Remembering that Sarah had said if he got nervous he should look over the heads of the family, Woolly raised his eyes to the moose head on the wall. But finding the gaze of the moose unsympathetic, he tried looking instead at his shoes.
—Four score and seven years ago . . . , he began again.
—Our fathers brought forth, Sarah softly prompted.
—Our fathers brought forth, Woolly said looking up at his sister. Our fathers brought forth on this countenance.
—On this continent . . .
—On this continent a new nation. A new nation . . .
— . . . Conceived in Liberty, said a friendly voice.
Only it wasn’t Sarah’s voice. It was the voice of cousin James, who had graduated from Princeton a few weeks before. And this time, when Woolly renewed his recital, Sarah and James joined in.
—Conceived in Liberty, the three of them said together, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Then other relatives who in their time had been tasked with reciting Mr. Lincoln’s Address added their voices. Then joining the chorus were members of the family who had never been required to recite the Address, but who had heard it so many times before that they too knew it by heart. Soon, everyone at the table—including Great-grandpa—was reciting; and when all together they said those grand and hopeful words that the government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth, the family burst into a round of cheering like the room had never heard.
Surely, this was the way that Abraham Lincoln had meant his Address to be recited. Not as a little boy standing alone at the head of a table in an itchy coat, but as four generations of a family speaking together in unison.
Oh, if only his father could have been there, thought Woolly, wiping a tear from his cheek with the flat of his hand. If only his father could be here now.
* * *
After Woolly had battled away the blues and finished paying his respects to the president, he went back the way he’d come. This time, when he reached the fountain, he was careful to walk counterclockwise around its circumference until he reached the sixth path.
No path looks quite the same in both directions, so as Woolly progressed, he began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Perhaps he had miscounted the number of paths when he had counterclockwised the fountain. But just as he was considering retracing his steps, he saw the man in the floppy hat.
When Woolly gave him the smile of recognition, the man gave him the smile of recognition back. But when Woolly gave him a little wave, the man didn’t return it. Instead, he reached into the baggy pockets of his baggy jacket. Then he formed a circle with his arms by placing the fist of his right hand on his left shoulder and the fist of his left hand on his right shoulder. Intrigued, Woolly watched as the man began moving his hands down the length of the opposing arms leaving little white objects at every consecutive inch.
—It’s popcorn, Woolly said in amazement.
Once the pieces of popcorn extended from the top of his shoulders to the top of his wrists, ever so slowly the man began to open his arms until they were stretching out at his sides like . . . like . . .
Like a scarecrow! Woolly realized. That’s why the man in the floppy hat had seemed so familiar. Because he looked exactly like the scarecrow in the bottom left-hand corner of the place-mat map.
Only, this man wasn’t a scarecrow. He was the opposite of a scarecrow. For once his arms were fully extended, all the little sparrows which had been milling about began to flutter in the air and hover near his arms.
As the sparrows pecked at the popcorn, two squirrels that had been hiding under a bench scurried to the gentleman’s feet. His eyes wide, Woolly thought for a moment that they were going to climb him like a tree. But the squirrels, who knew their business, waited for the sparrows to knock the occasional piece of popcorn from the gentleman’s arms to the ground.
I must remember to tell Duchess all about this, thought Woolly as he hurried along.
For the Birdman of Liberty Park seemed just like one of those old vaudevillians that Duchess liked to tell them about.
But as Woolly emerged onto the street, the joyful image of the Birdman standing with his arms outstretched was replaced by the much less joyful image of a police officer standing behind Emmett’s car with a ticket book in hand.
Emmett
Emmett woke with a vague awareness that the train was no longer moving. Glancing at Billy’s watch, he could see it was shortly after eight. They must have already reached Cedar Rapids.
Quietly, so as not to wake his brother, Emmett rose, climbed the ladder, and stuck his head through the hatch in the roof. Looking back, he could see that the train, which was now on a siding, had been lengthened by at least twenty cars.