His conversation with Walt Whitman gave Lamon a measure of hope to sustain him into the New Year when Johnson vetoed the black suffrage act. How could Lamon help the man and through him bring justice to those that inflicted such suffering on his dear friend Abraham Lincoln? Johnson, on the one hand, was a man of strong personal integrity who defied his own state to remain loyal to the union. On the other, however, he was an unrepentant racist, intent on restricting the freedoms of the people he fought to liberate. Lamon always considered himself a simple, straightforward man. Lincoln was complicated yet understandable; Johnson was complicated and frustrating. Lamon’s instinct was to go over to the Executive Mansion and lecture the President about compromising on some issues to win the important battle.
Johnson followed his veto of the black suffrage bill with another veto, this time the infamous Tenure of Office bill. Within days, Missouri Rep. Benjamin Logan called for Johnson’s impeachment on the floor of Congress. By March Congress had slightly reworded the tenure act to elaborate on who exactly could not be removed from officer. If President Lincoln had appointed the secretary, then Johnson could not remove the appointee without approval from the Senate until after the expiration of Lincoln’s second term. Johnson could fire without impunity anyone he had personally hired. The changes did not impress the president, and he vetoed it again. The House immediately overrode it.
By this time, Lamon was sick at heart of the conflicts on Capitol Hill and unable to see any appropriate resolution. More and more, his mind wandered back to his home in Danville, Illinois, and to his family who waited for his return. He acknowledged how fine a woman his second wife Sally was. She did not hesitate to open her arms to his daughter Dorothy and loved her as her own. His first wife Angelina died of natural causes only a few years earlier. He remembered the letter from Sally that described her joy when his ten-year-old child without any prompting hugged her and called her mommy. How many more warm family moments would he miss because of his vaunted conviction that the nation needed him to save it from those who seemed determined to destroy the American way of life.
So when summer arrived in Washington City and the Congress and the President continued to butt heads over reconstruction legislation, Lamon decided to leave the battle to the politicians. A sense of relief overcame him as he boarded the train to Danville in early June. Sally and Dorothy welcomed him with hugs and kisses. He immediately reopened his law practice and focused on civil suits over property disputes and contract negotiations.
Barely a week had passed when he received a letter from Lincoln’s former law partner William Herndon who requested permission to visit his office as soon as was convenient. Herndon had always appeared to be an affable man, though not possessed of the highest intellect, so Lamon agreed to the appointment. When the Springfield attorney arrived, his appearance troubled Lamon. He had gained quite a bit of weight. Coffee and food stained his wrinkled clothing.
After a few moments of recollecting memories of Abraham Lincoln, they both paused to lean forward in their chairs, their eyes turning serious with ominous intent.
“Well, Billy, what can I do for you?”
“It’s more like what I can do for you.” Herndon’s pinched lips almost formed a smile but not quite. His voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m planning to write a biography of our dear departed friend that will shock the world.”
Lamon’s mouth fell open. Could Herndon, during his many visits to Washington City, have determined that the man in the Executive Mansion was not Abraham Lincoln? Could Herndon have been more astute than Lamon first imagined? “So you knew?”
“Of course, I knew.” Herndon raised his chin with pride. “Abe never loved Mary. He knew her family’s money and political connections would thrust him into contention for election to the presidency. And he paid dearly for his ambition. She made his life miserable with her insane outbursts and her wild spending habits.”
Leaning back, Lamon sighed with relief. This was the Billy Herndon he knew and tolerated. He acknowledged that at times Mary Lincoln was vain, hysterical and unreasonable, but she was a good person, and Lincoln loved her very much. “What an interesting premise. I’m sure your book will be very successful. Women across America will want to read it.”
Herndon emitted what Lamon considered a harrumph. “I expect it to be more than a romance story, Hill. This is where you come in.”
Lamon only allowed his inner circle of friends, which included Lincoln, to address him by his middle name of Hill, but he decided not to be make an issue of it. Herndon might well have possession of valuable information to prove Lamon’s own theories. He still wanted to present all the facts to President Johnson so that Edwin Stanton and Lafayette Baker be punished for their attempts to subvert the Constitution and the future of the United States. “How intriguing. And how could I help you out?”
“The war, dammit.” Herndon shifted uneasily in his seat. “You were privy to much of his decision-making about the war. You must have heard a certain amount of information that has not been disclosed to the public.”
“What would you say if I told you there was a conspiracy involving our friend that went beyond a mere actor and his band of fools?”
“I knew it.” His voice fulminated with self-righteous indignation. “That devil Jefferson Davis was behind it all, wasn’t he?”
“You might be on the right track,” Lamon lied. “Did you visit the President much in the last two years of the war?”
“Yes, a few times. Not as often as I wanted. The war made travel risky business.”
“How did he seem to you? Was he unusually nervous, distracted?”
Herndon shrugged. “Hell, he was always socially awkward. I don’t think anyone, including you, actually knew what was going in his skull. He was my best friend, but he was always the little engine that could, if you know what I mean. He was always pushing, pushing–a quality to be admired in a president overseeing a war. But on a personal level, he made everyone feel like a true friend until that person was no longer useful to him and then they were strangers.”
Lamon suppressed a desire to throw the fat little weasel out of his office. One day even Herndon might supply a missing link in the chain of conspiracy that surrounded Lincoln’s captivity in the Executive Mansion basement. “Nothing would please me more than to participate in your project, but right at this moment I want to reconnect with my wife and child. I was gone so much during the war that I’m afraid I’m guilty of neglecting them.”
Herndon stood and extended his hand. “If any recollection percolates to the top of your memory, please let me know. What may seem insignificant to you may be of great importance to me.”
“I’m sure.” Lamon shook his hand and escorted him to the door.
When he arrived home that evening, he told Sally about Herndon’s strange visit. She was setting the table in the dining area of their parlor. On the other end of the room was a sofa, two padded chairs facing the fireplace. She took her dishtowel tucked in her apron to wipe smudges from a sturdy thick crystal vase.
“I, for one, never liked that man.” She carefully returned the vase to the table and put away her dishtowel. “Please make yourself comfortable on the sofa, dear, and I’ll have supper ready soon. As for Mr. Herndon’s book, I would never read his gossip.”
Dorothy ran through the front screen door holding a small bouquet of flowers from their garden. “See what I picked, papa? Aren’t they pretty?”
“Almost as pretty as you, my child.” He pulled her close and hugged her. Leaning over he sniffed the bouquet. “And they smell so sweet.”
“They shall be the centerpiece of our table tonight,” Sally announced with glowing pride in the little girl and in the results of her garden. “Now scurry to the kitchen, Dorothy, to make sure nothing is burning on the stove. I’ll put the flowers in the vase.”
Lamon lounged back on the sofa and began to read the Springfield newspaper when there was a knock at the front door. When he looked up to see who it was, Lamon’s face flushed with anger. Lafayette Baker stood on his porch. This was Gabby’s mean man with the red hair. Lamon stood and marched to the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed in low tones so his wife and child could not hear.
“May I come in?” Baker asked, his hat in his hands.
“Hell no,” Lamon spat as he opened the screen door, stepped out on the porch and immediately threw a punch which landed on Baker’s jaw.
Baker tumbled backwards down the front porch steps. He made no effort to defend himself as Lamon threw his large body onto him and continued to pummel his face, neck and chest. Finally, he tried to roll away from the assault. “No, stop, please. I have to tell you something. Please, don’t kill me yet.”
His roll picked up speed as they both tumbled down a slight grade toward Sally’s flower garden. Lamon did not notice they were hurling themselves downhill. All he knew was that the man who had been responsible for misery in the last two years of Abraham Lincoln’s life was under his control and he was exacting revenge.
“No, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Baker screamed.
Lamon bellowed like an enraged bull. The noise drew Sally and Dorothy out on the porch. Even neighbors peeked out of their window to see what the commotion was about.
“Don’t you dare ruin my flower bed! Stop it! Stop it right this moment!” Sally thundered louder than either of the two men.
Lamon stopped his fist in mid-air, looked toward the porch and saw Sally still holding the crystal vase, now filled with pansies and daisies. He returned his gaze to Baker, who had pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and was wiping blood from his swollen nose.
“Please give me a chance to explain what happened,” Baker whispered. “Yes, I have been a monster. I have done terrible things because Edwin Stanton told me to. But I repent of all that. Help a sinner repent.”
Lamon still could not comprehend what was happening. Was it possible all the pieces of the conspiracy puzzle were coming together right there in his front yard? Could it be that the man whom he had always held in the highest contempt was about to become his most trusted ally? His eyes fluttered in bewilderment.
Sally smiled in bemusement. “I presume this gentleman will not be joining us for supper.”
Lamon stood and helped Baker to his feet. “I don’t see why not. Do you have other plans for this evening?”
Baker somehow had lost his voice and only shook his head.
“Good.” A smile finally crept across Lamon’s lips. “You will need to wash up first.”