A faithful slave of the Sargent family and James's personal servant.
Leo had been noticing that his master had become a bit strange over the past few days.
When did it start? Thinking back, it seemed to be from that morning when he suddenly screamed and stared stupidly at the mirror.
Suddenly thanking him and making him freak out, and even now passing them food sold at upscale restaurants to eat.
"No, Mr. Sargent. Even so, if you give slaves this kind of meal, won't they get spoiled?"
"Everyone, change your perspective. The slaves you all brought today have felt this country's reality to the bone."
"...Pardon?"
"They pretend to be clean by prohibiting slavery, but hotels ban colored people from staying so they stuff them in basements, and restaurants completely ban entry. But we generous Southerners are different from those hypocrites."
"Ohhh, so that's what you meant. After all, the slaves who received Mr. Sargent's grace today will tell other slaves when they return South. That when they actually went North, they treated us even more lowly there."
His words were so flawless that even fellow slave owners praised James instead.
Of course, Leo didn't think his master was that much of a saint.
Having served James since childhood, Leo knew well that James was just an average large plantation heir in the South, nothing more, nothing less.
Actually, America was a contradictory country.
They were proud of having no aristocracy and said they were different from Europe, but America's wealthy secretly dreamed of living like European nobility.
Southern landowners considered themselves practically nobility and imitated European aristocrats in everything from mansion styles to cultural life and education.
The Sargent family in particular imitated ancient Roman nobility and paired him, who was around the same age, as a playmate for young James.
From then on, young James naturally learned how to handle slaves, and he learned how to obey his master.
Slaves who'd been together from childhood to adulthood knew their master's preferences well and had high loyalty.
Of course, even so, because the current South extremely oppressed slaves, even if you'd served since childhood, one mistake could get you sold off.
The proof was the slave who made a mistake at James's father's funeral last year and got sold off immediately.
That's why Leo had been so terrified when James said thank you.
But.
"...Leo, isn't James Sargent the one you serve? I'm jealous."
"Right? I've never eaten food like this in my life."
The slaves from other households who came with the Southern Dixies were looking at him with tremendous envy.
"It's not like that—Master just used us as tools to mock Northern hypocrisy. I can never eat this kind of food at home either."
"Still, Sam who came with you said he let you use really spacious areas on the boat and train. And he ordered them to clean up the hotel basement too..."
"Uh... that's... true, I guess?"
That had its reasons too.
To make the round trip to New York, the slaves' health was important, so he had to manage them well to keep their condition from deteriorating.
But was James originally the type to care about that stuff?
"Whatever the reason, what matters is that he takes care of us."
"Right, right. We're jealous of you. Really."
In a corner seat behind a large curtain so as not to bother the masters.
"But for us... will good days come?"
"Who knows. You saw when we came here this time, right?"
"Still, someday..."
Looking at their masters partying late into the night.
For the first time, Leo cut into a complete steak, not leftover scraps.
The beef that held warm heat instead of being ice cold was delicious as hell.
******
After finishing the meal, I returned to the Bloomington Hotel, separated a bit from the tiresome Dixies.
The drunk Dixies went up to their rooms bellowing that slavery must be maintained.
Please stop staring at me. I don't know these people.
I yawned and approached Kate who was about to go up to her room, pointing my finger downstairs.
"I'm going to inspect the environment where Leo, Sam, and Ann will stay before I go up. I'm really bothered by that ordinance the manager mentioned."
"What's gotten into you? You're taking care of all that stuff. You never cared before."
Kate looked at me with eyes half tired, half puzzled.
Well, not just Kate but the original James Sargent wouldn't have batted an eye whether there was mold growing in the basement or rats running around.
"Father's not here anymore, so I'm the head of the Sargent family now. As head, managing my 'assets' is a natural duty. I should try to make it a habit from now on."
A rational, reasonable, thoroughly plantation-owner-like answer.
Convinced by my words, Kate waved her hand saying I was working hard and went upstairs saying goodnight.
Fortunately, the basement wasn't as bad as I thought.
A musty mold smell stung my nose, but whether the manager ordered it, the floor was thickly covered with dry straw and it was less humid.
Thinking this was good enough, I came back up to the lobby.
That's when I noticed seven or eight people gathered in the middle of the hotel lobby, listening to a middle-aged gentleman.
He had a gaunt build and wore a somewhat awkward-looking suit, but he was captivating his audience with thoughtful eyes, sincere gestures, and compelling rhetoric.
The face seemed very familiar, so I wondered if it was someone James Sargent knew, but I quickly realized that wasn't it.
A person that Logan who lived in the 21st century couldn't not know.
A face I'd seen countless times in textbooks, movies, and on dollar bills turned toward me.
And slowly.
Abraham Lincoln approached me as if he'd been waiting for me, excusing himself from the audience and coming straight to me.
His gait was slow but without hesitation.
"Excuse me, but are you Mr. James Sargent?"
The hand he extended was large and rough.
Like the hand of a farmer or laborer who'd worked all their life, not a lawyer.
I politely grasped his hand and answered.
"I am James Sargent, but do you know me? I'm somewhat famous in the South, but I didn't know my name had reached the North."
"In Bloomington, right near the hotel where our party's official event is happening the day after tomorrow, you brought Black people along and pulled such a flashy stunt—how could I not know?"
Even if the Republican Party was a new organization, they weren't so sloppy as to miss Dixies wandering around their front yard.
And we'd made such a money-throwing scene, so if it wasn't reported immediately, that would be strange.
"Renting that restaurant wasn't to cause a disturbance but rather to avoid one."
"Ah, that's fine. I didn't come here to question that. I really wanted to talk with a young Southern gentleman like you. About your thoughts, your future, and the future of this country we'll build together."
Lincoln at this time, as Kate said, had lost election after election except once, but because of that he was a well-known politician even in the South.
Despite that, he showed no arrogance in his attitude toward a young man like me and his eyes burned with passion.
"If you don't mind, would you like to have a drink at that lounge over there?"
I fell into brief contemplation.
Would the Dixies hearing about this make them suspect my intentions?
No, when that happens I can just say I met him to find out what kind of thoughts the enemy we must defeat has.
Besides, when one of the most respected presidents by 21st century Americans seriously asks to talk, refusing would be crazy.
Make as many Northern connections as possible without being branded a traitor to the South.
This is the number one principle of action I need to take considering the future ahead.
"Sounds good. One drink should be fine."
I followed Lincoln to a secluded seat in the hotel lounge.
It was completely isolated seating where no one else could hear our conversation, as if he really wanted to talk just the two of us.
"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Sargent. At twenty years old, you inherited over 500 servants."
"Just a lucky greenhorn who had good parents."
"I've met many prominent Southern politicians and large landowners, but I've never talked with a young man like you, Mr. Sargent. So I'm very curious what kind of thoughts you have."
Are even young people like me hopelessly stubborn, not just old folks whose minds are set in stone?
He's probably most curious about that, but unfortunately, the conclusion he hopes for won't come.
After all, I already have the answer key in my head, and my goal was to leave a deep impression somehow on this future president who will become great.
"I've heard you've long been fiercely opposed to slavery, Mr. Lincoln."
"That's right. It's a system completely contrary to our great Republic's constitutional ideals. Isn't it shameful that our Republic, which pursues equality for all, operates slavery when even all of Europe has banned it?"
"Right. It's absolutely ridiculous."
When I nodded matter-of-factly and brought my beer glass to my lips, Lincoln blinked as if surprised.
"...Pardon?"
"It's inhumane, outdated, and a system that deserves to perish. If there's anyone who genuinely believes slavery is morally fine, we should open up their head and take a look."
"Do you really think that?"
"Of course. It's not that I'm some huge oddball—there are probably many people in the South who actually think slavery isn't right. But the tragedy's seed is that this isn't a matter of right and wrong."
Lincoln's face hardened gravely.
Coldly speaking, even in this era, people who believed slavery was good were a minority even in the South.
However, the position was that slavery must not disappear because if it did, the Southern economy would collapse and the social order they'd maintained would be ruined.
In some ways, this was an even more troublesome situation.
If it were a matter of right and wrong, persuasion would be possible, but since slavery in the South was in the realm of 'must exist,' persuasion was impossible.
"That's why I and the Republican congressmen are advocating gradual abolition. No one is arguing that we should immediately seize slaves from the South."
"Sir, you can say that because you have no plantations or slaves in the South. To Southern ears, those words sound no different from saying you won't take their lives right now but you'll turn their children or grandchildren into beggars."
Lincoln couldn't have been unaware of what I was saying.
But the fact that this came from the mouth of a fresh young man rather than an elderly statesman made his complexion even more grave.
"So you're saying unity of opinion between South and North is impossible, Mr. Sargent?"
"Yes. Someday this rotten slavery will all disappear, but it won't be through peaceful agreement between North and South. I could bet my entire fortune that the world won't work that way."
I felt his gaze looking at me as if dumbfounded.
Hard to believe a silver spoon ranked among the South's elite would say such things.
But here, I had to appear not as a Southerner or Northerner but as an objective, cool-headed patriot of the United States.
"An unavoidable storm will come to swallow us up. So I think people like you should continue consolidating Northern voices, and people like me should prepare for after that storm passes."
"I don't want the North and South to fight."
"Continuing to seek a way to avoid fighting is right. But shouldn't we prepare for the worst case?"
With those final words, I emptied all the dollars and cents from my pocket and placed them on the table.
"A donation. I hope you'll use it when giving speeches or running for election in the future."
The South can't give up slavery until the end.
Yet slavery is destined to disappear eventually.
Lincoln, who couldn't not understand what I was trying to say, quietly looked down at the massive donation in front of him.
"I've met many Southern gentlemen trying to persuade them, but this is the first time for something like this, so I'm at a loss for words."
"Tell me about it. My head's spinning over how I'll survive there."
"Does that mean you'll continue staying in Mississippi? If you came North, I could help you find a position."
"Thank you, but this way our Southern brothers won't kill me for being a traitor."
"...That's true too."
Lincoln smiled meaningfully and didn't refuse the donation I offered, pocketing it.
"Just by donating to a fledgling party like ours, I'll believe Mr. Sargent's intentions are beyond doubt. So please don't forget that sentiment going forward. Even if reality's walls are high, I believe that if everyone becomes one, someday we can climb over those walls."
"Even if another hell waits beyond those walls?"
"Then I'll walk through the deepest depths of that hell."
For a moment, I glimpsed a part of the conviction that transcended even the realm of madness in Lincoln's eyes.
A man who knows the brutally cold reality but never abandons his ideals.
This person would walk that path with a smile even if those convictions burned away his everything.
That's why the great future president shook hands with me without losing his courtesy until the end before returning to his audience.
I too decided not to add more words and to maintain this connection thin but long.
When this person becomes the protagonist of the era, this thread I've tied today will protect me more reliably than any shield.