He never saw it coming.
The top of Lincoln’s tall black hat hit the string and flew off. Papers shot out and danced in the breeze. As Lincoln bent to gather the notes, the kids leaped onto his back and rode him like cowboys, laughing and shouting.
Abby and Doc couldn’t believe it—Lincoln didn’t seem mad. Actually, he was laughing, too.
The kids jumped off Lincoln’s back and ran down the street.
Lincoln scrambled after his last few papers. One blew across the street, toward Doc’s feet. Doc bent to pick it up.
“Ah, it’s you,” Lincoln said, walking toward Doc and Abby. “They do that all the time, those boys. You’d think I wouldn’t keep falling for it.”
Doc handed Lincoln the piece of paper.
“Thank you,” Lincoln said. “Nice of you to come, but it’s all over. I’m all done.”
“With what?” asked Abby.
“With history,” Lincoln said. “I did warn you, after all. And now it’s final. You thought history was boring before? Now I’ll show you boring!”
“You mean you’re quitting?” Abby asked. “Quitting history?”
“Yes, exactly,” Lincoln said. “I can’t speak for other people—Pocahontas, George Washington, Harriet Tubman. Though I know they’re angry, too. As I said, we hear you. And since you insist on saying our lives are boring, well then, we’ll show you. You can read about us sitting in chairs, staring at the wall. See how you like it.”
“But don’t you do really important things?” Doc asked.
“Not anymore,” Lincoln said. “As of now, I’m on vacation.”
“Mr. Lincoln! Look at you!”
A woman in a long dress strode up. She was just over five feet tall, with blue eyes and brown hair pulled back in a bun. Doc and Abby recognized her from pictures they’d seen—Mary Lincoln, Abe’s wife.
“You’re covered in dust,” she said, brushing off her husband’s jacket.
She barely came up to his chest. He put a hand on her shoulder, turned to Doc and Abby, and said, “I’m Abraham, and she’s Mary. That’s the long and the short of it.”
And he burst into loud, high-pitched laughter.
Abby and Doc just stood there.
“You tell such old jokes, Mr. Lincoln,” Mary said.
“Well, I’m an old man!” Abe said, laughing again. But he didn’t look that old, not when he smiled. “Now,” he said, “if you’ll excuse me.”
And Lincoln walked toward the center of town.
“I don’t suppose he’s going to work,” Mary said.
“No,” Doc said. “He said he was quitting.”
“Forever,” Abby said. “No more history.”
Mary groaned. “The election is tomorrow!”
“What if he doesn’t become president?” Abby asked.
“Then we’re doomed!” Mrs. Lincoln wailed. “The country will break apart! Everything we have worked for—all thrown away!”
She spun, ran to her house, went in, and slammed the door behind her.
“She seemed upset,” Doc said.
“Well, we broke history,” Abby said. “That’s sort of a big deal.”
They started walking.
“Abe Lincoln’s not how I expected,” Doc said.
“I know,” Abby said. “I kind of like him.”
“I know. And the funny thing is, I want to know what he’s going to do. In history, I mean.”
“Me too.”
“Also, saving the country would be good,” Doc said.
“We have to find him,” Abby said.
“Let’s go!”
They took off running.