Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (12 page)

Kate prayed daily, urgently, for the president-elect’s safety. She understood the necessity for elected officials to go out among the people, but if she were Mrs. Lincoln, she would urge her husband not to expose himself so heedlessly to danger, regardless of the possibility of souring public opinion. Perhaps Mrs. Lincoln did not exercise that sort of influence over her husband.

On the morning of February 23, Kate woke to a thrill of trepidation. President Lincoln was due to arrive in Washington City on the four o’clock train, but first he must safely pass through Baltimore. She rose, washed, and dressed, and went downstairs to the breakfast table, where her father already sat sipping his coffee and reading his Bible. Nettie soon joined them, smiling and cheerful, her face freshly scrubbed and hair neatly braided.

Vina served the meal, and while they were eating, Will brought in the morning papers. “Mr. Chase,” he said, “I hear that Mr. Lincoln is in Washington.”

“No, not quite yet,” Father replied, glancing at the front page of the newspaper on the top of the pile. “His train isn’t due until late this afternoon, and God willing, no street-mob violence will delay it.”

“No, Mr. Chase, he’s already here. He was seen breakfasting with Mr. Seward at the Willard not half an hour ago.”

“Mr. Lincoln is in the city? Now?”

Will nodded. “That’s what I heard.”

“He must have passed through Baltimore on the night train,” Kate said. Will was not one to spread unfounded rumors. “A prudent measure, I should think, due to the threats of violence.”

“Prudent, perhaps, but it will look cowardly.” Frowning, Father pushed back his chair and rose, his breakfast forgotten. “Of course, Seward has already cornered him.”

“Perhaps Mr. Seward wished to apologize for that dreadful conciliatory speech he made in the Senate in January,” Kate suggested.

Father shook his head. “Seward wouldn’t concede any wrongdoing. No, his purpose is to exert his influence over the president-elect from the moment of his arrival. He thinks to become the power behind the throne, but I believe he’ll discover that Mr. Lincoln is not as indecisive and biddable as Mr. Buchanan.”

With apologizes for his haste, Father hurried off to the Willard, in hopes of welcoming Mr. Lincoln to Washington before reporting to the Peace Convention.

Kate and a small group of other Republican ladies had planned to greet Mrs. Lincoln upon the arrival of her afternoon train, and she regretted the unwelcoming impression the empty platform must have given her. Hoping to make up for their absence with a belated welcome, at midmorning Kate went to the Willard, where she charmed the front desk clerk into revealing that the president-elect had been given Suite Number Six, the hotel’s very best, but that he was not there at the moment. “Perhaps his wife will receive me,” Kate said, offering the clerk her card and a disarming smile. “It is indeed she whom I came to see.”

“Mrs. Lincoln isn’t here,” he replied.

“She has gone out?”

“I haven’t seen her at all,” the clerk confessed, “but I’ll be sure to deliver your card.”

Puzzled, Kate thanked him and turned away. A few raindrops began to patter upon the dusty street as she walked back to the Rugby House, but lost in thought, she scarcely noticed them.

Later, when Father returned home for a quick supper, he reported that Mr. Lincoln had arrived in Washington at six o’clock that morning, having passed incognito through hostile Baltimore on the night train, with only a few companions in his retinue. Father had arrived at the Willard a few minutes too late to see him, for after breakfast, Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward had gone to the White House to call on President Buchanan. Ensconced with the other delegates at the Peace Convention, Father did not know how the president-elect had spent the rest of his day, but he had heard that Mrs. Lincoln and her sons had arrived as scheduled on the four o’clock train. Unaware that Mr. Lincoln was not on board, a large crowd had gathered in a cloudburst to welcome him. Mr. Seward—“It is always Seward,” Father grumbled—had met the train, but after Mrs. Lincoln and her sons disembarked, and it became apparent that Mr. Lincoln was not with them, the people loudly voiced their displeasure, shouting, joking disparagingly, whistling, and swearing. Shaken by the unpleasant welcome, soaked from the downpour, exhausted and nervous from travel and threats to her husband, Mrs. Lincoln had leaned on Mr. Seward’s arm and had begged to be taken to the Willard with all speed.

“At this hour Mr. Lincoln dines at Seward’s home with his family and Mr. Hamlin,” Father said, frowning at his plate with such glum worry that Kate knew he wished he had been invited. “I will see Mr. Lincoln tonight, however, when the Peace Conference delegates meet with him at the Willard.”

“Might I come along?” asked Kate. “I tried to call on Mrs. Lincoln today, thinking she had arrived with her husband. The clerk told me that she was out, not that she had never arrived, and so I didn’t know to meet her at the train station this afternoon.”

“I don’t know if Mrs. Lincoln will be present,” her father replied.

“I’m happy to take that chance.”

Father considered. “Very well. I’m sure she’d be delighted to meet you. Your kindness and charm will help her forget the unpleasantness of her arrival.”

“Can I come too?” Nettie piped up.

“No,” Father and Kate replied in unison, and Father added, “You are not out yet, and it will be past your bedtime.”

Nettie lifted her chin. “I am thirteen now, and I think because you will be senator and will attend so many nice balls and things that I should be out now.”

Kate laughed, astonished. “What an idea! No one is out at thirteen.”

“Well, I should at least have a later bedtime.”

“That is a discussion for another day,” said Father wearily. Nettie frowned, disappointed, but she knew Father’s moods well enough not to press her luck.

Shortly before nine o’clock, Father escorted Kate, dressed in the lovely green silk gown she had worn the previous September at the dedication of Commodore Perry’s monument, to Willard’s, where they discovered that many other Republican delegates had also brought their ladies. Like Kate, all were eager to meet the president-elect and his wife, about whom the newspapers offered such contradictory descriptions that it was impossible to form any true sense of her. One reporter corresponding from the Lincolns’ journey east had written, “The entire female population are in ecstasies of curiosity to know who she was, what she is, what she looks like, what her manner is, and if she has a presence of the sort necessary in the exalted station to which she will soon be introduced.” Kate had laughed ruefully when she had read the arch remark, recognizing herself. Soon, she hoped, many of her questions would be answered.

While the gentlemen delegates went off to call on the president-elect, Kate and the other ladies waited in the best parlor, hoping the Lincolns would put in an appearance, sharing what little information they had about the future First Lady, and sizing up one another as they chatted. Their patience was rewarded much later when the delegates escorted Mr. Lincoln to the parlor to meet them. Father was at his right hand, Kate noted with satisfaction as the gentlemen entered the room and joined their ladies. Mr. Lincoln took his place of honor at one end of the room, the ladies formed a line to pass in review, and as each pair approached the president-elect, each gentleman introduced his lady.

“Kate, dear,” Father said when it was their turn, “may I introduce our president-elect, Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln, this is my eldest daughter, Miss Kate Chase.”

“It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Lincoln,” said Kate.

“The honor is mine,” he replied, his voice warm and sincere. He was more handsome than his portrait, and when he smiled his melancholy look vanished and a gentle, interested, and compassionate expression took its place.

“Did Mrs. Lincoln not accompany you?” Kate asked. “I have been looking forward to making her acquaintance.”

“Regrettably, Mrs. Lincoln has retired for the evening,” Mr. Lincoln replied, turning a rueful smile down upon her from his great height. “She was fatigued from her travels, and to make matters worse, at supper an unfortunate waiter spilled coffee upon her gown, and so she withdrew to avoid embarrassment.”

“How vexing,” Kate remarked, wondering why Mrs. Lincoln had no other gown she could have put on instead. “Although I might have said that it was Mrs. Lincoln rather than the waiter who was unfortunate.”

The president-elect smiled. “If you had witnessed his mortification, you would understand why I described him as I did.”

Kate smiled in return. She could not help it; she liked him, although she remained annoyed at him for repeatedly dangling the Treasury before her father only to yank it out of reach. “Is there any way I can be of service to her?”

“That’s very kind of you, but I believe she has the matter well in hand. Many ladies have recommended their favorite dressmakers to her, so she will have a new frock in time for the inauguration.”

Kate’s favorite dressmaker was in New York, and he did not work swiftly, so she could not curry favor by recommending him. “One of my dear friends employs a marvelous dressmaker,” she suddenly remembered. “I’ve seen her work, and it is truly exquisite. If Mrs. Lincoln would like, I could get her name.”

“Thank you, Miss Chase,” said Mr. Lincoln. “I’m sure Mrs. Lincoln would appreciate that.”

“My friend’s taste is considered the most fashionable in Washington City”—then Kate started and gave a little laugh—“although perhaps Mrs. Lincoln, or you, would object on grounds utterly unrelated to her dressmaker’s skill. My friend is Mrs. Douglas, the wife of your former and frequent rival, Senator Douglas.”

“I assure you, Miss Chase, my rivalry with Senator Douglas was confined to the election,” Mr. Lincoln said, amused. “Even today he brought the Illinois congressional delegation to call upon me, and he made clear his support of my administration and his commitment to preserving the Union. We bear no grudges against each other, and we’d never begrudge our wives the services of Washington’s best dressmaker out of jealousy or spite.”

“Nor, I think,” Kate mused aloud, “would you begrudge the nation the services of such an excellent man simply because he had once been your rival.”

His eyes shone with amusement. “You’re speaking of Mr. Douglas, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Miss Chase, I intend to gather the best men of the country around me, regardless of past disagreements or discord,” he said with endearing frankness. “The challenges facing my administration, and my duty to the country, require no less.”

“I am very pleased to hear that,” Kate said, equally sincere. “And so, I assume, will Mr. Douglas be.”

Mr. Lincoln laughed again, but Kate had taken up more of his time than was strictly proper, and so she bade him a good evening, bowed, and moved on.

“That was very well done, daughter,” Father told her later as they climbed aboard the carriage he had hired to take them home. The walk was short and pleasant enough in the day, but the hour was late, and dangerous street gangs were known to prowl the streets after dark. The hooligans usually did not venture near the Willard and the White House, but prudence would cost Father and Kate very little and might save them a great deal of distress.

“Thank you, Father.” She was rather proud of the exchange, which had served to advocate for her father without overtly querying the president-elect and embarrassing them all. She hoped that Mr. Lincoln meant what he’d said, and that he realized her father certainly belonged among any assembly of the best men of the country. “How did Mr. Lincoln receive the delegates, and how did they receive him? Did the Southerners behave themselves?”

“They managed to contain their disgust, but only just barely.” Earlier that morning, the convention had fallen into an argument over whether they should request an audience with the man some of them considered to be a vulgar tyrant. Mr. Tyler mollified the angry Southerners by entreating them to pay their respects to the office if not to the man. “Each delegate shook his hand, even those who had been calling him an ignoramus or a gorilla hours before. A few could not resist the temptation to harass him about their pet issues, but in the end Mr. Lincoln impressed everyone with his friendliness and sincerity.”

“Do you include yourself among those who were impressed?”

“I confess I felt rather awkward instead. This was our first meeting since I visited him in Springfield, and by now I ought to know where I stand. If he doesn’t want me for the Treasury, why does he not say so? Why has he not appointed someone else? And as the only man there who had met him before, it fell to me to introduce him to the other delegates. I was not expecting to assume that responsibility and I had prepared no remarks.”

“I’m sure you did well even so,” Kate assured him. “I do wish that I had been able to meet Mrs. Lincoln tonight. I hope she didn’t feel slighted when there was no party of Republican ladies to meet her at the train.” She shook her head, frowning thoughtfully. “Their arrival was so confused. I understand why it was necessary to change their plans, of course. The threats against Mr. Lincoln’s life had to be taken seriously.”

“I agree,” said Father, and then he smiled so broadly that she could not miss it even in the semidarkness of the carriage. “Although I believe he already regrets sneaking into the city under the cover of darkness.”

“I don’t see why he should. He passed through Baltimore unmolested and arrived in Washington safely. Isn’t that what matters most?”

“Certainly, but the ridicule and accusations of cowardice have only just begun. Have you heard the rumor that he crept aboard the train disguised in a plaid cap, Scottish kilts, and a long military cloak?”

“Scurrilous rumors, surely,” Kate scoffed. “Such an outlandish outfit would only have attracted more attention to him, especially with his great height and lanky frame.”

“I’m sure there’s more fiction than fact to it,” Father conceded, “and yet, I confess I’m looking forward to seeing how his costume and cowardice play in the papers.”