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. Tad Lincoln becomes ill.
Mrs. Lincoln would know what to do, Adam Christy told himself, but she is not the woman tending to Tad right now.
“I suppose so,” he muttered.
“I don’t know,” Neal said. “If it’s his appendix, it could bust right soon, and he’d be dead before morning if nobody does anything about it.”
“Neal.” Phebe slapped his arm.
They walked off fussing at each other as Adam nervously unlocked the door. Could Tad die? He was worried, as he entered with the three pots.
Gabby took his. “That Mr. Stanton, do you talk with him often?” He kept his eyes down.
“Yes.”
“Please tell him—in a nice way, because I don’t want to get him mad, since he’s so hot-tempered in the first place—to be nice to Cordie.”
“I will.”
“She doesn’t feel well.”
“Oh.”
“I think she has the family disease.”
“What’s that?”
“Sitters disease.”
Gabby turned to scurry behind the boxes and crates. Mrs. Lincoln came from behind her curtain combing her hair out, and for the first time since Adam had known her, wore a look of quiet resignation instead of pent-up anger. She smiled at him.
“Back already? My, you’re quick like a bunny rabbit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Adam felt his face flush as he thought of Tad and his bilious condition. As had become the custom, he placed the chamber pots down outside the curtain and turned to go.
“Private Christy, is there anything wrong? You’ve the oddest expression on your face.”
“No, ma’am.” He turned back and felt his face turn redder. “There’s nothing wrong.”
“Nonsense.” She clutched the comb in both hands. “Your face is as red as a beet.”
“Well, I—I well…”
“Spit it out, boy,” Mrs. Lincoln ordered.
Lincoln, his collar undone, exposing masses of black hair on a bony chest, stepped from his private corner and put an arm around his wife’s waist and squeezed.
“It’s—it’s personal, and private.”
“You’re lying,” she declared.
“No, I’m not!”
“Now, Molly, no need to harass the boy so late at night. He needs his rest, and you need yours. I definitely need mine.”
“It’s Tad,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong with Tad.”
Adam’s eyes went to the floor.
“It is.” Her voice began to mount to its usual stridency. “I can tell. Oh, my God! Something’s wrong with my baby.”
“Come on, Private, we don’t believe in killing the messenger of sad tidings,” Lincoln said. “What is it?”
“The kitchen help said your son wasn’t feeling well,” he said. “They said he was bilious.”
“Well, that’s not so bad,” Lincoln replied.
“Not so bad!” Mrs. Lincoln struggled to free herself from his grip. “What imbecility is that? Haven’t you heard of appendicitis? Food poisoning? It could be any number of terrible, terrible things, and you say not so bad?”
Lincoln turned to Adam. “Why don’t you go upstairs and do a little reconnaissance work for us?”
“Yes, sir.” Adam left and went up the service stairs, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear the straw mats crunching under his boots. On the second floor, he went straight to Tad’s room, where he found Alethia wiping the boy’s head with a wet cloth. To the side was a bucket filled with vomit.
“Poor child,” Alethia said as she looked up at Adam, “he must have eaten green fruit again.”
“No, I didn’t,” Tad protested.
“Is he going to be all right?”
“Oh, I think so.” Alethia smiled and stroked his cheek. “I gave him a dose of subnitrate of bismuth.”
“It tasted awful,” Tad said.
“But you haven’t thrown up since,” Alethia said.
Adam breathed deeply “That’s good.”
“I want Mama.” Tad looked from Alethia to Adam and back again. “My real mama.”
“Why, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alethia replied.
“I think you’re a very nice lady who looks like Mama, but you’re not her. And that man isn’t Papa,” Tad whispered conspiratorially. “It’s part of a war plan. I got that part figured out.” His bottom lip crinkled. “But I don’t feel good, and I want Mama.”
Adam stared at Alethia, not knowing what to do, and hoping she had some answer, but the scared look on her face revealed she knew as little as he did. He jumped a little as he suddenly became aware of Duff’s presence in the room.
“What do you think?” he asked him, frowning.
“I think you should tell his parents that he’s received medicine and is feeling some better, but wants to see them. They deserve to know that much.” Duff looked at Tad and smiled. “I knew you were a smart boy. Thanks for keeping our secret.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “But I still want Mama.”
“Of course, it’s not my decision,” Duff said to Adam, “but I think it’d behoove us to keep this child happy and willing to go along with our game. Isn’t that right, Tad?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know.” Adam shook his head. “I don’t know what Mr. Stanton would say.”
“What difference does it make what that old poop thinks?” Tad chimed. “My papa is in charge of this switch, ain’t he?”
“Of course, he is,” Duff said.
Adam and Alethia exchanged nervous glances.
“This young fellow here just likes to keep everybody involved in this caper happy,” Duff continued, smiling at the boy and reaching to muss his hair.
“Hmph, I don’t care if old Mr. Stanton is happy or not,” Tad said in a pout.
“I’ll see what Mr. Lincoln wants.” Adam’s stomach tightened as he lied to Tad. More and more, he feared the threads of Stanton’s tapestry were unraveling—the war continued, the boy knew and could talk, and the kitchen help was curious, too curious.
“Yes.” Alethia patted Tad’s cheek. “Soon you’ll get a hug from your mama. But you must promise not to tell anyone.”
“Not even Robert?” he asked.
“Especially not your brother,” Duff replied.
“Good.” Tad smiled impishly. “I like keeping secrets from my brother.”
In a few minutes, Adam was in the basement again, unlocking the door to the billiards room. Inside, Mrs. Lincoln rushed to him, grabbing his arm.
“How’s Taddie? Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. The lady thinks he has just a plain old bellyache. She gave him subnitrate of bismuth.”
“How much?” Mrs. Lincoln’s eyes widened. “Subnitrate is powerful medicine. If a child is overmedicated…”
“Now, Molly, I’m sure the lady upstairs knew the right amount to give him,” Lincoln interrupted as he walked up.
Adam noticed the look in Lincoln’s eyes did not match the moderation in his voice. Not even on the day he had brought the president to the basement did he see such anguish as he observed now. It made him nervous.
“Something else is wrong,” Mrs. Lincoln said. “I can tell. Your emotions are written on your face like Mr. Dickens writes stories on a page. What is it?”
“Tad is all right,” Adam repeated.
“What is it, son?” Lincoln asked ominously.
“It’s nothing, really.”
“Tell me!” she demanded, trying to control her hysteria, as Lincoln’s big hands clutched her shoulders tightly.
“He wants to see his mother.” Adam’s eyes wandered around the room and spotted Gabby peeking from his corner. He must have courage, or else he would dissolve into another Gabby Zook.
“So he knows that woman is a fake.” Mrs. Lincoln smiled with vindication.
“Of course he does,” Lincoln said, relaxing a bit. “He’s smart, just like his mama.”
“Then bring him down here. It won’t hurt. He already knows,” Mrs. Lincoln insisted.
“He’s kept the secret for two months now,” Lincoln added. “He can be trusted.”
“Oh, I know he can be trusted,” Adam agreed. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what?” Lincoln’s tone became ominous again.
“I don’t know if Mr. Stanton will approve.”
“Stanton! That evil man!” Mrs. Lincoln’s hands began to flail about.
“Now, Molly,” Lincoln said, forcing her hands down, “let me handle this.” He solemnly looked at Adam. “Go get Mr. Stanton’s approval right now.”
“He doesn’t like to be disturbed,” he explained.
“This woman’s already lost two babies.” Lincoln suddenly grabbed the front of Adam’s rumpled blue tunic, pulling him off his feet to eye level. “She gets fearful upset when another is ailing and she can’t pet him,” Lincoln stated softly, coldly. “So I suggest you get Mr. Stanton’s permission to bring that boy down here.”
Adam gasped in surprise as he nodded obediently. He quickly, painfully, became aware of Lincoln’s strength and anger. Scrambling for the door and fumbling for the keys, he followed the orders of the president of the United States.