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. Lincoln’s friend Ward Lamon tries to figure out what’s going on.
Ward Lamon knew the double was lying; Abraham Lincoln never hid from his enemies. Edwin Stanton had put the president somewhere and replaced him with this fellow who was a very bad liar. Nicolay and Hay knew Lincoln was gone, but he did not think they knew where he was. The private was the linchpin, but Lamon could not get to him. He was everywhere, yet nowhere, and no one would help.
Once or twice, while in the president’s office, he saw the red-haired private walk by.
“Who’s that?” he had asked the double.
“My adjutant, Private Adam Christy.”
“Where is he going?”
“About his duties.”
Questioning Nicolay and Hay had not been any more helpful; once Lamon had talked to Tad about him.
“He’s only a private. We used to have a lieutenant.”
“Yeah. Too bad. Where does he come from?”
“He told me, but I forgot.”
“Does he know where your papa is?”
Tad looked at him quizzically. “Are you in on it?”
“In on what?”
“If you have to ask, then you’re not.”
“Oh, you mean ‘it,’” Lamon said, trying to trick the boy.
“You’re pulling my leg now.”
“No, I’m not.” Lamon became flustered.
“I gotta go.” Tad scampered away down the hall and disappeared down the stairs.
Lamon tried to figure out why Tad did not want to tell him if Private Adam Christy knew the whereabouts of his parents. The “it” was the switch of presidents, which Tad was in on, but obviously the boy thought his father was in charge. Throughout the afternoon, as he sat in his district marshal office reading reports on the whereabouts of spies in the capital, Lamon considered the almost two years that had passed since Lincoln disappeared. He felt stupid, first for having just accepted what Stanton had told him, and second for not figuring out why Lincoln was missing and where he might be.
As evening approached, he sighed and went to a small restaurant to eat. After he sat and began sipping a beer, he noticed across the room a young couple, both red-haired, the man in a blue, rumpled private’s uniform. The soldier’s back was to Lamon, who wondered if this was the elusive presidential adjutant. When the waiter came up, the private turned his head, and Lamon saw that it was Adam. After the waiter left, he went to the table. The girl, young and vivacious, saw him first and smiled, but when Adam looked up, his face sobered.
“Mr. Lamon,” Adam said as he stood and extended his hand. “We’ve yet to meet. Always just missing each other.” He turned to the girl. “Jessie, this is Mr. Lincoln’s personal bodyguard, Ward Lamon. He’s also the district marshal.”
“Pleased to meet ye, Mr. Lamon.”
“Nice meeting you, Miss…”
“Home,” Adam supplied.
“Miss Home.” Lamon smiled. “Do you work in the White House too?”
“No,” Adam interrupted. “She volunteers at Armory Square Hospital.” He looked at Lamon. “Is there a problem with the president?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, his smile disappearing. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I have to go powder me nose, gentlemen,” Jessie said, standing. “I’ll let ye talk business in private.” Before they could reply, she had disappeared into the crowd.
“Sit,” Adam told him.
“Very pretty young lady,” Lamon remarked. “How did you meet?”
“Through mutual friends.”
“Oh, might I know them?”
“What do you want to ask about Mr. Lincoln?” Adam asked, sipping his coffee.
“Where is he?”
“Retired to his bedroom, I suppose.”
“No, I mean the real Mr. Lincoln.”
“I only know of one Mr. Lincoln.” Adam stared into Lamon’s eyes.
“When did you start working at the White House?”
“September of sixty-two; why?”
“It was about that time that Mr. Lincoln grew half an inch.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Adam sipped his coffee again. “I just do what I’m told to do.”
“You stay busy, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But not always on the second floor.”
“That’s true.” Again Adam stared at Lamon. “The Lincolns have me doing chores all over the place.” After a pause, he asked, “Mr. Lamon, what do you want?”
“Well,” Lamon replied with a small laugh, “I think it’s like finding out if you know the same secret I do without telling the secret, if that makes any sense.”
“What secret?”
Lamon looked deep into Adam’s face, his eyes, his mouth, trying to detect some nervous tic which would let him know if the boy was lying to him.
“That’s a pretty good job for a private to get, presidential adjutant,” Lamon said, deciding to go in another direction. “How did you get it?”
“Mr. Stanton.” Adam looked down at his plate and pushed string beans around with his fork. “He’s from my home town. My father grew up with him.” He looked up with a smile. “Sometime, when we can spare a few hours, I’ll have to tell you some funny stories about him.”
“Well, I don’t care for Mr. Stanton much.”
“Neither do I.” He speared some beans and put them in his mouth.
“Do you know why Mr. Stanton picked you for such an important job?”
“Like I said, he knows my family.”
“Hmm. Tad’s a handful, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does he ever tell you things?”
“Mr. Pendel is his main playmate.” Adam sipped his coffee. “He doesn’t like the fact I’m only a private and not a lieutenant.”
“So you must really like your job.”
Adam stopped and swallowed hard. Lamon thought he detected a tic in his left eye, and then Adam smiled and stood. “Jessie.”
Looking around to see her walking back, a twinkle in her eyes for Adam.
“So, did me darlin’ tell you what you needed to know about Mr. Lincoln?”
“I don’t know.” Lamon stared at Adam’s face. The tic vanished, if it had been there in the first place.