Lincoln in the Basement Chapter Thirty


Edwin Stanton
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.

A loud knock at the door broke the tender moment Gabby and Mrs. Lincoln were sharing. Gabby began to dart for his corner behind the crates, but she grabbed his arm.
“There’s no reason for you to scurry off like a scared rat.”
“We don’t have any rats anymore. I caught them all. The traps going off in the middle of the night kept you awake, but I got rid of all the rats.”
Mrs. Lincoln’s grip on Gabby’s arm tightened as the door opened, and Stanton briskly entered, turned to lock the door, and then walked to the billiards table.
“I’ve scheduled several important meetings today, so I don’t have time to spend here.” He looked up. “Where’s Mr. Lincoln?”
“I’m reading election results, Mr. Stanton,” Lincoln called out. “I’ll be there as soon as I put on my shoes.”
Stanton sighed with exasperation, but stopped short when he saw the quilt in Gabby’s quivering hands. Gabby unsuccessfully tried to hide it behind his back.
“What’s that?” Stanton said, stretching himself to his full height.
“It’s—it’s—”
“It’s a lovely quilt made for him by his loving sister,” Mrs. Lincoln interjected.
“By his sister?” Stanton pulled out his pebble glasses and placed them on his nose, peering at the quilt. “Who gave permission for anything to be transmitted between the outside world and this room?”
“It’s just a quilt, Mr. Stanton,” Mrs. Lincoln said.
“Give it here.” Stanton snatched the quilt from Gabby.
“No, please.” His face began to twitch and his eyes to tear.
“There’s something in here.” Stanton pulled a pocketknife out and opened it. His stubby fingers roughly punched several of the squares.
“Yes,” Gabby said, trying to control his voice. “It’s…”
“You and your sister will regret it if you’re passing notes back and forth, sewn in quilts!”
“How ridiculous.” Mrs. Lincoln furtively turned to look into the curtained area where her husband sat. “Mr. Lincoln, please hurry.”
“No!” Gabby could not help the shriek in his voice as he watched Stanton rip through the material and pull out old, faded socks.
“I better not find any letters in here,” Stanton muttered as he slipped his hand into the socks.
“You fool!” Mrs. Lincoln slapped Stanton full across the face, knocking off his pebble glasses. “It’s just a quilt! Not everyone deals in evil plots, Mr. Stanton!”
“I’m sure Molly is sorry for striking you, Mr. Stanton.” Pulling his coat over his broad, bony shoulders, Lincoln appeared through the curtains and swiftly placed his large body between his wife and the war secretary. “I wish I’d a dollar for every swat on the head she’s given me.” He looked down at the quilt. “What’s this?”
“Part of some conspiracy cooked up by Mr. Gabby and his sister,” Mrs. Lincoln said, Southern acid dripping from each syllable. “Fortunately for us, Mr. Stanton has foiled their evil plot.”
“No, sir,” Stanton said. “Just a quilt.” He handed it back to Gabby.
“It’s not just a quilt, Mr. Lincoln. It’s a Gabby quilt.” Gabby caressed it as he fingered the damaged squares. “With holes in it.”
“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Gabby,” Mrs. Lincoln said. She looked imperiously at Stanton. “Will you be so kind as to provide me with thread and a needle so I can repair the damage you did to Mr. Gabby’s personal heirloom?”
Stanton arched an eyebrow. “Of course, ma’am.”
“Excuse me,” she said, turning to her curtained corner. “This unfortunate incident has fatigued me.” She disappeared behind the white French lace.
“So what do you wish to discuss today, Mr. Stanton?” Bending over to pick up Stanton’s glasses, Lincoln smiled. “The election results?”
“Don’t you want to withdraw to your corner also?” Stanton put his glasses back on his nose as he directed his attention to Gabby.
“No. I thought I’d sit out here for a while.” He took a chair on the opposite side of the billiards table and folded the quilt. “You know, I don’t get out much.”
“That’s absurd—”
“Mr. Stanton.” Lincoln shook his head. “Let’s proceed with our discussion.”

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