(Previously in the novel: War Secretary Stanton has placed President and Mrs. Lincoln under guard in the White House basement and replaced them with Duff and Alethia, lookalikes found in prison.
A few minutes later, Neal appeared with a tray holding three plates of pork chops, potatoes, and black-eyed peas. While Alethia’s family ties made her lean toward the cause of the South, she held no personal prejudice against black men, although she had never had any personal encounters with any, other than to pay the porter at the train station and to tell the old fellow sweeping the wooden sidewalk downtown to be careful not to get dust on her Sunday dress. This young black man did not scare Alethia as some did, those large, muscular laborers, black as midnight and with brooding eyes. Neal was slightly built, with light skin and freckles, which made him appear less ominous. He did have brooding eyes, though.
“Thank you, Neal,” she said.
“Neal, no.” Phebe arrived breathlessly in the doorway. “I forgot to tell you to take only two plates. Master Tad isn’t…”
“That’s all right,” Duff said, interrupting her and reaching for the tray. “Put two of those plates in front of me, Neal. I can handle them.”
“Yes, sir,” Neal said and gave a side glance to Phebe.
Was something wrong? Alethia worried. Had they noticed something already that made them suspicious? Only a few hours into their masquerade, she fretted, and found out so soon.
“Don’t look at me like that, Neal. I know it was my mistake,” she heard Phebe murmur.
Her eyes fluttering, Alethia realized they were not discovered. She sipped more tomato bisque to calm herself, thinking she should not assume every furrowed brow and every pregnant pause meant that someone had detected they were not the real Lincolns. Please, God, let this war be over soon, she prayed, for she could not take this stress very long.
“Neal, what kind of pie do you have down there?” Tad asked.
“You’ve already had your dessert,” Duff said.
“But I’m still hungry.”
“Then you should have eaten your soup.”
Good, Alethia said to herself, family squabbling is good.
“Well, Neal, what kind do you have?”
“I don’t know, Master Tad.” He pinched his lips together.
“It’s rhubarb,” Phebe offered.
“Yuck, I hate rhubarb.”
“Then it’s just as well, as you weren’t getting any in the first place,” Duff said as smoothly as the authentic Lincoln would have said.
As Phebe and Neal left, Tad looked over at their dinner. “I like pork chops.”
“You can have part of mine,” Alethia said and sliced a wedge off the thick, pan-fried chop on her plate.
“You’re going to spoil that boy,” Duff said.
“I’m not going to have any more boys.” Alethia touched his hair as he took the sliver of meat and stuffed it into his mouth. “He’s my last one.” She pulled away her hand and put it to her cheek, trying not to cry.
“Papa!” Licking his fingers, Tad’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open as he watched Duff finish one plate of food and reach hungrily for the second. “You’re eating like a pig!”
“Tad!” Alethia exclaimed. “What a way to talk to your father!”
Duff looked up, his eyes innocent and questioning and his mouth filled with potatoes. He swallowed hard.
“It’s just that Papa always eats just a bit at supper. And just an apple for lunch,” he said apologetically. “You’re always after him ’cause he eats so little. That’s all. I didn’t mean nothing.”
“Well, Taddie,” Alethia said with a laugh, “it seems you’re putting your father in a difficult situation. I fuss at him for eating too little, and when he tries to please me, you fuss at him for eating too much.”
“I didn’t mean to fuss.” Tad scrunched up his face.
“Go ahead, Father, and enjoy your supper,” Alethia said.
“I filled up.” Duff looked as though he had been caught doing something much worse than eating more than his share. He pushed the plate away.
“Are you sure?” Alethia furrowed her brow.
“Yes,” he replied. “Tad’s right. I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” His eyes, however, gave him away as they stared longingly at the second pork chop from which he had taken only one bite.
“Then you must have a slice of that delightful rhubarb pie,” Alethia said.
“No, all filled up.” Glancing at Tad, Duff shook his head.
“Very well,” Alethia said. She dipped her fork into the potatoes and tasted them.
The rest of the meal went quietly, until Secretary of War Stanton appeared in the door and loudly cleared his throat. The three at the dining table looked up to see his disapproving glare through his pebble glasses.
“The Cabinet members will be here soon,” he said dourly. “We must prepare.”
“Yes, of course.” Duff looked up with wide eyes and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin.
As the four of them left the small family dining room and walked down the hall, Stanton took Duff by the elbow to lead him to the service stairs. Alethia was alarmed that Duff looked confused.
“This way, Mr. President,” Stanton said.
Looking at the grand staircase at the end of the hall, Duff muttered, “But I thought…”
“The president doesn’t need to be prancing up and down the formal staircase all the time,” Stanton said, hardly hiding the reprimand in his voice. “He needs to protect his privacy by using the service stairs.”
“Of course,” Duff said as he followed Stanton.
Tad tugged on Alethia’s dress sleeve, and she bent down. “I don’t know why Papa doesn’t haul off and knock him down when he talks to him like that,” he whispered.
“Well,” Alethia replied, trying not to smile, “you know your father is very good at dealing with difficult people.”
They began climbing the service stairs, well behind Duff and Stanton, who were almost the second floor door. Tad grunted.
“I’d rather kick him in the shins.”
“Oh no; you mustn’t do that.”
“You said this afternoon that he got what he deserved when I pulled his beard.” He turned to look at her quizzically.
“You know me,” Alethia said with a desperate laugh. “Sometimes when I’m in a snit I say things I shouldn’t.” She playfully swiped at his shoulder with her hand. “As a young gentleman, you shouldn’t remind a lady of when she didn’t act like a lady.”
By the time they reached the top and entered the second floor hall, Duff and Stanton had disappeared through the glass panels into the president’s office. Alethia and Tad turned the other way to Tad’s bedroom. Alethia was pleased with herself that she remembered the correct door to open.
“And now it’s time for you to go to bed,” she sweetly announced.
As Tad went to his armoire to change into his pajamas, Alethia busied herself pouring water into a basin to wipe some of the grime and perspiration from the boy’s face and neck.
“I don’t like that Mr. Stanton,” Tad said as he crawled into bed. “He’s too cross and bossy. Sometimes I think he wants to be president instead of papa.”
“It’s war, Tad.” Alethia sat on the bed’s edge and lovingly wiped Tad’s troubled face. “That makes everybody a little cross. And men who want others to accept their ideas can look like they’re a little bossy.”
“Not a little, a whole bunch bossy.”
“Oh, Tad, what are we going to do with you?” She laughed as she caressed his slender neck with the wet cloth, wiping around the nape and down the shoulders.
“I’m not that dirty, am I?”
“Of course not. Mothers just get carried away, that’s all.” Alethia pulled back and walked to the basin where she rinsed out the cloth. “And Mr. Stanton. Don’t be too harsh on him, dear. I’m sure he has a wife and children and is quite gentle when he’s with them. Remember, people aren’t always as they appear.” She suddenly felt the back of her neck turn red with embarrassment. She tried to smile. “What I mean is, while Mr. Stanton may appear mean to you, he actually is quite affectionate with his children.”
“You already said that.”
“Oh dear, I’m getting confused again, aren’t I?” Alethia returned to the bed and sat close to Tad. She brushed the hair from his brow. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
“I love you most when you’re like this, Mama.” Tad smiled and sat up.
“Like what?”
“You know, quiet and happy. Content and smiling. When you—now, don’t get mad—when you admit you make mistakes and apologize.”
“I don’t do that enough,” Alethia said. “I promise to try harder.”
“I know you try.” Tad leaned forward to hug her. “I love you, Mama.”
Alethia held her breath in an attempt not to cry from the joy of having a beautiful young boy embrace her so tightly. Duff could worry about the danger of their situation; she was going to enjoy the moment. “And I love you.”
Suddenly, Tad pulled away, his eyes wide with apprehension and confusion. He tried to talk, but no words came out. His little hand shook as it pointed at her bosom, and he held his other hand to his chest.
“What’s wrong, Tad?”
He shook his head and pointed again to her breast. Her hand went to her full bosom and covered it.
“I don’t understand, Tad. What’s wrong?”
Not saying a word, only moaning pitifully, he lay back down and pulled the covers up to his face until only his eyes, filled with fear, were left showing.
Alethia continued to look down at her bosom and then at Tad several times, until her mouth flew open and both arms went to her chest as though to hide it.
“Oh.”
Tad responded by sinking his head completely beneath the covers.