Category Archives: Novels

Booth’s Revenge Chapter Twenty-One

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Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer. Booth and Herold join across the river in Maryland.Booth remembers Dr. Mudd lives nearby. Johnson takes the oath of office.
The conductor nudged Ward Lamon who slumped deeper into his train car bench. “Washington City, sir. This is your stop.”
Lamon jumped and looked up, his eyes and mind in a blur. “What? Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
His memories of the last twenty-four hours were vague. The man and woman who had been living in the Executive Mansion admitted to him they were imposters, but they would not say anything beyond that. The man lied to him and said Lincoln was being held at Fort McHenry in Baltimore. Lamon thought he lied so the woman could be transported away from Washington. But the woman refused to go, in a fit of loyalty to Tad Lincoln.
Then late last night—or was it early this morning—Lamon heard the news the President was dead. Was it the real President who was assassinated or was it the imposter? Where were the Lincolns while the imposters were in the White House? Where were the Lincolns now? Why was he misdirected to Baltimore? It was all so confusing.
A dull headache kept him from thinking clearly. He had seen too much, heard too much, drunk too much.
From the train station, Lamon hailed a carriage to his hotel. Crowds filled the streets, milling about seemingly without purpose. He watched men hang black bunting from windows and doorways. No one spoke. Only the rolling wheels crunching on cobblestones and the occasional neighing of horses broke the silence. Lamon’s intention was to wash up, change clothes and go immediately to the Executive Mansion; instead, once he was inside his room, Lamon collapsed on the bed. When he awoke, he looked at his pocket watch. It was 3:00 in the afternoon.
By the time he reached the Executive Mansion and walked up the steps, Lamon’s mind cleared. He knew the questions to ask, but he did not know who to ask. Thomas Pendel met him at the door.
“It’s so good to see you, sir.” Pendel shook his hand. “Mrs. Lincoln needs you.”
“So it’s true, Thomas? The President is dead? The real President is dead?”
Pendel hesitated. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Lamon. There is only one Mr. Lincoln.” He began walking up the stairs.
“Are you telling me you didn’t realize the man and woman in the White House for the past two and a half years were imposters?” Lamon stepped quickly to catch up with Pendel.
“Mrs. Lincoln is in her parlor.” On the second floor he turned down the hall toward the Lincolns’ private rooms. “She’s inconsolable.”
Lamon grabbed Pendel by his elbow. “Are you that frightened?”
“I am an old man, sir.” He firmly removed Lamon’s hand. “I fear very little. But I know, above all else, a man cannot rage against a storm.” Pendel opened a door. “Mrs. Lincoln, Mr. Lamon is here to see you.”
She rushed toward him and took Lamon by the hand to lead him to the settee as Pendel stepped back and closed the door. She sat and patted the cushion next to her. Lamon observed her moist cheeks and loose hairs around her face.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Lamon. I know you must be as devastated as I am. I will never forget the nights you slept outside Mr. Lincoln’s bedroom door.” She leaned into him to whisper, “It was that devil Stanton, you know.”
“Yes, I do know. I believe you.”
“Thank, God, someone believes me.” Her hands went to her face. “Mr. Johnson was here this morning.” She shook her head. “I told him we were held in the basement all that time. He doesn’t believe me. I can tell.” Mrs. Lincoln looked him straight in the eyes. “I was beginning to doubt my own sanity.”
“Do you know when the imposters left?”
“Sometime last night, probably after we went to the theater.”
“I blame myself, Mrs. Lincoln,” Lamon blurted. “The imposter told me the President was being held at Fort McHenry. I left immediately for Baltimore. I felt so foolish when I realized he wasn’t there.”
She leaned back and looked at him as though she were seeing him for the first time and did not like what she saw.
“That’s right. You weren’t here. Why weren’t you here?”
“Mr. Stanton said you and the President were being held in a safe place because of assassination threats. He said it was for your own good.”
“And you believed that devil? I thought you would know better than that.”
“I should have.”
“You should have torn the White House down stone by stone until you found us.”
“But I didn’t know for sure you were even still in the mansion.” Lamon was at a loss for words. He could not believe she doubted him. “I was told you were in Baltimore!” he interjected, defending his inexplicable absence to the grieving widow.
“Are you are in league with that devil at this very moment? Did he send you here to spy on me?”
Lamon paused to consider her face. Mrs. Lincoln’s full cheeks flushed and her little mouth alternately pinched shut and blew out heated breath. She glared at him and then looked around the room, as though searching for another person lurking in the shadows. Her hands shook and her feet shuffled. She was insane, he decided. She knew the truth, and it had driven her insane. Lamon stood and bowed.
“I apologize for my shortcomings, Mrs. Lincoln,” he mumbled and turned toward the door.
“How dare you think you could fool me? I am not a fool! You go tell that devil I am not a fool!”
What was Lamon to do? The one person who could substantiate his suspicions was stark raving mad. By association, he possibly could be considered mad also. What was it Pendel said? He knew better than to rage against a storm. But that was all Lamon knew to do—rage on and on until the storm subsided and justice was done.
At the bottom of the stairs, he remembered she said they had been in the basement. That’s where the manservant and the cook lived. They should know what happened. Lamon took the backstairs down. He saw the manservant walk into a room with a bucket and a mop. Lamon followed him and saw a billiards table and boxes stacked around the walls.
“What are you mopping?” Lamon asked.
“Nothing, sir. Just mopping.”
Lamon extended his hand. “I’m Ward Lamon. But, of course, you know that. I’m the president’s personal bodyguard. And your name?”
“Cleotis.”
“The floor looks clean, Cleotis.”
“I know, sir. I just feel like mopping.”
“Leave my husband alone,” a woman’s firm voice called out from the doorway. “You white folks have taken everything away. So just leave us alone.”
Lamon walked to her, looked at her swollen belly and smiled. “When is the baby due?”
“None of your business.”
“Phebe, I think we all got to learn to be polite to each other,” Cleotis said. “Is that too much to ask, to be polite?”
Lamon walked back to him. “Didn’t there used to be another butler here? What was his name?”
“Mr. Pendel is the only butler I know of, sir.”
“He’s the head butler. You’re a butler too. I seem to remember a younger man than you, oh say, in 1862.”
“I’ve been here the whole time, Mr. Lamon, sir.”
“Whole what time?” His instincts as a lawyer were coming to the surface.
“The whole time Mr. Lincoln has been President, sir.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Can you prove he hasn’t?” Phebe stepped in between Lamon and Cleotis. “People who ask questions don’t live long, least ways not around here.”
“Woman, I warned you. You’re saying too much.” Cleotis sounded more anxious than angry, Lamon thought.
“Saying too much about what?” he persisted.
“Nothing, sir.” Cleotis bent over to pick up the bucket. “Excuse me, sir, I’ve got to get some clean water.”
Phebe pursed her lips as she looked at Lamon. “Yes sir, people can get mighty dead asking too many questions.”
Deciding not to pursue the interrogation, Lamon went back upstairs, the straw mats crunching beneath his feet. As he entered the main hall, he saw Stanton coming down the stairs. Lamon presumed he had been to the autopsy room to oversee any discoveries made by the surgeons. Their eyes met briefly. Stanton stopped and then hurried to the front door. Lamon followed down the steps to the revolving gate between the Executive Mansion and the Department of War building.
“Mr. Secretary!” he called out. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Please pause a moment so we can speak.”
Stanton frowned. “Well, make it quick. Can’t you see I am in a hurry? We have a conspiracy to solve!”
“Do you have any information to lead you to the assassins?” Lamon asked, trying to sound friendly.
“Yes,” Stanton replied. “We think it was some actor and his rabble-rousing friends.”
“Is it the same man whom you suspected two and a half years ago? You remember, when you placed the president and his wife in a secret location?”
“What?” Stanton’s eyebrows went up.
“You told me in 1862 that Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln had been removed from the Executive Mansion to a secret location to protect them from an assassination attempt. You had found two people who looked like the Lincolns to take their place. Why did you let them return unless you thought the danger had passed and obviously it had not?”
“The intelligence we had at hand suggested otherwise. The nation needed its leader back where he belonged,” Stanton explained, his lips pinching together when he was finished.
“Why would you allow him to go to the theater when you knew danger existed?” Lamon pursued his questioning.
“I told you we thought it was safe.”
“But it wasn’t safe. The president is dead.”
“I won’t subject myself to such an interrogation,” Stanton said in a huff.
“By the way, what happened to the man and woman who impersonated the Lincolns?”
“They went home.”
“And where was that?”
“I don’t remember.” Flustered, Stanton paused to compose himself. He then wagged a fat finger at the earnest questioner. “Listen here. You had better keep that story to yourself. People will think you are crazy if you insist on repeating it. Like people think Mrs. Lincoln is crazy.”

Booth’s Revenge, Chapter Twenty

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Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer. Booth and Herold join across the river in Maryland.Booth remembers Dr. Mudd lives nearby. Stanton takes over at the Peterson house. Johnson decides to rise to this solemn occasion.
Salmon Chase knocked at the door right at 10:00 and informed Johnson that members of the Cabinet would be arriving soon. Within minutes Secretary of the Treasury Hugh McCulloch, Attorney General James Speed and several members of Congress were in his room seated and waiting. There was little conversation as most of the thoughts were of the President who had died just three hours earlier.
Johnson noticed that Stanton had not taken time from his duties to attend the ceremony. It was just as well, he decided, although it might be amusing to see Stanton’s reaction when he realized the new president was not drunk.
Chase rose from his seat, motioning for Johnson to approach. Chase then administered the oath, and shook Johnson’s hand ceremoniously.
“May God support, guide, and bless you in your arduous duties,” the Chief Justice said in a loud solemn voice.
Johnson supposed Chase wanted the others to hear him clearly, so they could accurately quote him later. He wanted the press to report he was calm, grave and looking in remarkably good health.
“I can’t promise much,” Johnson said to the witnesses. “I will follow the example set by Mr. Lincoln, God bless him.” After a round of polite applause, he added, “Oh, and tell the other Cabinet members we should have a meeting as soon as possible.”
“At the White House?” McCulloch asked.
“No, no. Leave Mrs. Lincoln to her grief.”
“I can arrange a room at the Treasury,” McCulloch offered.
“Very good.”
Johnson followed the men out of the hotel and hailed a carriage to the Treasury building which was close to the White House.
Passing the Executive Mansion, Johnson decided impulsively to stop to pay his respects to Mrs. Lincoln. It was the right thing to do, he reasoned. Probably. Maybe. If only his wife were here to guide him in these awkward social customs, he would feel much better.
At the door, a guard ushered him in and escorted him to the First Family’s private quarters on the second floor.
Soldiers milled around the second floor hall, seeming to be unsure of themselves. Were they waiting for orders? Didn’t they know their responsibilities on this solemn occasion? Were they posted to defend the Republic against more assassins? Were they purely ceremonial functionaries? Johnson’s mind raced with the possibilities.
The escort officer conducted him to Lincoln’s office, and motioned for him to enter.
Johnson noticed the crowd outside a door at the other end of the hall.
“What’s going on down there?”
“That’s where the doctors are doing the autopsy, sir,” the guard replied in a low voice.
“The autopsy? You mean Mr. Lincoln’s body is here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My God, how is Mrs. Lincoln holding up, knowing her husband is in the next room like that?”
“It’s not for me to say, sir.”
Before he could reply to the escort, Johnson heard a dress rustling inside the darkened room.
“Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Lincoln whispered, peeking into the hall. “Please come in.”
He walked into the office, and Mrs. Lincoln shut the door behind him. She went to him and extended her tiny, gloved hand. Johnson smiled as he observed her face. She seemed calmer than the previous evening at the boardinghouse.
“I hope I am not intruding, ma’am.”
“No, I’m glad to see a friendly face,” she replied. “My husband always liked you. He had confidence in you.”
“I appreciate that, ma’am.”
Mrs. Lincoln looked around the room. “Don’t trust anyone, Mr. Johnson. Especially not that devil, Edwin Stanton.”
“Don’t worry about that, ma’am. I know how devious Mr. Stanton can be.”
She leaned into him. “No, you don’t. You cannot conceive of what that man is capable. He held us captive, Mr. Johnson, in the White House basement for two and a half years. And on the very night we were released he had my husband murdered.”
“The White House basement?”
“Yes, that devil caged us. He found a man and woman in prison who looked like us and put them in the White House. Could you not tell the difference?”
Johnson had only met Lincoln a few times in his life. They had a nice long conversation before Lincoln appointed him the military governor of Tennessee in March of 1862. The times they met after that Lincoln seemed distant and distracted, but Johnson dismissed the change to the pressures of war.
“Have you told anyone else about this—this allegation?”
“It’s not an allegation. It’s the truth. I dare not say anything or else they will think me mad. But you believe me, don’t you? You will be my defender, won’t you, Mr. Johnson?”
“Mary, where are you, dear?”
Johnson turned to see Thomas Pendel, the White House butler. Pendel was wearing Lincoln’s clothing.
“You must return to your bedroom, my dear. This way, down our private hall. Don’t you remember? Too many people in the house right now. We must have our privacy. We decided to seclude ourselves today, remember?”
Mrs. Lincoln rushed to Pendel, hugging him.
“Of course, darling. You always know best.” She took Pendel’s face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. “I had this terrible dream. We were in the basement, and then at the theater, and then someone shot you. But it was a terrible dream, wasn’t it, Mr. Lincoln?”
“You mustn’t rattle on so, Mary. Mr. Johnson wouldn’t understand.”
She turned and curtsied. “Excuse me, sir. I must do as my dear husband says. I need my rest.”
After she left the room, Pendel walked up to Johnson.
“You must understand, sir. Mrs. Lincoln is in a delicate condition at this moment. I thought if I wore Mr. Lincoln’s clothing, it would give her comfort. The doctors did not want her interrupting the autopsy, you see, and so I thought if I could create the illusion of normalcy….” His voice trailed off as he looked back at the door. “Even Master Tad needed comforting. I stayed by his bedside all last night.”
“So, do you believe her story?” Johnson asked. “About the abduction? Could they have possibly been in the basement for two and a half years?”
“The Lincolns are good people,” Pendel replied. “They have been through enough grief.”
“But do you believe they were in the basement for two and a half years?”
Without answering, Pendel turned abruptly, calling back over his shoulder as he exited, “Mrs. Lincoln needs me now.”
Perplexed, Johnson decided to leave for the Treasury. He had delayed the Cabinet meeting too long. He returned to his carriage and thought about Pendel’s reaction. The butler avoided answering the question directly. Why? Was he afraid for his safety and that of the Lincoln family? Did he not know about the abduction? Or maybe he did know, but could not bring himself to talk about it. Johnson shook his head to clear such swirling thoughts as he entered the room at the Treasury for the Cabinet meeting.
Sitting at the end of the table was Stanton, who showed no intention of moving. Johnson took his seat at the other end. As he looked around the room, he wondered if it had actually just been twenty-four hours ago, that he had been with this exact group of men. Only at that time Abraham Lincoln was alive and in charge of the meeting. General Ulysses Grant had been in attendance but not today. Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Interior John Usher, Treasury Secretary Hugh McColloch, Postmaster General William Dennison, Attorney General James Speed and Interior Secretary James Harlan were all back, staring at him. Johnson supposed they wondered if he were drunk as he had been at the Inaugural.
“I recommend that Chief Clerk of the State Department be appointed temporary Secretary of State since neither Mr. Seward nor his son are capable of the duties at the time,” Stanton said, shuffling through his papers.
Johnson had forgotten. Frederick Seward had been at the previous meeting, substituting for his father. Now he was suffering from stab wounds from the attack from the night before.
“Yes, I think that would be most appropriate,” Johnson said just above a whisper.
“What is most important at this time,” Stanton continued in an imperious tone and showing no desire to relinquish the floor, “is that we have no intention of being intimidated by the forceful yet clumsy attempts of the former Confederate government to alter our plans of Reconstruction.”
“That is not your responsibility to make any statement of the kind,” Welles replied. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Speed? As the leading Constitutional scholar around this table, don’t you agree that any statements must come from the President?”
The Attorney General cleared his throat. “Of course, Mr. Welles. Mr. Johnson is now head of state. We all—at least many of us—attended the swearing in of President Johnson in his hotel room no more than an hour ago.”
“I don’t know if Mr. Johnson is informed enough to make any statements at this time,” Stanton said, removing his glasses and ceremoniously wiping them with a handkerchief.
“Whether he is informed adequately or not is not the point,” Welles stressed. “He is the President.”
“Yes, I am.” Johnson finally found his voice. “And I have no intention of changing the policy of Mr. Lincoln. He said many times we should treat the Confederate States gently, and I see no reason to change that approach.”
“Of course, being from a Confederate state, you would be expected to say that,” Stanton said.
“That is quite enough, sir!” Welles replied in a huff.
“Thank you, Mr. Welles,” Johnson interrupted in his best diplomatic tone. “I am quite capable of defending myself. I am beginning to feel this is an inopportune time to conduct this meeting. Emotions are riding high. I believe the best action at this time is for us all to concentrate on our specific constitutionally defined jobs.”
“Well said, Mr. President,” Speed agreed.
After he adjourned the meeting, Johnson gently took Welles by the elbow to pull him into a far corner of the room away from the other Cabinet members who were mumbling among themselves near the door. They watched as Stanton quickly gathered together papers in his leather case and strode out of the room. The cluster of Cabinet members standing by the door parted to let him exit in silence.
“He seems distracted.” Johnson chose his words with care.
“Hell, he’s the same son of a bitch he’s always been,” Welles replied.
Johnson wondered if this were a good time to mention Mrs. Lincoln’s allegations about lookalikes in the White House. Had Welles noticed any difference in the behavior of the president during the last two and a half years? Perhaps he should not broach such a fantastic subject right now. After all, only yesterday Welles had observed Johnson’s own irrational, drunken behavior.
Welles put his arm around Johnson’s shoulder and turned him away from the other men.
“Take my advice,” he whispered. “Fire Stanton while you can.”

David, Wallis and the Mercenary Chapter Ninety-Four

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Previously: Mercenary Leon meets MI6 spies David, the Prince of Wales and socialite Wallis Spencer. David becomes king then abdicates to marry Wallis. He becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Sidney becomes a mercenary. David hires him as his valet. Sidney begins affair with another mercenary Aline. He learns Aline killed his father.
Spring of 1943 passed without much disturbance in the Bahamas. Since modest pay raises had been given the construction workers, no more riots had occurred. The Windsors traveled to the United States as often as possible. Of course, they always had a good reason—one time they attended a session of Congress where Winston Churchill spoke. They were delighted to receive more applause than the prime minister. The Duchess continued her charitable work with the servicemen, and the Duke tried to negotiate with the American government to allow impoverished natives to go work in the states. Sidney continued his assignations with Aline.
Of course, he loathed her and in his mind contrived ways to murder her. But he was a man in his late teen-age years. He often thought of how much his life had changed since he was sixteen and had to deal with the death of his parents, killing three men to save his own life and joining a mysterious illegal organization. He may have been only nineteen but his hormones were at their full capacity, and Aline was so available, so willing. He used to sleep with her awhile after intercourse, but now as soon as they had finished Sidney slipped from the bed and went back to his quarters in the Governor’s Palace. He had not noticed nor did he care if she had observed the change.
One steamy night in early July as Sidney put his clothes on, Aline spoke in a business-like tone as she lit a cigarette.
“The organization has decided it is time for you to carry out a new assignment.”
Sidney concentrated on buttoning his shirt. “What is it?”
“They have decided Harry no longer has any use,” she said, “in fact, he has become a dangerous liability.”
“Who told you? Merigny?”
Aline narrowed her eyes. “You’re not to know such things.”
He sat on the bed to lace up his shoes. “I wasn’t supposed to know about Harry, but you told me anyway. You told me Merigny was being groomed to take his place.”
“Did I?” She rubbed out her cigarette in the ash tray even though she had only spoked half of it. “I’m slipping. I’ve told you too much.”
Sidney stood and smiled. “That’s because you love me.”
Aline sat up in bed. “I do not.” She paused as though trying to think of a good argument. “I think you are pretty to look at. And you’re young and virile. A good release for all my tensions. But I don’t love you.”
“Anything you say.” He shook his head. “I don’t care either way. So. Do you have any plans regarding Harry?”
“In three days Harry is flying to Washington and won’t say why he’s going or who he’s going to see,” Aline explained. “He can’t get on that plane. The night before he leaves he’s having a few people over to his house for dinner, Harold Christie, Charles Hubbard and Mrs. Effie Heanage. The couple use Harry as a cover for their affair. They should leave the party early. Then would be a good time to act. The organization wants you to leave several clues, each bizarre and leading to different people so the authorities will be totally confused.”
“It’s not difficult to confuse Bahamian officials.” Sidney turned for the door.
“Don’t I get a good-night kiss?”
“No,” he replied. “I don’t see how one kiss could relieve tension all by itself.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
Sidney was out the door without answering.
The next morning he asked the Duke and Duchess at breakfast if he could have most of the day off.
“I haven’t been home to Eleuthera lately and I wanted to see if Jimbo and Gertie need anything.”
“Of course, you may.” The Duchess smiled. “You must really bring them to meet us someday. Don’t you agree, David?”
The Duke had his head in the newspaper. Sidney knew he hadn’t heard a word.
“Huh?”
“It’s all right if Sidney visits his home on Eleuthera today, isn’t it?”
“Of course, it is.”
Sidney went to his room to change into his native clothes and rushed down to the pier, hoping Jinglepockets hadn’t left for the day. He hadn’t.
“I haven’t seen you for a while,” the old man said.
“No, how are you going?”
“I am well. Do you have any troubles you don’t want to talk about?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll close my mouth.”
At the dock on Eleuthera Sidney handed him a couple of coins and told him to wait. With that Sidney walked straight down the path to his house, ignoring the neighbors’ greetings along the way. He arrived at the wooden gate and twisted the knob. It was locked. Good. Jimbo remembered his orders always to keep the gate locked. In the courtyard Jimbo was tending the garden. When he saw Sidney he smiled.
“Jinglepockets and me, we go fishing this afternoon,” Jimbo said.
“Are you learning the business?”
“Yes, Sidney. I learn real good.”
Sidney walked inside the house where Gertie ran to him and gave him a big hug. “Mr. Sidney, good to see you. Can you stay for lunch?”
“No, Gertie. I just came for a few things. In fact, if anyone asks you, I wasn’t here today.”
She nodded her head. “No, Mr. Sidney. No see you today, Mr. Sidney.”
Sidney wished she wouldn’t call him that, but Gertie was a stubborn woman and insisted on showing her respect. He just smiled and went upstairs to his room. Opening his closet he pulled out his father’s black pants, shirt and cap. He found his father’s old cigarette lighter and pocketed it. Every rich Nassau home had not only netting over the beds but also a spray can of insecticide on the bedside table. He pulled a large box filled with various weapons of murder, ranging from revolvers, knives, poisons and an item he had lifted from Harry’s house when he accompanied the Duke there one time, a miner’s pick. The pick was a souvenir from Harry’s mining days in Canada. He placed the items in a duffle bag, locked his door and trotted downstairs. Gertie waved from the kitchen door and Jimbo hugged him as he went out the gate.
When he returned to the dock he waved at Jinglepockets who began to set sail. Not a word was said between them during the trip, but the old man winked at him when Sidney disembarked.
He took back streets to the palace. Passing Aline’s apartment he noticed she had a white carnation in the flower pot. Sidney knew the Duchess would be occupied with Aline for the next hour or two. After Sidney went to his room, he hid the duffel bag in his closet and changed back into his valet uniform. Sidney presented himself to the Duke who read a document at his desk.
“My trip didn’t take as long as I thought,” he said.
“Huh?” The Duke looked up. “Oh, that’s good. I’m sorry for being so distracted. I want your opinion on something. You always seem to see things clearly.”
“Anything I can do to help.” Sidney bowed.
“The prime minister has asked me to go to Bermuda to govern there.” He paused. “I don’t like the idea. I think my family is trying to hide us in an even smaller place than the Bahamas.” He looked at his valet. “No offense meant.”
“It’s the truth. The Bahamas are a very small place. Opportunities are limited for my people.”
“We’ve grown quite fond of you. If we go to Bermuda, we’d like you to go with us. What do you think about that?”
“Whatever your Highness wishes.”
“No, I want to know what you think. This is your home. Even though your family is deceased, your memories of them are still here. And you are quite young. Considering all that, what do you say?”
Sidney had to admit to himself, the Duke made sense. Eventually the organization would want him to follow them wherever they go, but for right now, he preferred home.
“I think staying here would be best, at least until I am older, your Majesty.”
“Good. I think so too.”
On the night of Harry’s dinner party, clouds filled the sky, threatening to release a thunderstorm. Sidney guess the storm would arrive around midnight. He darted through the streets from shadow to shadow in his black clothing, holding his bag of weapons close to his body. By the time Sidney arrived, Harry stood on his front porch waving good-bye to Charles Hubbard and Mrs. Effie Heanage as they entered their car. Sidney knew dinner was over.
He had a cursory knowledge of the layout of the house from the time he was hired to be a servant at the welcome party for the Windsors three years ago. Sidney remembered the location of the smoking lounge where Harry and Harold adjourned to after dinner. Because the July night was steamy hot, all the windows were open. Sidney slipped through one in the dark hallway leading to the lounge. The door was open to allow a breeze to circulate. From the shadows of the heavy curtains he watched the men play Chinese checkers, all the while guzzling glasses of whisky. Sidney noticed the two men were already in their cups, knocking checker tiles all over the place. No true game could actually be played.
The servants, one by one, entered to announce they had finished their duties and were leaving. Harry barely had control of his head so he couldn’t give a proper nod, but he was able to slur an order for them to turn off all the lights. After the last one had left, the two men stood, leaving the checker board a mess and walked down the dark hall to their adjoining bedrooms. Sidney noticed Harold was as unsteady in his gait as Harry. Harold gave his friend a clumsy hug and entered his room. Harry entered the next door down. Sidney knew he must be careful and silent. Harold might hear something.
The hour of murder had arrived.

Booth’s Revenge Chapter Nineteen

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Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer. Booth and Herold join across the river in Maryland.Booth remembers Dr. Mudd lives nearby. Stanton takes over at the Peterson house.
Andrew Johnson, who lay in his bed at the Kirkwood Hotel, was having a nightmare. A group of dirty, long-haired bearded men grinned, revealing mouths with scattered brown teeth. Off to the side were the girls from Greeneville who laughed at him.
“You think you’re smart enough to be president? You can’t even read or write!”
“You’re just a smelly old boy in ragged clothes, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
“You’re a drunk!”
“You’re poor as snot!”
His nostrils flared with the stench of cow shit and hog piss. Johnson looked around and found his body mired in a mud bog slowly sinking. He tried to scream but nothing came out. Mud crept in around the corners of his mouth. All he heard was laughter.
Johnson’s body shook violently until he awoke shouting, “No!” Looking around he realized he was in the Kirkwood Hotel in Washington City. His body was drenched in sweat. He sighed, realizing it had been a nightmare. He was not still in the pig sty in Tennessee but was the Vice-President of the United States. How long would he suffer from those dreams? How can a man with such horrible visions in his sleep become President of the United States? Perhaps when his wife Eliza joined him in the White House, she would give him confidence.
Struggling, he went to the washstand to splash water on his face. He observed himself in the mirror and remembered how Stanton reacted when he arrived at the boarding house to see President Lincoln. Stanton looked as though he had seen a ghost. His gut told him that Stanton had expected him to be dead.
The words “They said” swirled in Johnson’s mind, remembering what the assassin muttered at his door earlier in the evening. Was Stanton the one who masterminded the shooting of Lincoln and the stabbing of Seward? Johnson could not prove anything, but he was sure Stanton was capable of everything. A knock at the door stirred him from his thoughts.
“We have most solemn news, Mr. Johnson,” Preston King called out.
“Please let us in,” James Lane added.
After Johnson opened the door, King put his hand on his shoulder. “President Lincoln died at 7:22 this morning.”
“You look like a mess,” Lane blurted. “Of course, it’s understandable, considering the situation.”
“I only look this bad on nights the President has been shot and killed.” Johnson shut the door.
King laughed and slapped Johnson on the back. “You always have a joke for any occasion, Mr. Vice-President—I mean, Mr. President—I mean…”
“Stop being a jackass, King,” Lane interjected. He took a note from his pocket and handed it to Johnson. “This is from the Cabinet. Mr. Chase will be here at 10 a.m. to swear you in as president.”
“Do you have another suit of clothing, sir?” King said, going to the armoire in the corner. “We want you to look your best when the Chief Justice arrives.”
“Yes,” Johnson replied, running his hands through his hair. “I should change clothes.” What should one wear on such a tragic occasion, Johnson wondered, considering the wrinkled possibilities stored in the armoire.
“Smile!” Lane ordered suddenly.
Frowning while he considered telling the Kansas senator that was a damned fool thing to say, Johnson reluctantly turned the corners of his mouth up.
“No, I mean show me your teeth,” Lane corrected himself.
Johnson was not any more pleased with this order as the previous one. No one had talked to him like this since he was a child. He swallowed his pride and pulled back his lips to expose his teeth.
“Hmph, you better brush them,” Lane insisted.
“Oh, yes, this is much better,” King said, pulling a black suit from the armoire. “I believe this is the one you wore to the inauguration, isn’t it?”
“You’re not planning on dressing me, are you?” Johnson’s patience wore thin. “I don’t get naked in front of nobody.”
“Of course, not, Mr. Vice-President,” King replied with a guffaw. “What were we thinking? We only have your best interests at heart, I assure you.”
“We’ll leave,” Lane said, “but don’t forget to brush those teeth.”
‘Gentlemen, I am completely in control of myself. This is indeed a stressful time, but I think I am up to the challenge.”
“Of course, you are, Mr. Vice-President.”
“Oh,” Lane mumbled, pulling a small bottle of whiskey out of his pocket, “this is for you, to settle your nerves. Mr. Stanton thought….”
“We thought you might need it,” King interrupted, patting Lane on the shoulder.
Johnson’s eyes widened. “Mr. Stanton? Did he send you over here?”
“The Cabinet as a whole made the decision, sir,” King replied, taking the bottle from Lane and extending it to Johnson. “Here, this will do you good.”
He did not take the bottle. “But you talked directly to Mr. Stanton. All this was his idea, wasn’t it?”
“If you want to get technical, yes, it was Mr. Stanton,” Lane conceded, “but I’m sure he was speaking for the entire Cabinet. We all are concerned for your wellbeing, Mr. Johnson.”
“Please take it, sir.” King pushed the bottle closer to him.
“I appreciate your concern,” Johnson replied, accepting the whiskey from King. He pulled out his pocket watch. “Mr. Chase will be here soon, gentlemen, and I must prepare myself.” He pushed them toward the door.
“Yes sir, we want you to present yourself in the best way possible,” King said.
Opening the door, Johnson extended his hand to the exit. King and Lane bowed and walked into the hall. “Please report back to Mr. Stanton that I am doing well. Will you do that for me?”
Both men blinked, and their smiles faded a moment.
“Of course, sir.”
Anything you say, sir.”
After closing the door, Johnson cursed under his breath. “Damn Stanton. He’s out to get me. He’d love to see me repeat my drunken stupor of Inauguration Day. But it isn’t going to happen. Not to me. Not twice.”
As he angrily considered how Stanton was setting him up, a sudden thought that the whiskey might be poisoned flickered across his mind. “Stanton is insidious,” he mumbled to himself as he strode straight the window, opened it and threw the offending bottle of booze onto the street. “Damn fools. I thought King and Lane were smarter than that.”
Johnson quickly changed his clothing and followed Lane’s advice, brushing his teeth vigorously.

David, Wallis and the Mercenary Chapter Ninety-Three

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Previously: Mercenary Leon meets MI6 spies David, the Prince of Wales and socialite Wallis Spencer. David becomes king then abdicates to marry Wallis. He becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Sidney becomes a mercenary. David hires him as his valet. Sidney begins affair with another mercenary Aline.
One bright December morning, the Duchess called for Sidney who was helping the Duke select what he wanted to wear to his meeting with the Bay Street Boys. Sidney knew the Duke didn’t need his help picking out a suit but instead wanted his impressions about the social and economic unrest in Nassau.
“My people are simple,” Sidney said. “They haven’t any concept of wealth and what that might bring. All they want is full bellies, a warm bed, clothes with no holes in them and, in the case of the camp people north of town, all they want is a real house which will keep out the rain. Will paying enough money to provide those things reduce the lifestyle of the Bay Street Boys? Well, the answer is up to you.”
The Duke tied the knot in his tie and looked at his valet with his squinty eye. “How did you get so smart?”
Sidney smiled. “My father was a very smart man. He stayed quiet and watched the people around him. He read newspapers, and he read newspapers to me.”
The Duke cocked his head. “Wallis is calling you. You better go.” He stuck his arm out to block Sidney’s path. “But first, I want to thank you. I wish my father had been as smart as yours.”
Sidney found the Duchess in the breakfast room.
“I know this is very abrupt but I’d appreciate it very much if you could throw a few things into your bag and accompany me to Miami. I’m doing my Christmas shopping, and I’ll need your help.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“The boat leaves at noon. I hope that won’t rush you too much. Of course it won’t. Men can pack faster than women.”
By mid-afternoon, she lounged in a deck chair while Sidney stood by her side, awaiting orders.
“Oh, do sit down. I’ll get a crick in my neck if I have to look up at you.”
After he positioned himself in the chair next to hers, he took out a notepad and pencil to take notes.
“The Duke and I feel it is very important to give proper gifts to our staff at Christmas. That keeps them loyal, if you get my point. This year we also have the Red Cross Volunteers, soldiers in the hospitals and the camp people north of Nassau and that’s where you come in. What would be appreciated by the butler would be totally useless to a homeless boy, as I’m sure you’d agree.”
“Yes, madame.”
“So, you have the pad and pencil. Write what you think they need.”
“Blankets, pillows, new clothing—nothing fancy, basic pullover shirts and pants tied with string at the top. Bandanas to wipe the sweat from their brows. Sandals. Raincoats and hats. Food that doesn’t rot overnight.”
“And for the children?” she asked.
“Dolls for the girls, and don’t make them too fancy or else their mothers won’t let them play with them. And balls so the boys can play rugby.”
“Any toy guns?” she added.
“No. We don’t want to teach them to shoot at people. They will learn that soon enough in real life.”
The Duchess settled back in her lounge chair and closed her eyes. “You are such a comfort, Sidney. Your parents must have been wonderful people. They taught you the right thing to say and to do at the right time.” She paused. “I wish I knew how to do that.”
The next couple of days was a whirl of shopping activities. Press photographers followed the Duchess of Windsor as she went from store to store. Sidney was careful to keep his face hidden behind stacks of packages. He didn’t think the organization would want his picture plastered in newspapers around the world.
By the evening of the third day, they returned from Miami with all packages being delivered to the Governor’s Palace by dock workers. After dinner, Sidney made sure the Duke and Duchess were settled into their suite for the night, and then slipped out of the palace grounds on the short walk to Aline’s apartment. When he arrived, the pot with the dead plant was by the door. He tapped.
“Is that you, Sidney?” Aline called out.
“Uh hum.”
Something must be wrong. She’s never said my name loud enough for anyone else to hear.
Opening the door, she pulled him in, slammed it shut and wrapped her arms around him. Aline kissed him over and over on the lips, his cheeks and neck.
“I’ve been so worried,” she murmured. “I didn’t know where you were. I knew the Duchess was going to Miami but I didn’t know if you went with her. I didn’t see you in any of the pictures in the paper. I didn’t dare go to the Palace, even when Harry wanted me to take notes of his meeting with the Duke. My biggest worry was that someone from the organization might have killed you.”
He held her at arm’s length by the shoulders. “Slow down. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating.” Sidney tilted his head. “I thought the organization was pleased with my work.”
Aline’s eyes widened. A frightened smile crossed her lips. “It is. But mistakes happen. People get jealous.” She rushed back into his arms. “You’re so young but I’ve grown to depend on you so much.”
“You better fix us drinks.”
“Of course.” She turned to the nightstand where she kept her scotch and glasses. “Have a seat on the bed.” Her hands shook as she poured the drinks and extended one to him. “To us.”
Aline gulped hers down while Sidney just held his and watched her.
“Something happened to scare you,” he said. “What is it?”
“You being gone so long. That’s all.”
Sidney put his drink down and began to take off his shirt. “It’s more than that.”
Setting her drink aside, Aline leaned in to him and whispered, “I love you. I’ve had sex with many men but I actually love you.”
I wonder how many times she’s said that before?
Her shaking hand went to her mouth. “I think I’m going crazy.”
“Hell, we’re all crazy.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. My mother had to become a whore but she was never an actual member of this organization. Harry’s been a member for years but he’s too stupid to go crazy.”
“So you want out?” Sidney tried not to sound cynical but he couldn’t help but believe she was trying to find out if he was working for both sides.
“Haven’t you ever wanted out?”
“No.”
“How about your father?”
“Let’s not talk about him.” Sidney leaned into her and kissed her. His hands deftly loosened her robe. She wore no nightgown.
After they made love Sidney rolled over and went to sleep, feeling slightly dissatisfied. Her desperate eagerness made him distrust her even more. As he drifted into a deep slumber, he heard her speak.
Oh God, I hope she doesn’t want to spill her guts again.
He rolled over to see her eyes were closed tight, her brow knit in anxiety and her shoulders twitched.
“I want out, Harry” she mumbled in her sleep.
Sidney deliberated a moment then took on Harry’s voice. “Why do you want out?”
“Ashamed.”
“Why?” Sidney continued.
“Killed Leon.”
Sidney’s body burned with rage.
“Why?” He was careful to control his voice.
“Mistake. You got orders wrong.”
Sidney wanted to take his pillow and suffocate her right then, but his instincts told him it was the wrong time, the wrong place.
“Help me, Harry,” she continued.
“Why?” Sidney asked.
“I’m in love.”
“Which one, the Duke or Duchess?” he pressed.
She grunted in derision. “Stupid old people.”
“Sidney,” Aline whispered. “I love Sidney.”
His stomach turned. He tasted acrid bile in his mouth.

Booth’s Revenge Chapter Eighteen

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Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer. Booth and Herold join across the river in Maryland.Booth remembers Dr. Mudd lives nearby.
Stanton stood and walked to the door and opened it. In the early morning hours of Saturday, April 15, noise subsided at Peterson’s boarding house across the street from Ford’s Theater. Soldiers sat on the stairs and leaned against the walls, waiting for the inevitable announcement that Abraham Lincoln was dead. Edwin Stanton was deep in thought when a commotion erupted outside the back parlor door.
“I demand to speak to the man in charge!” a voice called out urgently in a thick German accent.
“Secretary Stanton is very busy at this time,” Captain Eckert said in a muted tone.
“But this is mein house!”
Stanton barged through the bedroom door to glare at the man. “What’s going on here?”
“This is mein house!”
“So you are the proprietor of this boarding house. What’s the problem?” Stanton asked, staring without expression at the disheveled man.
“That boy did not have the right to let you come in here. This is mein house!”
“What boy is he talking about, Eckert?”
“Henry Stafford,” the captain replied. “He’s the one who waved us over from Ford’s Theater.”
“Now there is blood all over mein floors!”
“Exactly what is your name?” Stanton demanded. “You don’t sound like an American, if I may say so.”
“I am Wilhelm Pedersen, I mean, William Petersen, und I am an American citizen. I have owned this house since 1845, und I know the Constitution. You cannot billet a soldier in a private home without permission of the owner!”
“This is not a soldier but the President of the United States.”
“The President is commander-in-chief of all armed forces, und that makes him a soldier!” Petersen insisted.
“The President of the United States is in that bedroom,” Stanton stated, pointing across the hall, “fighting for his life. If you continue to make a commotion, it will further deteriorate his condition. If he dies you could be charged as an accessory to his assassination.”
Petersen’s mouth fell open. “But his blood is on mein floor.”
“And who did you vote for in the last election?” Stanton asked, stepping forward.
Cursing in German, Petersen turned away and stomped upstairs. Stanton heard him go up to the third floor and slam a door.
“Very well handled, Mr. Secretary.”
Stanton turned to see two men, one short and the other tall. He knew they were U.S. senators but at the moment could not recall their names.
“I’ve always admired your way of handling people,” the short man continued. “My friend, Sen. James Lane, and I felt we must pay our condolences as it were.”
Is the president still among us, to phrase it delicately?” Sen. Lane leaned in and smiled.
“The president is not expected to survive the night, Sen. Lane,” Stanton said, taking a step back to avoid the stench of onions and beer on the senator’s breath.
The short man extended his hand. “I am Sen. Preston King of New York. Surely you remember me. I have been one of the president’s biggest supporters.”
“You’re no bigger a supporter of the president than any other Republican,” Lane replied in a raspy voice. “If you’re a Republican, you support Abraham Lincoln. That’s all there is to it.”
Stanton began to tap his foot. “We appreciate your support, gentlemen. I do not want to risk the health of two of our most important senators so I would understand if you wished to return to your quarters–”
“Oh, I am not a senator anymore as of last fall,” King said. “Since then I have been available to serve my country in any capacity. In fact, the president had considered me as collector of customs in New York. I do not know if Mr. Lincoln had mentioned his intentions in this matter…”
“For God’s sake, King, this is not the time to hunt for a job,” Lane interrupted. “Mr. Secretary, do you happen to know if Vice-President Johnson is here?”
“Mr. Johnson visited earlier but returned to the Kirkwood to rest,” Stanton replied. He removed his glasses, rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. “I think it would be best if you two gentlemen did the same…”
“Vice-President Johnson and I are very close friends,” Lane said pushing his point.
“I’m sure you are.” Stanton put his glasses back on and looked around for Captain Eckert.
“May we see the President?” King asked, taking another step closer to Stanton. “Perhaps if he knew his friends were nearby it would give him strength to rally.”
“The room is too small for visitors. Gentlemen, I must insist…”
The front door opened, and Lincoln’s 20-year-old son Robert entered. Stanton observed his stooped shoulders. His large brown eyes were red and puffy.
King turned and extended his arms. “My poor young man…”
“He’s here to see his mother.” Stanton took Robert’s arm and led him to the front parlor door. “She’s in here,” he whispered to him.
Robert tapped on the door and opened it.
“Mother?”
“What is he doing here?” Mrs. Lincoln screeched.
“They said you wanted to see me,” Robert whispered, transfixed in the doorway.
“I want to see my baby boy! I want Taddie!”
Robert backed out and shut the door. Stanton put his arm around his shoulder and felt his body shaking. He guided him down the hall. “Your father is in the bedroom on the right. I’m sorry about your mother’s outburst. I’m afraid this tragedy has been too much for her.”
After Robert walked away, Stanton covered his mouth with his hand to hide a small smile. Mrs. Lincoln’s erratic behavior would prove to anyone who talked to her that she was insane and her accusations of imprisonment in the White House basement were groundless delusions.
“Oh my dear,” King said, “no one should ever know of Mrs. Lincoln’s madness. How terrible if the public knew…”
“I don’t see how we can keep it a secret,” Lane interrupted. “She’s crazy as a loon.”
“I suppose we should leave,” King said to Stanton. “But remember that if there is anything we can do to help our country at this time of dire tragedy, please remember us.”
“Yes, we are the friends of the new administration—I mean, Mr. Johnson when he becomes president. And you too, of course, Mr. Secretary,” Lane added.
Stanton removed his hand to show his smile. “Yes, gentlemen, I think the two of you will become invaluable in the coming months to save our nation.”

David, Wallis and the Mercenary Chapter Ninety-Two

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Previously: Mercenary Leon meets MI6 spies David, the Prince of Wales and socialite Wallis Spencer. David becomes king then abdicates to marry Wallis. He becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Sidney becomes a mercenary. David hires him as his valet. Sidney hosts a wedding for his friends Jimbo and Gertie.
Sidney walked to the pier and waved at Jinglepockets who was staring at the last rays of the sun. When he looked around, he smiled at his young friend and waved back.
“It’s a little late to be setting out for Nassau, ain’t it?” the old man asked as Sidney jumped aboard.
“I had an invitation to pay a social call this evening.”
“It’s that blonde-headed woman, ain’t it?” Jinglepockets asked. “She was dressed like one of us but she ain’t one of us for damn sure.”
“You’re right.” Sidney’s voice was serene as he gazed across the bay.
“You better be careful.” Jinglepockets squinted at him.
Sidney didn’t reply and the old man offered no more advice. When they landed in Nassau, Sidney took out two coins. He handed one to Jinglepockets.
“This is for the ride.” He pressed the other coin firmly into the old man’s palm. “And this is for your advice.”
As he walked away, he took out the note and followed the directions to her apartment. She was right. The neighbors were discreet. He knocked at the door.
When Aline answered she was wearing a red satin bathrobe and was combing out her hair. She let him in.
“You took longer than I thought.”
“Some of the guests stayed longer than I thought.” He took off his hat and coat and threw them on the sofa.
Aline stopped in her bedroom door, still combing her hair. “I didn’t tell you to get comfortable.”
“It was a long boat trip.” He removed his tie. “Very tiring.”
Putting down her comb on her vanity, she flipped off the lights. Torches that lit the courtyard cast a soft light through the window.
“In that case you must lie down.”
As Sidney removed his shirt and slacks, Aline let her bathrobe drop to the floor. She wore nothing but the glow from the window. Aline walked to him and put her arms around him.
“God, I must be a Bolshevik too,” she murmured as she kissed him.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s what my mother said to your father when they made love.”
Sidney lifted her and placed her in the bed and slid in beside her. “Did she tell you everything?”
“Of course she did. She was a prostitute. She didn’t have anything else to talk about.”
Without warning, Sidney pulled hard on the back of her hair. “No, the first woman my father made love to was born a Romanov and married a Ribbentrop. She made love to him for saving her life.” He stared into her eyes. “You see, my father did tell me everything. Never lie to me again.”
The next morning they both arose early because each of them had jobs to attend to. All Aline had to offer for breakfast was hot coffee and cold Danish.
“Thank you for the lovely evening.” Aline carefully applied her makeup and lipstick. “We must do this again, but Harry keeps me on a busy schedule.” She turned to look at him. “Let this be our code. Whenever a pot of dead flowers is by the door, you are welcome to enter.”
“Like the pot in front of my father’s house.”
She shrugged. “That was Pooka’s idea. Otherwise, stay away. It will be the prudent thing to do.”
Sidney nodded. His father taught him all about prudence. At first he wanted to kiss her, but decided he didn’t want a smudge of her red lipstick on his face.
“By the way,” Aline whispered, “I will never lie to you again.”
He didn’t reply, but walked out.
A few minutes later he was in his room at the Governor’s Palace changing into his valet’s uniform. Sidney found the Duke and Duchess breakfasting in the garden. They both looked to be in good spirits.
“Sidney!” Wallis exclaimed. “We weren’t expecting you back today! I’ve been to weddings where I wasn’t out of bed for days!”
He tried to hide a smirk since he had just come from Aline’s bed.
“I’m glad you’re here though.” The Duke finished swallowing a bite of poached egg. “I’m going out to the construction site for the two new RAF fields and I need you to take mental notes on what Harry Oakes and Harold Christie say.” He turned to appraise Sidney. “You seem to be good at that sort of thing.”
That was something else my father had instilled in me. Stay quiet. Listen. Remember.
Sidney turned to bow to the Duchess. “Will you be joining us today, Your Highness?”
I know she’s not supposed to be addressed by that title but it pleases her so much when I do.
“Oh, no, Sidney. I have a previous engagement.”
On the ride south of Nassau to the two airfield sites, Sidney wondered if Aline would be there. After all, she was Harry’s personal assistant. He wondered if it would be proper for them to exchange greetings, but decided such an exchange would be indiscreet.
When they arrived at the first site, Harry and Harold were waiting for them. They both wore big grins.
“Good to see you, Eddie,” Harry said as he pumped his hand.
A shiver went down Sidney’s spine. He knew he should remain silent, but Harry’s breech of protocol was beyond the pall.
“Excuse me, sir,” Sidney interrupted in a soft but firm voice. “No one ever refers to his highness in such a familiar manner. On first greeting it is Your Royal Highness and thereafter Your Highness.”
The Duke chuckled. “He is, of course, correct. We must observe our customs, shouldn’t we?”
Christie laughed but Harry was left speechless.
The Duke looked around. “Your personal assistant isn’t here. I thought you might want her to take notes.”
“Aww, she said she had a previous engagement. Whatever the hell that means.”
Upon their return to the Governor’s Palace, the Duke asked Sidney to go to the post office to see if his cigarettes from London had arrived.
“I smoked too many while enduring Harry’s prattle—by the way, did he say anything important?”
“Only that the fields are due for completion in late summer, Your Highness,” Sidney replied.
On the way back with the large bundle of cigarettes Sidney could not resist walking by Aline’s apartment. Outside her door was a vase of white carnations. When the Duchess returned that afternoon Sidney saw she wore a broad smile and a light blue summer suit with a white carnation in the lapel.
Summer passed into fall, and Sidney enjoyed his night visits with Aline when the pot with the dead flower was by the door. He knew it wasn’t love like his parents shared, but it was fun and he liked it.
One evening in late October he ambled by her door only to see red roses in the vase. He knew she had other lovers. They evidently proved useful for promoting her career. Sidney had just returned to the palace and went to check on the Duke in his office. He wasn’t there.
As Sidney went down the hall to his room he saw the Duke enter. He smiled at his valet.
“A lovely evening, isn’t it? The nice thing about living in the Bahamas is that I can go for a walk without a crowd around me. Quite refreshing.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Sidney noticed a red rose in his lapel.
By Christmas he was used to the routine he and the Windsors had arranged. The Duchess preferred morning trysts while the Duke preferred evenings. Sidney felt safe if the couple had a special evening arranged for visitors and his services would not be required.
As the Duke said, Sidney was very observant.

Booth’s Revenge Chapter Seventeen

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Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer. Booth and Herold join across the river in Maryland.
Through the trees, Booth saw the two-story frame house with a wide porch. He could not bear the pain to get down off the horse.
John Lloyd, the Surratt tavern keeper, walked out with an unsteady gait to greet them.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Lloyd shouted.
“He’s drunk,” Booth whispered as he leaned over to Herold. “Go inside and get the guns Mrs. Surratt has left for us. Get the things as quickly as possible.”
“Would you like a shot of whiskey?” Lloyd asked.
“Oh yes,” Herold replied.
“No,” Booth corrected his partner. He winced at the throbbing and changed his mind. “Get a bottle to take with us. But hurry.”
In a few minutes, Herold and Lloyd came out of the tavern. Herold strapped the carbines, ammunition and field glasses, wrapped in brown paper, on the back of the roan. He then put the bottle of whiskey in the saddlebag. Finally he mounted the bay mare.
“He’ll tell you some news if you want to hear it,” Herold said as he tried to steady his horse.
“I’m not particular. You can tell me if you think it proper,” Lloyd replied.
“I assassinated the president,” Booth said.
“And we may have killed Secretary Seward too,” Herold bragged.
“May have?” Lloyd asked with a snort. After a pause, he slapped his beefy hand against his head. “You mean this is what all these shenanigans are about?”
“We stabbed him a lot,” Herold replied. “We don’t know for sure if he died. We didn’t stay around that long to find out.”
“You got me roped into a murder plot? Dammit! Well, keep my name out of it. And you better pay me for the whiskey too!”
Herold pulled out a coin and tossed it to the tavern keeper.
“Now get the hell out of here. And remember, you don’t even know my name. Get it?” Lloyd hissed as he caught the coin in mid-air. He turned back to the tavern.
Another hot spasm shot up Booth’s leg. “We must get to a doctor somewhere.”
“I don’t know of any around here. Last doctor I knew died last winter.” Lloyd shouted over his shoulder before he entered the house and slammed the door.
“You said all these people were going to treat us like heroes,” Herold said.
“He’s a drunk. Drunks don’t count. We’ve got to find a doctor.”
As they turned their horses south on the road through Charles County, Booth found the pain to be unbearable. The exhilaration of the evening had ebbed away. He prided himself on his ability to endure pain. Once he took a pocketknife and cut a cyst out of his neck in the dressing room right before a performance. He ignored the anguish and went on stage, remembering all his lines and performing all his acrobatic stunts. But this time he could not disregard the suffering. He needed medical help.
After a few more miles, Booth began to recognize the landscape. They passed through Bryantown and a mile down was St. Mary’s Catholic Church. He attended mass there back in December while on a search for some real estate. Someone told him Dr. Samuel Mudd had several acres that he might be willing to sell. After mass, Booth introduced himself on the church lawn. He could tell by the doctor’s manner that Mudd found him charismatic.
“So what do you say?” Booth remembered saying with a smile. “How much for a few acres?”
“Oh, land’s way too cheap now that the damn Yankees ended slavery,” Mudd told him, “so I’m not selling to anybody right now.”
“Well, I’m also looking for a horse.”
“Don’t have any,” Mudd replied. He motioned to a large burly man who was just walking down the church steps. “There’s my neighbor. He’s always looking to sell a horse.”
The doctor introduced them and told his neighbor Booth wanted to buy a horse.
“Oh yeah, I got a nice little brown saddle horse that would be perfect for you. Good price too.” The big man paused to look Booth over. “You ain’t a damned Yankee, are you? You talk like a damn Yankee.”
“Hell, no. I’m a Confederate through and through,” Booth replied. “I’m an actor. That’s why I talk the way I do.”
“That’s good, ‘cause I hate those damn Yankees.”
“Who with any common sense doesn’t hate Yankees?” Booth practiced his charm with a light laugh.
The man looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I send stuff across the Potomac all the time. You know, contraband.”
“God bless you, sir.”
“If you don’t mind,” Mudd interrupted, “my wife is waiting in the carriage. I’m sure you two gentlemen can conclude your business without me.”
After Mudd walked away, the man leaned into Booth and whispered, “Sam’s a good man but he ain’t got the guts to be a good rebel.”
“I see,” Booth replied, nodding. “But, evidently, you do.”
“Damn right. I wait until dark of the moon, then I row my boat down at Nanjemoy Creek, across the Potomac and land at Matthias Point in Virginia.”
“Very interesting,” Booth said, stroking his square jaw. “Very valuable information.”
Later in December, Booth walked down a Washington street when he saw Mudd staring into a shop window. He called out to him. As he approached the doctor, Booth noticed a slight frown cross the doctor’s face before he smiled and extended his hand.
“What a pleasant surprise, Dr. Mudd,” Booth said, unctuously.
“Yes, I’m in town for some Christmas shopping for my wife. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you again, but I don’t want to take up any more of your valuable time—“
“Do you know John Surratt?” he interrupted.
“Yes, I do. Why do you ask?
‘I’m still interested in buying some land, and the Surratts are known for being major landholders.” Booth failed to mention that Surratt was part of the Confederate underground.
“His mother’s boardinghouse is just a few blocks over from here,” Mudd said. “Let me give you directions so I can be on my way, if you don’t mind.”
“That would be kind of you, sir.” Booth looked over Mudd’s shoulder down the street and saw two well-dressed young men walking toward them. “If I’m not mistaken, isn’t that Mr. Surratt behind you?”
Mudd turned to look, blanched a moment then smiled wanly. “Yes, it is. He looks as though he is on his way to an appointment. Perhaps we shouldn’t interrupt.”
“I think you overstate his demeanor,” Booth replied with an insistence in his tone. “Please introduce us.”
As the two young men came closer, Mudd called out to Surratt who smiled and approached them with his hand outstretched. “Dr. Mudd, what a pleasant surprise.” He glanced at Booth. “And who is this? Please introduce us.” Upon hearing Booth’s name, Surratt beamed. “This is also a pleasure. I think we share many friends.”
Booth detected an emphasis on the word friends and nodded in agreement. Surratt was known among Southern sympathizers in Washington as a man well acquainted with the Richmond countryside, valuable knowledge for anyone who considered kidnapping the president and holding him in the rebel capital.
“And let me introduce my long-time friend Louis Weichmann. We went to school together and now he lives at my mother’s boarding house.”
As Booth shook Weichmann’s hand he noticed the unusual stripes on his blue trousers. “Those pants you wear, Mr. Weichmann, look like a uniform.”
“As they should,” Weichmann replied with a smile. “I work at the war department for William Hoffman, the Commissary General of Prisoners.”
Booth stiffened. “Oh, I didn’t realize we were in the presence of one of President Lincoln’s minions.”
“Hardly a minion, sir,” Weichmann said with a laugh. “I take my salary from the Union government but my sympathies are entirely with the South. I have no doubt the Confederacy will flourish—“
“You might want to be careful with your words, young man,” Mudd warned, his eyes darting about the street. “You don’t know who might be passing by, picking up words here and there.”
“Then we must continue our conversation at my hotel,” Booth offered. “I serve only the best whisky.”
“That sounds grand, don’t you think, Louis?” Surratt asked.
“Mighty grand,” Weichmann replied.
“Then I suggest you young people enjoy each other’s company,” Mudd interjected. “I must be on my way.”
As the rain slackened on the Bryantown road Booth looked for the sign to Mudd’s house. Within a few moments, he saw it: “Samuel Mudd, M.D.” After they reached the house, Booth hesitated, remembering Mudd’s eagerness to distance himself from Booth, Surratt and Weichmann on the Washington street at Christmas. Perhaps he would not be so pleased to see him again. Booth tapped Herold on the shoulder.
“I’ll wait here while you go to the door. Don’t tell him who I am.” Booth paused. “Tell him I fell off my horse and hurt my leg.”
He watched as Herold banged on the door until the doctor opened it, hurriedly pulling a coat over his shoulders. Herold pointed at him, and Mudd motioned to him to come in. As Booth hobbled toward the door, he kept his head down. As much as he thought he would be welcomed as the hero who shot and killed the tyrant Abraham Lincoln, Booth was not entirely certain, not even with Dr. Mudd.

David, Wallis and the Mercenary Chapter Ninety-One

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Previously: Mercenary Leon meets MI6 spies David, the Prince of Wales and socialite Wallis Spencer. David becomes king then abdicates to marry Wallis. He becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Sidney becomes a mercenary. David hires him as his valet. Sidney hires Jimbo and his fiancee Gertie to live in his house.
Sidney took his time putting on his new white linen suit he bought especially for the wedding of Jimbo and Gertie. The memories of his father in his white linen suit were among his fondest.
Oh hell, all my memories of my father were wonderful. I can only hope to live up to what he taught me.
Sidney looked in his bedroom mirror. Everything fit perfectly. Glancing at his watch he noticed it was time for him to knock on the bedroom door of Jimbo and Gertie. They decided they wanted Sidney to walk both of them down the dusty lane to the church.
Jimbo looked good in his white slacks and white shirt open at the collar. Gertie wore a pleated white skirt and a white blouse which hung off her shoulders.
Sidney liked Gertie. She was broad in the hips and had an ample bosom. Her smile could brighten anyone’s day, but if that person crossed her she could call on all the demons in hell to rain down torment upon them. She had planned to spend days scrubbing the house so it would make Sidney proud at the wedding party, but Sidney gave some money to hire neighborhood women to help her clean and to cook the wedding feast. When she protested she could do it all by herself, he told her it was a good way to get on the good side of the people who live close to her.
As they walked down the road local residents of Eleuthera tossed flowers at them. Sidney doffed his hat and nodded. Gertie picked up her favorite ones to form her bouquet. The crowd at the church door applauded as Gertie and Jimbo entered. Their camp friends from the hills north of Nassau filled the seats. Sidney had paid Jinglepockets to recruit as many fishing boat captains to transport them.
The Duke and Duchess not only gave Sidney several days off for the wedding, they also offered to attend. With a humble bow, Sidney declined, saying he wanted all the attention to be on Gertie. They both nodded in approval.
As soon as the bride, groom and host entered the church, all their friends stood, some wiping their noses on their soiled sleeves, but all done with the best of intentions to show respect. No one seemed to have remembered to bring instruments to serenade the couple. Out of nowhere a rhythmic patting on the wooden pews and an a capella aire floated to the rafters. Sidney observed the faces of Jimbo and Gertie as they let the music flow over them, and felt warm inside. They were, indeed, his family now.
The minister offered a few appropriate words and pronounced them husband and wife. As they marched out of the church, the crowd broke out in applause and huzzahs which matched the improvised music in lilting spirituality.
Sidney followed the crowd up the lane. He paused only a moment when he noticed a familiar face in the masses.
Aline stood there. She pulled her hair back and tied a scarf around her head. She wore a ragged blouse, dirty skirt and sandals, the same as she wore when she surveyed Sidney’s carnage at the hacienda.
The crowd pushed him along toward the gate to his courtyard. Once he was inside he saw Gertie standing on the step to the front door with Jimbo by her side. When the crowd heard her bellowing voice, it become still and obedient.
“Welcome to the hacienda to celebrate our wedding. Please honor the founder of the feast, Mr. Sidney Johnson!” She pointed to him standing by the gate.
Sidney enjoyed taking a bow. Gertie spoke up again to quell the crowd.
“Me and Jimbo are from the hills above Nassau so our camp friends are invited indoors, but do not despair. The same food will be served in the courtyard as inside.” She paused and turned serious. “Now this is Mr. Johnson’s home, and I won’t abide anyone messing up this courtyard. And my friends have a double warning. Not one drop of food on that nice furniture. And if I catch one person on that staircase I will not only kick you out of this house, I will kick you out of my life and you will become my enemy. Do you understand?”
The crowd was stunned into silence. Sidney himself was shocked until he realized she was using the exact words he had used with Jimbo who repeated them to her. He raised his eyebrows. She took her orders literally.
“I said do you understand?” Her voice took on the authority of God.
“Yes ma’am,” Jimbo mumbled.
She turned and slapped her new husband on the shoulder.
“Not you.” She pointed out. “I’m talking to them.”
A rippling sound went through the crowd.
“Yes ma’am. Yes ma’am.”
From a mumble it grew to a full-throated affirmation.
“Good.” Gertie smiled. “Now we understand each other, let’s have a party!”
Out islanders pushed past Sidney until he found himself alone. When he looked around he saw Aline still standing across the lane. She walked up to him.
“What are you doing here?” Sidney asked in disapproval.
“Do you mind?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“This wedding is the worst kept secret in Nassau,” she replied. “I think it’s a terribly nice thing for you to do for your friends.”
“I needed security for my house now that I work for the Duke. What better way than to have a couple living here.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Aline smiled. “The organization is pleased you are working in the governor’s palace. What better way to protect him?”
Sidney looked around. “Let’s walk down to the beach.”
When they were far away from the laughter of the party, Aline told him, “The organization is unhappy with Harry. He’s stupid, loud and makes too many mistakes.”
“So what is that to me?”
The organization has chosen Alfred de Merigny to lead the Bahamian operation.”
“I thought Harold Christie was Harry’s partner.”
Aline shook her head. “That’s their real estate business. You have to think bigger when it come to the organization.”
“Oh.”
“De Merigny shows up a lot at the palace, doesn’t he?”
Sidney looked out across the ocean. “I’ve seen him there.”
“You still don’t trust me, do you?”
Sidney detected a crack in her voice which threw him off balance, so he didn’t respond at all.
“And you don’t like me.” Aline made her remark as a statement rather than a question.
“I thought the organization liked it better that way.”
She stepped in close. “I knew your father.”
“At the casino, I know.”
“Your father liked me.”
“I don’t want to know this.”
“You know my father.”
“I don’t care.”
“Harry Oakes is my father.” She breathed out in exasperation. “I hate him.”
“I still don’t care.” Sidney looked around at his house. “I should make myself seen at the party.”
Aline’s voice dripped with sadness. “I don’t blame you.” She turned toward the hacienda. “I’m so lonely.” Reaching into a pocket of her ragged skirt, she pulled out a note and slipped it into a pocket of Sidney’s linen jacket. “I have a lovely secluded apartment near the governor’s palace. The neighbors are very discreet.”
All the guests had left the party as the sun went down. Gertie was busy helping the hired women clean up. She had not quite caught on to the concept of being a boss yet. Jimbo took out bags of garbage. Sidney motioned them over.
“You two should be alone tonight,” Sidney said. “Jinglepockets is waiting for me at the pier.”
Jimbo shook his hand. “Thank you, my friend.”
“Did you see the blonde lingering outside the gate?” Sidney asked.
Jimbo shook his head.
“She wasn’t a guest, was she?” Gertie’s eyes narrowed.
Sidney’s hand went into his jacket pocket to caress the note. “If she ever comes here when I’m not around, don’t let her in.”

Booth’s Revenge Chapter Sixteen

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Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape.Stanton goes to Seward’s house when he hears of the stabbing. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer.
Rain pelted Booth’s back as he rode his bay mare quickly and boldly down Tenth Street away from Ford’s Theater. Few people were out in Washington City at this hour. They did not know the tyrant had been struck down. Booth’s mind raced with details of the day. Invigorated by his success, he was still unaware of the pain in his broken leg. He wondered if David Herold would have the sense to meet him on the other side of the Navy Yard Bridge over the East Branch of the Potomac River, commonly known as the Anacostia. Herold should be there soon. His family lived in a small house on the other side of the Navy Yard, considered to be the worst neighborhood in city. A bad place to be caught alone after dark. Booth arrived at the bridge sentry post.
“Stop,” the guard said.
In his mind, Booth composed a scenario that he was a gentleman of leisure on a late night ride to his home in the country. The sentry was only doing his job, and one must not be too concerned with the obligations of the working class.
The guard walked up, held up a lantern and squinted through the raindrops at Booth. “Where are you going, sir?”
“I’m going home, down in Charles County.”
“Where in Charles County?”
“I don’t live in any town. I live close to Beantown.”
“Beantown? Never heard of that.”
“Good God, man, then you never went down there.”
“Do you know it’s illegal to cross the bridge after 9 p.m.?”
“What time is it now?” Booth asked.
Fumbling with his pocket watch, the sentry held it close to the lantern. “It’s 11:40, a good two hours past the curfew. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of the curfew.”
“No, I haven’t been in town for some time so it’s new to me.”
“Why are you out so late?”
“It’s a dark road, and I thought if I waited a spell the rain would let up and the moon would shine through parted clouds. Well, when the rain persisted, I decided I would have to muddle through.” Booth watched the sentry look up in the sky where the moon ought to be on a clear night at this time, just clearing the tree line.
“I’ll pass you but I don’t know as I ought to.”
“Hell, I guess there’ll be no trouble about that.”
Booth rode about a mile after crossing the bridge and stopped to wait for Herold. Only a few moments passed until he saw a rider hunched over his horse coming down the road. Only David Herold slumped over his horse like that. Booth was relieved to see him. When Herold pulled up, Booth saw he was astride a roan. He always rode that particular horse. It was gentle and easy to control. Their other friends teased Herold about riding a woman’s horse, but it was his favorite and he was unconcerned about their joshing. Booth was relieved to see him, though he could tell Herold was nervous. He had an uncharacteristic twitch as he sat in the saddle.
“Davey, what took you so long?”
“I didn’t think that guard was going to let me through, Mr. Booth. Did you know it’s illegal to cross the bridge after 9:00? I didn’t know that. He asked me why I was out so late, and I had to make up something real fast. I don’t usually think that fast, but a story popped in my head that was sure to stop him cold in his tracks. I told him I couldn’t very well get there any sooner because I visited a Capitol Hill whorehouse and it took me a while before I could get off.” Herold paused to laugh. “Bet he never heard an excuse like that before, because he let me on through.”
“Did Paine kill Seward?” Booth interrupted. “Is the man dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“When Tommy came out he was all upset and screaming, ‘I’m mad!’ ‘I’m mad!’ It took me a while to calm him down. Tommy was covered in blood. He said he had to stab a lot of people to get to the old man. A leather brace was around his neck.”
“Who had something around his neck, Davey?” Booth could not abide by Herold’s babbling.
“Seward. He had something around his neck.”
“That’s right,” Booth muttered. “I read in the newspaper he had been in a carriage accident and injured his neck. Why didn’t Paine stab the chest?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Mr. Booth. I didn’t go inside with him. Tommy said he stabbed and stabbed but didn’t know if he killed the old man or not. He said there was a lot of blood everywhere.”
“Damn.”
“I couldn’t control him. He was pushing me away, trying to run down the street. He wouldn’t get on his horse. I had to let it go. Tommy ran off in the dark. I could still hear his voice. He really sounded crazy.”
By now, Booth began to feel throbbing pain in his leg. “Let’s move along. People will start looking for us soon.” He nudged his bay mare, which began a slow trot down the road.
“Looking for us? How will they know to look for us?” Herold asked as he followed.
“Everyone saw me leap to the stage, Davey. They know who I am.”
“But how will they know about me, Mr. Booth? I’m just a helper in a pharmacy. Nobody knows me.”
“They will know who all of us are by tomorrow morning.” Booth told Herold how he had written a note and handed it to an erstwhile friend John Matthews, another actor at Ford’s Theater.
“Why would you give him a note? I didn’t think you liked him.”
Booth did not like Matthews after he was unable to convince him to join their plot to kidnap Lincoln. He remembered that Matthews even had the gall to talk back to him one time when he was pontificating against equal rights for Negroes.
“If you pushed a darkey off the sidewalk and he pushed back, you could not shoot him,” Booth said, fuming.
“Then don’t push any darkeys,” Matthews replied.
After that incident, Booth decided Matthews was a coward and unfit to live. His opinion of the man sunk even lower when Matthews gave him a bottle of whiskey as a sign of reconciliation. Booth accepted the gift and even visited Matthews at his boardinghouse around the corner from Ford’s Theater. He stretched out on the actor’s bed and promised to come see his next performance. Then he handed him the note to turn in to the National Intelligencer, a city newspaper openly hostile to Lincoln.
“What was in the note?” Herold’s voice quaked.
“It’s a statement of our allegiance to the South. I said many will blame us but posterity, we are sure, will justify us. And I signed it, “Men who love their country better than gold or life.”
“We, you said?”
“Yes, I signed it John W. Booth, Paine, Herold and Atzerodt.”
“Oh my God, everyone will know.”
“And will bless us for it.”
“Mr. Booth, I just went to my house on the other side of the Navy Yard to say good-bye. My sisters hugged me, but Mama wouldn’t even look at me. My God, Mr. Booth, what have we done?”
Booth winced with each jog of the horse. “Once we get into the countryside you will feel differently. They will welcome us as heroes. Everyone in the South hates Lincoln. They will praise me for killing him.”
“I don’t know. Mama looked awful disappointed in me. She—she always said I was her favorite. I was the only boy out of a family of eight girls. I had two brothers but they died young. She and my sisters always protected me. Maybe I should go back home and beg Mama to forgive me. She’ll take care of me. Would it make you too angry if I went to Mama’s house, Mr. Booth?”
He pulled up on the bridle and looked back at Herold. “I picked every man for this special mission. Do you know why I chose you?”
“Because I know about medicine?”
“Yes, Davey, you know medicine. The time I had the knot on my neck and cut it out, you brought the medicine.” He patted his swollen leg. “I broke my leg in the leap to the stage tonight. I need you to get me the right medicine, Davey. I also chose you because you said you used to hunt in the woods of southern Maryland. You know the way to the Potomac so we can cross into Virginia. So why would I want my guide to leave me before we get to the river?”
“But I’m so scared, Mr. Booth. I need Mama.”
“Do you know why I gave that note to John Matthews, Davey? Out of all the people I know in Washington City, do you know why I chose him?”
“No, sir, Mr. Booth.”
“Because when he delivers that note to the newspaper, everyone will think he was in on our plot, and he will hang. Nobody refuses to do what I want them to do. Do you understand that, Davey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My leg is killing me. Switch horses. That roan is gentler. Then get me to a doctor.”
“Mr. Booth, sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir, but didn’t you say we had to drop by Mrs. Surratt’s tavern first, to pick up some things?”
“Of course we have to go to the tavern first, Davey,” he replied, trying to sound impatient with Herold’s incompetency through the increasing pain. “I thought you would have known that. Also, I told you those things were two carbines, shells and my field glasses.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get off that horse.”
Booth dismounted his bay mare with difficulty and slid onto the roan as smoothly as possible. He still grunted in agony. The bay mare reared as Herold got on him, and it took him a few minutes to get it under control.
They rode silently in the rain as Booth thought of what Herold had said about his family. He said he was his mother’s favorite. Booth was his mother’s favorite also among her ten children. Four of them died of cholera. When the attractive and winsome John came along, his mother Mary Ann protected him from the hard realities of life. Despite his mother’s adoration, Booth grew up to realize he would never be a great actor, like his father Junius or even as good as his brothers Junius Jr. and Edwin. Instead, he vowed to become the most beloved actor in the South, and he achieved his goal. All the belles giggled and fluttered their fans flirtatiously when he strode into the theater. They would appreciate him even more now, Booth smiled to himself through his pain.
Along the way, he took up the political views of the South, which did not set well with his brothers. His father, out of avowed principle, never owned slaves but still rented them from his neighbors.
Booth’s father died when the boy was fourteen, passing the family theatrical legacy to his children. The brothers often acted together, but Junius Junior and Edwin were ardent abolitionists, surpassing their father’s position. When the family gathered for dinner Booth kept his opinions to himself out of respect for his mother. Political fights always ruined conviviality around the table.
“What do you think your ma will think when she hears you shot the President?” Herold broke into Booth’s reverie.
“My mother will know I did what was necessary for my Country.” He did not care what his brothers, the misguided ideologues, thought. His sister Asia, however, was devoted to him. He knew she would defend him. His mother and sister always knew he was someone special. No matter what he did, he would be special in their eyes.