Saved by the Bullet by Preston Shires

Author:Preston Shires [Shires, Preston]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-22T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

There was a moment of silence reigning in Mrs. Lincoln’s home after Prudence’s announcement. Not unlike that experienced in a salon, when a virtuoso strikes the last note on the piano to end his exceptional performance. Of course, in the case of a virtuoso, one expects, after the quiet interlude, an explosive applause. Surprisingly, nothing of the sort occurred in Mrs. Lincoln’s salon. Rather, there was a slow turning of the hostess in my direction, and the casting down of her eyes upon me, followed by a low-pitched sound, almost as deep as that of a well-respected guard dog, emanating from her lips. Albeit in this case, the growl formed the words, “Is she now?”

There was another moment of silence, and then indeed came the explosion. “You should be ashamed for working up a sorrowful mother’s feelings! You’re lucky George isn’t here, ‘cause he’d teach you a lesson sure enough. Maybe one of his acquaintances will. You both find your own way out.”

As she opened the door to the kitchen to exit, she held the journal above her head and declared, “And you’ll never lay your lying little hands on this, Miss Furlough, ‘cause I aim to give it back to my son by committing it to the flames of hell.”

“Well isn’t she unpleasant,” remarked Prudence. “No wonder her son went astray.”

Mrs. Lincoln scowled at Prudence, gave a theatrical “Humph,” which communicated very little, and slammed the door behind her. I believe I heard her turn the bolt.

I rose from my chair and stood there a few minutes. Odd that she would leave us alone in her parlor, although there wasn’t anything of value to steal, even if we’d had had the mind of her departed son. I half expected Mrs. Lincoln to return to the stage. My mother used to walk out on my father in a huff in the middle of a hotly contested debate, announcing to one and all, as she exited, “I will say no more on the topic, Mr. Furlough.” He would quietly try to count to twenty but never quite made it before her return, like a conquering general, dishing out declarative statements very much on the topic.

Well, after counting to twenty, I concluded Mrs. Lincoln was having a dashed awful time coming up with a response to Prudence’s remark.

I took the opportunity to study the little room, and I walked over to the mantelpiece to see what had attracted Mrs. Lincoln’s attention. I saw two pictures. One was a rough painting of a middle-aged man and the other a daguerreotype of two little girls. The three votive candles next to the pictures indicated they were all three deceased. If any likeness of George Lincoln had graced the mantelpiece, it had been removed. It then dawned on me that Mrs. Lincoln’s disappointment with her son could have only come about because she had so trusted him as a youth. His surroundings were no worse than another’s. He chose to embrace evil.

“Where’s Jonathan?” I asked, noticing for the first time his absence.

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