Lincoln in the Basement Chapter Thirty-Seven

Previously in the novel: War Secretary Edwin Stanton held President and Mrs. Lincoln captive under guard in basement of the White House. Duff and Alethia find pretending to be the Lincolns difficult, especially with Tad coming down sick. Stanton interrupts their dinner to make sure Duff is not eating too much.
“I don’t see why you can’t eat what you want.” Alethia’s fingers covered his hand, quivering at the hair across his knuckles and the warmth pulsating from his skin. “You’re a big, robust man who needs his food.”
“You should have seen me back in Michigan.” He turned to smile at Alethia. “I was near three hundred pounds. Biggest man in town.”
“Oh my.” She fluttered her eyes.
“My body’s used to having a heap of meat on it,” he said, “not like Mr. Lincoln, who’s always been a bag of bones.”
“Prison must have been terrible,” she consoled Duff. “To lose all that weight.”
“I don’t like to talk about that.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then stood and paced to the door. Pausing there, he hung his head. “Being here is like prison. Not getting to eat. Mr. Stanton’s mighty close to being a prison warden.”
“I thought the way he put his hand on your abdomen was disgraceful.” Alethia stood and went to Duff. “It was so unseemly.”
“I hate him,” he whispered. “I hate being here.” He turned to smile bashfully at her. “But not you. You make this bearable.”
“Why, thank you.” She touched his arm. “I feel the same.” After Duff pulled his arm away, Alethia looked back at her plate filled with food. She said, “If you wish to leave while I finish my dinner, you may. It must be frustrating to watch someone else enjoying food you can’t eat.”
“That’s very sweet of you, ma’am.” Duff walked to her chair and pulled it out. “It wouldn’t be proper for a husband to abandon his wife and let her eat alone.” He smiled. “Please. Sit. Enjoy. It smells delicious.”
Alethia gratefully sat and began to eat, thinking of his words—a husband and his wife. She wished that were true in the real world. Perhaps, after all this was over, she dreamed as she chewed on the collard greens. For the next half-hour they chatted and laughed, reminiscing about the pleasant times of the last two months, as though they were years of family memories—the irrepressible Tad, the lovely surroundings, the kind servants. In that suspended glow of romantic lies, Alethia felt happy, even loved. After she finished, she strolled to the stairs with Duff, who opened the door for her. She thought her heart would stop when he put his large arm around her shoulders. It was the first time Duff had ventured to make physical contact, and she held her breath, trying to keep from crying. They went into Lincoln’s bedroom where Alethia hoped Duff would dare make the impertinent suggestion that they spend the night in the same bed as man and wife. He removed his coat, hung it up, and then turned to smile at her.
“Good night, Mrs. Lincoln.”

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