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.
A miracle occurred one early August morning, 1864, in a corner of the billiards room in the basement of the Executive Mansion. Gabby awoke refreshed and clear-minded. This day, reality embraced his brain like an old friend. To maintain emotional stability, he knew he had to stay busy, sweeping floors, dusting, anything to keep his mind occupied. Standing, Gabby subconsciously straightened his shoulders and walked out to the billiards table, where Mrs. Lincoln sat brushing her hair. When her eyes caught sight of him, she stopped in mid-stroke.
“Mr. Gabby, you seem different somehow.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed. “I feel particularly refreshed.”
“I pray you remain refreshed.” She smiled.
“I appreciate your concern.” Gabby glanced at the curtained corner where Lincoln still slept. “If you wish, I could move your chamber pots to the door. It’d be much more pleasant for you that way.”
Mrs. Lincoln appeared to ready to say something, but her mouth stayed agape with no words coming out. Keys rattling broke the silence, and Adam entered. This situation would not end well for the boy, Gabby reflected. Stanton could not be trusted to keep promises. His impulse was to tell Adam to leave, this very hour, to go out west where the government could not find him, but he knew the boy would ignore him.
“Breakfast!” He walked to Adam to help him with the tray.
“Here, Private Christy, I can help too,” Mrs. Lincoln said.
“Thank you, Mr. Gabby; Mrs. Lincoln,” he replied with a smile. Taking the chamber pots, he left.
“Mr. Lincoln will want his usual apple and milk. I somehow don’t feel like a double helping of eggs.”
“Yes, Mr.—Zook—I think you’re right.” She took the tray and placed it on the billiards table. “You may have your breakfast at the table if you like.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
As they began to eat, Gabby noticed he was sitting aright, his left hand in his lap and his right hand delivering proper amounts of egg to his mouth.
“I apologize for anything I’ve done or said that was improper.”
“Why, thank you.” She sighed. “And I apologize for my behavior.”
Gabby slowly chewed, swallowed, and smiled. “Thank you.”
They ate in silence.
“Mr. Zook,” Mrs. Lincoln said, “do you think this—this clarity will last?”
“I don’t know,” Gabby whispered. “I hope so.” He paused. “I fear it won’t.” He looked into her eyes. “I don’t want to go back to thinking I’m president.”
“At times you thought you were president?” Mrs. Lincoln leaned forward.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Gabby looked at the remnants of egg. “Mrs. Lincoln, if at any time I express that delusion, please pity me and ignore it.”
Before she could reply, Adam returned with cleaned chamber pots. Gabby stood and took the pots from him. Lincoln came out, stretched, went to the tray, and picked up the apple and bit into it.
“Good morning, Private Christy; Mr. Gabby.”
“It’s Mr. Zook,” Mrs. Lincoln said, correcting him.
“Mr. Zook.” Lincoln looked at Gabby’s posture and clear eyes. He cocked his head. “Yes; Mr. Zook.”
Gabby took the pots and placed them in their respective places. Stacking the plates on the tray, he turned to Adam.
“Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?”
“No, thank you,” he replied. “Anything I can bring you, Mr. Lincoln?”
“Nothing, Private,” Lincoln said. “Thank you.”
Gabby enjoyed the structured line of conversation he had initiated. Efficiency and courtesy flourished in routine, a lesson Gabby had learned at West Point. He frowned; he did not what to think about West Point. Negative emotions sapped his mental energy.