A Night of Horrors: A Historical Thriller about the 24 Hours of Lincoln's Assassination by John C. Berry Read Free Book Online Page B

protect his shirt and pants. Booth came into this barbershop four or five times a week to get a shave and occasionally had his mustache and hair trimmed as well. This morning was going to be a simple shave. Wilkes Booth closed his eyes as the barber set the chair back. The barber gently laid the hot damp towel over his face, and it dimmed the bright light of the spring day. He always enjoyed these moments when the world was shut out, and the damp heat on his face calmed him. He opened his eyes beneath the towel and saw a dim whiteness. He imagined how he could somehow make good on his promise that Abraham Lincoln would never make a speech again. It was on that very night that he had begun to alter his thoughts from kidnap to assassination. Over the past few days a vague plan was emerging. He had realized that many of the plans they already had in place for the kidnapping could be altered and applied to an assassination plot. It actually would be easier because they wouldn’t have to take him prisoner. They would simply shoot him and then travel south along the same route they’d mapped out for abducting him. It really could work well, as long as they had the courage and the will to do it, of which Booth had both in abundance. Then the towel came off and he smiled at the soothing sensation of the barber using the brush to apply the shaving soap to his face and neck. ‘Yes, it will actually be simpler to just kill him,’ he thought.
    His shave finished, Booth rose from the barber’s chair and slipped his coat back on. “Place it on my tab,” he called over his shoulder as he walked from the shop, buttoning his wool jacket. The spring morning was bright and still a bit cool, but warming up. It promised of the summer’s heat to come. Booth decided that he would stop by the National Theater and see if Lincoln would be attending the play. He understood from Dwight Hess, the owner, that he’d extended invitations to Lincoln the night before. Booth’s thoughts of murder were forming slowly, but Hess’ theater might be a good venue for the act. As he jogged up the steps, he met Mrs. Hessand her sister-in-law, Helen Palmer Moss, at the front door.
    “Well good mornin’, Mrs. Hess,” Booth said as he took his hat off with his left hand and took each lady by the hand with his right. “It is delightful to see you this mornin’. Can I assume from this happy meeting that your husband is inside?” Booth asked.
    Both of the women smiled and Mrs. Hesstold Booth where he could find her husband. He walked in and found the theater owner where she said he’d be, in his office.
    “Good mornin’, Hess, what’re you up to?” Booth called by way of greeting.
    “Ah, Booth, good morning to you as well. What brings you to the National Theatre on this fine spring morning?” Hess looked up from the papers he was reading on his desk.
    “How’s the house looking tonight for Aladdin ?” The actor inquired. “Do you expect a large turnout again?”
    “Not so large as I thought. President Lincoln and his wife turned down my invitation. But, we still have a good crowd nonetheless. Aren’t quite sold out, but one still hopes.” He smiled at the actor standing in the doorway.
    “Well, I hope so as well. Good day to you. I am on my way to Ford’s to pick up my mail and saw your lovely wife and thought I’d stop in.” Booth walked out of National Theatre and continued down E Street until he reached Tenth Street and turned left and approached Ford’s Theatre. As he drew near, Henry Ford, one of the brothers who owned the theater, stood on the steps talking with a friend, enjoying the spring weather.
    “Well, here comes the handsomest and best dressed man in Washington City,” he said to his friend, but loud enough for Booth to hear.
    “Good mornin’, Ford. How’re you? Do I have any mail?” Booth asked as he walked half way up the steps and stopped. Ford opened a door and called for Booth’s mail to be brought out and turned