Chapter Twenty-eight

Perry County Indiana summer 1819

"I'm going with you," cried Beth, her words barely discernible as she could not stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks.

Colin finished packing and stepped toward his wife. He picked her up from the bed and kissed her tenderly. He too had tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "We’ve been through this before. I have no idea where I am going."

"I don't care. I would go to hell with you," she said, breaking away from his embrace.

"I doubt I am going that far. Maybe as far as New Orleans but nowhere near hell," Colin said with a smile, reaching for Beth. Beth refused the grasp. "This is no place for you or the children; Alison is barely a year old."

"I don't care. The wife's place is with her husband." She cried and ran into his waiting arms. “Why can’t you throw the damned thing away?”

“We’ve been through this. The scarab chose me. You know I’d get sick if I were to stop wearing the necklace. A sickness where there is no cure or no death. It doesn’t matter where I bury the scarab, or which ocean I tossed it. The necklace would find a way to reunite with me. I can’t give it away because the person would die. I only hope that one day the scarab will release its hold on me. It was finished with the person who gave it to me. One day it will be through with me. I promise.”  Colin kissed her passionately and pried himself from her embrace. "I'm so sorry. I need to finish packing. You understand, don't you?" Colin knew she didn’t understand. This was the hardest part of immortality. Grief followed him everywhere he settled.

Beth nodded her head meekly, but she didn't understand.

Colin rubbed his wife’s shoulders. "I told you there would come a day when I would need to leave. This damned scarab won't allow me to stay. People are talking."

"Let them talk," Beth yelled. "We can move. That will stop the talking."

"It's inevitable, you and the children will grow old, and I will have to watch you die”

"No, promise you'll come back," she pleaded.

"It's no use. I can't return,'" Colin bit his lip, his heartbreaking as his world crumbled around him. “I’ve done this before, Beth, it hurts, but it is better this way. I promised myself I would never fall in love again, I would never let this happen again, and I failed myself, I failed you.”

"Colin, I wouldn’t trade what we have had for anything but think about it. We can make it work. Promise you will come back. I will move. I can pretend I am a recent widow. You can pretend you are my brother at first, then my son or grandson. I will try anything. Just promise me that you will return." She embraced Colin in her arms, looking deep into his eyes. "Promise." Beth placed her head on her husband’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, as tears fell.

Colin melted into her arms, "I will return. I promise. Until then, remember how we were.” He pointed to a portrait of Beth and him hanging over the mantle. “You have that to remember, and I have.” He took out his pocket watch. “I have a picture of you in here. I won’t forget you, Beth. But you have to promise me you will stay in Washington."

"Why do we need to stay here?" She said without moving her head.

"I don't know why. It’s a feeling." Colin shrugged his shoulders.

"How can I send word to you? How will you find us?" She said pulling herself away from Colin.

"The scarab will find you. We will be together again," Colin said slinging his knapsack over his shoulders.

"I love you and always will," Colin said, kissing his wife. “Remember there is sufficient money in the bank to keep you housed and fed for several years. I would, however, withdraw it from the bank in the next few weeks. Don't ask me how I know, but there will be a financial panic very soon. Keep the money hidden wherever you move. Don't trust a bank or any investment for the next two years."

She reached for Colin’s hands, holding them to her heart. "I will do what you ask. I, too, will love you for the rest of my life."

"I will love you for the rest of my life," Colin said wiping a tear from his eye. Beth broke down sobbing. She knew what that meant. "Stop your crying, darling. We don’t want to upset the children."

Eleven-year-old George, nine-year-old Isaiah, and five-year-old Dolly crashed into the room as if they had been eavesdropping. Her nurse carried the one-year-old Alison. They all clambered onto their father.

"Papa, why are you leaving us?" Dolly asked wrapping her tiny arms around him. 

"It's cause Pa don't age properly," George replied, standing in the corner with his arms folded.

"Yeah, he's like a million years old," Isaiah piped in, sitting next to his mother on the bed.

Nurse Annie handed Alison to her mother, "I don't know what is happening here, but I promise to remain with the misses as long as I am needed. Now if you don't mind, I will leave you all for a private goodbye," she said exiting the room.

"Thank you, Annie," Beth said, cradling her sleeping daughter next to her broken heart.

Colin gathered his children in his arms. He couldn’t help remembering the many times he had said goodbye to his children in his past. There had been far too many. He had seen too many sad-faced children in his life. Each one had broken his heart. He remembered every wife, every child, and every tear from his past. Leaving had never been an easy decision. Beth was the first wife to whom he had promised to return.

"It's all right Papa. I will see you again," little Dolly said handing him a dandelion.

Colin took the 'flower' and gingerly added it to the top of his belongings.

"George, you will be the man of the house until I return. Obey your mother and watch after your sisters. Isaiah, you are second in command, keep George in-line, your sisters’ look up to you and George as role models. Be a good example. Dolly, my little princess, you’re right, we will see each other again soon," he tousled his son's hair, and then took a strand of Dolly's hair twirling it affectionately through his fingers. He cradled Alison gently in his arms and gazed at his sleeping daughter. "I don't have any advice for you tadpole. You won't remember me when I come back. I will save my advice until I return." Colin gazed around the room at the faces looking back at him. His worldly treasures stood before him. It was breaking his heart, but it broke his heart every other time also, somehow, this time, it was different.

“Papa, Papa,” shouted George.

“Yes, my big man.”

“One day I’m going to get married and have children, and I will name my oldest son after you. He’ll name his oldest after you. You will always be able to find us because there will always be a Colin Harcourt, Papa.”

"I think that is probably the most enjoyable thing I’ve ever heard, Son, and I promise you I will always know where my grandchildren are and how they are doing, even if they don’t know me. Now my little ruffians, if you don't mind, I need to spend a little time alone." He handed his children an envelope as he hugged them. "Please wait for a few days before you open your envelope. Beth, you need to be with your children now. I need some alone time." Colin held up his hand to stop any argument. "I love you, Beth Olsen Harcourt, always remember that."

Beth stroked Dolly’s hair, as she turned away from her husband. "I love you too. Please come back."

"I promise to return. Close the door as you leave please." Colin sat on his bed for a few minutes, wishing he could stay. He stumbled to the window and quietly opened it. Taking one last look, he placed an envelope on the windowsill. He hesitated for a brief second before returning the envelope to his pocket, crawled out the window and walked up the drive. It was a gorgeous January day in the year 1819. Colin didn't know where he was going. He knew that the scarab would lead him where it wanted him to be.

"What was in the envelopes?" Sally asked.

"The letters to my children, I just told them how much I loved them. The letter to Beth said much the same thing. However, the letter to my wife said I wished her luck and happiness. And she should remarry."

"But you promised you were gonna come back." Sally insisted.

"I wrote the letter before I promised to return that's why I didn't leave it. I’ll be honest. I would not return, even after I made the promise. I changed my mind just before I leaped out of that window. Should I say the Scarab changed my mind?”

The barge Colin hired in Cincinnati to take him down the Ohio River was full of cattle and families heading west to carve out a new life wherever fortune led them. Colin traveled with no particular destination in mind.

The hot August sun beat down on him unmercifully. The stench of human sweat turned his stomach. It had been almost eight months since he left his family behind. He thought of them every day. He missed them so much, more than ever before. Watching the families on the barge didn't help matters. He had lost track of how long they had been floating lazily westward, but the tedious smooth water lulled him into a false sense of security. Huge Rapids showed up out of nowhere, unsettling the livestock while sending panic through him and the families. The pilot nonchalantly guided his barge through the rapids as if they were loose waves.

"We will be in Perry County, Indiana within a few minutes. A crew member informed the families and Colin. “We will stop for a while to deliver the mail. You can all get off and stretch your legs there. Don't wander off. The stay will be brief."

Colin saw a young boy fishing by the banks of the river. The boy appeared to be George's age. The lad also seemed more intent on a book propped in his lap instead of fishing. His heart ached at the sight of the boy. The scarab told him he had reached his destination. He wrestled with the Scarab's choice, but to no avail. If the scarab wanted him in some God-forsaken, backwoods hole in the ground, then that's where he would stay until told otherwise by his curse.

Colin sauntered up to the captain, timing each step with the sway of the barge, "I won't be joining you on your journey."

The captain, self-absorbed on the task at hand, didn't look at Colin when he said, “Mr. Harcourt, you have paid to go to Memphis on the Mississippi. This is a far-sight from there."

"I am sorry, but something came up."

"Suit yourself. There are no refunds," the captain responded by throwing the tie-rope to men on a flimsy looking dock.

Colin gathered his nap-sack and stepped onto the dock, surprised it held together. He gathered his bearings and headed upstream to the young lad. Winded and out of breath, he walked the first two miles. After about another mile, Colin came to a clearing. Sure enough, the lad remained on the banks of the river. His fishing pole, no longer in the river, sat unattended near the boy. The boy lay on his stomach. His head buried in a book as Colin approached. The boy, startled by the footsteps, bounced up and clutched the book behind his back.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Son." The young boy stood motionless. "I seem to be lost."

The boy peered up the river and then down the river. "You ain't lost. I saw you on the barge. State your business. Afore I call for my pa."

"I confess I have no idea what my business is. The scarab led me here," he said showing the young boy his necklace. "What's your name?"

The boy's curiosity got the better of him, and he took a few steps forward to look at a different kind of necklace. "Name is Abraham. Most call me Abe. I turned ten last February. Where didja get that?" he asked pointing at the necklace.

"Do you like stories?" Colin sat cross-legged, toying with the fishing pole.

"I love reading, too. I'll read most anything." Abe said placing the pole out of the stranger’s reach.

Colin glanced at him. "Where's your father?"

"He's probably huntin' or courtin' widow Johnston," Abe said, moving a little further from the stranger.

Colin glanced at the tree line.  "You don't go hunting with your father? Where is your mother?"

Abe gathered his belongings but answered the stranger’s question. "Nah I don't like huntin.' I shot me a wild turkey two years ago, and I felt so gaud-awful after that, I decided then and there that I would never again harm a living creature. And Mom died of milk sickness last October.” Abe thumbed through his book, and said, “She passed just before a horse kicked me in the head. They thought I was dead, but I wasn't. I really shouldn’t talk to strangers. "

Colin handed Abe the fishing pole. "I mean you no harm. I have a son your age, and I miss him dearly.”

Abe stared at the river and then Colin. "Sara’s my sister. She's been acting like my mother since Ma passed. Where didja get it?"

Colin smiled and patted the ground next to him. "Have a seat, Abe. I will tell you a story. Keep in mind that the story is one-hundred percent truth." Colin sat on a stump while young Abe sat on the ground with his knees tucked under his chin. "The story began many years ago. It started when I accompanied a Duke and a few Earls on a dangerous quest. Have you heard of the Crusades?"  Abe nodded his head. "Good, the archbishop gave me a letter to deliver to his friend..."

Wide-eyed Abe asked, "You knew George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and all those famous people? I wish I could've been there. It would help me when I become a teacher."

Colin drew his knees to his chest. "You want to be a teacher?"

"Either that or a lawyer, but I only got about eighteen months of book learning." Abe mused.

"I have a feeling you will be great at whatever you choose to do. Have you ever thought of politics?" Colin lowered his legs to the ground and placed his hands flat on the grass behind him.

"Nah, look at me, I got the face of a monkey. I'm awkward, gangly, and wholly unsuited for politicking." A voice rang through the trees. "That's pa. I gotta go. It was a pleasure talkin' to you."

"Nah, I think the scarab got what it wanted. I don’t know why, but I get a feeling you would make a great senator, maybe an office bigger than that. Promise you will think about politics," Colin said firmly.

"I'll mull it over," Abe said as he ran toward his pa's voice.

"What's your last name, Abe?" Colin yelled at the scurrying boy.

Abe turned as he got to the tree line and cupped his hands to his mouth, "Lincoln. I doubt you'll hear much of me in your future," he yelled back. "Abe Lincoln son of Thomas and Nancy Lincoln," his voice faded into the trees.