Mrs. Lincoln's Sisters

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  Thus, she was appalled but not surprised the following morning when Mary’s would-be champions published their most brazen and salacious article to date: “MRS. LINCOLN: Is the Widow of President Lincoln a Prisoner? No One Allowed to See Her Except by Order of Her Son.” The so-called “entirely truthful eyewitness account” that followed, a description of a visit to the tormented and pitiful former first lady, was clearly the work of Myra Bradwell. Emilie was so sickened and outraged by the heavily fictionalized narrative depicting her nephew Robert as a cruel gaoler and ungrateful son that she could not finish reading it.

  In early September, Emilie received another letter from her nephew, this time posted from Chicago. Robert had returned home after a holiday that had proved far less restful than he and his wife had hoped, he noted wryly, and he had scarcely had time to unpack before he had been confronted by “the extraordinary performances of the Bradwells.”

  “After assuring you of my safe arrival home, my next duty will be to write to Dr. Patterson to inquire if it would be safe to grant my mother a visit to Aunt Elizabeth in Springfield,” he wrote. “My mother has worked herself into such a state of agitation in the expectation of a visit, once the idea was impressed upon her by her misguided advocates, that even if all contact with them ceases, the agitation will persist. I am concerned that if her state of continuous ferment and dissatisfaction persists, not only will her health fail to improve, but she may be worse off than before.”

  The Bradwells had ruined Bellevue as a peaceful, quiet retreat where his mother could rest and be fully restored to health, Robert explained. Now she perceived it as a prison, and it was difficult to imagine how she could regain her reason in such conditions. Therefore, if Dr. Patterson confirmed that she could safely leave, and if Elizabeth agreed to take her in, Robert would arrange for his mother to leave the asylum and return to Springfield.

  He had sought to have his mother committed for the sake of her health and safety, and now the same concern obliged him to consider withdrawing her—despite his grave worries that she remained as insane as the day she had been committed.

  10

  1839–1842

  Elizabeth

  When Mary crossed the threshold of the house on Aristocracy Hill in October 1839, having eagerly accepted Elizabeth’s invitation to stay indefinitely, her clear blue eyes shone with delight and her smooth cheeks flushed rose pink from expectation. “Ann is absolutely green with envy that I am here and she is not,” Mary confided as she and Elizabeth settled her in the best guest room. “Not merely green, but an entire palette of emerald, olive, and chartreuse!”

  “Ann will have her turn soon enough, if she wishes to come,” replied Elizabeth mildly, sighing over the unconcealed glee in Mary’s voice. Was it too much to ask for a little sisterly compassion for poor Ann, the only stepdaughter left to squirm and fume beneath Ma’s watchful, critical gaze?

  Mary had plenty of reasons to be joyful, and her rival’s unhappiness should not have been one of them. Even in sophisticated Springfield, the Athens of the West, Mary’s arrival created quite a stir. Everyone in the Coterie—as well as a great many on the fringes longing to be invited in—were eager to meet the most recently arrived Todd sister. Ninian had established himself as a young politician on the rise, Elizabeth was now regarded as one of the city’s most gracious hostesses, and Mary’s status as a Todd enhanced their anticipation.

  Elizabeth was pleased and proud to observe that her sister did not disappoint. Mary swept into society with charm, grace, and poise to spare, delighting the young ladies and winning the admiration of the gentlemen. Soon everyone in Springfield had seen or heard about the beguiling intensity of her clear blue eyes fringed in dark lashes, the allure of her flawless complexion, and the silky richness of her chestnut brown hair flecked with gold, which she often adorned with flowers. She embraced the gaiety of balls, dinners, and soirees with abandon, sparkling on the dance floor as brilliantly as she did in the animated political discussions and debates, in which intelligence and wit were essential. In no time at all, Mary had accumulated an abundance of admirers, and it was obvious that she enjoyed the art of flirtation, teasing and enticing, encouraging many without relinquishing her heart to any particular one.

  “She could make a bishop forget his prayers,” Ninian remarked dryly to Elizabeth one evening as they observed her holding court in a senator’s drawing room, her hair artfully coiled atop her head and embellished with hothouse flowers, her neck smooth and elegantly turned, her beautifully sculpted shoulders shown to their best advantage by the low, curved neckline of her claret watered silk gown. Elizabeth might have been jealous except that Ninian did not sound as if he approved of his sister-in-law’s popularity—unless it was her outspokenness, her headstrong nature, or her evident desire always to be the center of attention that vexed him.

  As for Elizabeth, it did not trouble her in the least that her sister reveled in the attention. Mary had spent far too many years feeling unwanted in her own home for Elizabeth to begrudge her this brief, precious time as the most desirable belle in Springfield. Wasn’t the point of her visit to make her an excellent match, and wasn’t a charming, lovely, witty young woman at least as likely as a shy, demure girl to attract a good husband?

  And indeed, Mary did draw the eye of practically every eligible bachelor in Springfield. State legislator Stephen Douglas became a particular favorite, even though, regrettably, he was a Democrat and supported President Jackson. Aside from that significant drawback, he was intelligent, ambitious, and exceedingly clever, so Mary enjoyed his conversation and spent more time in his company than with any other member of their set. But Mary also showed favor to a gentleman from Missouri, a congenial lawyer and grandson of Patrick Henry, as well as other handsome fellows who impressed her with their dancing or their wit.

  For a time, Elizabeth—and quite a few other observant members of the Coterie—thought her sister might be hoping for a proposal from another legislator, Mr. Edwin Webb. Elizabeth had often seen them engrossed in conversation at soirees, their heads bent close together, their voices earnest. She had also overheard Mary and Mercy Levering, their next-door neighbor and Mary’s closest friend in Springfield, refer to him as “the winning widower.” When Ninian mentioned that Mr. Webb’s name and Mary’s were being linked in gossip and conversation about town, Elizabeth decided to ask her sister outright if they had an understanding.

  “Goodness, no, we have nothing of the sort,” Mary replied, laughing. “Mr. Webb is indeed a widower of merit, our principal lion of the legislature, but a match between us is out of the question, there being a slight difference in our ages of some eighteen or twenty years!”

  “Many successful marriages have been made of such matches,” Elizabeth pointed out.

  “Yes, but for me, such a vast difference would preclude the possibility of congeniality of feeling.” With a wry smile, Mary added, “And let us not forget his two adorable little objections.”

  Elizabeth nodded, understanding and not judging her. Given Mary’s history with Ma, Elizabeth could not blame Mary for her ambivalence about raising stepchildren.

  Another young man who sought to win Mary’s favor but failed utterly was William Herndon, an innkeeper’s son who had attended college in Jacksonville about forty miles to the west, although he had dropped out after a year. He was a member of the Young Men’s Lyceum and aspired to become a lawyer, but in the meantime he clerked at Mr. Joshua Speed’s store and honed his legal arguments in debates around the potbellied stove with men like cousin John Todd Stuart and Abraham Lincoln. He was not really included in the Edwardses’ illustrious set, but he and Mary did cross paths from time to time, and that was enough for him to develop quite an infatuation with her. Nothing came of it, however, for early in their acquaintance, when they danced together at a party, he stammered out that she seemed “to glide through the waltz with the ease of a serpent.” He had meant it as a compliment, but Mary took offense and retorted, “Mr. Her
ndon, comparison to a serpent is a rather severe irony, especially to a newcomer.” She wanted nothing more to do with him after that, and her rebuff quickly cooled his ardor.

  But aside from the unfortunate Mr. Herndon, Mary charmed a vast majority of Springfield’s eligible bachelors. She even brought out previously unseen qualities in Mr. Lincoln, whom Frances had dismissed as lacking all refinement and romance. He seemed intrigued by Mary’s conversation, which was ever graced by wit and intelligence. They shared a passion for poetry, literature, and Shakespeare, and both enjoyed reciting lengthy passages from memory. Mary’s ability to debate the finer points of politics impressed him, and she was personally acquainted with Henry Clay, a Whig leader he had long admired. It was little wonder they enjoyed conversing so much, Elizabeth thought, since intellectually they had much in common, although they came from such different stations in life that they could never be more than friends. Frances had discovered this, and eventually Mary would too, especially since she was surrounded by so many other more attractive, more suitable gentlemen.

  But as winter passed and their acquaintance seemed to deepen rather than fade, it was Frances who first noticed that Mary seemed more affected by Mr. Lincoln’s opinion than that of any other suitor. If she teased him for failing to observe some convention of society, his look of gentle reproof made her blush furiously. If he came upon her in the midst of making fun of an absent acquaintance, or addressing someone with unnecessary sarcasm, she would abruptly fall silent, mortified that he had overheard. “I have never seen Mary so eager to impress a gentleman,” Frances mused for Elizabeth alone. “Usually she stands aloof and waits for them to attempt to impress her.”

  Mildly alarmed, Elizabeth passed on Frances’s observations to Ninian, who told her not to worry. Mary was clever, he reminded her unnecessarily, and it was unimaginable that a genteel young woman like her would abandon the luxury and prestige to which she was accustomed to share poverty with even the kindest and most eloquent of men. Elizabeth wanted to believe her husband, but all chance of that fled one evening in early spring when their cousin Stephen Logan called on them at home and proceeded to tease Mary about her popularity.

  “I hear the Yankee, the Irishman, and our rough diamond from Kentucky were here last night,” he said, throwing a sidelong grin to Elizabeth and Frances. “How many more have you on the string, Mary?”

  “Are they not enough?” she replied archly. “Which of them do you fear the most?”

  Cousin Stephen folded his arms over his chest and pondered the question. “I fear I am in grave danger of having to welcome a Yankee cousin.”

  “Never,” Mary exclaimed. “The Yankee, as you call Mr. Douglas, differs from me too widely in politics. We would quarrel about Henry Clay. And James Shields, the Irishman, has too lately kissed the Blarney Stone for me to believe he really means half of his compliments. As for the rough diamond—”

  “The rough diamond,” their cousin interrupted, “is much too rugged for your soft little hands to attempt to polish.”

  “Ah, but to polish a stone like that would be the task of a lifetime,” said Mary, her voice taking on a new warmth. “What a joy to see the beauty and brilliance shine out more clearly each day! The important thing is the diamond itself, clear and flawless under its film.”

  Elizabeth exchanged a quick, alarmed glance with Frances.

  Cousin Stephen regarded Mary, astonished. “You don’t mean that you would seriously consider it?”

  “Why not?” she countered. “He is one of your best friends. You have told me time and again you never met a man with more ability, more native intellect.”

  “Mary is not thinking of Mr. Lincoln in the light of a lover, cousin,” Elizabeth broke in hurriedly. “He is merely one of her most agreeable friends, and not one whit more agreeable than Mr. Douglas or any other.”

  Mary said nothing, but only pressed her lips together in a stubborn little line, and cousin Stephen good-naturedly changed the subject. That was all well and good for one evening, but from that day forward, Elizabeth and Frances both observed that Mary flew to Mr. Lincoln’s defense the moment anyone spoke critically of him, even in the smallest degree, while she herself still made harmless, amusing jokes about him when he was not present.

  Even Ninian agreed that these were troubling signs.

  By the spring of 1840, within the Coterie and throughout the concentric circles of society emanating from it, there was a widespread understanding that Mary and Mr. Lincoln were engaged, or soon would be. Determined to put such speculation to rest, Elizabeth and Ninian agreed that as her guardians in Springfield, it was their responsibility to make her see reason. One afternoon in late March, they summoned Mary into the parlor, where they sat her down, informed her of their strong objections, and pointed out, since she seemed determined to ignore it, the incongruity of such a marriage.

  “Although Mr. Lincoln is honorable, able, and popular,” said Ninian frankly, “his future is nebulous, his family relations on an entirely different social plane.”

  “I am aware of his humble background,” said Mary. “That only makes his accomplishments all the more impressive.”

  “His education, unlike your own, has been desultory,” Ninian continued, as if she had not spoken. “He has no culture, he is ignorant of social forms and customs, and he is utterly indifferent to social status.”

  “Why could you not fancy some gentleman possessing the qualities Mr. Lincoln lacks?” asked Elizabeth, disliking the cajoling tone in her voice but unable to quash it. “Why not Mr. Douglas or one of the other promising young men in love with you?”

  Mary’s gaze held a challenge. “Mr. Douglas has no wealth to speak of either.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Ninian. “But he’s an educated and polished young man, a rising young politician with a future bright enough to satisfy the most ambitious woman.”

  “He’s four years younger than Mr. Lincoln, and yet he has already achieved great political honors and is spoken of as a potential candidate for Congress.” Remembering her sister’s childhood vow, Elizabeth added, “He could become senator, perhaps even president. From every perspective, nothing could be more desirable or more likely to secure your future happiness than to marry him.”

  Mary listened impassively, but a resolute thrust to her chin told Elizabeth that her entreaties were wasted words.

  Increasingly worried, Elizabeth confided to her sisters and to other Todds and Parkers in Springfield and Lexington that she feared Mary was on the verge of making a dreadful matrimonial mistake. At first they were amused, certain this was just another of Mary’s many inconsequential flirtations, but when Elizabeth insisted that her relationship with Mr. Lincoln was of a different sort altogether, their alarm surpassed Elizabeth’s own. They inundated Mary with letters full of advice and warnings and objections, disturbing anecdotes and tearful lamentations, until she began to meet the daily delivery of the post with an expression of grim fatalism.

  An unforeseen and regrettable consequence of the ongoing dispute was that eventually word circulated through the Coterie and on to Mr. Lincoln that the Todds did not consider him a desirable addition to the family. But what could be done about that? Elizabeth’s duty was to her sister, and if saving her from a bad match came at the expense of Mr. Lincoln’s pride, so be it.

  Elizabeth waited in dread for Mary to announce their engagement. She did not fear that the couple would elope, for Mr. Lincoln was too honorable and Mary would insist upon a proper wedding with all the trimmings, but instead, like a prayer answered, the danger receded.

  In mid-April, Mr. Lincoln embarked on his annual spring tour of the Illinois Eighth Judicial Circuit, following the circuit court judge as he traveled from town to hamlet through nine counties, taking on clients, arguing cases, and soliciting future business for Stuart & Lincoln. Along the way he campaigned for the Whig candidate for president, William Henry Harrison, making speeches and winning over voters with eloquence and humor. He and Ma
ry exchanged occasional letters—Mary naturally refused to divulge the contents to her sisters—but in his absence Mary enjoyed dances and soirees as much as ever, and she did not shun the company of other gentlemen. In this, Elizabeth found reason to hope.

  Her hopes soared higher yet in midsummer, for by the time Mr. Lincoln returned to Springfield in June, their separation had been prolonged by Mary’s departure for a lengthy visit to their uncle David Todd in Columbia, Missouri. Elizabeth and Frances agreed that the two surely continued to exchange letters, and their uncle mentioned that Mr. Lincoln had visited Mary after attending a Whig convention in Rocheport, fifteen miles due east, a significant distance out of the way for a man on horseback. Still, the elder sisters assured each other, time and distance would allow passions to cool and reason to resume control.

  And then, another gift of fate: when Mary returned to Springfield in September, she discovered to her dismay that Mr. Lincoln had set out on another long trip through southern Illinois. When he returned at the end of the month, they had only a few days together before he departed on the fall county court circuit, from which he would not return until November.

  Elizabeth hoped that this time Mary would tire of waiting for Mr. Lincoln and turn her attention to another gentleman, but this she adamantly refused to do. She and Mr. Lincoln continued to correspond, and in late October, when Elizabeth steeled herself and demanded to know whether, against the advice of all her family, Mary had formed an attachment to him, Mary fixed her blue eyes upon hers and said, “We have an understanding. When Mr. Lincoln returns, we will resume courting.”

  “Very well,” said Elizabeth, exasperated. “Do as you please, and bear the consequences.”

  Things were icy between them for some days, but the chill thawed when Ninian’s cousin, Matilda Edwards, arrived for a visit. Beautiful and beguiling at eighteen years old, Matilda became the most admired young lady of the Coterie, enchanting with her novelty as much as her loveliness. Elizabeth half-expected Mary to become jealous, but instead the young ladies became fast friends, perhaps because Mary had given her heart to Mr. Lincoln and was confident that he was too honorable a man to betray her trust.