wore. Booth nodded to the maitre’ d and he seated the actor. They ordered and sat silently for a moment while they awaited their food to arrive.
“Did you go out to see the Illumination last night?” She asked with evident excitement in her voice.
He sighed loudly so she would understand that he was not enthused with this line of conversation. “Yes, I saw some of it around here. But I certainly didn’t wander the city like so many others apparently did.”
“It was magnificent. I have never seen anything so marvelous and wonderful. The entire city was aglow like it was a great lantern,” her eyes brightened as she spoke.
“Yes, I am sure,” he said and laid his right hand down on the table. Carrie Bean immediately noticed two things about his hand. His fingernails were perfectly manicured with no dirt beneath them and smooth-edged. Then she noticed on that soft triangular patch of skin between the thumb and forefinger were three crude letters tattooed onto his skin: JWB. The letters were formed poorly as if a child had done it.
“What’s that?” She asked tilting her head at this hand. He raised his eyebrows by way of asking what she meant. She leaned forward and placed her right elbow on the table. Then, drooping her forearm forward, she lightly outlined the letters with the nail of her forefinger. She raised her eyes to him and smiled. He returned the favor.
“That. Why do you have your initials on your hand? I’ve never noticed them before.” She continued to outline the letters ever so lightly and looked up and held his gaze. Her blue eyes were bright and looked fully into Booth’s face—her look and the touch of his hand were bold gestures that did not go unnoticed by him.
“I did it when I was but a boy,” he answered holding her eyes with his.
“Why in the world would you have done that?”
“I did it myself. I wrote my initials in Indian ink to remind myself that I would be great one day. So I would remember that my name was to be known across the entire land,” he answered.
“Well,” she smiled at him, “I reckon it worked didn’t it?” She traced the poorly formed letters once more, this time looking at his hand as she did so.
“Yes, Miss Bean, I reckon it did. But my name shall be greater even yet.” She looked up sensing the conviction in his voice. They continued to look at each other in silence as the waiter set down plates of eggs, Virginia ham, and grits before them. Booth knew it would be an enjoyable breakfast indeed.
Booth handed Miss Carrie Bean into the carriage and waved to her as the carriage pulled away. He decided that now was the time for a good shave and trim. He rubbed his finger over his chin and realized that his stubble was much heavier than he had realized and wondered what impression that made on her while they talked over breakfast. As he walked along Pennsylvania Avenue to go to Booker and Stewart, his barbers on E street, his mind wandered from the enjoyable conversation at breakfast to the passersby on the sidewalk. The ladies and gentlemen were in their interminable celebratory mood. He heard snippets of people talking about the Great Illumination from the night before: they spoke of how brightly the Capitol dome was lit or about all of the candles in the windows of the various executive office buildings.
Wilkes turned from Pennsylvania to Thirteenth Street and kept walking and listening and thinking. His mind began to turn over the events of the past several days. On Tuesday evening, just two days before, Booth had joined the crowds and walked to the Executive Mansion to listen to Abraham Lincoln give a speech. The expectation had been that the President would mark the occasion of Richmond’s fall and Lee’s surrender with a rousing speech of congratulations and victory. Booth was joined by two of his companions in his plot to kidnap Lincoln and ransom him for the Confederate prisoners, David Herold and a mysterious young Confederate