Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (42 page)

Her last gambit thwarted, Kate resolved to try following Father’s advice, and so she sent along gifts to Young Orchard for William and his family and told him she would count the days until his return. They would welcome the New Year together, and all would be well.

As Christmas drew closer, Kate wrote faithfully to William at least once a day, knowing that due to the vagaries of the mails he might receive them out of order and some not at all. She endeavored not to reproach him for his absence, or for the scarcity of his terse letters, and so she was especially hurt when he wrote to complain that she did not write to him enough. Her long-simmering anger boiled over. “I received your
brief
note written ‘Sunday’ this morning just as I was leaving home, and was a good deal grieved by the imputed reproach of ‘forgetfulness’ it contained,” she quickly responded, barely keeping her indignation in check. “Of one thing always rest assured, if a promise I have made does not
appear
to have been kept, the fault is not mine. The day after you left home—Thursday—I wrote you
twice
, a hasty note in the morning when posting some official communications as you directed, and a longer letter in the evening. Since, I have written
every day
and in the
morning
until now, in order as I thought, to have my letters get off in the noon mails. I can only regret the delay that has prevented your receiving them darling for they were sent in such good faith.”

On Christmas Day William made no mention of her explanation in a telegram he sent wishing her a Merry Christmas. And then, two days later, Kate received a thick envelope with his beloved inscription, but when she opened it, she discovered nothing more than official documents he needed her to deliver to various departments on his behalf. Later that afternoon, another envelope arrived containing a letter for Father and a brief but very welcome note for her—or at least it was welcome until Father wordlessly handed her his letter and she read it only to discover that William did not intend to return for New Year’s Day either.

“He tells you,” she said numbly. “Why did he not tell me?”

Father shrugged, looking pained. “I’m sure he knew I would inform you.”

That was not the point, but Kate did not bother to tell him what he already knew. Instead she shut herself away in the study, paced until she had quite composed herself, and then seized pen and paper and dashed out a reply. “Forgotten so soon?” she wrote. “Oh darling how could you serve me so? Father has only just received your letter saying you will not return for New Year’s Day. That it was a bitter disappointment to me you well know. New Year’s Day with us this year promises to be a great failure.”

She considered burning the letter instead of sending it, but indignant anger compelled her to put it in the mail. She had been as patient and forbearing as any bride could be expected to be under the circumstances, and he ought to know how angry and disappointed he had made her so he could put things right. But in this regard too she was disappointed, for on the last day of the year she received his coldest letter by far.

My dear wife:

It is almost to the day twenty years ago that my good father was murdered and your letter brought further vexation and disappointment to a sorrowful anniversary. That your January reception will promise a failure I very much regret. I would that you would make it a success despite my inability to be with you and you would lighten my burden this much by exhibiting a willingness to deny yourself for that purpose. I am in every moment engaged in large & numerous duties & engagements and try to do my duty in every way and I have a right to ask your aid and sympathy. You my love are not I hope to prove an additional burden to me, as you will certainly do if you consider my acts as the cause of any unhappiness.

The rebuke stung. She had not deliberately arranged for her letter to arrive on a particularly melancholy day—as if she could have done, when not even Postmaster General Montgomery Blair commanded such precise control over the mails—and she knew from his mother’s letters describing the many pleasurable ways he was taking his leisure that he was certainly not working “every moment.” As for his warning that she not become a burden, she did not know whether to laugh or weep. No man of her acquaintance had ever considered her a burden or likely to become one, and none had thought of her companionship as something to be patiently endured when he was not occupied with business. William’s cold contempt was unbearable. Kate knew many married couples who lived apart, allowing their marriages to drift along in a state of benign estrangement for years, but she had not expected that to happen to her and William, and certainly not so soon.

Despondent and angry and hurt, Kate did not understand William’s behavior or know how to restore his tender affection, and she had no one in whom to confide. Father’s instinct was to side with William, and at sixteen Nettie was still too young to understand. Her most reliable friend was John Hay, but obviously she could not complain about her husband to him without suffering the worst of mortifications, and telling anyone else, even her dearest cousins, seemed like a betrayal of William’s trust, of their marriage bond itself.

There was another reason she endured her unhappiness in silence as the old year drew to a melancholy close.

It was profoundly humiliating and shameful to admit that she, who had always been so proud and admired and loved and cherished, was not treasured by the one man to whom she had given her heart completely, the one man who knew her better than any other.

J
ANUARY
–J
UNE
1864

T
he first day of January dawned cold and overcast, with nipping frosts and blustery winds that scattered the clouds by midmorning, revealing a bright sun that mirrored the people’s good cheer. Over breakfast, many Washingtonians found good tidings in the
National Republican
, which published a long list of the victories won by the Union army throughout the previous twelve months. The general consensus, or perhaps it was merely a fervent wish, was that 1864 would surely be the year the war would end and peace would descend upon a newly united, reconciled nation.

At ten o’clock, Father, Kate, and Nettie attended the traditional New Year’s Day reception at the White House with the dignitaries and officials, an occasion that Kate discovered would mark Mrs. Lincoln’s transition to half-mourning, which some believed was long overdue. The First Lady wore a beautiful gown of rich purple velvet, exquisitely fashioned, adorned with Valenciennes lace and white satin fluting, with a sweeping train, finished with a headdress boasting a large white plume. Although she greeted the Chases with frosty concision, Kate could sense the steely determination beneath. While Mrs. Lincoln surely still felt the pain of Willie’s death acutely, she must have realized that the demands of the upcoming election obliged her to put aside the solace of mourning ritual for the sake of her husband’s political future—and her own.

Perhaps too, Kate surmised, Mrs. Lincoln wanted to make a defiant show of resilience in the face of renewed controversy over her family’s Confederate ties. Back in December, Mrs. Lincoln’s younger half sister, Emilie Todd Helm, had come to stay at the White House. Mrs. Helm, the young widow of a Confederate general killed at the Battle of Chickamauga, had been traveling with her daughter from Atlanta to Mrs. Lincoln’s stepmother’s home in Kentucky, until she had been detained at the border for refusing to take the oath of allegiance to the United States. When her resolve had not faltered, the stymied border guards had telegraphed President Lincoln, who promptly telegraphed back, “Send her to me.” Word had spread throughout Washington that the Lincolns were secretly harboring an unrepentant rebel beneath the White House roof, stirring up displeasure and contempt and more aspersions about Mrs. Lincoln’s suspect loyalties.

As for Mr. Lincoln, on that first day of the New Year he greeted Father, Kate, and Nettie with his customary warmth and familiarity. He seemed to be in unusually excellent health and spirits as he received the Washington dignitaries, his eyes clear and shining with good humor, his handshake firm and cordial. Still, he must have shared some of Mrs. Lincoln’s evident worry about what the year might bring, for his nomination and reelection were by no means certain—especially when his secretary of the treasury offered a viable alternative.

Following established tradition as well as their own preferences, the Chases left the White House before the doors opened to the general public at noon and a crush of eight thousand eager citizens packed the reception rooms. Later that afternoon they hosted their own New Year’s gala, welcoming particular friends and colleagues and potential allies to an elegant, lively affair graced by excellent music, delicious food and drink, and sparkling conversation. Kate presided over everything with her usual grace and charm, but although she knew her guests were enjoying themselves thoroughly and no one would have guessed that anything was amiss, she felt her husband’s absence keenly. She wished he were by her side so that they could greet the New Year properly, together as husband and wife.

Soon thereafter, William wrote to tell her he would return by the end of the first week of January. On the day of his arrival, she fussed and prepared as if Father were entertaining foreign diplomats with an important trade agreement hanging in the balance.

She did not know what to expect from him—until the moment he crossed the threshold, eagerly called her name, and swept her into his arms when she came running to meet him. It was her own dear, loving William who had come home to her, and when he kissed her tenderly she felt as if she would melt into him. She was so relieved and happy to have her beloved husband restored to her that she could almost forget the other William existed.

• • •

She was doubly thankful to have her darling husband home again because of the sudden surge in political intrigue that swept through the capital that month. Winter’s cold had held the two armies almost to a standstill except for minor raids and skirmishes, and with the Union army camped firmly between Washington and the rebels, the people of Washington felt safer, if no closer to the end of the war. With the threat of invasion quite remote, and with the victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg indicating that the end of the war was near, they were free to turn their attention to politics and the upcoming election.

No one knew what candidate the Peace Democrats or the Whigs might put forth in the race for the presidency, although General McClellan was occasionally whispered about as a possibility. But within Republican circles, it was generally understood that moderates and conservatives would cleave loyally to Mr. Lincoln, while Radical Republicans would rally around Father. After the Emancipation Proclamation had rendered it impossible for Father to distinguish himself from Mr. Lincoln by his stronger stance on abolition, Father chose Reconstruction as his new great cause. He believed, and he was confident voters would agree, that his experience leading the Treasury through its wartime crises made him better suited than the wartime president for the great endeavor of putting the divided nation back together.

While Father wished to remain above the fray, he did not discourage his supporters among the Radical Republicans from promoting his cause. Several friends, including the wealthy banker Jay Cooke, who had helped look after Nettie when she had been afflicted with scarlet fever two years before, paid thousands of dollars to the publisher of the Philadelphia magazine
American Exchange and Review
to produce a brief, laudatory biography of Father. Mr. Lincoln usually ignored such politicking, but to Kate’s surprise, the president questioned Father about the pamphlet, as well as Mr. Cooke’s role in its publication, which had an unseemly appearance since Mr. Cooke and his brother were official agents for selling government bonds. Father wrote Mr. Lincoln a lengthy, heartfelt letter disavowing any wrongdoing, and as far as Kate knew Mr. Lincoln accepted his explanation and the matter was forgotten.

The president’s tolerance did nothing to discourage Father from continuing to cultivate support, however, and he soon commenced writing a series of twenty-five long letters to the Boston author Mr. John Trowbridge, who intended to write a small, inspirational book about Father’s life to place him more favorably before the public. Father wrote many private letters too, corresponding vigorously with friends and allies throughout the North, but it was his more public efforts that raised the ire of Mr. Lincoln’s staunch supporters. No one disputed Father’s right to criticize President Lincoln and to pursue his own presidential ambitions, but to do so from within the cabinet rather than honorably resigning and challenging Mr. Lincoln openly struck many observers as duplicitous and unethical.

No one was more outraged by Father’s preludes to a campaign than Mrs. Lincoln. John Hay, who did not call on Kate as often as he once had but remained her confidant, told her that the Hellcat had resolved to do nothing that might promote the ambitious Secretary Chase. “You’re aware she’s preparing for the first state dinner of the year,” John said.

“Yes, for the evening of the twenty-first. Father, William, and I plan to attend.”

“Well, you almost weren’t invited.”

“What?” Kate exclaimed. By well-established tradition, the first state dinner of the year was held for members of the cabinet, justices of the Supreme Court, and their families, a group in which Father ranked among the highest. “An innocent oversight, I dare hope?”

“Not at all. John Nicolay is always involved in planning these affairs, and he composed the appropriate guest list as usual. He told me that Her Satanic Majesty demanded that your names be struck. Naturally, Nicolay told her that he couldn’t possibly exclude one of the secretaries, not only because it went against custom, but also because it would make the president appear spiteful and overly wary of a potential rival.”

“And, of course, Mr. Lincoln is neither of those things.”

“He isn’t,” said John emphatically, “although I wish he were the latter. So Mrs. Lincoln insisted, and Nicolay refused, and back and forth the argument went, off and on for days. Finally the Tycoon caught wind of the conflict, and he settled it by ordering Nicolay to invite you three and telling his wife to drop the matter.”

“I’m sure that pleased her immensely.”

“You have no idea. The Hellcat went on quite a rampage, and she banished Nicolay not only from her little planning committee but from the dinner itself. Nicolay took his revenge, though. He ordered William Stoddard not to help her, and I have no intention of volunteering, so she’s going to have to flounder about on her own.”

“This should make for an interesting evening,” Kate mused, smiling.

“Never fear. I expect her to come down with a serious case of contrition soon, and go humbly back to Nicolay to beg for his help.”

“Will he give it?”

“Yes, but for the president’s sake, not hers.”

It did indeed come to pass as John had predicted, as he told Kate later. On the afternoon of the dinner, after two sleepless, worrisome nights, Mrs. Lincoln sent Mr. Nicolay a contrite note of apology through the White House doorman and requested his help, which he dutifully provided. Kate was expecting utter disarray when she, Father, and William arrived at the White House on the evening of January 21, but the dinner was actually quite pleasant, except for some stiffness between various bickering members of the cabinet. They also patiently endured constant dour looks from the prolifically bearded Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles, who could not bring himself to partake of the renewed enjoyment of parties, receptions, and fairs that had infused the capital that winter. “It’s like merrymaking at a funeral,” Kate overheard him grumble to his wife.

There were moments when Kate felt as Secretary Welles did, but she knew that policies were created over dinners and alliances forged in drawing rooms as often as in the halls of Congress or the White House, and that the art of masterful entertaining contributed as much to the machinery of government as the press and the lecture hall.

• • •

Kate had never been happier than she was that winter. Father was actively pursuing his great ambition and had allowed his romantic correspondence with several lady friends to diminish. William was attentive and loving, and after he settled back into the routine of the Senate he only rarely complained to her that he ought to be back in Rhode Island overseeing his business empire instead. Kate often watched the proceedings from the Senate gallery, proud to see her husband in his official chair, although she wished he would take the floor more often to introduce new legislation or participate in debate. Privately she encouraged him to make his mark, and although he seemed to be in no hurry, he assured her he would do when the time was right. She realized that he was somewhat intimidated by the great political minds all around him, but she was impatient for him to gain confidence before his colleagues decided he was a man of no consequence. Several sneering articles had already appeared in the papers mocking his absences and inactivity, and Kate knew that sort of nonsense had to be uprooted before it dug itself into the bedrock.

Kate had been preoccupied with her wedding and honeymoon—and then with William’s heartbreaking absence—to pay much attention at the time, but late in the previous year, a Kansas senator named Samuel Pomeroy had launched a clandestine “Chase for President” movement even as he publicly pledged his loyalty to Mr. Lincoln. John Hay had heard rumors of the campaign and had questioned Kate about it, but she had been able to tell him in all honesty that she was unaware of anything Mr. Pomeroy might be doing outside of the Senate, and that her father had not endorsed any campaign organization. By early February, if John had asked, Kate would have had to confess an entirely different answer. A few days after the Lincolns’ state dinner, Father and William together informed Kate that Senator Pomeroy had indeed formed a campaign committee, and that William and Mr. Cooke were its most generous contributors.

Kate was at first startled to discover that her father and her husband had collaborated on a political scheme without including her, but the feeling soon gave way to dismay when they informed her that the committee intended to publish an anonymous pamphlet titled “The Next Presidential Election.” Without mentioning Father by name, it painted Mr. Lincoln as an uncertain, ineffective administrator who wrongly arrested innocent citizens, and it argued that he must be replaced on the Republican ticket at the convention in June. While the pamphlet accurately expressed Father’s opinions about President Lincoln’s shortcomings, it did so in harsher terms than Kate had ever heard him use.

Father and William had confided in Kate, they explained, because the pamphlet was already in the mail, on its way to hundreds of newspaper editors and other influential personages throughout the North, and they wanted her to know about it before anyone else. The admission rendered Kate speechless for a moment, but when she composed herself, she told them heatedly that she wished they had confided in her sooner, for she never would have allowed such a diatribe to be published. “At least Senator Pomeroy had the good sense to leave your name off of it,” she snapped. “Vitriol of this nature often damages the reputation of the author more than the subject. I hope you’ll advise them not to repeat this experiment.” Startled by her fierce indignation, Father and William somewhat meekly concurred.

Thankfully, the pamphlet garnered little attention and no one publicly linked it to Father, but Kate’s relief was short-lived. In the second week of February, Republican circles buzzed with rumors that a confidential circular issued in Senator Pomeroy’s name had been distributed to one hundred prominent Republicans throughout the North. The Pomeroy Circular, as it became known, sharply criticized President Lincoln, predicted that his second-term policies would be even more disastrous than those of his first term, and declared that “even were the reelection of Mr. Lincoln desirable, it is practically impossible.” Salmon P. Chase, in contrast, was “a statesman of rare ability, and an administrator of the highest order” who possessed “more of the qualities needed in a President during the next four years, than are combined in any other available candidate.” The only way to avoid the disaster of a Peace Democrat victory in November, it asserted, would be for all loyal Republicans to make certain that Salmon P. Chase won the nomination in June.