Previously in the novel: War Secretary Edwin Stanton holds President and Mrs. Lincoln captive under guard in basement of the White House. Janitor Gabby Zook by accident must stay in the basement too. Guard Adam Christy reports on his condition each evening to his sister Cordie and fellow hospital volunteer Jessie Home.
Cordie turned her head to watch Adam’s animated description of the land and rivers and trees and skies of Ohio, which did not interest her in the least. At her age, one place was as good as the next to her, but what did interest her was the sparkle in his eyes. She worried Jessie underestimated her charms. It would be a shame to see a nice young man disappointed. Wondering why she cared about Adam, she looked again into his wide, intelligent, excited eyes. Cordie smiled to herself, and tears came to her eyes. Pulling out a handkerchief and wiping her moist cheeks, she knew what she saw—the spirit of young Gabby living on in the image of Adam. The omnibus’s grinding halt shook Cordie from her thoughts. Peering through the window, she nodded.
“It’s my stop.”
Her two companions did not hear her as they continued their enthusiastic conversation. Cordie looked fondly at them and regretted having to step past them to get out.
“Excuse me, my dears,” she said softly, still not catching their attention. She walked down the aisle feeling strangely content, even though her world had been turned upside down.
“Good night, me darlin’,” Jessie called out.
“Um, yes, good-bye, Miss Zook,” Adam said.
“Good night, children.” She turned and nodded.
Standing a moment at the curb on H Street to watch the omnibus clatter down the rough dirt road and disappear in the darkness, Cordie turned and walked up the steps to the front door of the three-story wooden clapboard boardinghouse occupied by a congenial older couple, Mr. and Mrs. John Edmonds. They leased it from a Maryland innkeeper who, the Edmondses said, rode in monthly to collect rent from boarders, mostly young men who needed mending done. That was where Cordie made her money.
As Cordie put her key in the lock, she heard Mrs. Edmonds’s sweet, low voice being drowned out by a stern, demanding female voice. She slipped through the door and tried to make her way silently to the stairs.
“Just a minute!” The other woman, middle-aged, with dark hair parted down the middle and tied tight in the back, approached Cordie. “Is this the woman you’re renting to?”
“Yes; Miss Zook,” Mrs. Edmonds said, “a dear soul who tends to our wounded Union soldiers at the Armory Square Hospital.”
The woman looked sharply at her, then at Cordie. “How long have you been living here and making a living off my boarders?”
“Not quite a year,” she replied.
“From now on, I’m charging two dollars more for using my house as a place of business.” Nodding curtly, she said, “Good night, Mrs. Edmonds.” Without another word, she put on her coat and bonnet and left.
“Gracious me,” Cordie said. “I hope I didn’t get you into trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it, my dear.” Mrs. Edmonds patted her hand. “I’m glad John had gone to bed. Mrs. Surratt’s tirade would have weakened his heart.”
“Is she always like this?”
“No, for the longest she was a sweet soul, not very talkative, but nice.” Mrs. Edmonds sighed. “Her husband drank too much. He died in August, and she hasn’t been the same since.”