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    Abby and the Ugly Man
    Abby and the Ugly Man
    Abby and the Ugly Man
    Ebook114 pages1 hour

    Abby and the Ugly Man

    By Betty Wagner Loeb

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    Abby, a precocious, motherless twelve-year-old, constantly irritates her fastidious father, Charles Martin, who is a haberdasher in Washington City. The time is spring, 1865. Abbys a rather clumsy little redhead with freckles who is careless in her dress, is late for breakfast, asks countless questions, lacks any visible sign of becoming a lady and is obsessed with President Lincoln. Martin doesnt understand why a child, especially a girl, should be so interested in Mr. Lincoln and the Civil War that appears to be coming to an end, although the South is struggling to hold on. Martin refuses to listen when Abby tries to explain that her mother, who died a year ago, had admired the President and told Abby that if she paid attention, she could learn compassion and humility from him.

    Abby always becomes angry when magazines and newspapers call her beloved Mr. Lincoln all manner of shameful names, such as: ugly, buffoon and gorilla, Shes determined to meet him and shake his hand one day. Robert, the boy she secretly likes, has gone to the White House and shaken hands with the President. Unaware of her fathers sense of helplessness with regard to her upbringing, and the depth of his pain over the death of her mother, Abby concludes that her father doesnt love her, something she desperately needs.

    Two former slaves reside in their house: Shala who is their housekeeper and Yabu, a tall, quiet boy of thirteen whom Shala rescued when he ran away from an abusive owner. Yabus duties are to help Shala and to accompany Abby any time she is permitted to take a walk. The streets of Washington City are full of soldiers, prisoners, horses and all manner of war equipment. The city still fears that General Robert E. Lee may try to capture the city. So, even when cannons boom all over the city to announce the end of the war, Abby is terrified. Her only friends have moved away, but her Uncle Chris, who lost a leg at Gettysburg, visits occasionally, and they play checkers. Each night, she finds comfort in opening her diary and writing a letter to her mother.

    A friend of Abbys father, Luke Cunningham, arrives from Springfield, Illinois, to get help in locating his missing brother. He wishes Mr. Lincoln could help.

    During her walks, Abby becomes acquainted with Tad Lincoln, the Presidents youngest son, who plays with his dog on the White House lawn. Tad offers to take Abby into the White House to meet his father someday. Disobeying her father, because she just cannot stay indoors on a sparkling spring day, Abby forces Yabu to sneak off with her to the White House. When caught, she uses the excuse that Tad said tomorrow she may bring Mr. Cunningham, and he will take them to his fathers office, which he does. So, finally, Abby shakes the Presidents hand, is served refreshments by Mrs. Lincoln, plays with Tad and sees his little theater, a day shell never forget.

    Abbys father had promised to take her to Fords Theatre on Friday evening when the President and Mrs. Lincoln plan to be there. However, her father is ill, so Mr. Cunningham takes Abby. Pandemonium ensues when John Wilkes Booth shoots Mr. Lincoln, leaps from the Presidents box onto the stage and escapes. Somehow, Abby and her escort make it to the sidewalk in front of the theater. Amidst the frantic, shoving crowd, Abby is torn from Mr. Cunninghams hands. In shock and unable to free herself from under a mans voluminous cape, she is nearly crushed to death. Police rescue her, and Mr. Cunningham takes her home. The story ends in May, 1865, when Abby is invited to Roberts party. Its her party, too, since they share the same birthday. Robert thrills Abby with special attention, and she finds she has made new friends after telling them about her exciting visit to the White House.

    Because Abbys father sees the extent of her sorrow over Mr. Lincoln
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXlibris US
    Release dateNov 6, 2007
    ISBN9781465332844
    Abby and the Ugly Man
    Author

    Betty Wagner Loeb

    At age 86, the author hung up her tennis racquet and edited her trilogy of novels written years ago: Jenny’s Family Circle, Jenny’s Fame, The Many Paths of Love. The characters in her books became like family, so she wanted to see them in print. Two nonfiction books: Altoona and the Pennsylvania Railroad and Voices of the Pennsylvania Railroad were published in 1999 and 2001. Now in print is her young adult novel Abby and the Ugly Man (Mr. Lincoln). Also published were 95 of her stories, essays and poems. Her articles about present-day concerns appear monthly in area newspapers.

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      Book preview

      Abby and the Ugly Man - Betty Wagner Loeb

      Copyright © 2007 by Betty Wagner Loeb.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

      any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

      recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

      in writing from the copyright owner.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

      product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

      to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      This book was printed in the United States of America.

      To order additional copies of this book, contact:

      Xlibris Corporation

      1-888-795-4274

      www.Xlibris.com

      Orders@Xlibris.com

      41147

      Contents

      Introduction

      Acknowledgments

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Dedicated with love to:

      Prudence Wagner

      John and Margaret Wagner

      Philip Duane, Linda Lee and June

      John, David, Tracy, Scott

      Jessica and Natalie

      Bill and Leona

      My friends whom I cherishIntroduction

      Dear Reader,

            Please remember that this story is not true. It’s a novel.

            President Lincoln has been my hero since I was a child.

            I wish, like Abby, I could have shaken his hand.

      The author

      Acknowledgments

      With love and appreciation to Professor Patricia Nestler, my Creative Writing teacher who inspired me, believed in me, trusted me to speak to her classes. Thanks, also, to David for his generous hospitality to all of the Montgomery Scribes.

      With love and appreciation to my fellow writers who looked forward to seeing Abby and the Ugly Man in print:

      Jane, Ethel, Catherine, Kate, Floss, Barbara, Verna, Violeta.

      image1.jpg

      Sketch by the author

      Chapter 1

      Washington City—March 4, 1865

      Abby! shouted her father from downstairs. Breakfast is ready.

      Abby’s eyes popped open. She bounced off the high, four-poster bed, her toes curling when they touched the cold oak floor. She unbuttoned her flannel nightgown, allowed it to slither onto the floor, then yanked a cotton print dress over her head.

      Abby! Charles Martin called again. Come down here at once.

      I’m coming, Papa. She pulled on her stockings and fumbled with her shoelaces. More than anything, she wanted to go to the Inauguration today and hear Mr. Lincoln speak.

      While running downstairs, she heard her father tell Shala, their housekeeper, to clean the parlor floor where she had upset the fern. For the life of me, I can’t understand how a twelve-year-old girl can be so careless.

      Uh oh, Abby thought, he’s grouchy today. He’ll never take me to the Inauguration. I’ve waited a long time to hear Mr. Lincoln give one of his speeches. Hurrying to the dining room, she kissed his cheek, avoiding the prickly black beard that covered his chin. Good morning, Papa.

      He glanced at her shoes. Haven’t I told you to tie your shoelaces properly so you don’t fall?

      Yes, Papa. After retying her shoes, she forgot and plopped down on her chair, eliciting a frown from her father. He insisted that she seat herself gracefully, like a lady. I’m almost thirteen. I am a lady; Mama said so.

      Shala served them golden brown pancakes topped with syrup and crisp strips of bacon. Abby leaned down and inhaled the nose-tickling aroma of the bacon, earning another frown from her father. Closing his eyes, he offered a prayer of thanks for their food.

      Difficult as it was for Abby to remain silent, she obeyed her father’s recent rule: no talking during meals. He had said he was tired of her questions and talk about Mr. Lincoln.

      When Shala returned, carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a glass of milk, Abby noted that Shala looked particularly nice this morning. She wore a new white apron over a light brown calico dress that matched the caramel color of her skin. Abby reminded herself how lucky they were to have not only Shala, but also Yabu, the thirteen-year-old Shala had rescued and brought to Washington City. Both were former slaves, although Shala had been freed by her mistress.

      On the day, almost two years ago, while Shala was walking along a road to the church where runaway slaves received help, she found Yabu hopelessly caught in a cluster of thorny bushes. He was afraid that his abusive master would find him.

      When she was dismissed from the table, Abby assumed a serious face. Are you wearing a new suit, Papa? It looks so nice. She was purposely flattering him but wasn’t lying. He always looked nice, and why not since he sold men’s clothing?.

      Surprised, he said, Thank you, Abby. This suit isn’t new, I just . . . He hesitated. I just haven’t worn it for quite a while.

      Abby guessed that something about the suit reminded him of her mother. He’s changed since her death a year ago, she thought. We used to talk and laugh during meals; they were fun.

      Unable to wait any longer, she crossed her fingers and pleaded, Papa, may I take a walk today? An emphatic no was the reply. Then will you take me to the Inauguration today?

      Absolutely not. You don’t obey me, can’t even come down in time for breakfast.

      I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. She paused. Please, Papa, I want to go with you to hear Mr. Lincoln.

      Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln. Why should a girl your age be so concerned about the president?

      Mama said Mr. Lincoln is a great man and I should pay attention and learn things like honesty and humility from him. Abby brushed aside a tear. She said when Mr. Lincoln was elected, he picked men for his cabinet who insulted and hated him. He did it ’cause he said they were the proper men for important jobs. What they thought about him didn’t matter. Wasn’t that humility, Papa?

      He nodded. "Your Mother was a remarkable lady with an uncommon interest in Mr. Lincoln and the war. Like you, she was angry when he was called names like ugly or gorilla."

      Please, Papa, take me to the Inauguration.

      My shop needs me.

      To hide her tears, Abby ran upstairs.

      Read a book, he called after her.

      Bursting into loud sobs, she flung herself onto her bed. Papa hasn’t taken me anywhere since Mama died, not even to church. As she burst out crying again, her father tapped on her door and entered the room.

      Abby, if going today matters that much, I’ll take you. He smiled. If I don’t, I’ll probably never hear the last of it, but be sure to bathe and dress properly. This is a very important occasion.

      Abby sat up. Oh, thank you, Papa. Her forehead wrinkled. Do you think I can shake Mr. Lincoln’s hand?

      Of course not. You won’t get anywhere near the President. Glancing into Abby’s mirror, he smoothed his black, well-oiled hair, then added, I’ll be home before long.

      Must you work today, Papa?

      Yes. Two congressmen will come for the clothing they’ll wear to the inaugural reception tonight. He squared his shoulders and stretched to his full five-feet, seven-inch height. I’m haberdasher for many government officials. He smiled again. By the way, your teacher came for his new frock coat yesterday.

      Mr. Henryson?

      Yes. Mr. Henryson. He said nice things about you. He admires your keen interest in our President. He even suggested that you may consider becoming a legislator one day. Imagine that! He chuckled. Why, ladies can’t even vote.

      Abby’s voice shook with emotion. Oh, Papa, maybe I will. Then she laughed gleefully. Such an outright magical thought had never before entered her mind. Maybe I’ll be president. Her lively green eyes flashed. I’ll punish anyone who calls Mr. Lincoln names.

      My, my. Such big ideas. His eyes wandered off. You remind me of Clara . . . your mother. When I first met her, she wanted to become a famous singer. She had a beautiful voice.

      Why didn’t she, Papa?

      "She chose to become a

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