Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker (30 page)

On the night before Mr. Lincoln’s second inauguration, a terrible storm struck Washington City. Elizabeth was jolted awake by the crash of thunder and the scour of hail upon the roof, and she sat up in bed, her quilt gathered around her, heart pounding, until it subsided enough for her to lie back down and try to fall asleep. It was not an ill omen, she told herself firmly. It was only a storm, perhaps more severe than others they had seen in that damp early spring, but still, only a storm.

The next morning, she woke to a gray day. She had planned to attend the parade with Emma and two of her other assistant seamstresses, and later to join Virginia and Walker on the grounds of the Capitol to witness Mr. Lincoln take the oath of office and give his second inaugural address, but the torrential rain had turned the streets of Washington to canals of mud ten inches thick, and she had no desire to wade through them, fighting the crowds for the rare dry patches of earth. She would have to go out later, first to the White House to dress Mrs. Lincoln for the White House reception, and then to an inaugural party with the Lewises and other friends, but with any luck the streets would be drier by then.

“Oh, do come,” Emma protested when she knocked upon Elizabeth’s door and she apologetically explained her change of heart. “How can you think of staying away the first time colored folks are allowed on the Capitol grounds for an inauguration? The streets aren’t so bad everywhere, and the little boys are out in full force.”

Enterprising youngsters relished muddy days, because they would carry wooden planks around the streets and charge ladies a few pennies to have an improvised boardwalk placed before them to walk upon. “You go,” said Elizabeth. “You go and tell me all about it later.”

“I won’t tell you a thing,” Emma retorted. “It’s your own choice to stay home, and you’ll have to suffer the consequences.”

“If you tell me about the president’s address,” Elizabeth said, “I promise to describe for you every detail of the gown Mrs. Lincoln will wear to the inaugural ball—and I’ll show you how I fashioned the train.”

Emma hesitated, tempted, but when she turned to go she merely lifted her chin airily and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Emma’s desire to learn a new dressmaking skill won out, and so when she returned to the boardinghouse in the early afternoon, she came to Elizabeth’s rooms straightaway, eyes shining, features bright and animated. The parade had been splendid despite the mud, with horses and men marching proudly and bands playing as merrily as music was ever heard. A team pulled a model ironclad gunboat, complete with a revolving turret that startled and delighted onlookers by
firing blanks as it made its way down Pennsylvania Avenue. Smartly attired representatives from fire departments of Washington and Philadelphia, civic organizations, and fraternal lodges from across the North had marched proudly, carrying banners and flags. A local printers’ society had mounted a hand press on a wagon, and as they processed along, they cheerfully printed broadsides and distributed them to spectators they passed along the way. Most gratifying of all, for the first time people of color had marched in the parade too, a battalion of colored soldiers as well as distinguished leaders of several Negro civic associations. People of their race were at last included in the inauguration, fully part of the celebration and ceremony, not merely onlookers in the crowd or the unseen workers who cooked the food and cleaned up afterward.

Later, on the muddy Capitol grounds, Emma and her friends had stood in the crowd beneath overcast skies threatening rain, waiting with thousands of others for President Lincoln to emerge from within and take his place on the East Portico with the newly completed Capitol dome above. “And then he stepped out, a sheet of paper in his hand,” Emma said, glowing with remembered awe. “As soon as the people recognized him, they let out a great roar of welcome and gladness, and just then—oh, you should have seen it, Elizabeth!—at the moment he took his place, the clouds parted and the sun broke through, and a bright shaft of sunlight shone down upon him like a blessing from heaven.”

Elizabeth leaned forward eagerly, captivated. “And what did he say?”

“I don’t recall,” Emma said lightly, with an indifferent shrug. “You can read about it in the papers tomorrow.”

“Emma!”

She laughed. “I’m only teasing, but you deserved it. Oh, it was a marvelous speech. Brief, but all the better for it in my opinion.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Brevity is his custom in daily speech too, unless he’s telling a story or reading aloud from one of his favorite authors.” As soon as she spoke, she could have kicked herself for how puffed up and pompous she sounded, boasting about her familiarity with the president.

If Emma thought she was showing off, she gave no sign of it. “It was a lovely address, clear and sad and warm, full of forgiveness and reconciliation,” she said. “He talked about the war, and how slavery was the cause of it, and how four years ago everyone, North and South alike, had wanted to avoid war, but one side would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. He talked about the Lord too, and how strange it is that each side prays to the same God and invokes His aid against the other.”

Elizabeth nodded. It was something she had often thought in the months since George was killed. She had prayed for her son every day and every night he was at war, and somewhere, the mother of the young man who had killed George had been praying for her son too.

Suddenly Elizabeth was struck by the realization that after so many years of war, the rebel who had killed George could very well have fallen as well, cut down by a Minié ball or disease or dreadful accident. Another woman might have felt a surge of righteous satisfaction at the thought, but Elizabeth felt only sorrow.

“Mr. Lincoln suggested that the Lord sent us this terrible war as punishment for the offense of slavery,” Emma went on, “and that the war may be a mighty scourge to rid us of it.”

“Perhaps it is,” said Elizabeth softly.

“He ended with words so profound that I wrote them down as soon as he finished.” Emma withdrew a scrap of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. “These were the last lines as best I could remember them: ‘With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.’” Emma smiled self-consciously, folded the paper, and tucked it into her pocket with a shrug. “I probably didn’t do it justice. The whole speech will likely be in the paper tomorrow, so you’ll be able to read it properly then.”

“I’m sure you captured the spirit of it, if not every word.” Elizabeth’s throat tightened with emotion, and she blinked away tears. “I’m glad
I didn’t have to wait for the morning to hear those words.” So compassionate, so true, just like the man who had spoken them.

“You should have been there,” Emma scolded her fondly, shaking her head.

“I wish I had been, despite the ankle-deep mud and the crowds. And now, Emma,” said Elizabeth, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “how would you like to be the only person in Washington—the entire United States, rather—besides Mrs. Lincoln and myself who knows what she will be wearing to the inaugural ball?”

Emma’s pretty face lit up with joy as Elizabeth described the rich, pure white satin, the needlepoint lace shawl, the elegant draping and exquisite trims. Emma hung on every word as intently as if she thought she might be required to re-create the gown from memory later. She already knew how to sew the narrow vertical pleats in the back of a mantua bodice so it would fit the body like wallpaper; Elizabeth herself had taught her to make the tiny, interlocking stitches that could withstand the strain across the figure and avoid unattractive gaping. She had also shown Emma how to use longer, looser stitches for the skirts so the seams would not pucker and ruin the lines of the gown, and after much practice Emma could do so flawlessly.

Emma was becoming quite a skilled seamstress, but Elizabeth had so much more to teach her. With her natural talent, bright mind, and deft fingers, Emma would surely master every technique, and in time she could become as accomplished as Elizabeth herself—perhaps even more so.

Elizabeth believed that a student who surpassed her would indeed be a fine legacy—more precious and enduring and gratifying than all the beautiful gowns she had made for the ladies of Washington City, even those she had made for the First Lady of the land.

Later that evening she picked her way through the muddy streets to the White House, where she found Mrs. Lincoln in a state of nervous excitement. “I’m sure I’m not the first to offer you congratulations on this momentous day,” Elizabeth told her warmly, “but I offer them all the same, and I hope you’ll find them among the most sincere.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Lincoln said, sighing, “but now that we
have won the position, I almost wish it were otherwise. Poor Mr. Lincoln is looking so brokenhearted, so completely worn out. I fear he will not get through the next four years.”

“Of course he will,” said Elizabeth stoutly. “The campaign taxed him, but that’s over now, and spring is here, and news from the front has never been more cheering.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” admitted Mrs. Lincoln, without looking at all heartened. “If only this terrible war would be over! I confess that I live in dread of the inauguration ending, because when it does, Robert must return to the war.”

“I thought his post was safe.”

“He isn’t marching out with the infantry if that’s what you mean, but he goes wherever General Grant goes, and the general is at the front.”

Her voice broke with fear and worry, and Elizabeth’s heart went out to her. The war must end soon, she almost said, but people had been saying that for so long that the words had ceased to have any meaning. But surely now, even after so many false hopes and disappointments, the phrase finally rang with truth. On every side the Confederates were losing ground and the lines of Union blue advanced in triumph. Almost every day, Elizabeth could look out her window and see artillery going past on the way to fire a salute in honor of some new victory. Even so, she understood why Mrs. Lincoln would worry incessantly until the war was over and Robert was entirely out of danger.

When it seemed as if Mrs. Lincoln might sink into a brood, Elizabeth endeavored to draw her out by asking for her impressions of the inauguration. “Mr. Lincoln spoke brilliantly,” Mrs. Lincoln replied, brightening a trifle. “Did you know he missed the entire procession?”

“I didn’t.”

“It’s true! He had so much business to attend to that he went to the Capitol ahead of time in his barouche, and he was there signing bills until the last minute.” She uttered a small laugh, an encouraging sign. “So all the people lining the streets later and cheering him as his carriage passed at the head of the parade—why, they were cheering only me. I doubt they would have carried on so had they known.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sure many would have.”

Mrs. Lincoln laughed again, scoffing and yet pleased. “Oh, Elizabeth, that small deception was not even the greatest scandal of the hour.” She paused dramatically. “When the vice-president–elect arrived to take his oath of office, he was drunk.”

“No!”

“Indeed he was, and he downed nearly two tumblers of brandy right there in the Senate chamber.” Mrs. Lincoln had become more animated as she warmed to her subject. “Mr. Hamlin made some perfectly lovely, gracious remarks to introduce his successor, and then Mr. Johnson came up and began spouting the most astonishing, rambling harangue I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness.”

“How shocking,” exclaimed Elizabeth. “What on earth was he thinking?”

“I don’t know that he was thinking at all. He was red-faced and barely coherent, and when the secretary of the Senate tried to bring the appalling performance to a close, Mr. Johnson persisted as if he were quite deranged.” Mrs. Lincoln shook her head. “My poor husband entered in the middle of this disaster and stood with his head bowed, enduring the embarrassment in dignified silence and waiting patiently until Mr. Johnson finished and took his oath of office.”

“It was not the president’s embarrassment, but Mr. Johnson’s,” said Elizabeth.

“Why, certainly, but it spoiled the occasion all the same.” Mrs. Lincoln pursed her lips and shook her head. “What a dreadful debut. I doubt he will ever live this down. None of us who were there will ever forget it.”

Elizabeth could tell by her sharp frown of disapproval that Mrs. Lincoln would never forgive him either.

Elizabeth was arranging Mrs. Lincoln’s hair when the president entered, so Elizabeth went to him, extended her hand, and offered her sincere congratulations. “Thank you,” he said, grasping her outstretched hand warmly and holding it. “Well, Madam Elizabeth, I don’t know whether I should feel thankful or not. The position brings with it many
trials. We do not know what we are destined to pass through. But God will be with us all. I put my trust in God.” He released her hand and crossed the room to sit down upon the sofa, his expression solemn.

Elizabeth felt painful sympathy for both wife and husband, First Lady and president. From every region of the fractured nation came glorious news of the Union Army’s successes, and yet, alone in their private chambers, the Lincolns looked careworn, sad, and anxious on a day that should have been their triumph. In her quiet way, she tried to cheer them with pleasant conversation, and by the time she finished dressing Mrs. Lincoln, it did seem that their spirits had risen at least a little. Mrs. Lincoln took the president’s arm, and as he led her off downstairs where thousands of citizens waited to meet them, Mrs. Lincoln called over her shoulder, “I’ll have that glove for you Monday night, Elizabeth, when you come to dress me for the Inaugural Ball.”

Elizabeth smiled, pleased that she had remembered.