The First Lady and the Rebel, page 24
The next day, Emily, wearing a jaunty hat and a striped green gown, watched from a buggy as the Sixth Kentucky regiment drilled against the Sixteenth Louisiana. It was a fine May day, not yet too hot, and men, women, and children from nearby villages filled the grounds as spectators. When the judges gave their verdict for Kentucky, Emily stood up in the buggy and cheered, making an absolute spectacle of herself. But who cared? Hardin and his colonels, with their careful drilling, deserved the acclaim.
Over the next two days, two more competitions were held, with Kentucky besting Louisiana each time. On the fourth day, though, Hardin nudged Emily as she lay sleeping on a featherbed on the ground next to him—the better for him to take her into his arms at night. “Wake up, sweetheart. I’m sorry; you will have to return to Athens today.”
She shot up. “What?”
“We’ve been ordered to move.”
“Where?”
“We’re bound for Vicksburg. Don’t say anything to anyone; the men don’t know, although I suppose they can guess.”
Emily winced. While the drill competition had been going on, General Ulysses S. Grant, the man to whom Fort Donelson had fallen the year before, had been attacking Vicksburg. For days, the men in the camp had been speculating about which troops might be sent to reinforce General John Pemberton’s Confederate troops in that city and when. “Do you want to go there?”
“I can think of better places than Mississippi in the summer, aside from hell in the summer, but at least there’s action there. And my men are ready to fight. But you know I don’t want to leave you. I never do.”
“I know.”
She fed Ben—would he be weaned when he next saw his father?—and listlessly dressed. It had been so easy, these last few months, to be lulled into believing that Hardin might stay in this camp forever—frustrated, no doubt, but safe.
But Hardin deserved cheerfulness from her, so she brought her emotions under command and was to all appearances in good spirits when they returned to the railroad station. They had parted so often, they each had their appointed lines, which they recited as a train came into view. “I’ll let you know where we are as best I can. Have you enough money?”
“Yes, I do. I’ll write every few days.” Veering from her script, she added, “Please keep yourself safe.”
He smiled sadly. “That never won a war, sweetheart.”
19
Mary
June to July 1863
“I forgot my cat!” Tad howled. “We can’t go without him.”
Mary fanned herself in the carriage. Although it was only June, the Washington heat was intense, and the very idea of going back into the White House to search for the wayward feline was intolerable, especially since the creature—an inaugural present to the boys from Secretary Seward—had the run of the grounds and might well be on a mousing expedition. “Dear, we can send someone over for it later.”
“No!”
“What’s the matter here?” Mr. Lincoln ambled up.
“My cat, Father! I have to have her.”
“Well, then you shall,” the President declared. He turned away, and within fifteen minutes returned with a cat basket, from which a fearsome howling emanated. “Keep that closed well, Son.”
“I will, Pa.”
They were off to the Soldiers’ Home again, a welcome move, for in the White House, a gloom had settled so thickly that moving seemed the only way it could be dispelled. The previous month, the irritatingly competent General Lee had won a victory at Chancellorsville, leaving Richmond so smug that it could be felt all the way to Washington. The news, as the reporter Mr. Brooks (a quite pleasant man, unlike the rest of his ilk) later said, had turned the President’s face the French gray of the wallpaper, and he had hastened to the Navy Yard to set sail again for the Union camp in Falmouth. There had been no princesses offering kisses this time, no grand reviews, just a grim talk with the defeated General Hooker. Yet Mr. Lincoln had returned to Washington in reasonably good spirits, confident that the troops were not demoralized.
And now Lee’s army was back in Pennsylvania. The President, who had at first dismissed the action as a raid that would amount to little, had become more concerned as of late. Would the rebels be driven back again? Or would they penetrate even farther? Mary shivered at the very thought of it.
But at least Tad’s cat was accounted for.
* * *
Although the President was ensconced at the White House, awaiting dispatches from General Meade in Pennsylvania, Mary decided it was worth her while to attempt to lure him from his office for a short ride. Even he had to breath fresh air once in a while.
Besides, she was curious to hear the latest news from the front.
Thanks to the army encamped by the Soldiers’ Home, Tad had hundreds of men to pester, not to mention the Lincolns’ staff, and chose to stay home. So on the second day of July, Mary rode out alone, enjoying the comparative coolness of the morning and the quietness of her surroundings. Each year, the road between the Soldiers’ Home and the White House became a little busier, corresponding with the city’s growth and the military hospitals on the route, but today few were on it. Perhaps they, like the President, were waiting for tidings of the war.
The carriage passed by Mount Pleasant Hospital, which Mary supposed would get an influx of patients if the reports from Pennsylvania proved correct. She would have to visit again soon, and perhaps arrange for some ice cream to be brought to the patients. They liked it so much, and the weather was so—
“Damnation!”
As Mary started up, the coachman, still shouting curses and clutching at the air, toppled from his perch and fell headlong to the ground, landing only inches outside the path of the horses. Then the carriage lurched and Mary was thrown back against her seat as the horses galloped pell-mell down the twisting road, the small carriage tilting back and forth crazily.
She would not wait to be smashed to smithereens. Gathering her courage and her skirts, she jumped free of the carriage and landed in a heap of silk, linen, and crinoline on the ground, striking her head.
As she lay there, dazed, men swarmed around her. “Why, it’s Mrs. Lincoln! Are you hurt?”
“Yes,” Mary said, not too far gone to wonder at the absurdity of the question. She struggled to sit up.
“Lie still, Mrs. Lincoln,” a young man commanded. “You’ll make things worse for yourself.”
It hurt too much to argue, even as she wondered what fine show of leg she was putting on. If she had been twenty years younger, probably half the army would be here by now. “Please tell the President.”
“We will, ma’am.” The young man pressed a handkerchief to the back of her head. “A little bleeding here, but not too bad. You couldn’t have picked a better place to fall. Right by Carver Hospital!”
“True.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. You’ll be fine. We’ll bring out a litter straightaway.”
Sure enough, in minutes, she was lifted carefully onto a litter and borne to the hospital, where Dr. Judson Nelson, whom Mary had met during her more conventional visits to that facility, tended her. “Some bruises and a cut,” he said. “But fortunately no more. Nothing that a few days’ rest can’t cure.”
“That is a relief. I do not wish to add to the President’s concerns.”
When she stood, however, she was slightly dizzy, and Dr. Nelson insisted on escorting her home himself. When she arrived (and found the coach, horses, and coachman all there as well, no worse for wear), the staff put her to bed, with much clucking and fuss. She was lying there when Mr. Lincoln hurried in. “Molly!”
“I am not much hurt, Mr. Lincoln.”
“So I heard, but I wanted to see for myself.” He perched on the side of the bed and held her hand.
It was almost worth getting banged up for. “I don’t know exactly what happened.”
“I do. Somehow the driver’s seat came unbolted, and when he shifted position, it catapulted him out.”
Mary frowned. “Sabotage?”
“I doubt it. Probably been working its way loose for a while. I’ll have a word to make sure it and the rest of the carriages are checked over. I’ve never figured out why we need three here, you know.”
“You have enemies, Mr. Lincoln. Perhaps they were hoping you would be in the carriage.”
“Now, Molly, that’s an awfully roundabout way of taking a man down. Just happenstance, I’m sure. Now let’s have a look at your head. Nasty, but it looks like you’ll mend fine.”
He resumed holding her hand, and Mary drifted comfortably off to sleep. When she awoke, it was late in the afternoon, and her husband was pacing by the window.
“Mr. Lincoln, you may leave me. I will be fine alone.”
“Well, I would like to get back to my office, it’s true. The news from the front is encouraging, both in Pennsylvania and at Vicksburg.”
“Then go. All that walking back and forth of yours is making me dizzy.”
With an alacrity that would have been annoying had there not been a war going on, he obeyed.
* * *
Taking Mary at her word, the President scarcely saw her over the next two days, although he did send her the capable Mrs. Pomroy in his stead. He was not at Mary’s side, but ensconced at the Executive Mansion, when a distant crackle announced the dawn of the Fourth of July—the noisiest day in Washington’s calendar and the most trying for anyone of a jumpy temperament.
“Mr. Stoddard was put in charge of the celebrations for the Fourth this year. He was worried that that man Lee’s invasion might put a damper on the occasion,” Mary said as cymbals crashed in the distance. She winced, more from the noise than from the ministrations of Mrs. Pomroy, who was dressing her wound, which Mary supposed seemed rather tame compared to the damage a minié ball could wreak. “It seems he needn’t have troubled himself.”
“Indeed no, Mrs. Lincoln. Washington has far more spirit than that. Why, my boys who are able to will be seeing fireworks tonight. And the ones who are confined to bed will certainly be able to hear them. Why, what is it, Master Tad?”
As always when Tad was excited, it took a moment for him to get the words out, but their meaning was unmistakable when he did. “We won, Mother!”
“Won what?”
“Why, Gettysburg, of course! That’ll teach the rebels to try to push into the North again! Father sent out a proclamation about the victory this morning. It’s all over town. It’s the best Fourth of July ever!” Tad frowned. “Well, except for General Sickles. I heard he lost a leg.”
The lingering chilliness Mary had felt toward the roué General vanished. “How horrid! But what wonderful news about the battle! Your father had good reports before, but you never know…”
“Mother, can I set off some firecrackers? The soldiers said they would help, but no one wants to make more noise than there is already because of your head.”
Mary nodded. “Yes. And tell the soldiers they can make as much noise as they please today.”
* * *
Shortly before dusk, the President appeared, looking exhausted but smiling. “Why, Molly, I thought you’d be hiding under the bed from all this racket.”
“For this, I can stand a little noise.”
“Me too. Now if Meade will just pursue Lee into Virginia and clean things up for good… But in the meantime, Molly, you’ve been stuck in here all day. Would you care to watch some fireworks? We should be able to see some of them from here.”
“I would be delighted to, Mr. Lincoln.”
So when it fell dark, they went onto the grounds of the Soldiers’ Home, the President carrying a camp stool that he set down for Mary with unusual savoir faire. If anything, from their fine vantage point they had too many fireworks to watch—the official display orchestrated by Mr. Stoddard, the smaller displays organized by hospitals and other organizations, and the amateur ones that Mary could only hope would not get anyone killed. “From all the reports, Vicksburg will fall soon, if it hasn’t already,” her husband said in between explosions. “Think any of your people are there? Your scapegrace brother David, or Hardin Helm?”
“I don’t keep track of my rebel relations, Mr. Lincoln, even if it were easy to do so. You know that. But…from the little I do happen to hear, by sheer happenstance, they could well be there.”
“Yes.” Her husband watched as a fine explosion of color arched against the sky, then dissolved. “Well, I don’t wish any of them ill, but I think they’re going to take a clobbering.”
20
Emily
August to September 1863
“Die, Yankee!” Kate howled, and knocked Dee’s doll flat on its back with her own doll as the bystanders on the platform stared.
“Why don’t you let me dress them as girls?” Emily suggested. “That would make a nice change.”
Kate looked at her indulgently. “Girls can’t fight,” she explained.
“Then at least call a cease-fire when we get on the train. You are being far too loud.”
“What’s a cease-fire?”
“For heaven’s sake! Just be quiet.”
“Yes, Mama,” Kate said meekly.
While Kate’s doll had no difficulty killing Yankees, the Confederacy was not doing as well. In the East, there had been the defeat at Gettysburg, ameliorated only because Meade, the fool, had not followed up his victory. Then, on the Fourth of July, as a dessert for the Union, Vicksburg had surrendered to General Grant. Hardin’s men, so eager for a fight, so well drilled, had never gotten the chance to come to the city’s aid.
Emily could read his frustration in his letters. If I could do so without lowering myself in my own estimation, I would resign. This separation from you and our children is getting to be intolerable. Yet I know I must stand it; every sense of duty requires me. Excuse me for giving way to this little weakness; it is not often that I permit such feelings to take possession of me. And, as his men covered the Confederate retreat: I have worried along after a fashion. Some days I am hardly able to get along, but I am unwilling to give up as long as I can get along. I fear I will not be able to stand it much longer. I am very thin and weak. I may say that I have hardly slept out of a swamp since I reached Jackson.
How thin and weak had Hardin become to admit it? Emily had shuddered when she read the letter. Was Hardin preparing her for tidings that he had contracted an illness, perhaps the dreaded yellow fever?
But his next letter was reassuring enough: the army was in camp, situated near a pine forest and a spring with good drinking water—a fine change from the march, where he had drunk water that in the past he would not have given his horse. There was plenty of fresh fruit to be had, and he and his staff had just enjoyed a large watermelon. And best of all, he had requested leave. This was partly Emily’s doing. She wanted him to help her settle in Atlanta, for there had been rumors of an enemy raid into Athens, which had also attracted a Confederate cavalry camp and had become much more crowded. But if the condition of Athens had not furnished an excuse to see Hardin, she would have found one, for she was desperate to see his condition for herself. And how much help did she really need anyway?
After nearly two years of refugeeing, she could move herself and her brood as efficiently as any army. She knew every station on every railroad route between Selma, Chattanooga, and Atlanta, and she was well on her way to knowing the timetables as well. While other ladies entered a railroad carriage and stared distractedly around, waiting for assistance, Emily could skirt pass them and push her way to an empty seat in a manner that would have scandalized her mother and prostrated her grandmothers. And she still had her pistol, which she had never had to use but was fully prepared to do.
After what Emily had begun to view as a typical railroad journey—soldiers and civilians crammed into a sweltering car, and the train having to rest on a siding from time to time to let more important military trains pass—they finally reached Atlanta, where Hardin had arranged to meet them at the Atlanta Hotel, although his train was not expected until the middle of the night.
The desk clerk showed her to her room. He had opened the door and handed her the key and was getting ready to turn away when Emily said, “Please check under the beds and the wardrobes in each room.”
“Madam, there is no need for concern.”
“There is probably not, but my husband has instructed me to always have someone check the rooms when I travel alone with my children.”
With a shrug, the clerk entered the first room and flung open the wardrobe, revealing only a ladies’ stocking, which he prudently ignored. He looked under the bed, as did Kate and Dee, and swept his hand under it for good measure. Then he opened the door to the second room, and started. Protruding from underneath the bed were a pair of man’s boots, which upon closer inspection were attached to a man, whom the clerk hauled out. “What are you doing here, you varmint?”
“Having a rest,” the man whimpered as the clerk dragged him upright.
“Rest outside, and don’t let me catch you within a block of this hotel again. Now get along with you!” The clerk pulled the man out of the room and to the stairs, where he gave the intruder a parting kick. Rubbing his hands briskly together, the clerk returned and inspected the remaining wardrobe, then gave the first room another check. “All’s clear, madam. Blessed if I know how the rascal got in, but he won’t bother you again.”
Shaken, Emily thanked him and sank into a chair as Maggie unpacked their belongings. When night fell and the children were asleep in their room, she found herself too nervous to go to sleep, so she changed into her nightdress and sat reading by a candle far into the night until she heard a step, a soft knock, and a voice calling quietly, “Emma.”
