Mrs. Lincoln's Rival

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  “Regrettably, Mrs. Lincoln has retired for the evening,” Mr. Lincoln replied, turning a rueful smile down upon her from his great height. “She was fatigued from her travels, and to make matters worse, at supper an unfortunate waiter spilled coffee upon her gown, and so she withdrew to avoid embarrassment.”

  “How vexing,” Kate remarked, wondering why Mrs. Lincoln had no other gown she could have put on instead. “Although I might have said that it was Mrs. Lincoln rather than the waiter who was unfortunate.”

  The president-elect smiled. “If you had witnessed his mortification, you would understand why I described him as I did.”

  Kate smiled in return. She could not help it; she liked him, although she remained annoyed at him for repeatedly dangling the Treasury before her father only to yank it out of reach. “Is there any way I can be of service to her?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I believe she has the matter well in hand. Many ladies have recommended their favorite dressmakers to her, so she will have a new frock in time for the inauguration.”

  Kate’s favorite dressmaker was in New York, and he did not work swiftly, so she could not curry favor by recommending him. “One of my dear friends employs a marvelous dressmaker,” she suddenly remembered. “I’ve seen her work, and it is truly exquisite. If Mrs. Lincoln would like, I could get her name.”

  “Thank you, Miss Chase,” said Mr. Lincoln. “I’m sure Mrs. Lincoln would appreciate that.”

  “My friend’s taste is considered the most fashionable in Washington City”—then Kate started and gave a little laugh—“although perhaps Mrs. Lincoln, or you, would object on grounds utterly unrelated to her dressmaker’s skill. My friend is Mrs. Douglas, the wife of your former and frequent rival, Senator Douglas.”

  “I assure you, Miss Chase, my rivalry with Senator Douglas was confined to the election,” Mr. Lincoln said, amused. “Even today he brought the Illinois congressional delegation to call upon me, and he made clear his support of my administration and his commitment to preserving the Union. We bear no grudges against each other, and we’d never begrudge our wives the services of Washington’s best dressmaker out of jealousy or spite.”

  “Nor, I think,” Kate mused aloud, “would you begrudge the nation the services of such an excellent man simply because he had once been your rival.”

  His eyes shone with amusement. “You’re speaking of Mr. Douglas, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Miss Chase, I intend to gather the best men of the country around me, regardless of past disagreements or discord,” he said with endearing frankness. “The challenges facing my administration, and my duty to the country, require no less.”

  “I am very pleased to hear that,” Kate said, equally sincere. “And so, I assume, will Mr. Douglas be.”

  Mr. Lincoln laughed again, but Kate had taken up more of his time than was strictly proper, and so she bade him a good evening, bowed, and moved on.

  “That was very well done, daughter,” Father told her later as they climbed aboard the carriage he had hired to take them home. The walk was short and pleasant enough in the day, but the hour was late, and dangerous street gangs were known to prowl the streets after dark. The hooligans usually did not venture near the Willard and the White House, but prudence would cost Father and Kate very little and might save them a great deal of distress.

  “Thank you, Father.” She was rather proud of the exchange, which had served to advocate for her father without overtly querying the president-elect and embarrassing them all. She hoped that Mr. Lincoln meant what he’d said, and that he realized her father certainly belonged among any assembly of the best men of the country. “How did Mr. Lincoln receive the delegates, and how did they receive him? Did the Southerners behave themselves?”

  “They managed to contain their disgust, but only just barely.” Earlier that morning, the convention had fallen into an argument over whether they should request an audience with the man some of them considered to be a vulgar tyrant. Mr. Tyler mollified the angry Southerners by entreating them to pay their respects to the office if not to the man. “Each delegate shook his hand, even those who had been calling him an ignoramus or a gorilla hours before. A few could not resist the temptation to harass him about their pet issues, but in the end Mr. Lincoln impressed everyone with his friendliness and sincerity.”

  “Do you include yourself among those who were impressed?”

  “I confess I felt rather awkward instead. This was our first meeting since I visited him in Springfield, and by now I ought to know where I stand. If he doesn’t want me for the Treasury, why does he not say so? Why has he not appointed someone else? And as the only man there who had met him before, it fell to me to introduce him to the other delegates. I was not expecting to assume that responsibility and I had prepared no remarks.”

  “I’m sure you did well even so,” Kate assured him. “I do wish that I had been able to meet Mrs. Lincoln tonight. I hope she didn’t feel slighted when there was no party of Republican ladies to meet her at the train.” She shook her head, frowning thoughtfully. “Their arrival was so confused. I understand why it was necessary to change their plans, of course. The threats against Mr. Lincoln’s life had to be taken seriously.”

  “I agree,” said Father, and then he smiled so broadly that she could not miss it even in the semidarkness of the carriage. “Although I believe he already regrets sneaking into the city under the cover of darkness.”

  “I don’t see why he should. He passed through Baltimore unmolested and arrived in Washington safely. Isn’t that what matters most?”

  “Certainly, but the ridicule and accusations of cowardice have only just begun. Have you heard the rumor that he crept aboard the train disguised in a plaid cap, Scottish kilts, and a long military cloak?”

  “Scurrilous rumors, surely,” Kate scoffed. “Such an outlandish outfit would only have attracted more attention to him, especially with his great height and lanky frame.”

  “I’m sure there’s more fiction than fact to it,” Father conceded, “and yet, I confess I’m looking forward to seeing how his costume and cowardice play in the papers.”

  Kate had to admit that she too would take a certain amount of guilty pleasure from some harmless mockery of her father’s rival. It would serve Mr. Lincoln right to have to endure his share of frustration and embarrassment after all that his interminable, inexplicable delay had caused her father. That trial of waiting, at least, would have to end soon. Mr. Lincoln’s inauguration was only days away, and he must have a cabinet.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  MARCH 1861

  H

  aving inadvertently eluded Mrs. Lincoln for far too long, Kate resolved to meet her on the very next occasion Mrs. Lincoln accepted callers. Soon an ideal occasion arose, and since Father was preoccupied with the work of the Peace Convention, Kate invited Nettie to accompany her.

  As they walked the four blocks to the Willard, Kate offered her sister emphatic reminders of how to behave, instructions she suspected Nettie scarcely heard in her excitement. “Remember, Nettie, be gentle, respectful, and polite,” she said as they approached the Fourteenth Street entrance. “Mrs. Lincoln will probably be tired and nervous, for she has been through quite an ordeal since departing Springfield, but you must not remark about its effects on her appearance. Be sweet and sympathetic, and don’t mention any unpleasantness you might have overheard.”

  “You mean how Father is annoyed with Mr. Lincoln about the Treasury?”

  “Yes,” Kate quickly replied. “That is a very good example of something to keep to yourself.”

  “What about the drawing of Mr. Lincoln dressed like a Scotsman that appeared in the paper yesterday?” Nettie asked. “May I tell Mrs. Lincoln that I thought it was unkind and very poorly drawn?”

  “I know you would mean it in the nicest possible way, b
ut no, Nettie, you should not mention that either.”

  Nettie frowned, perplexed, as if Kate had dismissed all possible topics of conversation and they would have nothing at all to say to Mrs. Lincoln other than “Good afternoon” and “How do you do?”

  Entering the hotel, they made their way through the crush of patronage seekers, politicians, clerks, and newspapermen to the ladies’ parlor, where dozens of becomingly dressed women sipped tea and nibbled delicate cakes while others waited in line for Mrs. Lincoln to receive them. The only gentleman in the room was seated at the piano, playing soft renditions of popular dance melodies at a volume loud enough to entertain but not to drown out conversation. Kate guided Nettie to the end of the queue, exchanging pleasant greetings with other ladies she knew while discreetly taking her measure of the room. A short, middle-aged, dark-haired woman who resembled the portraits of Mrs. Lincoln too much to be anyone else stood between the window and the fireplace, smiling as she chatted with the wife of a congressman from New Jersey. Two other ladies, probably relatives or close friends, stood solicitously on either side of her, nodding politely to the guests as they approached, ready to attend to Mrs. Lincoln however she might require. Suddenly Kate was struck by the realization that all the ladies present were Northerners, and only a very few—perhaps no more than three—represented the social elite of Washington City. Perhaps they had met Mrs. Lincoln at an earlier, more intimate gathering, but Kate suspected it was, in fact, a deliberate snub.

  Before long, Kate and Nettie reached the head of the line, where introductions were easily and pleasantly made. “You are from Columbus, are you not?” Mrs. Lincoln inquired, smiling at the sisters. Her dress of blue, white, and tan plaid wool looked to be of a more expensive fabric than Kate’s, though less skillfully made, but the exquisite pearls adorning her neck and earlobes dazzled the eye and drew attention away from any flaws in her dress and figure. Kate was conscious, suddenly, of her own lack of jewels and guiltily wished that her father could afford more enduring embellishments than flowers.

  “Yes,” said Nettie, beaming. “We’re from Columbus.”

  “We were born in Cincinnati,” Kate amended, “but, yes, we have most recently come from Columbus.”

  “I found it such a charming city when we passed through,” Mrs. Lincoln said, her blue eyes keen and appraising. “Although I believe you try to spend as little time there as possible, Miss Chase, is that not so?”

  “I beg your pardon, but that is most certainly not so,” said Kate easily, smiling despite the odd phrasing of the question. “Please don’t mistake my admiration for Washington City as an absence of feeling for Columbus. I am indeed very fond of it.”

  “As am I,” added Nettie with gracious formality.

  Mrs. Lincoln smiled indulgently at Nettie before returning a quizzical gaze to Kate. “I must have misunderstood. I had thought that you spent very little time in Columbus.”

  Kate could not imagine why Mrs. Lincoln would think such a thing, nor why she would belabor the point. “It’s true that I spent many years at boarding school in New York City as a girl, but I have lived in Columbus from the time I was sixteen.”

  “So not very long at all, then,” said Mrs. Lincoln grandly. “Well, I do hope your longing for Ohio does not pain you too much, and that you’ll soon feel more at home here in Washington.”

  Understanding that the interview was over, Kate thanked her and bowed graciously—at her side, Nettie quickly did the same—and moved along. She kept her expression perfectly pleasant as she led Nettie to the punch and cakes, but inside she held a flurry of confusion and insult. What a strange inquiry Mrs. Lincoln had subjected her to, but perhaps she had meant no offense. Perhaps in Kate’s haste to assure Mrs. Lincoln that she was fond of Columbus, she had seemed overly wistful or melancholy, and Mrs. Lincoln had meant only to comfort her. And yet, even accounting for the quirks of western manners, Mrs. Lincoln’s words rang somewhat out of tune, as if Kate were the newcomer and needed reassurance and guidance in a strange new city. As far as Kate knew, she had spent more time in Washington through the years than Mrs. Lincoln had despite the vast difference in their ages, and even if she had not, Kate was not a timid young girl tentatively venturing out into the larger world for the first time. She had lived half her life in New York City, and Washington was an up-and-coming rural town compared to Manhattan.

  Whatever Mrs. Lincoln had heard or thought she knew of Kate, she was quite mistaken.

  Kate left the reception as soon as it was not unseemly to do so, although Nettie gladly would have remained to listen to the piano music and taste more of the pretty cakes. “I liked her,” Nettie remarked as they strolled home. “Didn’t you?”

  “She’s quite interesting,” Kate said, avoiding a proper answer. “She was not what I expected.”

  “Nor I. She did not seem at all tired or nervous. She seemed quite happy.”

  Indeed she had, especially when she was querying Kate. What had happened to the nervous, anxious woman who had clung to Mr. Seward’s arm upon her arrival at the train station, drenched by rain and startled by an ungracious crowd who much preferred her husband? Who was this shrewd, handsome, sharp-eyed woman who had taken her place?

  • • •

  As February drew to a close, the Peace Convention adjourned for the last time. The following day at noon, General Scott ordered a company of artillery stationed at the City Hall lot to fire a one-hundred-gun salute “in honor of the pacification agreed on, and recommended to the Congress by the Peace Convention.”

  “That’s for you, Father,” Nettie exclaimed, covering her ears as the booms rattled windows and crockery in their rooms and probably in homes and boardinghouses throughout the city.

  “Not for me alone,” Father said, and to Kate he added, “One hundred guns are hardly warranted for such a dubious accomplishment.”

  “Perhaps fifty would have been more suitable?”

  “Perhaps fifteen.”

  Father, who had long ago resigned himself to the fact that the time for compromise between North and South had passed, did not feel like celebrating. He was glad the fruitless ordeal was over, regretful that it had not reconciled the divided nation, and proud of its one lone accomplishment, which he had brought about: Virginia and the other border states would remain in the Union when Mr. Lincoln took his oath of office.

  That day was rapidly approaching, and the population of Washington City swelled as visitors arrived from across the country to enjoy the festivities. Every hotel was booked beyond capacity, and even the modest Rugby House was in such demand that the proprietors arranged cots in the parlors to transform them into dormitories for single gentlemen. The Kirkwood House and Brown’s Hotel were even more jammed, and the Willard was so overcrowded that the proprietors scrounged up nearly five hundred mattresses, laid them upon the floors of every corridor and public room from cellar to roof, and still did not have enough to accommodate all who begged for a place to sleep.

  The streets were full of so many strangers that Father did not like Kate and Nettie to go on even the simplest errands without him. When Kate did venture out, she rarely saw a single familiar face among the thousands, even walking the four short blocks from the Rugby House to the Willard. Here and there she spotted evidence of out-of-town visitors who had abandoned hope of finding accommodations in the city’s packed hotels and had instead set up camp on the streets—a makeshift bed on a pile of lumber, men in rumpled suits dozing on market stalls using their coats as blankets and satchels as pillows, others shamelessly washing up at public pumps and horse troughs. One hundred street sweepers had been hired to keep the Avenue tidy and presentable, but although they toiled ceaselessly, they barely kept the litter at bay.

  Father had told Kate that dispersed throughout the crowds were detectives and policemen in plain clothes, inconspicuous among the thousands of strangers but watchful and prepared to thwart anyone who
might attempt to harm Mr. Lincoln. When the inaugural procession carried him from the Willard Hotel to the Capitol, riflemen would take up positions on the rooftops along the route and cavalry would guard every intersection. An entire battalion of District of Columbia militia would be stationed around the Capitol steps and sharpshooters would stand alert at the windows of the wings. “Every precaution will be taken to protect the president,” Father assured Kate and Nettie, and Kate prayed it would suffice.

  On the night before the inauguration, Mr. Lincoln hosted a dinner for Mr. Seward, Mr. Gideon Welles, Mr. Montgomery Blair, General Simon Cameron, Mr. Caleb B. Smith, Judge Edward Bates, and Father—all men who would comprise his cabinet, with the exception of Father. Kate hoped that her father would return from the gathering with the Department of the Treasury appointment finally and firmly in his grasp, but instead he came home empty-handed, disgruntled, and confused. “Was this an exercise in public humiliation?” he asked wearily as he settled down in the rented room’s best chair and put his feet up. “Is Mr. Lincoln mocking me?”

  “At the very least, he’s wrongly testing your patience,” Kate said, putting on a shawl before hurrying downstairs to fetch him some tea. What could Mr. Lincoln be thinking, to invite Father to a dinner for his cabinet, of which Father was conspicuously not a member? It was insulting, it was provoking, and it was spiteful behavior that until that moment she would have thought beneath him.

  She brought her father his tea and sat on the footstool listening as he drank his tea and recounted the evening to her. “Not all is lost. I can do much good in the Senate,” he said stoutly as he set the cup aside.

  “You can, and you shall,” said Kate fiercely. “Tomorrow, when you take the oath of office, I will be the proudest daughter in the audience—no, the proudest in all the country.”

  “Nettie may contend with you for that title,” her father said as he rose to retire, a small bit of levity that assured her he was not too dispirited to fulfill the enormous tasks that awaited him in the Senate. The country needed his wisdom, his courage, his integrity—the country needed him, and Mr. Lincoln needed him, although the president-elect seemed not to realize how much.