Jarful of Stories -

this week's story

Broadcast: February 27, 2011

Sometimes I like to think about famous people and what they would really be like if I could meet them in person. I think maybe this is what Abe Lincoln would be like as a 14-year-old boy.
Truth and fiction are scrambled in this story. If you've ever borrowed a book and forgot to return it then maybe you know what I'm talking about. I hope you enjoy this story based in historical fact but spiced with wishful fiction.

THE BOOKS OF ABE LINCOLN

     “Hey, you! Abe Lincoln! You low down, good for nothing, irresponsible, confounded thieving magpie! Where are my books?”
     “What is it Master Colvin?” asked Garnett Anderson.
     The old man slammed the door to the shop and stomped back to his desk.
     “If’n you see that junior criminal slinkin’ down the street, feel free to backhand him for me,” the man said.
     “Well, sir, that’s awful strong language comin’ from a Baptist like yourself,” Garnett said.
     “Harrumph!” Wisner Colvin muttered under his breath. “That there Abe Lincoln is nothing better than a horse thief, Miss Anderson, and you can mark my words! We best forget about it. We’ve got a newspaper to publish.”
     “Yes, sir,” the young woman said and returned to her work.
     “He’s lower than a snake’s belly, ifn’ you ask me,” the old man blurted out. “But then, we should not let his indiscretion of youth get in the way of our business, Miss. Anderson. We have a newspaper to publish.”
     “As you wish, sir,” she said.
     “And further more —“
     “Oh, sir!” she said. “Why don’t you just tell me what his lad has done.”
     The man took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he spoke.
     “I suppose you know the boy,” he said.
     “No,” was all the girl said.
     “Well, Springfield is small enough that everybody else knows the business of his neighbor,” Wisner Colvin said. “But then if it was that small we wouldn’t be needing a newspaper, would we Miss Anderson? Nonetheless, that young man has come begging to me numerous times for books. Now, I admire that spirit out here on the frontier of Illinois. We haven’t a proper library in our fair town yet although I’m sure that will be changing. For now, a boy of his sort must make do with what books he can. I’m sure you know all this, Miss Anderson. I’m preaching to the choir. But, confounded it all, he hasn’t returned a one of them yet.”
     The young woman smiled as she said, “Is that it then, sir?”
     “Well, yes, it is,” he said. “I’ve got a great deal on my mind these days and I don’t need the distraction of that young Abe Lincoln.”
     “How old is he, Master Colvin?” Garnett asked.
     “I suppose he’s fourteen years old, why?”
     “Well, sir, a fourteen-year old boy hasn’t much on his mind beside roaming the woods hunting for squirrels I suppose.”
     “Now there you’re wrong, Miss Anderson,” the publisher said. “That Abraham Lincoln has a good head on his shoulders. Very smart, he is, even for fourteen years old. The boy can hold forth with adults at any age. Well read, too, he is — although I must add he’s well read on behalf of my books. He has some very interesting ideas about the slavery problem. But then, we could spend the whole day talking about this lad, Miss Anderson. We have a newspaper to publish, do we not?”
     “Of course, sir,” she said.
     They returned to their work of preparing the next edition of the Springfield Daily Chronicle Newspaper.
     “He’s a horse thief,” the publisher said again under his breath.
     “Oh, for land’s sake,” said his assistant as she stood up and reached for her shawl. “I can’t take this any longer.”
     “Where are you going?” Mr. Colvin asked.
     “Sir, I am going to find this lad and talk to him,” Garnett said. “If he’s everything you’ve said then I shall educate him on the etiquette of returning borrowed books. There’s not a lick of work to be done here while you’re focused on these books you’ve loaned him. How many books are we considering? Three or four?”
     “Thirty-eight!” the old man barked and then returned to his work.
     “Land sakes,” Garnett said. “The boy is a walking library.”
     The town of Springfield, Illinois was a typical frontier village in the year of 1823. Garnett Anderson rode through the streets on a buckboard, a small wagon pulled by a single horse. The town was indeed small enough she could ask almost anyone she met where she could find this young boy who borrowed books without returning them.
     “Abe Lincoln?” a man chopping firewood asked. “‘Course I know him. Lives about three mile beyond the river on a homestead just this side of the last grove of trees in the county. Everybody knows where that boy lives.”
     And so Miss Anderson set off to find the home of Abraham Lincoln.
     She came to a place where the trail forded Watson Creek. During normal times the creek was a shallow, fast running clear stream of water that barely slowed down most travelers. But it was spring time and the creek had become a wide, chocolate-colored river with all the runoff from the forests and the fields.
     For a moment, Garnett Anderson surveyed the creek while her horse paused at the edge of the frothing water.
     “Can’t be that deep,” she said and started across the channel of water.
     She hadn’t gotten ten feet into the rushing stream when she realized her mistake. At first it merely felt as if the ground beneath the wheels was shifting as she proceeded but when she looked up, she felt the whole buckboard begin to tip directly into the water.
     “No!” she cried.
     The water pushed the small wagon as the horse strained against the weight. Suddenly there was a voice behind her but Garnett couldn’t make out anything it was saying. She was only concerned about the wagon, the horse and the rushing water.
     Just as it seemed if the buckboard was going to tip over, Garnett felt a weight climb onto the back which balanced the wagon, returning the wheels to the bed of the swollen creek.
     Her horse gave a tug and the buckboard surged forward through the water.
     Only then did Garnett turn and look to see what had happened. Only then did she notice the young boy balancing himself on the edge of her buckboard.
     “You saved my life!” she exclaimed.
     The boy laughed, “Well, I don’t know about that. You can swim, can’t you?”
     “Not in this,” Garnett said. “And besides, you’re dripping wet.”
     “Well, I jumped in when I saw what was happening. I’m only wet from the waist down. If you hadn’t been here I would have been completely wet so I’m the one who should be thanking you for the ride.”
     Now it was Garnett who was laughing.
     “I’ll take you wherever you are going, lad. You’re cheerfully good company.”
     “I’m headed home, ma’am,” the boy said. “About three miles down this trail. Are you going that far?”
     “Most certainly,” Garnett said and shook the reins. Her horse began an easy trot. “I’m headed that way myself. I have an errand with a lazybones out in this county. I am employed at the Springfield Daily Chronicle Newspaper. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
     “Oh, yes ma’am,” the boy said. “I always enjoy reading your newspaper.
     “You read it, do you?” Garnett asked. “I only thought men read our newspaper.”
     “I can’t speak for the others,” the lad said. “I enjoy it and find the articles very informative.”
     Garnett slapped the reins again and the horse sped up.
     “Do you come to Springfield often?” she asked.
     The boy bounced as the buckboard hit a rock in the trail.
     “As often as I can,” he said loudly, above the sound of the wheels on the trail. “See that? See that rail fence? That’s my work, ma’am. I split logs for rail fences.
     “Very nice,” she said. “Very nice work.”
     “I also hunt a great deal,” the boy said, “to keep my family fed. And work in the garden, too.”
     “What about book learning?” Garnett asked.
     “Every chance I get,” he said.
     “Well, then, you’re quite industrious. Not like the young man I’m seeking. It would be a pleasure if all of our young people were like you. What’s your name?”
     “I’m Abraham Lincoln,” he said.
     Garnett gasped.
     “You’re Abe Lincoln?”
     “Yes, ma’am. You’re saying it like it’s not a good thing.”
     “Well,” she demanded, “what about the books you’ve borrowed from Wisner Colvin, my employer.”
     “Oh,” young Lincoln said sheepishly. “He sent you then. I thought I heard him calling me while I was in town today. Yes, I’ve got his books.”
     “Thirty-eight of them,” Garnett said.
     “No, that’s not right,” Abe said. “I have thirty-nine. He must have forgotten one of them.”
     Garnett couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to laugh.
     “On top of all that, you’re honest, too!” she said. “I’m going to call you Honest Abe. How does that sound?”
     “Probably better than what you were thinking,” young Lincoln said. “I haven’t returned the books because I’m still reading them.”
     “Well then you must be a slow reader,” Garnett said.
     “Not actually. I read one of the books each night before bed. I suppose I’ve been through them each a dozen times.”
     “Oh. Well, that’s quite different. I guess . . . well, I didn’t know that you. . .”
     “What did you say was your name?” the boy asked.
     “I’m Miss Garnett Anderson,” she said.
     “Well, Miss Anderson,” Abe said, “this is the lane to our homestead. See it through the trees? I’ll be back in just a minute.”
     The boy jumped off the wagon and ran to the log cabin. It didn’t take long before he returned, arms filled with books.
     “If you don’t mind I’ll ride back with you and deliver the books to Mr. Colvin myself. I need to apologize. I know a better place to ford Watson Creek so we won’t get so wet. It’s about a mile upstream.”
     Well, you know the story about Abe Lincoln, how he was so honest. Sometimes the truth is more interesting than fiction but in this case nobody’s really sure. He might never have gotten the name “Honest Abe” if it hadn’t been for those around him who questioned what he was doing. And that’s how Abe Lincoln returned his borrowed books.

The End

Have you ever met someone you just couldn’t dislike? They’re out there and it sure is fun when you meet up with someone like that. I have a feeling Abe Lincoln might have been that way. Sometimes that urge to dislike someone changes to respect when you get to know him or her. Thanks for reading! Now go and return your loaned books, ok?