Previously in the novel: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns captive under guard in the White House basement. Stanton selects Duff, an AWOL convict,to impersonate Lincoln. Duff learns how to conduct cabinet meetings. Alethia, the woman playing Mrs. Lincoln, has had a carriage accident.
His pounding heart drowned out the horses’ hooves as Duff’s carriage bumped and clanged along the rocky path into the Maryland foothills to the Soldiers’ Home. He sensed a cool breeze in his face, yet not cool enough to relieve the burning on the back of his neck. Alethia’s gentle voice, the touch of her loving fingers, and her soft bosom on which he had laid his head and cried himself to sleep—they all were important to him now. The clopping slowed, and his eyes focused on Scott Dormitory, a large building filled with wounded and ill soldiers, and Anderson Cottage on the right. A smile flickered across Duff’s broad, thick lips when he saw Tad waiting for him on Anderson Cottage’s large, covered porch, outlined in white gingerbread trim.
“Is she going to be all right?” Tad whispered.
“I haven’t seen her yet.”
“I want her to be all right.” He hugged Duff tightly around his waist. “I like her very much.” His hands slid down Duff’s backside. “Your butt’s fatter than Papa’s.” Tad’s eyes softened. “But it’s a nice butt.”
“Thank you, Tad.”
“You better check up on her. Tell her I love her.” Tad lowered his eyes and backed away.
Duff walked through Scott Dormitory’s front door into a long ward of cots along each wall. Wide, tall open windows allowed cool foothill air to waft in. Within seconds, soldiers struggled from their cots to stand or at least sit up to applaud. Duff ducked his head, trying to hide his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A doctor rushed to him.
“Don’t worry, Mr. President,” he said pumping Duff’s hand. “There have been complications, but I felt the wording of the telegraph was overly dramatic.”
“Where is she?”
“In that small room.” He pointed to a door at the end of the ward.
“Thank you.” Duff stopped to talk to the men, patting their thin backs as he walked to the rear. One particular man with an arm missing lowered his head when Duff approached.
“I know I ain’t the best lookin’ man in the world,” said Duff, “but it can’t hurt your eyes too much to look at me.”
“It ain’t that, Mr. President. I’m ashamed.”
“Ashamed of what? That you gave only one arm for your country?”
“We ran away.” He rolled over.
“What?” Duff walked to the other side. “I didn’t catch what you said.”
“We ran. All of us. Like scared rabbits.”
“Hmm.” Duff thought of his own experience, and then touched the soldier’s shuddering shoulder. “That reminds me of a story I heard back in New Salem. This boy and his girl were caught in an embarrassing situation by her father, who took umbrage—and a gun—to the boy. Well, he lit out down the road. As luck would have it, a rabbit was runnin’ down the road. ‘Git out of the road, old hare,’ the boy says, ‘and let somebody run that knows how.’”
Others laughed, and the soldier smiled and wiped tears from his eyes.
“We all run faster than the rabbit at one time or another,” Duff said.
He rose and was about to enter the small room, when another soldier, older and more grizzled, intercepted him.
“I hope the missus is all right, Mr. President.”
“The doc says she’s on the mend.”
“Don’t take no offense, Mr. Lincoln, but if this accident had happened a year ago, no one would’ve much cared. But she’s changed in her ways, and we noticed it. I mean no offense…”
“No offense taken,” Duff said, trying to hide his pleasure that they cared more for the woman he loved than the woman she pretended to be. “You know, Mrs. Lincoln led a sheltered life before she married me. It took her awhile to get used to my backwoods ways.”
“I knew you’d understand.” He flashed a grin interrupted by large gaps between the brown teeth. “You’re one of us. We’re all praying for her.”
“Thank you, sir.” Duff liked talking with honest, rough men who were what he wished he had been.