Mrs. Lincoln's Rival

by Jennifer Chiaverini

  Kate felt mildly annoyed at her arch tone, but she reminded herself of the woman’s age and smiled politely. “I have no reason not to.”

  “You do know about Hamlet, do you not?”

  “Hamlet?” Kate echoed. “Shakespeare’s tragedy?”

  The white-haired woman studied her for a moment, her expression becoming oddly sympathetic. “I believe Mr. Shakespeare inspired the name, yes.” She reached out and lay a gnarled hand on Kate’s forearm. “Ask your betrothed to tell you about Hamlet before you marry him, dear. I cannot say any more than that, but I could not say any less either.”

  With that, the elderly woman hobbled off on her cane, leaving Kate staring after her, utterly astonished. Was her cryptic remark meant as a slight against William’s limited formal education? She and William never discussed literature, for he was not much of a reader and Kate carefully avoided reminding him of the differences in their schooling.

  The encounter so bewildered her that she wanted to ask William about the woman immediately, but when she glanced around the room, she could not find him. A few of his gentlemen friends were also absent, so she concluded that they had sequestered themselves in a drawing room somewhere to discuss business and politics confidentially. She did not see him again until the reception was ending, at which time she suggested they walk the half mile to their inn and allow Father, Nettie, and Alice to precede them in the carriage.

  “I had an unusual conversation with a certain Mrs. Sloane,” Kate began, taking his arm as they exited City Hall.

  “The judge’s widow?”

  “I believe that is how she was introduced.” Kate paused for a moment, and continued, lightly. “She made the most unusual request. She said I should ask you to tell me about Hamlet.”

  William stopped short. “Did she say why?” he asked, his voice strangely brittle.

  “No, she didn’t. It was all very mysterious. I wasn’t aware that you were fond of Shakespeare.”

  “I’m not.” William abruptly began walking again, and Kate was obliged to hurry or be dragged after him. “Did she say anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t give her another thought. She’s a doddering old crone, not quite right in the head. Never believe a word she speaks.”

  “Consider me duly warned.” Kate studied his profile as he strode along. His voice was husky, his eyes were red, and although they had left the reception far behind, the odor of cigars lingered about them. “You were smoking,” she said, dismayed. “And drinking too, I suppose.”

  “What of it?” he said roughly, and then she smelled the brandy on his breath.

  “You said you gave up those vices.” They had reached their inn, but Kate halted at the foot of the front steps, unwilling to face Father and Nettie when she was so upset. “I would not have agreed to marry you otherwise.”

  “I did give them up,” he replied. “I never promised I wouldn’t take them up again from time to time.”

  “My condition was that you give them up entirely and for good,” she said sharply. “I did not mean for you merely to set them on a shelf to take down again the next time the whim to indulge yourself seized you.”

  “I have proven that I can give up tobacco and drink when I choose,” he countered. “Today, I chose not to. I am still the master of my habits, and that is what you wished me to prove. I have not violated your infernal conditions.”

  She stared at him, shaking her head, incredulous. “I cannot believe you think me gullible enough to accept that.”

  Setting his jaw, he seized her by the upper arm and propelled her through the front doors of the inn. “We’re not going to debate the matter on the streets where all the world can stare and mock.”

  “You’re hurting me,” she said in a low voice, trying to walk as sedately as she could past the clerks and guests in the foyer.

  His grip loosened as he steered her down the hall into the first unoccupied parlor he found. There he shut the door behind them, heedless of propriety. “It’s not your place to command me.”

  “But it is my place to decide what sort of man I shall marry,” she said, her voice rising, “and it is your obligation not to misrepresent yourself.”

  William shot back a sharp, sneering retort, and she replied in kind, and a terrible row ignited, and there were shouts and tears and insults hurled on both sides. Only later did Kate reflect that it was odd the concierge had not come running to find out what was the matter. Uninterrupted and undeterred, they argued on and on until they were spent, until they had almost forgotten the impetus for their fight.

  Then a cold, tense silence descended upon the parlor.

  For a long time they stood without speaking, Kate by the door with her hands clasped at her waist, William with his head bowed, supporting his weight on the back of an armchair.

  “Perhaps,” Kate eventually said, remembering how easy John Hay had made it sound weeks earlier, “we should break off our engagement.”

  William spun to look at her, shocked and wounded. “You would cast me aside over a single disagreement?”

  “This was no mere disagreement,” Kate replied, astonished that he did not see it. “There are fundamental differences of understanding between us that I fear we cannot overcome.”

  “It was a lovers’ quarrel, nothing more.” William strode across the room and tried to take her in his arms, but she delicately stepped out of his embrace. “If all betrothed couples broke it off after their first argument, no one would ever marry.”

  But it was not their first argument, Kate almost said, merely the first of such virulence and fire.

  “Birdie,” he said, managing a smile, the familiar endearment so tender on his lips that her tears resumed. “We let our tempers get the better of us, but that doesn’t mean we love each other any less. We must learn to disagree, and even argue, without fearing that it will mean the end of us.”

  “I’ve never fought with anyone the way we fought today,” Kate said shakily.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her close, and this time, desperate for comfort, she let him. “That’s because we’ve never felt for anyone else what we feel for each other. Our passions inspire our love, but we will learn to master our tempers.” She stiffened, and he must have felt it, for he added, “As we must master other vices. Kate, darling, I misunderstood your intention. I thought you only meant for me to prove that I could give up drink and tobacco, and once I proved my mastery, I was free to indulge or abstain as I desired.”

  She pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, and she let her look of supreme skepticism speak for her.

  He smothered a laugh. “I understand how ridiculous that sounds, but it’s the truth. Now that I understand you better, I will abstain forthwith and forevermore.”

  Her spirits lifted a trifle, but her disappointment lingered. “You were excessively ill-tempered when you first gave up your vices. Now we shall have to endure that unpleasantness all over again.”

  “No, actually, we shall not.” He winced, chagrined. “Dearest little birdie, I scarcely tasted the brandy. After one swallow I discovered that it had lost all its appeal for me. And I did not smoke at all. The fumes that permeate my clothing come from other men’s cigars, not mine.”

  “Then why did you not say so from the beginning?” Kate protested. “We could have avoided this entire ugly scene.”

  “I was too proud,” he admitted. “When you came at me with your accusations, I didn’t care for your presumption that I am yours to command—or for your apparent lack of faith in me.”

  The rebuke stung. Father had often complained that she was too willful, that she too often tried to command when she ought to submit, that she possessed an unwomanly desire for dominion, or worse, that it possessed her. Those were her greatest failings, he had admonished her on more than one occasion, and they were why she
would never be as inherently lovable and adored as sweet, cheerful, compliant Nettie.

  Had she attacked William with accusations, as he said? The argument had scraped her mind raw and she could not clearly recall the words they had exchanged before it. Perhaps if she had asked him why he smelled of liquor and cigars, rather than declaring what she thought she knew, he would have told her ruefully how the other gentlemen had made him seem complicit in their vices, and they would have had a good laugh about it.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain before I believed the worst,” she said, drained and exhausted and unwilling to prolong the discord a moment longer. “It will not happen again.”

  “Can you promise me that?” His gaze was upon her, searching her face as if afraid of what he might find there. “Will you always keep faith in me? Because, Kate, if you cannot—I half believe your doubts will turn me into the man you fear I am, rather than the good man I could be with your constant, faithful, loving influence.”

  “I can promise you that, and I do,” she said. “But in turn I ask that in the years to come, if any shadow of suspicion should fall upon you, you’ll explain the truth to me before doubt has time to take root.”

  “That seems fair.” William kissed her, tentatively. “Are we reconciled, then?”

  She nodded. Perhaps she should have felt relieved and happy that their terrible quarrel had been resolved, but she felt upset and nervous and tense, sensations unfamiliar and unwelcome.

  If Father, Nettie, and Alice were aware of the couple’s disagreement, they gave no indication. Kate was relieved that she did not have to explain away the misunderstanding or justify their explosive tempers.

  The next morning, when they departed for the Sprague family summer residence in Narragansett Pier, William was so kind and solicitous that Kate almost could not believe he was the same man with whom she had been embattled in a shouting match the day before. As for herself, she felt subdued and exhausted to the marrow. When her father began to fret that she seemed to have taken ill, she feigned liveliness for his sake, wondering how it could be that no one detected the strain between her and William.

  It was little wonder, she thought later, that her introduction to the Sprague family was stilted and uncomfortable. She made a far less dazzling impression than any of them had expected, but in her listlessness, she did not care. William’s mother—Madame Fanny, as she preferred to be addressed—was likable enough, a weathered yet spirited woman of strong opinions and independent thought, but Kate found her future mother-in-law’s constant scrutiny wearying. William’s sisters, Almyra Sprague and Mary Ann Nichols, were so awestruck by the illustrious Chases that they could scarcely stammer out complete sentences, rendering conversation impossible and their company tiresome. Kate was torn in her opinion of Amasa Sprague, William’s elder brother, his ostensible business partner who was too preoccupied with his first love, horses, to involve himself very much in A. & W. Sprague Company. Amasa could be amusing and genial when he made the effort, and he evidently had a great many friends, but Kate found him crude and ill-mannered, with a bad habit of making critical jokes at everyone else’s expense. When Kate grew tired of pretending to find his constant stream of comic invective entertaining, she snapped at him, which startled William and plunged the gathering into an awkward, painful silence.

  It came as a great relief a few days later when Father returned to Washington and other young people from William’s extended family joined them, making up a younger, merrier party than the one that had witnessed Kate losing her temper with Amasa. As the days passed, the sunshine and ocean breezes revived Kate’s spirits and restored her fresh bloom of health just as William had promised. They still felt bruised from their terrible row, but they treated each other gently, and before long their old affection and desire returned—strengthened, it seemed, by their relief that they had survived a frightening test of their bond.

  It was a glorious summer. Kate loved cruising along the Atlantic coast in the Sprague yacht, her skin warm and blushing from the sun, her auburn locks dancing free of her bonnet in the refreshing breezes. At night the young people would sit out beneath the stars and sing, or call out musicians and dance on the piazza. In their company the war faded away, and Kate could almost forget the dashing young soldiers with whom she had danced and flirted before they met their gruesome deaths on the battlefield. For a time she did not have to think about the stench of death and decay permeating Washington City, or about the thousands of grievously wounded soldiers suffering in makeshift hospitals in private homes and public edifices, or the thousands of poor, desperate contraband who eked out a shabby living in the refugee camps that had sprung up in alleyways in the colored neighborhoods. She could put aside for the moment worries about her father’s conflicts with Mr. Lincoln, and Mr. Seward, and for that matter most of the cabinet with the exception of Mr. Stanton. She allowed herself to be seduced by luxury, comfort, and the ineffable sense of safety that only great wealth could bestow.

  But the war, and her father’s work, and her awareness of her responsibilities never entirely left her thoughts, and as summer faded and an autumn chill infused the ocean mists, she knew it was time to go home.

  On their last night in Rhode Island, Kate was packing her trunk for the return journey when William came by her room to see if she needed his help, and took advantage of her solitude to steal a quick, discreet kiss. “I think you may need another trunk for all this,” he said, eyeing the garments draped over the bed and folded in neat piles upon the chairs.

  “Everything fit on the way here,” she retorted, smiling. “Everything will fit on the way home.”

  “How many trunks would we need for your glorious trousseau, I wonder?” he teased. “It’s a very good thing you decided not to break our engagement that day in Providence. I can’t imagine how you would pay for everything you’ve already acquired if you were suddenly no longer the future Mrs. William Sprague.”

  Kate’s hands froze in the middle of folding a soft cotton chemise. “My father is responsible for my expenses until we marry,” she said stiffly. “He sold the farm in Cincinnati to pay for the wedding. You know that.”

  William laughed. “Of course I do. I also know that your father will defer many of those bills until after we are wed, at which time they will become my responsibility.” He took her hands. “Birdie, don’t be upset. It’s my great pleasure to indulge you. You know that.”

  “I do.” She managed a smile. “You are the very soul of generosity.”

  And as long as she was his, he would continue to be.

  The next day, they departed Rhode Island for New York, where Kate and William left Nettie at school and spent a few days with the Barneys before continuing on to Washington. Father welcomed them gladly, though not without admonishing them for delivering Nettie to Miss Macaulay’s school several days late.

  William remained in Washington for less than a week before returning to Rhode Island, his family, and his mills. Kate missed him very much, but she took comfort in knowing that after they were married, and the next session of Congress began, he would surely be obliged to reside in the capital and make only sporadic visits to Rhode Island rather than the other way around.

  Embracing any distraction from her worries and loneliness, Kate resumed her role as her father’s hostess with renewed vigor even as her wedding preparations continued. The war had dragged on in Kate’s absence, and political maneuvering had continued to alternately promote and thwart her father’s ambitions. Father was intensely dissatisfied with the ineffective workings of the cabinet, for rather than present war matters to the entire group for discussion, the president consulted only Secretary Stanton and General Henry Halleck. “I look on from the outside,” Father grumbled, “and, as well as I can, furnish the means to enact the strategies they alone decide.” Disgruntled, he had embarked on a speaking tour of the West ostensibly to escape the strife, but
also to enlist support for his own presidential run. His audacity had earned him the ire of Mr. Lincoln’s allies, though not, apparently, the president himself, who seemed incapable of hatred.

  General Hooker had suffered a crushing defeat at Chancellorsville in late June, and afterward, in a bit of theater Kate found uncomfortably familiar, he had submitted his resignation in protest over a dispute with army headquarters. President Lincoln had accepted it and appointed General George Meade as his successor. The surprising turn of events greatly distressed Father, who had long supported General Hooker and had recently returned from visiting him in the field.

  Father was also displeased with rumors from Vicksburg that, perhaps out of sheer boredom from the siege, General Grant had fallen back into his old habits of excessive drinking. The general was, a journalist warned Father in a private letter, “Most of the time more than half drunk, and much of the time idiotically drunk.” Mr. Lincoln had heard similar reports, but when he and Secretary Stanton ordered an investigation, they concluded that General Grant’s habits had been greatly exaggerated and evidently did not interfere with his ability to win battles, and so no action was taken against him. To Father’s disgust, Mr. Lincoln even joked that if he knew what brand of whiskey the general favored, he would immediately distribute bottles of it to his other generals.

  But thankfully, not all news of the war was distressing. A few days after General Hooker had been relieved of his post, General Lee’s invasion of the North was halted in a tremendously bloody battle at Gettysburg. Then, on Independence Day, word reached the capital that General Grant had taken Vicksburg after a long and wearying siege, and five days later, Port Hudson, the last remaining Confederate fort on the Mississippi, had surrendered. Most heartening of all, Negro regiments were marching in Washington and on to the battlefield, where they fought as courageously as any of their white comrades. Father, who had argued for putting rifles in the hands of colored men from the outset of the war, and had long supported his friend Frederick Douglass’s efforts to organize colored regiments, regarded the president’s newfound approval with wry amusement. “The President is now thoroughly in earnest in this business,” he wrote to a friend, “and sees it much as I saw it nearly two years ago.”