Mrs. Lincoln's Rival (47 page)

If only it were that simple, Kate thought. If only it were a matter of deciding to stop fighting, laying down one’s arms, and going home.

She mulled over the president’s words as other business was introduced—a motion by Senator Anthony that thousands of copies of the message be printed, a reading of Secretary Fessenden’s report on the state of the nation’s finances, a resolution from Senator Sumner that the Department of State furnish to the Senate any information they possessed regarding British subjects supporting the rebellion—and then executive business was considered.

Kate was studying her husband from above and considering what she might do to encourage him to speak more often in the chamber when the clerk commenced reading other messages Mr. Nicolay had brought from the White House. “To the Senate of the United States,” he began the first, “I nominate Salmon P. Chase, of Ohio, to be Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, vice Roger B. Taney, deceased. Signed, Abraham Lincoln.”

Kate smothered a gasp. She had lived all this before, she thought faintly, nodding with practiced grace as others in the gallery congratulated her in hushed voices. Her eyes met William’s, wide with shock, and as she watched, a slow grin spread over his face. A fellow senator clapped him heartily on the back and shook his hand, but elsewhere in the chamber, Kate spotted others scowling and shaking their heads. In the meantime, Governor Dennison’s nomination as postmaster general and Mr. Speed’s as attorney general were also announced, but in the motion that followed, only Father’s appointment was immediately and unanimously approved, even though Kate knew that more than a few men in that room would have preferred another in his place.

Father surely did not know yet, Kate realized. He was traveling home, and it was unlikely that a telegram could reach him along the way.

The moment the Senate adjourned, before any eager petitioners could detain her, Kate hurried off to meet William in the rotunda. “At last,” he declared, exultant. “Finally your father has received his just reward for his years of loyalty to the Republican Party and his thankless efforts on Mr. Lincoln’s behalf. This honor is long overdue.”

“I cannot wait to tell him,” Kate said, smiling as she took his arm. “I do hope I shall be the one to give him the good news.”

“He’ll probably hear it from some railroad porter first,” William said airily as he escorted her outside. “Kate, darling, this changes everything. No one will prosecute the son-in-law of the chief justice of the Supreme Court. They wouldn’t dare attempt it, not even if they had caught me with my pockets stuffed with rebel cotton.”

Kate regarded him askance. “It is your innocence that shields you, not Father’s new position, is it not?”

“Oh, yes,” he hastened to agree. “Yes, of course. However, I’m not sorry to have this extra measure of protection too.”

Kate fell silent, suddenly wary—and worried that in his jubilation he might say more than he should within earshot of men who would not hesitate to use that information against him.

Later that evening, when Father returned home, Kate met him at the door. “Good evening, Honorable Chief Justice,” she greeted him, beaming.

A weary but joyful smile lit up his face. “It’s official, then?”

“It is,” she said, and threw herself into his arms, relieved and proud and happy.

After accepting congratulations from the entire household, Father promptly retired to his study to write to Mr. Lincoln. “Do you think this will suit the occasion?” he asked Kate, as he handed her the letter almost shyly.

Washington, Decr. 6, 1864

My dear Sir,

On reaching home tonight I was saluted with the intelligence that you this day nominated me to the Senate for the office of Chief Justice. I cannot sleep before I thank you for this mark of your confidence, & especially for the manner in which the nomination was made. I shall never forget either and trust that you will never regret either. Be assured that I prize your confidence & good will more than nomination or office.

Faithfully yours

S. P. Chase

“As for myself, I would not have thanked him so profusely for the manner in which he nominated you,” Kate admitted with a little laugh, “but otherwise I think it suits perfectly.”

So Father summoned a messenger and sent it off straight away.

Nine days later, William, Nettie, and Kate—elegantly coiffed and exquisitely attired for the momentous occasion in a beautiful gown by Parisian couturier Charles Frederick Worth, adjusted to fit her
enceinte
figure—accompanied Father to the Supreme Court for his swearing-in ceremony. While Father was escorted to an anteroom where the justices awaited him, his family took their places of honor in the chamber. Already it was crowded with dignitaries, Father’s friends, allies, and political enemies alike, all determined to witness history, the first installment of a chief justice since 1836.

Soon after the family seated themselves, an usher announced, “The Honorable Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States.” Nettie seized Kate’s hand and let out a little gasp of excitement as Father entered the room through an entrance behind the bench. The senior associate justice—James M. Wayne, a frail septuagenarian in poor health—accompanied him, and the other eight justices followed close behind. Bowing formally to one another, they took their seats according to tenure, and then Father and Justice Wayne approached. Steadily and distinctly, Father read the oath aloud from a paper Justice Wayne provided him, and when he had finished, Father set the document aside, gazed up at the rotunda, and in a voice thick with emotion but as strong as his faith, declared, “So help me God.”

Overwhelmed with pride and love—and only the most fleeting sting of disappointment that her father’s presidential dreams were almost certainly over—Kate squeezed her sister’s hand and echoed his fervent prayer in the silence of her own heart.

D
ECEMBER
1864–M
ARCH
1865

F
ather’s proud achievement lifted the spirits of the entire household and boded well for the merriest Christmas the family had known in years, despite William’s ongoing worries about the arrests of Mr. Hoyt and his cohorts. Against Kate’s advice, soon after Father’s installment as chief justice, William wrote to General John A. Dix, the officer in charge of the investigation, presumably to clear his name, but the content of his letter remained a frustrating mystery to Kate, for he refused to let her read it. “I have been assisting Father with his professional correspondence since I was sixteen years old,” she reminded him, to no avail. Full of misgivings, every afternoon she awaited the mail with breathless dread, expecting each delivery to bring a summons commanding William to appear before a court of inquiry. When no ominous document appeared, her fears lessened with the passage of time, leaving behind a residue of anxiety and unhappiness. It saddened her terribly that William delegated innumerable little tasks to her, but excluded her from the more significant aspects of his business and political life. What she wanted most was to help him in everything, as she had always helped her father. She would have thought that she had proven herself in her long career as Father’s hostess and domestic secretary, but William either thought she was not quite capable enough, or he did not trust her enough to confide his secrets, or some insulting combination of the two.

Kate was pleased and relieved when William decided to spend Christmas with her, Father, and Nettie in Washington, but she was—childishly, she knew—rather disappointed with his gift. For weeks she had hinted very strongly that either of two gifts would please her immensely—a comfortable settee for her sitting room, if he preferred to give her something practical, or a stunning diamond brooch from Tiffany, if he was feeling more extravagant and romantic. Instead, on Christmas morning, she discovered a thick envelope containing money and a note. “I place in your stocking tonight this token,” he had written. “Let it stand in place of a reminder of power for happiness and of usefulness, yet not powerful enough or rich enough in resources to purchase from you the smallest particle of my affection or to represent, with all its power a millionth part of the strength of my love to my wife.”

It was a pleasant enough note, if rambling in a troubling way that suggested he had been drinking when he wrote it, but his ardent phrases could not disguise the hasty, impersonal nature of the gift. Even so, Kate knew it was selfish and spoiled of her to resent him for the imperfect present—which indeed was quite generous—so she said nothing. She did not want to seem petty, and she did not want to diminish the family’s Christmas joy, which had been multiplied by the good news that General Sherman’s march across Georgia had concluded at the Atlantic. All of Washington City exulted in reports that the general had sent the president a telegram that day declaring, “I beg to present to you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, with 150 heavy guns and plenty of ammunition, and also about 25,000 bales of cotton.”

But good news from the war did little to console Kate when William left Washington to welcome the New Year with his family at Young Orchard. Then grief and sorrow compounded her loneliness, for Father’s younger sister, Helen Chase Walbridge, died in Ohio, leaving Father and Uncle Edward the only survivors of their ten siblings. Aunt Helen was buried on New Year’s Day, and with the household in mourning, they canceled their usual celebration and did not attend Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln’s traditional reception. Grief-stricken, Father wrote to send his regrets and to explain that the death of his beloved sister precluded them from attending. Later, Kate was moved when she read the gracious, sympathetic letter of condolence Mr. Lincoln sent in reply. For her part, Mrs. Lincoln remained silent. Not even tragedy would inspire her to show compassion for a rival.

• • •

On January 6, Ohio congressman James M. Ashley reintroduced the Thirteenth Amendment abolishing slavery throughout the United States, which had already passed the Senate, into the House. On the last day of the month, Father and the other Supreme Court justices attended the final debates before the vote. Dozens of senators, including William, had come to witness the historic moment, as had members of many foreign ministries and Secretaries Seward, Fessenden, and Dennison, representing the cabinet. Kate and Nettie arrived early to claim good seats in the gallery, which for the first time also admitted people of color. The Negro men and women watched the final speeches and heard the vote taken in solemn, breathless quiet, breaking into cheers and joyful weeping when the measure passed. Although three-fourths of the states would have to ratify the amendment before it would become the law of the land, people of color and abolitionists rejoiced, certain that slavery had been dealt a fatal blow.

Father and Kate knew that President Lincoln had appointed him to be chief justice in part because of his certainty that Father would use his exalted position to help secure rights for people of color. Soon after Father ascended to the Supreme Court, Senator Charles Sumner wrote to him on behalf of John Rock, a Negro lawyer from Massachusetts who had long sought to practice before the Supreme Court but had been rejected solely because of his race. Father was well pleased to open the court to people of color, and the day after the Thirteenth Amendment passed the House, he welcomed Senator Sumner to stand before the bench as Mr. Rock’s sponsor. “May it please the court,” Senator Sumner declared, “I move that John S. Rock, a member of the Supreme Court of the State of Massachusetts, be admitted to practice as a member of this court.” While Kate and Nettie looked on proudly, Father summoned Mr. Rock forward to swear the oath that would permit him to practice before the highest court in the land.

A Peace Convention at Hampton Roads in early February resolved nothing despite President Lincoln’s unexpected appearance at the bargaining table, but elsewhere, upon the battlefields and in the halls of government, the first months of the New Year brought about promising developments. In mid-January, the Union navy captured Fort Fisher, which closed the port of Wilmington, North Carolina, and severed supply lines to the Confederacy from abroad. Farther south, General Sherman had moved on from Savannah to Columbia, and on February 17 his forces captured the state capital of South Carolina. The following day, the Confederates surrendered Fort Sumter and evacuated Charleston, and all the while, General Grant was tightening his stranglehold on Petersburg and threatening the Confederate capital of Richmond twenty-five miles to the north.

Kate hardly dared believe it, but a Union victory seemed more certain than ever before. Perhaps, she thought, stroking her swelling abdomen, perhaps her son or daughter would be born into peace—into a nation no longer torn asunder by war and into a home reconciled in love.

The mood in Washington was hopeful and ebullient as the capital prepared for Mr. Lincoln’s second inauguration. In scenes reminiscent of four years before, thousands of visitors flooded the city, citizens eager to enjoy the revelries and politicians determined to promote themselves and their favorite causes. Again the hotels and boardinghouses were packed to overflowing, and at the Willard, ladies and gentlemen alike sat up all night in the crowded parlors because no beds could be found for them.

On the evening before the inauguration, a welcome guest from Boston called on the Chase family, Father’s friend and fellow abolitionist Frederick Douglass. Kate was making some last-minute alterations to the new robe Father would wear when he administered the oath to Mr. Lincoln, but she quickly set aside her pins and needles and shears to welcome the renowned orator and former slave into the parlor, where for the better part of an hour, Father had obediently donned or removed the garment as instructed so Kate could fit it to his imposing form.

“I decided to join the grand procession of citizens from all parts of the country who have come to witness this historic occasion,” Mr. Douglass said as he settled into an armchair and accepted a cup of tea. When Kate and her father exchanged a troubled glance, he smiled knowingly. “Yes, my people have always been excluded from these inaugural celebrations, but when I contemplate how much blood of both white and Negro soldiers has been spilled in our common cause, and lies forever intermingled upon the battlefields, I believe it is not too great an assumption for a colored man to think he might offer his congratulations to the president in the company of white citizens.”

“I hope you aren’t turned away at the door,” said Kate, pursing her lips as she threaded a needle.

“That would be a great outrage,” Father fairly growled.

“I’ve been turned away at doors before and have survived,” Mr. Douglass said easily. “And yet I don’t think I’ll be sent away tomorrow.”

“But if you are,” Father said, “find me and I will get you in.”

“Thank you, but I want to get myself in, on the merits of my own citizenship, not because I am accompanied by the chief justice of the Supreme Court.”

“I was your friend long before I assumed that lofty title,” said Father, “and your friend, first and foremost, I remain.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” said Mr. Douglass. “I remember well our early antislavery days, when you welcomed me to your home and your table when to do so was a strange thing.”

Kate smiled as she made tiny, even stitches in the hem of the robe. “To Father, it was always a strange thing to consider it strange.” She finished the last stitch and deftly tied an almost-invisible knot. “There. It’s done. Father, will you try this on one more time? You’ve been infinitely patient and if I’ve done this right, I promise to cease plaguing you.”

Obligingly Father stood. “You are no plague, my dear.”

As Kate stretched to lift the robe over his head, she felt a sudden strong twinge in her abdomen, and with an involuntary gasp, she bent forward, clutching her side.

“Katie,” her father exclaimed, alarmed, and Mr. Douglass too was on his feet.

She smiled, waving off the men’s concern. “It’s nothing, just a little kick. I was surprised, not hurt.”

Uncertain, Father asked, “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“Nevertheless, please allow me,” said Mr. Douglass, holding out his hands for the robe. Kate gave it to him with her thanks, and as Father stood tall and still, Mr. Douglass placed the robe over his shoulders. Kate made a few adjustments here and there so that it draped better upon him, and then she declared it perfect.

She doubted Mr. Lincoln would look half as well as her father did when they stood upon the platform together the next day.

• • •

That night a terrible storm struck Washington City, and Kate was dragged from sleep by the crash of thunder and the scour of hail upon the roof. Scarcely awake, heart pounding, she propped herself up on her elbows, confused and wondering whether the tumult was a storm or an attack. When the truth dawned, she lay down wearily and hoped the tempest would soon subside and allow her to drift back to sleep. It was not an ominous portent for the president’s second term, she told herself as she rolled carefully onto her side and drew the quilt up to her chin. If a hotel had caught fire somewhere nearby, she might be tempted to consider
that
an ill omen, but not a mere storm, even if it was the most severe one that had struck the capital in that damp early spring.

The morning dawned gray and drizzly, and a glance out the window revealed that the night’s torrential downpour had turned the streets into thick rivers of mud. Kate hoped the streets would dry somewhat in time for the grand parade for the sake of the fifty thousand citizens who were predicted to gather at the Capitol and the thousands more who would line the parade route. It was expected to be a glorious procession, with soldiers and cavalry and bands, representatives from fire departments, civic organizations, and fraternal lodges from across the North marching proudly carrying banners and flags, and much more adding to the spectacle. Kate would not see it, for she, Nettie, and William would accompany Father to the Senate ahead of time, as they had been granted places of honor in the galleries thanks to Father’s important role in the proceedings. When they arrived, Kate learned that Mr. Lincoln had missed the entire procession too, for he had so many bills pending that he had gone to the Capitol early, and was signing them still. Kate imagined Mrs. Lincoln riding in the closed carriage alone, proudly accepting the joyful cheers meant for her husband.

After the Senate adjourned at noon, Kate watched as Mr. Lincoln entered the chamber accompanied by his cabinet, his expression grave and melancholy, his eyes shadowed, his cheeks cavernous. As they took their appointed seats to the left of the rostrum, Father led the other justices into the Senate chamber and to their places opposite the president and his cabinet.

The ceremony began with the traditional valedictory address of the outgoing vice-president, and Mr. Hamlin’s remarks to bid the senators farewell and introduce his successor were appropriately warm, gracious, and brief. Next Mr. Johnson took the rostrum, and he had uttered barely two sentences in a thick, slurred voice before Kate realized that he was either very ill or very drunk. As Mr. Johnson rambled incoherently, red-faced and barely coherent, a murmur of puzzlement stirred the gallery and Kate and Nettie exchanged a look of alarm. Mr. Lincoln bowed his head in what Kate could only imagine was profound embarrassment, enduring the startling harangue in dignified silence and waiting patiently for Mr. Johnson to finish. After an excruciatingly uncomfortable twenty minutes in which the vice-president-elect lauded his humble roots and proclaimed the power of the people, his unfocused gaze fell upon the members of the cabinet, each of whom he addressed in turn, although he forgot several of their names and which offices they occupied. Then, wheeling upon the Supreme Court justices, he reminded them that they derived their power from the people, and fixing a red-rimmed, bloodshot eye upon Father, he declared, “You too got your power from the people, whose creature you are!” Turning back to the audience, he changed subjects abruptly to the nature of the solemn vow he was about to take, but when he paused for breath, Mr. Hamlin quickly took advantage of the momentary lull and administered the oath.