Abe Lincoln at Last!: A Merlin Mission (5 page)

through a tunnel,
         down through blackness,
               into a world of daylight.

CHAPTER SIX
Trust the Magic

C
louds hid the sun. Jack and Annie sat in a clump of dead weeds beside a dirt road in the countryside. A chilly wind blew the creaky limbs of bare trees.

“You okay?” asked Annie.

“I think so,” said Jack. “Where are we?”

“Looks like we’re somewhere in the country,” said Annie.

“No kidding, but where? Why?” said Jack.

“Wait, wait,” said Annie. “Mr. Nicolay said if the president had a free moment, he’d take a ride
in the country. I’ll bet we’ve come to a spot where we can catch Abraham Lincoln on his ride! Alone!”

“Oh, wow … cool,” said Jack.

“Look!” said Annie. “Someone’s coming this way now! On a horse!”

A slim figure on a horse was coming down the dirt road. Jack and Annie jumped to their feet. When the rider on the bony white horse got closer, Jack sighed. “It’s not the president,” he said. “It’s just some kid on an old horse.”

“Maybe this kid is supposed to help us somehow,” said Annie. “Remember,
trust the magic.
”

Jack nodded, but he couldn’t imagine the boy would be much help. He looked to be ten or maybe eleven years old. His matted black hair stuck out from under a coonskin cap. His thin face was dirty, and his buckskin pants and moccasins were stained and torn. A frayed burlap sack hung from his shoulder.

Annie stepped into the road and waved. “Hello!” she called.

The boy pulled the old horse to a halt. He took off his cap and bowed his head. Then he put his cap back on and looked at them with tired gray eyes. “How do?” he said without a smile.

“We do good,” said Annie. “We’re wondering if you can help us. We’re looking for Abraham Lincoln. Does he ride his horse around here? Have you ever seen him?”

The boy’s eyes brightened. “You’re looking for Abraham Lincoln?” he asked.

“Yes, we are,” said Jack.

“Why?” the boy asked.

“Um … well, we just want to say hi to him,” said Jack. “Do you know if he goes riding in this area?”

The boy nodded. “He does,” he said. “In fact, he is in this area as we speak.”

“Really?” said Annie. She smiled at Jack, as if to say,
See! The magic’s working!

Jack couldn’t help smiling back. “So, can you tell us where we can find him?” he asked the boy.

“Yes,” said the boy, nodding. “But I think it’s better if I take you to him myself. I just have to grind some corn at the mill first.”

How long will that take?
Jack wondered.
How
long will the president be riding in the countryside?

“Maybe you could just tell us where we could find him,” said Jack. “We don’t have much time.”

“Wait,” said Annie. She whispered to Jack, “We have to trust the magic.”

Jack sighed. He looked back at the boy. “Okay, we’ll go to the mill with you,” he said, “but it would be good if we could hurry, so we don’t miss finding Abraham Lincoln.”

“You won’t miss him. I give you my word,” said the boy. “Come along. The grinder’s around the bend. Giddyup, girl.” He shook his reins, and the old horse started plodding down the road again.

Jack and Annie walked after the slow-moving horse. “Our names are Jack and Annie,” Annie called. “What’s yours?”

“You can call me Sam,” the boy said over his shoulder.

“Okay, Sam,” said Annie. “Thanks for helping us.”

A gust of wind stirred the branches of the trees. The old horse neighed and stopped. “Keep going, girl,” said Sam.

But the horse wouldn’t budge.

“She doesn’t hear well. She gets spooked by the wind,” Sam explained to Jack and Annie.

The lonely sound of the wind spooked Jack, too. Something felt wrong. This weather was different from the weather at the White House.

“Giddyup, girl!” said Sam.

The horse started plodding down the road again. When they rounded the bend, Jack saw a strange-looking machine in a clearing. It had a barrel-like container with a wooden beam attached to it. Metal rods hung from the end of the beam.

“What’s that?” said Jack.

“The grinder,” said Sam. “You ain’t never seen one before?”

“Sure, we have,” said Annie.

No one was tending the grinder or waiting to use it. Sam dropped his sack to the ground and dismounted. He was tall and skinny. His
buckskin pants were too short for him.

“What’s in your bag?” asked Annie.

“Twenty pounds of corn,” Sam said. “Shelled it all by hand.”

“Wow,” said Annie.

Sam poured the corn kernels into a funnel over the barrel. Then he hitched his old horse to leather straps attached to the metal rods.

Jack and Annie stood to the side and watched Sam walk his horse around in a circle. After a while, Jack grew impatient. The corn grinding seemed to be taking forever. Before he could say anything, though, a gust of wind came up and the horse reared.

“Keep moving, girl!” said Sam.

The horse neighed and tossed her head.

“Go on, girl! Giddyup!” said Sam. He slapped her backside. “Giddyup, I said!”

The horse didn’t budge.

“These nice folks are waitin’ on us!” said Sam. He pushed the horse from behind.

The wind picked up, tossing dead leaves into
the air. The horse neighed again, then kicked out with her hind foot. Her hoof hit Sam in the head! His coonskin cap flew off as he fell backward and sprawled across the ground.

“Sam!” cried Annie.

Annie and Jack knelt in the dirt beside the boy.
A trickle of blood ran down the side of his head. His eyes were closed.

“Sam?” said Annie. “Can you hear me?” She wiped the blood with her apron.

Sam didn’t answer or open his eyes.

“Hey, Sam!” Jack said loudly. “Wake up!”

But Sam didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

Jack and Annie looked at each other.

“Is he dead?” whispered Annie.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Sam’s Farm

“I
don’t know,” said Jack. This was one of the worst things that had ever happened. He pressed his finger against Sam’s wrist to feel for his pulse, like he’d seen on TV and in movies.

Sam’s eyes opened. “Giddyup,” he said weakly.

Jack laughed with relief. “Whew, we were afraid you were dead!” he said.

“Ain’t dead yet,” Sam whispered, blinking, “but I am seeing stars and my ears are ringing.”

“Does your head hurt?” asked Annie.

“Yes, bad,” Sam said quietly, his eyes squinting with pain.

“You might have a concussion,” Jack said. “Is there a doctor nearby?”

“Thirty-five …,” said Sam.

“Minutes?” asked Jack.

“Miles,” Sam whispered.

“Whoa, that’s really far,” said Annie.

“I have to go home … to our farm,” said Sam. He struggled to sit up.

“Careful,” said Jack. He couldn’t remember what to do if someone had a concussion.

With Jack and Annie’s help, Sam managed to get on his feet. “Thanks,” the boy said. He staggered toward his horse, then swayed and collapsed onto the ground again.

“Sam!” said Annie. She and Jack gently helped him back up to a standing position.

“Dizzy … just dizzy,” whispered Sam.

“We’ll help you get home,” said Annie. “You can’t do it by yourself. Right, Jack?”

“Right,” said Jack. He knew it was the right thing to do.
But as soon as we get him home to his parents, we have to find Abraham Lincoln
, he thought.

“Sam can sit in front of me and I’ll hold on to him,” Annie said to Jack. “You can take the reins and walk alongside us.”

“Okay.” Jack kept holding Sam, while Annie unhitched the straps, freeing the horse.

The wind had died down. The horse was calm as Annie coaxed her to a tree stump. She climbed onto the stump and then onto the horse’s back.

“Your turn, Sam,” said Jack.

Jack held Sam’s elbow as the gangly boy climbed onto the stump. Then Sam hauled himself onto the horse in front of Annie. He started to slump forward. Before he could slide off, Annie grabbed him and held him up.

“Got him?” said Jack.

“My cornmeal,” Sam whispered.

“I’ll get it,” said Jack. He found a panel in the
bottom of the grinder and opened it. Then he grabbed the empty sack and scooped the ground corn inside.

Jack slung the sack over his shoulder. Then he picked up the reins and turned the horse around. Annie held Sam as Jack led the horse along the lonely road back the way they had come.

This isn’t the way things are supposed to happen
, Jack thought. He knew they were supposed to trust the magic. But now they were helping the person who was supposed to help
them
.

“Where is your farm, Sam?” Jack asked after a while.

The boy didn’t answer.

“Sam!” said Annie, giving him a little shake. “Your farm? Where is it?”

Sam opened his eyes. “Here,” he said.

Jack didn’t see any sign of a farm. The only things up ahead were a small, windowless log cabin and a shed. A curl of smoke rose into the white sky.

“Here
where
?” asked Jack.