Assassin (11 page)

Edwin walked back and forth, words rolling from his mouth. “Once he paid a hearse to carry a bunch of dead pigeons to a cemetery, where he had them buried. He even tried to pay a minister to do a service. The man is mad, and we who are of his blood are likely to follow after him.”

“He is kindhearted,” I protested. “You know how he won’t allow us to kill even an insect.” I looked at Asia for support, but she shook her head.

“I am afraid Edwin is right about Father,” she said. “June told Mother stories of strange actions too. I sometimes hid from sight and listened.”

Our brother June, whose real name is Junius Brutus Booth the second, is seventeen years older than I am. He traveled with Father when I was very young. I could not
believe that Asia, who usually told me everything, had kept a secret from me for so long.

“You did not tell me,” I said, and miserable, I moved away from them to stand beside the window and stare out at the sycamore tree.

“I did not wish to worry you,” she said.

“There is no denying Rosalie has an odd turn,” I said. Our sister, just younger than June, had never made friends and stayed home, mostly in her room. “And even Joseph suffers from long periods of melancholia. Are we all destined for insanity?” Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“See what you have caused, Edwin!” Asia came to me and touched my arm. “We are fine, Johnny. There is no sign of Father’s pain in the three of us.” She waved her hand to include Edwin. “Don’t fret. You are like Father, but not in that way. You have his fire, the spirit that draws people to you, but you do not have his demons.” She hugged me. “I am sure of that.”

We were young then, I around twelve, Asia three years older, and Edwin two years older than she. Sitting in Zeke’s hansom cab, I wondered if Asia would still argue that I do not have Father’s malady. Oh, yes, I think she would, even if she knew my plan.

Edwin thinks me mad. He said as much when last I saw him. I had gone to his home to visit Mother, thinking Edwin was touring. He was there, though, and he followed me to the door when I left. After I said good-bye to
Mother, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

“Wilkes,” he said, “I ran into John Ford at a party a few nights ago. He told me you were spewing political nonsense all over Washington City.”

I had started down the steps, but I whirled back. For one moment I considered hitting Edwin, knocking him down the steps, but I remembered our mother was in the house. I took a deep breath and pushed my rage down inside. “I’ve never made an effort to hide my views from John Ford or anyone else.”

“Mark my words,” said Edwin, and he actually shook his finger at me. “You can go too far with your Southern nonsense, even if you are a Booth. How would it make you feel if John Ford decided not to let you appear in his theater?”

I shoved my hands into my pocket to keep from using them on my brother. “What do I care for appearing in Ford’s theater or any other playhouse?” I gritted my teeth and then went on. “Listen to me, Edwin. I intend to live in history! Do you understand me, brother?”

Edwin leaned back against the door. “You are mad, Wilkes! I truly believe you are mad!”

I stormed down the steps, and without looking back, I walked away from Edwin. I wondered at the words I had thrown at him about living in history. At the time, I did not even understand them myself, but now I do. I love my
brother, and I would like to be able to include him in my plan, but I cannot. Alas, he would try to stop me, would even turn me, his own brother, over to the authorities. And he dares to call me mad!

Therein lies the end of the tale of the Booth brothers. No, wait, there is one more thing, and it’s a stranger story than could ever be invented by a playwright for the stage. My brother Edwin saved the despicable Lincoln from losing his oldest son. It happened this way. Edwin, like Robert Lincoln, endeavored to buy a ticket at a crowded train station, New York or New Jersey, I believe. People pressed forward, and Lincoln’s son was pushed up against a train that began to move. Robert Lincoln fell between the platform and the car, in danger of being crushed by the wheels of the moving train.

Quick as lightning, Edwin reached down and pulled the young man free. Robert Lincoln recognized Edwin and said something like, “Thank you, Mr. Booth.” Soon the story was all over Washington City, young Lincoln being saved by the famous Edwin Booth. After my plan is carried out, whenever the rescue story is told, they will leave off Edwin’s name, saying merely, “saved by the brother of John Wilkes Booth.”

Oh, I’ve little doubt I would have done the same. The son cannot be blamed because his father is a tyrant. Yet it bothered me, knowing how glad Edwin was to have done something for Lincoln.

“Forget Edwin,” I said aloud. “Think only of the
plan.” Edwin could not call me mad if he knew how easily the whole thing had come to me.

When the carriage stopped in front of my hotel, I climbed down and began to pay Zeke. It was then that I started to shake. “You’re dreadful cold, Mr. Booth,” said Zeke. I did not tell him that it was excitement rather than the February cold that made me shake.

Far too keyed up to go to my room, I began to walk the streets of Washington City, dressed in my evening clothes. I laughed when people looked at me, wondering why I was dressed so. I found myself at the White House. I stood staring up at the second-floor balcony, and suddenly he was there. My heart beat loudly, so loudly that I thought if anyone were near me, he would surely hear.

It was a sign from God! Surely seeing the man standing there just at the moment when I looked up was a sign that my plan was as brilliant as I believed it to be. I put my hand over my heart to still it, and I gazed up at the devil of a man, shocked that there were no horns upon his head. Would the fools who support him change their minds if his evil were visible in such a way? Would my brother Edwin, for instance, say, “You know, Wilkes, there may be something to what you say about the fellow. I’ve noticed he has horns.” But alas, there were no horns.

Not everyone can see him as he really is, but I do. I am the chosen one of God! I will take him, kidnap the man, ride with him to the South, and demand the release of those men who sit, cold and desolate, in prisons in the
North. One president for 35,000 men, an excellent idea! The idea of a genius!

The president did not even notice me, only looked over me just as he looks over all of humanity, unfeeling. “You will notice me, Mr. Lincoln!” I said under my breath. “You will notice me.”

I walked on, oblivious to the cold, thinking, thinking! Money . . . money was needed. I was shorter of funds than usual. No matter, I had stock! Being part owner of oil fields in Pennsylvania would save the day for me and for the South.

I went back to my hotel, quickly changed my clothing, and headed for the brokerage house to sell my stock. “I need funds,” I explained to the broker, “an investment much closer to my heart.”

He nodded his understanding. “The theater, then, is it, financing a play, are you?”

“I am,” I told him, and I did not lie. Did not Shakespeare say, “All the world’s a stage, and all men and women merely players.”

Yes, yes! That is exactly what Shakespeare said. My father lived his entire life playing roles created by Shakespeare. I have followed after him. At seventeen, I had the role of Richmond, young and heroic. I can remember that first echo of the trumpet, feel again the reverberation of the drum roll. Richmond is victorious. Richmond stops Richard III, evil king who would ruin his people. Ah, it is true, the people must be ever watchful, ever
poised to strike down evil leaders. Even as a boy of seventeen I was of one mind with Shakespeare.

Suddenly, there in the brokerage house, I had another flash of insight! Richmond! Is it not significant that I played that role first? I was destined by God to be Richmond, not just on the stage, but in life. And the name. Oh, there
is
much in a name. The first part I played had the same name as does the capital of my beloved South.

I began my career in Baltimore, but it was only when I went to Richmond that I came into my own as an actor. It was the South that first loved me on the stage, and it is the South that I live for. It is the South that I will die for should it become necessary.

I left the brokerage house with funds, and as I left, I began remembering my classmates from military boarding school. We all wore gray uniforms, just as Southern troops do now. Some of the boys used to chide me. They were almost all from old Southern families, and they would sometimes tease me by saying Maryland was not truly part of the South, saying I was not one of them because my father did not own slaves.

“Some people in our state do own slaves,” I told them. “My father sometimes rents them from other farmers to do work on our farm.” I did not tell them that my father insisted that all servants in our house be treated as equals. I did not tell them that those rented slaves ate with us at the same table. I would have been too ashamed.

They will know soon, though, that I am a true son of
the South. My sweet mother was first to know that I would be important to my country. “I saw a vision,” she told me when I was young. “It was shortly after your birth, and I had prayed to know your future. When I looked into the fire, there it was before me! As plain as the hand before my face, the flames flickered and danced to spell a word. The word was COUNTRY, Johnny, and I knew then that you were meant to be important to your country.”

My mother never forgot her vision, and she has always wanted me to go into politics. Dear soul, she does not know that my true country is the Confederacy. She will! Yes, Mother, I am going into politics, going with everything I have.

My mother still calls me Johnny, as she did when I was a child, but my siblings have changed over to the name I prefer, Wilkes. I was named for John Wilkes, an Englishman who thought the crown was too powerful and wanted the people to have more rights, and I too am against enemies of the people.

“I won’t be available for a time,” I told my director when the stocks had been sold. “You will need to fill my role with the understudy.” I turned to walk away, but his voice called after me.

“Wait.” He rose from his chair and walked around his desk. “The understudy is no good.”

“Well, perhaps he will improve with the chance to perform,” I said, and I looked at my watch. “I have a train
to catch,” I explained, trying not to be impatient. “I am in need of a little rest. If the understudy is truly no good, get another actor.”

“Another actor?” he repeated, and he began to pace, his hands on his temples. “There are no more actors!”

I was struck by the repeat of the phrase used after my father’s death, but I did not take time to comment on the familiar words. “Nonsense,” I said. “I see them daily, lined up and hopeful of an audition.”

“There are no more J. Wilkes Booths to be found! I need you, man, can you not see that?”

“I am sorry, Lance,” I said, “but this actor is in need of rest and a change of scenery. I am going to Canada.” I walked away, then turned to him again. “But now that you have mentioned how vital I am, perhaps we should talk about more money when I return.” I laughed.

The change of scenery outside my train window went unnoticed. I sat in my car, listening to the turn of the wheels on the track below. My eyes were closed, but I only pretended to sleep so as not to be disturbed. My mind raced. I would deposit the money in a Canadian bank, so that I could access the funds from anywhere. I would never be able to get at money in a Washington bank from the South. After the kidnapping, I would not be working for a time, only enjoying life in my beloved South.

Helpers! I must have help. There were men everywhere who supported the South, but I had to be careful,
really careful. The men I selected must be completely trustworthy! Who could I trust without doubt?

Sam! I had not seen my old friend, Samuel Arnold, in thirteen years, but still I knew he would never betray me. We had been boys together at St. Timothy’s School. Sam had fought for the South, and when his term of enlistment was up, he had returned to Baltimore. I would contact him at once.

Next, I thought of Michael, dear Michael O’Laughlin. We had been neighbors in Baltimore, had played many a summer day away together, and had studied together too. Michael was also in Baltimore. I would travel there to see them before I went back to the theater. Sam and Michael. I had known them always. They would, I believed, die before they would betray me. Enlisting my two old friends would be my first step. That decision made, I truly did let sleep come softly to my brain.

At first I dreamed of Southern soldiers, thousands of them in gray, rising up and marching, marching free, leaving their cold Northern prison walls behind. It was a sweet dream, but then it changed.

I was fifteen, back at school. Sam and I had gone to a country fair for a lark. The dream was a re-creation of an actual event. Everything was the same as it really was. We walked about drinking cider and trying our luck at a game of pitch and toss.

It was a spring night, and the air was full of the smell
of growing grass and of lilacs. At the edge of the fair stood a gypsy’s wagon with a sign that advertised the telling of fortunes.

“Go have your future told, Wilkes,” Sam said. “I know you think you will have fame.”

I did go into the wagon. The woman was not old, but rather seemed not more than five or so years older than myself. She was pretty too. I could tell that even in the dim candlelight. Feeling generous, I paid her more coins than she asked for, laying them out on the table in front of her.

“Give me your hand,” she said, and I did. Her expression grew troubled. “Oh,” she said, “the lines, the lines!”

“What is it?” I demanded. “What is wrong with the lines?”

“I’d rather not say, sir,” she murmured without looking up. She let go of my hand. “Take back your coins.”

“I won’t,” I said, and I held out my palm to her. “Tell me.”

“The lines are all crossed.” She sighed deeply. “You will have a tragic life. You will be rich and generous with your money. You will be much loved.” She shook her head slowly. “But you will die young, a terrible end.”