Previously: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby Zook captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. Mary talks Gabby into attacking Adam. Lincoln intervenes. Ashamed and distraught, Adam gets drunk and kills the butler who stops him from molesting the cook.
Adam walked back to his room and collapsed on his cot, his mind racing. What to do? Collecting his thoughts, he decided to go directly to the metropolitan police station. Turning himself in to the police would be the right thing—but would it be what Stanton would want, he wondered. Going to Stanton for every decision was part of his nature now; he could not change. Adam went to the wash table to clean his flushed face and his sweaty arms and neck. On Pennsylvania Avenue he caught an omnibus to K Street. Night breezes cooled his heated face, but to no avail; his skin still burned from anxiety. Finally the omnibus stopped at the block of Stanton’s house. As he walked down the street, Adam noticed how slowly he walked. He mounted the steps, imagining that this was how it would be when he went to the gallows.
“Yes?” the maid said, answering the door.
“I need to speak to Secretary Stanton.”
“That’s out of the question,” she replied.
“This is an emergency.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
“Tell him Private Adam Christy is here.”
“Very well.” The maid pursed her lips as she surveyed Adam.
Within a few moments, Stanton appeared in his dressing gown, his eyes glaring.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve killed someone.”
Stanton came out of the door, shut it, and hunched his shoulders against the cold night air. He stepped close to Adam.
“Say that again.”
“I killed the butler. He tried to keep me from raping the cook.”
“You’re a damned fool.” Stanton shivered as he looked out at the fog. “Damn you.” He paused. “Damn you.” He looked at Adam. “Flag down a carriage while I get dressed.”
In a few minutes, they were riding down the dirt street. Stanton barked an order to the carriage driver, who nodded and turned north at the next corner.
“Where are we going? The police station?”
“You’re a damned fool.”
Several minutes passed before the carriage stopped in front of a dark, two-story frame boardinghouse.
“Mr. Baker’s room is the first one at the top of the stairs.” Stanton narrowed his eyes. “Go get him.” He put a hand to his mouth to muffle a cough.
Jumping from the carriage, Adam bounded up the steps, entered, climbed the stairs, and knocked at the first door.
“What?”
“Secretary Stanton wants you.”
“Oh.”
Adam could hear a female voice complain and Baker calming her. Baker came out, buttoning his coat, and descended the stairs with Adam following closely. In the carriage Baker leaned into Stanton, who whispered to him as the carriage went to the Executive Mansion. Once they had arrived at the service driveway, Stanton motioned to Adam to get off with him and waved on the carriage with Baker still aboard.
“Where is he going?”
“To get a War Department carriage.”
They entered the service entrance and walked through the kitchen.
“Down there,” Adam said, leading Stanton to Phebe’s room.
Stanton walked in and examined Neal, ignoring Phebe, tied up on the floor. After a close study of the body, he crossed over to her.
“Young woman, if you keep your mouth shut, eyes closed to this, you’ll live. If someone should ask you someday, whatever happened to…” He turned to Adam. “What was his name?”
“Neal.”
“Whatever happened to Neal, you say you don’t know anyone by that name. I’ll have a new butler here tomorrow. He’ll be the only butler you remember. If you don’t, you die, and disappear as quickly as Neal. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”
Phebe slowly moved her head up and down, her eyes filled with tears.
As Adam pulled Neal’s body into the hall, Baker bounded in from the kitchen. Baker lifted the corpse, threw it over his shoulder, and left as quickly as he had come.
“Go to his room, wrap up all his possessions in a sheet, and take them out to Mr. Baker.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stanton coughed deeply, turned, and walked through the kitchen to the service entrance door. Adam went to Neal’s room, lit a candle, pulled the sheet loose from the cot, and began tossing shoes, coats, shirts, pants, and underwear into it. He turned his attention a stack of books on the wash table. Holding them close to the candle flame, he read the titles—Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Constitution of the United States of America, On Civil Disobedience. There was also a diary. Adam turned to the last entry.
“‘I finally confessed to Phebe I loved her,’” Adam mumbled. “‘She rejected me. I won’t give up.’”
“No time for reading,” Baker said, snatching the book from his hand. Placing the last of the items in the sheet, Baker pulled the corners together and tied a knot. Before leaving he turned. “Don’t mess up again, or else I’ll make you disappear too.”