Elizabeth Keckley’s cabin on The River Queen. She is carefully sewing biassed bands of velvet on to a black watered silk dress for Mrs Lincoln. A moment later, Mary Lincoln surges into the room. Elizabeth rises to her feet, laying the dress reverently across her chair. Mary Lincoln presents with a flourish a large, somewhat grubby, pale kid glove.
Mary Lincoln There you are, Lizabeth, as I promised you.
Elizabeth Thank you so much, Mrs Lincoln.
She takes the glove, delighted.
Mary Lincoln It’s none too clean, I fear, with all those hundreds of dirty hands he was obliged to shake. I can’t think what you want with it.
Elizabeth I shall always cherish it, Mrs Lincoln, and preserve it for posterity: the glove Mr Lincoln wore at his second inaugural.
Mary Lincoln The poor man is so worn out: and he has another four years to get through. Still, I suppose it’s convenient to have won: if nothing else, it has kept my creditors at bay.
Elizabeth How much do you owe, if you don’t mind my asking?
Mary Lincoln Twenty-seven thousand dollars.
Elizabeth That is an important sum.
Mary Lincoln Yes, I am in a very narrow place. There are hundreds of Republicans getting rich off my husband’s patronage. Immensely rich. At some point I will make a demand of them. The least they can do is advance me the money.
Elizabeth And Mr Lincoln knows nothing of this?
Mary Lincoln God, no! It would drive him mad. He is so straightforward himself, he is always shocked by the duplicity of others.
She picks up the hem of the dress and begins to inspect it.
Beautiful work, Lizzie.
Elizabeth Thank you kindly, Mrs Lincoln.
Mary Lincoln The President has been suffering some most disturbing dreams of late: I wanted to hear your opinion of them.
Elizabeth Of course, ma’am, I will interpret them as best I may: then when we are back in Washington, we can hold a seance and speak to Master Willie on the other shore. He will know exactly how to read them.
Mary Lincoln In the first dream, he lies on his old bed back home in Springfield. He turns his head towards the mirror and sees not one, but two reflections of his face, one, him as he is, the other, beside it, pale as death.
Elizabeth reflects for a moment.
Elizabeth Could be it means that when the war is won, Mr Lincoln will be able to leave by his grief and turn back to be his rightful self.
Mary Lincoln Yes, I see. But the second is more difficult to gloss in such an optimistic way. He was in the White House, woken by the sound of quiet weeping. Going downstairs to investigate, he could see no one, but the weeping grew louder. Eventually, he reached the East Room, where he saw a throng of mourners surrounding a long black catafalque. The crowd was too thick for him to cross the threshold, so he asked one of the guards whose body lay upon the catafalque. ‘Why, sir, the President,’ the man replied, ‘struck down by an assassin.’
Elizabeth That could not be, since the President himself was standing witness. I think what he saw was the carcass of the war.
Mary Lincoln Then why so many mourners?
Elizabeth They are the troubles of the coming peace, which he knows, being a wise man, will soon crowd around him.
Mary Lincoln Maybe so.
Elizabeth It’s strange, being so close as he is to winning his war, that he should be plagued by these morbid fancies.
Mary Lincoln Yes, he’s been dreadful solemn all this week. And there was one more dream.
Elizabeth Tell it.
Mary Lincoln He said he found himself aboard a phantom ship, sailing towards a dark, indefinite shore.
Elizabeth looks down, genuinely troubled.
Elizabeth And did he stand alone?
Mary Lincoln Yes.
Elizabeth tries to conceal her growing fear.