The Traveler's Gift Read online

  Disappointed and somewhat confused, David eased himself back inside the tent. For several moments he stood there, wondering where he was and who he had been watching on stage. Is that the person I am here to see? he asked himself. David moved to a chair beside the desk and sat down heavily. Pouring himself a glass of water, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that he was somehow connected to this place.

  Just then, above the continuous sound of the speaker, David heard the crowd begin to murmur. For almost half a minute, the audience’s talking among themselves easily drowned out the voice of the man on stage. David rose from his chair and quickly walked toward the tent door. Before he reached the entrance, however, he heard the sound of horses’ hooves and creaking leather saddles just outside. Hearing voices approach, David stepped to the corner of the tent as one man walked inside.

  He was a young man of about twenty-five, impeccably groomed in a long coat and high collar. His hair was parted crisply in the middle, and his thin mustache ran in a perfect line above his lips. With the presence of a person who is accustomed to being in charge, the young man strode across the tent directly to the desk. He opened each drawer and carefully inspected the contents before closing it.

  David saw him pause for the briefest moment when he spied David’s glass of water. The young man picked up the glass and frowned. He was obviously quite aggravated. Shaking his head from side to side with little jerks, he took the glass to the far corner of the tent and poured the remainder of the water onto the ground. Curiously, David thought, he then placed the empty glass in his coat pocket and moved back to the desk where he proceeded to examine the remaining glasses and pitcher.

  He picked up the pitcher and looked intently into the water. Then he smelled the water. Finally, he poured a small amount into one of the three glasses left on the desk and carefully tasted it. Satisfied, he then placed that glass into his other coat pocket, looked cautiously around the tent, and exited.

  David took a deep breath. Evidently, that person was not the one he was there to see. The man hadn’t even noticed him standing in plain sight. Before David had time to move, the tent flap opened again.

  Bending almost double in order to fit through the door, this man entered with his hat under his arm. As the tent flap closed behind him, the tall man straightened, glanced around, and saw David. He smiled and with two quick strides stood before David, extending his right hand. “Mr. Ponder, isn’t it?” the man said with a twinkle in his eye.

  David’s mouth was open and his knees felt as if they might collapse. He wanted to say, “Yes, sir,” or “How do you do?” or “Nice to meet you,” or anything, but his throat was so dry that nothing came out. Becoming aware of the bemused expression on the gentleman’s face and seeing that his hand was still extended, David did the only appropriate thing. He shook the hand of Abraham Lincoln.

  “I . . . I am honored, sir,” David managed to stammer.

  “The honor is mine, Mr. Ponder,” the president replied. “After all, it is you who has traveled the greater distance for this occasion.”

  Lincoln wore white riding gloves, gauntlets, that contrasted sharply with his totally black attire and made his large hands seem larger still. Removing the gloves, he walked to the desk and, after placing the gloves and his hat on the far side, asked, “Won’t you join me please in refreshment?”

  Seeing that the president had indicated the pitcher of water, David accepted his offer and asked, “Sir, where are we? ”

  Lincoln held up one long finger, then poured David a glass of water. Pouring his own glass, he drank it all, poured another, and sat down. “Bring up a chair,” he said as he drew his own from behind the desk.

  As David sat down, he watched the sixteenth president of the United States cross his legs at the knee and loosen his high starched collar. He was dressed well. His hair was combed, his beard neatly trimmed, and yet he still appeared somewhat . . . well, disheveled. David noticed that the president seemed oversized in all physical respects. His legs, arms, hands, even his face appeared to be too long. David smiled to himself as he realized that Abraham Lincoln looked exactly like every picture he’d ever seen of the man.

  David’s only surprise, after Lincoln’s sudden appearance, was the president’s voice. It was not a rich baritone as he had heard it portrayed in numerous movies, but a higher-pitched tenor.

  Lincoln placed the glass on the desk and said, “Riding horseback always makes me thirsty, though I’m usually too embarrassed to drink in front of the horse. After all,” he chuckled, “I’m not the one who has done the work!” David laughed politely. “So, Mr. Ponder, you wish to know where we are.”

  “Yes, sir, and please call me David.”

  “Thank you,” Lincoln said as he slightly inclined his head to the younger man. “David, I am here for two reasons today. First, to dedicate a cemetery. That, by the way, is where we are now . . . Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.”

  Shivers ran down David’s back. “And the date?”

  “November nineteenth, eighteen sixty-three.”

  No wonder this place seems so familiar, David thought. I was here four months ago. Or was it only an hour? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Mr. President, you mentioned two reasons you came here. What was the second?”

  Lincoln smiled. “Why, to meet you, of course.” David’s eyes widened. “You are certainly more important than any remarks I might share with those in attendance today. This cemetery is about the past. You are about the future!”

  David looked away. “I appreciate your confidence,” he said, “but I’m not sure it’s justified. At the moment, I’m just hoping there is a future. I am actually going through the worst time in my life right now.”

  “Congratulations are in order then! Better days are most assuredly ahead.” The president then raised his water glass and exclaimed, “To us, two men experiencing the worst life has to offer.”

  David didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure whether Lincoln was teasing him or not. “I’m not kidding,” he said slowly.

  “Oh, let me promise you,” Lincoln said with a tight smile, “neither am I.” He reached to his right, across the desk, and picked up his hat. It was the tall black stovepipe that had become as much a part of the man as any image David could remember. For a time, Lincoln let his fingers play softly across the large silk band. “This is a piece of cloth I carry with me in memory of Willie, my little boy. He died only a few months ago.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Now my son Tad has taken to bed . . . deathly ill. And as you might imagine, Mrs. Lincoln did not agree that I should be here today.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “Duty. And the fact that I knew I could choose to pray for my son while wandering about the White House or pray as I continued in pursuit of the task that has been placed before me. I am quite confident the Almighty hears my cry no matter the location. Surely, His arms stretch from Washington to Gettysburg. I also believe the good Lord would rather me pray and work, not pray and wait.”

  The president shifted position in the chair and crossed his arms. “You know, I mentioned a moment ago that we were two men who were experiencing the worst life has to offer. That is true in a smaller, selfish way, and I must confess my propensity toward self-serving behavior. Actually, it seems to be one of my life’s most constant battles. In a larger sense, however, we are being presented an enormous opportunity for change and the betterment of ourselves.”

  “The betterment of ourselves? You’re talking about what we call ‘personal growth.’ I’m not sure that I want any more personal growth,” David said.

  “Of course not!” Lincoln responded. “And wouldn’t that be the easy choice to make? In fact, it is the most popular choice on the planet! But the question you are facing at this particular point in your life is: How powerful do you want to be?”

  David tilted his head to the side. Confused, he said, “I’m lost here. In the first place, what does personal growth have to do with power? And in the se
cond place, no offense, but I have no interest in power anyway.”

  Leaning forward, Lincoln said, “Mr. Ponder . . . David, if that is true, if you have no interest in power, then an incalculable amount of attention is being wasted on you. Some of it at this very moment!”

  David wasn’t certain whether to be insulted or not. He began to speak. “I was not the one who . . .”

  Lincoln reached over and touched David’s knee. Smiling patiently, but interrupting firmly, he said, “David.” As David became silent, the president leaned back in his chair. With his dark eyes still on David and the smile still on his face, he said softly, “Now think with me here. Personal growth leads to power. There is a certain level of personal growth that will provide the skills necessary to feed and clothe one’s family. There is another level of personal growth that will furnish influence and wisdom in sufficient quantities to be perceived a leader.” Lincoln paused. He looked directly into the younger man’s eyes. “But to do great deeds, great power is essential.

  “Do not run from power. Gather it as you would the finest fruit. Power in the hands of a good person is like a cool drink of water on a hot summer day. It refreshes everyone with whom it comes in contact.

  “You see, some people want just enough power to get by. Then there are other people who will acquire enough power to make things more comfortable for their families, and they’ll include other less fortunate souls in their charity if the personal growth part of the equation doesn’t become too uncomfortable. But there are a few of us, David, who have latched on to this silly idea that we can change the world. We will develop the power to ignore what is popular and do what is right. One person can attain the power to lead hundreds of thousands of people to the promised land of their dreams.

  “As children, we were afraid of the dark. Now as adults, we are afraid of the light. We are afraid to step out. We are afraid to become more. But how can we lead others to a destination we have not reached? Keep searching, son. I am urging you to seek the light that to you seems so far in the distance. It will be worth the journey. You will become a lighthouse of personal growth and power, and by your example and leadership, you will prevent many a worthy man from crashing his life upon the rocks of mediocrity.”

  “Now I see what you’re saying,” David said, nodding. “So how do I engineer my personal growth? What is important in this . . . this quest?”

  “Well,” Lincoln began, “it has always been enlightening for me to question myself.”

  “About what?”

  “About myself.”

  “You question yourself about yourself?”

  “Yes,” the president said with a laugh. “At least I generally know all the answers!” Stroking his beard with the back of his hand, he continued, “Seriously, questions such as, ‘How do other people see me?’ and ‘What don’t they like?’ can be quite revealing if answered honestly. When you become a person whom others want to be around, you will have become a person of influence.”

  “Then I am to work at pleasing people?” David asked.

  “Not necessarily. I am speaking primarily of honing the rough edges you might find in your physical appearance and actions such as manners and speech. Of course, I continue to find fertile ground for change in my attitude.

  “But you will never please everyone, nor should pleasing everyone be your goal. For example, to seek the approval of someone who is lazy or jealous is to cast your pearls before swine. You will find that God rarely uses a person whose main concern is what others are thinking.”

  “Are you ever bothered by what other people say about you?” David asked.

  The president quickly leaned forward with a serious look on his face. “Why?” he said. “What are they saying?”

  Seeing David’s shocked expression, Lincoln laughed loudly. “David, I inherited a nightmare from President Buchanan. By the time I was sworn in, seven states had already seceded from the Union, and Jefferson Davis was named president of the Confederate States of America. Just between us, Buchanan was no great help. He left Washington proclaiming himself the last president of the United States.

  “As you may know, I am the first ever Republican president. I was elected by a minority of the popular vote, and even some members of my own cabinet view me as third-rate. To many of the elite in Washington, I will always be a country lawyer, a gawky, unrefined outsider. If I were to concern myself with the newspaper columns that label me dishonest or stupid, if I had my feelings destroyed every time a political opponent called me an ape or a buffoon, I would never be about the work for which I was born!”

  Lincoln stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sooner or later, every man of character will have that character questioned. Every man of honor and courage will be faced with unjust criticism, but never forget that unjust criticism has no impact whatsoever upon the truth. And the only sure way to avoid criticism is to do nothing and be nothing!”

  As he paused for a breath, Lincoln’s attention was diverted by loud, rolling applause from the gathering outside the tent. He grinned and motioned for David to come with him. “Let’s see where we are in the program.”

  Moving to the tent’s entrance, the president eased the door flap aside, affording them a clear view of the stage. The same gentleman David had seen earlier was still speaking. “Who is he?” David asked quietly.

  Without turning, Lincoln answered, “That is our principal orator at this occasion. The Honorable Edward Everett. He was the president of Harvard University and secretary of state under President Fillmore. He can certainly hold an audience in the palm of his hand. Look at the faces of the people. They are transfixed.”

  “I am sure they are waiting for you, sir,” David replied.

  Lincoln smiled and carefully dropped the flap. Backing away from the entrance, he said, “I appreciate the compliment, but today I have only a few remarks. I am here for the dedication. I was invited only three weeks ago.”

  At that instant, the door flap was thrown aside, and the young, smartly dressed man who had been in the tent earlier entered. Lincoln gestured toward him with his hand and said, “John Hay, my personal secretary.”

  David froze momentarily and then held his laughter as the young man hesitated. He watched as Hay looked from side to side, then glanced around the tent and said hesitantly, “Sir?”

  Recovering quickly, Lincoln asked, “How may I be of assistance, John?”

  Hay wrinkled his brow, obviously puzzled, and continued to peer cautiously behind the president.

  “John,” Lincoln said again, snapping Hay to attention, “how may I be of assistance?”

  “I . . . ahh . . . excuse the interruption, Mr. President.” Now Lincoln stifled a chuckle. David had his hand over his mouth. “Well . . . sir,” Hay stammered. “I wanted you to know that when Mr. Everett has concluded, the Baltimore Glee Club will sing an ode written for this occasion. The music will provide the time necessary to escort you from here to the stage.”

  “Thank you, John,” Lincoln said as he moved to the doorway. “The beginning of the music, then, will be my cue to join you outside the tent. Until that time, sir, I trust you will maintain my privacy.”

  The president pulled back the door flap, an obvious gesture intended to hasten his secretary’s departure. Hay ducked through the opening and turned around. Bent over, half inside and half outside the tent, Hay carefully worded his question. “Sir, excuse me, but are you saying that I should not come back inside?”

  “That is correct, John.”

  “So, you will meet me outside the tent when you are ready to go to the stage?”

  “Yes, John.”

  Briefly, Hay paused. Then, still doubled over in the doorway, he said, “Sir, if I may be so bold as to ask—”

  “John,” Lincoln interrupted.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I will meet you outside the tent when I am ready to go to the stage.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hay said resignedly and slid outside the door. />
  The president closed the canvas and, urging David to follow with a jerk of his head, walked quickly to the desk. As he sat down, tears were streaming down his face as he finally let his laughter burst forth. For several moments, they both laughed heartily.

  Gaining control, Lincoln took a deep breath and sighed. “That was extremely close, my friend. Momentarily, I forgot that he could not see you. John is a fine young man. I hate to laugh at his expense, but if the Almighty will forgive me, the look on his face was priceless!”

  David chuckled as he sat down, tipping the chair back on two legs into a more comfortable position. “Before your secretary entered, you were talking about your part in this ceremony today.”

  “Yes.” Lincoln’s smile disappeared as he cleared his throat. “Yes, today we take pause from our battles to dedicate one ugly reality of this war: a cemetery. There are quite a few of them around now, as you must know. Certainly more than I can dedicate.”

  Lincoln frowned and continued, “There were more than fifty thousand casualties here. They say blood and gore ran in rivulets on the ground.” He was quiet for a moment, and then brightening, he said, “I have Grant now. This will not last much longer.”

  “Are you winning the war?” David asked.

  “We weren’t, I can tell you that! But after this battle, Gettysburg, last July, the outcome seems much brighter indeed.”

  David suddenly had a thought and asked, “Mr. President, are you familiar with an officer in your army by the name of Colonel Joshua Chamberlain? He is with the Twentieth Maine.”

  Lincoln cocked his head and thought briefly, then said slowly, “No, I don’t believe so. Should I know this man?”

  “Maybe. He fought here at Gettysburg. When you return to Washington, you might look him up.” The president nodded. “I have another question,” David continued, “do you believe that God is on your side?”

  Lincoln looked at David thoughtfully. “On September twenty-second of last year, I signed a proclamation of emancipation for all slaves specifying that they will be henceforward and forever free. The timing of that gesture is still the subject of some debate. One of my cabinet members made it known to anyone who would listen that a vast majority of the public stood against me and my intention to sign the Emancipation Proclamation. My platform, however, is that while public opinion might sway back and forth, right and wrong do not.