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chapter twenty-six BLADE OF FATE He lay carelessly in the grass, stretched out on the thick, soft carpet that felt like velvet. It was a bright and warm spring day in northern Virginia. Above, the young leaves of an apple tree gave cool shade, and the fragrance from the snowy blossoms filled the air with a sweet perfume. Around him, the little children watched in fascination. Their staring eyes followed the needle of the compass as it dutifully obeyed the metal blade. The broken leg, the crutch, the rough beard and tangled black hair, the tattoo “JWB” on the back of his hand, these no longer intrigued the children; instead, the amazing magic of “Mr. Boyd” and his strange instrument was all-absorbing. His eyes intently watched the faces of the children as their eyes in turn watched the needle. He studied their puzzled looks as they struggled to comprehend. He thought of himself as a child, and how he, too, had struggled to understand the mysteries of life. He thought about his current condition. And then, it all became clear. He understood. Suddenly, the riddle of man and his fate made sense. And he laughed. For the first time in eleven days, he actually knew pleasure and laughed aloud.1 With a world of hate all around, with death closing in, with eternal infamy now his certain fate, he laughed. These children, like little animals , knew nothing, cared nothing, for what he had been or would be, simply accepting him as he was here and now. No matter what they were later told, this is how their hearts would remember him. It had not really been so long ago, a score of years, when he was as they were now, naive, innocent, trusting. His earliest memories were of his father. The child worshiped the big, burly Englishman with his booming voice, his large flashing eyes, and the stories told of strange people and places. As the boy grew, his love did not lessen. Indeed, his admiration for his father increased “almost 209 210 the darkest dawn to idolatry.” The little son did not see the world-renowned Shake– spearean earning thunderous applause on a nightly basis; nor did he see the hopeless, shameless drunk who had once pawned himself off in a New York shop window simply to buy another drink.2 The little boy only felt that love which flowed unconditionally. He loved the father he knew. Of all the children, admitted older son Edwin, “John Wilkes was his father’s favorite.”3 Perhaps the old man was subconsciously drawn to the pale, darkhaired child because he recognized in him the same restless spirit he possessed, or perhaps it was the surfeit of energy and the extreme passion for life they both shared. Little short was the boy’s love of his mother, though for different reasons . Like the father, Mary Ann, too, secretly favored the bold, impetuous son over the others.4 Unlike her husband, the mother was quiet, soft-spoken, and, to the little boy’s mind, deep and mysterious. And she had visions. Once, while sitting by the fireplace when her favorite was still a baby, the woman clearly saw words shine out from the flames; one read “blood,” another read “country,” and the last, “an avenging arm.”5 On his thirteenth birthday, the boy’s parents officially married. The following year, soon after his father’s death, the devastated youth quit school for good and returned to the family home near Bel Air, Maryland .6 The “Farm,” as the Booths casually referred to the modest estate, was surrounded by a forest of large, ancient trees, which all but insulated it from the outside world.7 There the mother and her children lived a quiet, idyllic life. As vegetarians, the Booths considered their own animals , as well as those of the woods, simple extensions of their family.8 John, remembered sister Asia, was “very tender of flowers, and of insects and butterflies.”9 Thoughtful and considerate, kind in the extreme, the teenager loved everything that shared his world, it seemed, with one exception. He despised the sly predators of the neighboring farms that mercilessly stalked their prey and robbed the woods of music and beauty. Young Booth made it his mission to rid the area of prowling cats.10 As a child, his sole murderous urge was to destroy that which he considered evil and rescue that which he considered good. While life was...

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