Blessed are the Merciful (3 page)

T
HE FOLLOWING
S
ATURDAY MORNING
, Elizabeth Burke stood on her wide front porch, kissed her children’s foreheads, and said, “Now, I want you to have lots of fun with your friends. But don’t forget, I want you home by eleven. That will give you a full two hours to play. I told Mrs. Babcock to shoo you out of the yard when it’s time. But if she forgets, it’s up to you, Adam, to remember.”

The twelve-year-old pulled out the gold pocket watch his father had given him for his seventh birthday and grinned up at his mother. “I won’t forget, Mama. We will leave at exactly ten fifty-five.”

The Burke children hurried down the steps and ran toward the street. Within a few strides Evelyn was left behind, even though she was running as fast as she could, her long braids flying.

“Adam! Laura!” Elizabeth called.

The two slowed and looked over their shoulders.

“Don’t run so fast! Evelyn can’t keep up with you. You’re always leaving her behind.”

Adam and Laura smiled at their mother and put Evelyn between them. They all held hands and hurried on down the street.

Smiling to herself, Elizabeth went inside and climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. When she topped the stairs, she saw Cleora at the hall linen closet, gathering sheets and pillowcases in her arms.

“You can hold my bedroom till last,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll be in there rearranging the bureau drawers to make room for Mr. Gordon’s things again.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’s gonna do Master Adam’s bed first. I already
swep’ his room. After the bed’s done, I’ll do the dustin’.”

Elizabeth nodded and went on to the master bedroom.

When Cleora had finished making up Adam’s bed, she moved around the room, using a feather duster on the furniture and the pictures on the walls. There were six framed photographs of Abraham Lincoln in different poses. Two of them were front page pictures from the
Boston Globe
. One showed Lincoln in front of an army tent with the diminutive General George B. McClellan. The other was a similar background, this time with General Ulysses S. Grant and several other army officers.

Cleora giggled softly while dusting the pictures, unaware that Elizabeth had entered the room. She jumped slightly when Elizabeth said, “What’s tickled you, Cleora?”

A smile spread across Cleora’s face. “I was jus’ thinkin’ ’bout these pictures of Mr. Lincoln. There prob’ly isn’t another twelve-year-old boy in all the Union states with six pictures of the president on his wall.”

“Probably not,” Elizabeth said. “But Mr. Lincoln is Adam’s hero, as you know.”

“Yes’m. I loves Mr. Lincoln, too. He done set my fambly free, an’ I loves him fo’ that. An’ I know that Master Adam has set his heart on bein’ a lawyer ’cause what he read about Mr. Lincoln in school all these years inspired him to wanna be a successful attorney jus’ like his hero.”

“That desire has been in Adam’s mind for a long time,” Elizabeth said. “Have I ever told you about the time Mr. Lincoln came to Boston back in 1860, when he was campaigning for the presidency and—”

“Oh, yes’m! That was when Master Adam got to shake Mr. Lincoln’s hand … an’ you an’ Mr. Gordon had to make him wash his hand.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, after we found out he had gone three days without. And the boy was only seven years old!”

“That is some boy you have there, Miz Elizabeth. That is some boy.”

“Don’t I know it! He has a certain determination about him, Cleora. He was seven when he made up his mind that he wanted to follow Lincoln’s example and be a lawyer. He hasn’t changed his mind since then, and I’m positive he never will. He’s going to go to Harvard Law School and become a lawyer as sure as I’m standing here.”

The door knocker clattered downstairs and echoed through the house. “I’ll see who it is, ma’am,” Cleora said.

Elizabeth followed her down the hall and paused at the top of the stairs. She heard Sidney’s voice first, then Darlene’s. Cleora invited them in, saying she would fetch Miss Elizabeth.

“I’m right here, Cleora,” said Elizabeth, descending the stairs. When she saw their faces, her heart lurched. “Sidney … Darlene … what’s wrong?” Elizabeth reached the last step and saw a folded newspaper in Sidney’s hand. “Tell me, what’s happened?”

Cleora closed the front door and excused herself.

Sidney raised the newspaper chest high and let it unfold so Elizabeth could see the headline on the special edition of the
Boston Globe
that had just come off the press.

Cleora stopped when she heard her mistress gasp. She turned and hurried toward Elizabeth and saw the shocking headline for herself.

“Let’s go into the parlor,” Darlene said, moving up to take hold of Elizabeth’s arm. “I think we all need to sit down.”

“I’ll bring some water,” Cleora said. She hurried down the hall, tears forming in her eyes.

Darlene guided her sister-in-law to one of the love seats and sat down beside her. Sidney took a seat facing them and quickly recounted the events reported in the paper.

Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. “But … but why?”

“We don’t know yet.”

Elizabeth touched her trembling fingers to the tears on her cheeks. “I have such love and respect for that dear man. Poor Mrs. Lincoln. What horror she must be experiencing.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Darlene said.

“And their sons,” Elizabeth said. “Robert will probably handle it better than Tad. The younger boy and his father are so close.” Her eyes widened. “And what of my own son! This is going to devastate Adam, especially if … if Mr. Lincoln shouldn’t make it.” She drew a tremulous breath. “What does the paper say about Booth, Sidney? Since they know he did it, have they caught him?”

“No, but they will. They think he might have broken a leg in his escape.”

Cleora entered the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and three glasses. “Here’s the water. Mr. Sidney, is President Lincoln gonna be all right?”

“I don’t know, Cleora. His doctors aren’t giving him much of a chance.”

Tears welled up in the maid’s eyes. “Oh, I’s so sorry.” Then to Elizabeth, “If you needs me, ma’am, I’ll be upstairs cleanin’ in the bedrooms and makin’ up the beds.”

“All right. Thank you, dear.”

Sidney poured water into the glasses and handed one to Elizabeth and to Darlene. The sound of childish chatter and laughter came from the front porch. Elizabeth’s gaze swung to the clock on the mantel. It was five minutes after ten.

“Oh my, it’s the children. They’re home early.” She went to the parlor door and took a half-step into the hall. She watched her three young ones troop into the house, one behind the other.

Evelyn ran toward her mother. “Mama, we had lots of fun! We’ve been talking to Billy and Susie and Kathy about Papa coming home! We’re so happy!”

“That’s wonderful, honey,” Elizabeth said. “But how come you’re home so early?”

“Mr. Babcock came home looking sort of upset,” Laura said, “and took Mrs. Babcock into the kitchen. He came back out in a minute and said they all needed to talk about something important. He was sorry, but we would have to go home.”

“But he was nice, Mama,” Adam said. “He asked us to come back again real soon.”

Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip. “That’s good, son.”

Adam frowned as he looked closely at his mother’s face. “Mama, are you all right?”

“Are you sick, Mama?” Laura asked.

“I’m not sick. Uncle Sidney and Aunt Darlene are here. Come into the parlor.”

“Mama, what’s wrong?” Adam said. “Is it something about Papa?”

“No, honey.” She put an arm around his shoulders as they entered the parlor together. “As far as we know, Papa is fine and will be home soon.”

“Then what is it?”

“Come and sit down,” Elizabeth said. “Something bad has happened. Not in our family but to someone we all love and respect.”

Laura and Evelyn sat between their aunt and uncle, and Adam took a seat beside his mother.

Elizabeth took both of Adam’s hands in hers and said softly, “It’s President Lincoln, Adam. He’s been shot.”

“Shot?” Disbelief filled Adam’s eyes.

“He’s still alive, honey. The doctors aren’t giving him much of a chance to make it, but as long as he’s alive, there’s hope.”

Silence filled the room, then Adam said weakly, “Who—when—?”

Elizabeth squeezed his hands. “I’ll let Uncle Sidney tell you about it.”

Sidney knelt in front of the boy. As he told the story to Adam, Elizabeth watched the fire rise in her son’s dark eyes.

Suddenly Adam jumped up from the couch, his fists clenched,
and looked at the floor through tear-dimmed eyes. “Mr. Lincoln led this country through that awful Civil War. He … he freed the slaves. He’s done nothing but good for all of us; especially us northerners. Now the thanks he gets is a bullet in his head!”

Sidney rose to his feet and sent a helpless glance to Elizabeth.

Suddenly Adam whirled about. “I hate that John Wilkes Booth! I hope they catch him and shoot him!”

Sidney laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I know how you feel, Adam. I want to see Booth pay to the ultimate for what he did.”

“I’d like to be the one who tracks him down, Uncle Sidney! I’d shoot him in the stomach so he’d die real slow! I’d stand over him and laugh while he clutched his bleeding belly!”

“Adam!” Elizabeth said. “Your hating John Booth will only dry you up on the inside. Don’t concentrate on him. Put your mind on Mr. Lincoln, and hope that he gets well.”

The boy took a deep breath, then said, “Mr. Lincoln is tough, Mama. He might just fool the doctors and come through it.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. “Just hang on to that hope. Maybe you’re right! Maybe Mr. Lincoln is tough enough to come through this.”

That night, Adam Burke lay in his bed. Sleep refused to come. He thought about praying but wasn’t sure how to do it. He had heard someone pray only one time, and that was when he attended the funeral of a neighbor, and the minister had said a prayer over the grave.

Adam threw back the covers and left his bed. Moonlight filtered into the room through the lace curtains. He stood before the pictures of Lincoln and studied each one, then began pacing from one end of the room to the other.

“Why? Why did John Booth hate Mr. Lincoln so much that he would shoot him like that?”

He lost track of the time and was surprised when he heard a light
tap at his door. He grabbed his robe and shrugged into it, tying the sash around his slender waist. It was Cleora. She whispered softly, “Master Adam, is you all right? I can hear you walkin’ back an’ forth from down in my room.”

“I … I’m just so upset about Mr. Lincoln, Cleora. I don’t want him to die.”

“Me either. He’s such a good man. All my folk down in Alabama has been slaves fo’ so many years. An’ now they ain’t slaves no mo’ ’cause Mr. Lincoln made ’em free. God bless him.”

“Yes. God bless him.”

“ ’Course I’s so thankful I was brought up north by my mother’s frien’s when she died, an’ yo’ mama and papa give me a job. I has truly been blessed. Adam, is there anythin’ I can do fo’ you?”

“No, but thank you. I’ll go back to bed and try to get to sleep.”

“Well, you’d better hurry to sleep, ’cause it’s gonna be mornin’ in ’bout two hours. G’night.”

“Good night,” Adam whispered, quietly closing the door.

Sunday morning arrived with a brilliant sunrise that stabbed Adam’s tired eyes as it shafted through the windows. He had not slept.

The atmosphere at breakfast was dismal until Elizabeth said, “Now, children, I know we’re all concerned about our president, and it is right that we should be. But let’s be glad for what’s good in our lives. Papa will soon be home.”

Her words helped to lift countenances. Elizabeth talked about how Papa always liked for her to fix a picnic lunch on Sunday afternoons in the summertime, and he would drive the family down to Boston Harbor in the horse and buggy so they could have their picnic and watch the sailboats.

Adam and Laura remembered those happy times, but not Evelyn. This made her want her papa to come home all the more. Soon it would be summer, and she could enjoy that adventure over and over again.

That afternoon Laura and Evelyn were sitting on the porch. Laura was mending one of her little sister’s rag dolls when Evelyn said, “Look, Laura! It’s Uncle Sidney!”

They watched him guide the horse and buggy up the long, curved drive.

“Uh-oh,” Laura said. “I think maybe President Lincoln has died, Evelyn. Uncle Sidney looks very sad.”

“Shall I get Mama?”

“I’m sure he’ll want to talk to her.”

Laura went to the edge of the porch to meet her uncle as he reined the buggy to a halt and said, “Hello, Laura. Is the rest of the family home?”

“Yes, sir. Evelyn’s gone after Mama. You look sad. Did … did Mr. Lincoln die?”

“Yes, honey. He did.”

Just then, Elizabeth came outside, holding Evelyn by the hand. Behind her were Adam and Cleora.

“I have a close friend at the
Globe,”
Sidney said. “He said he’d let me know if … if the president died. Mr. Lincoln died at 7:22 this morning.”