Lincoln Raw

by DL Fowler

  She takes my hands in both of hers. “Why Mr. Lincoln, I’d be proud to be the wife of such a bright, enterprising, clever man as yourself.”

  We both stand, and I gather her into my arms. She clutches me tight around the waist. Just as I lean down to kiss her, a loud “Humph,” from the hallway stops me.

  I turn to find Lizzie again standing in the doorway. “Mr. Lincoln,” she says, her eyes narrowed. “In this house we have certain protocols. Springfield is not some backwoods village.”

  Molly steps back and glares at her sister. “Mr. Lincoln has just proposed marriage.”

  Lizzie plants her hands on her hips. “As your guardians, I’m sure Ninian and I will want to discuss the matter when he comes home.”

  Molly presses the back of her hand to her forehead.

  Lizzie glares up at me. “And, as for you Mr. Lincoln, I imagine my husband will have a word with you, as well.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Her face hardens and she points to the door. “It would be best if you took your leave … now.”

  As I stand and tread lightly into the hallway, she stares in the opposite direction. When I pause at the front door and glance to the top of the stairway, Miss Mattie smiles down at me. Her image prompts me to ponder Shakespeare’s verse.

  From fairest creatures we desire increase,

  That thereby beauty’s rose might never die

  More of the bard’s verse taunts me as I walk back to the office.

  Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly?

  Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.

  Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly’

  Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy?

  At my desk, I stare at a stack of promissory notes our firm has been hired to collect. My mind stays fixed on the memory of Mattie’s alluring smile and striking features. The sheen of her hair gives it a near halo appearance. Her shapely curves and alabaster skin can only belong to some heavenly being. No woman has consumed my thoughts this way since Annie.

  The next morning, I’m awakened by pounding on my office door. “Lincoln,” a man shouts. “Are you in there?”

  I roll off the sofa and spring to my feet.

  He bangs again. “Lincoln! It’s Ninian Edwards.”

  I tuck in my shirt and rub the wrinkles out of my suit. “Coming.”

  When I open the door, Edwards pushes his way past me and stops in the middle of the room. He turns and surveys me, sneering.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “Lincoln, I’ll be direct. You’re to stop seeing Molly.”

  “But —”

  He raises his hand. “No buts. I heard about your ridiculous proposal. This thing must stop, now.”

  “I intend to make her a fine husband.”

  “Look.” He juts out his jaw. “I’m sure your intentions are honorable. You’re a popular young man, but your future is nebulous at best. You two are the wrong match.”

  “Isn’t that for her to say?”

  “No. As her guardian, this matter is my responsibility. You don’t appreciate the demands that society puts on families like ours. She comes from a well-bred home.” He glares at me. “Lincoln, you’re beneath our station. You are destitute, your education is desultory, you have no culture, no command of social forms and customs.”

  “My promise to marry her is a contract. She accepted. Even if I wanted to back out, she must agree. Have you spoken with her?”

  “I came here this morning hoping you’d have the good sense to let her down—gently. It’s not my intent to break the girl’s heart.”

  “So you want me to break her heart, to break a sacred promise?”

  “It is for the best, Lincoln. You need to exercise good judgment and consider Molly’s best interests.”

  I walk to the door and hold it open, glaring at him. “Good day, Ninian.”

  He glares back at me. “I will amend my statement. You show good judgment and do what’s in your interest, as well. In addition to my family being above your station, we also wield a goodly amount of power.”

  After he leaves, I rush over to the store and find Speed displaying the day’s goods. “Speed, I need your advice.”

  “Where did you sleep last night?” he asks.

  “Oh … at the office. Had things on my mind.”

  He unrolls a new bolt of fabric. “That makes two of us who slept alone … and on such a cool night.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t think about ….”

  He laughs. “Frankly, I was hoping for someone a bit daintier, someone who wouldn’t take up so much of the bed.”

  I cock my head. “Anyone in particular?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Thought you were planning to sell the store and go back to Farmington. You were going to court a girl back there.”

  He rubs his forehead. “Still haven’t made up my mind to leave. Been thinking a lot about a local belle.”

  “Who is it this time?”

  A customer comes through the door, and Speed motions for me to have some coffee and wait while he attends to business. When he finishes he says, “I met the most exquisite beauty the other day. She’s just come to town with her father and will be staying through the legislature’s special session.”

  “What’s she like?”

  He gazes out the door. “Clear blue eyes, a brow as fair as Palmyra marble touched by the chisel of Praxilites. Lips so sweet, fair, and lovely that I’m jealous even of the minds that kiss them. A form as perfect as Venus de Medici’s. Her mind is clear as a bell, and her voice bewitching, soft, and sonorous. She smiles so sweetly, playfully, that her soul shines through it. All these charms combined in one young lady.”

  “Who is she?” I take a sip of coffee.

  “Matilda Edwards. Her father is a Senator from Alton.”

  I choke on the coffee.

  He tosses me a rag. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

  “Of course I am.” I look toward the doorway. “Does this mean you might be staying?”

  He looks away. “That’s another matter. If I can capture her heart, I will take her wherever I go.”

  I fidget with the coffee mug. My chest tightens. “What about the girl you’ve talked about over in Louisville?”

  He looks down. “Choices. Indeed it seems I’m cursed with an abundance of them lately.”

  I hang my head.

  He looks up. “Oh … but you wanted to ask me something?”

  “No … it can wait.” I force a smile and leave. I could never compete with my dearest friend.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The two-week special legislative session convenes on November 23, and I use it as a pretense for avoiding Molly, as well as other members of the Edwards family. Since the capitol is still not completed, the House meets again in the spacious Second Presbyterian Church, and the Senate conducts business in the Methodist Church.

  The session is uneventful—until the Thursday evening before we’re scheduled to adjourn. Ned Baker storms into my office and announces he has uncovered a plot hatched by the Democrats to kill the Bank.

  He says, “They plan to take a vote tomorrow to adjourn the special session without extending the Bank’s ability to suspend payments in gold and silver.”

  I send out a call for several key Whigs to gather in my office at once so Baker can fill them in on his news. When they arrive, he briefs them, and I add, “This isn’t supposed to come up until the regular session. The bill we passed last session gives us until the end of the next session to pump more money into the Bank to fix the problem.”

  Baker throws up his hands. “Apparently, this special session is considered to be the ‘next’ session.”

  Joseph Gillespie, a tall, hardy man from Madison County, pounds his fist on the wall. “That means the Bank will be in violation of its charter and it will be revoked automatically.”

 
; Baker shakes his head. “They’re trying to sneak one past us. What can we do?”

  I grin. “If we don’t adjourn, unfinished business—including the Bank issue—gets carried into the regular session that starts Monday.”

  We agree to round up all the Whigs and boycott the final day of the session. No quorum, no vote, no adjournment. Two of us must remain in the hall to demand a roll call vote on the adjournment motion. The roll call is necessary to provide a record that a quorum is not present.

  The next morning Gillespie and I sit in the back of the hall swapping stories and laughing while the Sergeant-at-Arms is out hunting down the absent legislators. A couple of hours later our laughter ends when he returns, having rounded up enough Whigs for a quorum. Turning to Gillespie, I point to a window, the only possible exit that isn’t blocked, and motion to the other Whigs who’ve just been rounded up. As the Democrats rejoice at having spoiled our scheme, we make a dash for the window. I throw it open and jump out. The others follow. The drop from the sill to the ground is nearly five feet.

  A short time later, we learn that our plan failed. The Speaker ruled that not enough of us made it out the window before the vote was taken. In the space of a few seconds, most of what I achieved in four terms as a legislator is undone, and all anyone will remember of me is the gangly buffoon who jumped out a window. I retreat to my room and cover myself with a blanket, trying to block out the world around me.

  After sulking for the entire weekend, I clean up and call on Molly. Miss Mattie answers the door. My heart jumps. She giggles. I can only imagine the awkward expression on my face.

  “Will you please tell Molly I’m here?”

  She smiles. “Certainly.”

  She sways supple grace as she walks away. I follow her, almost forgetting to turn into the parlor.

  Nearly a half an hour later, Molly appears at the doorway, unsmiling.

  I stand to greet her. “How are you, Molly?”

  She sits down, crosses her arms, and stares straight ahead.

  I sit next to her and repeat. “How are you?”

  “I am fine, and you?”

  “Fine.”

  She still doesn’t look at me. “Have you been waiting long?”

  “No. Not too long.”

  She turns and glares at me. “Well, I hoped I wasn’t making you wait long. After all, one never knows if a person as important as you has the time to wait for anyone.”

  I hang my head. “It’s been a grueling session.”

  She looks away again. “Yes, and I understand your duties even involve acrobatics.”

  I study her face for a hint of sympathy, but find none. “Molly, I’m sorry I’ve neglected you.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Lincoln.” Her eyes are uncommonly dark. “You’ve shown up just in time to escort me to a dance tonight.”

  “With my two left feet?”

  “If you don’t care to go along, I’m sure there are other willing escorts.” She purses her lips. “Or maybe Mattie will join me.”

  “No, Molly. I’ll go. What time shall I call?”

  “Eight o’clock will be fine.” Her smile is more calculated than pleasant.

  “Yes. Eight.”

  She stands. “I’d best get myself ready.”

  By the time I’m on my feet, she’s already in the hallway. I go after her, but stop at the parlor doorway. My gaze follows Molly to the top of the staircase where Mattie is leaning against the banister with a coy smile.

  Mattie’s image stays with me all the way to Speed’s store where I find him busy putting out some new merchandise. I stare at him. “Speed, we need to talk.”

  He closes the door and puts up the Closed sign.

  “What’s up,” he says.

  I rake my fingers through my hair. “Have I incurred an obligation to marry that woman?”

  “You’re engaged, aren’t you?”

  “Reckon so, but her guardian hasn’t given consent.”

  He grins. “That sounds like a fine line you’re trying to draw, Councilor.”

  “The fact is he disapproves. He told me so.”

  “That helps.”

  I bite my lip. “Speed, how do I dodge this thing?”

  He scratches his head. “Why is it you all of a sudden don’t want to marry her?”

  “That’s the hard part.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Well ….”

  “Maybe you’re not the one to talk to.”

  “Look, I know things have been strained between us since my family asked me to come back to the plantation.”

  I sigh. “I’m in love with her cousin.”

  “Her cousin?”

  “Yes. Mattie. Her cousin.”

  He tilts his head and his eyes narrow. “Suppose I can understand how that could happen.”

  I swallow. “That’s for sure.”

  We’re silent for a moment.

  I rub my knuckles. “Speed, I’m not going to compete with you for Mattie. Even so, it’s just wrong for me to marry Molly if I have feelings so easily for someone else.”

  I reach into my hat and pull out a letter.

  Speed stares at it and says, “What’s that?”

  “I’ve agonized over this for weeks. There have been times of late when I couldn’t drag myself out of bed even to cast votes in the legislature.”

  He takes the letter. “I’ve sensed you have been out of sorts, but just chalked it up to my plans to go back to Farmington.”

  When he finishes reading, I say, “I can’t bear to face her. Will you deliver it for me?”

  “No.”

  My pulse races. “I’ll get someone else, then.”

  He waves the letter over his head. “No, you won’t because I’m not giving it back.”

  I reach for the letter.

  He ducks under my arms and lunges toward the stove, clutching the letter to his chest.

  I wheel around and glare at him.

  He stands in front of the stove, facing me. “Look, this letter is a bad idea. In private conversation words are forgotten … misunderstood … passed by. But once you put them in writing, they stand as an eternal monument. A letter shuts off any hope for a second chance if you change your mind.”

  I slump into a chair and lower my head. “What should I do?”

  “Go see her and lay out your heart. It’s the honorable thing.”

  I look up at him. “What are you going to do about Mattie?”

  “Oh ….” He combs his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been holding off letting people know until I told you first.”

  I search his eyes. They’re as soft as I’ve ever seen them.

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m selling the store and going back to Kentucky. The matter should be settled at supper tonight.”

  I stare out the window. My heart aches. Pain rises from my chest and pinches my throat. “Speed, you can’t leave me.”

  “I will miss you,” he says.

  I search his eyes. “We can’t let this affection we have for each other die out.”

  He looks away. “We’ll write … often … and I’ll let you know how things go with Fanny.”

  “So you’re not going for Mattie?”

  He flinches. “No. I’m done with that.”

  His words are bittersweet.

  He shakes his head. “Can you imagine a girl so consumed by her own beauty that she boasts, ‘Well, if all the young men like me, it is of no fault of mine?’”

  My jaw drops. “She said that?”

  “Yes, can you believe it?”

  I rub the back of my neck. “So, she’s just a tease.”

  “She’s a goddess, but she prefers eating a man’s heart to holding onto it.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  We embrace and promise to keep our friendship alive. On my way out, I stop at the door and ask when he’ll be home.

  He shakes his head, �
�I’ll be late. Will try not to disturb you.”

  I trudge back to the Butlers’, dragging my feet; my shoulders droop. If only the earth would swallow me up and end my pain. Back in our room, I sit in a chair in the corner, pull my hat down over my eyes, and escape into melancholy.

  Sometime later, I wake from my trance and bolt from my seat. I’m late to pick up Molly for the dance. I dart out the door without changing clothes and hurry to the Edwards’ mansion. On arriving there, Lizzie greets me with her usual chill. She sneers, assessing my appearance, and her face betrays no small amount of satisfaction in telling me Molly has already gone to the dance on her own.

  I rush over to the Leverings’ home where the affair is under way, and survey the single ladies seated in the parlor; Molly is not among them. I make my way to the dining hall, hoping to find her dancing there with Mattie. As I’m scanning the room her cousin steps up to me.

  “Looking for Molly?” she asks.

  “Why, yes. Have you seen her?”

  She points and says. “Over there.”

  I trace the path she indicates with her dainty finger, taking note of each couple as my gaze travels across the room. Then there … in the middle of the dance floor … is Molly … with the little bantam, Stephen Douglas. My blood turns hot.

  Mattie giggles.

  I straighten my coat, pull back my shoulders and stride past several couples in Molly’s direction. I circle behind Douglas and tap his shoulder, staring into my fiancé’s eyes. “May I?”

  He glances at her then back at me. “Be my guest.”

  I nod and take her hand.

  She stares away. “So you decided to come.”

  “I’m sorry ….”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says, still looking away.

  “Molly?”

  “I came here to dance,” she says. “Not to converse.”

  We stumble through the dance, and at the end of the music I follow her to her seat.

  I take her hand. “Molly…”

  She pulls it away and glares at me.

  “Can we go some place and talk in private?”

  She stands without giving a reply, and leads me out onto a side porch.

  I study her for a few moments as she stares into the night.

  She turns to me, unsmiling. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”