Antebellum BK 1

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “Yes.” Anna nodded.

  “How frequently?”

  Anna looked at the judge. “That’s a very personal question. Must I answer?”

  “The witness will answer,” Crawford replied.

  Anna locked eyes with him. “Am I to include masturbation, or is there some specific sexual activity about which the defense attorney is asking.”

  “The question was not intended…” Graham began, coloring.

  The judge raised his hand. “The witness understood the question and is avoiding answering by trying to embarrass the court.” He leaned toward Anna. “You, Madam, are in jeopardy of being held in contempt.”

  “Masturbation has been my only consistent sexual activity since my husband was murdered,” Anna countered.

  “Perhaps your question could be more specific, Mr. Graham,” the judge said with an angry look at Anna.

  Graham was flustered. “Have you had sexual relations with men since your husband’s demise?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Men or relations?”

  “Men.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Give us an estimate.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Would it be more than a hundred?”

  Anna waited for the laughter to subside. “Yes. More than a hundred, less than a thousand.”

  The courtroom erupted in laughter and the judge banged his gavel. “Another outburst like that and I’ll have the gallery cleared.” After a hard look at Anna, he nodded to the lawyer. “Let us get to the point.”

  Graham nodded. “Yes, your honor.” He looked at Anna for a few seconds. “Have you at any time had sexual relations with the decedent, Mr. Phillip Barton Key?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “More than ten?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than twenty?”

  “More than a hundred and less than a thousand,” Anna replied.

  The judge banged his gavel.

  Graham waited for the titters and buzz in the courtroom to subside. “This was during the time that Mr. Key was married?”

  “I’m not sure,” Anna said. “Can you tell me exactly when his wife died?”

  Graham looked to his assistant. “Do we have that?”

  “Objection,” the prosecutor said. “This is an obvious attempt to discredit the witness.”

  “The witness was called by the defense,” Judge Crawford replied in an annoyed tone. “I don’t think the attorney for the defense is trying to discredit his own witness.”

  “He’s trying to show that I’m a loose woman to offset Fanny White’s testimony,” Anna said angrily. “Everyone in the courtroom knows that. Why don’t you?”

  “The witness is in contempt.” The judge slammed his gavel down on the bench top. “Court is in recess. I’ll see council in my chambers.”

  “All rise,” the bailiff shouted.

  Anna stood but was prevented from leaving the witness box by the bailiff. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded loudly.

  “The judge ruled that you’re in contempt,” the man answered.

  “With no declaration of sanction,” a tall man said from the visitors’ gallery. He pushed open the gate and came forward.

  “He just forgot,” the bailiff said defensively.

  “Or he had no intention of sanctioning the witness,” the tall man replied. “In either case you have no legal right to detain this lady.”

  “Who are you?” the bailiff challenged.

  “My name is Abraham Lincoln. I’m a lawyer for the Illinois Central Railroad and I have business elsewhere in this building later today.” He bowed to Anna. “I would be happy to represent you in this matter, Madam.”

  “I accept,” Anna said. She took a coin from her purse and handed it to Lincoln. “You are hereby retained.”

  Lincoln took the coin and slipped it into the pocket of his vest. “Your full legal name please?” he asked the bailiff.

  “She’s free to step down,” the bailiff replied. “But she’s subject to the subpoena and cannot leave the courthouse.”

  “Understood.” Lincoln took Anna’s arm and escorted her toward the courtroom doors. “I had the great good fortune to meet your father once, Mrs. Lagrange.”

  “Really? I don’t recall him mentioning it.”

  Lincoln stopped inside the doors. “He wouldn’t have. It was an uneventful meeting between an unknown captain in the Illinois militia and a great American hero.”

  Anna smiled. “He never considered himself to be anything other than a soldier.”

  “Which was what made him great. His valor made him a hero.”

  “What particular interest do you have in this case, Mr. Lincoln?”

  “A successful murder defense on grounds of temporary insanity would be precedent-setting.”

  “I fear the precedent will be set, but for all the wrong reasons.”

  “And what would they be?” he asked.

  “The gentlemen of the jury are so frightened by the idea of becoming cuckolds that they are going to overlook the important facts.”

  “Such as?”

  “That Congressman Sickles was armed with four pistols and that he fired the fatal shot when Mr. Key was flat on his back and completely defenseless.”

  “Go on,” Lincoln urged.

  “It’s clear to me that Dan Sickles learned of the assignation scheduled for that Sunday afternoon from his wife, and that he armed himself with four pistols and waited for Mr. Key’s arrival. How can that be anything other than premeditated murder?”

  “Perhaps the prosecution will be as clear in their summation as you have just been.”

  “After the defense paraded all those witnesses who testified to Teresa’s infidelity in front of the jury, the prosecution had no way to win this case.”

  “You have a fine legal mind. If you’re ever in Springfield please drop by and visit me.” He gave her his card.

  She read the card, then looked up at him. “How much do I owe you, Mr. Lincoln?”

  “The coin you gave me as a retainer is sufficient, Mrs. Lagrange.” He shook her hand and, after retrieving a stove-pipe hat from the rack, left the courtroom.

  May 1, 1859

  Springfield, Illinois

  Abraham Lincoln crossed the room with his right hand extended. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Lagrange. I’m very pleased to see you again.”

  Anna had recently read numerous accounts of Lincoln being both ungainly and homely which contrasted with her own earlier impressions of the man. Now she saw clearly that he was athletically graceful and, although not at all handsome, the intelligence and intensity in his dark eyes made her ignore the craggy face and overly large nose. “The pleasure is mine, sir.” She shook his hand.

  “Please come in.” Lincoln gestured toward his office.

  “Thank you.” She walked ahead of him into a large and much cluttered room.

  “Please sit down.” He waited until she was settled, then walked around his desk and dropped into a squeaky chair. “I have just bought a newspaper. I was wondering if you would manage it for me.”

  “What newspaper?”

  “The Illinois Staats-Anzeiger.”

  She laughed. “That’s a German language paper. My German is grammar school level.”

  “The paper already has a competent editorial staff, but I need an American there that understands the newspaper business and who can communicate with me.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer but I’m not even remotely interested. What’s the real reason that you asked me to visit?”

  “What makes you think I had another reason?”

  She smiled. “If I was a candidate for President of the United States and a political operative visited my home state just before the Republican State and National conventions, I’d be wondering why she was here.”

  He returned her
smile. “I guess I already know why you’re here; I just don’t know for certain which of my opponents that you’re working for.”

  “None of them,” she said.

  He nodded. “Well, then my guess was wrong and that’s good. Would you consider working on my campaign?”

  “I work for the Republican Party. All you have to do is win the nomination and I’ll be working for you full time.”

  “Ah.” He chuckled. “The rub, of course, is winning the nomination. We have eight more days until the Illinois Republican Convention in Decatur and I’ve yet to see any decent ideas from my team.”

  “I gather that you dislike the idea of calling yourself Honest Abe, The Rail Candidate and focusing on your pioneering days?”

  He shook his head. “I detest the nickname Abe, and although I’ve split a few rails and, like thousands of other folks, was born in a log cabin, I can’t see how that proves me to be the superior candidate over men such as William H. Seward and Salmon P. Chase.”

  “It may not prove anything, but it does distinguish you as a man of the people from men like William H. Seward and Salmon P. Chase who are wellborn elites. Times have changed as our frontiers have expanded. Pedigrees and social standing are liabilities now.”

  “I’d still feel better if you were working with my team.”

  She shook her head. “I’d hurt you. Not only am I a symbol of the old-family semi-aristocrats but I’ve been labeled as morally corrupt.”

  “Posh. I need you.”

  She shrugged. “Technically, as a representative of the National Republican Party, I’m proscribed from favoring any one candidate over any other. After the National Convention in Chicago on the eighteenth, I’ll be at your beck and call, but as a Party employee, much less liable to taint you.”

  “That reminds me of a funny story.”

  “I’ve heard it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve heard them all.”

  He laughed out loud. “Would it be proper for you to meet with David Davis and his team before you leave town? Maybe blunt some of their sharp edges?”

  “Yes. I can meet with them. In any event, I’ll need their cooperation when we kick off the national campaign. It can’t hurt to build some early bridges. Men tend to instantly distrust women in politics.”

  “I think I can guarantee that they’ll cooperate with you.”

  “Even if my advice is for you to stay off stumps?”

  “No speeches and no debates?” he asked. “Seriously?”

  “Instead, we’ll flood the country with pamphlets, posters and editorials that state your position clearly and that quote the best passages from your previous speeches. There are many. You’re a gifted speaker. We’ll blanket the country with your words – on paper.”

  “You’re really talking about my debates with Stephen Douglas.”

  Anna didn’t respond.

  “I think I could whip Douglas now in an open debate.”

  “It isn’t Douglas that you’ll be facing, so the argument’s purely academic.”

  “The people like what I have to say,” he insisted.

  “Yes, I know. And they’ll hear it. But from printing presses, not from your lips where you can get trapped by a pointed question when you’re tired or despondent.”

  “You know me too well,” he said, a bit deflated.

  “I know the mistakes you made that allowed Stephen Douglas to beat you in the senate race. I’d hate to see you make the same mistakes again.”

  He watched her face for a moment, then nodded. “No speeches, no debates. But, I insist that neither you nor the party make any contracts that bind me.”

  “Agreed. Except for the platform committee. You’ll have to fight that out on your own.”

  “Very well, but no position on emancipation. That issue’s too delicate to get backed into a corner on this early. You must promise to keep that off the platform.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t promise more than to do my best. If it comes to it we’ll keep the language vague. That I can promise.”

  “I saw your nephew last week with Katherine Chase,” Lincoln said, changing the subject abruptly.

  “Where?” Anna asked.

  “At West Point.”

  “Oh.” She smiled in relief. “Yes. He’s an upper classman this year.”

  “They make a handsome couple.”

  “We’ve been struggling to keep them apart until Johnny graduates.”

  “We as in you and Governor Chase?”

  “Yes.” Anna felt the heat rise in her face and cursed under her breath.

  “But you’re not working for him?” Lincoln asked.

  “No, sir, I’m not,” Anna said a little heatedly. “I told you my position. I’ll be working for the Republican candidate for President.”

  “Who do you think will win?” Lincoln asked.

  “I thought I’d made it clear that I expect you to win.”

  He nodded. “Yes you did. But I was wondering if you might want to change that after your recent revelation.”

  “My blush may have led you to think that there’s some romantic attachment between Governor Chase and myself,” Anna said evenly. “I can assure you that there’s nothing romantic about it.”

  Lincoln spread his big hands in front of him. “I didn’t mean to pry into your private life, Mrs. Lagrange.”

  “Of course you did, Mr. Lincoln. What kind of lawyer would you be otherwise?” She took a deep breath. “I’ve had a casual affair with Governor Chase. Very few people know of it. It means nothing to either of us and won’t lead to matrimony. I give you my solemn word.”

  Lincoln smiled and shook his head. “You are remarkably candid.”

  “That might have been so if you didn’t already know what I just told you.”

  “I didn’t know the last part and that’s the part that matters.”

  October 17, 1859

  Washington, D.C.

  The morning was unseasonably cold and as a result, the dining room at the Willard hotel was very crowded. “We were to meet my aunt here,” Paul Van Buskirk said to the maître d’hôtel.

  “Her name?” the man asked.

  “Anna Van Buskirk,” Paul said.

  “Or Lagrange,” Johnny added.

  “Right this way, please,” the maître d’ replied.

  Paul Van Buskirk, Jeb Stuart, Johnny Van Buskirk and Fitzhugh Lee fell into line behind him.

  Anna saw them and waved. She was wearing a dress trimmed in fur with a small fur hat that matched. Her cheeks were pink from the cold making her look much younger than her fifty-two years.

  The four young men gathered around her, all trying to talk at once.

  “Sit down, please,” she giggled. “You’re making a scene.”

  “I must say that you’re more beautiful each time I see you,” Stuart said.

  “And I must say the same of you, Lieutenant,” Anna replied. “The beard is a distinct improvement. You must never shave it off.”

  “I have no intention of doing so, dear lady.”

  “His wife, Flora, likes it too,” Paul said.

  “Oh, how long have you been married, Lieutenant Stuart?” Anna asked.

  “It will be four years next month,” Stuart replied. He turned a cold eye on Paul and Paul chuckled.

  Anna smiled at Lee. “You must be Fitzhugh Lee.”

  “Oh forgive me,” Johnny said. “I thought you had met.”

  Lee blushed. “I have not had the pleasure.”

  “So,” Paul said. “What brings you to Washington, Aunt Anna?”

  “John Brown,” Anna said. “I’m doing a story about him for the Times.”

  “I thought you were finished with writing,” Johnny said.

  She shook her head. “I do a freelance piece occasionally. If the story interests me. I knew John Brown in Kansas.”

  Fitzhugh Lee had been looking over his shoulder. “Would you excuse me a moment, please, Madam. I see my cousi
n over there.”

  “Of course,” Anna said.

  He got to his feet. “You might want to say hello too, Jeb.”

  “What’s that?” Stuart was so intent on Anna that he had missed the exchange and it took him a moment to catch up. “Oh. Yes. Forgive me.” He stood up and smiled at Anna, then followed Lee through the crowded dining room.

  “You’ve captured Beauty’s heart, Aunt Anna,” Johnny chuckled.

  “Some part of him, but not his heart,” she replied. “I pity his poor wife.”

  “He likes to flirt, but he’s really a devoted husband and father,” Paul said defensively.

  “I’m sure.” Anna looked from one to the other. “So how are you two? Do you like the South?”

  “It takes getting used to,” Johnny said. “But I love the cavalry. I didn’t expect to but – well, there you are.”

  Anna looked questioningly at Paul. “What about you, Pea?”

  He shrugged. “Serving under Granny Lee is a unique experience.”

  “Granny Lee?”

  “Colonel Robert E. Lee,” Johnny clarified. “And he’s not so bad. His religious fervor irks Pea.”

  “He’s too much the Southern gentleman.” Paul looked across the dining room. “He’s Fitz’s uncle, of course, and Beauty thinks he’s a god, so I don’t dare share my views with them.”

  “Have you heard anything about John Brown?” Anna asked.

  “If we had we wouldn’t be able to discuss it with you,” Johnny said before Paul could answer.

  Anna kept her eyes on Paul. “Is that so, Pea?”

  “Yes,” he said, with a quick glance at Johnny. “Even if a trap was being set for him as we speak, we couldn’t tell you.”

  Anna nodded. “If the trap’s not set at Harper’s Ferry it will be empty when you spring it. Your friends are coming back.”

  October 18, 1859

  Harper’s Ferry, Virginia

  Lieutenant Jeb Stuart marched toward the engine house carrying a white flag as if it was a guidon.

  “That’s far enough,” a booming male voice shouted.

  Stuart halted at attention. “I have a message for Captain John Brown from Colonel Robert E. Lee, commander of the troops sent here by the President of the United States.”