The Bad Branch on the Family Tree
A/N: This story tails onto one which FaithinBones wrote 5 years ago.
Presidents' Day dawned bright and clear in the nation's capital. Listening to the radio as he measured scoops of freshly-ground beans into the coffeemaker, Booth smiled with relief as the weather forecaster predicted unseasonably mild mid-day temperatures.
He had a significant father daughter field trip planned with Christine today. He wanted to answer a question for her before their extremely perceptive eleven-year-old daughter brought it up. He hadn't asked Pops about this topic until he was twelve, when a classmate's taunt had caught him by surprise during seventh grade history class.
After carrying a steaming hot cup of coffee to Bones' bedside table, Booth entered Christine's room and wakened her with a hug.
"Why we gotta get up so early, Dad?" she complained into her pillow, burrowing under the covers.
"We've gotta get a move on, Monkey, Our appointment in DC is at 9 a.m."
Booth returned to the kitchen and made four peanut butter-grape jelly sandwiches on whole-wheat bread. White bread would never darken the door of Temperance Brennan's pantry. Adding juice boxes, two apples, snickerdoodles, and a bag of raisins in Christine's Frozen lunch bag, he zipped it shut and refilled his FBI coffee mug as Christine's tousled head appeared in the doorway.
"Will it be cold today?" she asked as she pulled out a chair and sat down. He handed her a plate of blueberry pancakes, placed another on the table and sat beside her.
"Nope, we've got a great day for our excursion," he grinned at her.
"Daddy, why are we going to Ford's Theater?"
"All your questions will be answered in good time, Chrissy. Run get dressed and let's be off!"
Forty-five minutes later, Booth and Christine wished Hank and Brennan a good day at Laser Quest with William Hodgins, and headed into DC. As he drove, Booth explained their ancestry to his daughter.
"In a couple years, you are going to learn about the Civil War," he began. "The assassination of Abraham Lincoln was a tragic turn of events just as the Union achieved victory. If he had lived, the aftermath of the war would have been much different."
"Lincoln wanted to reunite the North and South as peacefully as possible, and let people return to their lives without bitterness or blame. But Lincoln was shot at Ford's Theater during a play, by a man who believed the Civil War had greatly wronged the South. He thought killing Lincoln would enable the Confederacy to defeat the North, and gain their independence to do as they pleased. His name was John Wilkes Booth-"
"Daddy!" Christine interrupted. "Booth?" She stared at him wide-eyed.
Booth signaled and pulled over to the curb. He hadn't expected her to make the connection quite so fast. But Christine shared not only his love of history and intuitive gut, but also her mother's lightning fast analytic abilities and Brennan's knack for bluntly stating the obvious. He didn't want to attempt driving while calming her down.
"Pops had to explain this to me when I was about your age, after a classmate teased me that he was probably my great-grand-father," he told Christine. "I didn't believe it and threatened to beat up my friend. But that night I found out from Pops it was partially true."
"John Wilkes Booth is a great-great-great-uncle of mine. His brother was your great-great-great-great grandfather. As Pops told me, who's in your family back when isn't something you have any control over," Booth said.
"He doesn't sound like a very great uncle to me," Christine protested
"Every family includes good people and not so good folks, honey. You just have to live your own life as best you can. But I wanted you to hear this from me, not your teacher or some twerpy kid."
"Daddy, Mom says not to call people that."
Well, that kid in my class certainly was!" Anyway, I thought, since we're lucky enough to live in Washington DC, you ought to see the place involved in our history for yourself. So that's why we're going to Ford's Theater today."
"One of the curators your mother knows from college arranged a special tour just for us. You'll get to see parts of the theater not normally open to the public. That's why we're going so early," Booth explained.
"This is going to be interesting, huh, Daddy? That man was all wrong about Lincoln. It's sad, but sort of fascinating too."
"It made history come alive for me, honey. Lots of people in our family have defended our country, so maybe we made up for what John Wilkes Booth did, at least a little."
He pulled into a parking place alongside the historic red brick building. Finding a spot was easy at this hour. As he turned off the ignition, Booth cautioned his daughter,
"Christine, this isn't something you need to share with your little brother just yet. When Hank is old enough, I'll tell him about this, just as I have you." He took her hand and together they went in to explore Ford's Theater.
Later they shared lunch on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial where he and Brennan had talked in the past; Christine seated on the step below him, leaning back between his knees. Booth remembered being slightly drunk after toasting with Sam Riley, sitting beside Brennan on the worn marble stairway, all those years ago. And just look how things turned out, he chuckled softly to himself. "Now we have a daughter and a son and a life—together."
Christine looked up just then. "Daddy, why are you smiling at me? What's so funny?"
"Nothing, Monkey, I'm just remembering when your mom and I sat here one night back before you were around, little girl. You ready to go home and see Mom and Hank?" he crumpled the sandwich bag and gathered their trash.
Christine jumped to her feet and offered him her hand. "Come on, Dad, I'll race you to the car!" And she took off down the steps, giggling all the way down.
Booth turned back to the statue of Lincoln and saluted, "'Til next time, Abe."