His Hero, My Hero

This story is a Historic Fiction I wrote this year in my American Lit. class.

Grand-daddy was a no-nonsense kinda man with deep wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks. Mama Claire called them wisdom wrinkles. When I would sit on his lap as a young girl I would compare my milky white complexion to his dark, sun-damaged tone. I would look up at his face and think to myself, he must be a very wise man. Mama Claire was his wife (my grand-mama). She told us to call her that. Mother said she was in denial about growing old and senile.
Grand-daddy was stubborn, very stubborn, so stubborn he wasn’t sick a day in his life. At least he’d never admit it when he was. He was also very strict, he ruled with an iron fist, 2 if he had to. My mother called it good raisin’. I guess he was raised good, but I’ve heard stories about Paw-paw (his daddy) and I understand why grand-daddy was like he was.
He was a republican and proud. He loved President Lincoln and quoted him 90 times a day. His second child Stan (my uncle) couldn’t understand how such a poor man could be a republican, but grand-daddy said it wasn’t the amount of money a man made that made him a man, but it was the principles he lived by.
What was ironic about my grand-daddy was that he lived by morals and values, and yet he owned a gun shop for hunting. He loved his shop, and even though he always told me pride was a bad thing, I knew deep down he was proud of his shop. I went there sometimes and sat in the back and did some book work. I wasn’t allowed to anymore after he got robbed by some well known alcoholics in the neighborhood.
One day before the robbery I was sitting quietly working on my arithmetic work and the lead of my pencil broke, when I started off into the lobby, something was stopping me from walking through the door, when I looked down I saw my grand-daddy’s brown leather loafer through the crevice of the door. I paused, and began to listen.

“Good’day sir.” I heard an unfamiliar voice.
“Yes it is.” My grand-daddy’s voice calmed my nerves.
“I’m lookin’ for something…to go hunting with….me and my nephew.
“Do you know what you are looking for?
“Yes’sir.”

The stranger told grand-daddy what he was looking for, and he located it, packaged it, and pulled out the required forms.

“What’s your name?” he asked.
“John. John Booth.” The stranger replied.
“Ok, so what are you and your nephew hunting for?”
“Elk, lookin’ for some elk.”

Grand-daddy told me when I was older, he thought it was awful strange that Mr. Booth would be hunting for elk during the present season, seeing as how it was so cold, they would all be south. Mr. Booth’s reply to this was “I’m an adventurous person.”
After the man left I asked grand-daddy why he wouldn’t let me come into the lobby and he said it was because he had seen this man lurking outside of the shop for the past week or so, as if he was deciding on rather or not to come inside. Grand-daddy thought this to be odd behavior. Later on that evening as he was closing up his shop when he got a call from Mama Claire, she was sick and needed him to run by the market to get food to prepare for dinner.

“Baby girl?”
“Yes’sir?”
“You wanna go to the market with your old pa’? I’ll let you help me out.”
“Ok! Yes’sir, I wanna go.”

After we got what we needed in the market, we were going up to pay and when it came our turn the cashier was looking at us weird as if she couldn’t wait for us to get to her little stand.
“Good-day.” Said my polite grand-daddy.
“Congratulations!!! You are the 3,000th customer to check out at this stand this year!”
“Is this a joke ma’am?”
“Ain’t no joke sir. You won for sure.”
“I won what?”
“2 tickets to Ford’s Theater to see whatever play is showing there tomorrow night.”
“Well ain’t that fancy, baby girl?”

The next day he asked Mama Claire if she was up to going to the theater, she said even though it was quite tempting she didn’t have the strength but to ask me if I would like to go with him. I was very excited. I went home and told Mother and she helped me pick out my best dress. That evening when my grandfather picked me up I was amazed. The reason I called him grandfather is because that night he was not grand-daddy. His suit was deep black (not faded), ironed to a crisp, it was grand. His hair was slicked back and his shoes were shined.
As we entered Ford’s theater, I noticed how miraculous it was. We sat down in the red, soft seats, I had never seen chairs like these. I thought to myself I wanted to take one home and put it in my room for my desk. The lights dimmed and the play started.
“I’ll be darned…” I heard my grand-daddy’s voice.
I saw him looking up at one of the little balcony looking things way up high. When we came inside he told me that those were where the very rich people sat and is where I would sit one day.

“What is it pa’?”
“Our very own President Lincoln is sitting right up there! This is AMAZING! Baby girl do you know how lucky we are to have such an honest man sitting in the same building as us???”

I didn’t understand then, therefore I continued to watch the play, even though I’m not so sure I even understood the play either. But every time I looked up at my grand-daddy he was looking up and Mr. Lincoln. I decided to look up as far as I could. I only saw a man with a big beard and mustache, Was that him?? Who was that man behind him? I didn’t know, so I looked back at my pa’. I saw him squinting his eyes… and all that came out of his mouth was “Mr. Booth?” Not a second after that I heard the loudest noise I had ever heard before. My grand-daddy stood up slowly and his legs were shaking. I heard gasps from every corner of the theatre. I heard screams, and running. I was so frightened.

“What happened pa’?”
No answer. He just grabbed my hand and walked very fast out of the theater. He didn’t speak a word as we were riding home. When Mama Claire asked me what was wrong with him, I couldn’t answer, although I think she knew the next day when everyone knew.
It took my grand-daddy 3 months to tell anyone what he saw. And when he did, I wasn’t allowed to stay in the room when he mentioned it. Now, being a 31 year old woman with her own two kids I realize that my grandfather witnessed the murder of his biggest hero, President Abraham Lincoln. He told me the story many times as I grew older and each time he told it, I felt like it took more out of him.
When he died, his last words to me were “We’re not so different, me and Lincoln. Both honest, and hard working, both odd looking, and both good men. Only difference is he let a man take his life. Only man that will take mine, is God himself.
He died and forever became my hero.