Previously in the book: President and Mrs. Lincoln are being held captive in the White House basement while lookalikes settle into their places upstairs.
As he began to climb the stairs, Private Adam Christy looked up to see Phebe, stepping lightly and smiling openly at him. Adam could not remember meeting a young, attractive black woman in Steubenville, Ohio. He recalled old black men who cut his hair at the local barbershop. He recalled old black women chasing little white children around the park. He saw strong young black men digging ditches along the road, but he had never encountered a young black woman who smelled of soap and freshly cut vegetables and whose eyes met his as though they were equals. Wondering why this particular black woman knew they were equals made his heart race.
“Did you get everything in the room fine?”
“Yes, fine. Thanks.” As Adam passed Phebe he felt breathless and feared his neighbors in Ohio would not understand or approve of his reaction. When he reached the second floor, Adam looked both ways before walking across the hall to Mrs. Lincoln’s bedroom. As he opened the door and entered with a sigh of relief, he looked up and felt his heart jump into his throat as he saw Mrs. Keckley, hands on her hips, staring at him.
“Now why am I not surprised to see you here?” she said. “But I am curious why a private in the Army of the United States of America boldly walks into the boudoir of the wife of the president.”
His throat constricted, Adam coughed before words came through his lips. “I’m acting on orders from the president,” he said in a whisper.
“And what orders are those, young man?”
Before Adam could find an appropriate reply, Alethia stepped around the corner from Lincoln’s bedroom and spoke. “That’s quite all right, Mrs. Keckley. Mr. Lincoln is waiting for him.”
“Mrs. Lincoln.” Mrs. Keckley’s mouth fell open as she spun around. “I didn’t think you were here. I came back because I didn’t feel right when you dismissed me, and then I saw this strange young man in the hall. There was something in the look of his eyes that—”
“Well, there’s nothing for you to fret about, dear,” Alethia interrupted, guiding her toward the door.
“But you never decided whether you wanted the blue material.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“You finally decided to come out of mourning?” Mrs. Keckley turned and beamed. “Praise the Lord.”
“Oh,” Alethia said, putting her hand to her breast. “I haven’t decided that—yet. What I said was that the blue material was lovely for when I do decide to move from black.”
“Talk to Mr. Lincoln about it, ma’am,” Mrs. Keckley said. “And the Lord. Pray about it. The Lord knows best.”
“Please don’t press me about this, Mrs. Keckley.” Alethia closed her eyes. “I think one of my headaches is coming on.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she replied. “Not another word.” She paused and looked at Alethia sympathetically. “You have your paregoric nearby, don’t you, ma’am?”
“Please go now,” Alethia said.
“If you say so, Mrs. Lincoln,” the black seamstress said with uncertainty as she was being pushed out of the room.
After she closed the door, Alethia turned to smile sweetly at Adam. “That went well, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to blunder in like this, Mrs. Lincoln, but Mrs. Lincoln wanted some things.” He stopped and involuntarily moved his hand to his mouth. “I mean, Mrs. Lincoln in the basement, the real Mrs. Lincoln; I mean, not to say you’re fake—I guess you are, but I don’t mean to be disrespectful to you…”
“There’s no need to be flustered, young man.” Alethia patted his hand. “I know it’s going to be quite a curiosity to contend with two Mrs. Lincolns, but I feel we must deal with it, for I really don’t believe it’d be conducive to our enterprise for you to know my real name.”
“No, ma’am, you’re right. I mean, I don’t think it’d be right for me to know your name,” Adam said, fumbling his words.
“But I can know your name,” she said.
“Private Adam Christy from Steubenville, Ohio, ma’am.” He grinned.
“We’ll see this venture through, Private Christy,” Alethia said, “and soon our lives will return to normal.” She shook his hand.
“Molly,” Duff called out from Lincoln’s bedroom, “who’s that you’re talking to?”
“This is your new adjutant, dear, Private Adam Christy of Steubenville, Ohio.” Guiding Adam by the hand, Alethia walked into the other bedroom.
“Good to be working with you, Private.” Duff nodded as he finished putting his clothes in the dresser.
“Mrs. Lincoln—downstairs—wants a few things,” Adam said.
“That sounds reasonable.” Duff sat on the edge of the bed. “It seems to me, if we don’t treat those folks in the basement with the best of consideration, they surely will treat us with no consideration when they’re released.”
Alethia stepped toward Duff. “But Mr. Stanton promised…”
“Mr. Stanton’s promises could be empty if the real Mr. Lincoln decides he doesn’t take kindly to this.”
“He should be grateful,” Adam said.
“Well, I’ll be grateful if he’s grateful.” Duff smiled.
For a moment, Adam was taken by the similarities between the two Mr. Lincolns. Both were gaunt, tall, and innately sad. They talked almost the same, although Adam detected a rougher, less educated tone in this one. He did seem to share certain wisdom with the man in the basement, though he did not express it as cleverly. Adam also sensed the impersonator was younger, but older in his view that the world was a place to be feared.
“So.” Duff slapped his hands on his thighs. “What do they want?”
“Oh. Well, Mrs. Lincoln wanted her—well…” Adam paused as he glanced nervously at Alethia.
“I think I know what you mean.” Her eyes lowered, and she nodded. “Her…” Alethia’s voice softened, “…unmentionables.”

Previously in the book: Secretary of War Stanton places President and Mrs. Lincoln under guard in the White House basement. Feeble-minded janitor Gabby Zook is found in the corner of the room setting rat traps so he now has to remain. Stanton leaves Private Adam Christy to see to their needs as well as keeping them locked away.

For several moments Mary Lincoln lingered in her husband’s embrace, drying her tears. Finally, she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. “Do you think he’s just joking?”
“It’d require a surgical operation to get a joke into his head,” Lincoln said, giving her a loving hug. “No, I believe he’s quite serious.”
“Then he’s a damned fool,” she replied.
“On the contrary, Molly; it is he who believes me to be the damned fool, and if Mr. Stanton says I am a damned fool, then I must be one, for he’s nearly always right and generally means what he says.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I don’t think Secretary Stanton thinks you’re a fool, sir. I think he just disagrees with your policy.”
“My policy is to have no policy.”
“Well, I think that’s what he means.”
“And you, young man,” Mrs. Lincoln said as she looked at Adam with disdain, “are as big a fool as Mr. Stanton.”
“No, ma’am. I have to respectfully disagree. If we could only explain our position better, I’m sure you’d agree. Perhaps over the next few days I can describe Mr. Stanton’s vision.” Adam smiled broadly, confidently.
“Young man,” Lincoln said after his sad eyes considered the private for a long while, “it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.”
Adam’s smile slowly faded as the impact of Lincoln’s words sank in. He stepped back in front of the door to stand guard.
Lincoln turned to Gabby, whose mouth was still agape, his eyes filled with uncomprehending fear, and looked at him with sympathy. “Well, my dear friend, you must be frightened out of your wits. I know I am.”
Gabby nodded feebly.
“Now, don’t worry. We’ll all get through this just fine.”
“Cordie’s going to be awfully worried when I don’t make it home tonight.”
“Maybe this young man can do something ’bout that.” Lincoln looked at Adam. “Mr. Stanton did say you were to attend to our needs, did he not?”
“Sir, I already said I would speak to the gentlemen’s sister, sir,” he replied in his best, crisp, detached military voice.
“Cordie comes by Lafayette Park every evening to take me home.”
“Can’t you tell her something?” Lincoln asked.
“I’m not really good at lies,” Adam replied. “But I could make something up.”
“Well, don’t make up anything too fancy.” Lincoln smiled. “No man has a good enough memory to make a successful liar.”
“Yes, sir,” Adam said.
“And how are we to sleep?” Mrs. Lincoln demanded.
“Mr. Stanton said there were extra cots in the next room where I’ll be staying.”
“There’s not enough room for a cot back there, but that’s all right with me.” Gabby looked around at the space behind the crates and barrels. “I can sleep on the floor. It’ll be like camping out. I like camping out. Joe and me, we used to go camping all the time on Long Island. It’ll be just like all the good times camping, except Joe isn’t here.”
“He rambles,” Mrs. Lincoln said, clutching her husband. “I don’t think I can stand staying in a closed space with a man who rambles.”
“Remember Christmas with Billy Herndon?” Lincoln said with a laugh. “The stories that man told, and you couldn’t get him to shut up.”
“Comparing this man to that despicable Billy Herndon doesn’t help the situation.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I can get the cots now, if you please.”
“Yes,” Lincoln said. “That’d be good.”
“I have to lock the door.” He pulled the key from his baggy blue trousers.
“That’s quite all right, son.”
“And chairs, we need chairs,” Mrs. Lincoln said with a sniff. “And a chamber pot—three chamber pots—and a small chest for my clothes…”
“One thing at a time, Molly,” Lincoln interrupted.
“I’ll return shortly,” Adam said, slipping from the room. After locking the door he looked around before going to the next room, where two cots leaned against the wall. Bedding for each sat on the floor beside it. Bending, Adam tried to lift a cot with each arm but found the cast-iron beds too cumbersome. He carried a cot and a bedding bundle, deposited them outside the locked door, and returned for the rest. When he reappeared, Adam stopped abruptly at the sight of Phebe Bartlett leaving the kitchen.
“You need some help?” Phebe said, an open smile gracing her handsome, dark brown face.
“Yes.” Adam smiled, fumbling with the cot and bedding. “Oh.” Suddenly his eyes widened. “I mean, no. No, I don’t need any help.”
“It won’t be no bother.” Phebe turned to the kitchen door. “Neal, the soldier boy needs help with some cots.”
“No, really,” Adam said. “I don’t want any help.”
“Good,” Neal’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “I didn’t want to help no white boy do his work anyway.”
“He was just kidding.” Phebe frowned and looked at Adam. “He’s a big kidder.”
“That’s all right.” Adam paused, shifted from one foot to another. “Do you have someplace to go?”
“I was going upstairs to ask Mrs. Lincoln what soup she wants with supper.”
“Oh, she’s…” Adam glanced at the billiards room, stopped, then pointed to the stairs. “Yes, she’s in her room, I think.”
“For a new face, you sure know a caboodle about the Lincolns.”
“I’m on special assignment.” He coughed. “You better be on your way.”
Shrugging good-naturedly, Phebe turned the corner and disappeared. Adam waited until he heard the crackling of the straw mats under her feet as she climbed the service stars. Quickly unlocking the door and pushing the cots and bedding into the room, he looked at the Lincolns. “Here they are. Where do you want them set up?”
“In the corner, of course,” Mrs. Lincoln said. “And I insist on curtains. I don’t want this person”—she nodded toward Gabby—“coming around the corner of the crates to see me dressing. That’d be totally unacceptable.”
“Of course, madam.” Adam nodded.
“Bring me the curtains in my bedroom. They’re of French fabric with allows me to see out, but no one can see in.”
“But won’t that arouse suspicion, having the curtains removed from Mrs. Lincoln’s bedroom?” Adam asked, furrowing his brow.
“Young man, I am Mrs. Lincoln.” Her voice rose. “And no one is allowed in my private quarters except Mr. Lincoln and Mrs. Keckley. And when it comes to Mrs. Keckley, you’ll have to explain more than the disappearance of mere curtains.”
“Be sure to bring her bottle of paregoric.” Lincoln put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “It’s in the top drawer of the chest in her room.”
“Also my underthings,” Mrs. Lincoln said, her eyes widening. “You must bring them down here immediately. I don’t think it’s proper to have a young ruffian such as you handling my delicate items, but I suppose there’s no way around it.”
“I’ll try to be respectful,” Adam said earnestly as he left the room. Locking the door, he sighed, hoping he would remember everything Mrs. Lincoln had requested. This project was becoming more complicated than originally planned. Stanton had made it seem like such a noble endeavor, upholding the ideals of Union and abolition. Adam had not imagined wrestling with the logistics of chamber pots, paregoric, and French lace curtains.

Previously in the book: President and Mrs. Lincoln, plus a slow-witted janitor, haven been placed under guard in a room in the basement of the White House. Upstairs, Alethia Haliday unpacks her bags, ready to begin her role as Mary Lincoln.
“Oh, dear me, no.” Rose laughed. “This is my dear old friend Alethia Haliday. Her imprisonment is a farce, a perfect farce. Some scoundrel talked the simple country mouse into presenting me with a cake which contained a packet of scandalous papers meant to incriminate us both, the poor, little innocent lambs we are. She’ll be released any time now, I’m sure.”
“Is that true, madam?” Stanton studied Alethia’s clear, plain, twitching face.
“Yes, sir.” She averted her eyes.
“Would you elaborate?” Stanton said, leaning in.
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Where are you from?”
“She’s from my hometown of Bladensburg, Maryland.” Rose stepped between them.
“Let her speak.”
“Rose is correct. We grew up in Bladensburg. I still live there—until recently.”
“I swear I detect a hint of a Kentucky lilt.” A smile slashed across Stanton’s Cupid’s bow lips.
“Mother was from Kentucky,” Alethia said, becoming disarmed. “Her accent was quite thick, and I succumbed to its influence from the cradle.”
“In these war times,” Rose said after clearing her throat, “you ought to be involved in some more important business than holding an inquisition of women.”
Stanton bowed and left. A week later, prison superintendent Woods visited Alethia’s cell after midnight. After shaking her awake, Woods pulled down his trousers, exposing skinny, hairy legs.
“I was told you were a good-looking woman,” he murmured as he pinned her body to the metal cot with his arms and legs.
“You’re mistaken,” Alethia said in a small voice. She attempted to push him away but finally failed, her arms being pressed against her ample bosom. “Mrs. Greenhow is in the next room.”
“I don’t want a woman with a fresh mouth on her,” he said, continuing to force his body on her. “I want you. You got meat on your bones. My wife is too skinny.” Forcing his mouth on hers, Woods pulled up her nightgown and spread her legs apart. “I like women who know their place—bound for the gallows.”
Numb, Alethia was fixated on the irony: forty years’ of virginity ended by a vulgar, frenetic little man who, even though she did not know from experience, Alethia was certain did not do it right. Every midnight, Superintendent Woods appeared, said she was doomed to hang, and raped her. When she told Rose, Alethia expected sympathy and compassion; instead, she received a hard glint and a wagging finger of instruction.
“Tell him he’s wonderful,” Rose said, taking both of Alethia’s hands into her lap. “I know he must be dreadful—he looks like he’d be dreadful—but lie. Tell him you love him.”
“But I couldn’t lie.” Alethia’s eyes fluttered.
“Do you want to die?” Rose snapped. “Don’t be foolish. Lead him on until you can report him and gain your freedom.” Rose smiled and gently brushed her friend’s hair. “Please don’t crumble like you usually do. I could have hugged you and said, oh, you poor baby, but what good would that have done? Understand?”
“I think.”
“Alethia, darling, you can be delicate in Bladensburg, but in Washington you must be tough.”
Nodding, she forced a smile even though she did not really understand what her friend was saying. Or rather, she did not think Rose understood her. What came naturally for Rose was impossible for her. As it turned out, Alethia did not have to follow her friend’s advice. The next morning she was to be taken to the reception room of the War Department for a hearing before Secretary Stanton himself.
“Tell him you’re a poor delicate woman who has been violated,” was Rose’s quickly whispered advice in her ear as she walked to a carriage.
Alethia remember standing in the back of the room watching Stanton at a high writing desk, looking over the rim of his pebble glasses with impatience at men wanting contract bids, jobs, and political favors. Most of them, greeted gruffly with monosyllabic replies, were escorted from the room efficiently. After all the petitioners left, Stanton lifted his gnome-like hand and waved her forward, his glare withering Alethia.
I’m a fragile, delicate woman. I’m a fragile, delicate woman…
Stanton motioned to the guard at the door to leave. As soon as the door had shut and they were alone, his eyes darted Alethia’s way. “Do you know who you look like?”
“I’m a fragile, delicate woman,” she mumbled.
“What?” Stanton’s brows rose. “That made absolutely no sense. If you’re going mad, then I’ll send you to the insane asylum across the river.”
“I’m not insane, just flustered.” Alethia blushed.
“Then answer my question. Do you know who you look like?”
“I’ve always been told I look like my mother.”
“An insipid answer, but at least not insane,” Stanton said. “No, you look like the president’s wife. Mary Todd Lincoln.”
“Is that good?” Alethia fluttered her eyes.
“Very good for you.” Stanton smiled. “No one has ever pointed this out to you?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Come with me.”
“Come with you?” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand—and—and I have a complaint about Mr. Woods.”
“Yes, yes, I know all about that,” Stanton said.
“You know?” Alethia’s mouth fell open. “You allowed him?”
“Wouldn’t you rather come with me than be bothered with Mr. Woods anymore?”
For the next few weeks, Alethia stayed in a comfortable room, enlarging on her Kentucky accent, poring over minutiae on the life of Mary Todd Lincoln and memorizing everything about the Executive Mansion, Anderson Cottage, and the staff. For instance, she knew Anderson Cottage was the Lincolns’ summer home in the Maryland foothills. She also knew her closest friend in Washington was Elizabeth Keckley, a freed black seamstress. Alethia knew she must not like Lincoln’s secretaries, John Hay, who enjoyed partying with the Lincolns’ son Robert, and John Nicolay, who was a native of Bavaria. Details stuck with Alethia easily, until she knew Mary Todd Lincoln as well as herself. She longed to hold Tad in her arms and make him believe she was his mother.
Storing the last of her personal items in the dark oak chest of drawers upstairs in the Executive Mansion, Alethia thought of her job, that of an actress, her stage the grandest house in America, and her audience the most important people in America, who must not know they are an audience.
“Excuse me,” the tall, angular man from the next room said shyly as he stood in the doorway.
Alethia jumped slightly as she turned to smile brightly at him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. I tend to lose myself in thought.”
He smiled. “I thought we might want to get to know each other before folks start popping up all over the place.”
“Of course.” She stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Alethia Haliday from Bladensburg, Maryland.”
“Duff Read, Michigan. Nice to meet you, Miss Haliday.”
He took her hand in his, and Alethia was unsettled by the huge, hammy rough paw that tenderly engulfed her fingers. His touch was different from Woods’s touch. Funny, she thought, she never paid much attention to a man’s touch before, and now it was all consuming. Duff chuckled awkwardly as he tried to pull his hand away.
“Alethia. Please call me Alethia.”
“As much as I’d like to do that, Miss Alethia,” Duff said in a distinct Midwestern twang, “don’t you think it’d be best if we start calling each other by the Lincoln names? It wouldn’t do if I called you Alethia in front of Mr. Seward or some other important person.”
“I suppose so.”
“So you can call me Abe—“
“Oh no,” Alethia quickly corrected him. “Mrs. Lincoln always calls him Father or Mr. Lincoln.”
“That’s right. I forgot.”
“And you call me Molly or Mother.”
“I’m glad you’re smart about things like this,” Duff said. “I used to have a pretty good memory until I spent time in a rebel prison down in Virginia.”
“How terrible for you.” Alethia impulsively touched his long arm, ill-fitted in the dark suit coat—unfortunately, the same way Lincoln’s arms dangled unfashionably from his sleeve. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, ma’am, I can’t.” He ducked his head. “I was a spy.”
“So was I,” she sadly said, “or at least that’s what I am told.” Glancing away, she added, “For the South.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m not really. While I may have some Southern sympathies, I’d never—”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I see you made your introductions.” Secretary of War Stanton entered, his Cupid’s bow mouth turned up in a form of a smile.
“Yes, sir,” Duff said.
“Very good. Work closely together. Get your stories straight. Don’t contradict each other. Play your parts.” Stanton pulled out his watch to look at the time. “You should prepare for a cozy dinner soon with Tad. He is a holy terror.” He glanced at the unpacked bags. “You go to Anderson Cottage tomorrow.” He looked at Duff. “I leave you to call a Cabinet meeting tonight so you, Mr. President, can dismiss General George McClellan as commander of the Army of the Potomac.”

Previously in the novel: Secretary of War Edwin Stanton takes President and Mrs. Lincoln to a room in the White House basement where they will stay until the end of the war. Their guard Pvt. Adam Christy thinks he’s saving his country.

“Don’t you think I might be missed at the Cabinet meetings?”
“You’ll be there.” Stanton smiled, pausing to chuckle at the look of puzzlement on Lincoln’s face. “Or at least, a man who looks remarkably similar to you.”
“Poor fellow,” Lincoln said with a trace of a grin. “I didn’t think any man on earth was as ugly as I am.”
“This is no time for your silly jokes.” Mrs. Lincoln did not lift her head from his shoulder, but slapped him on the chest.
“Details aren’t necessary,” Stanton continued, “but needless to say, I found a gentleman who, for the appropriate compensation, will dress like Lincoln, talk like Lincoln, and look like Lincoln, but say exactly what I tell him.”
“And that one fact makes him nothing at all like Mr. Lincoln.” Pulling her head up and daubing her eyes, Mrs. Lincoln pursed her lips as she looked at Stanton. “He’s enough like Mr. Lincoln to convince the Cabinet members?”
“And Mr. Nicolay and Mr. Hay?” Lincoln asked.
The mention of the two elegant men serving as personal secretaries of President Lincoln caused Adam to frown. He secretly hoped they would not be fooled and would need some forceful encouragement—and Adam gladly would provide that force.
“They’ll be no problem.” Stanton addressed Mrs. Lincoln. “I even found a suitable replacement for you, madam.”
“For me?” Her eyes widened.
“There’s only one person in Washington I couldn’t fool or intimidate into believing my impostor is the president, and that person is his wife.”
“Of course I could tell the difference.”
“I know,” Stanton said.
“And I’d scream to high heaven about it, too.”
“That’s why you’re joining the president in the basement.”
“You’ll fail.” Mrs. Lincoln smiled. “This plan is ludicrous.”
“You’re wrong, Mrs. Lincoln,” Stanton said.
“Why, Mrs. Keckley knows the shape of my body…”
“A colored woman,” Stanton said dismissively. “It’ll be no problem to convince her she doesn’t see what she sees.”
Adam furrowed his brow, uncomfortable to hear this attitude being expressed by Stanton, the man who had brought him to Washington and taught him of holy crusades. They were supposed to be fighting to end slavery because black men and women were equal to white people. A belief in that equality was not detectable in Stanton’s tone of voice. That tone, Adam had always been told, was characteristic of Southerners using black muscle to till their fields.
“And Taddie,” Mrs. Lincoln continued. “Taddie’ll know that woman isn’t his mother.”
“A child will believe whatever it’s told,” Stanton pronounced.
Again Adam shifted uneasily at Stanton’s remarks. Children did not believe everything they were told. As wise as the secretary of war was, he should know that. Adam certainly knew it; he was closer to childhood than Stanton was, and therefore had a clearer memory of what it was like to be a boy than did the man with the pharaoh beard. Adam remembered exactly the emotions coursing through a boy’s heart when an adult preached sermons his guts told him were wrong. He knew to bite his tongue, nod his head, and allow the adult to think he was having his way, while all along the child comforted himself in the knowledge that, in his own brain, he knew the truth.
“Now, let me see if I got this straight.” Lincoln cleared his throat. “You got a fellow upstairs right now—”
“He’s probably unpacking at this moment,” Stanton interjected.
“And you’re going to have him stand before the Cabinet and tell them General McClellan will no longer command the Army of the Potomac and replace him with…”
“General Burnsides,” Stanton supplied.
“A good man,” Lincoln said. “A bit of a dandy, but a good man.”
“He’s not afraid to fight.”
“But can he win?”
“If he fights, he’ll win.”
“You do wrong to underestimate Bobby Lee.” Lincoln raised an eyebrow.
“Fear never won battles,” Stanton said. “That’s McClellan’s weakness. He overestimates the power of General Lee.”
“Don’t waste your words on him, Father,” Mrs. Lincoln said with a sniff.
“You may be right, my dear.” Lincoln patted his wife.
“He’s a fool. Don’t waste your wisdom on a fool.”
“I do have just one other question. How long do you think it’ll take General Burnsides to win the war?”
“I expect you’ll be able to celebrate Christmas upstairs.”
“And you expect us to be jolly for Christmas?” Mrs. Lincoln asked.
“You’ll thank me—as Private Christy said earlier—for saving lives, the Union, and your place in history.” Stanton smiled. “Oh, you’re a bit peeved now, but that’ll pass when you bask in the accolades justly earned by me.”
“‘A bit peeved’? ‘Justly earned’?” Mrs. Lincoln rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, that man’s a fool.”
“Who else is part of this grand scheme?” Lincoln asked. “Mr. Seward, I presume?”
“No.” Stanton shook his head. “Very few are involved. I decided it’d be better that way. And it’d be better for you to ask no more questions.” He nodded to the young soldier. “Private Christy will be in the next room and will attend to your every need.”
“I need to be with my son,” Mrs. Lincoln said.
“Well, perhaps not every need.”
“But his main duty will be to keep us locked away,” Lincoln said, “while you run the country upstairs through this man who’s unfortunate enough to look like me.”
“Good; as long as we all understand the situation.” Stanton pulled out his watch and squinted at it. “I’ll be calling an emergency Cabinet meeting tonight.”
A slight metallic jangling from behind the barrels and crates in the far corner caught Stanton’s attention.
“What was that?”
“Who goes there?” Adam pulled his Remington revolver.
“Don’t shoot.” Gabby Zook stood, raising his hands.
“Who the hell are you?” Stanton asked, fuming.
“Father! That man cursed in front of me!”
“Molly, Mr. Stanton’s language is the least of our problems.” He patted her reassuringly.
“Come out slowly,” Adam ordered.
“Rat traps.” Gabby came forward, shuffling his feet and lowering his head. “Rats in the basement. Rats in the basement, and we can’t have rats in the White House basement. I put out rat traps. Then you came in, and I was trapped. Like the rats in the basement, but I don’t want to get trapped.
“Who the hell is this?” Stanton repeated, his face reddening.
“If I recall properly, this is the nephew of General Samuel Zook. He put in a good word for his dead brother’s son.”
“You know Uncle Sammy?” Gabby walked toward Lincoln. Mrs. Lincoln cringed and hid her face in her husband’s shoulder. “I like Uncle Sammy. He was always the smart one in the family. Everyone said he’d be the successful one. Being a general is pretty good, so I guess he’s the successful one in the family.”
“General Zook said he had a few problems,” Lincoln said.
“What the hell is he doing here?”
“Setting rat traps,” Lincoln replied. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Can I go now?” Gabby inched his way toward the door.
“No,” Stanton said. “You know too much. You heard too much.”
“How can I know too much?” Gabby’s eyes filled with confusion. “They kicked me out of West Point before I could learn much.”
“You must stay in this room with the Lincolns.”
Mrs. Lincoln’s mouth fell open. “First, you stick a gun in my face. You tell me I have to live in the basement. You use foul language in my presence, and now you tell me I must live with this person?”
“It wasn’t planned,” Stanton said.
“Most of life isn’t what we plan, Mr. Stanton.” Lincoln took two small steps toward the secretary. “Stop this now, before it’s too late. This man has shown up. Who knows what other complications await you? You’ve good intentions. I know that. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“The rat trapper can set up house behind the crates.” Stanton’s eyes dismissed Lincoln’s plea. “You won’t even know he’s there, Mrs. Lincoln.”
“No!” As Stanton left the room, Gabby rushed the door. “I got to get back to Cordie! Cordie needs me!”
“Please, sir, everything will be all right.” Adam grabbed him. “Please calm down.”
“But Cordie! What’s going to happen to Cordie?”
“She’ll be fine. I’ll tell her.” Adam paused. “I’ll tell her something.”