Roslyn

April 14, 1865. Roslyn Allard's stomach had begun to grow. First millimeters, centimeters, and after four months came inches. She's kept it hidden from him for five so far. His busy working life warrants her nothing but a glance and orders from another room in the same home. It must be tonight. He has invited her to dinner and a show. Where for dinner and what show are both things she doesn't know. Roslyn doesn't care very much. Rubbing her hand over her stomach brings her an instantaneous smile. It also makes her slightly sick. After helping Marshall into his clothes, she enters the bathroom to change her face. After a while, in the early evening, the two of them leave the house. Passing various homes and strangers, they walk until they reach the restaurant. She hasn't seen a sign but the structure itself is one of grandeur. The place just looks unaffordable to her. But now, her marriage to him has constituted a place like this for her. They enter, are sat down and get their orders taken. Scanning the room hotwired her nerves. Sat at various tables around them were politicians and various other important people. Ros was surprised. And anxious. The pasta they both ordered came in a flash. The smell sent chills down her body and she felt her stomach begin to react. It was sickening. Squeamish and with a cover up grin on her face, she puked through her teeth. Oh no! The pasta was ruined. Oh no! Her husband was covered in lunch! Staff came over quickly to clean up and while a napkin was rubbing up her face she told him.

"I'm pregnant."

The two of their faces were lit up like bulbs as they exited the restaurant.

Time for a quick pit stop back at home.

...

The pair made their way to Ford's Theatre after changing, hands joined for the first time in months. Marshall had been expected to be in attendance due to his high status but the evening's highlight was nowhere to be seen or heard. Abraham Lincoln. The nations president and company was reserved an overlook for the best view of the night's production. She'd read the playbill before they entered the theatre. Of course she had been wanting to see "Our American Cousin" but could never find the courage to go alone. Now she was with Marshall, surrounded by others who were just as excited as she was. They sat mid row, in view of the president's box. The curtains had parted and the production had commenced. Moments passed before the guest of honor had arrived, surrounded by a group of people. She caught a glimpse of the man before the group disappeared into their comfy cube. The play kept on throughout the brief interruption and time began to pass faster than she anticipated. The serenity was broken as a gunshot rang out from behind the audience. Rosalyn turned fast enough to see sprinkles of blood and glass fall outward towards the crowd. She ducked. The auditorium erupted in shouts and frantic footsteps. Marshall was shaking her but her body was falling asleep. First her arms, then her legs, then her brain. Her eyes tunneled. The floor presses into her arms.