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. Then he told Lincoln’s bodyguard Ward Hill Lamon into believing Lincoln and his wife were in hiding because of death threats. Lincoln’s secretaries realize something is wrong but are afraid to say anything. Janitor Gabby Zook, caught in the basement room with the Lincolns, begins to think he is president.

Gabby hunched his shoulders and wished he had kept his presidential opinions to himself. His hand shook as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Now, Molly, Mr. Gabby’s trying to make the best of the situation,” Lincoln said. “You should, too.”
“He’s out of his mind! It’s plain as the mottled nose on his pitiful face that he’s addled! And you’re no better!”
“Let me know when the newspaper arrives.” Lincoln looked at Gabby, shook his head, and retreated behind his curtain to his cot.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Gabby turned to escape into his own corner.
“You’re just like Cousin Fitzhugh on Mother’s side of the family,” Mrs. Lincoln began, her voice edged with faint contrition. “He wasn’t a Todd. Heavens, no. I don’t think he ever stepped a foot inside a Todd household. He wasn’t even of Granddaddy’s family. I don’t even remember his surname. No one really wanted to claim him, and I only met him on sad occasions when one of Mother’s elderly kin passed on. He was always there at the wake and the funeral. I just shuddered every time he walked into the laying-out room.”
“We laid Papa out in the parlor,” Gabby said. “We didn’t have a special room for that. Our apartment wasn’t that big, and we didn’t have people die that often, so we didn’t see any need for a special laying-out room.”
“The parlor,” Mrs. Lincoln said, sighing deeply, and nervously rattling her cup against the saucer, “was the laying out room.”
“Oh.”
“As I was saying, I just shuddered when Cousin Fitzhugh arrived. I’ve a naturally pleasant turn of mouth, which makes me look friendlier than I often wish to be, and he thought I wanted him to approach me and tell me all sorts of nonsensical things. Rambled, that’s all he did. Rambled.” Pausing to sip her coffee, Mrs. Lincoln wrinkled her nose. “Tepid. Just as I thought it would be.” Her eyes darted to Gabby. “Just like you.”
“I’m tepid?”
“Oh no.” She giggled, and her eyes twinkled, creating for a split second the image that Gabby surmised was what her husband had fallen in love with many years ago. “No, ramble. You ramble just like Cousin Fitzhugh.”
“Oh.”
“Mama always said there was no reason to be afraid of Cousin Fitzhugh. He was gentle as a lamb.” Mrs. Lincoln smiled and nodded to the chair across the billiards table from her. “Please have your breakfast out here. We may as well learn to be sociable. We’re going to be here for a while, it seems.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Gabby sat in the chair and put his plate on the green top of the billiards table. After taking a bite of egg from the plate, which now sat uncomfortably near his chin, he looked over at her.
“I don’t like that Mr. Stanton.”
“You’re certainly correct about that, Mr. Gabby.”
Part of his presidential skills was being diplomatic. That was another class in which he excelled, diplomacy. He prided himself for finding ground for common interests.
“I sure miss my sister Cordie.”
“I imagine you do.” She paused. “She takes care of you, doesn’t she?”
Gabby nodded.
“I miss my little boy,” Mrs. Lincoln whispered.
“Of course, a mama would miss her child.”
“People don’t understand Tad.” Mrs. Lincoln clasped her hands in front of her and looked off, as though in confession. “I know that they think he’s wild and undisciplined, but he has a problem. His palate is malformed. Do you know what the palate is?”
“It’s right here.” Gabby nodded and pointed to his open mouth.
“Yes, Mr. Gabby.” Mrs. Lincoln momentarily closed her eyes because Gabby still had semi-masticated egg on his tongue. “That’s right.” She smiled at him. “You’re smarter than most people give you credit for.”
“I went to West Point,” he offered.
“Taddie is smarter than people think too. He speaks haltingly and baby-like sometimes, and that makes people think he’s stupid. But he’s not stupid.” She chuckled. “The things that boy can think to say. You can’t be stupid and come up with things like that to say.”