Crossing the Deadline Read Online Free PDF

you, from what I’ve been told.”
    First I’d been surprised when the governor of the whole state of Indiana called my name at the train depot. Now he’s telling me he knows how much I like to read. “Who told you that?” I ask.
    â€œPresident Lincoln told me,” the governor says.
    I nearly faint. I must have the oddest look on my face because Mrs. Morton quickly says, “No, no, no, not really. Oliver P. Morton, stop pulling this young boy’s leg.”
    Governor Morton laughs and pats me on my shoulder. His mood turns serious. “Your brother, Robert, told me, Stephen.” The room falls quiet as a January night.
    â€œHow do you know Robert?” I ask.
    â€œI met him at the training camp in Indianapolis. Recruits come to drill there before heading south.”
    â€œWell, the Weekly reported Indiana has sent more soldiers than any other state to the war.”
    â€œAlmost as many as Delaware,” the governor corrects me. “I make it a point to talk to as many of the Centerville boysas I can when they’re in Indianapolis training. Robert and I talked for nearly an hour one day. You know what he talked about most?” he asks.
    â€œThe war?” I guess.
    â€œNo. We hardly mentioned that. We spent most of the time talking about you. He said you like to sit in Paddy’s Run Creek and call birds. He said you can call a bobwhite to within ten feet. Is that true?”
    â€œWhen my lips work right, I can.”
    â€œHe also said you like to read.”
    â€œYes, sir, I do. Mother read to Robert and me since before I can remember. She taught us.”
    The governor leans over the sofa and picks up the brown package from the table. He smiles broadly as he lifts it toward me.
    My feet feel nailed to the floor.
    â€œTake it,” the governor insists. “I brought it all the way from Washington, D.C., just for you.”
    I slowly raise my hands and take the package. I stare at it a few seconds and peel back the paper. “A book,” I whisper.
    â€œNot just any book. It’s David Copperfield,” Governor Morton says. “It’s by Charles Dickens. President Lincoln recommended it for you.”
    I look at the governor in disbelief.
    Mrs. Morton rises, leans in toward my ear, and whispers, “This is when you’re supposed to say, ‘Why, thank you, Governor, it’s very kind of you.’”
    â€œOhh! I’m sorry, sir. Thank you so very much, Governor. It is very kind of you,” I say. “It’s just . . . I . . .”
    â€œDon’t need a speech. ‘Thanks’ will do just fine.” The governor laughs. “I know I don’t have to tell you how much you mean to your brother, Robert.”
    â€œWell, thank you, sir. He means a lot to me and Mother,” I say.
    â€œAnd it’s no coincidence I’m here in Centerville today.”
    â€œIt’s not?”
    I recognize a sharp change on the governor’s face. His smile and laughter evaporate. He purses his lips, but not in an angry way. “Your brother seemed to be an honorable man.”
    â€œHe is, sir. Robert’s never cheated anyone out of a nickel.”
    The governor pauses and looks me over from head to toe. “I bet you’re cut from the same cloth as your brother.”
    â€œI am. Mother and Dad raised us both the same.”
    â€œThen you can keep a secret, Stephen,” the governor says more than asks.
    I search his face for a clue to see if he’s serious or if this is headed to be another joke. He stands stoic, almost wooden.
    â€œYes, sir. I can keep a secret. I promise, I can.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Governor Morton looks at Lucinda and nods toward the kitchen table in the adjoining room. She gathers her skirt in both hands and joins her husband at a pine chest along the wall. They grab black handles on the ends of the chest and drag it several feet, revealing a small door leading under