Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (13 page)

Kate had to admit that she too would take a certain amount of guilty pleasure from some harmless mockery of her father’s rival. It would serve Mr. Lincoln right to have to endure his share of frustration and embarrassment after all that his interminable, inexplicable delay had caused her father. That trial of waiting, at least, would have to end soon. Mr. Lincoln’s inauguration was only days away, and he must have a cabinet.

M
ARCH
1861

H
aving inadvertently eluded Mrs. Lincoln for far too long, Kate resolved to meet her on the very next occasion Mrs. Lincoln accepted callers. Soon an ideal occasion arose, and since Father was preoccupied with the work of the Peace Convention, Kate invited Nettie to accompany her.

As they walked the four blocks to the Willard, Kate offered her sister emphatic reminders of how to behave, instructions she suspected Nettie scarcely heard in her excitement. “Remember, Nettie, be gentle, respectful, and polite,” she said as they approached the Fourteenth Street entrance. “Mrs. Lincoln will probably be tired and nervous, for she has been through quite an ordeal since departing Springfield, but you must not remark about its effects on her appearance. Be sweet and sympathetic, and don’t mention any unpleasantness you might have overheard.”

“You mean how Father is annoyed with Mr. Lincoln about the Treasury?”

“Yes,” Kate quickly replied. “That is a very good example of something to keep to yourself.”

“What about the drawing of Mr. Lincoln dressed like a Scotsman that appeared in the paper yesterday?” Nettie asked. “May I tell Mrs. Lincoln that I thought it was unkind and very poorly drawn?”

“I know you would mean it in the nicest possible way, but no, Nettie, you should not mention that either.”

Nettie frowned, perplexed, as if Kate had dismissed all possible topics of conversation and they would have nothing at all to say to Mrs. Lincoln other than “Good afternoon” and “How do you do?”

Entering the hotel, they made their way through the crush of patronage seekers, politicians, clerks, and newspapermen to the ladies’ parlor, where dozens of becomingly dressed women sipped tea and nibbled delicate cakes while others waited in line for Mrs. Lincoln to receive them. The only gentleman in the room was seated at the piano, playing soft renditions of popular dance melodies at a volume loud enough to entertain but not to drown out conversation. Kate guided Nettie to the end of the queue, exchanging pleasant greetings with other ladies she knew while discreetly taking her measure of the room. A short, middle-aged, dark-haired woman who resembled the portraits of Mrs. Lincoln too much to be anyone else stood between the window and the fireplace, smiling as she chatted with the wife of a congressman from New Jersey. Two other ladies, probably relatives or close friends, stood solicitously on either side of her, nodding politely to the guests as they approached, ready to attend to Mrs. Lincoln however she might require. Suddenly Kate was struck by the realization that all the ladies present were Northerners, and only a very few—perhaps no more than three—represented the social elite of Washington City. Perhaps they had met Mrs. Lincoln at an earlier, more intimate gathering, but Kate suspected it was, in fact, a deliberate snub.

Before long, Kate and Nettie reached the head of the line, where introductions were easily and pleasantly made. “You are from Columbus, are you not?” Mrs. Lincoln inquired, smiling at the sisters. Her dress of blue, white, and tan plaid wool looked to be of a more expensive fabric than Kate’s, though less skillfully made, but the exquisite pearls adorning her neck and earlobes dazzled the eye and drew attention away from any flaws in her dress and figure. Kate was conscious, suddenly, of her own lack of jewels and guiltily wished that her father could afford more enduring embellishments than flowers.

“Yes,” said Nettie, beaming. “We’re from Columbus.”

“We were born in Cincinnati,” Kate amended, “but, yes, we have most recently come from Columbus.”

“I found it such a charming city when we passed through,” Mrs. Lincoln said, her blue eyes keen and appraising. “Although I believe you try to spend as little time there as possible, Miss Chase, is that not so?”

“I beg your pardon, but that is most certainly not so,” said Kate easily, smiling despite the odd phrasing of the question. “Please don’t mistake my admiration for Washington City as an absence of feeling for Columbus. I am indeed very fond of it.”

“As am I,” added Nettie with gracious formality.

Mrs. Lincoln smiled indulgently at Nettie before returning a quizzical gaze to Kate. “I must have misunderstood. I had thought that you spent very little time in Columbus.”

Kate could not imagine why Mrs. Lincoln would think such a thing, nor why she would belabor the point. “It’s true that I spent many years at boarding school in New York City as a girl, but I have lived in Columbus from the time I was sixteen.”

“So not very long at all, then,” said Mrs. Lincoln grandly. “Well, I do hope your longing for Ohio does not pain you too much, and that you’ll soon feel more at home here in Washington.”

Understanding that the interview was over, Kate thanked her and bowed graciously—at her side, Nettie quickly did the same—and moved along. She kept her expression perfectly pleasant as she led Nettie to the punch and cakes, but inside she held a flurry of confusion and insult. What a strange inquiry Mrs. Lincoln had subjected her to, but perhaps she had meant no offense. Perhaps in Kate’s haste to assure Mrs. Lincoln that she was fond of Columbus, she had seemed overly wistful or melancholy, and Mrs. Lincoln had meant only to comfort her. And yet, even accounting for the quirks of western manners, Mrs. Lincoln’s words rang somewhat out of tune, as if Kate were the newcomer and needed reassurance and guidance in a strange new city. As far as Kate knew, she had spent more time in Washington through the years than Mrs. Lincoln had despite the vast difference in their ages, and even if she had not, Kate was not a timid young girl tentatively venturing out into the larger world for the first time. She had lived half her life in New York City, and Washington was an up-and-coming rural town compared to Manhattan.

Whatever Mrs. Lincoln had heard or thought she knew of Kate, she was quite mistaken.

Kate left the reception as soon as it was not unseemly to do so, although Nettie gladly would have remained to listen to the piano music and taste more of the pretty cakes. “I liked her,” Nettie remarked as they strolled home. “Didn’t you?”

“She’s quite interesting,” Kate said, avoiding a proper answer. “She was not what I expected.”

“Nor I. She did not seem at all tired or nervous. She seemed quite happy.”

Indeed she had, especially when she was querying Kate. What had happened to the nervous, anxious woman who had clung to Mr. Seward’s arm upon her arrival at the train station, drenched by rain and startled by an ungracious crowd who much preferred her husband? Who was this shrewd, handsome, sharp-eyed woman who had taken her place?

• • •

As February drew to a close, the Peace Convention adjourned for the last time. The following day at noon, General Scott ordered a company of artillery stationed at the City Hall lot to fire a one-hundred-gun salute “in honor of the pacification agreed on, and recommended to the Congress by the Peace Convention.”

“That’s for you, Father,” Nettie exclaimed, covering her ears as the booms rattled windows and crockery in their rooms and probably in homes and boardinghouses throughout the city.

“Not for me alone,” Father said, and to Kate he added, “One hundred guns are hardly warranted for such a dubious accomplishment.”

“Perhaps fifty would have been more suitable?”

“Perhaps fifteen.”

Father, who had long ago resigned himself to the fact that the time for compromise between North and South had passed, did not feel like celebrating. He was glad the fruitless ordeal was over, regretful that it had not reconciled the divided nation, and proud of its one lone accomplishment, which he had brought about: Virginia and the other border states would remain in the Union when Mr. Lincoln took his oath of office.

That day was rapidly approaching, and the population of Washington City swelled as visitors arrived from across the country to enjoy the festivities. Every hotel was booked beyond capacity, and even the modest Rugby House was in such demand that the proprietors arranged cots in the parlors to transform them into dormitories for single gentlemen. The Kirkwood House and Brown’s Hotel were even more jammed, and the Willard was so overcrowded that the proprietors scrounged up nearly five hundred mattresses, laid them upon the floors of every corridor and public room from cellar to roof, and still did not have enough to accommodate all who begged for a place to sleep.

The streets were full of so many strangers that Father did not like Kate and Nettie to go on even the simplest errands without him. When Kate did venture out, she rarely saw a single familiar face among the thousands, even walking the four short blocks from the Rugby House to the Willard. Here and there she spotted evidence of out-of-town visitors who had abandoned hope of finding accommodations in the city’s packed hotels and had instead set up camp on the streets—a makeshift bed on a pile of lumber, men in rumpled suits dozing on market stalls using their coats as blankets and satchels as pillows, others shamelessly washing up at public pumps and horse troughs. One hundred street sweepers had been hired to keep the Avenue tidy and presentable, but although they toiled ceaselessly, they barely kept the litter at bay.

Father had told Kate that dispersed throughout the crowds were detectives and policemen in plain clothes, inconspicuous among the thousands of strangers but watchful and prepared to thwart anyone who might attempt to harm Mr. Lincoln. When the inaugural procession carried him from the Willard Hotel to the Capitol, riflemen would take up positions on the rooftops along the route and cavalry would guard every intersection. An entire battalion of District of Columbia militia would be stationed around the Capitol steps and sharpshooters would stand alert at the windows of the wings. “Every precaution will be taken to protect the president,” Father assured Kate and Nettie, and Kate prayed it would suffice.

On the night before the inauguration, Mr. Lincoln hosted a dinner for Mr. Seward, Mr. Gideon Welles, Mr. Montgomery Blair, General Simon Cameron, Mr. Caleb B. Smith, Judge Edward Bates, and Father—all men who would comprise his cabinet, with the exception of Father. Kate hoped that her father would return from the gathering with the Department of the Treasury appointment finally and firmly in his grasp, but instead he came home empty-handed, disgruntled, and confused. “Was this an exercise in public humiliation?” he asked wearily as he settled down in the rented room’s best chair and put his feet up. “Is Mr. Lincoln mocking me?”

“At the very least, he’s wrongly testing your patience,” Kate said, putting on a shawl before hurrying downstairs to fetch him some tea. What could Mr. Lincoln be thinking, to invite Father to a dinner for his cabinet, of which Father was conspicuously not a member? It was insulting, it was provoking, and it was spiteful behavior that until that moment she would have thought beneath him.

She brought her father his tea and sat on the footstool listening as he drank his tea and recounted the evening to her. “Not all is lost. I can do much good in the Senate,” he said stoutly as he set the cup aside.

“You can, and you shall,” said Kate fiercely. “Tomorrow, when you take the oath of office, I will be the proudest daughter in the audience—no, the proudest in all the country.”

“Nettie may contend with you for that title,” her father said as he rose to retire, a small bit of levity that assured her he was not too dispirited to fulfill the enormous tasks that awaited him in the Senate. The country needed his wisdom, his courage, his integrity—the country needed
him
, and Mr. Lincoln needed him, although the president-elect seemed not to realize how much.

• • •

On the morning of Abraham Lincoln’s inauguration Kate rose early, a thrill of pride and excitement chasing away her slumbers as surely as the first pale rays of dawn through her windowpane and the tread of many feet on the street below. She washed and dressed quickly, and woke Nettie and urged her to do the same, lingering in the doorway until her sister dragged herself from bed and stumbled drowsily to the washbasin. Father was as she found him every morning—the first of the household to wake, sipping coffee and reading his Bible at the breakfast table—but that morning he was dressed in his finest suit and waistcoat, dignified and handsome. She felt a pang of pride and regret as she observed him. He had been denied the presidency and then the cabinet post that should have been his just reward for his loyalty to the Republican Party, his service to the nation, and his services to Mr. Lincoln in particular, and yet he did not sulk or lament. Instead he remained faithful to
the Lord, devoted to his country, and dedicated to the noble cause of abolition.

When the household gathered for their customary morning scripture reading and prayers, the mood was both more solemn and more joyful than usual. The morning had broken chilly, damp, and overcast, but as the hours elapsed, a gusty, intermittent wind blew away the clouds and stirred up dust on the streets, already jammed with spectators. When Nettie begged to see the preparations for the grand procession, since they would be unable to witness the procession itself, Father agreed that Kate could take her out for a little while.

Even at that early hour, crowds had already begun to line the parade route. Military regiments splendidly attired in dashing uniforms with sashes and sabers drilled in open fields, while brass bands tuned their instruments and rehearsed their stirring melodies. Workers raced to put finishing touches of bunting, flowers, and banners on parade floats; Kate and Nettie’s favorite, a Republican creation betokening the Constitution and the Union, would carry thirty-four young girls dressed in white to represent all thirty-four United States, including those that had seceded. The mood was celebratory, expectant, joyous, but Kate noticed stern-faced soldiers on horseback studying the crowds. And while some bunting-festooned balconies were already full of spectators and most windows were thrown open to offer a better view of the revelry outside, elsewhere other balconies were empty and bare, the windows closed, the curtains drawn tightly shut. Kate imagined Southern sympathizers on the other side, their eyes squeezed shut and fingers jammed in their ears to block out what were to them the offensive sights and sounds of Mr. Lincoln’s triumph.