purposefully out the door and climbed into the carriage. Reilly climbed in next to him. As they drove off, Bill held the speech so it shielded his face. He turned to Reilly, “What are you going to tell Lincoln about this when he reads of it in the papers?”
Reilly lit a cigar. “I’m going to tell him he did a wonderful job today. You know, Bill, being with a person who has an illness, who you really like, makes you a great liar. He doesn’t think we know he has these bouts of depression, and we make believe that we don’t know. I’m not here to change him, just to protect and serve him and the Union.” Bill nodded agreement, and they rode on.
The journey was short, bumpy and chilly. Bill was nervous about his upcoming speech, not so much about the speech, but rather in meeting General Grant and being an important part of history. At the train station, the military guard surrounded him as they walked to the waiting train. A man dressed in a red jacket and black pants with a broad red striped down the legs stood tall with a large smile as he motioned to the car that was empty of all passengers and ready for President Lincoln and his guard. No sooner had they all taken their seats then the whistle blew announcing its departure. Bill looked out the clean windows and saw the trainman still smiling as he waved his hat and he smiled and waved back. The time traveler grinned to himself as he thought, someone is going to have a nice story for their grandchildren.
The train ride took two hours and Bill was thrilled to just sit back and look out the window at the scenery going past. He had a cup of hot tea and some cookies from another trainman who deftly walked through the rocking car.
Once at their departure Bill and Reilly entered a horse drawn coach as a group of Calvary took over escort duty and led the way.
Reilly was drifting off into a nap when the officer of the guard rapped on the side of the carriage. “Gettysburg, Mr. President.”
Reilly was awake in an instant and out of the carriage. He held the door for Bill.
“This way, Mr. President,” the security man said as he pointed toward the sea of Army tents on an open plain. Broad, flat boards acted as bridges over mud puddles. Wet laundry hung on ropes tied from trees, and it was so cold that Bill could see his breath. The area had the smell of troops who worked hard and didn’t have a chance to wash well. There was also, the now familiar, odor of horses along with beef being slaughtered for food.
Funny, Bill thought, when you see pictures of the famous meeting, it looks gray and colorless, and here in person, it is gray and colorless.
Soldiers emerged from their tents to see what the fuss was. When they realized it was their President, they started to cheer him. Bill was startled and looked to Reilly for guidance.
Reilly gave a sly nod and said in a low voice, “Wave to them, sir. They are seeing their President. Give them a danged good wave. Show them confidence.”
Bill smiled and waved to the gathering crowd. Sergeants stepped between the soldiers and Bill, shouting for them to stay at ease and quiet down. They fell silent and watched in awe as history unfolded before them.
The officer in charge stopped at a tent larger than the others, and a heavyset figure stepped out putting his hat on. Bill tried to hide his excitement at meeting General Ulysses S. Grant, victor of the Civil War. Grant stepped forward and saluted his Commander-In-Chief. Bill answered it with a snappy salute back and offered his hand. Grant’s eyebrows rose, and he smiled as he shook Bill’s hand.
“Mr. President. Good to see you again.”
Bill coughed, cleared his throat and in a deep voice answered, “Good to see you too, General. How have you been? This is nasty weather.”
“I’ve been good, sir. Nice of you to ask and yes, the weather is nasty. Are you coming down with a cold?”
“I am, sir,” the impostor said. “But how can I complain when I see the field conditions that you and the troops must endure.”
“As you know, Mr. President, we shall be marching in a short time, and if it goes as I plan, we shall be in warmer weather soon.”
Bill smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure it’ll go your way, General. Pray Godspeed to you and your men.”
The officer in charge stepped in and said, “Excuse me, sirs, but the scheduled time of Mr. Lincoln’s speech is approaching, and we feel that the weather shouldn’t be tempted. There are a few of them photographer fellas here who would like some pictures for their papers and they promise to be swift.”
After a few flashes, the cameramen were having a hard time igniting the illuminating powder with a light mist from the clouds. Grant took Bill’s elbow and said, “Come, Mr. President, there are newspaper reporters from the four corners of the world awaiting your words.”
The General and the President walked toward a small wooden stage sheltered by an awning. In front of the stage were wooden seats for the reporters. It was apparent that Bill would be on the platform alone when Grant, the officer, and Reilly stopped at the bottom of the three steps going up to the stage.
Bill went up the steps and looked out at the audience of reporters. They had their notebooks at the ready. As thunder rumbled overhead, Bill took out the notes he had been given by Prescott. As he looked at them, it suddenly hit him that he would be performing one of the most historic moments in history. What he would say now would help determine the future of the United States of America, and in many ways, the world.
He put the notes back in his pocket. As he began to give the famous speech, Reilly realized that Scott didn’t have to disguise his voice. The tremble in his delivery let the crowd of people know they heard words that would change history. The man speaking them didn’t need to read them as they truly were coming from his heart.
When the speech ended, the silence was profound. Bill took a last look at the stunned audience and slowly walked off the stage. Only then did the crowd go wild. They stood and cheered, and many had tears in their eyes. Bill had just recited the Gettysburg Address the same way Lincoln would have. He felt drained. Grant shook his hand long and hard.
“Mr. President,” the general said with feeling, “the world will learn of your words and join our worthy cause. You, sir, have inflicted a grave wound on the rebel armies.”
Bill nodded his thanks. He turned to Reilly and said, “Mr. Reilly, we have a long journey ahead of us, both as a nation and as travelers back to Washington. I suggest we start while the weather holds.”
Reilly replied in a low voice, “I agree, Mr. President.”
They walked back to the carriage through knots of soldiers standing with their hats in their hands. The ride back was quiet.
Later, a clean-faced Bill sat in his hotel room having a drink with Reilly and Prescott.
Reilly raised his glass. “Hail to the chief. You were masterful, sir. I do feel all believed your performance.”
Bill threw back his drink and poured another. “I shook hands with so many boys who are going to die. I looked into their eyes and saw hope. Hope in me! Me . . . a make believe President. They looked at me as a person who will hopefully bring this war to an end. I feel . . . dirty. As if I’m letting them down.”
Prescott patted him on his shoulder and said, “Don’t berate yourself. This is what it’s all about. Getting a chance to keep history on its correct track. It’s the same history, but with a personal touch now that you’re a part of it. You did a great job Bill and I congratulate you. Shall we go home?”
Bill nodded yes; Reilly finished his drink, stood, and offered his hand. “Gentlemen, thank you for the most wonderful adventure of my life. Will I see you again?”
Prescott shook his hand. “No, we will go back to New York, and then I’m off to New Jersey and retirement.”
“And I’m off to my own times,” Bill said as he shook Reilly’s hand. “But this has been my most fantastic adventure and I thank you both.”
Reilly nodded in agreement.
The next morning, Bill knocked on Prescott’s door. One moment later he opened it, half dressed.
“Good morning, Bill
. Am I late?”
“No,” said Bill. “I am taking the liberty of staying another day in Washington. I want to take it all in before I return. Do you mind traveling alone or do you wish to extend your stay also?”
Prescott answered with a soft smile, “No, my friend. It’s time for me to go home. Our job is done here and my sister awaits me. You stay and enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”
As the men were parting, Bill looked him in the eyes and said, “Prescott, will I see you again?”
Prescott shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I want to stay in my own time. I want to see my family and maybe do some painting.”
Bill left the hotel and went out into the busy streets of Washington. He was suddenly aware of how relaxed he was. He truly felt a part of the 1800s as he hailed an open carriage and deftly climbed up and took his seat. The driver looked back over his shoulder, “Where to, sir?”
Bill replied with a big grin, “Nowhere in particular. I just want to take a sightseeing tour of the area.”
The man relaxed the reins, lit his clay pipe, and allowed the horse to walk slowly down the street. Bill felt great satisfaction that he had pulled off the job that could have come only from a novel.
But here I am, he thought, back in the time I’ve always dreamed about, looking at buildings being built that are more than one hundred years old in my time.
The carriage turned down the tight