not remember much about the poem, although I was impressed with it. I do remember one line that I read aloud. “His voice is silent in the hall.”
“It’s because he is dead,” Willie explained. “He can’t talk anymore. Father cried when he heard the news.”
“My father is in the war too,” I told him. “I don’t live with him, but I got a letter from him yesterday that told me he had joined.” I did not tell him that my father fought for the other side.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Eleven. I just had my birthday.”
“I’ll be eleven in two months, just before Christmas,” he said.
“Steven is twelve. He’s gone off to school, you know.”
Willie nodded. “We could still be friends, though,” he said. “I mean, even without Steven.” He laughed a little. “Maybe someday I will write a poem just for you.”
“And maybe someday, I will stitch a handkerchief for you.”
“Make it blue, if you do,” he said. “Blue is my favorite color because it’s the color of our uniforms.”
Almost every day that fall, Willie would be waiting for me on the stairs after my lesson with Mrs. Keckley. “I watch for you,” he told me, “and when I know you are here, I hurry to finish my studies early.”
Some days we played marbles. Some days we just talked. Willie told me he worried about his father. “I’m awful afraid someone will hurt him,” he said. “Mama says he should be more careful, but he says what will be will be.” Willie shrugged. “Sometimes I wish we had never come to Washington City.”
“Oh,” I said, “but the country needs your father.”
He nodded his head and tried to smile. “I know,” he said softly. “Besides, if we hadn’t come here, I would never have had you for a friend.” Walking home that evening, I, too, worried that harm might come to Mr. Lincoln.
“I talk to Willie Lincoln almost every day,” I wrote to Steven. “Of course, he could never be my very best friend, like you are, but he is awful nice. He sure does worry about his father.”
I had forgotten all about the poem and handkerchief agreement, but Willie hadn’t. One cold day in early February he seemed a little quiet when I first joined him. After a few minutes, he said, “I wrote a poem for you, but you might think it is foolish.”
“I won’t.” I shook my head. “I’m sure it is good. Let me see.”
“I’ll read it,” he said, and he took a paper from his pocket.
When this big house gets sad
,
Bella makes it not so bad
.
I always wait for her on the stairs
.
And when I’m afraid, she cares
.
She is pretty and very sweet
,
Being her friend is a real treat
.
Grandmother started down the stairs toward us then. “It’s awful nice,” I whispered. Embarrassed, I jumped up and hurried toward the backdoor.
“When are you going to make that blue handkerchief for me?” he called after me. Too shy to answer, I just waved my hand at him as I opened the backdoor. The next day Mrs. Keckley told me during my lesson that Willie had developed a fever during the night. “It came on terrible sudden,” she said with a sigh. “I’m worried about the child.”
A big party had been planned the next day, so there were no lessons. My grandmother, when she finally came home that evening, told me that Willie was worse. “They say he is burning with fever,” she said. “Mrs. Lincoln thought to cancel the party, but they decided to go on with it. She was at his bedside often, though, the mister, too. They do dote on that child.”
I was sitting beside the fire, but a cold feeling passed through my body. I pulled my shawl closer. “How bad is he?” I asked, and I knew my voice sounded shaky.
My grandmother came over to touch my cheek.“You’ve no fever, have you child?” I shook my head. “Don’t fret, Bella, girl,” she said. “The boy is the son of the president. No expense will be spared. He’ll have doctors and medicine aplenty.”
I could not eat my supper that
“It’s because he is dead,” Willie explained. “He can’t talk anymore. Father cried when he heard the news.”
“My father is in the war too,” I told him. “I don’t live with him, but I got a letter from him yesterday that told me he had joined.” I did not tell him that my father fought for the other side.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Eleven. I just had my birthday.”
“I’ll be eleven in two months, just before Christmas,” he said.
“Steven is twelve. He’s gone off to school, you know.”
Willie nodded. “We could still be friends, though,” he said. “I mean, even without Steven.” He laughed a little. “Maybe someday I will write a poem just for you.”
“And maybe someday, I will stitch a handkerchief for you.”
“Make it blue, if you do,” he said. “Blue is my favorite color because it’s the color of our uniforms.”
Almost every day that fall, Willie would be waiting for me on the stairs after my lesson with Mrs. Keckley. “I watch for you,” he told me, “and when I know you are here, I hurry to finish my studies early.”
Some days we played marbles. Some days we just talked. Willie told me he worried about his father. “I’m awful afraid someone will hurt him,” he said. “Mama says he should be more careful, but he says what will be will be.” Willie shrugged. “Sometimes I wish we had never come to Washington City.”
“Oh,” I said, “but the country needs your father.”
He nodded his head and tried to smile. “I know,” he said softly. “Besides, if we hadn’t come here, I would never have had you for a friend.” Walking home that evening, I, too, worried that harm might come to Mr. Lincoln.
“I talk to Willie Lincoln almost every day,” I wrote to Steven. “Of course, he could never be my very best friend, like you are, but he is awful nice. He sure does worry about his father.”
I had forgotten all about the poem and handkerchief agreement, but Willie hadn’t. One cold day in early February he seemed a little quiet when I first joined him. After a few minutes, he said, “I wrote a poem for you, but you might think it is foolish.”
“I won’t.” I shook my head. “I’m sure it is good. Let me see.”
“I’ll read it,” he said, and he took a paper from his pocket.
When this big house gets sad
,
Bella makes it not so bad
.
I always wait for her on the stairs
.
And when I’m afraid, she cares
.
She is pretty and very sweet
,
Being her friend is a real treat
.
Grandmother started down the stairs toward us then. “It’s awful nice,” I whispered. Embarrassed, I jumped up and hurried toward the backdoor.
“When are you going to make that blue handkerchief for me?” he called after me. Too shy to answer, I just waved my hand at him as I opened the backdoor. The next day Mrs. Keckley told me during my lesson that Willie had developed a fever during the night. “It came on terrible sudden,” she said with a sigh. “I’m worried about the child.”
A big party had been planned the next day, so there were no lessons. My grandmother, when she finally came home that evening, told me that Willie was worse. “They say he is burning with fever,” she said. “Mrs. Lincoln thought to cancel the party, but they decided to go on with it. She was at his bedside often, though, the mister, too. They do dote on that child.”
I was sitting beside the fire, but a cold feeling passed through my body. I pulled my shawl closer. “How bad is he?” I asked, and I knew my voice sounded shaky.
My grandmother came over to touch my cheek.“You’ve no fever, have you child?” I shook my head. “Don’t fret, Bella, girl,” she said. “The boy is the son of the president. No expense will be spared. He’ll have doctors and medicine aplenty.”
I could not eat my supper that
Similar Books
