Editor’s Note: This is an ongoing series which runs each Thursday morning titled the Richland Chronicles, by author Paul Lintern. It is set in the 1860s and tells the story of Richland County through the eyes of young people. The books are available from Lintern for $25 a set, tax and shipping included. Each book is about 120 pages written for intermediate readers (4th grade) with local illustrations. Volume I is Amelia Changes Her Tune. Volume II is Isaac and Wolf Paw Find Their Home. Volume III is Autumn Keeps Her Secret. Volume IV is Mr. Gamble Starts a School. Volume V is Jacob Blows his Horn. Volume VI is Cassie Fights the War.
The rain was relentless, this chilly April night, but Emilene no longer noticed. She was numb, sitting in the second bench of the old black carriage, one of six crowded under the canvas roof that let in a constant stream of cold water onto her left shoulder.
It was a long slow ride from Shelby, only partly because Maggie, the horse, had a large load and a muddy road. It was also because it was five in the morning and the road was crowded with other travelers.
April 29, 1865.
Emilene knew she would never forget this day, and not just because it was the first day she could remember seeing from its beginning at midnight. It was because she had seen her first president. And he was dead.
Only two weeks earlier, Emilene was participating in school and city celebrations for the end of the War of Southern Rebellion, a Civil War that had lasted almost half of her lifetime and cost her two parents and her home.
General Grant had received the surrender of the South at a place in Virginia that no student previously had heard of but now every student had learned to spell: A-P-P-O-M-A-T-T-O-X.
That was April 10, the end of the war. She had helped make banners to hang on balconies downtown, and with two classmates made ribbons of red, white and blue cloth for all the girls in her grade.
She had sung with all the schoolchildren in town — they came from five schools — in the square in downtown Mansfield, attended by Union veterans, many of whom had been injured, and by local ministers and officials, as well as parents, including Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, who had taken her in a year ago.
She had looked at the those veterans, arm or leg missing, blind, in wheelchairs, with canes, trying to smile.
I wish my father were one of those soldiers, she thought. Half a father is better than no father at all.
The assembly featured several songs, including “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” the “Star Spangled Banner,” and even “Dixie” — that song that Mr. Emmet of nearby Mount Vernon had written just before the war began, and that the South had adopted as its unofficial anthem.
Now, Northerners were singing it again, because the southern states would remain in the United States. It was a favorite song of President Lincoln himself, who said he was glad to finally have that song back.
Local politicians spoke, the ministers prayed, and a local actor recited part of the address that President Lincoln had given at his second inauguration just a month earlier, when he began his second four-year-term as president. The Mansfield Community Band played before, during, and after each part of the celebration.
It seemed that the whole country could get back to normal. Then the news, just two weeks ago tonight. President Lincoln was shot while he and his wife, Mary, were attending a play. Someone entered his theater box, shot him in the head at close range, jumped onto the stage, and ran off.
She woke up to the news when she saw Mrs. Zimmerman, her new mother, crying in the kitchen, with her son, Nate’s, hands on her shoulders. She had stopped in the doorway.
Who is it now? What has happened? Mr. Zimmerman?
“Emi, Dear, don’t be alarmed. Come here. We received some bad news. Oh, Dear, it seems the news just won’t stop,” Autumn said. “Emilene, the president…”
She hesitated.
“Mr. Lincoln….”
Her voice cracked.
“Has been shot…” She sobbed loudly. “And killed.”
The President? How could that happen? Who would do that? Mr. Lincoln was nice and brave. And important. Does everyone have to die? I thought the war was over.
Emilene didn’t cry; she just bit her lip and watched Nate console his mother by patting her shoulders and saying, “There, there.”
She wanted to crawl up into the woman’s lap.
I wish you were my mother. I need my mother. Why can’t she be here?
Autumn put out her arms to Emilene to hold her, but Emilene just stood at the doorway.
“Come, Child, come close.”
Why aren’t you my mother?
Emilene wanted to run, but instead she inched toward the outstretched arms, that held her tightly. It felt good, Emilene had to admit.
But I wish you were hugging me, Mother.
And now, the six in the Zimmerman household — Mother and Father, Nate, the twins, Cassie and Jacob, and Emilene — were heading back from Shelby, after spending a dreary, rain-soaked night camped by the railroad line just south of town, waiting for a glimpse of the train carrying President Lincoln in his casket to his final resting place in Springfield, Illinois, his home.
The train was on its eighth day of travel, making a slow, deliberate ride through the big cities and across as many states as possible. The nine cars had stopped in Cleveland all day yesterday so that more than 100,000 people could file by, and then it left at midnight to make a journey to Columbus, traveling as slow as possible to let people stand alongside the tracks and see the president, lying in his casket in the last car.
A special locomotive passed by about 10 minutes ahead of the train so people could know when it was coming, and that is why, at 3:40 a.m., Emilene found herself standing on two wooden freight boxes near the station, drenched in rain, peering down the track with hundreds of torches lining the road, as a slow train approached.
She was shocked to see a big portrait of President Lincoln resting on the cow catcher on the front of the train and noticed that all the men removed their hats as the train passed by, despite the weather. The crowd was singing, quietly singing.
“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…” It’s the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Your favorite hymn, Mr. Lincoln.
The train lumbered on and after a bit of straining to see it continue down the track, the crowd quietly disbanded and headed for their homes throughout the county. Somewhere around Springmill, Emilene dozed off to sleep and was surprised to find herself waking up in her own bed, dry clothes, on a familiar pillow, with an old friendly blanket keeping her warm.
Was it all a dream? A nightmare? Hanging up by the window was her dress, still dripping. Guess not.
