“Here! Here!” the man called. “I’m the Grand Master of this lodge and must be involved in this charade.”
“It’s not a charade,” I said. “Your name?”
“Grand Master Hanks,” he stated. “Let me take over.”
“Sorry, sir.”
I started to hand it over, but Agent Brown reached out and said, “We’re all present. No one knows what’s in there for sure. She’s been on this trail for some time. Let her finish, then we’ll decide what to do with the find.”
“All right. We’ll let the lawyers take it from there,” Grand Master Hanks said.
“Sounds good,” Agent Brown said. “Liv—go for it!”
“Great! I’m finally getting to the bottom of this.” I stood, pulling and tugging at the cork as I held the cylinder tight against my body. At last it loosened up. “It’s off!” Slightly tipping the tube, the skeleton of a mouse landed in my palm along with shredded paper. “Oh yuck!” Screaming, I dropped it while the wind took the shredded paper, scattering it far away. I could barely breathe as I scrambled to pick up the remnants of the paper. I took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm down. Aaron chased after the pieces, but the wind whipped stronger, blowing the shreds all over. “That stupid mouse must’ve chewed through the honey and cork, and ate the paper. Lost to a mouse. No one will ever believe this.” Collapsing on the picnic bench, I grabbed the largest scrap of paper and began to read: Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: I was over at, I say, that while I was at Danville Court, some of our friends of anti-Nebraska got together in Springfield.
“The rest is shredded. Lost to history,” I whispered as Aaron sank beside me. “Lost to the ages.”
“But never forgotten.” Aaron handed a few snippets of paper over. “Now what?”
“We’ll take what we have for display purposes in the museum,” Samantha said.
“Nope, it goes to the federal government to decide,” Agent Brown said.
“Maybe someone can piece these shreds together and make something out of it.”
“I doubt it,” I said as we gathered all the pieces while the wind scattered the remnants. “Shoot.” I stared at the mouse skeleton. “The Lost Speech is firmly and finally lost for all generations, but the outcome will never be forgotten.” I brushed a tear from my eye before looking to the mess in my lap. I held up the largest piece to read aloud, “We are here to stand firmly for a principle.”
“Look.” I picked up a two-inch round circle of hair. “What is this?”
“Let me see.” Agent Winters held it up toward the sun. “It’s hair.”
“What? Let me see.” I took it from him. “There’s two different colors braided together. It’s like a ring.”
“Infinity. Mary and Abraham,” Aaron replied. “It’s possible.”
“Yep. I think this should be given to the Lincoln museum,” Ranger Ryan said.
“For now, I’ll take it. Let the big guys figure it out,” Agent Brown said, taking the paper and hair. He placed it into a plastic bag.”
Within a few minutes, they’d walked away, leaving us alone. “What time is it?” I asked.
“Hmm.” There was a glimmer in Aaron’s eye. “I’m sure it’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“You betcha.” I took his hand.
THE END
A Review of the Lost Speech:
Abraham Lincoln gave the speech in Major’s Hall, Bloomington, Illinois, May 29, 1856, and the building was razed in 1959. Forty news reporters were present at the speech. They were so captivated by Lincoln’s words, they stopped transcribing after Lincoln had spoken for about fifteen minutes. The reporters “threw their pens and papers away” and “lived only in the inspiration of the hour,” as reported by William Herndon, Lincoln’s law partner. Over a thousand people were present. The audience was so mesmerized they kept moving closer and closer to Lincoln, crowding him. Many stated that flames of fire danced from the top of his head.
Below is the reported transcription of the speech:
“Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen:
I was over at—I say, that while I was at Danville Court, some of our friends of anti-Nebraska got together in Springfield and elected me as one delegate to represent old Sangamon with them in this convention, and I am here certainly as a sympathizer in this movement and by virtue of that meeting and selection. But we can hardly be called delegates strictly, inasmuch as, properly speaking, we represent nobody but ourselves.
I think it altogether fair to say that we have no anti-Nebraska party in Sangamon, although there is a good deal of anti-Nebraska feeling there; but I say for myself, and I think I may speak also for my colleagues, that we who are here fully approve of the platform and of all that has been done, and even if we are not regularly delegates, it will be right for me to answer your call to speak. I suppose we truly stand for the public sentiment of Sangamon of the great question of the repeal, although we do not yet represent many numbers who have taken distinct position on the question.
“We are in a trying time—it ranges above mere party—and this movement—to call a halt and turn our steps backward needs all the help and good counsels it can get; for unless popular opinion makes itself very strongly felt, and change is made in our present course, blood will flow on account of Nebraska, and brother’s hand will be raised against brother!”
The rest of the speech is forever lost to history.
About Barbara Schlichting
Barbara Schlichting was born and raised in Minneapolis and graduated from Theodore Roosevelt High School in 1970. She and her husband moved their family to Bemidji, Minnesota, in 1979. She attended Bemidji State University where she earned her undergraduate and graduate degrees in elementary education and special education. Ms. Schlichting has been married for forty-seven years and has two grown sons who have blessed her with five grandchildren and three great grandsons.
References
TEAM OF RIVALS
by Doris Kearns Goodwin
MARY TODD LINCOLN: A Biography
by Jean H. Baker
LINCOLN: The Presidential Archives
by Chuck Wills
ABRAHAM LINCOLN: From Skeptic to Prophet
by Wayne C. Temple
SPANGLED TO DEATH
A White House Dollhouse Mystery
By Barbara Schlichting
Chapter One
I felt slightly giddy when I dug my key out to unlock the back door of my White House Dollhouse store. The First Ladies were my passion and my shop’s specialty. Emails arrived inquiring about various First Ladies, their personal quirks and characters—even questions asking how many affairs their husbands had while in office. I loved answering the questions. It’s bittersweet. What if a time comes that I can’t answer the question?
After stepping inside of the workroom, I flipped on the light and proceeded to remove my coat and cap and place my bag filled with store stuff upon an open spot on the counter. I clicked on the coffee machine, turned up the thermostat, and headed out into the store.
The store was located on a city block in downtown Minneapolis. It was across from the main shopping area on the other side of the Mississippi River near St. Anthony Falls. There were plenty of old eating establishments that dated to the early part of the twentieth century. The old Pillsbury Flour Mill was nearby as well as the Stone Arch Bridge. The street that ran down the front of the store was cobblestone—thus the rumbling of cars and trucks messing with my wall hangings and sometimes screwing up the electrical wiring. On the corner was Inga’s Antiques. She has known me since I was a little girl and was friends with my grandma. The other side of Inga’s was an old eating and drinking establishment, Dumpy Grumpy, dating back to 1930. The Dumpy Grumpy used to be a speakeasy and from its basement, the buildings on the block were all adjoined. The basement was where Al Capone and John Dillinger plus the rest of the gangsters used to hangout when in Minneapolis. Between Inga and The Dumpy Grumpy was Mikal who read handwriting and on the other side of me was a sm
all coffee shop, Swizzle Stick. Each business presided in an individual brick building, a brownstone, but were connected underground in a city block.
With plenty of time before the store opened, I checked the window display of our newest addition, the infamous rose garden. First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy had had it restored and updated to the beautiful flowers we all see from time to time on the news or in person. The brisk November wind blew outside, rattling the windows. I shivered and thought of a good hot cup of coffee.
I circled to the wall where the shelf of my Penny dolls was. Every so often, a heavy truck rumbled past and one of the dolls would move slightly. Next in line, was the First Ladies pictures that are hung. Sometimes they shifted because of heavy traffic.
“Why are you crooked, Barbara?” I stopped to straighten the first Mrs. Bush. “Don’t worry, ladies, I’ll return shortly to properly coif your hair. Mrs. Carter, I hope last night was worth it. All that Billy Beer.” Something isn’t right. Mrs. Carter has never been this tipsy. “Don’t worry, ladies, you’re back to looking good.”
Grandma embroidered a replica of the sampler she has displayed at home, so it can be hung on the wall near the First Ladies pictures. We believe the sampler was originally embroidered by Dolley Madison. It has a border of strawberries but in one corner there is a flag, which I thought was odd since it was the only flag. The embroidered center had birthdates and the marriage date of Dolley and President Madison. Grandma was a direct descendant of Dolley, which means so am I.
I winked while moving on toward the dollhouses.
I glanced over at the clock above the cash register and computer and saw there was plenty of time before a dollhouse buyer from New York City, Jackie from New York, planned to stop and view the houses. I always started my morning rounds with the Madison White House and the two miniature dolls, Dolley and James.
“Good morning, Dolley! Did you sleep well? You’re still my favorite,” I said, certain she loved the attention. I fell in love with Dolley early on, before learning we were kin. My mother loved her too. I’d crawl into bed, and Mommy would tell me the story about how Dolley had saved the White House. The best was for my birthday when Mommy offered Dolley Madison cakes to all the guests along with my cake and ice cream.
“Ladies, listen up!” With my hands on my hips, I glanced around the room. “You have to all be good today because we have a special visitor. Be on your best behavior. That goes for the men, too. Mr. Clinton? Mr. Kennedy? No chasing the female staff around the Oval Office. Got that? Good.” I waited a beat. “Then we’re set for the day. This person is going to propel the store into the national spotlight so be good.” I gave them the evil eye.
I made sure I dressed up in a new pink dress to match Dolley’s inaugural gown. After two months showing interest in several White House dollhouses for her store’s toy department, Jackie Newell was coming to get a firsthand look. When I searched for her, I found her store located near Central Park. When combing through the store’s website, I realized she had stores around the world—England, Scotland, Ireland, and Canada. For me, it meant the possibility of international recognition and sales. She was scheduled to arrive within the hour, which left me with just enough time to spruce up the showroom and ensure that my 1814 White House dollhouse arrangement was in perfect shape. This was my chance to make the big time.
“There, there, now Dolley,” I said. I straightened her up because she’d tipped slightly. “Mr. Prez? You need to be on your best behavior today. No chasing Dolley around the house with my perspective buyer coming soon! No pinching her bum.” I wagged my finger at him.
“Mrs. Lincoln? You’re looking marvelous today, per usual. How’s the headache after that awful carriage ride? It was an attempt on your life, wasn’t it?” I’d had an awful headache after the car accident that killed my parents when I was eleven. I thought the pounding inside of my head would never quit. Now it was an ache in my heart, still—twenty years later.
After making a circle around the final few dollhouses, I went to the workroom once again to retrieve a hot cup of coffee. I poured my cup full before having a seat near the workbench. My employee Max usually sat at this spot and carved the dolls’ heads. Now was my chance to take a closer look at the heads. He’d labeled each one by number on a notepad with a sticky note beside each head. The Madison heads were slightly askew on the stand, which didn’t seem right since Max always left the doll heads upright so he could get a hard look at them as he entered the room. It helped him notice distinctive flaws in the carving.
I wanted to recount the number of dolls in the cabinet, to make sure my inventory book was in order. It showed six of each Madison dolls. The clothes for each was the same count. When I counted the dolls, there were six of each Madison dolls, six Dolley inaugural dresses but only five of James Madison’s outfits. What’s going on? I must’ve miscounted the last time. I recounted the number of historical dollhouses sold and dolls from the inventory, which added up correctly. I definitely was short Mr. Madison’s outfit. How could that be? Who would want that little outfit, especially without the doll?
I texted Max,
Do you recall how many James Madison outfits we should have? I thought six. Me.
I wasn’t sure when he’d respond because he worked other places besides for me. He could be sound asleep, also.
Max texted,
Should be six.
Max’s response perplexed me even more. Something was not right.
My neighbor, Mikal was not only a handwriting expert, he was also part psychic. I wondered if he could make some sense of this mishap. I also wondered if he’d seen anyone lurking about. I had thirty minutes until Jackie was expected, so I went next door to ask him about it.
“Liv, what’s wrong? You look perplexed. Are you locked out?” Mikal walked toward me with a client following. “Another mouse?” He grinned and glanced at his client. “Stephanie, my neighbor, Liv.”
“I don’t have time for this stupidity.” The short, stocky client peeked out from behind Mikal, narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her flat chest. “Listen, missy. I was in the middle of a reading. It was just getting good! I found out about my husband’s little girlie friend with the big boobs. Now this!” She threw her arms in the air. “My reading is botched. I want a refund.”
“You haven’t paid.” Mikal glared at her.
“I won’t either.” She marched away but not before giving me the finger.
“Hey! Loser! Don’t blame me for your stupid husband!” Just because I’d evicted a live-in mouse family from my shop a few weeks ago didn’t mean it was back. “I think someone has been in my shop. Have you seen anyone lurking about?” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, called Aaron and left a message.
“Sit down, right here and explain,” Mikal said.
“The inventory says I should have six Mr. Madison outfits, but I only have five. I’ve added everything up correctly. It’s odd. Do you get anything psychic about this?”
“I haven’t seen anyone lurking nor do I feel a sense of doom. Aren’t you expecting an important client from New York City?”
“Yes. She owns a chain of department stores across the country and Canada.” Just then, Aaron returned the call. “Aaron, someone has been in the store and stolen an outfit but not the doll.” I sank into the given chair. “The outfit was for a James Madison doll.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I’m going to mention it to the detective. Are you in the store?”
“No, I’m at Mikal’s. I’m going back now. I wondered if he’d seen any weird looking person lurking around.”
“I’ll stop by before I begin my rounds. It should be pretty soon.” Aaron disconnected.
“I’m going back.” I headed for the door. “I’m not sure if there was a break-in. Minnesota Nice had been by recently and checked the code pad, and that was in working order. Maybe earlier, I hadn’t counted correctly? It’s always possible that an outfit was sold without the doll.”
“That’s true, but it doesn’t make any sense,” Mikal said. “Do you want me to walk you back and look around?”
“No, but thanks. Max should be coming down soon. I’ll send you a text if anything else catches my attention.”
“Okay. I can be there in a jiffy.”
“I’ve got to get back to the store.” I had to protect the ladies. The First Ladies had already been through so much in their lives, and now it was up to me to make sure nothing else happened to them. Mommy always said they were special, like being the Nation’s Mother. In addition to hosting foreign dignitaries and formal dinners, the First Ladies made sure the President looked out for our interests.
I texted my best friend, Maggie, as I walked out the door. My feet crunched in the snow, and I started to shiver.
Max Johnson worked part-time for me and rented the apartment above the shop.
He should be around here someplace, but who knows? Max often gambled away his money. I was always getting cryptic messages from parts unknown, asking how to reach him, presumably to remove body parts. A reassuring chuckle from behind made me grin. Max’s voice boomed from above. “Livvie! Now what? Another mouse in the house?”
My headache suddenly grew to the size of Texas. I glanced upward and massaged my temples.
“Come down to the workroom. I want to talk to you about a missing item.” Max
may have seen someone during the night or an unknown car in the lot.
Aaron’s squad car drove up and parked.
The cold sliced through me. Aaron’s presence was slightly warming.
Aaron and his partner, Tim Dahl, climbed from the car.
“Once I’d told the detective about the missing item, he said he’d be by and ask questions,” Aaron said as he walked over toward me.
“Why?” I asked. “I’m not positive I’m missing anything.”
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