Previously: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby Zook captive under guard in the White House basement.Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. Impostor Duff must deliver the Gettysburg Address. Mrs. Surratt confronts Gabby’s sister Cordie at the boardinghouse about spying for the South.
Late April found the capital drenched in an eternal cold, tingling drizzle. Duff, well into the second year of pretending to be Abraham Lincoln, stared out of his office window at the people running through the rain, trying to jump around mud holes. In many ways, he felt content with his life as husband to Alethia, though he had not found the courage to consummate their love, fearing the intimacy would require that he reveal his secrets to her. He liked Tad better each day, and enjoyed his contact with the Cabinet members. On the other hand, Duff hated himself for lying to Lamon, for fearing Stanton, and for allowing the Lincolns to waste away in the basement.
“Mr. President, Secretary Stanton is here to see you.” Hay broke Duff’s trance with his announcement.
“Very well.”
Hay stepped aside to allow Stanton, wheezing and coughing, to enter. After the young man closed the door, Stanton sat and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.
“Have you seen your doctor?”
“Yes, this morning.” A hacking cough erupted. “Damn asthma. Damn nuisance.”
“You should take to your bed.”
“That’s what my doctor said.” He looked up at Duff. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d have Ward Lamon here and tell him the whole story.”
“How do you know I haven’t already told him?”
“Because Lamon hasn’t stormed the building.” Stanton coughed. “And because you know if Lincoln’s freed now, you’ll return to prison to hang.”
“Maybe not.”
“I don’t think you’re willing to take the chance.”
“In any case, you’re not willing to give me the chance.”
Stanton laughed and coughed at the same time. Putting his head in his hands, he continued, “The newspapers are responding well to the announcement that you named General Grant to head of the Army of the Potomac. He’s taken control of the troops, and they seem to be responding favorably to him. In the next few days, you should send a series of letters to him, reiterating your support.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll let you know.” Stanton stood. “I’m going home, but I’ve instructed Private Christy to spend more time with you in the office. After all, he is your adjutant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He’ll be here in a few minutes.” Stanton turned for the door. “I’ll return this evening, with news from the telegraph room.”
How he loathed the man, Duff thought as he returned his gaze to the rain outside his window.
“Mr. President?” Hay hesitantly asked as he stepped into the office. “May I have a word with you?”
Duff nodded. Hay looked back before he closed the door.
“I think I should mention something, but you may not want to hear it.”
Stiffening, Duff remained silent but motioned for Hay to sit.
“Mr. President,” Hay began with his eyes down, “as you know, I enjoy my night life, going to bars late into the evening. Often I hear gossip, and I dismiss it as gossip, but recently soldiers, many of them just released from army hospitals, were complaining about lack of medical supplies.”
“We’re funding the military as well as we can,” Duff replied.
“They aren’t blaming you or Congress. It’s Mr. Stanton.”
“It’s gossip.”
“They say you were going to fire him—back in sixty-two.” Hay stressed the year, cocking his head.
Duff smiled. “Have you heard the one that Mrs. Lincoln’s a Southern spy? Not only that, she stole my State of the Union address and sold it to the newspapers. Best of all is the story that I’m totally insane.”
“You haven’t been yourself for almost two years,” Hay whispered. He looked startled and then dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Duff did not know whether to be relieved or threatened. Hay knew. If he knew, Nicolay knew, yet they had said nothing all this time. Duff wondered why Hay had chosen this time to broach the topic. Putting his hand to his mouth, he thought perhaps the asthma outbreak had weakened Stanton’s determination. Maybe it had. Maybe this was the time. Duff leaned forward in his chair to confide in his staff. A knock interrupted him.
“Yes?”
“It’s me, sir, Private Christy.” Adam paused at the door. “Mr. Stanton said you needed me.”
For a moment Duff made eye contact with Hay, then decided the opportunity had passed.
“Come in, Private.”
Adam entered, and Duff was impressed. He looked sharp in his uniform. Maybe he was filling it out, too. His eyes no longer looked glazed over.
“What do you need, Mr. President?”
“A letter delivered to the War Department,” Duff said, watching Hay slump back in his chair. “For General Grant. Ready for dictation, Mr. Hay?”
“Yes, sir.” Hay pulled a pad and pencil from his pocket.
“Dear General Grant…”
Duff leaned back in his chair and tried to think of the right words to say while he watched Adam’s eyes wander out the window and a smile land softly on his lips.
“I want to take this occasion to express my confidence…”
Adam was in love, Duff decided. He had been young once. He remembered how it felt. He knew how it felt even now when Alethia walked into the room. Did love make his intolerable job tolerable? Duff wondered. Perhaps. Love created hope, and hope meant there was going to be a tomorrow.
“Reports say the troops are responding well to your leadership…”
And what kept Hay going? Duff switched his attention to his secretary. He did not believe Hay was in love, except for his love of life. Maybe that is what gave him the courage to speak the unspeakable and the hope for something better.
“Please feel free to correspond with me any time…”
And what kept himself? Was it love, hope, or pure, simple fear that he would be discovered? His cowardice and his evil desperation could be exposed to the world for condemnation. As long as he lied and walked the tightrope of deception, his world would continue.
“Best wishes, A. Lincoln.”
Duff turned to look out of the window.
“That will be all, gentlemen.”
Hay and Adam left, and after they shut the door, Duff choked back tears. This was torture, but he feared more what awaited him beyond the torture.