It wasn't that their lives were in any immediate danger. Robert had been practicing law under an alias for the last ten years, not because he lacked a sense of honest pride, but because he feared for his children, Mamie and Jack. And it was a legal name change, in any event. Still, Mary Eunice pacled everything with practiced efficiency.
“Where shall we go this time, my dear Robert?” she huffed.
He sat at a desk in their tiny bedroom, wishing away the spiders to no avail while he wrote his letter of resignation.
“I haven't any clue, dear. Perhaps Canada would prove more hospitable to people of our...namesake.” No, that wasn't right. Not namesake, not any longer. Heredity? Not even.
Come on, Lincoln! He chided himself in his old name. Your father would be ashamed!
But his father would likely have been ashamed in any case, because he had to lie wherever he went. Though lie was, perhaps, too strong a word. Omit some of the truth, that was all. And didn't his father have to omit some pretty monstrous truths during his time in office?
“Best get Mamie into the carriage double-quick,” he told Mary as an afterthought. Poor Mamie. It must have skipped a generation, but Mamie was a hideous reflection of those monstrous truths, something the family had discovered a couple years ago in Plymouth. If not for the public nature of the display, they would not have had to leave, and now they had to leave another home behind, another shambles of a life, to go elsewhere.
“She must learn to control her illness,” Mary said primly, but she went to corral her namesake, nicknamed “Mamie”, all the same.
Robert dropped his pen perhaps a bit too sharply and made an irritated face. “I'm well aware of that.”
Mary was a good woman, which is why he didn't bother to correct her again. It was not an illness. She paid his mood no mind as she bustled from the room.
Robert knew they would be at his door within an hour, perhaps two. Though he found it distasteful to live like a rat, what choice did he have? As soon as his father was outed, the entire family became a target for every ignorant low-life with a sidearm. His siblings fled to different locations, because all of them together presented a bigger, more obvious target. For a few years his mother traveled with him and his, but she took ill, and by the time they decided to trust a doctor, well, it had advanced too far.
The funeral was private. The headstone...he had to put his pen down again, for he could no longer see the paper clearly. He buried his face in his hands. The headstone bore the name “Agnes Sherman”. Only the family attended the funeral, and no one would ever know besides them. History would ignore the grave of a First Lady for the first time, and possibly the last.
Perhaps in several generations, their proud family would be able to hold their heads high in public once more.
Robert's future was assured as long as he kept his children safe, taught them how to survive, and never revealed their awful secret. Mary was with child again, so soon there would be three. This would mean another body to transport, to protect. Another mouth to feed. But it gave promise to his posterity, if only he worked hard enough to ensure it.
With newfound resolve, he returned to his letter.
Dear Mr. Sanforth,
I deeply regret that I must now resign from serving with your legal firm forthwith. It has been an honor and a privilege, but there has been a most pressing family emergency which requires my immediate and undivided attention at a considerable distance from our current locality. I understand the tenuous position I have placed you in, and I do deeply apologize for it. If there were any other way to cope with these circumstances, I assure you I would remain your faithful employee.
I shall forgo my final salary payment by way of an apology, for I truly must depart with all due haste, and it is the least I can give you in exchange for my speedy departure.
Yours,
Richard Loggins.
He folded the letter, placed it in an envelope and sealed it.
A visit to the Post Office on the way out of town, that was the way to go about it so as to gain the most ground on whatever assassin was on his way to kill them. They rode slowly to avoid undue attention, even though they spoke with their neighbors as infrequently as possible anyway. Some would doubtless wish to know whence they were headed.
He bounded from the carriage in a great hurry, only to recall that he had neglected to paste a stamp on the envelope. Returning to the house would not be an option, not now. He would simply have to hand-deliver the letter to Mr. Sanforth's office, farther along their route.
The mounting agitation of his family was plain. It reached him from behind, a wave of uncertainty reflected in every horrible imagining of Jack, in every kind word of comfort returned by Mary. They were on their way, he told himself. There had been no delay, not really. Just one stop to deliver a letter.
That's all it was supposed to be. They pulled up right at the door, and when he got off the carriage to slip his letter underneath, it opened. He swallowed hard, the guilt coming to the fore when he expected Bob Sanforth to emerge.
But it wasn't Bob. Robert did not know this gentleman, a stocky fellow with an awkward stovepipe hat on his head. The gentleman regarded him strangely, as though Robert's appearance were the single most unexpected event which could have occurred.
Robert's expression was not much different. He offered a silent plea to the Lord for deliverance as the two of them froze in place.
“The office is closed today, sir—closed every Sunday.”
“Oh, well shucks. That's alright, I guess, only—who are you? Do you work here?”
“Yes, sir, as a matter of fact I do. I'm one of the attorneys here.” He didn't give his name. Looked for recognition, didn't see it.
“Hmm. Well, maybe you can deliver something for me.” The gentleman reached for something stuck in the back of his belt, and Robert held up his hands.
“I really mustn't. I'm leaving town for--”
“I insist!” The gentleman pulled his hand free and plunged it forward with remarkable swiftness. But Robert had been on the alert. He swept the flashing blade aside with one hand and shot the man full in the stomach with the other. Then he looked behind him.
The children...
Still, he would not leave this man to suffer, nevermind the atrocious deed he had been sent to carry out. Or else, truly, Robert was no better than him. He tried to hide the grisly scene from his family with his own body and put a second bullet into his attacker's head. They certainly knew what had happened. They were a smart bunch. It was all he could do. He deposited his letter and they rode to the relative safety of Canada.
“Where shall we go this time, my dear Robert?” she huffed.
He sat at a desk in their tiny bedroom, wishing away the spiders to no avail while he wrote his letter of resignation.
“I haven't any clue, dear. Perhaps Canada would prove more hospitable to people of our...namesake.” No, that wasn't right. Not namesake, not any longer. Heredity? Not even.
Come on, Lincoln! He chided himself in his old name. Your father would be ashamed!
But his father would likely have been ashamed in any case, because he had to lie wherever he went. Though lie was, perhaps, too strong a word. Omit some of the truth, that was all. And didn't his father have to omit some pretty monstrous truths during his time in office?
“Best get Mamie into the carriage double-quick,” he told Mary as an afterthought. Poor Mamie. It must have skipped a generation, but Mamie was a hideous reflection of those monstrous truths, something the family had discovered a couple years ago in Plymouth. If not for the public nature of the display, they would not have had to leave, and now they had to leave another home behind, another shambles of a life, to go elsewhere.
“She must learn to control her illness,” Mary said primly, but she went to corral her namesake, nicknamed “Mamie”, all the same.
Robert dropped his pen perhaps a bit too sharply and made an irritated face. “I'm well aware of that.”
Mary was a good woman, which is why he didn't bother to correct her again. It was not an illness. She paid his mood no mind as she bustled from the room.
Robert knew they would be at his door within an hour, perhaps two. Though he found it distasteful to live like a rat, what choice did he have? As soon as his father was outed, the entire family became a target for every ignorant low-life with a sidearm. His siblings fled to different locations, because all of them together presented a bigger, more obvious target. For a few years his mother traveled with him and his, but she took ill, and by the time they decided to trust a doctor, well, it had advanced too far.
The funeral was private. The headstone...he had to put his pen down again, for he could no longer see the paper clearly. He buried his face in his hands. The headstone bore the name “Agnes Sherman”. Only the family attended the funeral, and no one would ever know besides them. History would ignore the grave of a First Lady for the first time, and possibly the last.
Perhaps in several generations, their proud family would be able to hold their heads high in public once more.
Robert's future was assured as long as he kept his children safe, taught them how to survive, and never revealed their awful secret. Mary was with child again, so soon there would be three. This would mean another body to transport, to protect. Another mouth to feed. But it gave promise to his posterity, if only he worked hard enough to ensure it.
With newfound resolve, he returned to his letter.
Dear Mr. Sanforth,
I deeply regret that I must now resign from serving with your legal firm forthwith. It has been an honor and a privilege, but there has been a most pressing family emergency which requires my immediate and undivided attention at a considerable distance from our current locality. I understand the tenuous position I have placed you in, and I do deeply apologize for it. If there were any other way to cope with these circumstances, I assure you I would remain your faithful employee.
I shall forgo my final salary payment by way of an apology, for I truly must depart with all due haste, and it is the least I can give you in exchange for my speedy departure.
Yours,
Richard Loggins.
He folded the letter, placed it in an envelope and sealed it.
A visit to the Post Office on the way out of town, that was the way to go about it so as to gain the most ground on whatever assassin was on his way to kill them. They rode slowly to avoid undue attention, even though they spoke with their neighbors as infrequently as possible anyway. Some would doubtless wish to know whence they were headed.
He bounded from the carriage in a great hurry, only to recall that he had neglected to paste a stamp on the envelope. Returning to the house would not be an option, not now. He would simply have to hand-deliver the letter to Mr. Sanforth's office, farther along their route.
The mounting agitation of his family was plain. It reached him from behind, a wave of uncertainty reflected in every horrible imagining of Jack, in every kind word of comfort returned by Mary. They were on their way, he told himself. There had been no delay, not really. Just one stop to deliver a letter.
That's all it was supposed to be. They pulled up right at the door, and when he got off the carriage to slip his letter underneath, it opened. He swallowed hard, the guilt coming to the fore when he expected Bob Sanforth to emerge.
But it wasn't Bob. Robert did not know this gentleman, a stocky fellow with an awkward stovepipe hat on his head. The gentleman regarded him strangely, as though Robert's appearance were the single most unexpected event which could have occurred.
Robert's expression was not much different. He offered a silent plea to the Lord for deliverance as the two of them froze in place.
“The office is closed today, sir—closed every Sunday.”
“Oh, well shucks. That's alright, I guess, only—who are you? Do you work here?”
“Yes, sir, as a matter of fact I do. I'm one of the attorneys here.” He didn't give his name. Looked for recognition, didn't see it.
“Hmm. Well, maybe you can deliver something for me.” The gentleman reached for something stuck in the back of his belt, and Robert held up his hands.
“I really mustn't. I'm leaving town for--”
“I insist!” The gentleman pulled his hand free and plunged it forward with remarkable swiftness. But Robert had been on the alert. He swept the flashing blade aside with one hand and shot the man full in the stomach with the other. Then he looked behind him.
The children...
Still, he would not leave this man to suffer, nevermind the atrocious deed he had been sent to carry out. Or else, truly, Robert was no better than him. He tried to hide the grisly scene from his family with his own body and put a second bullet into his attacker's head. They certainly knew what had happened. They were a smart bunch. It was all he could do. He deposited his letter and they rode to the relative safety of Canada.