Previously in the novel: War Secretary Edwin Stanton places President and Mrs. Lincoln under guard in the White House while he installs lookalikes upstairs so he can control all decisions coming out of the Executive Mansion.

Opening the large cherry wood armoire in Mrs. Lincoln’s bedroom, Alethia smiled with the excitement of a debutante preparing for her first ball as she gently stroked the gowns hanging close together on the rack. She wondered if she would fit into the beautiful clothing as well as Mrs. Lincoln did. Would she look pretty? Alethia hoped against hope that she would be the woman everyone in the room noticed and admired. In all her years in Bladensburg, she had never been considered beautiful, not even pretty, not even considered alive. She pulled out a navy blue brocade trimmed with ivory lace on the collar and sleeves with small pearl buttons down the front. Clutching it to her ample bosom, Alethia bit her lower lip and smiled mischievously.
“Mr. Lincoln—Father—I need your advice,” she said, walking to the door of the president’s bedroom. “Would you please advise me on what to wear to dinner tonight?”
“It doesn’t make much difference,” Duff said as he pulled on his coat. He stopped as he turned to see the fancy blue dress Alethia held out. “Except…”
“Except what?” Alethia’s face briefly clouded.
“Mrs. Lincoln—you—are still in mourning,” he said.
“Oh, the little boy. Willie,” she said in a whisper. “I forgot.” Her fingers toyed with the fabric in her hands. “I’m so terrible. My heart sank when I realized I won’t get to wear her beautiful clothes for a while. Then I thought of the baby…”
“He was a little boy.”
“Oh no, they’re always your babies, no matter how old they are.” Alethia’s eyes fluttered, specks of tears glistening in her lashes. “She lost her baby in February. Of course, she’d still be wearing black.”
“Well, I don’t think anyone would mind a nice blue dress at a family supper in the private dining room downstairs,” Duff said.
“Tad would know.” She shook her head. “We must try to keep all this from him.”
The door to her bedroom flew open, and Tad charged in. “They said we’re eating in town tonight, but I already had my dinner, my pie dinner, at the Willard. Don’t you remember?”
“You could at least sit at the table and sip a glass of milk, couldn’t you?” Alethia ran her fingers through Tad’s tousled hair.
“I guess. I wanted to get back to the cottage tonight.” Tad’s eyes darted to the doorway where Nicolay and Hay stood. “So they’re wrong. I don’t have to eat again.”
“We’re terribly sorry, madam.” Nicolay took a slight step forward.
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Nicolay,” she said graciously, pausing awkwardly as she noticed Nicolay and Hay exchange confused glances. She hardened her voice. “But don’t let it happen again.”
“Yes, madam.”
“The president and I are the only ones who determine what and when Tad eats.” Alethia’s face flushed as she attempted an imperious pose.
“Now, Molly, don’t be hard on the boys.” Duff put his arm around her.
She flushed again at his touch, a massive, strong hand gently squeezing her soft shoulder. Resisting a shudder growing from the bottom of her spine, Alethia stepped forward and smiled.
“Well, thank you, gentlemen.”
“Thank you, madam.” Nicolay bowed. “We’re going to the Willard for dinner and will return in about an hour.”
“And I was planning to visit some friends,” Hay interjected nervously, his eyes darting to Nicolay.
“I hate to dash your social plans, Mr. Hay,” Duff said, “but a late Cabinet meeting has been called. That’s why we’re here tonight. You and Mr. Nicolay will be needed.”
“Yes, sir.” Hay’s head dipped.
“There, there, Mr. Hay.” Duff walked to the two young men, put his long arms around them, and continued, “You’ll have many nights to spend with your friends.” He headed for the door.
“Let’s go to dinner, Tad.” Alethia looked down at the dress in her hands. “Oh.” Smiling at the boy, she put the dress on a chair. “I’ll put it away when we return.”
“You never let nothing stay on a chair before,” he said. “You always hang everything up.”
Running her fingers through his hair, Alethia fought to remain calm. “Never let anything. Watch your grammar.” She pushed him through the door. “Your father is already halfway downstairs. If you must know, I’ll give Mr. Lincoln a tongue-lashing for forcing me to leave this dress out to wrinkle.”
“Well,” Tad said with a sigh, “don’t yell too loud. I want to sleep.”
“You scamp.” Alethia gave him a tight hug around his shoulders as they began walking down the steps, her eyes wandering around the grand stairway as they descended slowly. Her lashes fluttered when she saw the half-moon window over the landing, and her fingers caressed the mahogany handrail.
“Mama, you’re acting like you ain’t never walked down these stairs before,” Tad said bluntly, his brow furrowed.
“Please don’t say ain’t,” Alethia said, averting her eyes from the ornate staircase. “Remember, you’re the son of the president of the United States of America. It’s important for you to use proper grammar at all times.”
“Yes, Mama.” He hung his head.
Alethia breathed deeply, praying for the self-restraint needed to mask her child-like wonder at her new surroundings.
“Sometimes I forget how beautiful this house is, Tad,” she tried to explain with humor. “There are moments—well, the way the lights hit the windows or paintings, it just takes my breath away.” She laughed. “It’s the Kentucky girl in me, I suppose.”
When Tad did not respond, Alethia sighed, because she could not describe her feelings. Garments made of rich fabrics she had seen only on fine ladies who stretched their legs during short layovers at the Bladensburg train depot were now within her touch. The most famous mansion in the nation, at one time home to Dolley Madison, was now her home. And, most important of all, a family—a warm, strong man and a beautiful, lively boy—was now hers to hold, love, and caress. All would be ripped from her bosom if she could not act as though these new joys were merely ordinary. At the bottom of the stairs she saw Duff wave good-bye to Hay and Nicolay as they left through the front door. He turned to smile at them and point to the small dining room off to a quiet corner. When Alethia walked in, she breathed a sigh of relief because, in this room, she did not feel overwhelmed but warmly welcomed. It was not imperious, but reminiscent of her aunt’s dining room where she had eaten every Christmas dinner since childhood. Her eyes caught sight of white vases on each end of the buffet, which overflowed with fresh-cut camellias. The striking view of white flowers against the antique white of the vases, accented by a few camellia leaves, made Alethia breathe deeply. What exquisite taste Mrs. Lincoln must have, she marveled, becoming fearful she could not imitate such sophistication. She resisted the urge to rush over to smell the strong scent of the camellias, to touch lightly their petals and gently caress the vases; instead, she ignored them and invited her new family to sit. Phebe entered with a tray of soup bowls.
“Thank you, Phebe,” she said, pleased she remembered her name. “You may serve the soup.”
“Tomato bisque, as you requested,” Phebe said.
“It looks delicious,” Alethia said.
Looking at Alethia, Tad whined. “But you said I didn’t have to eat this junk.” He frowned as Phebe put the bowl before him.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “That’s right. I forgot. I’m sorry, Phebe. Please take the bowl away.”
“That’s all right, Phebe.” Reaching for the bowl, Duff said, “I’ll take care of it.”
“Very well, Mr. President. Neal will be up in a few minutes with the main course.”
“Thank you, Phebe,” Alethia called out as she lifted her tray and left.
“This looks good,” Duff said, surveying his two soup bowls. He stopped short of picking up a spoon when his eye caught Alethia’s.
She was frowning, thinking suddenly that she did not know if the Lincolns practiced the custom of saying grace before every meal. She had read speeches by Lincoln in which he referred to Divine Providence, but even a spinster from a country village knew politicians often said anything to win votes with no intention of living the words they said.
“Mama,” Tad said. “Are you thinking about Willie again?”
‘What, dear?” Alethia turned to him, rousing from her dilemma about the prayer and whether Tad would notice. It was this young man, not members of the Cabinet or Congress, which Alethia feared most in keeping her identity a secret.
“You were awful quiet there,” he continued.
“It’s hard not to think of your brother.” She smiled.
“What do you think would help, Taddie?” Duff asked, glancing at Alethia. “Mentioning him in our prayers?”
“All right. Mama and I can talk to him at our bedtime prayers.”
“Maybe eating this good soup would make her feel better too,” Duff offered.
“Yeah, Mama; go ahead and eat.” Tad looked at Alethia and smiled.
“Let’s go ahead and eat our soup.” Duff smiled and picked up his spoon.
“It’s delicious,” Alethia murmured as she sipped, trying to hide the pleasure on her face at Duff’s clever way of solving the blessing problem.