Pardon the liberty I have taken in addressing you and believe me, your sister’s friend
Myra Bradwell
“Myra Bradwell?” said Ann, bewildered. The name seemed vaguely familiar. “Who is this woman that she has visited Mary when even Emilie was not welcome, and what is the Chicago Legal News Company?”
“The Chicago Legal News is a prestigious and widely read newspaper in law circles,” said Elizabeth, gingerly picking up her teacup but forgetting to drink. “Ninian subscribed for many years. Mrs. Bradwell is the founder, publisher, and editor-in-chief of the paper, and she’s considered the first lady lawyer in the United States. She’s also a rather outspoken activist for numerous causes—woman’s suffrage, legal rights for women—”
“And our sister has become her latest cause?”
“Apparently so.” Elizabeth sipped her tea and returned the cup to its saucer. “My goodness. ‘Grates and bars’? ‘Incarceration’ and ‘heartache’?”
“A lawyer’s rhetorical exaggeration, surely.” Ann studied the letter again, shook her head, and returned it to Elizabeth. “Why does she write to you on Mary’s behalf? Why didn’t Mary write to you herself? Robert said that she’s free to send and receive as many letters as she likes.” And yet she had sent none to any of the Todd sisters. Ann attributed this strange reticence from a once-prolific letter-writer to both her illness and their estrangement.
“I don’t know.” Pensively, Elizabeth scanned the page. “How strange to hear that Mary speaks of me tenderly and wants me to visit, when we have not exchanged a word in ages.”
“Stranger still that she wants to come here.” Ann regarded her sister quizzically. “You aren’t thinking of inviting her?”
“No, certainly not.” Frowning, Elizabeth shifted in her seat, adjusting a pillow. “If she were well enough to leave the asylum, wouldn’t Robert have told us? Wouldn’t Dr. Patterson have written to inquire? Remember that Mary used to say that she could never return to Springfield, for it was haunted by too many memories of Abraham and her poor lost sons. In her present fragile state of mind, Springfield might be the very worst place for her to visit.”
“Let’s not forget about your own fragile state,” said Ann, folding her arms, leaning back in her chair. “You’re in no condition to play hostess to our troubled sister.” Nor would Ann volunteer her own home, not that this Mrs. Bradwell had mentioned either her or Frances, or Emilie, Elodie, or Martha for that matter. Apparently, it was Elizabeth or no one.
“If Mary had written to me herself, perhaps I might be reassured that she is of sound mind and does indeed yearn to come here . . .” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off, but then she added, “But she did not write to me, and so I cannot truly know what she wants. I have only the word of Mrs. Bradwell, whom I’ve never met. She calls herself Mary’s friend, but how do I know what she is?”
“So many people have exploited Mary, or have tried to,” said Ann. “If I were you, I’d proceed with caution.”
“Certainly, and yet this letter requires a prompt reply.”
Ann rose. “I’ll fetch pen and paper.”
Elizabeth held out a hand to stop her. “No, not just yet. I’ll need time to think. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’ll want to speak with Ninian first, and with Frances.”
Ann nodded and sat down, a trifle vexed that her own counsel would not suffice.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Ann saw to it that Elizabeth ate a healthy portion of a nourishing lunch and escorted her on a gentle stroll around the garden. She departed in the late afternoon, before Frances arrived and Ninian returned home from work, but not without admonishing the housekeeper and the maid to send a messenger immediately if her sister required anything at all from her. The maid replied that they had matters well in hand, her deferential curtsy taking none of the sting from her impertinent tone.
Upon returning to the Edwards residence the following morning, Ann saw to her sister’s needs before broaching the subject of Mrs. Bradwell.
“I’ve written a reply,” said Elizabeth, rising from the sofa. It was raining, so they sat in the parlor rather than on the summer porch. She disappeared down the hall toward the library, from whence she soon returned with a sheet of creamy, heavy paper embellished with her fine script. “I read it over to Frances and Ninian. They agree that it’s an appropriate response, but if you dissent, please tell me.”
“Oh, never fear,” said Ann dryly, taking the letter. “I certainly shall.”
Springfield, Aug. 3 1875
Mrs. Bradwell,
Dear Madam:
I haste to reply to your kind note, relative to my unhappy sister. My heart rebelled at the thought of placing her in an asylum; believing that her sad case merely required the care of a protector, whose companionship would be pleasant to her. Had I been consulted, I would have remonstrated earnestly against the step taken.
The judgment of others must now, I presume, be silently acquiesced in, for a time, in the hope that ere long, her physical and mental condition will be improved by rest and medical treatment. The sorrows that befell her in such rapid succession and the one, so tragic, was enough to shatter the nerves, and infuse the intellect of the bravest mind and heart. I regret to say that I cannot just now visit Mrs. Lincoln, being prostrated from the effects of a recent surgical operation. But I will at once write to her, and soothe her burdened heart, if possible, with words of love and sympathy.
It is my opinion that she should be indulged in a desire to visit her friends as the surest means of restoring her to health and cheerfulness.
Accept my thanks, for your interest in my sister, and the suggestions you have made me.
Yours truly
Mrs. N. W. Edwards
“Hmm,” murmured Ann when she had finished.
“By which you mean . . .” prompted Elizabeth.
“It’s a fine letter. I think ‘haste’ should be ‘hasten,’ but never mind.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Surely you have more to say than that.”
“Well, to begin, would you really have remonstrated against commitment if Robert had asked your opinion? Even though the panel of learned physicians recommended it?”
“Indeed, I would have.”
“And whom would you have chosen as her companion and protector?”
“Why—” Elizabeth hesitated. “Perhaps her former companion, Mrs. Keckly.”
“Former friend as well. I think you forget that Mary cut her off after that scandalous memoir.” Behind the Scenes—what an apt title for a book that exposed their sister’s private moments in the White House and reprinted her private letters without permission. “Do you truly believe Mary would ever welcome her back into the fold after that betrayal? Could you blame her?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“There is no one suitable to serve as her constant companion and guardian—unless you mean to volunteer yourself, which I strongly discourage. You are barely out of a sickbed yourself.”
“How carefully did you read?” protested Elizabeth, gesturing to her letter. “I wrote nothing about taking Mary into my home, only that I think she ought to visit friends. I believe that would do her good.” She plucked the page from Ann’s fingers. “Unless you have anything else to contribute, I shall send it.”
It was true that Elizabeth must reply to Mrs. Bradwell, and Ann could think of nothing better to say, so she made an acquiescent bow and fetched her sister an envelope and a pen.
Several days passed, marked by gratifying signs of Elizabeth’s steady recovery. If she did write to Mary with words of love and sympathy to soothe her burdened heart, as she had told Mrs. Bradwell she would, Ann did not witness the writing or the posting of any such letter.
Neither sister said anything more about Mrs. Bradwell until the second week of August, when Ann arrived at the Edwards residence at noon to find Elizabeth, her expression drawn, pacing in the garden and clasping and unclasping her hands, betraying her agitation. “Are you unw
ell?” asked Ann, fearing a relapse.
“Stronger every day,” said Elizabeth, brushing aside her sister’s concerns with a wave of her hand, “but greatly distressed. Oh, Ann, Mrs. Bradwell called on Mary again, and she showed my letter to Dr. Patterson. She argued that it was evidence that Mary’s family condemns her commitment.”
“What nerve,” exclaimed Ann. “It is no such thing.”
“She insisted that Dr. Patterson show the letter to Robert, which he did, and now—” Elizabeth wrung her hands. “Robert is quite displeased with me, as his most recent letter makes clear.”
“He should save his displeasure for Mrs. Bradwell. How is this affair any of her business?”
“Mary reached out to her for help, and to her husband. You may have heard of Mr. Bradwell. He’s a former county court judge and is currently a state legislator. I don’t believe he represents Mary officially, but he does advise her on legal matters from time to time.”
Ann felt a stirring of unease. First Mrs. Rayne from the Post and Mail, then the lawyer and gadfly Myra Bradwell, and now her distinguished husband. Mary was clearly rallying her troops. “How is it that Robert is displeased with you,” she asked, “when he has so many others from whom to choose?”
“I did say that I would have objected to committing her to an asylum had I known in time, and Robert set that process in motion. I don’t blame him for feeling obliged to defend himself.”
Ann’s eyebrows rose. “That must have been some letter.”
With a wry twist to her mouth, Elizabeth withdrew a folded paper from her pocket and handed it over. While Ann sat down on a nearby bench to read, Elizabeth resumed her circuit of the garden, pausing now and then to pluck a faded blossom from a flowering shrub or to uproot a weed, or perhaps she was merely disguising the need to pause to catch her breath.
Robert’s letter was not nearly as fiery as Ann had expected, given Elizabeth’s distress. “There is no need for me to recount the past ten years of our domestic history. If it has caused you one tenth of the grief it has caused me, you will remember it,” he began, but to Ann her nephew sounded more weary than angry. He described the facilities, staff, and programs of Bellevue in greater detail than she had yet read in any brochure or previous letter, and indeed she understood why, as he said, he considered it a great blessing that his mother was in a restful place where she could receive the attention and medical treatment she needed. He was certain that the tranquility of the estate and the absence of vexation had enabled his mother’s condition to improve, but Dr. Patterson had warned him that Mr. and Mrs. Bradwell’s visits threatened to undo all the good that had been accomplished. “What trouble Mrs. Bradwell may give me with her interference I cannot foretell,” Robert added. “I understand she is a high priestess in a gang of Spiritualists and from what I have heard it is to their interest that my mother should be at liberty to control herself and her property.” He had long been concerned that unscrupulous acquaintances would take advantage of his mother in her distress, which was one reason why he had wanted her removed to a more protective environment. Mrs. Bradwell seemed determined to extricate his mother from Bellevue before her reason was fully restored, a scheme that would prove dangerously reckless. In a recent conversation, his mother had implied that if she were released, she would immediately go abroad, where Robert would be unable to assist her should her debilitation return.
“I have no objection should my mother wish to visit you in Springfield,” he concluded. “In fact, I believe this would benefit her significantly. In the meantime, I invite you to visit my mother and see Bellevue for yourself, rather than rely on the dubious claims and exaggerations of Mrs. Bradwell.”
Sighing, Ann rose, folded the letter, and returned it to her sister. “Our nephew is upset, but not at you. Mrs. Bradwell is the object of his ire, and with good reason.”
“Nevertheless, I owe him an apology.” Elizabeth sank down upon the bench Ann had vacated. “I must write to him and explain that I regret questioning his decision, especially in a letter to a stranger—for Myra Bradwell is a stranger to us, despite her notoriety and her claims upon Mary’s friendship.”
Carefully, Ann prompted, “And his suggestions about an exchange of visits?”
Elizabeth spread her hands, a gesture of futility. “As you yourself have told me, I am in no condition to travel or to entertain Mary, in her present state. Robert will understand.”
Ann was quite sure that he would, but before Elizabeth’s reply had time to reach him at his home in Chicago, another letter from Mrs. Bradwell arrived.
CHICAGO LEGAL NEWS COMPANY
151 & 153 Fifth Ave.
Chicago, Aug. 11th, 1875
Dear Mrs. Edwards:
I came in from Batavia last Saturday afternoon. Stayed with your sister Friday night. Slept with her and saw not one symptom of insanity. She slept as sweetly and as quietly as a kitten. Robert tells me if you will take her, he will bring her down to Springfield. I do hope you will for she must be at liberty. Do please take her and love her and I am sure you will not have any trouble with her for Dr. Patterson told Mr. Bradwell and myself that he never had a patient that made him so little trouble.
I am so sorry for the dear woman, shut up in that place. When they tell me she is not restrained, I want to ask how they should like it themselves?
I hope to hear from you soon,
Kindly, Myra Bradwell
The implication that Elizabeth would not love her sister without explicit instructions to do so from Mary’s relentless advocate so upset her that a good measure of the vitality she had regained after her surgery dissipated. Ninian was so alarmed by her sudden relapse that he considered writing to the Bradwells to threaten legal action if they did not extricate themselves from what was a private, family matter. His brother-in-law Clark persuaded him to hold off, for the time being; Robert was Mary’s executor, and it was up to him to order the Bradwells to leave his mother alone, if that was what he wanted and Dr. Patterson recommended.
Elizabeth felt obliged to inform Robert that Mrs. Bradwell had contacted her again. In the same letter, she explained that while she was willing to consider allowing Mary to come for a visit, it must be precisely that, a stay of limited duration, and a Bellevue nurse must accompany her. “The peculiarities of Mary’s whole life have been so marked and well understood by me, that I have not indulged the faintest hope of a permanent cure,” she confessed, astonishing Ann, who had believed her eldest sister to be far more optimistic about their sister’s condition.
In closing, Elizabeth astonished Ann again. “I am unwilling to urge any steps, or assume any responsibility, in her case,” she wrote. “My present feeble health, causing such nervous prostration, would render me a most unfit person to control an unsound mind. I am now satisfied, that understanding her propensities as you do, the course you have decided upon is the surest and wisest.”
Ann had never known Elizabeth to absolve herself of responsibility for her younger siblings, and she would not have believed it had she not seen it written in Elizabeth’s own hand.
Yet, soon thereafter, Elizabeth confessed that although she could not visit Bellevue herself, she would feel greatly relieved if someone she knew well and trusted implicitly would call on Mary and report back to her. Emilie was proposed, but Mary’s lack of response to her letters had hurt and bewildered her, and she was reluctant to make the trip, not knowing whether she would be admitted. The sisters had no reason to believe Mary would welcome Ninian or Clark, and as for Ann, she did not want to go and made excuses why she could not.
In the end, they decided to send two of their daughters—Elizabeth’s daughter and namesake, Lizzy, a widow thirty-two years old, with Ann’s seventeen-year-old Clara as a traveling companion. According to Robert, Mary delighted in her granddaughter Mamie’s visits, so perhaps she would be pleased to see her grandnieces as well.
Ann was satisfied, and Elizabeth was greatly relieved, when the two younger women returned from Bat
avia to report that Great-Aunt Mary had welcomed them cheerfully. Before and after taking tea with her, they had toured the facilities and the grounds and had found everything to be exactly as their cousin Robert had described it. “There is nothing wrong with Bellevue that would not be mended if Mrs. Bradwell and her husband would simply mind their own business,” Lizzy said. “Their meddling does no good and may do great harm, if it persists.”
Ann and Elizabeth could not agree more, but what could mere sisters do to keep the interlopers at bay?
8
1832–1839
Elizabeth
Elizabeth and Ninian spent their first few months as newlyweds living modestly in Lexington, enjoying the novelty of life as an ordinary law student and his devoted wife rather than a son of the former governor of Illinois and a daughter of the illustrious Todd family. Elizabeth had little housekeeping to do in their boardinghouse suite, so when she was not helping Ninian by keeping his clothes in order, fetching books from the library, or taking dictation while he worked out essays and legal theses aloud, she had plenty of leisure time to devote to reading, calling on friends, and visiting her family’s luxurious new residence on Main Street. Knowing that Grandma Parker had taken her father’s removal of her grandchildren from their shared lot as a personal offense, Elizabeth took care to call on her at least once a week too. She often brought Frances along, and Mary as well, on weekends when she came home from Madame Mentelle’s Ladies’ Academy.
Although her younger sisters endeavored not to complain, Elizabeth knew Frances and Mary were unhappy at home. The house on Main Street was their stepmother’s domain, where the offspring of Papa’s first marriage were tolerated but never made to feel as if they truly belonged. Frances and Mary sometimes argued about who suffered more: Frances, permitted to live at home with the family but expected to help keep house and mind the children, or Mary, singled out as the least wanted but provided with an excellent education to compensate. She was learning to speak French fluently, starring in school theatricals, and studying the classics, history, natural science, and dancing—and when not engrossed in her books and lessons, she enjoyed the company of many new friends. After these ongoing debates, Frances and Mary usually concurred that Mary was the more enviably placed of the two. Even so, Frances looked smug as she acknowledged that at least she was wanted at home, and Mary looked forlorn, knowing she was not.
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