by Unknown
He opened the file, thinking it might be more interesting than reading computer instructions he already knew. She had formatted the Microsoft Word file in the Outline view. As he reviewed the contents under the various headings, he found nothing she hadn’t already conveyed to him. He moved the cursor to close the file when he noticed a heading he had missed: GE, his initials. He opened it.
Can I trust him?
Scared Mrs. Greene!
“We were told you would fight the union”
Ran away from him
Running from police—guilty?
Parents unharmed
Conspired with Douglass?
Parents’ apartment
Would not let me visit
Hurried me away
Apartment now probably searched
Won’t let me out of his sight
Discouraged research on Skull & Bones
Lied about appointment in Westwood
Escape from Oxnard too easy
Evarts stared transfixed at the screen. When he looked up, Baldwin stood arms akimbo outside the dressing room, looking white-hot with fury.
“What the hell are you doing in my computer?”
Chapter 23
“I was just—” Embarrassed, Evarts snapped shut the lid of the laptop. “You don’t trust me?”
“Damn you, Greg. Do you think rummaging around in my personal property makes you trustworthy? How dare you?”
“I … I thought the file contained your research notes from today. Aren’t we working together?”
She stepped over and jerked the laptop out of Evarts’s hands. “Are we?”
“If you’re this upset about me seeing your notes, perhaps not. Especially if you think I’m part of the opposition.”
“Are you?”
“No! Damn it, come on, Trish. You know me.”
“I thought I knew my DEA guy too, until they arrested him for scamming drug dealers.”
“I’m not accountable for your past boyfriend’s sins.”
“Oh, yes you are.” This came from a man who sat about six feet away. “Believe me buddy, you are.” He made a gesture toward the dressing rooms. “Charlotte’s prior boyfriend boffed her best girlfriend. For some reason, she kept the girlfriend but makes every man pay for that dumb-shit’s transgression.”
Baldwin gave Evarts a look that said that she didn’t want to discuss this in public. “I’ll check out.” She turned her back on him and said over her shoulder, “Meet me at Au Bon Pain across the way.”
Evarts left Macy’s and walked across the pedestrian way to the small café. He ordered a coffee for himself and one for Baldwin. As he stepped out, heading for the outdoor seating, Baldwin intercepted him, charging like an enraged lioness. “How do you expect me to carry coffee with all these bags?”
“I thought we should sit down and discuss this.”
“In public? After that? Are you crazy?”
“Let me take the books and a couple of your bags.”
“Fine.” She dropped several of the bags on the sidewalk, grabbed the coffee, and started toward the apartment. Before Evarts could sling all the bag handles over his arms and juggle his own coffee, she was gone.
By the time he caught up with her, she had already entered the Commons. “Trish—”
“Wait until we get to the apartment.”
They marched across the Commons and up Charles Street in silence. The arm Evarts used to carry the books began to ache, but Baldwin wouldn’t slow her pace enough for him to shift loads. He tried to keep up and ignored the pain. By the time they had unlocked the door, climbed the stairs, and unlocked the second door, Evarts’s initial embarrassment had transformed into anger.
He dropped the book bag onto the hardwood floor. “Goddamn it, Trish, I’ve done nothing wrong.” He threw the second armload across the room onto the divan. “Your attitude stinks.”
“My attitude?” She plopped her load onto the floor. “Damn it, why were you spying on me?”
“Spying on you? What the hell are you talking about? I got bored waiting for you to try on all those damn outfits and decided to check your computer specs for the cameras. I saw the file on your desktop and thought I’d read your notes from today’s research. I thought we were—” Evarts ripped off his windbreaker and threw it. “Then I found out what you really think of me.”
Baldwin let her computer case slip off her shoulder and held it out in front of her by the strap. “This is mine.”
“I’m afraid not. It’s the only computer we have, and while we’re in the apartment I need it to hook up the cameras.”
“I have personal stuff on here, and you have no right to ransack through it.”
“I won’t look at your damn files, but I have to use the machine. You can watch me if you want.”
“I want.”
“Fine, but we still need to work together, so how do we get beyond this?”
Suddenly she looked spent and exhausted. Collapsing onto one of the dinette chairs, she said, “I’m not sure. I didn’t mean for you to see that. It’s not what I believe; it’s what I fear. Those questions just keep bothering me.”
“How long have they been bothering you?”
“Since New Canaan.”
“How about we get a glass of wine and talk through your points?”
She looked ready to cry. “Greg, I don’t—” She did start to tear. “I want to believe in you, it’s just—”
“I know. Your parents, all this trouble. At least let me explain.”
“Can you?”
“Some. I did lie about the appointment in Westwood, but it wasn’t to keep you under my control. I … I thought you were pretty, and I wanted to be alone with you for the two-hour ride.”
She made a dismissive wave with the back of her hand. “That’s minor. What about Mrs. Greene?”
“Is that what started you on this train of thought?”
“Can you blame me? She wrote a note warning me about you.”
“Is that the way you read it? I didn’t know what to make of it.”
“It seemed obvious to me. You frightened her. She didn’t expect to see us together because she thought I would fight our union.”
Evarts went to the tiny kitchen, poured one glass of wine, and pulled a beer from the refrigerator for himself. After he had handed her the wine, he sat in the opposite chair. “I can’t explain that note, but it never occurred to me that she meant us. At least, not until you brought it up.”
“What else could she have meant?”
“I don’t know, but at that point I believed our relationship had grown into something meaningful, so perhaps I was blind to how you might read it.” He sat silent awhile and when she didn’t speak, he added, “Perhaps she meant the Shut Mouth Society when she said union.”
“That’s a stretch and you know it.”
“You’re right.”
They sat silent for a long while, just looking at each other. Finally, Evarts said, “I never lied about anything else on your list. In each instance, I did what I thought was right in the moment.” When she still didn’t react, Evarts grabbed at the only thing he could think of that might persuade her. “I gave you a gun when you asked for one.” No reaction. “And I never tried to separate you from it.”
“Did you know I’ve been carrying the .45?”
“Yeah, but I just thought you preferred the heavier caliber.”
She looked embarrassed. “I was afraid you might have tampered with the Glock.”
“Then keep the .45.”
“I will.”
“Trish, this is a dangerous situation and we only have each other. How can we work together if you feel this way?”
“Carefully. And from this point forward, we need complete honesty.”
“I have been honest. What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s on that computer?”
She failed the flinch test. “None of your business.”
“Excuse me. I thought you said we needed complete honesty.”
“Some things are personal. I’m not ready to share them yet.”
“When?”
“When I know I can completely trust you. When I know I can let you back into my personal life.”
“I’m out?” Evarts felt an unusual emotion. It went beyond disappointment, and he realized it was fear. He feared losing her. He took a sip of his beer. “What about our relationship?”
“That can only be healed with time and events.”
Chapter 24
Evarts finished his beer and worked on installing the cameras. He started with the entrance and pointed the camera down the enclosed staircase toward the door that led to the street. He put the camera high above the upper-landing door and ran an extended USB cable down the doorframe and under the door. After he installed the software drivers on Baldwin’s computer, he got a clear picture of the staircase on the laptop. Baldwin sat in a chair with one of her books, but Evarts noticed she kept an eye on him while he worked on her computer. He made sure it always faced her and sat to the side so she could see the screen.
After the camera, he installed a baby monitor at the bottom of the staircase so any intrusion could be heard from inside the apartment. Next, he worked on the staircase lights so they would always stay on to provide enough illumination for the camera. He rewired the fixtures so the switches no longer controlled the lights and then rewired the switch at the bottom door so that, if someone threw it in an attempt to turn off the lights, a buzzer would sound inside the apartment.
Entering the apartment again, Evarts reexamined the back alley and the fire escape. He had two more cameras, but he had a problem. No matter how he positioned them, there would still be blind spots. He decided to point them in either direction down the alley and hoped they would catch movement before someone got directly beneath the apartment window. When he finished, he called Baldwin over and showed her how everything worked.
“How much did all this cost?” she asked.
“Less than three hundred dollars.”
“I’m impressed. I feel safer already.”
“Even with the enemy inside the apartment?”
“Greg, I’m sorry. I—”
“Forget it. We have other business.” He didn’t want to reopen the subject. “I had a chance to think while I worked. I no longer believe the law book idea will pan out. I want you to tell me about Lincoln: his personality, his interests, everything … especially prior to his inauguration.”
“This time I’m hungry.”
“Okay, let’s find a quiet restaurant.”
They left the apartment and walked the half block to Charles Street. Baldwin picked a high-end Italian place named Ristorante Toscano. When Evarts saw the white tablecloths and upscale place settings, he wondered how much money the safe had contained. Most of the time, Evarts viewed food as fuel. He would have preferred to conserve their assets, but he didn’t want to start another argument.
After they ordered and their drinks arrived, Baldwin said, “Lincoln is the most studied president in history, but he remains an enigma. Since 1968, over sixteen hundred books have been published on Lincoln. Every author looks for new ground and almost all of them find it … or make it up. The Library of Congress has digitized over two hundred thousand Lincoln documents, more than any one researcher could peruse in a lifetime, and yet nobody has successfully revealed the flesh and blood man.”
“Not even you? Your last book stayed on the bestseller lists for months.” Evarts had a copy of Quite Contrary, but with the driving schedule and other activities, he had read only a small portion of it.
“I told Abraham Lincoln’s story from Mary Lincoln’s perspective. In the beginning, I thought I could flush out the man by looking at him through the eyes of his wife, but she destroyed most of their personal letters, so I had very little new material. It only appeared fresh because of the point of view … and the book sold well because it appealed to women, who buy most of the books nowadays.”
“Why can’t anyone get a handle on the man?”
“Despite all that documentation, almost nothing of a personal nature survived … if it ever existed. Lincoln didn’t keep a journal like others in his cabinet, and his letters seldom revealed his feelings. Since Lincoln rarely made a record of his meetings, the notes we have about his private conversations come from the other participants.” Baldwin sipped her wine before adding, “He had to balance every power base in the country, so he might lead one party to believe he supported them and then appear to take a different slant with the next visitors.”
“Douglass said you didn’t appreciate that politicians lie.”
“It’s not whether historical figures lied or not, it’s whether a responsible historian can tag a specific utterance a lie without a sound basis for the assertion. If historians can dismiss any part of the record that conflicts with their point of view, then you lose all restraint on the discipline.”
The waiter brought them each a bowl of lobster bisque. One spoonful and Evarts knew food could go well beyond mere fuel. After another sip, Evarts asked, “How did Lincoln make different parties believe he agreed with them?”
“People left meetings believing that he would seriously consider their positions, rather than that he agreed with them. If Lincoln encountered a particularly strident petitioner, he frequently told entertaining stories until the meeting time ran out. Sometimes the stories could be interpreted to support or oppose a position, but in either case, the petitioners took away no presidential declarations they could use. The man mastered several techniques to deflect people and issues when he didn’t want to get involved or thought the timing inopportune.”
“And these deflections make it hard to get to the man beneath the myth?” Evarts asked.
“Yes. He kept his own counsel.” She took a sip of her wine. “Due to the scanty or conflicting record, authors portray the man as evil or great, straight or gay, clinically depressed or a paragon of mental stability, decisive or vacillating, a racist or the Great Emancipator, a stalwart protector of the Constitution or someone who desecrated the Constitution and refused to accept any limitations on his powers.”
“What do we know … for sure?”
“We know that despite less than a year of formal education, he held his own with a cabinet impeccably educated in the best institutions in America. We know that despite his rail-splitter image, he actually ran a prominent and lucrative law practice. We know that despite his caricature as an inexperienced buffoon who accidentally won the presidency, he seemed to always get his way when confronted by powerful and experienced politicians. We know that despite his aw-shucks country-lawyer image, the man was driven by an implacable ambition that made him lament that he could never accomplish anything as great as George Washington. We know that despite his reputation as honest, Horace Greeley once famously said, ‘I can’t trust your Honest Old Abe. He’s too smart for me.’”
Evarts had a thought. “Do you think Greeley could’ve been the one in secret communication with Lincoln?”
“Doubtful. By that time, Lincoln distrusted Greeley’s mercurial disposition.”
“Who then? It had to be someone in New York.”
“William Cullen Bryant, maybe.” She didn’t look certain.
“I’ve heard the name, but I don’t know where.”
“A distinguished poet who helped found the Republican Party. He presided over Young Men’s Central Republican Union, which sponsored the Cooper Union lectures. For his day job, he served as the editor of the New York Evening Post. He actually met Lincoln for the first time during the Black Hawk War, when Lincoln was a militia captain.”
“Lincoln was in the military? I didn’t know that. When?”
“1832. The Black Hawk War wasn’t much of a war, and the Illinois militia wasn’t much of an army. The Indians east of the Mississippi were being pushed west, and Sauk Chief Black Hawk repudiated a treaty he said was coerced u
nder the influence of alcohol. At that time, militias elected their own leaders, and the men chose Lincoln to be captain. He never saw action and loved to claim the only blood he shed came from mosquito bites.” Baldwin sipped her wine. “Lincoln always said that being picked by his neighbors as their captain was his proudest election victory.”
“I never heard that … or forgot if I did. What else?”
She hesitated. “He was one of the greatest public speakers in history.”
“You said that before. Why? Because of the Gettysburg Address?”
“That would be like saying Shakespeare should be considered a great playwright because of Hamlet. The Gettysburg Address represented but one speech in a long line of persuasive speeches.”
“Persuasive? I thought that speech eulogized the dead and wounded.”
“Read it again. He used the occasion to push emancipation further along in the public mind. He crafted all his speeches to persuade, sometimes subtly, sometimes directly. He made his points with words, but he used emotions to make them forceful—gaiety, sorrow, hope—or perhaps he appealed to—”
“Wait a minute. Something you just said has been nagging me. Did Lincoln read Shakespeare?”
“All the time. Lincoln loved Shakespeare. Frequently read his plays aloud, which drove his law partner crazy. He wrote poetry as well, albeit rather mediocre poetry.”
Baldwin had lost him when she said Lincoln loved Shakespeare. She continued describing Lincoln’s literary interest and talents, but his attention had focused on the Shakespeare angle. Excitedly, he interrupted her midstream. “How many plays did Shakespeare write?”
“What? About forty, I think. Were you listening to me?”
“Sorry, but I think Shakespeare might be the key. I thought about fiction but considered only contemporaneous publications. I have a former English major in my department, and when this whole thing started, I asked him to make a list of popular nineteenth-century fiction, but then I got sidetracked with law books. Fiction over four hundred years old never occurred to me.”