John Hay, Lincoln’s secretary

Previously in the novel: War Secretary Edwin Stanton held President and Mrs. Lincoln captive under guard in basement of the White House. He guided his substitute Lincoln through his first Cabinet meeting even though there were some complications. Then he skillfully maneuvered Lincoln’s bodyguard Ward Hill Lamon into believing Lincoln and his wife were in hiding because of death threats.

John Hay lay restlessly in his bed awaiting John Nicolay to finish ripping open letters in the office across the hall. As much as he tried, Hay was unable to go to sleep, because something odd struck him about the events of the afternoon and evening.
Hay had met Nicolay in Springfield, Illinois, and both of them met the gentleman who was a lawyer for the railroads. When Lincoln ran for president, he employed Nicolay to take care of his correspondence, and when he was elected, he took Nicolay’s advice to hire Hay. Few secrets were held from the two men, and that was why Hay was he left his bed and slipped on his pants. Walking barefoot, Hay entered to see Nicolay in the dimly lit office, efficiently opening letters, scanning the contents, and assigning them to various piles. Flashing in the kerosene lamp was Nicolay’s Bavarian wood-carving knife.
“Still busy?” Hay asked.
“Ja,” Nicolay replied in a tired accent.
“I couldn’t sleep. This afternoon and evening were so strange.”
“In what way?”
“First of all,” Hay began, while sitting on the edge of Nicolay’s desk, “the whole idea of Mr. Lincoln’s wanting both of us to take Tad to the Willard for pie and cake.”
“It takes two men to contain the boy.”
“I think he wanted both of us out of the building so we wouldn’t witness what was going on.” Hay’s eyes searched his friend’s face, hoping for an answer that would calm his fears.
“And what would that be?” Nicolay kept his eyes down as he continued opening and reading letters.
“Will you please look at me while I’m speaking?”
“I must have these letters ready for the president tomorrow morning. The unexpected trip to the Willard and the late Cabinet meeting put me behind in my correspondence.”
“But didn’t you think it was strange he’d call a Cabinet meeting so late, yet not come to any decision?” Hay’s nerves were being unsettled by Nicolay’s resistance to offer any solutions to his problems.
With a heavy sigh, Nicolay put down his Bavarian carving knife and placed his hands to his chin, narrowing his eyes on Hay, whose left eye was twitching a bit. “What is your job?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you paid to do?”
“Take notes at meetings.” Hay knew it would be folly to be esoteric. “Screen visitors to his office. Represent the president at events he doesn’t wish to attend.”
“Correct.” Nicolay continued his duties. “At no time did you mention making unpopular observations.”
“But it’s our obligation—”
“My obligation is to open letters, read them, and assign them to various piles.” He put the letter currently in his hand into the wastepaper basket. “That letter merited nothing. Others I pass on to you—social events and such. Some I pass on to Cabinet secretaries. And very few are forwarded to the president. That’s my job.”
“Are you saying,” Hay said, wrinkling his brow, “you didn’t notice anything?”
“I noticed the president was a half-inch taller,” Nicolay replied. “He spoke in a dialect more likely found in Michigan than Illinois, and there were no stray black hairs peeking above his collar. But those observations are not part of my job.”
“But that’s not right.” Hay shook his head.
“This is another letter from Mr. Herndon.” He held up an envelope. “He’s probably asking for another favor, obviously illegal or at least unethical, and which will certainly be approved by the president.” Nicolay placed the letter unopened in the stack going directly to the president. “If I did the right thing, the ethical thing, I’d take it to the Congress and report the president for impeachable behavior, but that’s not my job, and I won’t embarrass the president.”
“But don’t we have an obligation to the Constitution to reveal possible corruption?” Hay stood to lean over the desk toward Nicolay, who quickly rose and placed his knife to Hay’s throat.
“You do know men have had their throats slit for trying to uphold the Constitution?”
“Yes, sir.” Hay quavered, looking down at the knife.
“Don’t worry, Johnny.” Nicolay smiled, put his knife down, and patted Hay’s pale cheek. “I wouldn’t hurt you. And you’re right—Mr. Lincoln has disappeared and been replaced by a poor substitute. But if you ask questions about the change, I’m afraid someone might use a knife across your neck to keep you quiet.”