Grace's Letter to Lincoln Page 3

Stephen answered, “The slaveholding states are tired of the northern states bothering them about slavery. If the North will not leave the South alone, the South believes they can form their own country.”

  “But won’t that mean war?” Alice asked.

  “Only if the government takes up arms against any state that secedes,” Papa explained.

  “What does secede mean?” Grace asked.

  “That means to leave the United States,” Papa answered.

  “I hope that Mr. Lincoln does not let them secede when he is president,” Grace said.

  “It will mean war,” Stephen added.

  “Let us pray that people have more sense than that,” Mama said.

  That night Grace read Frederick another fable. Her usual enthusiasm for the stories wasn’t in her voice. She truly wanted Mr. Lincoln to win. But she also did not want a war. Why couldn’t the adults just agree that slavery was bad, that the slaves should be set free to live their own lives? Then there would be no war between the states.

  Before she turned down her lamp, Grace read the letter from Lincoln and gazed at his picture one more time. She felt sure Old Abe would win tomorrow.

  Chapter Seven

  The Bedell house buzzed with excitement on election day. Papa and Stephen left first to go to the voting polls. Grace and Frederick rushed off to school. Mama, Helen, and Alice began cleaning and cooking in anticipation of the celebration that evening when the election results would be telegraphed to Westfield.

  After dinner that evening, Papa said, “I’m off to the train station to await the election news over the telegraph.”

  “May I come?” Grace asked.

  “Me, too,” Frederick said.

  Papa raised his eyebrows and twisted his moustache.

  “It is a school night,” he said.

  “Please, Papa, please,” Grace begged.

  “Well,” Papa said slowly. “Seeing as you are a correspondent of Mr. Lincoln’s, it is fine with me. Frederick, too. What do you think, Mama?”

  “I think I’ll join you,” Mama said.

  Papa frowned. “Amanda, don’t you think you should stay home?”

  “I can’t vote, but I can cheer,” Mama said. Her tone convinced Papa.

  “Do you want to come, Helen?” Grace asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Helen said. “But who will take care of Una?”

  “I’ll stay home with Una,” Alice remarked. “Someone’s got to have some sense around here.” She smiled at her family. “Now, off with you,” she said. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Mama linked her right arm with Papa’s. Grace gripped his right arm. Frederick held Helen’s hand as the Bedells walked down the hill to the train station. The glowing torches reminded Grace of a field of giant fireflies.

  Mama jumped as a firework rocketed into the sky.

  Papa chuckled. “It still tickles me that Grace had the nerve to write Old Abe and suggest he grow whiskers. Why, I would have suggested a mustache like mine!”

  The crowd at the station was much bigger than Grace had anticipated. They joined the Macombers. Jennie was holding her father’s hand.

  “What’s the news?” Papa asked Mr. Macomber.

  “Lincoln is winning in Ohio, but losing in New Jersey. Douglas is ahead in Pennsylvania.”

  “That’s bad,” Stephen said. “Old Abe needs Pennsylvania to win.”

  “He needs all the northern states to win,” Papa said.

  All at once Mr. Rogers, the telegraph operator, burst out of the station. He was waving a paper.

  Both crowds hushed.

  “Lincoln’s winning New York!” he shouted.

  “Hurrah!” yelled the Lincoln supporters. “Hurrah for Old Abe!”

  Mr. Rogers waved his paper again. “Douglas is winning in Illinois,” he hollered.

  The Douglas supporters yelled for their man.

  “Impossible,” Papa muttered. “That’s Lincoln’s home state.”

  “It is Mr. Douglas’s home, too, Papa,” Grace reminded him.

  “I know. I know,” Papa said. “But still …”

  His words were cut short by the explosion of a firecracker nearby. Grace squeezed his arm harder.

  “I will take the children home now,” Mama said to Papa. “Come Helen, Grace, and Frederick.”

  “But, Mama,” Grace cried, “I want to stay until Mr. Lincoln wins!” She grabbed on tighter to Papa’s arm.

  Papa peeled Grace’s fingers off his coat. “Now, do as your mother says, Grace. I will come home as soon as I hear anything new.”

  Grace took Mama’s hand. Mama held Frederick’s hand as they squirmed their way out of the crowd. All the way up the hill, Grace kept turning around. And Mama kept tugging her home.

  Alice had hot tea ready for them. Sipping it in the parlor, they listened as the fireworks abruptly stopped.

  “Must be a telegraph message,” Frederick said.

  A shout for Lincoln rattled the windows.

  “Sounds like Lincoln is ahead in another state,” Helen said.

  The tea and the fire warmed Grace. Despite herself, she yawned. Mama saw it and said, “Grace. Frederick. Time for bed. No arguments from either of you,” she added sternly.

  Mama stroked Grace’s hair before turning down her lamp. As she did, Grace looked at her poster of Old Abe.

  “Good luck,” she whispered.

  After she closed her eyes, Grace repeated Mr. Lincoln’s letter in her head. She had read it so many times she had memorized it.

  The blast of a cannon made her heart leap into her throat.

  Grace raced downstairs. Frederick followed. The whole family gathered in the parlor. Mama rocked baby Una who was whimpering.

  “What happened?” Grace cried. “Is it a war?”

  Papa hugged her tight. “It is the news you wanted to hear.”

  “Did Mr. Lincoln win?” Grace asked tentatively.

  “All of the votes have not yet been counted. But he seems to have won almost every northern state.”

  “What was that loud noise?” Frederick asked.

  “Don’t you remember, silly?” Grace said. “On the way home from school we saw those men rolling the cannon out onto the lawn of the McClurg mansion.”

  “Did someone attack the house?” Frederick asked.

  “No,” Grace explained. “If Lincoln is winning for sure, they were to fire the cannon.”

  “He is and they did.” Papa laughed.

  “Well, it just about scared me out of a year’s growth,” Alice commented. “Grown men playing with cannons at all hours of the night.”

  “Oh, isn’t it exciting,” Grace said. “Mr. Lincoln will be president.”

  “I pray the country stays together,” Mama whispered.

  “It will,” Papa told her. “The talk of the south leaving the Union if Lincoln is elected is all bluster. It is like a threatening storm. All wind but no lightning or rain.”

  “I hope you are right, dear,” Mama said sadly.

  “If not, then I’ll be off to war,” Papa boasted.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Mama said.

  “When will Mr. Lincoln be in the White House?” Grace asked.

  “Not for months,” Papa said.

  “Why not?” Grace asked.

  “First, all of the votes have to be counted. Then the president-elect has to travel from Springfield to Washington,” Papa explained. “He will not officially become President until March 4th of next year.”

  “Why do we have to wait so long?” Frederick asked. “He won. He should be president today!”

  “That’s just the way things work,” Papa said.

  “Maybe he will come through Westfield on his way to Washington,” Grace cried out.

  Papa twisted his mustache. “He just might at that. The train from Chicago to New York runs through town.”

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see him,” Grace said.

  “Thank goodness he won’t have a silly beard,”
Alice said.

  The clock chimed midnight.

  “It has been a long day for all of us,” Papa said. “I think it is time we went to bed.”

  “I certainly hope they do not fire that cannon again,” Mama said.

  “I wouldn’t worry, dear,” Papa told her. “They only had enough powder for one shot.”

  Grace could still hear the shouting for Lincoln down by the tracks as she finally drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  It was a week before the final results trickled in. Papa read them from newspaper.

  “Old Abe: 1,866,452 votes. Douglas: 1,376,957. Breckenridge: 849,781. Bell: 588,879. It is official now. Abraham Lincoln has been elected President of the United States.”

  “He would have more votes if he had grown a beard,” Grace said.

  “There is no way of knowing that,” Alice said. “How many wives would have talked their husbands into voting for Lincoln if he had whiskers?”

  “I could have persuaded your father,” Mama said. “That is if he weren’t already for Lincoln.”

  Papa was still looking at the paper. “Lincoln won in every free state, but not in one southern state.”

  “He wasn’t even on the ballot in most of them,” Stephen said.

  The weather changed soon after the election. A cold wind blew off Lake Erie, bringing snow with it. Grace and Jennie went sledding and ice-skating, and made Christmas presents for their families.

  “I wonder where Jefferson is,” Grace asked Jennie one day.

  “Papa says we may never know.”

  But they found out. A week before Christmas, Jennie came running to Grace’s house. She had a letter from Jefferson.

  “Read it,” Grace begged her.

  Jennie unfolded the letter and read,

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Macomber,

  One of my fellow workers is taking down my words, as I cannot write them myself. I got away fine on the railroad. A boat took me across to Canada where I am safe now. I am working for a carriage maker. He is nice, but not as nice as Mr. Bedell. Please send my best wishes for Christmas to him and all of his family. Tell Miss Grace she made my heart stop beating when she came to the door the night I caught my train. Tell Miss Jennie thank you for being a decoy to fool the sheriff. I will never forget any of you. Maybe someday I can return to Westfield a free man, especially now Mr. Lincoln is president. Merry Christmas to all.

  Jefferson.

  “What does it mean at the end “Jefferson. My mark.

  “That X mark is how Jefferson had to sign his name. It’s because he can’t write it himself.”

  “Can you imagine not being able to read or write?” Grace said. “If I couldn’t write, I never could have written to Mr. Lincoln.”

  “Pa says it is against the law for slaves to learn to read and write. It is against the law for a white person to even teach them.”

  “My Christmas wish is for all of the slaves to be set free,” Grace said.

  “Mine, too,” Jennie said. “Maybe with Mr. Lincoln in Washington, it will happen.”

  “But he’s not there yet,” Grace reminded her. “Now South Carolina has left the Union. There might be war by spring. My parents said there are plots to assassinate Mr. Lincoln.”

  “What does assassinate mean?” Jennie asked.

  “To kill him.”

  “But why? He was elected president fair and square.”

  “Papa says some people in the south hate him so much they want to kill him before he reaches Washington.”

  “I hope he brings an army with him when he goes to Washington,” Jennie said.

  In the distance, Grace heard the whistle of the train crossing the Chautauqua Creek Gorge.

  “Here comes the train to New York City,” she said. “My second Christmas wish is for Mr. Lincoln to come this way when he goes to Washington.”

  Chapter Nine

  Grace’s wish for freedom for the slaves took three years and a civil war before coming true. But on February 16, 1861, Grace’s second wish did come true.

  In the early afternoon, Grace heard the sharp, piercing whistle of the steam engine chugging across Chautauqua Creek Gorge.

  “I can see smoke,” a boy up a lamppost yelled.

  Grace stood on her tiptoes to get a better look. Helen moved out of her way. All Grace could see was a banner with bold letters stating WELCOME TO THE EMPIRE STATE.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Alice muttered. “How I let you talk me into coming out into the freezing cold, I’ll never know.”

  A long, low whistle drifted through the air.

  Hundreds of people waved flags and shouted as the steam engine hissed to a stop. A band played “Ole Dan Tucker.” “It’s like an Independence Day parade,” Helen said.

  Everyone got quiet. A tall man with a beard stepped onto the platform.

  Grace stood on her tiptoes. She could not believe her eyes. Abraham Lincoln had a beard.

  “Well, dog my cats,” whispered Papa. “He did grow whiskers.”

  “Three cheers for Mr. Lincoln,” someone shouted.

  The crowd burst into cheers. “Hip, hip, hurrah. Hip, hip, hurrah. Hip, hip, hurrah!”

  “Three times three cheers for the Union!”

  Nine booming cheers followed.

  Mr. Lincoln held up his hands for quiet.

  “Seeing the large crowd of people, I came out to look at you. I suppose you came here to look at me, and from the large number of ladies I see in the crowd, I think I have much the better of the bargain.”

  The crowd laughed and clapped.

  “During the campaign last fall, I received a letter from this place, and a very pretty letter it was, too. It was written by a young girl, whose name, if I remember rightly, was Miss Bedell.”

  Grace stopped breathing. Had Mr. Lincoln really said her name?

  “Among other things,” Mr. Lincoln continued. “She advised me to let my whiskers grow as it would improve my personal appearance. Acting partly on her suggestion, I have done so. And now, if she is here, I would like to see her.”

  No one moved. No one talked. Everyone looked around.

  Johnny, from his perch on the lamppost cried out, “There she is, Mr. Lincoln.”

  As if by magic, the crowd parted in front of Grace.

  “Let’s go meet Old Abe,” Papa said. He took her hand.

  It seemed as if an hour passed as Grace walked toward the train. As she got closer, Mr. Lincoln seemed to grow taller and taller.

  Mr. Lincoln stepped down from his car. He lifted Grace high into the air. Then he kissed her on both cheeks.

  “You see, my dear,” he said. “I let these grow for you. Perhaps you made me president.”

  Grace blushed. She touched the whiskers. She couldn’t say a word. She just looked into his kind eyes twinkling at her.

  A whistle shrieked. Abraham Lincoln bowed and went back to the train. The crowd cheered and cheered.

  The train moved slowly out of Westfield. The crowd kept shouting, “Hurrah for Lincoln! We’ll stand by you, Abe!”

  Papa bent down. He whispered in Grace’s ear, “Do you think I should grow a beard, too?”

  Grace laughed and tugged on her father’s mustache.

  “Beards are for presidents, not papas.”

  Then she waved at the disappearing train carrying President Abraham Lincoln to the White House.

  Author’s Note

  Grace’s Letter to Lincoln is based on a true story.

  Research for this book was done in Westfield where we walked the streets Grace walked and stood in Grace’s room where she wrote her letter to Lincoln.

  The authors would like to thank the staff of the Westfield Public Library for their help in locating materials used in this book.

  —Peter and Connie Roop

  Grace Bedell’s actual letter to Lincoln.

  Used by permission of the Burton Historical Collection of the Detroit Public Library.

  Abraham Lincoln’s letter
to Grace.

  Used by permission of The Lincoln Museum, Fort Wayne, Indiana, a part of Lincoln National Corporation

  About the Authors

  Peter and Connie Roop are award-winning authors and educators who have published over one hundred children’s books, including the Reading Rainbow feature selection Keep the Lights Burning, Abbie. They have written biographies, historical fiction, general fiction, and science books. In 2013 the Wisconsin Library Association recognized the Roops as Notable Wisconsin Authors for their body of work, and Peter Roop has been named a Wisconsin State Teacher of the Year.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 1998 by Peter and Connie Roop

  Illustrations copyright © 1998 by Stacey Schuett

  Cover design by Mauricio Díaz

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-1012-2

  This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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  New York, NY 10014

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