Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (38 page)

Secretly she was pleased he insisted, and she refused to feel even the slightest twinge of chagrin when newspapers ran sketches and descriptions of the jewelry—including the price, often wildly exaggerated as much as ten times its value. The days of reluctantly settling for linen and flowers were behind her.

Her bridegroom’s generous gift was far from the only aspect of the wedding that fascinated the press, and in turn, their readers. Newspapers throughout the North and even some in the Confederacy eagerly reported new details as they emerged, often without bothering to confirm their veracity. Kate found their accounts amusing, but she turned away from the other, uglier stories carried in whispers throughout Washington. She knew that a few cynical, ignorant, envious gossips insisted that she cared nothing for the unworthy William, but craved only his millions; other, more offensive tales claimed that her father had arranged the match, sacrificing his dutiful daughter on the altar of his ambition so that his new son-in-law would bankroll his next bid for the presidency. For his part, the gossips said, the former Boy Governor enjoyed the ladies too much to devote himself faithfully to any particular one, even so great a prize as the Belle of Washington, and he had sought the alliance only in order to further his own political ambitions. It was all utter nonsense, and Kate disliked hearing the men she loved so unfairly vilified, but she had long ago learned not to allow the spiteful grumblings of the jealous throng to influence her.

William, ever more frustrated by their separation, continued to urge Kate to come to Rhode Island. The fresh sea air and sunshine would invigorate her, he insisted, and his family was eager to meet his bride and her illustrious father. Kate and Nettie prevailed upon Father to take a holiday from Washington, which was suffering its hottest summer in years. “Even the
New York Times
thinks you’ve earned a few days off,” Kate reminded him, referring to a laudatory article they had printed in early May. In two months, the reporter noted, Father had persuaded the American people to purchase more than forty-five million dollars’ worth of bonds to support the war effort, with demand for such investments ever increasing. In such favorable circumstances, the reporter declared, “Mr. CHASE may well spend a few leisure days away from his Department. Never before did the finances of any nation, in the midst of a great war, work so admirably as do ours.”

At last, near the end of July, Father managed to extricate himself from his innumerable duties to make the trip north to Providence with Kate, Nettie, and their cousin Alice Skinner. Along the way they stopped in Newport and Boston, where the secretary of the treasury was appropriately received by local dignitaries, and where he and Kate renewed friendships with prominent gentlemen whose support Father would need at the Republican National Convention, now less than a year away.

From there they traveled to Providence, where William welcomed them enthusiastically. There too they were honored with a reception at City Hall and received by the first families of Rhode Island. Kate was well pleased to observe the influential gentlemen’s keen interest in Father’s potential candidacy, and her heart warmed to see William basking in his reflected glow. With Father’s wise guidance, William could become a truly great man. When she regarded them together, she was struck by their differences—Father tall, fair, and dignified; William lithe, dark, and passionate—but within both men was the spark of greatness, and her ardent pride soared to think that she could be looking upon not one but two future presidents.

Naturally, as the daughter of the secretary of the treasury and the celebrated Belle of Washington, Kate received an abundant share of the dignitaries’ attention, but in Providence she drew particular interest as the bride-to-be of their former governor. She received many warm regards and polite good wishes for her future happiness, but one spindly, white-haired grandmother leaned on her cane, peered at her curiously, and said, “So, you have a mind to become Mrs. William Sprague.”

“Yes, I do,” Kate replied.

Instead of offering the usual congratulatory remarks, the elderly woman nodded knowingly. “Have you met the family, then?”

“That great pleasure yet awaits me.”

“Great pleasure?” The woman’s eyebrows, two thin slashes of frost above cloudy blue eyes, rose in her wrinkled brow. “I see you’ve set your expectations high.”

Kate felt mildly annoyed at her arch tone, but she reminded herself of the woman’s age and smiled politely. “I have no reason not to.”

“You do know about Hamlet, do you not?”

“
Hamlet
?” Kate echoed. “Shakespeare’s tragedy?”

The white-haired woman studied her for a moment, her expression becoming oddly sympathetic. “I believe Mr. Shakespeare inspired the name, yes.” She reached out and lay a gnarled hand on Kate’s forearm. “Ask your betrothed to tell you about Hamlet before you marry him, dear. I cannot say any more than that, but I could not say any less either.”

With that, the elderly woman hobbled off on her cane, leaving Kate staring after her, utterly astonished. Was her cryptic remark meant as a slight against William’s limited formal education? She and William never discussed literature, for he was not much of a reader and Kate carefully avoided reminding him of the differences in their schooling.

The encounter so bewildered her that she wanted to ask William about the woman immediately, but when she glanced around the room, she could not find him. A few of his gentlemen friends were also absent, so she concluded that they had sequestered themselves in a drawing room somewhere to discuss business and politics confidentially. She did not see him again until the reception was ending, at which time she suggested they walk the half mile to their inn and allow Father, Nettie, and Alice to precede them in the carriage.

“I had an unusual conversation with a certain Mrs. Sloane,” Kate began, taking his arm as they exited City Hall.

“The judge’s widow?”

“I believe that is how she was introduced.” Kate paused for a moment, and continued, lightly. “She made the most unusual request. She said I should ask you to tell me about Hamlet.”

William stopped short. “Did she say why?” he asked, his voice strangely brittle.

“No, she didn’t. It was all very mysterious. I wasn’t aware that you were fond of Shakespeare.”

“I’m not.” William abruptly began walking again, and Kate was obliged to hurry or be dragged after him. “Did she say anything else?”

“No.”

“Then don’t give her another thought. She’s a doddering old crone, not quite right in the head. Never believe a word she speaks.”

“Consider me duly warned.” Kate studied his profile as he strode along. His voice was husky, his eyes were red, and although they had left the reception far behind, the odor of cigars lingered about them. “You were smoking,” she said, dismayed. “And drinking too, I suppose.”

“What of it?” he said roughly, and then she smelled the brandy on his breath.

“You said you gave up those vices.” They had reached their inn, but Kate halted at the foot of the front steps, unwilling to face Father and Nettie when she was so upset. “I would not have agreed to marry you otherwise.”

“I did give them up,” he replied. “I never promised I wouldn’t take them up again from time to time.”

“My condition was that you give them up entirely and for good,” she said sharply. “I did not mean for you merely to set them on a shelf to take down again the next time the whim to indulge yourself seized you.”

“I have proven that I can give up tobacco and drink when I choose,” he countered. “Today, I chose not to. I am still the master of my habits, and that is what you wished me to prove. I have not violated your infernal conditions.”

She stared at him, shaking her head, incredulous. “I cannot believe you think me gullible enough to accept that.”

Setting his jaw, he seized her by the upper arm and propelled her through the front doors of the inn. “We’re not going to debate the matter on the streets where all the world can stare and mock.”

“You’re hurting me,” she said in a low voice, trying to walk as sedately as she could past the clerks and guests in the foyer.

His grip loosened as he steered her down the hall into the first unoccupied parlor he found. There he shut the door behind them, heedless of propriety. “It’s not your place to command me.”

“But it is my place to decide what sort of man I shall marry,” she said, her voice rising, “and it is your obligation not to misrepresent yourself.”

William shot back a sharp, sneering retort, and she replied in kind, and a terrible row ignited, and there were shouts and tears and insults hurled on both sides. Only later did Kate reflect that it was odd the concierge had not come running to find out what was the matter. Uninterrupted and undeterred, they argued on and on until they were spent, until they had almost forgotten the impetus for their fight.

Then a cold, tense silence descended upon the parlor.

For a long time they stood without speaking, Kate by the door with her hands clasped at her waist, William with his head bowed, supporting his weight on the back of an armchair.

“Perhaps,” Kate eventually said, remembering how easy John Hay had made it sound weeks earlier, “we should break off our engagement.”

William spun to look at her, shocked and wounded. “You would cast me aside over a single disagreement?”

“This was no mere disagreement,” Kate replied, astonished that he did not see it. “There are fundamental differences of understanding between us that I fear we cannot overcome.”

“It was a lovers’ quarrel, nothing more.” William strode across the room and tried to take her in his arms, but she delicately stepped out of his embrace. “If all betrothed couples broke it off after their first argument, no one would ever marry.”

But it was not their first argument, Kate almost said, merely the first of such virulence and fire.

“Birdie,” he said, managing a smile, the familiar endearment so tender on his lips that her tears resumed. “We let our tempers get the better of us, but that doesn’t mean we love each other any less. We must learn to disagree, and even argue, without fearing that it will mean the end of us.”

“I’ve never fought with anyone the way we fought today,” Kate said shakily.

He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her close, and this time, desperate for comfort, she let him. “That’s because we’ve never felt for anyone else what we feel for each other. Our passions inspire our love, but we will learn to master our tempers.” She stiffened, and he must have felt it, for he added, “As we must master other vices. Kate, darling, I misunderstood your intention. I thought you only meant for me to prove that I could give up drink and tobacco, and once I proved my mastery, I was free to indulge or abstain as I desired.”

She pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, and she let her look of supreme skepticism speak for her.

He smothered a laugh. “I understand how ridiculous that sounds, but it’s the truth. Now that I understand you better, I will abstain forthwith and forevermore.”

Her spirits lifted a trifle, but her disappointment lingered. “You were excessively ill-tempered when you first gave up your vices. Now we shall have to endure that unpleasantness all over again.”

“No, actually, we shall not.” He winced, chagrined. “Dearest little birdie, I scarcely tasted the brandy. After one swallow I discovered that it had lost all its appeal for me. And I did not smoke at all. The fumes that permeate my clothing come from other men’s cigars, not mine.”

“Then why did you not say so from the beginning?” Kate protested. “We could have avoided this entire ugly scene.”

“I was too proud,” he admitted. “When you came at me with your accusations, I didn’t care for your presumption that I am yours to command—or for your apparent lack of faith in me.”

The rebuke stung. Father had often complained that she was too willful, that she too often tried to command when she ought to submit, that she possessed an unwomanly desire for dominion, or worse, that it possessed her. Those were her greatest failings, he had admonished her on more than one occasion, and they were why she would never be as inherently lovable and adored as sweet, cheerful, compliant Nettie.

Had she attacked William with accusations, as he said? The argument had scraped her mind raw and she could not clearly recall the words they had exchanged before it. Perhaps if she had asked him why he smelled of liquor and cigars, rather than declaring what she thought she knew, he would have told her ruefully how the other gentlemen had made him seem complicit in their vices, and they would have had a good laugh about it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain before I believed the worst,” she said, drained and exhausted and unwilling to prolong the discord a moment longer. “It will not happen again.”

“Can you promise me that?” His gaze was upon her, searching her face as if afraid of what he might find there. “Will you always keep faith in me? Because, Kate, if you cannot—I half believe your doubts will turn me into the man you fear I am, rather than the good man I could be with your constant, faithful, loving influence.”

“I can promise you that, and I do,” she said. “But in turn I ask that in the years to come, if any shadow of suspicion should fall upon you, you’ll explain the truth to me before doubt has time to take root.”

“That seems fair.” William kissed her, tentatively. “Are we reconciled, then?”

She nodded. Perhaps she should have felt relieved and happy that their terrible quarrel had been resolved, but she felt upset and nervous and tense, sensations unfamiliar and unwelcome.

If Father, Nettie, and Alice were aware of the couple’s disagreement, they gave no indication. Kate was relieved that she did not have to explain away the misunderstanding or justify their explosive tempers.

The next morning, when they departed for the Sprague family summer residence in Narragansett Pier, William was so kind and solicitous that Kate almost could not believe he was the same man with whom she had been embattled in a shouting match the day before. As for herself, she felt subdued and exhausted to the marrow. When her father began to fret that she seemed to have taken ill, she feigned liveliness for his sake, wondering how it could be that no one detected the strain between her and William.