So Little Time

by Al Lacy

  On the back porch of the house, Richard was once again at the corner, observing the scene at the barn. He spoke to his family over his shoulder: “Smith—I mean Herold—just came out of the barn with his hands in the air.”

  Laura moved up close.

  “Apparently Booth is not going to give up,” said Richard. “They’ll probably have to go in after him.”

  “I just hope none of the soldiers get shot,” said Ella.

  At the hay wagon, Lieutenant Doherty cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “You’re all alone now, Booth! You don’t have a chance! Come on out!”

  Inside the barn, Booth was pacing once again. “If I surrender, you’ll hang me!” he blared. “You’re not hanging me! Do you hear? You’re not hanging me!” His temples throbbed as he struggled for breath.

  “Booth!” cried Doherty. “Don’t make us come in and get you! I’ve told my men we want to take you alive!”

  “Yeah, so you can put a noose around my neck!” said Booth. “I’m telling you, Lieutenant, you’re not gonna hang me!”

  “You’ve got exactly sixty seconds to come out that door, Booth!” said Doherty. “If you don’t, we’re coming in!”

  Even as he spoke, Doherty led his men around in front of the hay wagon, holding his cocked revolver. The other three had their rifles cocked and ready as they fanned out on both sides of him.

  “We’ve got to take him alive if possible,” said the lieutenant.

  Inside the barn, Booth stopped directly in front of the double doors, sucking hard for air. His mind went back to his recurring nightmare, and he saw himself being pushed up the gallows steps with the huge crowd jeering and calling him a coward.

  Suddenly he opened one of the doors a few inches and cried out, “Draw up your men before the door, Lieutenant! I’ll come out and fight the whole bunch of you!”

  “We’re not moving any closer, Booth!” said Doherty. “Do as I tell you! Put down that rifle and come out with your hands over your head!”

  “I’m coming out to kill as many of you as I can! Prepare a stretcher for me!”

  Doherty and his three men tensed up as the barn door suddenly swung open and Booth appeared, doing a limping, halting jump with the rifle aimed directly at Lieutenant Edward Doherty.

  Off to Booth’s right, Sergeant Boston Corbett took aim and fired his rifle. Booth was struck in the neck and his rifle fired harmlessly into the ground as he fell.

  The three soldiers who had been on the back side of the barn came running around the corner as the other four dashed to the spot where the assassin had fallen.

  Doherty dropped to his knees beside Booth and noted the blood on both sides of his neck. “Let’s get him over to the house.”

  As three of the soldiers were picking Booth up, Richard Garrett sprinted up. “Good work, Lieutenant.”

  Doherty nodded, smiled grimly, and said, “He’s in pretty bad shape. Is it all right if we take him over on the back porch?”

  “Sure.”

  The Garrett family, McClain Reardon, and the rest of the soldiers gathered around as John Wilkes Booth was carried up the steps and laid on the porch floor. David Herold was left tied to the tree near the barn.

  Quickly, two lanterns were lit and placed so Lieutenant Edward Doherty could get a good look at Booth. Laura knelt down beside Doherty and bent over so she could see the wounds.

  “Bullet went right through,” said Doherty.

  “I see,” said Laura. “Ella, will you bring me some towels, please?”

  As Ella ran inside the house, Booth looked up at Doherty, then at Laura, and with a gurgling sound, said, “I … I can’t feel anything below my neck.”

  “Apparently the bullet severed your spine,” said Laura. “I’m going to try to stop the bleeding as much as possible.”

  Booth closed his eyes, swallowed blood, and opened them again, fixing them on Laura. “It won’t make any difference. I’m going to die.” He paused, swallowed blood again, and looked up at Doherty. “I told you, didn’t I?”

  “What?”

  “You wouldn’t get to hang me.”

  At that moment, Ella returned and handed her mother the towels. Laura lifted Booth’s head and wrapped them tightly around his neck. Richard stood a few feet away with his sons and daughters, and McClain stood beside him. The soldiers were positioned on the other side of the spot where John Wilkes Booth lay. Every eye was on the dying man.

  Suddenly Booth’s breathing became erratic. He looked up again at Doherty. “Tell Mother that I died for my country.”

  The soldiers looked at each other, shaking their heads.

  Booth gritted his teeth. “Lieutenant, would you lift my arms so I can see my hands?”

  Laura met Doherty’s puzzled gaze and frowned.

  Doherty shrugged, took hold of Booth’s elbows, and lifted his hands up so he could see them.

  Looking at his hands through hazy eyes, Booth murmured, “Useless. Useless.”

  With that, his eyes closed, and he breathed out his final breath.

  Studying Booth’s chest and seeing no more rise and fall, Doherty looked up and ran his gaze over the group. “The man who killed President Lincoln is dead.”

  Moments later, the Garrett family stood on the porch and watched the soldiers place a shackled David Herold on the horse he had stolen, as the lifeless body of the assassin was draped over the other horse.

  Lieutenant Edward Doherty swung into his saddle, thanked the Garretts for their help, and led the troops into the night.

  The Garrett family then gathered around McClain Reardon, thanking him one at a time for risking his own life to save little Rya.

  Rya waited until the others had spoken their thanks to the handsome boy, then with tears running down her cheeks, she hugged McClain. “You will always be my hero.”

  As the weeks passed, the Garrett family slowly began to get their lives back to normal.

  However, in the first week of June, they found themselves standing with other mourners in the Bowling Green cemetery as Pastor Olan Granger conducted the funeral service for Hal Reardon, who had died of a stroke.

  Three days later, the Reardon wagon hauled up in front of the house on the Garrett farm at suppertime. McClain was at the reins with his mother beside him, and his sisters Lena and Ruby sitting on a blanket in the wagon’s bed.

  After Richard had led the group at the dining room table in a prayer of thanks for the food, Ruth Reardon looked around at the Garrett family. “I don’t know how to thank you for being so good to McClain, Lena, Ruby, and me these past few days. You are the dearest friends we have.”

  “And you are the dearest friends we have,” Laura said, her eyes filmed with tears.

  Rya had managed to position herself next to McClain at the table. Even as her mother was speaking, she looked up and smiled at the boy who had saved her from John Wilkes Booth and David Herold.

  McClain smiled back.

  As they began eating, Ruth explained that with Hal gone, there was no way she and her children could manage the farm. She already had a generous offer on the place so she and her children would be moving to Blue Springs, Missouri, to be near her own family. They would be leaving within two to three weeks.

  The Garretts were saddened at the news that the Reardons would be moving away, but also understood that it was better for Ruth and her children.

  On Saturday, June 24, when Ruth Reardon and her children were ready to board the train at the Richmond depot for Kansas City, Missouri, the Garrett family was there to see them off.

  When the conductor called for all passengers to board, the good-byes had been said, and the hugs passed around. Rya had done her best to cover the sorrow she was feeling.

  As his mother and sisters were about to move toward the chosen coach, McClain set his gaze on Rya, who was looking at him with mournful eyes and furrowed brow. Her sad face was pitiful to behold. Tears were threatening, and she blinked rapidly to keep them from spilling down her cheeks
.

  “Mom, you go ahead and board,” said McClain. “I need another moment with my friend.”

  Richard, Laura, and their other children walked slowly toward the coach with Ruth and her daughters.

  Rya’s long, dark eyelashes were spiky from the unshed tears. She tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come.

  McClain tugged at one of Rya’s long auburn braids and grinned. “Hey, cheer up, little friend. We’ll see each other sometime. It’s not such a big world, after all.”

  Rya wrapped her slender arms around him as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “I’ll miss you so much. You’re my very best friend.”

  McClain kissed the top of her head. “And you’re my very best friend, too.”

  Richard was watching close and moved up behind his little daughter.

  As Rya dipped her head and let go of McClain, she felt her father’s strong hands on her shoulders.

  The conductor was giving his final call for passengers to board.

  Rya raised her head and watched McClain until he hopped up on the coach’s rear platform and moved inside. Then she tilted her head up and looked into her father’s eyes, giving him a crooked smile.

  “Let’s go home, sweetheart,” Richard said softly.

  8

  TWELVE YEARS LATER

  ON MONDAY, MAY 7, 1877, the midmorning sun shone down from the azure Virginia sky, giving the land a golden hue. White puffy clouds rode the high westerly wind, patching the vast fields around Bowling Green with drifting shadows.

  A lone army wagon rolled through the town and headed out into the country on a dusty road. Two uniformed men occupied the wagon, both enjoying the beautiful spring day. Corporal Bill Cameron held the reins, guiding the team along the road, and letting his eyes roam over the farms that surrounded them. Cattle, horses, and sheep dotted the green fields amid farmhouses, barns, and outbuildings which were surrounded by tall shade trees.

  Cameron smiled at the man beside him. “I’ve always wanted to live in the country, Colonel. I was born and raised in the heart of Philadelphia with crowds of people and traffic and noise. It’s so quiet and peaceful out here.”

  “That it is, Corporal,” said the Colonel. He pointed to a lane they were approaching. “That’s the place right there.”

  Cameron turned the wagon onto the winding lane and glimpsed the white farmhouse in the distance through breeze-stirred branches. “Nice place.”

  “Sure is. Looks the same as I remember it. These folks really take care of their property.”

  As they neared the house, they saw a man wielding a hoe in a flower garden that was close to the wraparound porch. The farmer looked up as the sound of the approaching wagon met his ears. He focused on the wagon, then the two men on the seat. His brow puckered as he pushed his hat back and laid the hoe down.

  “He doesn’t recognize me yet,” said the colonel.

  The corporal drew rein, and as the wagon stopped, the farmer stepped up close, squinted at the man who wore the insignias that designated him as a colonel and said, “You look familiar, sir, but I—Wait a minute! Lieutenant Edward Doherty!”

  Doherty climbed down, smiled, and extended his hand. “Mr. Garrett, how are you?”

  Grasping the hand and pumping it, Richard Garrett said, “I’m fine, Lieuten—I’m sorry. I mean Colonel. It’s been … what? Twelve years? And how are you?”

  “Just fine. Let me introduce you to my driver. I’ve told him all about you. Richard Garrett, shake hands with Corporal Bill Cameron.”

  As the farmer and the corporal shook hands, Cameron said, “So it was here on your place where the infamous John Wilkes Booth was shot and killed by Colonel Doherty and his cavalry unit.”

  “Sure was, and—”

  Richard’s words were cut off when he saw Laura coming out the front door, smiling at Colonel Doherty.

  Doherty and Laura spoke of the twelve years that had passed, and each told the other they had hardly changed. Laura was then introduced to Corporal Cameron, who greeted her warmly, saying the colonel had told him all about her and the rest of the Garrett family.

  “So what brings you here, Colonel?” asked Richard.

  “Well, it’s like this,” said Doherty. “I am commandant at Fort McNair in Washington, D.C.”

  “Oh, really? That’s on the south side of the city, right on the Potomac River, isn’t it?”

  “Correct. Corporal Cameron is my main adjutant, so he drives me wherever I need to go. I had some official business at the Fort Lee Military Reserve near Petersburg these past few days, so we were on our way back and I told Corporal Cameron I wanted to swing a bit out of our way so I could drop by and see you.”

  Richard’s smile was from ear to ear. “Well, sir, we’re honored that you would want to see us.”

  “Can you stay for lunch, Colonel?” Laura asked. “I realize it’s only a little after ten o’clock, but if you and Corporal Cameron can stay till noon, I’ll fix you a nice lunch.”

  “We can’t stay that long, Mrs. Garrett. I wish we could, but they’re expecting me back at the fort by four o’clock, so we’ll need to pull away from here in about half an hour.”

  “Well, how about some nice hot coffee? There’s some from breakfast still on the stove. I can have it piping hot in a few minutes.”

  The soldiers grinned at each other, then Doherty said, “Now, that we have time for.”

  Ten minutes later, as the men and Laura were seated at the kitchen table drinking coffee, Richard said, “Pardon me, Colonel, but I think congratulations are in order.”

  Doherty’s eyebrows arched. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll answer that when you tell me one thing.”

  “All right.”

  “How long have you been a colonel?”

  “Four years.”

  “And how long have you been commandant at Fort McNair?”

  “Four years.”

  “Isn’t it pretty phenomenal for a man to go from Lieutenant to Colonel in just eight years?”

  Doherty chuckled. “Well, in most cases, yes. But what propelled me forward in the ranks was the fact that it was my unit that brought President Lincoln’s assassin down. I was promoted to major three weeks afterward, bypassing the rank of captain. Making it from major to colonel, then, was about in normal time.”

  “Well, congratulations,” said Richard. “You deserve your rank.”

  “Thank you,” said Doherty.

  “He’s a great commandant, Mr. Garrett,” said Cameron. “All the men at Fort McNair respect him highly.”

  Doherty cleared his throat, adjusted his position on the chair, and said, “Enough about me. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Garrett, I want to know about you and your children. Let’s start with you. How’s the farm doing?”

  “The farm is doing fine, sir,” said Richard. “It’s making us a decent living. The Lord has been good to us. Laura and I are enjoying good health.”

  “Good. Now, let’s see, the names of your children. I remember your oldest boy’s name is Jack. And I remember your youngest daughter, that cute little doll with the big blue eyes and the red hair. Her name is Rya. The other boy and girl, I can’t recall.”

  “Ella and Saul,” said Laura.

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Ella and Saul. So I suppose all of them are married.”

  “All but Rya,” said Richard. “Jack, Ella, and Saul and their families live in different parts of Virginia. We have three grandchildren, with one on the way.”

  “Wonderful. And Rya. Where is she?”

  “She’s in Richmond,” spoke up Laura. “She’s attending Richmond Teacher’s College. Rya’s twenty-two. When she first graduated from Bowling Green High School she was offered a job at the school in the business office. She was satisfied with the job for three years. Then one day, they asked her to be a substitute teacher because one of the regular teachers had suddenly become ill. She got a taste of what it was like to teach, and the first thing we know, she quit her job in Bowling Green and e
ntered Richmond Teacher’s College. It’s a three-year course. She’s just about to finish her first year.”

  “Well, bless her heart,” said Doherty. “Is she still a doll?”

  “More beautiful than ever,” said Richard. “I realize I’m her father, but take my word for it: she’s a very lovely young lady.”

  “I assume she lives in the dormitory on campus.”

  “Yes,” said Laura.

  “How often do you get to see her?”

  “Every weekend. She catches a ride in a carriage owned by one of the male students who lives in Bowling Green.”

  “Well, it’s good that you get to see her on weekends.”

  “We’re thankful for that,” said Richard. “Of course, once she graduates, only the Lord knows where she’ll get her teaching job.”

  The colonel grinned. “And … ah … is there a young man in her life?”

  Richard shook his head, smiling. “Not yet, at least. Oh, there’s one who would like to be in her life, but she wants nothing to do with him. The right one will come along one of these days, but I hope it’s after she graduates with her teaching degree. I’d like to see her finish school before she gets married.”

  “Can’t blame you for that,” said Doherty, finishing his second cup of coffee. “Well, Corporal Cameron, it’s time we hit the road.”

  On Friday, May 11, a carriage slowed on the dusty country road and turned into the lane that led to the Garrett house. The sun’s red glow was fading in the west and twilight was settling gray on the fields as Rya Garrett chatted with her three friends, saying she would see them on Sunday afternoon.

  Melvin Foster hopped down and helped Rya from the carriage. She thanked him, then bounded up the steps of the front porch, waving to the two young ladies over her shoulder.

  Wearing a big smile, Rya rushed through the front door. The aroma of fried chicken teased her taste buds, and she headed down the hall toward the kitchen. Bursting through the kitchen door with her wide, sparkling smile intact, she saw her mother at the stove and her father at the cupboard, repairing one of the doors. Rya had a youthful glow and flush to her skin. Her blue eyes were like crystal, highlighting the soft curves and lines of her beauty, and her long auburn hair was a striking, waving mass.