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 toMother, 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 mybrother, 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 theplan.” 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
“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 toMother, 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 mybrother, 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 theplan.” 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
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