Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (45 page)

Kate, William, and Father laughed, but their mirth quickly turned to speculation. Mr. Lincoln was fond of Mr. Blair, he needed the support of the powerful Blair family among conservatives, and Mr. Blair had seemed to relish his position in the cabinet. “I cannot fathom why he would resign unless the president requested it,” said Father, “but I cannot imagine Mr. Lincoln doing so.” They were all pleased when Mr. Lincoln named as Mr. Blair’s replacement Father’s own successor, the former governor of Ohio William Dennison, who remained Father’s friend even though he had stood firmly with Mr. Lincoln in the wake of the Pomeroy Circular fiasco.

Soon thereafter, an intriguing possible explanation for Mr. Blair’s removal emerged when General Frémont, the Radical Democracy candidate, abruptly withdrew from the race. Although the Chases could not prove any reciprocity, they agreed that the timing was too suspect to be a coincidence, considering that the Radical Republicans had particularly despised Mr. Blair and had long wanted him excised from the cabinet. Now the separate factions of the divided Republican Party were almost certain to rally around Mr. Lincoln, for the political distinction between the two remaining candidates could not have been more clear. President Lincoln was the leader of a victorious army and the savior of the Union, while General McClellan was remembered as a perpetually hesitant military officer whose party insisted upon a platform of peace at any price, a position most loyal Unionists could not abide.

Although Mr. Lincoln’s prospects had greatly improved, Father campaigned for him as vigorously as ever, traveling to Ohio, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, and Michigan to urge voters to reelect him. Kate and Nettie accompanied their father as far as Cincinnati, where Kate was heartened to see him addressing the crowds, dignified and earnest, enjoining them to show up in record numbers at the polls on election day. Kate knew well that a lesser man would have sulked at home, bitterly wishing for his rival to fail, but Father cared too much about the survival of the Union to sacrifice it to his vanity. She wished his detractors knew this about him, but they had closed their hearts and minds to his nobility of spirit long ago.

On October 11, exultant Republicans celebrated victories in state elections in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Indiana, races that were considered auguries of the presidential contest to follow a month later. The next day, a more somber mood prevailed when it was announced that Chief Justice Roger Brooke Taney had passed away at the age of eighty-seven, leaving a vacancy on the Supreme Court. By then Kate and Nettie had returned to Washington, but Kate gleaned from her father’s letters that he fervently hoped Mr. Lincoln would nominate him for the position immediately. Neither she nor her father was surprised when the president deferred his decision until after the election.

In the anxious, frenzied month between the state and national elections, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton made sure that soldiers were given absentee ballots, if the laws of their states permitted, or furloughs so they could travel home to vote. President Lincoln wrote to several of his generals asking them to grant leave to soldiers from states where the election would likely be close—Missouri, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and New York—assuming that the Union soldiers would overwhelmingly support the Republican ticket as they had in the off-year elections.

In the end, the steadfast, devoted soldiers made all the difference. The early returns suggested even larger Republican majorities than in the state elections, and by midnight on Election Day, November 8, Mr. Lincoln’s triumph was certain.

In the days that followed, as the final tallies were recorded, the people learned that Mr. Lincoln had won all but three states—New Jersey, Delaware, and Kentucky—and that he had captured an overwhelming majority of the electoral votes, 212 versus 21 for General McClellan. Moreover, the newly reunited Republican Party had elected twelve governors and had acquired thirty-seven additional seats in Congress.

It was a tremendous victory, the only outcome that allowed for the preservation of the Union; but although relief pervaded the Chase household, their joy was muted, for they all believed the triumph should have been Father’s.

• • •

Four days later, Kate came down to breakfast with happy expectations of a joyful, romantic Saturday with her husband. They had been getting along better than usual of late, their shared apprehensions about the election and their new hopes for Father’s prospects drawing them together, as the extremes of mutual joy and worry always had. William had said nothing about any special plans, which gave her pause, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he meant to surprise her. That suited her just fine, because she had a surprise for him as well.

But there were no flowers or loving proclamations at breakfast, nor did William suggest that they go riding or walking together later. As the hours passed, and William seemed content to treat the day as if it were as ordinary as any other, her anger and unhappiness grew in equal measures. She endured it as long as she possibly could, even lingering in the study after nightfall while he read the evening news. She ordered herself not to reproach him, but when he finally folded up the papers, rose from his chair, and bent to kiss her good night, she could not restrain herself any longer. “You forgot our anniversary.”

He froze, wide-eyed with dismay and guilt. “Happy anniversary, darling,” he said weakly.

“How could you have forgotten our first anniversary?”

“I didn’t forget,” he said quickly. “I meant to celebrate tomorrow, to mark the first full year of our married lives. That always seemed to me the better day to honor. I suppose I should have told you my plans.”

“You,” she said distinctly, her anger surging, “are a liar.” She rose from her chair, turned her back upon him, and said over her shoulder as she left the room, “And you are going to be a father.”

She slept alone in Nettie’s vacant room that night, leaving their bedchamber to William. The next morning, she found a bouquet of beautiful autumn flowers outside the door, and when she met William at the breakfast table, he looked pale and contrite. “I’m sorry, my darling,” he whispered in her ear as he clumsily kissed her cheek. Expressionless, she endured the kiss rather than upset her father, who sat at the head of the table with his coffee cup and Bible, closed upon a black velvet ribbon to mark his place.

“Katie, dear,” he said, quickly rising and coming over to kiss her too. “Happy anniversary, daughter—somewhat belatedly, I regret. And to you too, William,” he added, shaking his son-in-law’s hand.

Father looked abashed, but Kate was so accustomed to his forgetting his daughters’ birthdays that she had not expected him to remember her wedding anniversary. “Thank you, Father,” she said, more surprised than touched by his remorse.

They all sat down together at the table, where, ever the gracious hostess, Kate steered the conversation to Mr. Lincoln’s lengthy delay in appointing a new chief justice, a subject of keen interest to them all and one upon which they all agreed. Afterward, they parted company to attend to their own duties, but long after she had assumed William had left for Capitol Hill, he found her alone in the kitchen, where she and Addie were discussing the menu for their Thanksgiving feast.

When she saw William in the doorway, Kate nodded to Addie as a sign to leave them alone. The servants would never admit to knowing William hurt her, but they often arranged to be discreetly present whenever William came upon her unexpectedly. He never hit her when Father was in the house, or at least he had not yet, but she was grateful for the servants’ loyalty, their compassionate desire to protect her.

“Are you feeling well?” he asked quietly when they were alone.

She nodded.

“How long have you known?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“And that means the baby will come . . .”

“In June.”

“June,” he echoed, a note of wonder in his voice. “Will you have the baby here, do you think, or in Rhode Island?”

“I honestly haven’t thought that far ahead.”

William nodded and fell silent. After a long moment, he said, “But you are feeling quite well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Such a strange conversation, so formal and polite, when they should be laughing tearfully and embracing over the good news. “A little queasiness in the mornings, but nothing too dreadful.”

“You must be sure to take care of yourself,” he said, and then, after a momentary pause, he added, “If you are feeling well enough to bear my absence, I thought I should go away for a little while.”

With practiced care, she sat perfectly still, not permitting even the barest trace of her sudden distress to show. “I see. Where will you go, and when?”

“I thought I would spend Thanksgiving with my mother and family in Providence.”

“I have a feast planned,” she said steadily. “Many friends and family are coming.”

“Then I’m reassured, for with so many guests around you, my absence will scarcely be noticed. Besides, it is you and your father the people come to see, not me.”

“I think they come to see us all, together,” she said carefully, “but perhaps . . . perhaps some time apart would be good for us.”

He nodded, haggard and mournful, and then he gave her a slight bow and left her alone.

On Thursday, November 24, Father and Kate entertained a houseful of friends and family in fine style, marking the day with solemn joy and gratitude as the president had urged the nation to do in his Thanksgiving Proclamation issued the year before, when he had established the national holiday on the fourth Thursday in November. As she found comfort in the kind words and fond embraces of those she loved, Kate imagined William sitting at his mother’s table and felt profoundly sad that they seemed unable to be happy together.

Suddenly Kate realized with shock that her vaunted poise had abandoned her, and if she brooded over her absent husband and inexplicably fractious marriage a moment longer, she would burst into sobs in front of all her guests. Determinedly, she drove William from her mind and turned her thoughts to Mr. Lincoln, the founder of the new national holiday. She imagined him and Mrs. Lincoln presiding over a sumptuous banquet in the White House, for despite their personal losses and the trials of their high offices, surely no one in the country had greater reason to be thankful than they.

But within a few days, Kate learned that Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln had probably celebrated less happily than she had supposed. Mr. Lincoln had spent the day in his sickbed, still suffering from the effects of the varioloid he had contracted on his way home from the dedication of the new national cemetery at Gettysburg. It was there that he had received an unwelcome letter from Attorney General Edward Bates. With Mr. Lincoln safely reelected, citing illness, fatigue, and the overwhelming yearning to retire to St. Louis to enjoy the company of his wife, children, and grandchildren, Mr. Bates had submitted his resignation, and President Lincoln had regretfully accepted it.

On December 1, the day Mr. Bates’s resignation took effect, Mr. Lincoln appointed as his successor Kentucky lawyer and abolitionist James Speed, the elder brother of his dear friend Joshua Speed. “Would that all the president’s appointments were made so swiftly,” Father said unhappily when the news broke. President Lincoln still had not chosen a new chief justice, and while Father waited with increasing desire and diminishing hopes, his loyal friends tirelessly campaigned for him. They had warned Father that three of Mr. Lincoln’s most loyal cabinet members also coveted the post—Secretary Stanton, the recently retired Mr. Bates, and the mysteriously ousted former postmaster Mr. Blair. To Kate, who was admittedly hardly an objective observer, Father seemed a far better choice than any of the three, and not only because of his qualifications: Secretary Stanton was absolutely indispensable at his current post as secretary of war, Mr. Bates had only just retired and had expressed great desire to return to St. Louis, and whatever political circumstances had compelled the president to accept Mr. Blair’s resignation as postmaster general likely remained to complicate his nomination. Mr. Lincoln had proven to be an astute judge of character, he clearly respected Father as a statesman and lawyer, and he had always shown a remarkable ability to put aside personal disagreements for the greater good of the country. Why, then, Kate wondered, did he delay?

Massachusetts Senator Henry Wilson, a mutual friend who had been advocating Father’s cause, soon provided an answer. “Of Mr. Chase’s ability and of his soundness on the general issues of the war there is, of course, no question,” President Lincoln had told him. “I have only one doubt about his appointment. He is a man of unbounded ambition, and has been working all his life to become president. That he can never be; and I fear that if I make him chief justice he will simply become more restless and uneasy and neglect the place in his strife and intrigue to make himself president. If I were sure that he would go on the bench and give up his aspirations and do nothing but make himself a great judge, I would not hesitate a moment.”

Kate waited, tense and watchful, while Father mulled over his friend’s words. “Thank you for this confidence,” he said, but when he promptly changed the subject to a finance bill under debate in the Senate, Kate understood that he was not quite ready to relinquish his presidential ambitions.

The following day, William returned from Providence, so contrite and affectionate and concerned for her and their unborn child that Kate was inclined to forgive him every slight, every misunderstanding. And yet there was a strange undercurrent of apprehension in his manner that every instinct told her had nothing to do with the state of their marriage.

At dinner, William spoke so earnestly with Father on the subject of the Supreme Court that she concluded that he was simply anxious about Mr. Lincoln’s delay in naming a new chief justice, as they all were. Father had heard nothing new from Senator Wilson or any of his other friends who had been appealing to the president on his behalf. “I’ve put off a trip to Ohio in expectation of a summons from the president,” Father told William, “but now that you are here to watch over our Katie, I have decided to go. If the president discovers he has something important to ask me, he can send a telegram.”