“Father, he knew you were in Springfield. Said Lincoln—”
“Right, I was afraid Reynolds was planning on assassinating Lincoln. Well, Abe got the votes this time that could take him to the White House.” Father pulled her away. “Let me get a look at you.” He seemed to like what he was seeing because the rare smile Father reserved only for Mother spread across his face.
“Maggie, you’re beautiful, and all grown up. You got your mother’s looks… and her spunk.” He crushed her to his large chest. “Daughter, I’m sorry for the way I acted toward you.”
She melted into his shoulder and wept. Father had come back, just like Aunt Louise said he would. “Father, what’s going to happen to us in the south if Lincoln gets elected?”
Father buried his head into her curls, whispering, “The inevitable, Maggie. War.”
Chapter 21
M aggie set her Paris original gently down on her hair and stared back at the image in the mirror. “What do you think, Hattie?”
Hattie, laying the last of Maggie’s toiletries in the trunk, walked over. “I think you need to tip it off your forehead so people can see your eyes.”
“Daughter, are you ready?” Her father, tall and stately in his black coat, cravat, and tan breeches, was pulling on his gloves. “The carriage is here and we need to get on our way or else we might miss our train ride to Illinois.”
She glanced at her wool shawl, then over at her lamb coat. “Should I take the lamb instead of the shawl? What is February like in Washington D.C.?”
“Cold. Take them both; Illinois is a tad colder than Tennessee. February and March are bone-chilly and cold in Washington, D.C. That hat is becoming, but you’ll need your wool hat and mittens, too.”
“I’ve packed them, Master Gatlan,” Hattie said.
At the bottom of the stairway, Lawyer Peabody, Matron Burns, Will, and Doctor Jordon waited.
In a rush of words, Matron Burns said what Maggie was thinking. “Don’t you worry. I’m sure speaking to President Lincoln will help the Southern cause.”
Doctor Jordon shoved his spectacles up the bridge of his long nose, and nodded. “Just because South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, and Alabama have seceded from the Union, doesn’t mean that Tennessee has to.”
“I wish that was all of them,” said Lawyer Peabody, his mouth puckered in a frown. “Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas have seceded, too.”
Voices outside greeted their ears, then a rock was hurled at the window. It fell short. A bunch of southern crackers, some on mules, yelled, “You Lincoln lovers, get out!”
“What’s got their feathers in a ruffle?” Matron Burns stared out the window. “Why, that’s John’s boy. I bet between the five of them they may own one or two slaves a piece.”
Will drew out his gun and fired in the air. “Get out! Before someone gets hurt.”
“You men, disperse,” Sheriff Pundy hollered as rode up with his posse. “We’re not at war and there’s no need to start one here. Mr. Gatlan is trying to prevent a war and—”
“That’s just it. We don’t want him to prevent one; we want war! Those Yankees aren’t going to tell us whether to have slaves or not. Us Tennesseans want to go with our kind, the Southern cause!” The men whistled “Dixie.” Others began to chant, “We want secession. We want secession.”
Father stepped forward. “Gentlemen, please.”
Josh, the lead cracker, lowered his pistol, his face red with shame. “We don’t have anything against you, Mr. Gatlan. You have always bought our goods and treated us fair. But we’re southerners through and through and can’t let our kin down.”
“Humpf!” Matron Burns placed her plump hands onto her ample hips. “If the South marched into the sea, would you follow them?”
“You don’t think I know that?” Father walked forward and laid a hand on Josh’s horse, giving it a pat. “I’ll fight with you, if need be. But I know you, like me, don’t want to secede from these United States we fought for in 1812. We know the bloody mess war is. You sure you want that, Josh?”
Josh looked down, unable to meet Father’s eyes. His mouth worked the chewing tobacco around his teeth; he turned and spat. “I know what you’re sayin’ is true enough. But a man’s got to do what he’s got to do for his kin.”
The men started their chant again. “Secession, secession—”
“Stop!” Sheriff Pundy rode his horse into the middle of them. “Disperse this minute, before I have to lock up the group of you.” The men turned and took off galloping toward the mountains.
The servants loaded Maggie’s and her father’s trunks into the carriage. Maggie hugged Little Irene, kissing her on her pudgy cheek, then shook Will Jr.’s outstretched hand, pulled him toward her, and kissed him on his cheek. His little eyes looked up at her, so innocent … like Irene’s. Oh, Irene, I’m glad you’re not here to see this. Cracker against slave owner, neighbor against neighbor, and the war hasn’t even begun yet.
“Will, are you sure you can handle everything while we’re gone?” her father asked.
“Don’t worry about a thing.”
That was like telling the wind not to blow. Maggie looked up at her father, noticing the deep creases around his eyes and the dark circles beneath them. Lawyer Peabody stepped forward.
“I’ll get a postponement on Reynolds’ trial. Just concentrate on getting an appointment with President-Elect Lincoln. Or better yet, use those twenty days before Lincoln’s inauguration to become his friend.”
Will stepped closer to Maggie and whispered, “Tell your father to be watchful; there may be an attempt on Lincoln’s life.” He reached for Little Irene, his eyes searching Maggie’s. She looked away. Will had asked Father for her hand in marriage. He’d consented. Only, she couldn’t give Will the answer he desired. He bent close, sweeping his lips across her cheek. His voice deep with emotion, he whispered, “You be careful.”
She shivered, feeling the cold wind blowing across the mountains. What would it be like in Illinois and Washington? What would be the welcome from the Yankees or would they be facing hateful stares and venomous gossip? There was no way to hide her southern roots, nor would she want to.
“Here, allow me to help you, Mr. Lincoln.” Maggie folded the clothes Mr. Lincoln had decided in the last minute to take to Washington. It was clear his thoughts were not on clothes or household items needing to be shipped from his Illinois home to Washington, D.C. His wife, Mary, had gone on a shopping trip to St. Louis. She would join them in Indiana.
“Thank you, Maggie,” Lincoln said. “Gatlan, you have a very caring daughter.” He rested his big frame down on one of the chairs hand crafted for his tallness. Rain pattered on the windowpane. Maggie walked over and looked down at the growing crowd waiting to see Mr. Lincoln off.
“Mr. Lincoln, you will need an extra sweater and your scarf and coat. It is a cold, damp day outside and you need not acquire a chill. Father says trains are always cold. We are planning to follow and meet you in Washington.”
One of the soldiers General Winfield Scott had ordered to accompany Lincoln hurried into the room. “Are the president’s trunks ready?”
Lincoln’s valet checked the contents and closed the lid.
Lincoln rose and went to the soldier in charge. “I would like Gatlan and his daughter to accompany me in my private train car. Please collect their trunks and belongings.”
Maggie followed Lincoln downstairs and out the front door where a crowd had gathered. The rain pounded on the porch roof and echoed in Maggie’s ears along with President Lincoln’s words.
Lincoln’s deep chest rose and fell rapidly. Was it because of the rain? Or was it because of his deep emotions for his neighbors and staunch supporters? His long arms spread out wide as if to circle them all with a farewell embrace.
“Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young man to an old man. Here my children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may
return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being… I cannot succeed. With that assistance I cannot fail… To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell.”
The grey smoke of the locomotive swirled about Maggie’s skirts as the soldiers hurried them to the awaiting car. She rested back on the plush red upholstered seats of the two-car train. The noise of the whistle, the slight swaying of the cabin, and the vibration of the rumbling wheels greeting steel reverberated through her body. She wasn’t as worried about her and Father’s destination as she was President Lincoln. He had said he didn’t know if he would be able to return to his beloved Springfield.
Evidently, General Scott was worried about Lincoln, too. He had provided four soldiers to escort Lincoln safely to Washington. Her father, careful not to tax President Lincoln with his southern agenda too soon, looked from her to the president, began to speak, then hesitated. Did Father want her to say something first?
She did not envy her father. The hooded vigilantes, the crackers demanding to fight along with their southern neighbors, how would Father explain to a northerner the problems dear to every southerner’s heart?
A waiter came through the cabin door carrying a tray laden with cups of hot coffee, cream, and sugar. “Would you care for refreshments?”
She nodded. Setting down the tray, the man began to serve her, then her father, then suddenly his hand went into his coat and pulled out a pistol.
The soldier snapped into action, grabbing the man’s arm. The soldier wrestled to grab the pistol. The gun went off, blowing gunpowder across the small compartment. Smoke filled the compartment like fog on the mountainside. The man lay on the floor. The soldier heaving and winded, glanced at the president. “Sorry, Mr. President, to disturb your refreshments. I’ll get more as soon as I remove the body.”
Another soldier rushed in. By the looks of the brass on his shoulders, perhaps a captain? Papers rolled up like a telescope in his big fist, he plopped his bulk down in the nearest seat. “President Lincoln, we have just interceded a plot to assassinate you while escorting you into the White House. We have devised a plan, and if it meets your approval, sir, we will proceed accordingly.”
He handed the papers to Lincoln, who quickly read them. Then he handed them to her father. “They want me to enter from the back, dressed as a servant. It is appropriate. After all, I am only a humble servant of God… and the people of these United States.”
Chapter 22
T he crowds congregating on the White House lawns tossed Ben to and fro.
“This is going to a momentous occasion, Big Jim. One you will want to tell your grandchildren about.”
“Indeed. We helped elect this fine gentleman. Abe Lincoln got his start in a log house in Kentucky. ’Tis a fine upstanding beginning, we being Kentuckians, too.”
A burly red-faced man shoved Jacob, their slave, nearly knocking him to the ground. Ben grabbed Jacob and steered him behind him.
“I think you need to take your bad temper to the tavern. This is not a place to be disruptive,” Ben said to the man.
“Keep your nose out of my business, or it could get bloodied.”
Big Jim chuckled. “Would not be the first time. But I can wager you’ll come off the worst.”
“And I’m feelin’ in the need to use my fists… cooped up like I’ve been on the train,” Ben said.
A line of soldiers marched out and stood along the front of the platform, pushing the crowd aside. The soldiers’ bayonets rose above the heads of the people. The man slinked away.
A tall man dressed all in black from head to toe, sporting a distinguished black beard and a large top hat, made his way onto the platform and took a seat.
“President Lincoln,” someone said. “Hush. Or we’ll miss his speech.”
Ben searched the group of people that had followed President Lincoln out onto the wood platform.
A stately woman with a waist small enough to wrap his hand around sat down. She wore a little blue hat with a white satin ribbon that flapped in the wind. Though she be slopping through swampy waters or standing like a queen on the platform with the next president of the United States, he’d recognize that elegant class anywhere. ’Twas his Maggie.
The crowd cheered and clapped as President Lincoln rose and walked toward the lectern. “In compliance with a custom as old as the government itself, I appear before you.”
“Isn’t that Maggie and her father sitting like statues to the right of President Lincoln?” Big Jim asked.
“That it be and not a more beautiful looking lass than any to be seen here. But I’m thinkin’ she might be sittin’ a little too close to Lincoln.”
“When are you going to get it in your head she’s not for you?”
Ben looked away. Truly she could do better than he. And her father had more than told him so the night of the McCullen’s ball. “But the Lord has made me a new man, a man of conscience and consequence… ”
“Sh… listen to the president,” the woman next to him whispered.
Lincoln’s lanky build loomed over the lectern, his deep voice vibrated with emotion. “I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so.”
“There goes my freedom,” muttered Jacob. He hit his hat with his fist.
“What are you fretting over? You’re free to leave,” Ben whispered.
“Yeah, you eat more than the two of us,” Big Jim said.
Ben smiled down at Jacob, understanding how he felt. “Get on with ya. I give you your freedom from being by my side. But it will be another type of slavery that will soon be hounding your heels—”
“Yes, be gone with ya,” Big Jim chimed in.
“Fine.” Jacob’s bottom lip puckered out. “I accept my freedom, and ’cause I like where I am, I’ll be staying.” He placed his hat on his head and crossed his arms. “Besides, you two need caring for.”
“You’re missing the best part of the president’s speech,” a woman behind them hissed.
Lincoln leaned over, his large hands grabbing the wooden lectern, his face scanning the crowd. “But if destruction of the Union, by one, or by a part only, of the States, be lawfully possible, the Union is less perfect than before the Constitution, having lost the vital element of perpetuity.” Lincoln paused, taking a deep breath, then hurled forward like a sprinter on a death defying run. “It follows from these views that no State, upon its own mere motion, can lawfully get out of the Union.”
A sound like hornets rose stronger and stronger, blocking out Lincoln’s next words. Angry fists shot up toward the sky.
Lincoln’s strong, resolute voice rose above the murmurs. “That there are persons in one section, or another who seek to destroy the Union at all events, and are glad of any pretext to do it, I will neither affirm nor deny; but if there be such, I need address no word to them. To those, however, who really love the Union, may I not speak?”
“Hush, let him speak.” A woman in a brown hat put her hands out as if to hold back the tide of angry voices.
“Yeah, over here, Mr. President,” one southern man yelled. As he pushed his coat back, Ben was on him like a fly on honey, grabbing the man’s derringer. Another man appeared, poking a gun in the would-be assassin’s ribs. Ben winked and handed him the assassin’s gun. A plain-clothed man suddenly did the same to another man, pocketed the pistol, then ordered him out of the crowd at gun point. The President, unaware of the turmoil, continued. Ben strained his ears to hear, but his eyes were on Maggie. She had scooted to the edge of her chair, her white-gloved hands clasped together, unaware of the danger she was in sitting so close to Lincoln.
“Come on, Big Jim, we need to get closer.”
Big Jim didn’t hesitate. Jacob followed. They inched their way forward.
The president’s voice raised an octave higher. His feelings edged the words like a father talking to a disobedient child. A hush followed among the crowd shoulder to shoulder, leaning forward as not to miss a word.
‘Why should there not be a patient confidence in the ultimate justice of the people? Is there any better, or equal hope, in the world? In our present differences, is either party without faith of being in the right? If the Almighty Ruler of nations, with his eternal truth and justice, be on your side of the North, or on yours of the South, that truth, and that justice, will surely prevail, by the judgment of this great tribunal, the American people.”
“Now he’s making some sense,” a sturdy man said.
Ben was close enough to Maggie to jump on stage if needed. One of the soldier’s stopped him. His eyes locked on Ben’s.
“Best get your gun ready. The crowd is a bit argumentative,” Ben whispered. The soldier nodded, returning his gaze to the crowd.
President Lincoln looked huge from where Ben stood. He crossed his arms and smiled into Maggie’s startled eyes. Then he pointed to the president and to his ear.
“In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war.” Lincoln lifted high his big palms. “The government will not assail you. You can have no conflict, without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath registered in Heaven to destroy the government, while I shall have the most solemn one to ‘preserve, protect and defend it.’” Lincoln clutched his hands together, bowing his head.
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