Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker (35 page)

Mrs. Lincoln regarded her flatly. “You said yourself that it would have been an easy matter for an assassin to kill him as he stood at that window last night.”

And how Elizabeth regretted saying so. “What I mean is that you should not believe that these are anything more than troubled dreams. They are not glimpses into the future. It would be astonishing if Mr. Lincoln did
not
have nightmares prompted by the threats made against him—in fact, it is a testament to his strength that he does not have more of them.”

Mrs. Lincoln looked as if she wished she could believe her. “I’ve ordered the guards increased, but I don’t know what else I could—”

She broke off abruptly as the door opened and Mr. Lincoln entered. Mrs. Lincoln quickly composed herself, but something in Mr. Lincoln’s expression told Elizabeth that he had detected her mood in that brief interval before she concealed it. He greeted them, peered curiously at them for a moment, and went to the window, where he gazed out upon the yard, smiling. “Madam Elizabeth,” he said suddenly, turning to her. “You are fond of pets, are you not?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” she answered.

“Well, come here and look at my two goats.”

Elizabeth caught Mrs. Lincoln’s eye; she discreetly nodded and gestured for Elizabeth to go ahead. When she stood beside him at the window, he nodded to the goats frolicking on the grass below. “I believe they are the kindest and best goats in the world,” he declared, his eyes twinkling with good humor. “See how they sniff the clear air, and skip and play in the sunshine. Whew! What a jump,” he exclaimed as one of the goats bounded high over a stony patch. “Madam Elizabeth, did you ever before see such an active goat?”

She smiled. “Not that I can recall, sir.”

“He feeds on my bounty, and jumps for joy,” Mr. Lincoln mused. “Do you think we should call him a bounty-jumper?”

Elizabeth laughed at his play on words. “If you’d like to, Mr. President, I don’t see why not.”

“But I flatter the bounty-jumper,” he said. “My goat is far above him. I would rather wear his horns and hairy coat through life, than demean myself to the level of the man who plunders the National Treasury in the name of patriotism.” A sudden shadow fell over his face. “The man who enlists into the service for a consideration, and deserts the moment he receives his money but to repeat the play, is bad enough, but the men who manipulate the grand machine and who simply make the bounty-jumper their agent in an outrageous fraud are far worse. They are beneath the worms that crawl in the dark hidden places of earth.”

Before Elizabeth could reply that with the national draft ended, the bounty hunters would no longer be able to profit as they had, both goats looked up at the window and shook their heads in a friendly sort of way. “See, Madam Elizabeth?” said the president, brightening. “My pets recognize me. How earnestly they look. There they go again; what jolly fun!” He laughed out loud as the goats bounded swiftly to the other side of the yard.

“Come, Lizzie,” Mrs. Lincoln called out sharply. “If I want to get ready to go down this evening I must finish dressing myself, or you must stop staring at those silly goats.”

Elizabeth exchanged a quick look of understanding with the president before hurrying back to Mrs. Lincoln. The First Lady was not overly fond of pets, and she could not understand why Mr. Lincoln took such delight in his goats. Elizabeth would never say so, but she thought Mrs. Lincoln ought to be glad for any pleasant distraction Mr. Lincoln found from his cares. His goats, his favorite authors, conversations with intelligent friends, and the occasional night at the theater were rare respites from the unrelenting pressures of his high office.

Elizabeth finished dressing Mrs. Lincoln quickly, unconcerned with her patron’s frown of annoyance. It would fade soon enough, and in the meantime, Elizabeth would rather have Mrs. Lincoln irritable than anxious and brooding over dark, imagined omens, the cruel offspring of a mind weary from strain and sorrow and too much toil.

A few days later, early on the morning of Good Friday, Elizabeth walked to the White House with the bodice, skirt, and sleeves of a new spring frock to fit for Mrs. Lincoln, an embroidered French muslin with cap sleeves and a delicate lace trim around the neckline. Already the First Lady was looking forward to moving to the Soldiers’ Home for the summer, where she hoped her husband would rest and regain his vigorous good health. The war had demanded much of him, and reconstruction would likely demand more, but as General Sherman advanced in North Carolina, it seemed that the war would soon end, at long last. The worst was certainly behind them.

Elizabeth turned onto Fifteenth Street just as colored soldiers marched past flanking columns of captured rebel troops. Onlookers did not mock them, but instead offered them sympathetic glances or pretended not to notice them rather than add to their disgrace. They could have hurled insults—or bricks, if they were truly vengeful—but most Washingtonians seemed to feel as Elizabeth did, that these unfortunate captives surely wanted only to go home, just as Northern fathers, sons, brothers, and sweethearts wanted more than anything else to return to their families. With the war so near its conclusion, and the
outcome certain, everyone wanted nothing more than for it to end before any more blood was shed.

The sight of colored soldiers guarding white Confederate prisoners was no longer uncommon, and yet Elizabeth halted and watched the columns and guards pass, marveling. How the city had changed during the past four years—and even just in the past week. The exuberant rejoicing of the first days after General Lee’s surrender had settled into a calm sense of hope, gratitude, and peace, despite the ever-present concerns about what yet lay ahead. In all but the most radical, punitive hearts, Mr. Lincoln’s recent speech had inspired a mood of forgiveness and clemency. Elizabeth thought of the old friends she had seen in Petersburg the previous week, and all those she had known in Virginia and Missouri and even North Carolina, where she had been subjected to such torment, and she hoped the president’s plans for reconstruction would treat them gently.

At the White House, she was pleased to find Mrs. Lincoln in a cheerful mood. Captain Robert Lincoln and General Grant had arrived that morning from Virginia, and over breakfast Robert had given his parents his firsthand account of General Lee’s surrender at Appomattox. “What a momentous occasion it was,” Mrs. Lincoln remarked as Elizabeth helped her into the skirt and bodice, “and how fitting that the son of the president was there to witness it.”

Mrs. Lincoln was in especially good spirits, not only because Robert was home and safe, and not only because the previous night Mr. Lincoln had again dreamed of the ship carrying him swiftly toward a distant shore, a dream that he believed foretold General Sherman’s imminent victory against General Johnston in North Carolina. “My husband sent me a note this morning,” she confided, “inviting me to go for a drive this afternoon.”

Elizabeth had to smile. “He sent you a note? Wouldn’t it have been faster simply to ask you as you went in to breakfast together?”

“Faster, but not half so charming,” rejoined Mrs. Lincoln. “It reminds me of the days of our courtship back in Springfield. We’ve endured so much since then that it’s often difficult to recall what it felt like to be young sweethearts.”

Smiling, Elizabeth adjusted the neckline of the dress, slipping one pin and then another in place. “Perhaps a pleasant day together will help you remember.”

“We both need a pleasant, restful day for other reasons besides, but I fear that my husband is not likely to see one today.”

“Why not? Isn’t he entitled to a little holiday on Good Friday?”

“If you could persuade him of that, you would have my undying gratitude. Since breakfast he has been sitting through conferences with legislators and petitioners, and after that his cabinet will be meeting. I may not see him at all until this afternoon—at which point I will insist that he have a proper luncheon before our ride instead of merely munching an apple at his desk. He grows gaunt and gray and people blame me for not feeding him enough.”

“They should blame the White House cook before you,” remarked Elizabeth, “but even that is unfair.”

Mrs. Lincoln heartily agreed, but at that moment her disappointment that she might not see her husband until later vanished, because Mr. Lincoln strode into the room. “I’ve been to the War Department,” he told his wife after greeting them both. “I saw General Eckert there, and told him of our plans to attend the theater tonight, and I invited him to come along.”

Mrs. Lincoln’s eyebrows rose. “Did you? Well, I suppose there’s room in the box for him and us and General and Mrs. Grant too.”

Mr. Lincoln flung himself onto the sofa. “There is, Mother, but we won’t need it, because General Eckert cannot join us.”

Mrs. Lincoln’s laughter carried the slightest hint of amused exasperation. “Then why mention it at all?”

“I thought you liked me to tell you every detail of my day.”

Mr. Lincoln looked as if he might tease her more, but just then Robert entered carrying a small portrait. “Here it is, Father,” Robert said, handing him the object. “General Robert E. Lee, as promised.”

“Yes, thank you, son.” Mr. Lincoln set the picture on the table before him and studied the general’s visage thoughtfully. “It is a good face; it is the face of a noble, brave man.”

“I think it’s a fine likeness,” said Robert, clearly pleased with himself.

Mr. Lincoln nodded appreciatively and then looked up at him from beneath raised brows. “Well, my son, you have returned safely from the front. The war is now closed, and we will soon live in peace with the brave men that have been fighting against us. I trust that the era of good feeling has returned with the end of the war, and that henceforth we shall live in peace.”

“Amen,” Elizabeth murmured, so softly that not even Mrs. Lincoln heard her.

“Now listen to me, Robert,” the president continued. “You must lay aside your uniform and return to college. I wish you to read law for three years, and at the end of that time I hope that we will be able to tell whether you will make a lawyer or not.”

“Yes, sir,” said Robert solemnly, and his father rose and shook his hand, looking more cheerful than Elizabeth had seen him in a long time.

Elizabeth was happy to see the family enjoying a moment of domestic harmony after so much strife and worry. It
was
scarcely a moment, though; Mr. Lincoln hurried off soon thereafter to attend the meeting of his cabinet, and Robert left too, perhaps to rejoin General Grant. Alone again, Elizabeth and Mrs. Lincoln resumed fitting the dress, and they were not quite finished when a servant came in with a message from General and Mrs. Grant, explaining that they had decided to visit their children in New Jersey and would be unable to accompany the Lincolns to the theater. “How disappointing that they would cancel on such short notice,” said Mrs. Lincoln, flinging the letter on the table. “Lately Mrs. Grant seems to seize upon any excuse to avoid spending time in my company.”

Elizabeth could hardly blame the general’s wife for that, considering how Mrs. Lincoln had unfairly castigated her in the carriage at City Point. “Could you invite another couple instead?”

“It would be a waste of paper and ink to try. Who would be free at this late hour?”

“Who would not eagerly abandon other plans for the honor of sharing the presidential box with Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln?”

“General and Mrs. Grant, evidently,” Mrs. Lincoln retorted, but as Elizabeth continued to adjust and pin her dress, she reconsidered. “I suppose we could find other guests, and if not, I wouldn’t mind keeping my husband all to myself for a change.”

“To yourself, and hundreds of other theatergoers,” Elizabeth reminded her, and was pleased to see Mrs. Lincoln smile.

Later, as Elizabeth packed up her things, she asked, “Do you want me to come back later to dress you for the theater?”

“Well—” Mrs. Lincoln hesitated. “I think not. I’m not altogether certain we shall go after all. I feel a headache coming on, and Mr. Lincoln has been worn out from unrelenting toil. I suppose we shall decide after our ride, but I don’t want to oblige you in the meantime.”

“If you decide you need me,” Elizabeth reminded her, “you know you can always send for me.”

Mrs. Lincoln smiled, grateful. “Yes, Elizabeth. I know.”