will not blame you if you don’t.”
“They have been naught but kind to me,” I said, my eyes still down.
“And does this kind Lincoln know your father fought for the South?”
“He does,” I said. I remembered the day I told Mr. Lincoln about my father. It was soon after the letter from my aunt arrived. “What’s wrong with our Bella?” the president asked me one day. He had come upon me crying as I sewed. My sad tale came tumbling out.
“I am sorry to hear of your troubles, Miss Bella, most sorely sorry.” He had bent to pat my hand. “The sorrow over this war mounts higher than all the mountains of this nation, north and south.”
Now I cleared my throat, and looking away from Wilkes to gaze out the window of the carriage, I found courage to say, “Mr. Lincoln offered his sympathy to me, said he was sorry for my troubles.”
“And well he should be sorry, sorry indeed. Did you know that he has stopped the prisoner exchange?”
“I am not sure what the prisoner exchange is,” I said. I gave a little shrug of my shoulders. “I am afraid I am not always clear about what’s happening with the war. My friend Steven is better at it all.”
“Lincoln has stopped exchanging Union prisoners for Confederate prisoners.” The snarl returned to his face. “You see, that was the practice for some time, but Lincoln decided it would hurt the Southern war effort if the exchange stopped. There are more soldiers in the North, especially now that he uses the colored men. They do not need returned soldiers to go back to battle nearly as badly as the South needs her men.”
“Oh,” I said softly.
“Yes, your father and thirty-five thousand other Southern men will now sit in prison for the duration of this war. You can thank your Mr. Lincoln for that!” He turned away from me for a moment toward the window. When he looked at me again, he smiled. “But let us not talk of dreary things. Tell me, have you learned the lines I gave you?”
“I have,” I said.
He leaned back on the seat and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, Miss Arabella, will you do me the honor of reciting for me?”
My heart pounded, but I drew a deep breath. “‘Annabel Lee’ by Edgar Allan Poe,” I said.
“Look at me as you speak,” said Wilkes.
I did and felt a great surge of energy. I recited clearly and in a good strong voice, putting in every drop of emotion inside me.
“Bravo,” Wilkes said when I finished, and he clapped his hands. “Next time we shall take you up to the stage and let the company manager hear you too. I’ll find you in the costume shop when there is a good chance.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” I said, and a great wave of happiness rushed through my body.
“Now,” he said, “tell me about this Steven. Is he your beau?”
“Until recently I had never thought of Steven in that way, but now I think perhaps he is.” I laughed. “I only know I cannot imagine life without him. He is my best and dearest friend.” I paused. “And yes, perhaps, my beau.”
Wilkes looked at me, his eyes boring into my very being. “He is a lucky young man, to be the dearest friend of the beautiful Arabella who is, I am certain, as beautiful as the beautiful Annabel Lee.”
The cab came to a stop then in front of the White House. Wilkes jumped out to help me alight. “Thank you, sir,” I said again. “Thank you for the ride and for all your kind help.”
He bowed to me. “Good-bye, Miss Arabella.” He was about to climb back into the cab when he looked back atme. “Arabella,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve asked you before not to call me sir.”
“I won’t, s—” I almost said
sir
, and we both laughed.
“Can’t you say Wilkes?” he called from the cab.
“Good-bye, Wilkes,” I shouted. I watched the hansom cab disappear, and I felt good, wonderfully good.
10
Wilkes
HIS STORY
Mad! The word makes me laugh. Yes, there are those who think me unbalanced because I get excited in defense of
“They have been naught but kind to me,” I said, my eyes still down.
“And does this kind Lincoln know your father fought for the South?”
“He does,” I said. I remembered the day I told Mr. Lincoln about my father. It was soon after the letter from my aunt arrived. “What’s wrong with our Bella?” the president asked me one day. He had come upon me crying as I sewed. My sad tale came tumbling out.
“I am sorry to hear of your troubles, Miss Bella, most sorely sorry.” He had bent to pat my hand. “The sorrow over this war mounts higher than all the mountains of this nation, north and south.”
Now I cleared my throat, and looking away from Wilkes to gaze out the window of the carriage, I found courage to say, “Mr. Lincoln offered his sympathy to me, said he was sorry for my troubles.”
“And well he should be sorry, sorry indeed. Did you know that he has stopped the prisoner exchange?”
“I am not sure what the prisoner exchange is,” I said. I gave a little shrug of my shoulders. “I am afraid I am not always clear about what’s happening with the war. My friend Steven is better at it all.”
“Lincoln has stopped exchanging Union prisoners for Confederate prisoners.” The snarl returned to his face. “You see, that was the practice for some time, but Lincoln decided it would hurt the Southern war effort if the exchange stopped. There are more soldiers in the North, especially now that he uses the colored men. They do not need returned soldiers to go back to battle nearly as badly as the South needs her men.”
“Oh,” I said softly.
“Yes, your father and thirty-five thousand other Southern men will now sit in prison for the duration of this war. You can thank your Mr. Lincoln for that!” He turned away from me for a moment toward the window. When he looked at me again, he smiled. “But let us not talk of dreary things. Tell me, have you learned the lines I gave you?”
“I have,” I said.
He leaned back on the seat and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, Miss Arabella, will you do me the honor of reciting for me?”
My heart pounded, but I drew a deep breath. “‘Annabel Lee’ by Edgar Allan Poe,” I said.
“Look at me as you speak,” said Wilkes.
I did and felt a great surge of energy. I recited clearly and in a good strong voice, putting in every drop of emotion inside me.
“Bravo,” Wilkes said when I finished, and he clapped his hands. “Next time we shall take you up to the stage and let the company manager hear you too. I’ll find you in the costume shop when there is a good chance.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” I said, and a great wave of happiness rushed through my body.
“Now,” he said, “tell me about this Steven. Is he your beau?”
“Until recently I had never thought of Steven in that way, but now I think perhaps he is.” I laughed. “I only know I cannot imagine life without him. He is my best and dearest friend.” I paused. “And yes, perhaps, my beau.”
Wilkes looked at me, his eyes boring into my very being. “He is a lucky young man, to be the dearest friend of the beautiful Arabella who is, I am certain, as beautiful as the beautiful Annabel Lee.”
The cab came to a stop then in front of the White House. Wilkes jumped out to help me alight. “Thank you, sir,” I said again. “Thank you for the ride and for all your kind help.”
He bowed to me. “Good-bye, Miss Arabella.” He was about to climb back into the cab when he looked back atme. “Arabella,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve asked you before not to call me sir.”
“I won’t, s—” I almost said
sir
, and we both laughed.
“Can’t you say Wilkes?” he called from the cab.
“Good-bye, Wilkes,” I shouted. I watched the hansom cab disappear, and I felt good, wonderfully good.
10
Wilkes
HIS STORY
Mad! The word makes me laugh. Yes, there are those who think me unbalanced because I get excited in defense of
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