“I do hope he gets a cab. This is a bad night for him to be out on these streets alone.” Her guest smiled.
“Frederick Douglass can take care of himself, madam,” he said. “You should not worry about him.”
“Oh, but I do!” And Amelia’s blue eyes opened wide. Francis Cardoza, his eyes on the white hands and pulsing, crinkled throat, marveled anew at the children of God.
When Douglass came he was deeply apologetic, but they waved aside his concern.
“It is nothing,” they said. “We knew you were busy.”
Amelia would not let them talk until he had eaten, and when he shook his head, saying he could not keep Mr. Cardoza waiting any longer, Cardoza laughed.
“Might as well give in, Mr. Douglass.”
So they all went to the dining room, and Amelia insisted that the young man join her Frederick in his late supper.
Here in the friendly room, beside the roaring fire, the happenings of the day no longer seemed so crushing. He told them everything, and they listened, feeling his disappointment. Then Amelia spoke their thought aloud.
“If only Mr. Lincoln had lived!”