by Al Lacy
“But how will I convince them I was in the Petersburg battle, dressed like this?” asked Booth, pointing to his clothes.
“I was coming to that,” said Jett. “I’ll give you one of my old Confederate uniforms. We’ll rip it up, put some chicken blood on it, and soil it good, so it looks like you’ve been in battle. How’s that sound?”
“Plenty good,” said Booth.
Jett looked at Herold. “And I’ll give you a change of civilian clothes, Dave. The federal troops have been giving your descriptions to people all over these parts, including what you were wearing when you crossed the Navy Yard Bridge and when you visited that Dr. Mudd.”
“Anything like that will help,” said Herold.
“There must be more changes, too,” said Jett. “The troops have described your physical features in detail. Since you both wear mustaches and your hair rather long, you need to shave off the mustaches and we need to do something about your hair. I’ll cut your hair real short, John. And, Dave, since your hair is blond, I suggest you let me shave your head completely. Your being a bald man will really disguise you. With that light-colored hair, when your head is shaved, it’ll look like you’ve simply lost your hair. Okay?”
The fugitives exchanged glances then both agreed.
“Good,” said Jett. “I’ll take you to my house long enough to get these things done, then we’ll go to the Garrett farm. The Garretts won’t suspect who you really are.”
Booth smiled. “Let’s go!”
Some two hours later the three men were riding toward the Garrett farm south of Bowling Green. Their horses were moving at a leisurely pace.
Hanging onto his crutch with one hand and the reins with the other, Booth looked at Jett. “I realize we needed these changes, Willie, but if this Garrett family is so loyal to the Confederacy, why can’t we tell them I’m the man who shot Lincoln? Wouldn’t they look at me as a hero, like you do?”
“Well, let me explain something. I was about to tell you this anyhow. The Garretts are true Southerners, with unwavering loyalty to the Confederacy. But they’re a bit fanatical in their religion. They believe that born-again, washed-in-the-blood stuff. I can tell you that they wouldn’t go along with your killing Lincoln, John. They wouldn’t welcome you, nor give you a place to stay if they knew your true identity. But they will welcome you and hide you if they think you are Sergeant James W. Boyd, a wounded Confederate soldier who is trying to get home to his family in Fairfax without Union interference.”
Booth grinned at Herold, then looked at Jett. “Well, I think we can put up with the Garretts’ religious fanaticism if it means we’re safe from the federal troops.”
“We sure can,” agreed Herold.
When the Garrett farm came into view, Willie Jett pointed ahead and said, “That’s the place, right up there. The one with the big red barn.”
Moments later, Jett moved his horse out ahead and led the fugitives through the Garrett gate, down the tree-lined lane, and up to the front porch of the big white two-story house. As they were dismounting, they noticed a wagon turn off the road and head down the lane.
Jett focused on the wagon’s occupants. “Those are the Garrett children,” he told Booth and Herold. “No doubt coming home from school.”
In the wagon, as Jack held the reins, he said to his siblings, “I wonder what Willie Jett is doing here and who his two friends are.”
“I guess we’re about to find out,” said Ella.
At the house, Laura came out the front door, having noticed the three men through the parlor window. “Hello, Willie,” she said with a smile as she crossed the porch. “Nice to see you.”
“You too, Laura,” he said warmly. “Is Richard on the place?”
“Last I knew, he was out at the barn,” she said, glancing at the approaching wagon. “I’ll have Jack tell him he has company when he takes the wagon and team back there.”
Even as Laura was speaking, Richard came around the corner of the house, carrying a hoe. He smiled and hurried his pace when he saw his old friend. “Hey! Willie! Good to see you.”
At the same moment, Jack pulled the wagon to a halt, and the Garrett children listened while climbing down from the wagon as Willie was introducing James W. Boyd and Harold Smith to their parents.
Willie then introduced Jack, Ella, Saul, and Rya to Boyd and Smith, then began telling the Garrett family the story he had devised. While the family heard the story, they observed Boyd in the torn, bloody, and dirty Confederate uniform with the sergeant stripes on the arms. The sympathy they felt showed on their faces.
When Jett was finished with the concocted tale, Richard said, “We will be most happy to give you a place to rest up, Sergeant Boyd. And Mr. Smith, we appreciate what you’re doing to help the sergeant get back home to Fairfax.”
“We sure do,” said Laura. “We have a large guestroom with two beds upstairs. It’s at the rear of the house, where you can have your privacy, and it’s very quiet. You’ll be able to rest all you want.”
“We know the federal troops are leaving no stones unturned in their search for John Wilkes Booth and David Herold,” said Jett. “If, in their search for them, they should come upon Sergeant Boyd here in your house, they will arrest him for not reporting to the Union authorities, since the war is over. He’ll need a hiding place as much as he’ll need a resting place.”
“That’s for sure,” said Richard. “I was about to bring up that very thing. I want the sergeant to be comfortable, but even more, I want him to be safe. We’ll keep our eyes peeled for any approaching cavalry unit, and if we see them coming, we’ll quickly put Sergeant Boyd in the attic. There’s a small closet up there that can’t even be detected unless you already know it’s there.”
“And, of course, if the troops should come on the place,” said Laura, “it won’t make any difference if they find Mr. Smith. We’ll just tell them he’s our guest, which he is.”
Richard looked at Booth. “Sergeant Boyd, I’m wondering if it will be difficult for you to climb the stairs to the attic with your leg in the splint. If we see the Federals coming, you’ll have to move fast.”
“It may be a bit tricky,” said Booth, “but I think I can do it.”
“How about we let you try it?” asked Richard. “Just so we’ll know.”
“Fine with me.”
“Well, I’d better be going,” said Jett. “Laura, Richard, I really appreciate your helping these two men.”
“Our pleasure, Willie,” said Richard. “Any friends of yours are friends of mine.” He chuckled. “Especially if they are Southerners.”
Willie laughed. “You know very well the only friends I have are Southerners!”
Jett mounted up, told Boyd and Smith good-bye, and trotted his horse up the lane. When he reached the road, he hipped around in the saddle and waved. Everybody waved in return, then he rode away.
Jack stepped up close to the two men. “I want to welcome you to our home. And Sergeant Boyd, I want to say that I’m proud of you because you didn’t report to the federal authorities. You’re a brave man.”
Booth released a sheepish grin. “Thank you, Jack.”
Ella moved up, with Saul and Rya following on her heels. “Sergeant Boyd,” she said in a tender tone, “I’m sorry you were wounded at Petersburg, and I hope you get home to your family real soon. Are you married?”
“Uh … no,” said Booth. “But I have my parents, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins in Fairfax. I’m anxious to get home to them.”
“Anything I can do to help you, Sergeant?” said Saul.
“Not that I can think of right now,” said Booth.
“I’ll be glad to help you, too, if I can,” said Rya.
Booth forced a smile. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Laura set soft eyes on her husband. “Darling, since you have those weeds to hoe in the flower garden, and the boys need to put the wagon and team away, as well as put our guests’ horses in the corral, the
girls and I will take our guests up to their room and get them settled.”
“All right,” said Richard. “It’s a deal.” An impish grin curved his mouth. “That is, if you’ll still have time to cook supper.”
Laura laughed and swung a fist playfully, clipping his chin. “The old stomach first, eh?”
“Well, I’m just a growing boy!” said Richard.
Booth and Herold laughed, then Laura said, “All right, gentlemen, let’s get you up to your room.”
Richard began his hoeing job. Saul took the reins of the two saddle horses and led them toward the barn. Jack jumped in the wagon and drove it around the house in the same direction.
As they were climbing the stairs, Laura and the girls noticed that Booth was experiencing some pain as he took the stairs slowly, implementing the crutch. Laura asked if he would rather be on the ground floor. He told her he would be fine.
When the guests had been shown their room and the adjoining washroom, they thanked Laura for being so kind to them.
Booth eased down on his chosen bed and sighed.
Rya, who was the curious one of the Garrett children, stepped up close to him. “Sergeant Boyd, what happened to your leg in the battle at Petersburg?”
“Rya,” said Laura, “you shouldn’t ask such questions.”
Booth smiled at her. “That’s all right, Mrs. Garrett. I don’t mind telling her about it. Well, little lady, I was in charge of six cannons during the battle. When the firing was hot and the smoke was thick, two of my men were both hit with rifle bullets while they were moving their heavy cannon up a slope to a different place to fire on the enemy.
“I saw that the cannon was going to roll down the slope, and we might lose it. I rushed up to stop it, and a bullet hissed by my face just as I touched the cannon. The near miss threw me off balance and I fell. The cannon went rolling down the slope, and one of the wheels ran over my left leg, cutting the skin and breaking the bone.”
Rya’s big blue eyes showed compassion. “I’m so sorry, Sergeant. I sure hope your leg will be all right.”
“I’m sure in time it will be, honey,” said Booth.
“You want to tell us more about your family in Fairfax?” asked Rya.
“Rya, we need to go and let these men rest,” Laura said. “We also need to get supper started.”
“All right, Mama. You’ll both like Mama’s cooking. Ella and I help, but the cooking is really Mama’s.”
“I’m sure we’ll like it,” said Herold. “Thank you, ladies, for your kindness.”
Both men lay down on their beds as Laura and the girls left the room.
On their way down the stairs, they were met by Jack and Saul. “Mama,” said Jack, “I thought we’d go up and let Sergeant Boyd try those attic stairs, so he’ll know if he can get up there all right if the troops come.”
“He may want to wait till he gets some rest, Jack,” said Laura, “but you can ask him. The door’s open.”
Laura and the girls were busy in the kitchen when the boys entered some twenty minutes later.
“So how did it go?” asked Laura.
“It was quite a struggle for him, but he finally made it,” said Jack. “He almost fell twice,” put in Saul.
“Oh, dear,” said Laura. “Maybe we’ll have to come up with some other solution.”
“That’s what I suggested,” said Jack, “but he insisted it would be all right.”
Laura shrugged. “Well, he’s the one who knows.”
An hour later, when everyone sat down to supper in the dining room, Booth looked at the dishes of hot food and his mouth watered. He hadn’t had a real meal since the day before he had shot Abraham Lincoln.
Herold was also eager to begin eating. “Sure smells good, Mrs. Garrett,” he said. “I think I’ll start with the fried chicken.” As he spoke, he reached for the plate of chicken.
Richard cleared his throat. “Ah … Mr. Smith, we always give thanks to the Lord for our food before a meal.”
Herold’s face flushed. He retracted his hand. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
After Richard had led in prayer and everyone was eating, the Garrett family noticed that their guests were a bit on edge over the prayer being offered. Figuring to take advantage of the opportunity, Richard shared the gospel with them in a tactful and loving way.
Herold said, “I … I appreciate your telling us about your beliefs, Mr. Garrett. It’s just that … well, my beliefs are different.”
“I mean no disrespect,” spoke up Booth, “but my beliefs are different, too.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Richard, “if your beliefs are not founded on the Word of God, you will face the God of the Word in eternity and suffer the consequences for not believing and obeying the gospel. Only by repenting of your sin, believing the gospel, and receiving the Christ of the gospel into your heart as personal Saviour can you be saved. To die without Him will be to spend eternity in a burning hell.”
Booth swallowed hard. “Uh … Mr. Garrett, thank you for explaining the gospel to us. I … uh … need some time to think it over. I’ve never heard it like this before.”
“Me, either,” said Herold. “Thank you for telling it to us.”
“Of course. I understand. But please do think about it seriously, and I can tell you more about it later. Let’s talk about something else for now. Since you’ve been traveling from Petersburg, have you seen any of the federal troops searching for John Wilkes Booth and David Herold?”
“Sure haven’t,” said Herold. “But we’ve been expecting to. I guess there must be hundreds of them covering Virginia and Maryland.”
“Probably close to a thousand, with that much ground to cover,” Richard said, setting down his coffee cup.
Laura’s brow furrowed. “I sure hope they catch them soon. That Booth, especially, has shown that he’s a violent man. Both of them are desperate men, for sure. And desperate men do desperate things. I fear if they aren’t caught soon, someone else will get killed.”
The guests dared not look at each other. Both men put food in their mouths and chewed it in silence.
Jack ran his gaze from one of them to the other. “How about it, Mr. Boyd, Mr. Smith, do you approve of what John Wilkes Booth did?”
The man posing as James W. Boyd said, “Jack, as a loyal son of the South, I feel that Lincoln needed to pay for freeing the slaves and putting many plantation owners into bankruptcy.”
“I’m also a loyal son of the South,” spoke up Richard, “but as a Christian, I cannot condone slavery. One human being should not own another as chattel. Every man should be free. I’m sorry about the plantation owners and their financial problems, but I had to agree with Mr. Lincoln’s position on slavery.”
“But since Lincoln was such an enemy of the South, Mr. Garrett,” said the man posing as Harold Smith, “you should be glad that John Wilkes Booth assassinated him.”
Richard shook his head. “No. I am not. President Lincoln was an enemy of slavery, not of the South. What Booth and his co-conspirators did was wrong. Murder is always wrong. God says so. Don’t you agree?”
Booth and Herold exchanged quick glances. Fearing that they might lose their place of hiding if they disagreed, both lied, saying that they agreed wholeheartedly.
As soon as supper was over, Booth said, “Thank you for the excellent meal, Mrs. Garrett. It’s been enjoyable. I’m really tired, and my leg is hurting some. If you will excuse me, I’ll go on up to our room.”
“I’ll go with you, James,” said Herold. “I’m pretty worn out, myself.”
“We understand,” said Richard. “I hope you get a good night’s rest.”
“We all understand,” Laura said. “Saul, there’s a pot of hot water simmering on the back of the kitchen stove. Would you pour some into a pail, mix it with a little cold water, and carry it up to their room so they can wash up and get some of the trail dust off?”
“Sure, Mama,” said the boy, shoving his chair back. “I’ll have it up there
in a jiffy, gentlemen.”
Herold stood up and said, “I’ll go into the kitchen with you, Saul. When you get the water in the pail, I’ll carry it upstairs and save you the trouble.”
Shrugging his narrow shoulders, Saul said, “Sure, Mr. Smith. Let’s go.”
6
LATER THAT MONDAY NIGHT, when the Garrett children were all asleep in their rooms, Richard and Laura were in their own bedroom, preparing for bed.
Richard was at the closet in the corner, taking out shirt and trousers for the next day.
Laura was standing in front of the dresser, brushing her hair. She laid down the brush and began plaiting her hair into one long braid. In the mirror, she saw Richard pass behind her, hang the shirt on the back of a chair, and lay the trousers over the chair arm.
As he sat down on the edge of the bed and yawned, Laura held the braid in one hand and turned to look at him with a perplexed expression. “Darling, I want to ask you something.”
Richard looked up. “Sure, honey.”
“Has it struck you that there is something strange about our unexpected boarders?”
“Well, they were very nervous when I brought up the gospel.”
“Oh, yes. I saw it, too, but it’s something more than that. Somehow, I’m very uncomfortable with them in the house.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Call it woman’s intuition if you want to, but I get this strong feeling that all is not right with them.”
Richard yawned again, covering his mouth. “Are you afraid?”
“Not really afraid. Just uneasy.”
“I trust Willie, my love,” said Richard, “and since he brought them here, I felt they were all right. But I also believe in your intuition. I’ll keep a close eye on them. Now finish braiding your hair and get to bed. Morning will be here all too soon.”