Hanging Mary

by Susan Higginbotham

  “It’s the only time I’ll ask such a favor, Ma.”

  “Very well.”

  Johnny embraced me. “Don’t act too dignified. Act helpless and wring your handkerchief.”

  “If I am going to lie for you, at least give me credit for having the sense to do it properly,” I snapped.

  So the next morning, a couple of hours after Johnny had left for his job, I arrived at Adams Express Company and was nearly knocked down by all the men rushing to and fro as a clerk escorted me to the office of Mr. Charles Dunn, the company’s agent in Washington. Johnny’s description of him as “Old Dunn” was clearly youthful slang, for Mr. Dunn was only in his thirties, with a sprightly air about him. This changed, however, as soon as I stated my business. “I am afraid I cannot accommodate you, Mrs. Surratt.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look around you, madam. Business is frantic here. I cannot give any of my long-term employees leave at this time, much less a young man who has worked here for a mere two weeks.”

  I lifted my handkerchief to my eyes. “But I desperately need him to accompany me, sir.”

  “I am sorry, madam. It is simply not possible. Have you really no male relation to assist you? A cousin or a brother-in-law perhaps? A neighbor or a clergyman?”

  “Had I those alternatives, I would not be troubling you,” I said irritably. “I am a newcomer here, sir, and have not made those acquaintances. My male relations are in the country.”

  “Well, I am sorry, but I simply cannot spare your son, or anyone, at the moment. And I might add that others have asked for leave, under more compelling circumstances, and have been refused as well. Were I to grant your request, I would be justly accused of favoritism. Perhaps you can postpone your business until a less busy time. If not, I am sure there are perfectly respectable drivers who can be hired to take you.”

  “Then you cannot be persuaded to spare him.”

  “I cannot. Of course, he is a free man and can go if he pleases, but it will be at the cost of his employment.”

  “Then good morning, sir.” I sniffled into my handkerchief, but Mr. Dunn was completely unmoved.

  • • •

  “I know. It didn’t work,” Johnny said to me as he banged into the house in the evening. “But thank you for trying,” he added, clearly as an afterthought.

  “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” I said gently.

  “You’re right.”

  “Surely you can help Mr. Booth in some other way, or some other time.”

  “Some other way, some other time? No, I’ll be helping just as I promised. I’m taking French leave from Adams Express.”

  “Leave a perfectly good job, which you were doing perfectly well, to help a man you barely know in a dying cause? When we need the money you earn so badly? Have you lost your mind?”

  “The cause isn’t dying!”

  “It is, and you know it! But it’s not the cause, is it? You just don’t want to do an honest day’s work! That’s it, isn’t it? You’d rather be gadding about the countryside. You’re no better than your worthless father!”

  Miss Fitzpatrick, evidently believing from my raised voice that someone was being murdered in the house, rushed into the parlor. When she saw it was only Johnny who was the target of my wrath, she scurried away.

  “Good God, Ma, no wonder Pa drank, with your nagging!” Johnny turned and thumped upstairs to the room he shared with Mr. Weichmann. From the parlor, I heard their unintelligible voices in the room above. When Johnny stomped downstairs, he was holding a carpetbag.

  “Johnny, where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “A week, a month, a year. Maybe never.” He did not slam the door but shut it carefully behind him. Somehow, that was far worse.

  Mr. Weichmann appeared downstairs a few minutes later. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Surratt. I tried to get him to reconsider.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Weichmann.”

  “This is very ill-advised of Mr. Surratt. I do not believe Mr. Booth has been a good influence on him at all.”

  I shook my head bleakly and sank into a chair.

  Anna was staying a couple of days with a friend, so it was Miss Fitzpatrick who slipped downstairs and stepped into the role of landlady for the evening, presently calling us to dinner. It was an almost silent one, for even little Miss Dean sensed the dismal mood and did not engage in her usual childish prattle. When it was over, Miss Fitzpatrick said, “Miss Dean, why don’t you come upstairs with me? We’ll play with your hair.”

  Though rather plain of face, Miss Fitzpatrick had lovely chestnut hair, which she arranged beautifully. I shot her a grateful look as Miss Dean said, “Oh, yes, miss.” So with the girls engaged and Mr. Weichmann taking himself upstairs to his room, I was free to retire to my bedroom behind the parlor and sit in my favorite chair, tears falling down my cheeks as I alternately imagined myself losing this house and Johnny lying dead in the streets of Washington, having encountered some sharp stranger. And did he mean it when he said he would never come back?

  There was no sign of Johnny in the morning, of course, and although I considered walking over by Adams Express to see if he had changed his mind and appeared for work, I gave it up as a hopeless task. By early afternoon, I was alone, for Miss Dean was at school, Miss Fitzpatrick was reading to Yankee soldiers, and Mr. Weichmann was at work.

  Why could Johnny not be steady like Mr. Weichmann? Or like their friend Mr. Brophy, an old classmate of theirs who had gone to teach at a boys’ school in Washington and had already become its principal? Not long before, when Johnny had had him for dinner, I had asked him politely what his future plans were, and I had thought the young man would never stop talking in response. He was not much older than Johnny, yet he was brimming with purpose.

  Then I heard the sound of the doorbell—ours surely had to be the loudest in Washington City, which made me think the original owner of the house was slightly deaf. I answered it to find Mr. Booth on the front stairs. “My son is not here,” I said coldly.

  “I know, Mrs. Surratt. He is away on my business. May I please have a word or two?”

  I waved him in, and we took seats in the parlor. “You do not understand, Mr. Booth. I am not well off, and my son has thrown away a respectable position, with an adequate salary. All, he tells me, for your sake.”

  “I do understand, Mrs. Surratt. I loved my father dearly, and he was a genius on the stage, but he was not…not entirely temperate, to put it gently. When he died, he left us with a place in the country she was ill-equipped to run, having been brought up in London, and often, we were hard up. It was not until my brother began doing so well that she began living in the comfort she deserved.”

  “And that is what a son should be doing, Mr. Booth. Oh, I don’t expect Johnny to take care of me; I like to do for myself. But I do expect him to help, at least a little. He knows that.” I wiped a tear from my eye. “This war has changed him so much. He is so careless now.”

  Mr. Booth leaned forward in his chair. “I believe your son told you the nature of my business?”

  “Yes, but none of the particulars.”

  “I would prefer that you not know the particulars, for your own protection. All I can tell you, my dear lady, is this: it is no small matter that I asked John to help me with, and I sought him out because I had information that led me to believe he would be the best man for my purpose. He has fully justified my hopes in him. I regret that he was unable to get leave, and now that I consider the matter, I should have realized that there would be difficulties. I am so used to this actor’s peripatetic existence, I forget others do not have the freedom of movement that I do. For this, madam, I am very sorry.”

  “I can’t live by your apologies, sir.”

  “I know, madam. But consider this: if our plan succeeds, I assure you that John will reap the benefits. He is such a bright young man, Mrs. Surratt, and so devoted to the South. He longs to e
xercise his gifts and to exercise them for the good of himself and his country.”

  “Mr. Booth, I do not share your optimism. I fear it is too late. Every day, more bad news arrives.”

  Mr. Booth shook his head. “I wish I could tell you more; if I did, you would realize that we are not foolish dreamers. Our plan is an audacious one, but a viable one. And with the right men, including your son, it will succeed. I have faith that it will. John has told me you are a woman of faith.”

  “In the Almighty, yes. I have rather less faith in mankind. Things have not been easy for me these past few years. They are not easy now.” I stopped, appalled. Why was I blurting these things to a young man I barely knew?

  “Yes, John told me of some of your troubles. Yet think how much you have done. Your children—the two I have met, at any rate—are fine young people; your boarders seem much attached to you. And your support of the South is well-known in the circles where it should be known.”

  I nodded and stiffened my spine. “I despise self-pity, Mr. Booth, and I should not have given way to it just now. But John and I parted on a sour note, and it has left me melancholy. The truth is, I needed the money from his new job, but it is more than that: I fret about him. He makes light of the risks he runs, but I know they cannot be small.”

  “I sympathize, my dear lady. My position is not unlike your son’s. My mother, whom I love dearly, made me promise that I would not join the army—either army, but of course there is only one army I would join. I kept the promise, and if truth be told, I am probably of more use out of the army than in it, but it has deeply pained me to think of those poor boys suffering so much while I live in such comfort here.”

  He sighed, and I stared into space. Perhaps I had been too hard on Johnny, underestimating the idealism that lay beneath his boyish love of adventure. He had never given himself up to dissipation or light-minded pursuits, after all. “This plan of yours, Mr. Booth. Should it succeed, will it prolong the war?”

  “I believe not, Mrs. Surratt. I believe that it would end it and leave the South independent. And then all of the men can return to their shops, or their farms, or their desks, including your John.”

  I did not know how to ask my next question. “Is it—is it something of which Johnny would have to repent?”

  “No, madam.”

  “Then when he returns, I will give him my blessing. I will redouble my efforts to get some more families in here. I will get by.”

  “I would be delighted to tell him that, if I should see him before he sees you.” Mr. Booth rose gracefully to his feet. “Mrs. Surratt, I have enjoyed our talk. It is almost as if I am in my own mother’s parlor. May I come again, even if John is not present?”

  “Of course you may, Mr. Booth.”

  I saw him to the stoop and watched as he strolled in the direction of the National Hotel. Perhaps it was a bit lonely in that hotel room of his.

  A few days later, after nightfall, Mr. Booth returned. “I took the liberty of bringing a companion, Mrs. Surratt.”

  Johnny stepped out of the shadows. “I’m back, Ma.”

  “Johnny!” Not caring about the display I was making in front of Mr. Booth, or indeed for anything but the fact that my son was back, I took him in my arms. “Johnny, please forgive me. I spoke so harshly to you.”

  “Ma, I was going to say the same to you.” There were tears in his eyes. “I’ll find another job, I promise.”

  “No. Do what you have to do for now. There will be time for all that later.” I pulled Johnny from the hall into the parlor, where Anna and Miss Fitzpatrick on one team, and Mr. Weichmann and Miss Dean on the other, had been playing charades. “Johnny is home! And Mr. Booth is here to visit too,” I added almost as an afterthought.

  Miss Fitzpatrick clapped. She, even more so than Anna, had noticed how preoccupied I had been since my argument with Johnny.

  Anna said, “Well, at last, Johnny! You had Ma so worried.”

  “Mere business, my dear.”

  “Shall we have a song in celebration?” Mr. Booth suggested. “I hope you will oblige us, Miss Surratt.”

  Anna nodded graciously and settled at the piano. Mr. Weichmann looked on with some irritation as Mr. Booth hastened to lift the lid for her; that was usually his task.

  “I’ll make some inquiries tomorrow about getting some more boarders, Ma. First thing.”

  I nodded. But as Johnny squeezed my hand, and as Mr. Booth and the boarders—even Mr. Weichmann—joined in singing the joyful song that was filling the room, I thought I could not possibly want my house any different than it was tonight.

  8

  NORA

  JANUARY 1865

  “Now, you ladies must pledge not to faint when Mr. Booth dies,” John Surratt said as our carriage headed toward Grover’s Theatre. “Or to hiss the actress playing Juliet.”

  After Mr. Surratt had walked off his job at the Adams Express Company, Mr. Booth had somehow smoothed matters over with Mrs. Surratt, and in the course of the pleasant evening following the reconciliation of mother and son, he had mentioned he would be playing Romeo at a benefit performance and would any of us care to watch? Of course, Miss Surratt and I cared to watch. Mrs. Surratt would have joined us too, but Miss Dean had come down with a cold, obliging Mrs. Surratt to stay with the child. As a result, our party consisted of Mr. Weichmann, Anna, Mr. Surratt, and me, tidily paired up as if we were about to board Noah’s Ark.

  I almost wished we had other escorts, such as my father or Mr. Kirby, a family connection of Mrs. Surratt who lived nearby. I had no objection to John Surratt. He had always been friendly and courteous to me, although I had seen from the moment he laid eyes on me that he had dismissed me as too plain and inconsequential to be an object of his affection—perhaps to the disappointment of his mother, whom I suspected would not have been averse to his courting me. But I had never expected any other reaction, being used to men looking past me, so I was perfectly happy to sit beside Mr. Surratt and focus without guilt on Mr. Booth’s magnificence. But poor Mr. Weichmann! His eyes had lit up like a burst of gaslight when the trip to the theater was proposed, and it was clear he thought of the evening as a step forward in his pursuit of Anna, though I didn’t share his hopes that it would be a step in the right direction.

  “Who is playing Juliet?” Mr. Weichmann inquired.

  “Who cares?” said Anna.

  “Miss Avonia Jones,” I said, giving Anna a look. There was no need to be so rude. “I have heard that she is a fine actress.”

  Mr. Booth turned out to have procured a box in such a good location that some members of the audience glanced up, thinking we must be people of some importance. No one could mistake any of us for Washington society, but at least we did not look like intruders in our box either. Anna and I wore our prettiest gowns, and the cold weather had enabled me to wear my beautiful new shawl. Mr. Surratt was wearing what appeared to be a new suit of a rather nicer cloth and cut than what I had seen him in thus far. Perhaps he had used his earnings from his short term of employment to refurbish his rather countrified wardrobe.

  As we had not arrived with much time to spare, we did not have long to await the appearance of Mr. Booth, who turned out to be a splendid Romeo—not, of course, that I had expected otherwise. During the balcony scene, a cough from the box opposite ours drew my attention from the stage, and I noticed a young lady there was staring at Mr. Booth with as much intensity as Anna was. I saw too that Mr. Booth was returning her attention when he could do so without ignoring his Juliet. “Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,” he said and gazed directly at her. But this byplay diverted me only for a few moments. When Mercutio and Tybalt lay dead on the stage and the lights came up for intermission, I had been so transported to sixteenth-century Verona that I had to blink for a moment to reorient myself to modern-day Washington City.

  It was Anna’s voice that brought me out of my Italianate trance. “Mr. Weichmann, I did not appreciate your taking my hand during the fight. I w
ill thank you to refrain in the future.”

  “The fight was so very realistic, Miss Surratt; I thought you might be alarmed.”

  “Do I look so silly?”

  “Mr. Booth put all of his heart and soul into the fight,” I said. “Someone could have easily been hurt.”

  “Oh, don’t be foolish, Nora. The actors are well trained to avoid such things. And even if they weren’t, I fail to see how holding my hand would help matters.”

  I looked at Mr. Weichmann with commiseration. He said with dignity, “Perhaps we should not stay for the pantomime. I am leaving for Baltimore tomorrow, to visit St. Mary’s Seminary. I have at last received a letter clearing the way for me to begin my studies for the priesthood, and Father Dubreuil has asked that I meet him to discuss my vocation.”

  “You’re going to Baltimore tomorrow? So am I,” said Mr. Surratt. “We can travel together, if you wish. Share a hotel. It will be just like Ma’s house, without Ma’s cooking.”

  Poor Mr. Weichmann did not crack a smile. “That would be fine. Why are you going?”

  “Oh, business,” Mr. Surratt said airily. “We can talk more on the train. But it would be a shame to leave before the pantomime. Mr. Booth has said that we may visit him backstage, and would you want to break Anna’s heart, or Miss Fitzpatrick’s, by losing this opportunity?”

  Anna and I lost no time in protesting that our hearts could not be trifled with in this fashion. Mr. Weichmann sighed and agreed to stay.

  This being settled, I turned my attention to the young lady who had been watching Mr. Booth. She had light brown hair that fell in ringlets and was a little older than Anna, I guessed, with a face that was a bit chubby, rather like that of Mrs. Lincoln, whose photograph I had bought at Brady’s gallery for my album. Her gown, as much as I could see of it, was of the highest quality, and she wore a many-stranded coral necklace of the sort I had coveted. With her in the box were a stuffy-looking older couple, the gentleman carrying a handkerchief that branded him as the one who had coughed, and another young lady. All were plainly well-to-do. A lawyer’s or a doctor’s family, I guessed, or perhaps a congressman’s.