LINCOLN SHOT

Praise for Lincoln Shot: 

“In this bicentennial season of Lincoln books, this one stands out with its attractive format and fast-paced prose.”

– James M. McPherson, Pulitzer Prize winning author of Battle Cry of Freedom

______________

“This well-researched history of the president’s assassination is riveting; the text is laid out like a newspaper from 1865 and the results are terrific. This book should be in every child’s library, and every school library, everywhere.”

The Washington Post

______________

“The combination of the compelling story, engaging visuals, and large format distinguishes this work. The book has great value.”

School Library Journal, starred review 


And, An Excerpt:

As the war that was to last three months entered its third horrific year, Abraham Lincoln looked worn and unwell. He had always silently endured pain, but now the damage showed. The incessant pressure, the endless problems, the daily death count, and the legions of the wounded—all of it was taking a terrific toll on him.
 
His once kind and expressive face had frozen permanently into a grim, ghostly look. At times it seemed as if he were not quite there. 

The gray eyes that had once sparkled while he told one of his unique stories or made a telling point with a seemingly irrelevant aside were now somber and silent. Black rings encircled them, and they had sunken back into his skull as if recoiling from the horror of all they had seen.
 
The half-moon lines that had formed around his mouth when he was a young man (not all that many years ago) had now etched themselves deep into his too pale skin perhaps marking the deaths of the 620,000 boys who were to die in the war.
 
He had become withered, weighted down, and weakened by the unrelenting sadness and sorrow that surrounded him every moment of every day. As if the elected representative of the people had to also represent their pain and suffering.
 

He had grown old before his time.
 
Most nights he couldn’t sleep. He would pace up and down, hands clasped behind his back, bent over, lost deep, deep in thought. He knew that the unprecedented and inhuman task that destiny had so clearly marked him for was far from finished.
 

He steeled himself to face each torturous day.
 
He must not waver. Not now. He willed himself to go on.