New York and see what he could do about his brother. While we have been waiting on the second opportunity, Daniels has returned, eager to serve me.”

  “I don’t need him,” Booth said with a shrug.

  O’Malley’s brow creased. “Well, not intellectually of course, he isn’t much value there, but when it comes time to do the grab you said you wanted….”

  Booth was already shaking his head. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said with a dismissive wave. “I won’t be taking Lincoln out of Washington.”

  Panic clawed at David, but he ignored it, painting on a mask of mild curiosity instead. “Oh? Then what is our plan?”

  Booth seemed to think about this too long, and David began to worry that he would try to keep things from him. Finally, Booth leaned in close. “I have something very important that needs to be done, but I’m not sure who to ask. It needs to be someone who can be trusted, someone who can think quickly and make adjustments.”

  A thrill ran through him. At last! “What do you have in mind?”

  Booth straightened. “Well, there are two things, really. Both are important, mind you….”

  David leaned against the mantle and plucked at a ragged fingernail, projecting nonchalance perfectly. As he suspected, Booth continued again in a moment.

  “I will need someone to go to the tavern in Surrattsville to have the guns and ammunition hidden away there ready to be picked up later this evening.”

  Ha. Such an errand was beneath him. “And the other?”

  Booth stroked his mustache. “Well, the other requires a more delicate touch, you see.”

  David’s fingers began to twitch. “And?”

  Booth strode over to an arm chair and took a seat, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Remember when Mr. Ford told us about the…special guests arriving at the theatre tonight?”

  Of course! They knew that the lanky woodsman would be there. Did he think David a complete fool? “Where are you going with this, Booth?”

  He didn’t seem concerned by the thinly veiled impatience in David’s tone. “Well, not only them, but their guests as well.”

  “Grant,” David spat. “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Well, what if instead of only chopping off the head, I take out the enemy’s hands and feet as well?”

  David began pacing again, his excitement unable to be contained. “Of course, take them both! We get the tyrant, and the hand he used to defeat Lee.”

  Booth nodded. “More, even, but that will come later. Back to the important matter I said needed someone who could be trusted….”

  David turned to him, his pulse racing. “I am the one with the most merit, John. Surely you know that.”

  Booth gave a smile that seemed almost placating, but surely that was only because he also struggled to contain his excitement. He simply wasn’t as skilled at it as David. “Of course,” Booth said. “That is why I am here, after all.”

  David breathed a sigh of relief. He knew looking for Mrs. Surratt had only been a cover.

  “Someone needs to follow the Grants. We need to be certain that they do, indeed, come to the play.”

  David nodded eagerly. “Of course. I will see that it is done.”

  “I’m sure you will. We will meet back later this evening to discuss further details of my plan. But, for now, that will do.”

  “Yes, yes,” David said. “I’ll get right on it.”

  He’d almost made it to the door when Booth called him again. “Oh,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I nearly forgot. Why don’t you take that other man with you?”

  David paused. “What man?”

  “The big one. Daniels, right?”

  “What for?”

  Booth looked surprise. “I thought you said he was your dog, following along at your heels?”

  David tilted his head. “He is. But he’s not the brightest. More muscle than brain, you know. I don’t see how he would be useful in gathering information.”

  “I wonder, though,” Booth mused. “What if the Grants decide to switch plans and not attend the theatre?”

  Understanding dawned on him. He grinned. “Then we will need someone to go ahead and snatch the murderous general before he has a chance to escape his sentence.”

  Booth seemed pleased. “See, there? I knew you were a bright one. You’ll see it done, now, won’t you?”

  David puffed his chest. “He will be at that play, or he’ll be dead by the time we meet tonight.”

  Booth waved him away. “See to it, then. Not too quickly, mind you,” he added. “Lest Lincoln find out and become suspicious.”

  David nodded vigorously and sauntered from the parlor with his chin held high. He snatched his hat from the peg and hurried toward the door. First, he would have to grab his watchdog from that squalid inn Daniels couldn’t even afford without David’s help. And then, it would be time to partake in the feast of glory that fate had set out before him.

  “Heartsick and disappointed I turn from the path which I have been following into a bolder and more perilous one. Without malice I make the change. I have nothing in my heart except a sense of duty to my choice. If the South is to be aided it must be done quickly. It may already be too late.”

  John Wilkes Booth

  April 14, 1865

  12:00 PM

  Matthew heard the footsteps on the stairs before the knock even came. He put down the newspaper he’d been trying to read and opened the door. David O’Malley looked up at him with excitement, his fist raised to knock. “Get your jacket,” he said, dropping his hand. “We need to go.”

  Matthew stared at him. “Go where?”

  David sneered. “Who are you to ask questions? You said you wanted to redeem yourself. Now’s your chance.”

  Matthew turned away and plucked his jacket off the back of the chair he’d thrown it on. Whatever O’Malley was up to, Matthew had better stay close. He’d nearly gone to the law this very morning, beginning to think that O’Malley would never give him any clues on his plans. He’d wanted to wait until he had something solid to bring to the law, so at least his sacrifice would bring results. He had no doubt the lawmen would arrest him once he gave the tale, and he wanted to be sure that his detainment would be worth it. With O’Malley holed up at Surratt’s, he’d begun to think that some warning might have to be better than nothing. Thankfully, he’d decided to wait just one more day.

  Matthew followed O’Malley down the narrow stairs and past the unsightly woman who ran the place before stepping out into the afternoon sun. He was about to pull on his jacket, but the day had warmed considerably, and if they were walking, he would be more comfortable in just his linen s
hirt, gray woolen vest, and navy blue cravat.

  O’Malley turned and hurried down the street, not waiting to see if Matthew would even follow. Grinding his teeth at being thought a hound brought to heel, he took three long strides and gained O’Malley’s side. “What are we doing?”

  O’Malley glanced up at him. “We are going to put my name on the lips of every person in this repulsive land. Come morning, I will be written in glory for generations to come.”

  So, O’Malley was finally making his move. Matthew leaned down to be nearer to O’Malley’s ear, feigning excitement. “We are going after Lincoln, then?”

  Good. At least now I will have a chance to catch you in the act and then haul you off to the police.

  “That comes later,” O’Malley said, flush with excitement. “First, we cut off the hand that swings the ax for him.” He quickened his pace, darting in and out of the people on the street such that Matthew struggled to stay at his side. He bumped into one gentleman and had to apologize.

  “What do you mean, O’Malley?” When he didn’t answer, Matthew added, “You know I’m not as clever as you.”

  O’Malley grinned. “I’ve been entrusted with something very important. Of course, it’s obvious that I should be the one, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Of course, but in what way, exactly, are your talents being used?” Matthew asked carefully.

  They turned a corner and came to a stop at the Willard Hotel. O’Malley grinned. “We are going to call on the Grants, my dear friend.” He spun away and pushed through the doors before Matthew could reply.

  Matthew followed him into a massive lobby, the tall ceilings of which were held up by huge columns that reminded him of the giant oaks that flanked the drive into Westerly. O’Malley sauntered up to the desk and flashed the man there a charming smile.

  “Good day, sir. I am here to deliver a message to Mrs. Grant from Mrs. Lincoln.”

  Matthew glanced at him sharply. Bold. He kept his head down and said nothing, keeping his ears open so he could remember every detail of what O’Malley said. The man at the counter didn’t seem the least bit suspicious about O’Malley’s claim and gave them the location of General Grant’s room.

  When they had reached the main staircase, Matthew whispered to O’Malley. “What are you going to do? Try to abduct the general here in the middle of the day? How will you get him out?”

  O’Malley scoffed. “See, this is why you should have never been made a captain. Family wealth alone does not give a man the wits to lead.”

  Matthew’s brows gathered in confusion. What was this madman talking about? He shook his head and tried to focus on the task at hand. “Guess you’re right. Still, I’m not sure why I am here.”

  O’Malley shrugged. “I thought bringing a bull along might be useful, should the need arise.”

  Refusing to say anything more on the matter, O’Malley strode down the hall until he came to the appointed door and gave a sound knock. A moment later, a dark-skinned woman opened the door. “Yes, sir?”

  O’Malley looked down his nose at her. “I’ve come to deliver a message to Mrs. Grant. Is she available?”

  The maid shook her head. “She’s still getting ready for her luncheon. But, I can pass along the message for you.”

  O’Malley plastered a smile on his face that wouldn’t fool the dimmest drunk. How the man fancied himself pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes, Matthew couldn’t fathom.

  “Pardon, but I must deliver the First Lady’s message to Mrs. Grant personally. Surely you understand.”

  The woman’s gaze narrowed, but she nodded. “One second, and I’ll see if my mistress will see you.” She closed the door on them, not even offering for them to wait inside.

  David glanced at Matthew. “Don’t go opening your mouth. You are not here to talk.”

  “I understand,” Matthew said, clasping his hands behind his back. At least with him here, O’Malley wouldn’t be able to do anything rash.

  Presently, the door opened again and a woman with dark hair looked out at them curiously with slightly crossed eyes. Matthew wondered if she was just looking at O’Malley oddly or if it was a permanent condition.

  “Yes? I am Mrs. Grant.”

  O’Malley gave a low bow. “I have come to deliver a message from Mrs. Lincoln, to inform you that the Lincolns will be here to pick up you and Mr. Grant at precisely seven o’clock, so you might travel to the theatre together.”

  Mrs. Grant shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. My husband has already sent word that we are not attending the play tonight.”

  Matthew saw O’Malley’s shoulders stiffen, but he kept his eyes on Mrs. Grant. She eyed O’Malley for a moment, then slid her gaze over to Matthew. He opened his mouth to try to silently give her some sort of warning, but she did not hold his gaze long enough. She tipped her chin and began to close the door. “Good day to you.”

  “One moment,” O’Malley said, stepping forward.

  Mrs. Grant paused, glancing behind her nervously. “Yes?”

  “In case it is some time before she receives the news from her husband, might I inform the First Lady as to the reason why you will not be in attendance with them this evening?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Grant said. “We will be visiting our children in Burlington, since my husband has been away so long. Please give Mrs. Lincoln our regrets.”

  O’Malley nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I will pass it along.”

  Mrs. Grant gently closed the door, leaving the two of them in the hall. O’Malley’s mask of composure shattered and he snarled. “We will have to follow them.”

  “What for?” Matthew asked. He turned to follow O’Malley as the shorter man stalked away.

  O’Malley cast him a seething look, so Matthew snapped his mouth closed. They returned to the lobby, where O’Malley chose a seat. From this vantage, they could still see the main stairs in case the lady descended.

  Just a few moments later, she came down the stairs and greeted another woman, and the two of them turned toward the dining room. O’Malley rose and they followed, choosing a table as close to the women as they could.

  O’Malley tried to watch her covertly the entire time she shared her luncheon with the other woman, but soon his glances turned to stares. The women were placing their napkins on the table when Mrs. Grant finally glanced their way. O’Malley immediately turned his face from her, but Matthew tried to hold her gaze.

  How could he warn her? He glanced at O’Malley, then back to Mrs. Grant and gave a small shake of his head. The woman’s brows puckered slightly, but she dipped her chin and broke eye contact, ushering the other woman from the room.

  The National Hotel

  April 14, 1865

  1:00 PM

  “I’m sorry, Miss Ross. I do understand your concern, but this is something I must do,” George said, rubbing the muscles on the back of his neck. He watched her rosy lips pull into a line and wondered if she would listen to reason.

  “I, for one, agree entirely with Mr. Daniels,” Mrs. Smith said, sitting down on the dressing stool in George’s room.

  “Me, too,” the maid said, crossing her arms and casting a look at her mistress.

  George tried to keep his amusement at the woman’s tone from turning up his lips. He’d grown accustomed to the strange relationship between Miss Ross and her servant, but the woman’s audacity still caught him off guard at times.

  Miss Ross cast the woman a withering gaze, but the maid didn’t cower under it. Without the support of either of the other women, Miss Ross turned back to look up at him. “I have been there before. I can simply ask Mrs. Surratt if she has seen him.”

  “That will be too suspicious, child,” Mrs. Smith said.

  “Indeed,” George agreed. “She has never seen me, so I can find a way to inquire about him without calling any attention to ourselves.”

  Miss Ross bit her lip. “Very well. But, then what?”

  George set his shoulders. “If my brother is there,
I will bring him back with me.”

  Miss Ross didn’t look convinced, and he couldn’t say that he could blame her. He had his own doubts. Matthew could be a mule, and no amount of whipping, cajoling, or tugging could move his feet once he had them set in an idea.

  Miss Ross hung her head, but not before he saw the look in her eyes. No matter what she insisted, her affections for his brother were blatantly obvious. “Please, make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish,” she whispered.

  George gave a curt nod and strode to the door, opening it so the women could return to their rooms to rest before dinner and attending the play that evening. “Do not fret, Miss Ross. All will be well.”

  She mustered a half-hearted smile as she passed him and stepped out, followed closely by her maid.

  Mrs. Smith hesitated a moment and let the other two women continue down the hall. “I would greatly prefer that you return in time to take us to the play, Mr. Daniels, regardless of what you find out.”

  “That is my sincere intention, ma’am. If he is there, I will bring him back, and if not, then my best chance at finding him may be at the theatre.”

  Mrs. Smith seemed satisfied with this and continued on her way. George locked the door to his room, pocketed the key, and left the hotel. He took a hired coach to the Surratt boarding house and, after tossing the driver one of Mrs. Smith’s coins, stood at the bottom of the stairs where he had seen O’Malley and Booth earlier that day.

  Drawing a deep breath, George strode up the staircase and knocked firmly on the door. After a few moments, an older woman dressed in widow’s blacks came to the door.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she said politely. “How might I help you?”

  George tipped his hat. “Good afternoon. I’m calling on the lady of this house, a Mrs. Surratt, I believe?”

  The woman inclined her head. “I am she.”

  “I have come to inquire about taking a room, if any are available.”

  The woman opened the door, bidding him entrance. “Certainly, come in and we can discuss the terms.”