Lincoln in the Basement Chapter Ninety-Nine

Previously: Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. After two years of deceit, love and death, the war is over. Stanton forces Adam into a final conspiracy. Adam’s girlfriend Jessie becomes ill and dies.
Good Friday—the last Friday—arrived with slivers of morning light coming through the curtains into Duff’s bedroom, awakening him to sadness and fear. Alethia’s withdrawal saddened him; he had hurt her deeply and was sorry for it. He did not know the manner of death Stanton had planned for them, but he knew it would be tonight. A soft rap at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Come in, Tom Pen,” he called out.
The old man entered and with humble deference deposited the morning newspaper at the foot of the bed.
“Thank you, Tom Pen.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” He looked down.
“You’re a good friend to Tad.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And a good friend to me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Tom Pendel kept his eyes averted as he left the room. He knew Duff was not the real Lincoln, but Duff was not going to dwell on what the servant might think. The dead did not care what the living thought.
Opening the newspaper, Duff noticed one small item on the front page. Rose Greenhow had drowned in late March off the coast of South Carolina when her ship sank, aborting her triumphal return from England where she had been the belle of London society after her book was published. Gold coins sewn into her–skirt, meant to redeem Southern soldiers from Yankee prisons–had dragged her to the bottom of the ocean.
At ten o’clock, he went to his last Cabinet meeting. Duff was never comfortable maneuvering through the Byzantine debates, walking the tightrope of following Stanton’s orders yet maintaining an appearance of independence. From time to time, he relished the chance to defy Stanton or embarrass him in front of Cabinet members.
Looking up at the door after hearing a soft knock, Duff saw General Grant and smiled. He felt at ease with the general, whom he had met several times in the last two years. They shook hands.
“General, good to see you.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. Have you heard from Sherman?”
“No. I’d hoped he’d contacted you.”
“Not a word.”
After his march to the sea, Sherman and his army had turned north to cut a swath through the Carolinas. No one had heard anything from him since.
“I’ve no doubt he’s successfully raising hell,” Grant said.
“General,” an old, cracked voice called out. “Have you heard from Sherman?”
Duff smiled when Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles walked in. The old man had been his mainstay and comfort through the years.
Other Cabinet members arrived in quick succession. Secretary of the Interior John Usher: Duff did not like him as well as Caleb Smith, who had died early in the term. Usher had accompanied him to Gettysburg, and Duff had sensed a tinge of irony in Usher’s compliments on the address. Perhaps he just had not liked the address—no one much did—and his cynical tone had not meant he knew Duff was an impostor.
Arriving next was Hugh McColloch, who had replaced Salmon Chase, now Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Duff had found Chase too smug and implacable, but he appreciated McColloch’s colorless and efficient qualities.
He also liked the honor, high-mindedness, purity, and dignity of the new postmaster general, William Dennison, who had replaced Montgomery Blair. Duff had admired Blair’s openness, but it had disappeared after the incident in which his niece was caught with bottles of quinine sewn into her skirt. Dennison slipped into the room and sat down.
Coming in rapid succession were James Speed, who had replaced the aging Edward Bates as attorney general; Frederick Seward, son of Secretary of State Seward who was recovering from a carriage accident; and Secretary of Interior James Harlan, whose daughter was marrying Lincoln’s son Robert.
Duff regretted the retirement of Bates, a gruff defender of the Constitution; he did not know enough about Speed yet to have an opinion. Sighing, he was relieved Frederick had come for his father, because Seward always scared him with his solemn owl face. Duff was pleased to see Harlan; after all, he was going to be family—what was he thinking, Duff scolded himself. Who was in the Cabinet and who was not was no longer a concern to him, because he was a dead man.
With all the Cabinet members present except Stanton, Duff pulled the cord to call Noah Brooks into the room to take notes. He hoped the meeting would be over before Stanton arrived. This last day would go better without him.
“Now that we’re all here—”
“Not all,” Brooks interrupted. “Mr. Stanton isn’t here.”
“We’ve a quorum,” Duff replied. “We must consider reconstruction.” He felt he owed it to Lincoln to push his plan as long as he was in the Executive Mansion.
Before Duff could go any further, he heard a coughing at the door. Stanton entered the room. Sighing, Duff sat back and gave up hope to help Lincoln’s efforts for an easy transition to one nation. Again he reminded himself: business of state would no longer concern him after tonight.
“Any news of Sherman?” Welles asked.
“No.” Stanton sat at the table. “But it’s of little consequence. Lee surrendered. The Confederate government is on the run. The war’s over.”
“But—” Welles began.
“The war’s over.” Stanton slapped his hand on the table.
“There’s no need to bang on anything,” Vice President Andrew Johnson said, his Tennessee accent dipped in bourbon, as he entered and sat at the table. “You need to learn manners, Stanton.” He crossed his arms across his big chest as he stared at the war secretary.
“And you need to learn to stay sober,” Stanton replied through clenched teeth.
Several Cabinet members shifted in their chairs, Duff noticed; he heard some whisper about why Johnson was even there. Lincoln’s first vice president, Hannibal Hamlin, had never attended Cabinet meetings.
“Sir,” Welles addressed Stanton, “it’s of great importance. If General Sydney Johnston vanquishes General Sherman, then all hell will break out. The South will be resuscitated—”
“Mr. Welles,” Stanton interrupted, “you see defeats where there are none. It’s foolish to waste our time worrying about something that cannot happen. We’ve more substantial problems to deal with.”
“One of those problems is why you insist on running this meeting.” Johnson’s voice was barely below a bellow.
“That’s enough,” Duff interceded. He liked Johnson very much. He might be a drunk, but he was honest to the core.
“Yes, sir.” Johnson hung his head. “I know I don’t belong here.” He recovered his spirit and pointed at Stanton. “But I can still smell a skunk.”
Stanton cleared his throat, took a notepad from his pocket, and took over the meeting. Duff clenched his jaw and sat glassy-eyed through several hours.
“Mr. President, that’s all I have to report,” Stanton’s declaration roused Duff from his stupor.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
The meeting was over. His duties were ended. As the group milled out of the room, Duff felt himself being spun around by Johnson, who gave him a big bear hug.
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you, Mr. President,” he blubbered. “I’m on your side, you know. It’s just I hate Stanton so much.”
“I know, I know.” Duff pulled away. “Go drink some coffee. You’ll feel better.”
As Johnson staggered from the room, Welles came to put a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder.
“It’s over, Mr. Lincoln. I see the weariness in your face. Remember, your second term will have no war. Reconstruction will provoke intense political debate, but it’ll be in peace.”
“Thank you, sir.” Duff looked down in melancholy.
“Stanton is taking far too many liberties,” Welles added in a whisper. “I get nothing clear and explicit from him, a lot of fuss and mystery, shuffling of papers and a far-reaching gaze.” He leaned into Duff’s ear. “Remember, you’re the president. You’ve the power to remove Stanton from office. Exercise that power.”
Tears formed in Duff’s eyes, so he nodded, turned away, and walked down the hall to his bedroom, where he put his large hands to his face. By force of will, he commanded his tears to halt. Stanton entered the room and closed the door.
“I’ve arranged a carriage to take you to the river port.”
“Very well.” His voice was hollow.

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