Junior studied him, brow furrowing. “Are you all right, Booth?”
Mr. Booth closed his eyes, raised his right hand to his lips, and kissed the ring. “Two nights hence,” he declared, his voice ringing with irony, “I will be escorting a lovely young lady to President Lincoln’s inauguration ball—that is, if the young lady will still consent to speak to me.”
Mary felt a pang of regret for Anna, who would have given anything to attend a ball with the handsome actor. “The young lady would have to have a heart of stone to resist your charms, Mr. Booth,” she said. “Whatever you did, or neglected to do, I’m sure you’ll find the right words to soothe her temper.”
“Temper? Oh, this lady is too good, too kindhearted, to ever suffer from an ill temper.” He straightened, rubbed his neck, and managed a rueful smile. “Her only objection to me is that I am an actor. My only objection to her is that she is an abolitionist.”
“Your young lady is a Yankee abolitionist,” said Junior, incredulous, “and her only objection to you is your profession?”
“She might object to my politics as well, if I were not obliged to dissemble for the sake of my mission, my livelihood, and I daresay my very life, here in the Yankee capital.”
“There’s no shame in that,” said Mary stoutly. “We’ve all been obliged to play the part of loyal Unionists for our own protection.”
“This young lady is very clever, with rare understanding. I know I could make her see the justice of our great Cause in time—” Mr. Booth paused. “But of course, time is something I do not have in abundance. And that being so, I must bid you good night.”
Mary and Junior exchanged a quick look as they rose to accompany Mr. Booth to the door. They bade him farewell as he stepped out onto H Street, where the sounds of merrymaking could still be heard in the distance until Mary closed the door against them.
• • •
The jubilant visitors who had flooded Washington City to celebrate Mr. Lincoln’s second inauguration departed soon afterward, but the city remained full of strangers of an entirely different sort. Confederate soldiers were abandoning General Lee’s army in greater numbers than at any point in the war, and while most of the deserters presumably went home, others crossed the lines and surrendered to Yankee pickets.
Some gaunt, unkempt former rebels straggled into Washington on foot, the tatters of their gray or butternut uniforms hanging from their emaciated frames, but most arrived around four o’clock every afternoon on the “deserters’ transport,” unloading on railway platforms one or two hundred at a time. One newspaper reporter warned that they could represent a devious invasion by the enemy—experienced soldiers stealthily gathering, lulling the citizens into pity and complacency, awaiting the order to strike at the vulnerable Yankee capital from within. Junior, who continued to observe the troops in the field on his courier routes, told Mary that the truth was far simpler and more troubling. The Confederate soldiers were starving, and they seemed to have concluded that an army that could not feed its soldiers could not withstand its enemies much longer. They were hungry and tired and sick of war, and they did not want to die needlessly with the end so evidently near, especially as the arrival of spring always heralded a renewed intensity to the fighting. Junior had overheard many resentful troops decrying the futility of doggedly pursuing what they called a “rich man’s war but a poor man’s fight.”
Time was running out, if it was not already too late. Mr. Booth’s bold plan might yet overturn what was increasingly appearing to be an inevitable Union victory, but Mary was certain that every postponement weakened the will of the conspirators and rendered their mission less likely to succeed.
Junior assured her that Mr. Booth had nearly completed his meticulous preparations and was studying Mr. Lincoln’s movements scrupulously, awaiting the ideal moment to strike. “Lincoln changes his schedule on a whim, or so it seems,” said Junior. “Booth might have to make a decision only hours ahead of time, if an opportunity suddenly appears. Believe me, Ma, none of us have grown bored or disinterested from waiting.”
The men who called for Junior at the boardinghouse certainly seemed as determined and committed as ever, and the frequency of their visits had steadily increased with time—though perhaps at the cost of discretion. On March 14, when the afternoon breezes were so mild that Mary was able to open all the windows to let in the fresh air, Louis tracked her down in the kitchen to say that he mistrusted one of their newest boarders, a certain Mr. Payne. “Curiosity compelled me to go upstairs to his room in the attic,” Louis confided, frowning worriedly, “but when I knocked and he invited me to enter, I discovered John and Payne sitting on the bed, playing with bowie knives.”
“In the house?” said Mary, feigning dismay. “You’re right; that will never do. I hope they were careful not to cut the quilts and pillows.”
“It’s not just the knives, Mrs. Surratt. Beside them on the bed I spotted two revolvers and four sets of new spurs.”
“You needn’t think anything of it. Junior often rides out into the country on various matters of business, and also to check in to see how our tenant is managing the tavern. The roads are hazardous, and he must carry these weapons with him for protection.”
Louis appeared somewhat mollified, and yet he shook his head. “I tell you, don’t trust this fellow Payne. He claims to be a Baptist minister, but he resembles that other man who came to us last February calling himself Mr. Wood—in fact, I have heard some of the ladies address him by that name.”
Mary hid a frown and resolved to speak to Mr. Payne about his carelessness. “I don’t recall this Mr. Wood, but perhaps they bear a striking resemblance to each other, and the ladies have simply confused the two men.”
“I also overheard him tell John that he had been arrested in Baltimore for beating a young colored housemaid, but he managed to secure his release by swearing an oath of allegiance to the Union.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said Mary shortly, “but if the Baltimore authorities are satisfied, why shouldn’t we be?”
The next morning, Junior took her aside and told her that Mr. Booth had arranged for the conspirators to meet at Ford’s Theatre that evening to study the arrangement of the building, to examine the presidential box, and to plan the abduction. “Booth knows the owner well, as he’s performed there many times,” Junior said. “Mr. Ford owed him a favor, so he allowed Booth to engage the two boxes usually reserved for the president and his party whenever they attend performances there.”
“That sounds ideal.” So desperate was Mary for decisive action that she was prepared to jettison all her perfectly logical reservations about Mr. Booth’s revised plan just to see the matter begun. “If you asked to see the state box at any other time, you would provoke suspicions, but if Mr. Booth has tickets—”
“We will have every reason to be there.”
Later, at supper, Louis inquired if Junior wished to accompany him to a performance of The Magic Flute at Grover’s Theatre that evening. “President and Mrs. Lincoln will be attending,” he added, “so you may be sure we’ll be in good company.”
“I wish I could,” replied Junior, “but I’m already engaged for the evening. Booth has invited me and Payne to see The Tragedy of Jane Shore at Ford’s.”
Louis made a face. “Come with me instead. Mozart is far superior to Nicholas Rowe.”
“Very true, but the seats Booth has arranged are better than anything you or I could get at Grover’s Theatre tonight.” To prove it, Junior reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the tickets. “We’ll be watching the performance from Mr. Lincoln’s own box.”
“Looking forward to it,” mumbled Mr. Payne through a mouthful of boiled turnips.
“Those are ten-dollar seats,” exclaimed Louis, peering across the table enviously. “How on earth did Booth manage to secure—” He frowned. “Never mind. No doubt he charmed
the box-office clerk.”
“Actually, it was the owner,” said Junior, smiling, “and it was in payment of a debt.”
Suddenly Louis brightened. “I see four tickets there. Could you spare one for an old friend?”
He extended a hand, but Junior held the tickets out of his reach. “I’m sorry, Lou, but Booth specifically instructed me to invite two charming young ladies to accompany us. Anna, sister? Would you grant me the pleasure of your company?”
“No,” Anna replied, startled, but after a frantic glance to her mother, she added, more calmly, “I mean, thank you very much, but I would prefer to see The Magic Flute.”
Junior smiled. “What perfect luck. Lou, you will have the honor of escorting my sister to see Mozart at Grover’s, while Payne and I will escort . . .” He made a show of looking around the table, where at the moment only two young, unmarried ladies sat, smiling expectantly. “Dare we hope that you are not engaged for the evening, Miss Fitzpatrick and Miss Dean? Would you have any interest in sitting in the presidential box?”
“Oh, yes, indeed,” exclaimed Nora, while Apollonia nodded eagerly, eyes shining.
Mary muffled a sigh of relief. The young ladies would be too entranced by the performance and their luxurious seats to notice their escorts studying the arrangement of the box, whereas Louis would find their intense scrutiny strange, at the very least. As Anna smiled across the table at Louis, Mary silently congratulated her for her quick thinking, for diverting Louis’s attention and taking the sting out of Junior’s rejection—and saving the conspirators’ plans from ruin.
Soon thereafter, the young people dressed for the theatre and went out, leaving Mary in blessed solitude to pray, to write letters, and to study her ledgers and bemoan the state of her finances. The boardinghouse did not bring in as much money as she had expected, and at the tavern, Mr. Lloyd was always demanding one expensive repair or another. For his work as a Confederate courier, which he did out of conviction rather than the expectation of riches, Junior received barely enough to cover his expenses. It was an unfortunate inconvenience that his commitment to serving the Cause rendered him unable to seek additional work.
If they could just hold on until the end of the war, Mary thought, and then she pushed her ledgers aside and bowed her head in prayer once more.
Later that night, Junior and Mr. Payne escorted Nora and Apollonia safely home, but after the two young ladies chimed their thanks and bade them all good night, glowing with happiness, Junior told Mary that Mr. Booth had called a meeting at a private dining room at Gautier’s Restaurant at Twelfth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. “We may be there quite late,” he said. “We have much to discuss, and time is of the essence.”
A thrill of anticipation raced through her. “I want to hear everything. I’ll wait up for you.”
“No, Ma. Go to bed. I might not be back until morning.” He quickly kissed her cheek and hurried off to join Mr. Payne, who waited outside.
Exhausted, Mary waited up until Anna returned safely home with Louis before she retired for the night. Twice she woke with a start, thinking she heard Junior come in, but the first time it was only a delivery wagon passing and second a shutter banging in the wind. At dawn she rose, washed and dressed, and went down to the kitchen to start breakfast, but the coffee was not quite ready when Junior came in through the ground-floor entrance, haggard, smelling of cigar smoke, and red-eyed from lack of sleep, his frown telling her at a glance that the meeting had not gone well.
She pulled out a chair and urged him to sit, and soon placed a steaming cup of hot coffee on the table before him. “For the first few hours we did nothing but eat, drink, smoke, and play cards,” he began wearily. “We were seven in number, including two men I’d never met. Booth held off until the last of the waiters departed at half past one, and then we got to the real purpose of the meeting, going over the plan.” He took a deep drink of coffee and looked up at his mother, grim. “I couldn’t believe it, but there were some among us who were hearing for the first time that Booth intends to capture Lincoln at the theatre.”
Astonished, Mary sank into the chair across from her son. “Why didn’t he mention it before? How could he expect them to prepare properly if they didn’t know the plan?”
He shook his head. “He didn’t say, and I couldn’t ask, but, Ma, the news was not well received.”
“I would imagine not.”
“We went over the mission, again and again, changing this detail, and then that one, with men raising objections and Booth calmly reasoning them away, but one of the fellows—you don’t know him—became angrier and more obstinate as the hours went by. He declared that he had agreed to take Lincoln in the countryside, not in a crowded theatre, and he didn’t see how the new scheme could possibly succeed.”
“You and I have said much the same.”
“Yes, but not in front of Booth and all the men who have pledged to help him. This fellow complained about the delays, and the expenses, and then he pointed out that prisoner exchanges had resumed in January, and so why should we risk our lives and liberty to force the Yankees to release the Confederate prisoners when it was already happening?”
“Doesn’t he understand that we could ransom the president for so much more?” protested Mary. “A simple resumption of one-for-one prisoner exchanges will not save the Confederacy.”
“I tried to explain that, but this fellow was too far gone in his anger to listen. But he did accomplish what I thought was the impossible—he got Booth to agree to keep to the original plan, to abduct the president as he travels to the Soldiers’ Home rather than from the theatre.”
“Oh my,” Mary gasped, wondering why her son did not seem more pleased. “But—that’s very good news, isn’t it?”
“It would be, except that this fellow, having won the battle, decided to press his advantage. He stood up, looked around the table, and declared, ‘Gentlemen, if this is not accomplished this week I forever withdraw from it.’”
“I see.” Mary inhaled deeply and pressed a hand to her heart. “Very well. How essential is this argumentative fellow? Can you manage without him?”
“We may have to.”
• • •
Junior slept well into the afternoon, and when he came down to the kitchen and asked for something to eat, she was reminded so intensely of his four-year-old self, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he padded across the floor, flinging his arms around her waist and smiling up at her, that her breath caught in her throat and she had to close her eyes tightly against tears. Junior would always be her darling little cherub, no matter how tall he grew, no matter how daring he became. She believed passionately in the Cause, but she did not want to lose her youngest boy to it, as she had almost certainly lost her eldest.
Perhaps it would not be such a terrible thing for Mr. Booth’s plan to fall apart before he could set it in motion.
The boardinghouse was quiet for the rest of the day, strangely hushed rather than peaceful, with no mysterious visitors, no clandestine meetings in the kitchen storeroom, no urgent commands to report for meetings that lasted throughout the night. Over supper, Junior unexpectedly asked Louis if his office employed couriers, and if he was aware of any vacancies. Somewhat startled, Louis affirmed that they did indeed, and messengers as well, but he was not aware if they were hiring. “Would you like me to inquire?” he asked, and when Junior said that he might as well, if he didn’t mind, Mary felt her spirits rising as she imagined her son safely and gainfully employed in a secure department of the government, even if it was not her government.
That night Mary slept better than she had in months, and in the morning she woke feeling refreshed and almost hopeful. At her last confession, Father Walter had encouraged her to practice prayerful resignation when life’s course did not go as she pleased. Perhaps she was finally learning what that meant.
Then, just after she had finishe
d cleaning the dining room and kitchen after serving lunch and had retired to her bedroom to lie down with her feet up, she heard a loud knock on the front door, and a moment later, Mr. Booth speaking urgently. Then came the sound of rapid footfalls on the stairs, and then voices, low and urgent, in Junior’s room, followed by the sound of two pairs of boots on the steps, descending.
One pair halted outside her door; someone knocked, but the door swung open before she could reply. “Ma,” said Junior, striding into the room. “It’s happening. It’s happening now. I have to gather the others.”
“What is it?” Mary quickly sat up. “What is happening?”
“The abduction. Booth’s plan.” Junior sat down on the bed beside her and clasped her hand. “He just learned from a theatre friend that Mr. Lincoln plans to attend a benefit performance for patients at the Campbell Hospital, not far from the Soldiers’ Home.”
“When?”
“Today. This afternoon. Professional companies put on shows in a theatre at the hospital every Friday as an act of charity, but Lincoln has never before attended a performance there.” A strange excitement lit up Junior’s face. “The way to Campbell Hospital follows almost the same route as to the Soldiers’ Home, so the original plan can be carried out almost to the letter.” He released her hand and bolted to his feet. “I have to alert the others. We’re meeting here at two o’clock for our final assignments, and then we’ll be off. I don’t know when I’ll be able to contact you or when I might be able to return.”
Her heart plummeting, she scrambled to her feet. “Don’t forget to say goodbye to your sister.” She felt tears gathering but tried to steady her voice. “What can I do to help? Let me pack some food for you, at least.”
“I’ve had a rucksack packed with my gear for months, but food—that would be the very thing. Thank you, Ma.” With one last hasty peck on her cheek, he darted from the room.
Fates and Traitors Page 30