Carried Forward By Hope by Ginny Dye Page B

rats was discovered in the water tank after guests became sick.”
    Aunt Abby carefully put down the glass she had just picked up.
    Matthew laughed. “I believe it’s quite safe now.” To prove his confidence, he took a long swallow from his own crystal goblet. “Anyway, they never found evidence of arsenic in the autopsies they did. They did, however, put forth the theory that a poisonous miasma could have caused the illness.”
    Aunt Abby stared at him. “ Miasma ? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to enlighten this old lady. What is a miasma? It sounds hideous.”
    “It is,” Matthew agreed. “A miasma is a poisonous gas that originates from the decomposition of vegetables and animals. The committee thought the infection could have entered the hotel from the Sixth Street sewer line. Evidently they discovered a leak coming into the building that was strong enough to extinguish a candle flame.”
    “Disgusting!”
    Matthew laughed. “I couldn’t agree more. The committee could never find evidence of water, food, or arsenic poisoning. People quit getting sick, so all the furor died down. Since then it’s simply been referred to as a mysterious illness.”
    “Are you ready to order?”
    Matthew looked up at the elegantly attired waiter. “Certainly.” He placed an order for both of them and then leaned back in his chair.
    Aunt Abby spoke first. “Thank you.”
    “For what?”
    “For distracting me. I know what you were doing,” Aunt Abby said fondly.
    “It worked?”
    Aunt Abby smiled slightly. “For those few minutes.” Her forehead creased again. “I heard people in the lobby talking about Secretary of State Seward, but I didn’t catch much of what they said. Did something happen to him as well?”
    Matthew sighed, knowing he would have to tell her sooner or later. “Yes.”
    “What happened?” Aunt Abby asked quietly, bracing for more bad news.
    Matthew knew better than to give her anything less than the total truth. “They tried to kill him the same night they killed Lincoln,” he said bluntly.
    Aunt Abby gasped and covered her mouth with her napkin, tears sheening her eyes. She stared at Matthew, waiting for the rest of the story.
    “Earlier this month, Seward was injured when he was thrown from his carriage during a ride with his family around the countryside. He was hurt severely and had been restricted to his bed.”
    Aunt Abby nodded. “I heard he had been hurt. Didn’t it include a broken arm and a broken jaw that had to have an extensive metal splint?”
    “Yes. Three days ago, the same night Lincoln was killed, a man arrived at his home claiming to be from the pharmacy. His name is Lewis Powell. He told the butler he had medicine for the secretary. It took some persuading, but finally the butler cleared Powell to go upstairs. At the top of the staircase he was stopped by Seward’s son, Frederick. Powell told Frederick the same story, but evidently the son didn’t believe him, so he said Seward was sleeping.” He stopped and took a drink of water.
    Aunt Abby held her breath and waited for him to continue.
    “Powell stabbed Frederick. The butler cried, ‘Murder! Murder!’ before he ran away in complete terror.”
    Aunt Abby gasped. “No!”
    Matthew nodded grimly. “Seward’s daughter Fanny heard noises but couldn’t tell what was going on, so she opened the door to let Frederick know his father was awake. She didn’t realize what Powell was doing, but she had alerted him to which room Seward was in. Powell evidently turned around to leave and then suddenly changed his mind and whipped out his pistol to shoot Frederick. He pulled the trigger but it misfired. Instead of pulling it again, he used the gun to bludgeon him around the head until he collapsed.”
    Aunt Abby gasped again but remained silent, gripping her napkin tightly.
    “Fanny looked out again, saw her unconscious brother, and screamed. Before she could do anything, Powell ran down the hallway, shoved her