Chapter 40

In Which I Take a Step in a New Direction

We arrived at the great city of Washington just as dawn was turning the sky a rosy gold. Mr. Pinkerton escorted the president-elect through the station and to the waiting arms of his reliable friend. I suspected this was the congressman from Illinois, Elihu Washburne. While I did not recognize his face, I’d read plenty about him in the Chicago Press & Tribune. Besides, how many Elihus could there possibly be? There was no welcoming party on the street for Mr. Lincoln this morning, like the ones the newspapers had reported along the entire journey from Illinois. This morning called for the quiet stealth of a friend’s closed carriage and not the booming drums of a marching band.

The inauguration was just days away, and we’d more than done our job of securing the railroad lines into Baltimore. We’d gone even further. We’d delivered Abraham Lincoln safely to Washington and into the history books as the protector of the Union. Mr. Pinkerton stood there on the depot steps like a stone statue, and as we watched Mr. Lincoln climb into the dark carriage, I felt certain that Mr. Pinkerton wasn’t ready to give up his secret service to the president.

“I will be busy sending telegraphs all day to the operatives we planted throughout the region,” Mr. Pinkerton said, turning to me with a nod, “to Philadelphia and New York. We cut the wires to and from Harrisburg last night when Mr. Lincoln made his hasty departure. But now I’ll send word, and the lines will be repaired to working order again.”

And he pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket and tucked it into my hand, saying something about how he wanted me to hold on to it as a keepsake. I wanted to tell him that there was no way a body could forget the night the Pinkerton detectives unraveled the Baltimore plot and saved Abraham Lincoln from an assassin’s dagger, even if she lived to be a hundred years old. But instead I just grinned and peeked at the note.

It was one of Mr. Pinkerton’s telegraph messages, written in secret code and ready to be sent over the wires to our mother hen Mr. Bangs back at the detective agency in Chicago:

G. H. Bang’s

80. Washington Street.

Chicago.

Plums has Nuts—arri’d at Barley—all right.

I slipped the paper into my pocket and felt my heart swell. I finally knew all the secrets of this case.

“We’ll take the three o’clock train back to Baltimore and meet up with the rest of the operatives at the Barnum Hotel,” he said in his Scottish lilt, his tone right back to business as usual. “Mrs. Warne can tell us what the would-be assassins had to say upon discovering that Mr. Lincoln passed safely under their sleeping noses. And we’ll find out if they’re plotting more treachery against him.”

I asked if he thought Aunt Kate might be in much danger today. He warned that all of us were in danger, as the assassins would surely point fingers at whomever they suspected had betrayed them. They would be looking for the spy in their midst.

“Here is your return ticket,” he said, handing over a long envelope. “When we arrive in Baltimore, there will be plenty of hurly-burly on the street. You and I will have to go our separate ways from the depot to the hotel—we cannot be seen together again, or we might give our entire scheme away. But keep in mind, Nell, that I won’t be far behind you in case trouble should arise.”

I nodded solemnly and tucked the envelope into my black knit bag. Looking out at the city of Washington, tinged in a pinkish gold as the new day was dawning, I let out a deep sigh. Mr. Pinkerton gazed out, too, for a few moments more, then turned and extended his hand for me to shake.

“I have business to attend to,” he began, his arm pumping mine like he was trying to fill a water bucket. “But I presume you can find a way to entertain yourself for a few hours here in Washington before we catch our train. There are plenty of candy shops and bookstores for you to explore.”

Or fashion emporiums, I wanted to add.

“Do you think you can handle this, Nell?”

He didn’t have to ask me twice. I shook the bag at my elbow and heard the jangle of my coins. Finally a chance to explore a big city and spend a little of the hard-earned money I’d saved.

With my green-gloved hand in his brawny one, I gave Mr. Pinkerton a firm shake and assured him that, indeed, I could.

Hours later, when we returned to Baltimore, the streets were as busy and stirred up as a beehive. It couldn’t have been more different from our nighttime passing, when the city was sleeping. Rowdy crowds were pushing this way and that, and a fire engine pulled by six straining horses went careening down the center of the street. The dust kicked up by so many boots and animals made me sneeze. Adding that to the noisy chaos and the shoving bodies, and suddenly I felt turned around.

Which way was the Barnum Hotel? And what if my charade as Matilda Maddox had already been figured out? What if an angry mob of secessionists was waiting to grab me—what would I do? What would they do?

I pushed my way north a block or so, trying to get away from the heated throng near the depot. I passed a hotel and glanced up at a black-iron balcony, where a bearded man was shouting hate-filled words to the hordes below on the street. A fistfight broke out between two boys, and a third began throwing rotten eggs into the crowd. I could hardly breathe for the dust and the thick cloud of danger that hung in the air.

When I rounded another corner, I took a moment to lean against a white storefront until I could catch my breath and calm my jittery nerves.

“Matilda Maddox, you look like you’re up to something!” came a voice. “I’m so glad I can keep my eye on you again.”

I whipped around, fearing the worst was about to unfold as I faced the secessionist acquaintances I’d made during our stay here. But to my great surprise and relief, I was gazing right into the face of Aunt Kate herself. I wanted to throw my arms around her and make sure I wasn’t dreaming. But I knew my aunt was never one to make a fuss—especially not smack in the middle of a public street.

“What a relief to see you!” I said, grateful to have those fierce blue eyes before me again. I hastily scanned her face, her arms, her hands, just to comfort myself that she wasn’t hurt or injured in some way. “Has it been hard for you today? Have there been any threats?”

“Threats, yes,” she said, dropping her voice low and stepping closer. “But not against you and me. The threats are against Mr. Lincoln in the hopes of keeping him from the presidency. I fear that even after he puts his hand on the Bible and finally swears the oath of office, he still won’t be safe. Some of these folks won’t be satisfied until they put Mr. Lincoln in a grave.”

A few menacing drunks pushed past, knocking both Aunt Kate and me off balance. I bumped into a man and his wife as they were passing on the other side of us and nearly fell to my knees. He grabbed my arms just in time and righted me.

“There you go, miss,” he said, and immediately I recognized that deep, gravelly voice. It was Detective Webster. He and Hattie Lawton were arm in arm like a married couple, probably on their way to our meeting at the Barnum Hotel. “Don’t let anyone knock you around, you hear?”

I smiled and thanked him for his help, mindful not to expose their true identities, and watched them walk on down the busy street and deeper into the angry mass. How I hoped they would be safe. A chill raced through me, and I pulled my coat tighter against the February cold.

“Look to your left,” my aunt said softly, her voice close to my ear now as she pretended to dust off my wool wrap, “but don’t make a show of it.”

As casually as I could, I turned to my left and glanced around. Just across the busy street, slipping a coin to a newspaper boy, stood Mr. Pinkerton. He shot a quick nod to the two of us and ran his finger along the side of his nose as if giving a miniature salute. Then he moved on into the throng and disappeared in the same direction as Hattie Lawton and Detective Webster.

It was our turn to move along now. But I hesitated, unsure whether I had the courage to push through Baltimore’s angry mobs, mindful of what might be waiting for us when we gathered at the Barnum Hotel.

Be fearless, Detective Webster had encouraged, in everything you do. Fearless.

“You seem a little taller to me today, Nell,” Aunt Kate said softly, looping her arm through mine and setting us off. I was surprised she didn’t stick with calling me Matilda, but maybe she was a little tired from her late night.

“Perhaps I am,” I said, matching my steps to hers as we began our march together through the dangerous city. It was late afternoon now, and the sun was a vivid orange—nearly red—as it began to sink lower in the western sky.

Aunt Kate tilted her head to the side as we pressed on down the wooden-plank sidewalk, both of us making a tip-tap sound as we went.

“What’s this, Nell? Maybe it’s the pandemonium that comes and goes around us affecting my hearing. But from what I can tell by the sound of it, your boots aren’t making their usual heavy thumping.”

And that’s what you get by spending time with detectives. They don’t miss a thing. And they’re not shy about digging into your personal business for useful information.

“That’s right, Aunt Kate. They’re not.”

And even though there was nothing but ruffians all about us, I couldn’t help but glance side to side to make sure I wasn’t going to offend anyone’s sense of decency. Then I lifted the hem of my dress and my many layers of petticoats, and I stuck out my left foot.

Aunt Kate gasped and threw both her blue-gloved hands to her cheeks. She was marveling at what she saw—a brand-new pair of ladies’ boots. And they were beauties: delicate white, narrowing to a point in the front. There was a row of tiny black buttons, which had taken an eternity to fasten back at the fashion emporium in Washington, running all the way up my ankle. And best of all was the wedged heel, about one inch high, which made me feel like I was eye to eye with Aunt Kate now.

“What about the old ones?” she inquired, shaking her head in disbelief. “What about your father’s old, brown boots?”

“I believe that old pair has served me well, Aunt,” I said with a grin. And looping my arm right back into hers, I was the one who set us off down the sidewalk this time. While I didn’t quite speed us up to her usual fast walking, I did push on with a firm, steady step. “But I thought it was about time to make a fresh start.”

I could feel Aunt Kate peeking at me as we walked. And when I finally stole a glance in her direction, the smile I saw in her eyes let me know how much she approved.

“Care for a licorice?” she asked, slipping the familiar silver tin from her coat pocket and flicking it open.

“No, thank you,” I replied. And as smoothly as I could, I offered her my own brand-new tin. “Would you like a butterscotch?”

Aunt Kate gave me a quizzical look as she reached over and popped a yellow candy in her mouth. A carriage raced past us, a few noisy rebels shouting whoops and rough words. But Aunt Kate and I ignored it as we pressed in close together, arms entwined, and set off again down the busy sidewalk and into the red-tinged twilight toward the Barnum Hotel.

It was just the two of us making our way through this great big mess of a city, but thoughts of so many others marched along with us in my mind—not only Cornelius but Matthew Warne. Jemma and brave Old Joseph Tuthill. Mama and my brothers. Detective Webster and Hattie Lawton. Mr. Pinkerton. And Mr. Bangs back in Chicago.

I might have given up my daddy’s old boots, but I still carried a little piece of him—a piece of all of them—with me in my heart. Aunt Kate once said that family is the folks we choose to be with, not the ones we’re stuck with. But I had my own notions about family now. To me, family meant taking the folks we’re stuck with and choosing to love them anyway.

“Mind the puddle,” Aunt Kate said as we hurried across the street ahead of another crowded carriage. I was paying attention to the noisy scene before us, but the words from Mr. Pinkerton’s telegraph were echoing in my mind:

All right.

Everything was all right.

Even though there was evil afoot on this good green earth and angry cries at Mr. Lincoln from the Southerners. Even though the drumbeats of war were pounding from state to state. And even though the memory of that “Dixie”-whistling stranger still gave me chills, I knew I could face whatever may come.

Because I was not alone.

Because I was stronger than I’d ever dreamed.

And, most of all, because I had family to walk beside me.