Carried Forward By Hope by Ginny Dye Page A

it to be cloudy and stormy. It would certainly be more fitting.”
    “That may be,” Matthew agreed, “but it would also certainly be harder for the horses to pull the funeral wagon through the mud, and I daresay it would be rather uncomfortable for everyone.”
    Aunt Abby sighed and took her seat at the table. “I know you’re right. It’s just that my thoughts are so dark this morning. I’m trying my best to find some sort of comfort and understanding, but it continues to elude me.”
    “As it does the thousands who are here to watch the procession,” Matthew responded. “I’m afraid there is nothing to feel but sadness.”
    “And anger,” Aunt Abby added, her eyes sparking. “I still can’t believe that John Wilkes Booth killed the only man who should be putting our country back together again. Everything he stood for…everything he came to believe and understand during the war…the love he had for the United States…” Her anger crumpled as her eyes filled with tears. “A waste…such a waste.”
    Matthew reached forward to take her hand and then decided the best thing to do was offer a distraction after a long time of silence. “I do believe it’s at least safe to eat here this morning.”
    Aunt Abby pulled her thoughts back to the table as she stared at him. “Excuse me?”
    “You’re not aware of the mysterious sickness that seems to have come from this dining room about eight years ago?
    Aunt Abby frowned. “A mysterious sickness? I’m afraid I’ve not heard of that.”
    Matthew nodded, glad to see curiosity replace some of the trouble in her eyes. “Eight years ago, the National Hotel was the largest in the city.”
    “The war has certainly changed that,” Aunt Abby replied. “I can hardly even remember the capital the way it was before the war. It’s changed so much.”
    Matthew forged ahead, wanting to keep her distracted. “The mysterious illness made four hundred people sick. Nearly three dozen died.”
    “What?”
    Matthew was satisfied he had Abby’s full attention when he looked into her wide eyes. “The disease caused a persistent diarrhea, along with intense colic. Many were prostrate with nausea.”
    “Food poisoning,” Aunt Abby murmured. “I was sick with that once when I was in my twenties. I was miserable.”
    Matthew grimaced his sympathy. “People were indeed miserable. Thankfully, most of them did not die.” He paused, determined to be a good storyteller. “Some medical experts believe it was an attempt to poison hotel boarders.”
    “But why?” Aunt Abby leaned forward and fixed her eyes on him.
    “What is known for sure is that the first epidemic happened at the same time as President-elect Buchanan’s first stay at this fine establishment. When he returned home, reports of new cases stopped.” He paused for dramatic effect. “When he returned two weeks later, the illness flared up again.”
    Aunt Abby gaped at him. “Someone was trying to kill President Buchanan?”
    Matthew shrugged. “We’ll never know, but among those who were killed were three members of Congress.”
    “But surely there was an investigation,” Aunt Abby protested. “I seem to remember hearing something about this, but I was in the midst of the attempted takeover of my business back then. I’m afraid I was rather distracted.”
    Matthew frowned, remembering much too vividly just how much danger she had been in. Certain men in Philadelphia had not taken kindly to the idea of her taking over her husband’s business. They had tried to force her out with intimidation, threats, and then an actual attack he had been there to thwart. “You had good reason to be distracted,” he said gruffly and then remembered why he was telling the story.
    “There were doctors who believed there was someone in the hotel trying to poison the guests. Their investigations couldn’t prove that. They did discover that arsenic was used to try and eliminate rats in the hotel. One of the poisoned