Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (46 page)

At that Kate and William exchanged a smile, and when their eyes met, Kate felt the same familiar warmth and longing he had once inspired in her so easily. She knew then that she still loved him dearly, and she wished with all her heart that they could turn back the clock and begin anew on their wedding day, fresh and bright and hopeful. She would do so many things differently. She would be patient and tolerant and vigilant, so that William would have no reason to slip back into his indolent ways. She would soften her sharp words and sweeten her bitter remonstrances. And while she was at it, she thought with wry amusement, she would warn them both to have nothing to do with Senator Pomeroy and his “Chase for President” gang, and she would intervene before they published their disastrous pamphlet and circular. Above all, she would prevent Father from submitting his resignation. What a different, happier quartet she, Father, William, and Nettie would be if she could do it all over again, but possessing the wisdom of the hard lessons learned that year.

Kate could do nothing about the poor decisions that had led to her father’s downfall, but she could strive to advise him better in the future, and she could dedicate herself to improving her marriage, for their child’s sake as well as their own.

When the meal was finished, they lingered at the table to hear about William’s business enterprises, which were all thriving, and to discuss the progress of the war. Their lively conversation was interrupted when Will announced a visitor, Speaker of the House Schuyler Colfax, whom he had shown to Father’s study.

“Please have coffee brought up to us,” Father instructed, and as Will nodded and hurried off to the kitchen, Kate and William followed Father to his study, where Mr. Colfax waited, his hands clasped behind his back as he examined a shelf of books, scanning the spines for their titles.

Father greeted him cordially and invited him to sit, and before the usual exchange of pleasantries was concluded, Addie appeared with coffee and apple tart. Mr. Colfax, who had just come from the White House and confessed that he had had no dinner, accepted the refreshments with great satisfaction. “I apologize for the late hour,” he said, after quickly savoring two bites, “but I understand you are off to Ohio in the morning, and it was essential that I speak with you before you depart.”

Kate and William exchanged a quick, hopeful glance, but Father said only, “It is not too late, and you’re always welcome here. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Mr. Lincoln and I enjoyed an interesting conversation about you this evening,” Mr. Colfax said. “He is still considering you for chief justice.”

“Did he offer a reason for his interminable delay?” William queried.

“In a manner of speaking. First he assured me that there is no question in his mind about your abilities, Chase, and of your soundness on the general issues of the war. He also said that he should despise himself if he allowed personal differences to affect his judgment of your fitness for the office of chief justice.”

“He has always been fair-minded in that way,” admitted Kate.

“His only concern is that you would be a politician first and a judge second,” Mr. Colfax said. “In his estimation, you would make an excellent judge if you devoted yourself exclusively to the duties of your office and didn’t meddle in politics. If instead you kept on with the notion that you’re destined to be president of the United States, you would never acquire that fame and usefulness as chief justice that you would otherwise certainly attain.” He winced and quickly added, “Do bear in mind that this is my poor paraphrase of his statements, and not my own opinion.”

“Of course,” Father replied automatically, but his gaze was faraway.

Mr. Colfax’s message from the president—for that is certainly what it was, although decorum required that no one acknowledge it as such—echoed Mr. Lincoln’s remarks to Senator Wilson, and the consistent emphasis told Kate that he was resolute. Perhaps he truly did believe that the distraction of other ambitions would prevent Father from fulfilling his duties on the Supreme Court as perfectly as he otherwise could, but it was also very likely that Mr. Lincoln simply wanted his strongest rival out of the way, never again to contend for the White House. Assurances that Father would never again campaign against Mr. Lincoln for the presidency was the price he would pay to become chief justice.

Kate remembered well what Father had told Senator Wilson, but the days of anxious waiting and uncertainty had forced him to reflect, so she was not surprised when he soberly replied, “I would be honored and content to dedicate the remainder of my life to the bench.”

Relief flooded Kate, and William broke out in a grin, and even Mr. Colfax smiled as he took up his plate and fork again and said he would make certain the president knew that.

After Mr. Colfax departed, Nettie joined them in the study, and the family sat up chatting animatedly until the hour grew quite late, more cheerful than they had been in months. When they finally bade one another good night, Kate’s pulse quickened as William took her hand and led her off to their bedchamber.

He was gentle and tender, but whether it was their estrangement or the child in her womb that made him cautious, she did not know. Afterward, as she lay in his arms, her eyes full of blissful tears, her heart of love and relief, she silently vowed never again to let anger and resentment divide them.

Later she would reflect ruefully upon how quickly fate tested her resolve.

“My darling birdie,” he said, just as she was drifting off to sleep. “I’m sorry, my love, but I have something I must tell you, and I know I shall not sleep until I do.”

She rested her hand on his chest above his heart. “What is it, dear?”

“You may remember a certain gentleman named Harris Hoyt.”

“The Texan,” said Kate, with a stir of trepidation. “That professed Union loyalist who sought a cotton trading permit from Father more than two years ago.”

“That’s the one,” said William. “I don’t want to alarm you, but recently one of his ships was apprehended as it attempted to run the blockade with a load of guns to trade for cotton. The captain, Charles Prescott, has been arrested.”

“I knew Mr. Hoyt was up to no good,” declared Kate, but then the full weight of his words sank in. “Why would this alarm me?”

William said nothing.

Kate steeled herself and kept her voice even. “You weren’t involved in this scheme, were you?”

“No,” he replied vehemently, and then, calmer but more earnest, “No, I was not, but my cousin Byron Sprague and a friend, William Reynolds, were.”

Reynolds. Kate thought quickly. Yes, a Colonel Reynolds had been mentioned in the letter Father had shown her, the one William had written recommending Mr. Hoyt for a cotton permit. “Do you think their actions will reflect badly upon you, or is it worse than that?”

“It could be much worse.” William heaved a sigh. “I fear they may implicate me in their crimes—if they have committed any—even though I had nothing to do with it.”

Kate fervently hoped he did not. Trading weapons to Confederates for cotton—for anything—without proper authorization was treason. She felt a sudden chill of fear and foreboding. William must not be arrested for treason. Even if he was found not guilty, the charge alone was enough to ruin a man, and his family. Her father would never be chosen chief justice; her child would live out his life in the shadow of shame and disgrace.

“Shall we tell your father?” William asked tentatively. “Perhaps he could make it all go away.”

Kate’s thoughts raced. “No,” she decided. “Not yet. As of this moment, there is nothing to tell. You cannot be prosecuted for the crimes of a cousin, a friend, and a passing acquaintance. If they cast blame on others in a vain attempt to save themselves, and your name comes up, then we’ll seek Father’s counsel. Until then, we shall wait and see, and hope they have the decency not to condemn the innocent.”

But how much decency, really, could they expect from traitors?

“I knew you would offer me sensible advice,” said William, sounding much relieved, and very tired. “Thank you for standing beside me, dearest birdie.”

“I would say lying beside you, rather,” Kate remarked. He chuckled and hugged her, but as he sighed and settled down to sleep, she grew pensive. “William?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I want to help you, and I will, but I cannot unless you are perfectly frank with me,” she said. “Is there anything else you want to tell me—or rather, is there anything else I would want to know that I don’t? Anything that you have kept from me, perhaps out of a kindhearted wish to protect me?”

He stiffened. “Why? What have you heard?”

“Nothing,” said Kate, taken aback. “What is there for me to hear?”

“Exactly that, nothing,” he replied, quickly and firmly, “but we both know that doesn’t prevent malicious gossips from spreading lies. You mustn’t listen to any scurrilous tales anyone might tell you of me.”

“I won’t, of course.” He had asked her that once before, she recalled, and she had made him the same promise. “You must not believe slanderous gossip about me either.”

“I never have,” he said through a deep yawn. “I never will.”

But he had, Kate recalled. Nearly three years before, someone from Columbus had given him an exaggerated account of the incident with the married Mr. Nevins—an impropriety, but not as terrible as William had been told—and he had believed it, until another acquaintance refuted her accuser. Yet again she found herself puzzled by her husband’s inaccurate memory of his own words and actions. Was he truly that forgetful, or did he think that by deciding to accept a particular version of events as true, he could make it so by sheer force of belief?

Wondering, full of doubt, she lay awake long after William fell sound asleep beside her.

• • •

In the morning Father bade Kate, William, and Nettie farewell and left for the train station, fretful about the ongoing silence from the White House, worried about leaving Kate in her delicate condition, but clearly happy to see her and William reconciled.

Despite their intimacy of William’s homecoming night, in the days that followed he and Kate were tentative around each other, overly polite and formal, wary of giving offense that might hurl them back into rancorous discord. Nettie, aware only that they were speaking kindly to each other rather than arguing, fairly danced through the house with delight. She had good reason to be cheerful. Where the rest of them harbored doubts, she was absolutely certain that Mr. Lincoln would choose Father for chief justice eventually, and she knew nothing of Mr. Hoyt’s alleged crimes. Kate wished she could be so confident and carefree.

Father’s trip to Ohio was rewarding, but in a letter home he confessed his anxiety about being away with Mr. Lincoln’s decision still pending, and so he decided to cut his travels short. Shortly after breakfast on the day they expected him home, William returned unexpectedly from the Senate, which had convened a new session the day before. Ashen-faced, he told Kate he had learned that Captain Prescott had confessed his illicit activities in great detail, and that Harris Hoyt, Byron Sprague, and William Reynolds, implicated as partners in his schemes, had been arrested in Providence. “What should I do?” he asked, frantic.

“Has your name come up in the investigation?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, there’s no reason that it should,” she reassured him as he paced. “Why should the accused men mention you at all, if you were not involved?”

“Because of my cousin,” he said, agitated, as if she should have known. “The Sprague name will naturally turn the investigators’ thoughts to me, the most prominent Sprague in the nation.”

Kate did not think that was necessarily so. “All the same, let’s refrain from acting hastily. Keep silent and watchful rather than do anything to draw their attention.”

“No.” William shook his head, scowling in worry. “No. I must write to the officer in charge and explain that I had absolutely nothing to do with their scheme. I’ll explain that I have no connection to Hoyt, and that this whole affair is nothing more than a partisan attack on me through my cousin and friend.”

“Do nothing yet,” Kate said emphatically, laying a hand on his arm. “If you adamantly deny that you were involved when they have no reason to believe you were, placing yourself before the investigators will only raise their suspicions.”

He threw her a mutinous look and set his jaw, but she persisted, and eventually she persuaded him to defer writing his letter of self-defense. He had no time at present anyway, she reminded him. The Senate was in recess only until one o’clock, at which time John Nicolay would deliver the president’s annual message to Congress. William ought to be there, and Kate certainly intended to be, and avoiding his duties in order to compose an unnecessary refutation to charges that did not exist only made him look guilty.

Reluctantly, William agreed to wait. Together they went to the Capitol, where Kate assumed her favorite seat in the gallery and William took his place at the table beside Henry B. Anthony, the senior senator from Rhode Island.

Soon thereafter, Mr. Nicolay arrived with President Lincoln’s address. Kate thought it lacked his usual eloquence and poetry, especially in the beginning, perhaps because he had composed it on his sickbed. It was certainly more optimistic than any of his previous State of the Union addresses. The Union army was steadily advancing, the president had noted, and the results of the November elections proved that the people of the North were resolved to see the war through to victory. Despite their significant losses, the North still overmatched the South in men and resources. “The financial affairs of the government have been successfully administered during the last year,” the president also asserted, which Kate took as a compliment to Father, for he was responsible for that success even though he was no longer secretary of the treasury.

As if Mr. Lincoln anticipated that his address would be read in the Confederate capital—and indeed it likely would be printed in the Richmond papers within days—he emphasized that the overmatched South could have peace the moment they decided to lay down their arms and submit to federal authority. His administration would not, however, acquiesce in any way to any demands to perpetuate slavery; in fact, the president called on the House to approve the constitutional amendment abolishing slavery that the Senate had already passed. “In stating a single condition of peace,” he concluded, “I mean simply to say that the war will cease on the part of the government whenever it shall have ceased on the part of those who began it.”