The theater is brimming with laughter and anticipation as you approach the steps leading inside. Ushers pace near the doors with stacks of playbills, “It’s the final night to see ‘Our American Cousin’ with none other than Miss Laura Keene herself reprising her original role! Only twenty five cents for a decent seat! Only a dollar for the front row! Don’t miss this incredible show!” They call.
You offer up your quarters and enter the small lobby filled with light and pleasant voices, and make your way into the orchestra gallery, following the slow decline of the floor towards the stage. The sound of instruments and muttering of voices wafts from the front of the room as you slide into your seat.
The brilliance of the stage seems to dim the entire room as people around you settle in, many trying to press their way into the front rows on the left side of the room, straining to see the right box that has been decorated with patriotic buntings and a portrait of Washington, the great general and father of the country.
You wander back towards the street wanting to enjoy the beautiful evening. As you take in the starry sky and cool breeze, a carriage rolls up to the front steps accompanied by a lone rider and attended by a single coachman. A tall, thin figure steps out into the cool evening, turning to take the hand of his companion as he helps her from the carriage. His eyes spark below tired brows and his spirits soar as he climbs the stairs to the state box, his silhouette unmistakable, fingers interlaced with the lady who has stood beside him through so much. You realize as you watch them that you missed the announcement from the orchestra and the curtain had already opened to reveal a sitting room where a man is shuffling through a stack of letters, discussing the affairs of the household with the other servants.
The actors pause and turn their attention respectfully towards the star-spangled box and the orchestra bursts out in a grand rendition of “Hail to the chief.” As you make your way to your seat other partons shift and clamor for a chance to see who has just been seated. Whispers of both joy and disappointment hum as the tall form steps into view, taking a moment to present with a deep bow of gratitude for the people he has so proudly led. After a moment of respectful silence, President Lincoln takes his seat, the orchestra leads all attention back to the stage and around you whispers lull to silence.
Oh how Laura Keene shined like a jewel as Florence, delighting the audience with her sharp tongue and defiance as she floats across the stage in her cream dress all around with red roses, Delightfully teasing and voicing her frustration towards the other members of the household. Laughter rolls through the audience as she reads aloud the letter from America announcing the arrival of the “American Cousin” of name. Mr Emerson draws a great ruckus as she fumbles through the comedic misunderstandings and literalization as Lord Dundreary.
How the room erupted with laughter as Harry Hawk struts into view, exaggerating a southern drawl as Asa Trenchard, causing uproarious hilarity as he pokes fun at the aristocracy.
A hush comes over the room as the music booms across the seats and the stage dims, plunging the room into the depths of darkness. What villainy graces the stage as the lights come back up. Gasps and jeers erupt from the shadows around you as Mr Coyle hatches his evil plot to claim the property and ruin the English Trenchard family and the hand of poor Florence. What indignity as the shrewd Coyle explains his plan to Murcott. The utterance of pity from the gallery as Murcott shares his story of ruin and yet still holds some feelings for those who wronged him. The stage is set, the plot as thick as “Mud on the banks of the creek”, and Asa has found his quiet place to rest. The curtain falls and the orchestra announces the intermission.
You wander from your seat, following the crowd back out into the cool night. Following a cheerful party you find your way next door to Taltavull’s Star Saloon. There, leaned against the bar with a whisky and water is John Wilkes. He seems annoyed at the influx of thirsty customers, turning to his drink and away from others. “Not sure what bur is in his saddle,” Pete shrugs to another regular, Officer John Parker. “You goin’ to be called for being here, John?”
“Hardley. He said he wanted privacy. I’m just following orders.” Officer Parker scoffs, raising his glass.
“And what has you in a mood, then?” Pete asks John Wilkes.
“I’m just feeling a bit restless. You know how I feel about the show they always put on for him.” the final word hung in the air with a palpable bitterness for a moment before Pete waved it away with the offer of another drink.
“Too good a night to be like that.” Pete motioned to the clock that hung on the wall. “If any of you are in here between acts, you best hurry. I can keep your tab or you can settle now.”
You leave your name at the bar, planning to return during the second intermission and follow the crowd of happy people. Someone in the row before you whispers that they were disappointed the rumors of General Grant attending with the president had been false.
Again the orchestra roars to life, the lights flare, and Asa Trenchard finds himself witnessing a great deal of exaggerated insanity as Georgiana flirts with Lord Dundreary, and the heartbreaking news Murcott delivers to Florence with a trembling voice.
Oh how you feel for sweet Mary as she tends to the dairy and her spinning wheel. What laughter erupts around you as Asa calls his cousin potatoes. How filled with joy and hope she is as you learn the fortune given to Asa should always have been hers.
How Asa Trenchard folds as Mary smiles at him. How he tries to linger one moment more, to only be pulled away by Florence. How he circles back towards the dairy, hatching a grand plan to save his cousins.
Again the stage grows dark. Behind you, you catch a glimpse of John Wilkes, standing at the back as he takes in the show. In a whirlwind of motion in the darkness the stage is transformed into a yard, where Asa is being crowned king of archery.
Jeers erupt from all around you as Coyle barges in with his Bailiffs. What pandemonium erupts as the curtains fall and the orchestra starts up again, announcing the second intermission.
As you leave your seat to take in one last drink and close your tab at the neighboring saloon you see that John Wilkes has left the place he had been taking in the show. The lobby is crowded with people moving in and out, the street filled with laughter, and the Star is bright and joyous. Tonight was one that the nation desperately needed. The relief in the air is tangible. While some are in celebration and others are bitter at the defeat of the Confederacy all are in agreement that the bloodshed had to end. And with the official end to the war nearly a week behind, marking an end to nearly a decade of growing hostility and darkness, people of all alignments were ready to take in an evening of humor and high spirits; Tonight is one of light and hope. You pay your tab, nodding a greeting to Officer Parker as you pay your bill and make your way back into the cool night. How could anything ruin such a beautiful evening?
The orchestra announces the end of intermission and you find your seat has been taken, so you move to the outer edge of the row. The view of the stage isn't quite as nice, but you find you have a lovely view of the state box almost directly opposite you. The music fades and the curtains lift to find Asa seated beside sweet Mary, fumbling through a conversation as he grapples with his feelings. He spins her a story of her estranged grandfather as he shreds the will that proved his inheritance. How he pulls at your heart as he walks away from her, believing he could never be worthy of her, and removes himself quietly, kicking himself for having burned to ash an entire fortune.
Another moment of darkness and flurry of motion finds us in the sitting room again. Augusta paces nervously a Mrs. Mountchessington encourages her daughter to select the most eligible of bachelors.
Snickers and jeers echo as the two women attempt to woo Asa.
"Now, don't look at me in that way. I can't stand it, if you do, I'll bust." he says, smiling at them as they exaggerate and fawn over him.
With a wink towards the audience he informs you he is deeply aware of their plan and responds to the promise of affection with the knowledge he doesn't have a penny to his name. How their shock and horror lead to such laughter as Asa makes his pass at a distraught Augusta. How the room chuckles and murmurs as he takes a step forward, both women revealing themselves to be who they truly are as Mrs. Mountchessington sends her daughter away and chides Asa for his "impertinence".
Such was the roar of laughter as he runs the older woman off the stage shouting "Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal—you sockdologizing old man-trap!"
But the laughter fell silent with a single echoing boom… For those that truly know the sound, it rings as a death knell. Laura Keene, still dressed waiting for her cue to reenter the public view, runs towards the stairs of the upper level. You look up into the state box where chaos has broken out. Major Henry Rathbone, who had been the companion of the Lincolns for the evening, was attempting to restrain the shadow of a man. People around you begin to panic, some trying to flee, others rushing to render aid. While mere seconds have passed time seems to have slowed to nearly a stop. One of the figures in the box above draws a knife, slashing desperately and then rushing towards the balcony. "Stop that man!" Rathbones voice follows.
You find yourself frozen, unable to move as you watch the figure land awkwardly on the stage.
"The president has been shot!" Cries out the voice of Clara Harris, as you realize it is John Wilkes Booth, staggering to his feet. "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" He shouts, bloody knife still in his hand, "I have done it," as he limps quickly from view.
You finally find your feet and follow the commotion to the upper floor. Laura, still dressed as Florence, is sitting on the floor, Lincoln's head cradled in her lap.
"Move! Move! out!" Everyone begins to move away as several soldiers rush in, a gurney stretched between them.
You are pushed and jostled out into the street where people are already collecting as the rumors of what has happened spread through the city.
"Bring him here!" Cries a voice from the porch across the street. You find your view blocked at the crowd parts allowing passage across the street.
The night suddenly seems cold and dark, the cool breeze becomes harsh against your face as you wait, among the growing crowd as a nation, that for a brief moment believed in hope, came to its knees.
