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.