Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker (23 page)

F
or months, President Lincoln had rejected appeals to allow freed slaves and freeborn black men to enlist as combat soldiers, but over time, Elizabeth observed, his resistance appeared to be weakening. Perhaps the rising pressure of demands from radical Republicans, appeals from respected black leaders like Frederick Douglass, and, most of all, the army’s overwhelming need for more troops had forced him to take a more pragmatic—and less prejudiced—view of the matter. One of the White House doormen once told Elizabeth that he had witnessed an occasion when Vice President Hamlin introduced the president to his son and several other white officers who had volunteered to command black soldiers in combat. “The president seemed deeply moved,” the doorman confided, “and then he said, ‘I suppose the time has come.’”

“If you ask me, ‘the time’ arrived months ago and has been sitting idle outside the president’s office ever since,” said Elizabeth dryly. It was unlike her to say anything critical of the president, whom she admired and respected greatly, but on this subject, like emancipation, she found herself made impatient by his inexplicable, unhelpful delays. But as
always, she told herself he likely had good reason and that he would take action when the time seemed right.

Then, in late May, the War Department issued General Order Number 143, which established the Bureau of Colored Troops to recruit and train black soldiers. By the middle of June, the First Regiment United States Colored Troops was organized in Washington and began training on Analostan Island in the Potomac River near the Virginia shore, a ferry ride away from Georgetown. Their presence brought a great swell of pride to Washington’s Negro community, and to the refugees still living in the contraband camps. Whenever Elizabeth went there to teach and to distribute necessities, she heard men and women referring to them as “
our
soldiers.” They had become every colored family’s sons and brothers.

As the June weather grew sultry, Mrs. Lincoln traveled north, as she had in summers past, to escape the heat and the other afflictions of summer. She and Tad spent a week visiting her friend Sally Orne in Philadelphia before returning to Washington to prepare for the family’s annual retreat to the cool, quiet haven of the Soldiers’ Home. While Mrs. Lincoln was away, Virginia gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, whom she and Walker named Alberta Elizabeth. The delivery was blessedly easy, and both mother and child were in good health and spirits. Elizabeth was proud and honored when the Lewises asked her to be Alberta’s godmother, a role she gladly accepted.

It was an unexpected stroke of good fortune that the birth coincided with Mrs. Lincoln’s absence, freeing Elizabeth to care for Virginia as she recovered and to help Walker look after the older children. Elizabeth did not expect to see the First Lady again until later summer or perhaps early autumn, but on July 2, as Washington stirred anxiously with rumors that General Lee was on the move toward the Potomac, Elizabeth was shocked by news that Mrs. Lincoln had been badly injured in a carriage accident.

Elizabeth immediately raced to the White House, where she found Mrs. Lincoln in bed with her head bandaged, the able Nurse Pomroy nearby. “Mrs. Lincoln,” she exclaimed, hastening to her side. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Oh, Elizabeth, you’re so good to come to me. I’m somewhat bruised but I’m really quite fine.” Even so, Mrs. Lincoln looked pale and anxious. She waited for Nurse Pomroy to step out of the room before adding, “Mr. Lincoln and I were at the Soldiers’ Home. He was going to take the carriage into the city, but at the last minute he decided to depart earlier on horseback instead, so I came along in the carriage later, alone.”

“And Tad?” prompted Elizabeth, worried. “Was he riding with you?”

“No, thank heavens. He remained behind with friends.” Mrs. Lincoln took a deep, shaky breath. “I was riding along as pleasantly as always when suddenly, without warning, the horses bolted. The carriage absolutely broke apart. I had to jump to safety or I would have—well, I hardly dare to think of what could have happened.”

“Did you injure yourself in the carriage or in the jump?”

“Neither,” said Mrs. Lincoln with a wry twist to her mouth. “In my clumsy landing. I stumbled and fell, and I hit my head on a rock. It bled a frightening amount and I confess I was a bit dazed afterward, but thankfully, I happened to fall almost directly in front of an army hospital, of all things, and some dutiful soldiers serving there ran to my aid.”

“Thank heavens they were nearby.”

“Thank heavens, indeed.” Mrs. Lincoln reached for her hand and pulled her to a seat on the edge of the bed. “Elizabeth, I’m frightened. It was no accident.”

Elizabeth felt a chill of dread. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Lincoln’s voice trembled, and her hand tightened around Elizabeth’s. “After the horses were brought under control, it was discovered that someone had unscrewed the bolts holding down the driver’s seat of the carriage. When the seat came loose, it frightened the horses. That’s why they jumped and ran.”

“How terrible,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Someone deliberately tried to injure you?”

“Not me—Mr. Lincoln. He was supposed to be riding in the carriage, remember?”

“Oh, my goodness.” Elizabeth felt faint with alarm. “Do you have any idea who’s responsible?”

Mrs. Lincoln shook her head. “My husband has entire states full of enemies. It could have been one of the authors of any of those dreadful letters he’s received. We should have been keeping a list of their names. It could have been a Southern spy chosen by Jefferson Davis himself.”

Elizabeth could not imagine Mr. Davis arranging for Mr. Lincoln’s murder, but she had known him in peacetime, not at war. He could have changed.

“After this, Mr. Lincoln simply must agree to increase his guards.” Mrs. Lincoln settled back weakly against her pillow. “I simply must insist upon it and he must agree. You can imagine how terrible and guilty he feels knowing that I was injured in his stead.”

Elizabeth managed a helpless laugh. “Then I suppose now is the time to press your advantage.”

Mrs. Lincoln joined in, her laughter weaker than Elizabeth’s and bearing a slight note of hysteria. “I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps today I should also confess my debts.”

“Oh, dear me, no. The shock would injure him far worse than any carriage accident.”

Mrs. Lincoln smiled, too fatigued to laugh anymore. She closed her eyes, and Elizabeth held her hand until she drifted off to sleep.

By the next morning, Mrs. Lincoln felt much improved, and so she continued to prepare for a glorious Independence Day celebration. She had agreed to a grander, more elaborate event than she had allowed since Willie’s death, with the Marine Band scheduled to perform on the White House grounds, a large viewing stand erected on the Mall, firecrackers, and a parade of regiments to march alongside twelve councils of the Masons, Odd Fellows, and Union League. The spectacle was meant to inspire patriotism and boost morale, but with increasing ire over Congress’s new draft measures and worries about the Confederate army’s bold advances, some administration officials wanted to cancel the celebration. All of Washington was in a state of nervous agitation as General Lee led his army across the Potomac and into Pennsylvania,
and as military engagements in that state seemed increasingly likely, fears that Washington sat helpless and undefended soared. Nevertheless, when the president’s private secretary shared these worries with Mrs. Lincoln, she told him stoutly that her husband was confident that the Union forces would halt Lee’s advance and that they should not let their resolve crumble or it would dishearten the entire city.

So the celebration went on as planned—but Mrs. Lincoln did not join in. On the morning of July 4, while her husband anxiously awaited reports from Vicksburg, where Grant was attempting a new assault on the city, and from a small farm town in Pennsylvania called Gettysburg, where Union and Confederate forces had finally met, Mrs. Lincoln’s injury took a sudden turn for the worse. A messenger came for Elizabeth while she was out with Emma enjoying the festive day, so it was not until midafternoon that she realized she was needed and she hurried off to the White House.

She found Mrs. Lincoln in bed, fretful and feverish. Earlier that day, Nurse Pomroy had discovered that her wound was badly infected, and she had been obliged to reopen it to drain the laudable pus. The injury became inflamed, and Mrs. Lincoln was in significant distress.

Elizabeth sat with her that day and the next, and at times her fever became so dangerously high that Mr. Lincoln sent a telegram to Robert to urge him to return home at once. The president paced from his wife’s sickroom to the telegraph office and back, but the welcome news of the Union victory at Gettysburg and promising but unconfirmed reports of Grant’s success at Vicksburg distracted him only momentarily from his wife’s decline.

Elizabeth assisted Nurse Pomroy as best she could, but she could do frustratingly little more than bathe Mrs. Lincoln’s brow, read to her, assure her that all would be well, and pray. Within days General Grant’s success in Vicksburg was confirmed and it seemed that the momentum of the war had finally shifted in favor of the Union, but Mrs. Lincoln was no better and Robert had still not arrived, nor had he sent word of when he might be expected. Worried anew when no one could confirm his eldest son’s whereabouts, Mr. Lincoln telegraphed Robert again and
urged him to make haste to Washington. Then draft riots broke out in New York, where Robert was last known to have been; over the course of several terrifying days, mobs of white men, most of them Irish immigrants, attacked draft offices, looted shops, destroyed black-owned businesses, burned to the ground an orphanage for colored children, and violently attacked people of color in the streets, brutally murdering more than one hundred. Finally the New York State Militia and other troops were sent in to restore order, but the death and destruction sent waves of shock throughout the North and sparked fears that the draft would evoke similar violence in other cities.

Two weeks after Mrs. Lincoln’s accident, Mr. Lincoln seemed so overwhelmed by worry and strain that Elizabeth began to fear for his health as much as for his wife’s. While most of the North celebrated the recent military victories, Mr. Lincoln was preoccupied with calamities—New York City was in a shambles, General Meade had failed to pursue General Lee and had allowed him to escape, Robert Lincoln was unaccounted for, and Mrs. Lincoln was fading away, struck down by a blow meant for himself.

Finally, days later, Robert arrived home, greatly easing his father’s worries. If the young man offered an explanation for his lengthy absence and his silence, Elizabeth never learned what it was. Under Nurse Pomroy’s attentive care, Mrs. Lincoln gradually improved. Her fever relented; her wound closed. To Elizabeth’s relief, every day she seemed a little stronger, but the midsummer heat and humidity impeded her recovery. When malaria began to spread through the city, it was decided that Mrs. Lincoln could not endure the climate of Washington in her condition and should relocate to the north until she regained her health. Mr. Lincoln quickly made the necessary arrangements: As soon as she was strong enough, Robert would escort his mother and brother to a resort in Manchester, Vermont, nestled in the sublimely beautiful Green Mountains and famed for the healing properties of its natural mineral waters. It sounded to Elizabeth like a cool, restful haven, the ideal place for Mrs. Lincoln to convalesce.

Elizabeth packed Mrs. Lincoln’s trunks for her, and on the day of
her departure, Elizabeth came to the White House to see her off. “You should come with me,” Mrs. Lincoln urged again, as she had several times before. “I feel so much better in your company.”

Elizabeth was tempted, but she had accepted too much work from her other clients to pack a bag and quit the city on such short notice. “I wish I could,” she said, “but my commitments oblige me to stay behind.”

Mrs. Lincoln sighed her acceptance, and soon the carriage departed with her and her sons to meet the train that would speed them northward.

As Elizabeth walked along the curved path in front of the White House on her way home, she heard a man behind her remark to a companion, “The Hellcat gave the Tycoon quite a scare, didn’t she?”

Stung, Elizabeth halted, drew herself up, and turned to face them. “If you please,” she said crisply, looking up at the men, quietly furious, “do not ever again use that loathsome word to describe Mrs. Lincoln in my presence.”

She recognized the stupefied men gaping back at her as two very junior secretaries within two obscure departments. She did not even know their names, but she would bet they knew hers.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the younger of the two managed to reply. The men quickly tipped their hats and shamefacedly hurried past her down the sidewalk.

Her anger spent, Elizabeth watched them scurry off, and the ridiculousness of the scene obliged her to smother a laugh. Perhaps no woman of color had ever addressed them like that before. They had better learn to mind their manners or they would be hearing from her again.

Suddenly she realized that she had objected to “Hellcat” but not the equally disrespectful, if less spiteful, “Tycoon,” and then she truly did laugh.