Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker: A NovelPaperback

Chapter One

MARCH 1858

On a bright Saturday afternoon in Ohio, with sunlight and birdsong outside her window setting an appropriately joyful scene for her errand, Kate dressed with care in her best blue riding dress and gathered her long auburn locks into a hairnet. Her father had entrusted to her a most important task—nothing less than the redemption of an innocent man—and she must show due respect to the occasion.

The previous evening, after her father had finished his customary program of study and prayer, he had found himself with an idle hour, which, disapproving of idleness, he had sought to fill. Kate immediately proposed a game of chess, and as they studied the pieces and predicted each other’s next moves, Father had told her about the prisoner, an aged Polish immigrant who had fought bravely for his adopted country in the War of 1812 but sometime thereafter had been convicted of burglary. For years he had patiently served out his sentence in Hamilton county without the consolation of friends or any hope of reprieve, but in the course of a transfer to the state penitentiary in Columbus, new facts had come to light suggesting that he could not have committed the crime. “I have become convinced that because of his years and declining health,” Father said as he captured Kate’s rook, “justice would be better served if I grant him a pardon rather than await the outcome of a new trial. I’ve made up my mind to sign the papers tomorrow afternoon, and as soon as they’re delivered to the warden, the poor old fellow shall walk through the prison gates a free man.”

Kate felt such a rush of joy and pride that she nearly overlooked that her father was two moves away from placing her in check. “Let me deliver the pardon for you,” she implored, moving her bishop to defend her king. “What a blessing it would be to carry such good news, to help deliver an innocent man from unjust captivity.”

“And what an honor and comfort it would be for the old gentleman,” her father said, nodding approvingly, “to have his liberty restored to him by a compassionate young woman, the governor’s own child, rather than an anonymous clerk.”

They agreed that Kate should retrieve the signed document from her father’s office in the capitol the following day, as soon as it could be prepared. Then her father wondered aloud if Kate ought not to travel unescorted. “Perhaps Aunt Alice should accompany you.”

“I’d prefer to go alone.” The noble mission was Kate’s idea and she intended to carry it out herself. “Besides, Aunt Alice will be busy with Nettie.”

For a moment she feared she had miscalculated, and that her father would next decree that both Aunt Alice and ten-year-old Nettie should accompany her, but instead he reluctantly agreed. “Do not acquire any unsuitable companions along the way,” he instructed her, and as she nodded, she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Would he never forgive the foolish mistakes of her girlhood? She knew she had erred in the past, that she had allowed herself to fall under the heady spell of men’s admiration and flattery, but no lasting harm to her person or reputation had been done, and they ought to let the incidents fade into history. She had resolved never to repeat them, and she was not a guileless girl anymore but a woman grown, almost eighteen. She ran her father’s household as skillfully as her mother or Nettie’s mother or his first wife would have done, had they lived, and she had become what he had raised her to be—an educated young woman, “qualified to ornament any society in our own country or elsewhere into which I may have occasion to take you,” as he had written to her so many years before when she was a lonely, motherless girl at boarding school in New York. He had relentlessly urged her to pursue her studies diligently, to cultivate her manners, to establish sound moral and religious principles, and all this she had done, the better to help him achieve his noble ambitions.

She knew too that if she made herself indispensable to him, he would never again send her away to boarding school—nor would he find it necessary to seek a fourth Mrs. Chase.

The memory of her father’s warning dimmed the brilliance of the day, but only for a moment, and soon she was flying down the stairs as lighthearted as a child and searching the house for her aunt and sister. She found them in the parlor side by side on the settee, Aunt Alice nodding patiently as Nettie stumbled through her Latin recitations. Nettie glanced up from her work eagerly upon Kate’s arrival, glad for any excuse to set her studies aside. She would much rather be drawing, or composing little stories in English, or flitting about in the garden. Little golden-haired Nettie resembled their strong-featured father too much to be truly pretty, but her sweet manner and cheerful spirits inspired affection from all who met her. “Nettie is a sweet child and everyone seems to love her,” her father had praised his youngest living child in a letter when Kate was eleven years old. He had never used such phrases to describe Kate, but it was certainly true about Nettie. Even Kate was not immune to her charms. Kate, who knew she inspired admiration and envy rather than affection, who might properly have been jealous of a much-adored younger sister, loved Nettie too much to resent her.

She bade her aunt and sister good-bye, and endured her aunt’s sad-eyed warning to be cautious in her choice of companions, silently fuming as she smiled and assured her that she would be wary of strangers. Two years had passed since her impropriety, two years without another such transgression, with scarcely anything worse than unsatisfactory marks in school, poor penmanship, and overdue replies to letters to give her father and aunt reason for complaint. She could only imagine how they would react if she did something truly, irreparably scandalous. The shrieks and lamentations would rival those of the Egyptians suffering the twelve plagues.

A giggle escaped her throat before she could contain it, so she feigned a cough, which tickled her throat so uncomfortably that she began to cough in earnest. “It’s nothing,” she managed to say as Nettie and Aunt Alice peered up at her, concerned. “Just a little—” Her words broke off in another fit of coughing.

“My dear Katie, are you quite all right?” her aunt queried, her brow furrowing. She had good reason to worry. Both Kate’s mother and Nettie’s had died of consumption, and Kate had been troubled with respiratory ailments nearly all her life. Kate took a breath and cleared her throat. “I’m fine,” she said, smiling to reassure them. “I’ll be home soon.”

She hurried off to the stable before her aunt could offer to feel her forehead or dose her with castor oil.

Ohio had no official residence for its governor, but the stately Gothic residence on the corner of State and Sixth streets with its peaked roofs, towers, and numerous chimneys was mansion enough to satisfy Kate. The family had moved to the fashionable neighborhood from rented lodgings the previous December, after Father’s election to a second term convinced him that they would reside in Columbus long enough to warrant more permanent lodgings. He had delegated the task of furnishing the home to Kate, and she had delighted in traveling to Cincinnati, Philadelphia, and New York to purchase carpets and draperies, sofas and china, all to her father’s exacting standards. To be sure, he had sent her off with strict instructions and had inundated her with letters throughout her excursions, but for the most part she had been on her own, meeting with merchants, comparing the cost and quality of materials and workmanship, and making the final decisions. She had never felt so necessary and yet so free and independent. Naturally, Father fretted over the bills and warned her time and again about spending too much for too little, but when she had finished, he was well pleased with his comfortable, gracious home and the grand impression it made upon visitors.

The groom helped her saddle Honeysuckle, her beloved bay mare, and soon she was on her way to the capitol, where her father kept his offices and the legislature met. Though it was not yet complete, the magnificent Greek Revival edifice, with its tall, white Doric columns framing each entrance and large cupola on top, shone with grandeur.

Kate left Honeysuckle at a hitching post and swept up the front steps to the portico. Inside, clerks and citizens greeted her in passing, some of whom she knew, others she did not but who could not fail to recognize the governor’s eldest daughter. When she reached her father’s offices, his secretary welcomed her in the anteroom and promptly ushered her to his chamber. “My dear Katie,” he greeted her, rising from his chair and bending to kiss her cheek. “I expected you earlier.” From his orderly desktop he retrieved a single document, folded and sealed, and placed it into her hands. “Deliver this to the warden as quickly as you can. An innocent man has already spent too much time wrongly imprisoned.”

“I will go with all speed,” Kate promised, smiling to hide her disappointment. She had hoped to witness her father signing the pardon, and perhaps linger for a bit of chat, but of course Father did not have time to spare, and the poor prisoner should not be kept waiting a moment longer.

She bade him good-bye, rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and hurried on her way, the precious document carefully tucked inside her reticule. She and Honeysuckle had traveled scarcely two blocks from the capitol when she heard a horse’s hooves on the road behind them, swiftly closing the gap.

Resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder, she held Honeysuckle to a steady gait as a man on horseback pulled up alongside. “Good afternoon, Miss Chase,” he greeted her. “A lovely day for a ride, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Why, Leonard Hillington,” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you supposed to be away at college?”

“I should be, but I came home to attend to some business of my father’s.”

His father, she knew, was a prominent businessman who also served in the legislature. She wondered what urgent matter had compelled Leonard to travel so far in the middle of the term. “I do hope all is well at home.”

“Oh, yes. It’s just a routine matter, accounts to examine, paperwork to sign.” He held her gaze in a friendly way as they trotted along. “To be frank, I was glad to escape my studies for a while.”

“Escape?” Kate echoed archly. “My father rather enjoyed his years at Dartmouth, and he continues to study on his own every evening without fail.”

“Your father is a giant among men,” said Leonard. “We mere mortals need occasional time away from our books.”

Kate smiled, her eyes on the road ahead. He sounded sincere, but he surely realized that praising her father was the most certain way to rise in her esteem. “He sets a fine example for us all.”

“Indeed he does.” After a moment, Leonard said, “If it’s no intrusion, may I ask where you’re going? Your manner seems too purposeful for someone merely taking her exercise.”

“I’m on my way to prison, of course.”

He was so astonished he laughed. “To prison?”

“That’s right.”

“With what crime have you been charged? Whatever it is, I shall stand as a character witness in your defense.”

Kate smiled. “How very good of you.”

“What is it, then? Petty theft? Breaking and entering? Or breaking hearts?”

Kate laughed and groaned together. “Oh, Leonard, really.”

“On the other hand, perhaps breaking windows is more likely,” he mused. “I do recall a certain auburn-haired schoolgirl hurling rocks at my friends and me on the sidewalks of Columbus years ago.”

“You deserved nothing less for the horrid insults you shouted.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I wouldn’t dream of shouting insults at you now.”

“Dartmouth has greatly improved you, then,” she teased. “Perhaps you should hurry back so they may polish away the rest of your rough edges.”

His laughter rang out, and it occurred to Kate that Leonard had learned confidence as well as flirtation in his time away from Columbus. He never could have summoned up the courage to banter with her before.

She explained the true nature of her errand as they rode along, and when they reached the prison, he offered to wait and escort her home afterward. She hesitated, dismayed by the hope in his eyes. Next he would be asking to call on her, and for permission to exchange letters with her upon his return to Dartmouth. He was kind and intelligent and handsome in a boyish way—and most important, he was unmarried—but she had no time for beaux. So she thanked him but assured him she would make it home perfectly well on her own, and sent him on his way, disappointed.

At the front gate she dismounted, gave her name to the guard, and asked to be taken to see the warden. “I have come on an important errand from Governor Chase,” she said grandly. Looking rather startled, the guard promptly escorted her inside, taking a long, circuitous route designed, she suspected, to prevent a glimpse of the prisoners too shocking for a young lady’s gaze. At last they came to the warden’s office, but he was not alone; after welcoming her, the warden introduced her to his companions, Reverend Myers, a stout, black-haired man in a black suit and minister’s collar, and Mr. French, a sandy-haired man in a rumpled suit carrying a notepad with ink-stained fingers. A clerk, Kate decided, and turned a disarming smile upon the warden. “I believe you know the reason for my visit,” she said. “Would you please take me to Mr. Malecki?”

The warden and the minister spoke over themselves in their haste to inform her they had made more suitable arrangements, and with Mr. French trailing along behind, they escorted her to a simply furnished but comfortable sitting room, which she gathered was reserved for dignitaries and was not the usual place visitors met prisoners.

Before long a guard brought in a white-haired man, who shuffled with head bowed to stand before the warden. Kate’s smile faded as she took in a face lined with misery, a back stooped from grief and hard toil, scrawny limbs from which pale, weathered skin hung loosely, like an old, wrinkled suit that had once fit a younger, heartier man.

Her throat constricted as the warden announced her and the prisoner lifted his head to regard her warily. She should have come earlier. She should have begged her father to have the documents signed first thing in the morning. She should have sped Honeysuckle from the capitol to the prison at her fastest clip rather than allow this poor man to suffer a single moment longer than necessary.

“Would you like a chair, Miss Chase?” the warden asked.

“Yes, indeed,” Kate quickly replied, “not for myself but for this gentleman.”

Looking a trifle put out, at a nod from the warden the guard left the room and returned with a wooden chair, which he set down with an impatient flourish and gestured for the prisoner to take. After a moment’s hesitation, and after a murmur of encouragement from the minister, Mr. Malecki carefully seated himself, slowly folding up his bony limbs as if it pained him to move.

Kate took a quick breath to steel herself before approaching him. “Mr. Malecki,” she said steadily, managing a warm smile, “it is my great honor to present to you this pardon from my father, the governor, which he offers with his regards and his certainty of your innocence.”

The man’s watery, hooded eyes flicked from the document she held out to him to her face and back again. He did not move to take it from her.

“Malecki,” the warden said sternly, “you owe this young woman the courtesy of a reply.”

“He owes me nothing,” Kate said evenly, breaking the seal, unfolding the paper, and placing it in his hands on his lap. “This must be quite unexpected, sir, but I assure you, everything is in order.”

She held her breath as his gaze skimmed the page, taking in the printed script, the official seal, her father’s angular handwriting. He looked up, his face a study in wonder. “I’m a free man?”

“Yes, you are,” Kate assured him.

Mr. Malecki glanced up at the warden. “But what about my—my new trial?”

“Unnecessary now,” the minister told him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Trembling, Mr. Malecki looked around the room, tears welling up in his eyes. A raw, aching sob burst from him, and he crumpled, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. Involuntarily, Kate stepped back, and a moment later the warden was at her side, offering her his arm and murmuring that she need not remain to witness the upsetting scene. Before she could protest, he had ushered her from the room. A quick backward glance revealed the minister bent over the weeping man, and Mr. French jotting notes on his pad as he followed Kate and the warden into the hall.

“That poor man,” Kate managed to say as the warden escorted her to the exit. “What will become of him? Does he have any family, any friends?”

“No family in this country,” Mr. French remarked, flipping through his notepad. “Any friends he might have had before he went to prison must have forgotten him by now.”

“Reverend Myers has arranged a room for him in the boardinghouse of one of his parishioners,” the warden assured her. “If, after a time, the old fellow can work, they’ll find him a job. Until then, the church will provide for him.”

Kate nodded, somewhat relieved. She managed to compose herself by the time they reached the exit, where she thanked the warden and nodded politely to Mr. French, who threw her a rakish grin and said, “No, Miss Chase, it is I who thank you. This was truly a fascinating episode.”

Kate studied him curiously for a moment, but her attention was snatched away when the warden cleared his throat. “Miss Chase,” he ventured, “I trust that you will assure your father that his wishes were carried out with the utmost expediency, and that you were protected at all times from any distress?”

“Of course. The governor will be pleased to hear how efficiently and faithfully you carried out your duties. And you, Mr. French?” she asked, turning to him. “Would you like me to recommend you to my father too?”

Mr. French frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose that wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps if you spoke well of me, he’d allow me to interview him someday.”

“Perhaps,” Kate said faintly, keeping her smile in place. She nodded to both men and quickly turned to go, her knees trembling as she crossed the yard to the place where Honeysuckle waited, picketed and grazing.

A newspaperman, she thought as she rode away. A particular breed of man her father declared was a blessing when they spoke well of one and a curse every other day. The warden must have invited him to the prison, for her father certainly would not have done.

She decided not to mention Mr. French at home, and she fervently hoped that when he reviewed his notes and came to write his story, he would find nothing worth mentioning about her. But she knew her hopes were in vain. People always found something to say about Kate, for good or ill. Reviewing the scene at the prison in her mind’s eye, she took comfort in knowing that her behavior had been exemplary, that she had neither said nor done anything that would reflect badly upon herself or her father.