Assassin (9 page)

I put down the letter to wipe the tears from my eyes. “The Battle of Gettysburg,” I whispered to myself. It had happened in July. I remembered what I had heard at the White House, where I now spent most of my days. General Lee’s army had moved up the Shenandoah Valley into Pennsylvania. They had planned to destroy railroads and move on, maybe even all the way to Washington City to take the Union’s capital.

The battle had raged on for three days, dead men on both sides everywhere. Finally the Confederate forces were beaten into retreat. There was much celebration in the White House. It was, they said, the turning point of the war.

I had been there outside the president’s personal office. I heard the talk, and I had rejoiced with them when the South was defeated. After all, I did not want the enemy army in Washington City. I did not suppose that harm would come to me, but I knew the Lincolns would be in danger, and I feared for Mrs. Keckley. I did not think the Southern army would be kind to a former slave who was now the best friend of the president’s wife.

Holding my aunt’s letter, I looked back on those days. I had not been thinking about my own father when I
prayed that the Southern army would be defeated. Now I felt even more torn between the two sides.

In the fall of 1864, my grandmother became ill with a fever. After a few days, the fever subsided, but Grandmother’s strength never returned. At the same time her rheumatism grew worse, leaving her fingers terribly twisted.

Mrs. Keckley assured me I was ready to take Grandmother’s place. “She’s as good as her grandmother now, and she will be far superior with a bit more practice,” I heard her say to Mrs. Lincoln, and I appreciated the way I was welcomed warmly as a full-time White House worker.

One November afternoon a knock sounded on the sewing room door. I put down my work and moved to answer. It took an instant for me to realize that the young man who stood outside the door in a blue uniform was really Steven. A scream of joy escaped from my lips, and I put my hands over my mouth. He picked me up, and laughing and crying at once, I hugged him.

He was, he told me, in Washington City, only for one day and night, having secured a ride with a teacher who drove his coach to Washington City on business. There was to be a huge party at the White House that evening. I was afraid I might be needed to help with preparations, but Mrs. Keckley was in the room and witnessed our joyful reunion.

“Go,” she said. “Go and have a good time.”

And go we did, laughing down the hall. On the stairs,
I stopped for a moment and squeezed Steven’s arm. “I remember the day you first led me up these steps,” I said, looking up at him. “You were much shorter then.”

“You’ve changed too.” He grinned. “You were pretty then. Now you’re beautiful.” For an instant, something in his voice and in the way he looked at me made me self-conscious, but the feeling passed quickly. I had my dear old friend back with me for a few hours, and it felt so good.

Although it was almost winter, the day was not bitterly cold as it had been the day before. At the first street corner, the smell of roasting chestnuts filled the air. “Are you hungry?” Steven asked.

“We can have our supper with Grandmother, ” I said. “I made a big soup.”

Steven laughed. “I didn’t travel to Washington City to be poisoned by your cooking. We’ll buy something to eat for supper, but first we’ll have chestnuts.”

“The money,” I protested, but Steven shook his head.

“I’ve been given an increase in my allowance from the trust fund, and I’ve saved for just such a day. I plan to come to see you in August too, before I go to Harvard.” He smiled at me. “We’ve been too long apart, Bella.” We moved to the little brown cart. The vendor bent over his wares, and his brown coat and hat made him seem to be an extension of the contraption. “Give us four,” said Steven, and he handed money to the man, who raised his head to smile at us.

“You’ve a pretty lady by your side, son,” said the man
as he handed us our bag, “’Tis a fine thing to be young and walk out with a pretty lady.”

“It is,” said Steven. I blushed and thought I should explain to the man that Steven and I were not actually “walking out together,” that we were not sweethearts, just old friends reunited for the day, but Steven took my hand and led me away.

He was interested in our streetcars that glided down rails and were pulled by big, powerful horses. Although the streetcars were two years old in our city, I had never ridden one. I could easily walk to the White House from my home, and every penny was needed for necessities.

Of course, Steven insisted we ride. The seats were enclosed, but above them the cars were open. Even though the day was not bitter, the streetcar moved fast enough to create a sharp breeze that stung at my cheeks, and I buried my face in the arm of Steven’s coat. I felt happy there, taking in the smell of the wool material mixed with the familiar scent of his skin, and I reluctantly moved my head to eat the chestnut he urged me to take.

Near Maryland Avenue, we got off the streetcar to walk. An old brick building there had been built to serve as a temporary capitol when the real capitol was burned during the War of 1812. When I first came to Washington City, the building had contained a school, but now it was used as a prison for Southern soldiers.

We stopped to watch a group of guards move new prisoners into the building. The Southern men were connected
to each other by chains fastened around their ankles.

One man, who seemed old for a soldier, turned and met my gaze. His eyes were blue and full of sadness. I had to turn away and did not watch as they moved slowly into the prison. “I wish my father could be in this one,” I said. “Perhaps they would let me in to see him.”

“This war will surely be over soon,” said Steven. “You can see your father then.”

We made our supper of oysters and hot buns we bought from a vendor. As we pulled the bits of meat from the shell with our fingers, Steven talked about Harvard. “Remember, it’s where Robert Lincoln went,” he said.

I nodded. “He’s in the army now,” I said, but I was not thinking much about Robert. “Massachusetts is even farther away from here than Pennsylvania is.” I studied the oyster shell I held in my hand.

Steven reached out to take my hand, closing my fingers around the shell. “We can write letters,” he said. “You write wonderful letters, Bella,” but his words did not ease the pain I felt inside when I thought about Steven leaving me again.

After the meal, we walked about Washington City, commenting on the sights as we had done as children. On Tenth Street, we saw people going into Ford’s Theatre. “Would you like to see a play?” Steven asked.

All day I had been hesitant to have him spend his money on me, but now I nodded quickly. We moved
through the crowd of people in evening clothes to the ticket window. “Sorry,” said the man when we asked for tickets. “There aren’t any for tonight’s performance. You’ve got to get here early when J. Wilkes Booth is starring.”

We turned away to look at the advertisements. I pointed to a likeness of Mr. Booth. “I saw him when I was with my mother in Richmond,” I said. “We were going into the theater just as he was. He held the door for us.” I smiled, remembering. “He looked down at me and smiled. It wasn’t long before my mother died. I was only eight years old, but I never forgot him, his unusual eyes. He was not the star of the play that day, but when he came on-stage, my mother whispered his name to me. I’ve always wanted to see him again.”

“Wait here,” said Steven, and he went back to the ticket window. When he came back, he handed me a ticket. “It’s for tomorrow evening,” he said.

Tears of joy came to my eyes as I thanked him. “You are the dearest friend I could ever have,” I said.

We stayed for a while, looking at the show cards that advertised plays and watching the people going inside. “Remember what Mrs. Keckley told you about working in a costume shop?” Steven said. “Maybe it is time for you to try your hand at that.”

We had stepped away by then, and I turned to look back at the big building, three stories high. Could I work there? Could I be part of Ford’s Theatre? A thrill went
through my body. “You give me courage,” I said. “I’ll go there day after tomorrow and ask for a part-time job. I think seeing a show first will make me braver.”

Steven wanted a look at the White House all lit up at night, so we rode the streetcar back there. The party had started. We stood on the north lawn admiring the lights and listening to the bits of music that drifted to our ears. “It still seems like home to me,” said Steven. “The guards all know you, don’t they? Let’s go inside.”

As it turned out, the guard was a young man Steven had known when his mother worked there. “I’ve done been in the war and back,” said James when Steven told him who he was. “Does it last much longer, you’ll be trading that school uniform for a fighting one.”

“It won’t last that long,” I said, and I pulled Steven away from the war talk. Inside, we went to a back hall. “I’d best stay out of sight,” I said. “If Mrs. Lincoln sees me, she’s likely to put me to work.”

We could hear the music well, and I began to sway with it. “Let’s dance,” Steven said.

I felt suddenly very shy. “I can’t dance,” I said, looking down. “I’ve never learned.”

“It isn’t so hard,” he said. “Just follow me.” Steven reached to pull me into his arms. For a minute we moved to the music, but then I stepped on his foot. We both stumbled and laughed.

“That’s enough,” I said, pulling away from his arms. Steven held tight to my hand.

“You said something earlier that I didn’t like.” His face was suddenly very serious.

I strained, trying to remember anything I might have said that would disturb him, but he went on. “You said I was the dearest friend you could ever have.”

“You are,” I said.

Steven shook his head. “But you see that’s what I didn’t like. I don’t want to be your friend anymore,” he said. “Well, not just your friend. I want to be more to you than a friend, Bella.”

My knees felt weak, and I leaned against the wall. Steven dropped my hand and came to me. Putting his hand beneath my chin, he kissed me lightly on the lips. “Someday I mean to marry you, Bella Getchel,” he said. He took my hand and led me back outside. Neither of us said anything until we were outside.

“I’d better go home,” I said then. “My grandmother will be worried about me if I stay much later.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he said. On the way home we talked of ordinary things, his school, my work at the White House, but his words were between us. We could both feel them. Outside my door, we said good-bye, me wiping away tears.

“Don’t cry, Bella,” he said. “Don’t cry, and don’t forget what I said.” He touched my cheek. Then he was gone. I stood watching him until he disappeared into the night.

I thought of Steven all the next day as I sewed. “Did you have a good time with your young man?” Mrs.
Keckley asked, and I told her I had. I did not even protest that Steven was not my young man.

That evening I went inside Ford’s Theatre for the first time. My seat was near the front, and I could see Mr. Booth plainly. A chill went through me each time he spoke. What a thrill it would be, I thought, to work in the same building with him. If I were to get work in the costume shop, I would be bound to see him, wouldn’t I? I might even have a chance to actually talk to him.

The next day I went back to the theater. For a long time I stood beneath one of the rounded archways and tried to get up my courage. I pictured Steven’s face, and I imagined I could hear him say, “Go on in, Bella. You won’t get a job standing out here.”

Finally I did go inside and was directed to the costume shop. The costume mistress insisted I call her Lillie. “Everyone does round here, young and old,” she said.

I felt comfortable with Miss Lillie at once. When she told me that there was no position open for a paid seamstress, I suggested that perhaps I could work a few hours each week in exchange for tickets.

And so, I was sewing at Ford’s Theatre in December of 1864 when I first saw Wilkes Booth, when he came into the costume shop of Ford’s Theatre with the lady and told the story of his parents’ meeting.

It was only my second time there. I threaded a needle, and then, still holding the needle in the air, I asked, “Does Mr. Booth come into the shop often?”

Lillie laughed. “Wanting to see Wilkes Booth, are you? Well, everyone does.” She put down her work, yawned, and stretched. “Yes, I expect you’ll see him come in the door any minute.” She lifted the costume again. “This here’s his coat, and he likes to check on his things.”

“Is he married?” I asked.

Lillie laughed again. “No, I can’t imagine the man with a wife, though some say he’s engaged secretly to a young woman named Lucy, some senator’s daughter. If it’s true, it doesn’t seem to have slowed him down much with other ladies.”

It was not fifteen minutes later when Mr. Booth came in with a lady I heard him call Martha. She had asked, just as they came in, how his parents had met. He told the story then about his mother being a flower girl. We all listened. After the story of the meeting was over, the lady whispered something into his ear.

I thought it rude of her to whisper with other people in the room. Mr. Booth did not seem to think her rude, however, and he laughed when she tossed her head and left the room. I had no idea what she said, but the way Wilkes looked at her was enough to make my face turn red.

He noticed me then. I could feel his eyes on my burning face, but I looked only at the hem of the coat I held in my lap. My heart pounded as I heard his steps on the floor. “Lillie,” he said to the costume mistress, “who is this beauty, and how long have you hidden her away in this dreary shop?”

Mistress Lillie was a kind woman. Her mouth was full of pins, but she removed them. “Stop where you are, Wilkes. This shop is my domain, and I won’t have you dallying with Bella right before my eyes, her a girl of only fourteen.”

He stopped, put up his hands as if to surrender. “Fourteen?” he said. “I thought her much older. I would never, as you say, ‘dally’ with a girl so young.” He laughed. “I think, though, that I might be allowed to speak to her.” He moved closer to me. “You aren’t afraid of me, are you—” He paused. “Bella, is it?”