“Not a clue,” he said.
They looked around. Horses and carriages rolled down the dirt road. People walked by on the sidewalk—men in old-fashioned suits, women in dresses. Two-and three-story brick buildings lined the road.
“It’s like history,” Doc said. “Except, you know, in color.”
Abby stepped in front of a woman who was passing by.
“Hi, sorry,” Abby said. “Silly question, but … remind me of where we are?”
“Pardon me, child?”
“Like, the name of this town. What is it again?”
The woman looked Abby up and down, then Doc. “This is Springfield, Illinois,” she said. “Where did you get those strange clothes?”
“I think the mall,” Doc said.
“And what year is it?” asked Abby.
But the woman was already hurrying away. Looking slightly scared.
Abby and Doc started walking in the other direction.
“So what do you think?” Doc asked. “We’re inside a book?”
“Or back in time?” Abby wondered. “Like The Magic Treehouse?”
“The Magic Cardboard Box,” Doc said. “That doesn’t sound as good.”
“No, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s a dream?”
“Must be your dream, then. Mine are more exciting.”
They crossed the street and walked down a block with wooden houses.
“You know, zooming over cities, fighting zombies,” Doc said. “Either that or I go to school in my underwear.”
“Thanks for sharing,” Abby said. “Hey, that looks like the picture in our textbook.”
She pointed to a house on the corner of Eighth and Jackson Streets. It was a light brown two-story house with green shutters.
“Lincoln’s house?” Doc said.
“I think so,” Abby said. “What are those kids doing?”
Four kids were on the sidewalk in front of the house. One boy was sitting on another boy’s shoulders. He was tying a string around a tree, as high up as he could reach.
“Hurry!” a third boy called from below.
The boy got the string tied. Then, still on his friend’s shoulders, he pulled the other end of the string tight, so that it stretched across the sidewalk, about seven feet above the ground. The other kids crouched down, giggling.
Doc and Abby watched from across the street. The front door of the light brown house opened. The man who’d visited them the day before stepped out.
He really was Abraham Lincoln, and by now Doc and Abby believed it.
Lincoln walked down his porch steps, lost in thought. He turned onto the sidewalk—and headed right for the string.
CHAPTER SIX
He never saw it coming.
The top of Lincoln’s tall black hat hit the string and flew off. Papers shot out and danced in the breeze. As Lincoln bent to gather the notes, the kids leaped onto his back and rode him like cowboys, laughing and shouting.
Abby and Doc couldn’t believe it—Lincoln didn’t seem mad. Actually, he was laughing, too.
The kids jumped off Lincoln’s back and ran down the street.
Lincoln scrambled after his last few papers. One blew across the street, toward Doc’s feet. Doc bent to pick it up.
“Ah, it’s you,” Lincoln said, walking toward Doc and Abby. “They do that all the time, those boys. You’d think I wouldn’t keep falling for it.”
Doc handed Lincoln the piece of paper.
“Thank you,” Lincoln said. “Nice of you to come, but it’s all over. I’m all done.”
“With what?” asked Abby.
“With history,” Lincoln said. “I did warn you, after all. And now it’s final. You thought history was boring before? Now I’ll show you boring!”
“You mean you’re quitting?” Abby asked. “Quitting history?”
“Yes, exactly,” Lincoln said. “I can’t speak for other people—Pocahontas, George Washington, Harriet Tubman. Though I know they’re angry, too. As I said, we hear you. And since you insist on saying our lives are boring, well then, we’ll show you. You can read about us sitting in chairs, staring at the wall. See how you like it.”
“But don’t you do really important things?” Doc asked.
“Not anymore,” Lincoln said. “As of now, I’m on vacation.”
“Mr. Lincoln! Look at you!”
A woman in a long dress strode up. She was just over five feet tall, with blue eyes and brown hair pulled back in a bun. Doc and Abby recognized her from pictures they’d seen—Mary Lincoln, Abe’s wife.
“You’re covered in dust,” she said, brushing off her husband’s jacket.
She barely came up to his chest. He put a hand on her shoulder, turned to Doc and Abby, and said, “I’m Abraham, and she’s Mary. That’s the long and the short of it.”
And he burst into loud, high-pitched laughter.
Abby and Doc just stood there.
“You tell such old jokes, Mr. Lincoln,” Mary said.
“Well, I’m an old man!” Abe said, laughing again. But he didn’t look that old, not when he smiled. “Now,” he said, “if you’ll excuse me.”
And Lincoln walked toward the center of town.
“I don’t suppose he’s going to work,” Mary said.
“No,” Doc said. “He said he was quitting.”
“Forever,” Abby said. “No more history.”
Mary groaned. “The election is tomorrow!”
“What if he doesn’t become president?” Abby asked.
“Then we’re doomed!” Mrs. Lincoln wailed. “The country will break apart! Everything we have worked for—all thrown away!”
She spun, ran to her house, went in, and slammed the door behind her.
“She seemed upset,” Doc said.
“Well, we broke history,” Abby said. “That’s sort of a big deal.”
They started walking.
“Abe Lincoln’s not how I expected,” Doc said.
“I know,” Abby said. “I kind of like him.”
“I know. And the funny thing is, I want to know what he’s going to do. In history, I mean.”
“Me too.”
“Also, saving the country would be good,” Doc said.
“We have to find him,” Abby said.
“Let’s go!”
They took off running.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Doc and Abby sprinted into town, along busy streets.
No sign of Lincoln.
They saw a brick building with a sign above the door that said: LINCOLN-HERNDON LAW OFFICES. They ran up and looked through the window.
They ran another block, skidding to a stop in front of an alley between two buildings.
Lincoln was in the alley, hitting a small ball against the brick wall with his hand. The ball hit the wall, bounced, and Lincoln hit it again.
“I used to do this to relax,” Lincoln said when he noticed Doc and Abby watching. “Back when I had a stressful job. What can I do for you?”
“Come meet our class!” Doc shouted.
“Excuse me?”
“Tomorrow,” Abby said. “Come to our school and talk to our class.”
“And they’ll see that you’re actually a pretty cool guy!” Doc added.
Lincoln caught the ball and turned toward them.
“Please,” Abby said. “They’ll love you, I know it!”
“They really will,” Doc agreed. “And then you can go back to doing, you know … all your history stuff.”
“History stuff,” Lincoln said. “Like what?”
“You know, stuff,” Doc said. “Being such a great president, signing the thing, the … Declaration of Independence?”
Lincoln put his hand on Doc’s shoulder.
“From now on, we’ll pay attention,” Abby promised. “The whole class will, once they get to know you a little.”
Lincoln’s mouth stayed stiff. But his eyes were shining.
“You know where to find us,” Doc said. “Oh, yeah,
and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“How do we get out of here?”
Lincoln leaned down to them and spoke quietly. “You won’t tell anyone?”
They shook their heads.
Lincoln said, “You have to close your eyes.”
They did.
“And flap your arms like an eagle.”
They did.
“And shout, ‘We love history!’”
They shouted, “We love history!”
“Louder!”
“We love history!”
But nothing happened. Except that a guy riding by on a horse looked over and said, “Thank you!”
Doc and Abby stopped flapping their arms. They opened their eyes. They were still in the alley.
“Forgive me,” Lincoln said, laughing. “I couldn’t resist.”
“Mary’s right,” Abby said. “There’s such a thing as too many jokes.”
“I know, I know,” Lincoln said. And he started to look a little worried.
“What?” Abby asked.
“The truth is,” Lincoln said, “I don’t know how you leave.”
“How did you get to us?” Abby asked.
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“Please,” Doc said. “It’s our only chance to help you. Pretty much all the kids in our class think history is boring—”
At that instant, they disappeared.
And reappeared in the cardboard box in the storage room behind the library.
CHAPTER EIGHT
That night, after dinner, Abby and her dad were sitting on the couch in their living room. He was grading homework for his social studies class.
The TV was on, and Abby was changing channels, looking for something to watch.
“Hey, stop!” Mr. Douglass said, looking up from his work. “A history show!”
Abby started to complain—but stopped herself.
“Great,” she said. “I like history.”
The screen showed a photo of an old house. A house Abby recognized.
“That’s Springfield, Illinois,” she said. “Abraham and Mary Lincoln’s house!”
Her dad was impressed. “How’d you know that?”
“Let’s just watch,” Abby said.
The narrator of the show was saying: “The Lincoln home in Springfield was normally a lively place, with friends and political allies coming and going at all hours. But in the fall of 1860, when Abraham Lincoln was a candidate for president of the United States, the house was unusually quiet.”
The TV showed a photo of the inside of the house. Lincoln was sitting in a chair.
“Lincoln refused to talk about the coming election,” the narrator said. “In fact, he did not do anything at all. He just sat in a rocking chair, reading. All day. Every day. That’s it. Well, sometimes, he played handball in an alley near his office. But really, not much else.”
Lincoln’s waiting, Abby thought. Waiting to see what happens at our school tomorrow.
“Terrible show,” Mr. Douglass said. “Put on the basketball game.”
Abby flipped to the game. “Dad,” she said, “what’s the big deal about history?”
“I’d be out of a job without it.”
Abby hadn’t thought of that.
Doc walked in from the kitchen with a bag of chips. “She means, why do we have to know it?”
“You don’t have to,” Mr. Douglass said. “That’s just something we tell kids. But knowing history makes you smarter, helps you understand the world better. Mostly, it’s just fun.”
“Kids say it’s …” Abby lowered her voice to a whisper, “boring.”
“Some shows are boring, some books,” Mr. Douglass said. “But history is just stories. Surprising, sad, funny, gross stories. Set in all different times and places. What’s boring about that? Haven’t you read about Lincoln in school?”
“Not so much,” Abby said.
Mr. Douglass smiled. He loved any excuse to talk about history. “Well, Lincoln ran for president in 1860, right? The country was bitterly divided, mainly over the issue of slavery. About four million African Americans were living in slavery in the Southern states.”
“And Lincoln was against slavery?” Doc asked.
“He knew it was wrong,” Mr. Douglass said. “But he thought it would take a long time to get rid of it. His goal was to stop slavery from spreading to new states. Most of what’s now the western United States hadn’t been made into states yet. Should slavery be allowed there? Lincoln said no. Voters in the South said yes. Of course, enslaved people couldn’t vote. Or women, either.”
“What?” Abby asked. “Why not?”
“That was the law.”
“That’s not fair!”
“No,” their dad said, “but listen.”
“He’s in teacher mode,” Doc whispered. “There’s no stopping him.”
And there really wasn’t.
“Lincoln won the election, but Southern leaders wouldn’t accept him as president. They chose to drop out of the United States and form their own government.
“But Lincoln was ready to fight to hold the country together—that fight was the Civil War. Lincoln made mistakes, sure, like hiring some lousy generals. But he also did great things, like the Emancipation Proclamation—”
Doc slapped himself on the forehead.
“That’s what I was trying to think of!” he said. “When we were talking with Lincoln today. I knew he signed something good.”
Mr. Douglass turned to his son.
“So the Emancipation thing,” Doc said. “What’d it do, again?”
“Proclamation,” Mr. Douglass said. “It set the goal of freeing all enslaved people in the Confederate States. Up to this point, the Civil War had been about saving the Union. After the Emancipation Proclamation, the goal was to save the Union and end slavery. And let’s not forget Lincoln’s speeches, his beautiful dreams for our country!”
Mr. Douglass leaped from the couch, sending homework flying. “This nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom!” he roared. “And that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth!”
“Nice,” Doc said.
“Gettysburg Address,” Mr. Douglass said.
“Did he tell jokes?” Abby asked.
“Bad ones, I think,” he said. “I’ll find you guys a good Lincoln book.”
But that could be a problem. How could there be a good book about a guy who just sits in a chair?
Doc and Abby looked at each other. They’d lived together long enough to read each other’s minds. We have one chance to persuade Lincoln to go back to work. One last chance.
CHAPTER NINE
ALL VISITORS MUST CHECK IN AT FRONT DESK.
That’s what the sign on the front door of the school said. Abby pointed it out to Doc as they walked in the next morning. They skipped breakfast, heading straight for the library. They hurried past Ms. Ventura, the librarian, who was sipping coffee at her desk.
They opened the door to the storage room. Abraham Lincoln was in there, sitting with his feet up on the table, reading.
“Ready when you are,” he said.
Abby and Doc went in and shut the door behind them.
“Okay,” Doc said, “what we think you should do is—wait, do you hear that?”
There were voices outside the door. Ms. Ventura and a teacher. The voices were getting closer. Ms. Ventura was saying, “Yes, I have a few extra copies in the storage room. Hold on a sec, I’ll get one.”
“She’s coming!” Doc cried.
“Get in the box!” Abby said, tugging Lincoln’s sleeve.
“Why?” he said. “I just got out of the box.”
“You don’t have the sticker!” Doc said.
“Sticker?”
“Guests have to check in,” Abby said. “They’re really strict about it. They’ll kick you out!”
“Help me into the box!” Lincoln said.
But the voices were right outside the door.
“No time!”
Doc jumped onto the table and slid open the window. “Quick!”
Lincoln stepped onto the table and dove out the window.
Or, he tried to. His hips got stuck in the window frame.
The door opened, and Ms. Ventura came in. “Excuse me,” she said, “just need to grab something.”
She turned toward a wall of shelves. She did not seem to notice that behind her, in the window, Abraham Lincoln was kicking his legs like an upside-down bug.
Doc reached for one of Lincoln’s feet and gave it a shove. Lincoln slid out the window. There was a crashing sound.
“What was that?” Ms. Ventura asked, turning toward the noise.
“Soccer game,” Doc said. He was still standing on the table. “Nice shot, Gomez!” he shouted out the window.
The librarian just shook her head. She’d given up trying to understand Doc. She tucked a book under her arm and said, “Well, I’ll see you guys very soon.”
“We don’t have library today,” Abby said.
“That’s what you think,” Ms. Ventura said. “Can’t say more. It’s a surprise!”
She smiled and left the room.
The top of Lincoln’s hat was visible through the window. “Which way is the front door?” he asked.
“Hold on,” Doc said. “We’re coming.”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Martin, the attendance clerk, looked up from her computer.
“Good morning, Abby, Doc,” she said. Then she noticed a tall man standing next to them. “How may I help you?”
“Good morning to you, ma’am,” Lincoln said. He tipped his hat. “My name is Abraham Lincoln.”
“I can see that,” Mrs. Martin said.
“He’s here to visit our class today,” Doc said. “We just need to get him one of those stickers guests have to wear.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Martin said. She tilted her head back to look up at Lincoln. “Very nice costume. No beard, though?”
“Beard?” Lincoln asked.
“You know,” Mrs. Martin said, touching her chin.
“I’ll grow it soon,” Lincoln said. “I have come to meet with Doc and Abby’s class. So if you will kindly give me the proper pass, we can be on our way.”
Mrs. Martin was smiling. “He’s not bad,” she said to Doc.
Abraham Lincoln, Pro Wrestler Page 2
