Booth’s Revenge Chapter Five

The short man with the red beard scared Gabby Zook.  Gabby was on his way out of the White House basement wearing a long coat and black stovepipe hat with a bullet hole in it.  The young soldier gave him the hat and coat because it was raining, and it was going to be a long walk from the White House to the Armory Square Hospital.  He said the coat and hat belonged to the President of the United States, so Gabby decided he must be the President of the United States.  He did not know for sure.  The last two and a half years had been very confusing.

“Who the hell are you?” the short man bellowed at him as they met in the basement door.

“I’m the president, aren’t I?” Gabby remembered telling the man.

“Get the hell out of here,” the man barked.

More than half an hour had passed since he left the grounds of the White House, but the rough words still haunted him.  That man sounded mean enough to kill someone, Gabby told himself as he put his head down to protect his face from the rain.  He gathered the overcoat around him.

“If I am the president,” Gabby mumbled to himself, “then why was that man talking mean to me?”  He concentrated on his shoes splashing in the mud.  “Maybe he was mean to me because I’m not really the president.  I’m just wearing his hat and coat.”

If only he could remember.  Cordie would tell him what he needed to know.  His sister always took good care of him.  That was right.  He could not be President because he was Cordie’s brother, and not anyone related to Cordie could be President.   Gabby began to recall that he worked at the White House as a janitor.  Cordie had gotten him the job because their uncle Samuel Zook was a general, and she felt the government owed the family something because Uncle Sammy was doing such a fine job.  One day Gabby was setting out rattraps in the basement when this man and the young soldier brought down a very tall man and short woman to the billiards room.  He was behind some boxes setting the traps when the man and soldier caught him.  Because “he knew,” the man with the soldier said, Gabby had to stay in the basement.  Gabby did not know what it was “he knew,” but it must have been something bad.

They kept saying the president was being held captive in the basement.  Gabby was not certain if they were talking about him or the tall man.  The tall man seemed very nice and smart enough to be the President.  At times Gabby was sure this man was the President and the woman was his wife.  Other times Gabby was sure he was president, and the woman was his wife.  He shook his head.  That could not be right.  He would have never married a woman like that.  She was crazy.

Gabby looked up at the street sign.  It was Fifteenth Street.  Sighing, he wished he had paid more attention when Cordie took him places.  He had to find Cordie.  What was it that the young soldier had told him right before he left the basement?  Go to Armory Square Hospital.  But where was Armory Square Hospital?  He must have been walking in the right direction or why else would he have been walking in that direction, Gabby told himself.  Most of the time Gabby listened to his own advice because down deep in his heart Gabby knew he was smart.

He went to West Point, and only the smartest of boys went to school there.  Yes, he remembered his best friend Joe VanderPyle was his classmate.  They were going to be Army officers.  They would have been good Army officers, and then something bad happened.  A colonel told them to drive him in a carriage into town.  Gabby tried to tell the colonel he had never handled a team of horses before, but the colonel insisted his orders be obeyed.  Gabby lost control, and the carriage overturned.  Joe died.  The colonel said it was his fault.  After that, Gabby did not know what was right or wrong or up or down.  The Army confused him, and he wanted to go home to Brooklyn to his sister Cordie.

Cordie did a good job taking care of him through the years until their money ran out, and they had to sell the old house.  She made sure the government gave him a good job.  She volunteered at the hospital and took in sewing at the boarding house where they lived.  Life was good until he got locked into the basement.  The boardinghouse, Gabby repeated.  Maybe that was where Cordie was.  He took a few steps back the other way before stopping abruptly.  No, Cordie was not at the boardinghouse.  Cordie was dead.

The private told him so, just a day or two ago.  But Gabby already knew.  He dreamed it.  He knew he would never see his sister again.  The soldier had brought him a plate of fried eggs for breakfast.  They were Gabby’s favorite.  Now he was not hungry anymore.

“We’re going home on Friday,” the soldier told him.  “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

“Cordie’s dead.  There’s plenty to worry about,” Gabby remembered telling the soldier.  “Uncle Sammy is dead.  Mama is dead.  Papa’s dead.  Joe is dead.  Everybody’s dead except me.”  Then he said to the soldier, “Don’t worry.  I forgive you.”

Gabby thought the soldier appreciated hearing that.  He did not want the young man to feel guilty for keeping him and the couple in the basement for so long.  It was someone else’s fault.  He had not quite figured out whose fault it was, but he was pretty sure it was the man with the private the day he was locked in the basement.  The soldier thought he had been doing the right thing.  Gabby could tell he was a good young man.  Maybe he could help Gabby figure all this out.

Turning back up Fifteenth Street, Gabby began walking to the White House.  He knew it was the young man who told him to go to Armory Square Hospital, but he could not remember why.  Gabby was sure the soldier would not mind explaining everything to him again.  Finally, he reached the White House grounds and trudged up the path to the basement door.  He stopped short.  The mean short man with the red beard was carrying a big bundle out the door.  He dumped it in the back of an open carriage and went back inside.  Gabby edged closer, afraid the man would see him and yell at him again.  Looking in the carriage, he saw it was a body.  As he leaned in, Gabby lifted a corner of the blanket covering the body.  He gasped.  It was the private.

The soldier’s eyes were wide open and blank.  Blood covered his mouth.  Gabby carefully put his hand under the private’s head.  When he pulled it out he saw more blood.  He held his hand out and let the rain wash it clean.

“My God,” he mumbled.  “That mean man killed him.”  His lip quivered.  “Now I really am alone.  Even the soldier is dead.”  Gabby looked at the door.  “And if I stay here I’ll be dead.  That mean man will shoot me too.”

Gabby scurried down the muddy path to Fifteenth Street and then broke out in a full run through the rain.  Not even a full block away he tripped over his own feet and fell face first into a muddy puddle, his hat flying off.  He stood and without pausing to wipe his face, Gabby started running again, his arms flailing against the raindrops as he reached for the hat.  He could not help but moan in terror as he scrambled along.  Nothing looked familiar to him.  His feet slipped on a wet rock and he fell into another quagmire.  He tried to lift himself up but fell again.

“You would think the police would do something about the drunks on the streets.”

Gabby looked up to see two men walk by, glaring at him from under their wide umbrellas.  His hands reached toward them.

“Help me!”  He stood and stumbled in the direction of the two men who quickened their pace.

“I will send a telegram tomorrow!” one of the men said in a growl.  “This is totally unacceptable!”

“No, please.  I need help.”  Gabby heard the tone of his voice.  He sounded crazy.  The two men disappeared in the darkness.  Realizing his hat was missing again, he went back for it.  Bending over, Gabby gasped for air.  He had to calm himself down.  Cordie was not here anymore to take care of him.  He had to take care of himself.  Before he put the hat on his head, Gabby turned his face to the dark angry sky.  As the rain washed his face clean, Gabby told himself to keep thinking about Cordie and surely something would come to him.  Cordie never let him down.  Yes, Cordie worked at the hospital.  Armory Square Hospital, the private had told him.  All he had to do was find Armory Square Hospital.

Walking down Fifteenth Street again, Gabby realized he had to act as if he were in control of himself.  People would not talk to anyone on the street they thought was crazy.  He straightened the stovepipe hat on his head and brushed the overcoat to make it look presentable.  Gabby approached an older man walking by himself.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said in as possessed a voice as he could muster, “could you please point me in the direction of the hospital?”

“What hospital?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gabby’s mouth gaped as he forgot the name of the hospital.  “Ahh….”

“There are plenty of hospitals around here.”

“The one with the soldiers,” Gabby replied weakly.

“They all have soldiers,” the man said with an aggravated grunt and walked away.

Gabby scampered after him with his arm outstretched, “No, please, I need help.”  He stopped and after a moment began to cry.

A man and woman walked past, but Gabby did not try to hide his tears.  He heard the woman stop and turn.

“That poor man is crying,” she said softly.

“Can’t you tell he’s mad,” the man replied with a hiss.  “He’s obviously stark raving mad.  Stark raving madmen on the street in the rain can be very dangerous.”

“I knew you were a coward when you paid to avoid the draft,” she said sharply.  “This poor man needs help.”

“No,” the man insisted, pulling on the woman’s arm.  “He’s dangerous, I tell you.”

“I won’t hurt anybody,” Gabby said, wiping the tears from his eyes.  “I just want to know where the hospital with the soldiers is.”

“All the hospitals have soldiers,” the man retorted.

“John, please.”  The woman pulled away and walked to Gabby.  “Now, calm down so I can help you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.  My sister Cordie used to work at one of the hospitals.  She’s dead now, but she said the woman there was real nice and would help us if we ever needed it.”

“Do you remember the woman’s name?” the woman asked gently.

“No…” Gabby’s voice trailed off.

“I am wet and I am hungry.”  The man patted his foot in a puddle.

“Dick Livermore,” the woman mumbled, “that’s who I should have married.  He is a real man.  Fought in the war.  Decorated for bravery.  No, I had to choose you—“

“Dick, that’s the name,” Gabby interrupted impulsively.  “I remember now.  Dick somebody.  No, not Dick, Dicks, or something like that.”

The woman focused on Gabby.  “Dorothea Dix?”

“Yes, that’s it.”  Gabby jumped a little with joy.  “Miss Dix.  That’s what Cordie called her.  Do you know her?”

“Everybody knows about Dorothea Dix,” she said with a smile.

“What hospital is she at?”

“Armory Square Hospital.”

“That’s right.  That’s what the private said.  Armory Square Hospital.  Sometimes I get so upset I forget things.”

“For God’s sake can we go now?” the man growled.

“But I don’t know where Armory Square Hospital is,” Gabby said nervously.

“This is Fifteenth Street,” the woman said slowly.  “See the sign?  Fifteenth Street.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Keep going down Fifteenth Street.  You’ll cross a big iron bridge across the slough at the Mall.  Then turn left on Independence Avenue and go past the Smithsonian Museum.  It’s the big red stone building.  Keep going until you see the hospital.  There are signs outside of it.  Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Tell me back what I said to you,” she said sweetly.

“Oh for God’s sake,” the man hissed.  “If you don’t come with me right now I’m going without you.”

“You better go, ma’am,” Gabby said.  “I don’t want you to miss your dinner.”

“Are you sure?”

“Elizabeth!”

“He sounds mad.  You better go.”

She patted his shoulder and hurried away with her husband.  Gabby kept repeating the instructions in his head.  He did not want to forget them.  He had to find Miss Dix.  She would know what to do.  He ducked his head down and walked toward the Mall.  Go across the iron bridge….

Suddenly Gabby was aware of the street filling with people running the other way on Fifteenth Street.  The low buzzing of the crowd became louder until it was a roar.  He stopped a man by the arm.

“Excuse me, sir, but what’s going on?”

“The President has been shot at Ford’s Theater.”  He pulled away and continued running back up the street.

Gabby felt the soaked coat he was wearing.  The private said it was the president’s coat.  He was wearing the coat, but he knew he had not been shot.  Maybe they were talking about the other man, the one who had been in the basement with Gabby for two and a half years.  That man had been held captive for two and a half years and within hours of walking free, he was shot.  That was not fair, Gabby told himself.  Life could not be that unfair.  His heart pounded in his chest.  Gabby gave in to his emotions and started running with the crowd to Ford’s Theater.

After only about a block Gabby stopped.  He remembered he needed to find Dorothea Dix.  She would know what to do to help him.  That poor man who was shot did not need his help now.  Turning again down the street Gabby focused on the street signs to make sure he was going in the right direction.  Out of the darkness loomed the large iron footbridge across the Mall slough.  He knew he was on the right track.  Next find Independence Avenue and turn left.  No matter what those people in the Army Gabby knew he was smart.  He could follow orders.  The Smithsonian Institution was on his right.  Gabby kept going.  Finally he saw the sign:  Armory Square Hospital.

After he walked inside, Gabby felt awkward.  The walls were whitewashed and pristine.  The wooden floors were swept and mopped.  He, on the other hand, dripped rainwater and mud.  The nurses bending over the beds were in crisp clean dresses.  Even the wounded soldiers looked freshly bathed.  He did not belong there, Gabby told himself.  He would make the soldiers sick.  Gabby meekly stepped back, about ready to leave the hospital, when a nurse looked over to see him.  Even though she smiled, Gabby wanted to leave.

“Sir?  May I help you?  Please don’t leave.”  She was a tall woman with broad shoulders and big hands.  “Are you here to see someone?  Are you ill?”

She had a sweet face so Gabby stopped, his hand on the doorknob.  Behind the first nurse came a second, this one almost as old as Cordie with pepper gray hair pulled back in a bun.  He stepped toward them and tried to brush the raindrops from his coat.

“Oh, my dear man, you are soaked to the bone,” the first nurse said with concern and took the stovepipe hat from his head, pulling the drenched coat from his back.  She turned to put them in a closet.

The second nurse put her hand to his forehead and muttered, “No fever.  You must get out of those clothes.  We have a nightgown for you.  There’s a changing room in the back.”

“I—I need to see Miss Dix, Dorothea Dix,” Gabby said, as loudly as he could without sounding ungrateful for all the attention he was receiving.  “The private told me Dorothea Dix could help me.”

“Of course, of course,” the second nurse murmured as she ran her fingered over his head, straightening his hair.  “All in due time.  But first you must get out of these wet clothes and into a nice warm bed.”

“Cordie, she said Miss Dix was a good person….”

“And what is going on here?”

Gabby looked up when he heard the shrill, high-pitched voice.  He flinched as his eyes beheld a short, thin woman dressed in black with her hair pulled back in such a severe bun that Gabby was sure it gave her a headache.

“This poor soul says he wants to see you, Miss Dix,” the first nurse said.

Miss Dix, Gabby thought.  This woman looked too scary to help anyone.  He felt the urge to run out the door into the rain, even without his overcoat.  The women firmly held his arms so he could not escape.

“What do you want?  Who are you?” Miss Dix asked impatiently.

“Cordie said you were a good person.  She said you could help me.  But you don’t have to.  I think I’m in the way here, so I’ll just leave—“

“Cordie?” Miss Dix interrupted him.  “Do you mean Cordie Zook?”

“Yes, ma’am.  She was my sister, but she’s dead now.”

“Yes, I know.  She was a dear soul.  You must be Gabby.  She talked about you all the time,” Miss Dix said, her voice softening.

“Cordie always took care of me.  Now she’s dead, and I’m all alone.  I don’t have anybody to take care of me anymore.”

A gentle smile crossed her thin little face.  “Poor man.  Don’t worry a bit.  We will to take care of you now.”  She extended her arms and enveloped him.  “You won’t be alone again.  I promise.”

Dorothea Dix was bony, unlike Cordie who was soft and plump.  Gabby decided she would suffice, and gave her a hug.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

He burst into tears.

 

 

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