Although Mary refused to hand over the pistol so they could inspect it, the Todd sisters assumed that it was the same gun Mary and Abe had given to ten-year-old Tad in 1863. Their youngest son had greatly admired the soldiers he met in the White House and at their encampments around the city, and like many lads with no concept of the realities of warfare, he had become enthralled by all things martial. The soldiers Willie and Tad encountered in Washington City had been exceedingly kind to them, and after Willie died, some of Abe’s military guards had adopted his bereft younger brother as their mascot, occasionally inviting him to take his rations with the troops and giving him the unofficial rank of third lieutenant. As Tad’s fascination had grown, Abe had indulged him by issuing certain official requests on his behalf, such as asking the secretary of the navy to obtain a sword for him, writing to the secretary of war to request some company flags, and dispatching an army captain to find Tad a small gun that he could not hurt himself with.
Ann could not think of any gun that met that description unless it remained unloaded, but taking that perfectly reasonable precaution apparently had not occurred to Abe or Mary. From what Ann later learned from friends and family who visited the White House, Tad never injured himself with the pistol, but he had become quite a little menace with it nonetheless. Once Abe had scolded him for pointing the gun playfully at a friend, and on another occasion Tad had been forced to relinquish the pistol for a week as punishment after accidentally shooting out a window while visiting his playmates Bud and Holly Taft at their home on L Street. Abe and Mary had been infamously indulgent parents, but allowing their young son to run around with a loaded gun for a toy seemed astonishingly negligent even for them.
The ill-fated pistol had probably been buried at the bottom of one of Mary’s many trunks ever since Tad’s death about four and a half years before. Now Mary—legally insane, enraged at her only surviving son, by nature impulsive—carried it around in her pocket, loaded, if she was to be believed, though that may have been merely a lie intended to frighten her sisters.
To Ann, it was obvious that they must get the gun away from her. Ninian and Frances agreed, but Elizabeth wavered. “I cannot believe Mary truly intends to harm Robert,” she insisted. “She has buried her husband and three sons. She would never take the life of her only surviving child.”
“Even if she is not a threat to Robert, she may be a danger to herself,” Ann pointed out, irritated. Elizabeth persisted in her belief that giving in to Mary in everything would calm her, help her regain her reason. But on what grounds? Elizabeth’s policy of indulgence certainly hadn’t helped Mary improve thus far. What had worked was the quiet and solitude of Bellevue under the care of medical professionals, but the progress Mary had made there was swiftly unraveling, if it had not been entirely undone already.
There was no longer any question in Ann’s mind but that Mary was insane, and therefore must be relieved of the dangerous weapon immediately. To her relief, and no small surprise, Elizabeth eventually was persuaded. The question remained how to go about it. If they tried to take the pistol by force, it could go off accidentally, injuring or even killing someone. If, as head of the household, Ninian demanded it, Mary could become upset and turn the weapon upon herself. She had attempted suicide before, and the implication that she was not sane enough to carry a pistol could, with cruel irony, compel her to try again.
“I think I may be able to convince her to relinquish it,” said Elizabeth, pensive. “I shall appeal to her protective nature by reminding her of the possible danger to my young grandchildren. Children are curious, as she well knows, and if a child chanced upon her gun, the consequences could be tragic.”
“And if that fails?” asked Ann, dubious.
“Then I shall offer a compromise: she may keep the pistol, if she allows Ninian to lock up the ammunition in his safe.”
Frances looked as skeptical as Ann felt, but they all agreed that Elizabeth should make the attempt. Elizabeth thought it best if she confronted Mary alone, so Ann did not witness the undoubtedly strange and awkward conversation that ensued, but she was not surprised when, two days later, Elizabeth admitted defeat. Mary had dismissed Elizabeth’s concerns, and her suggestion that Mary relinquish the gun or even just the bullets, with a shrill laugh. “I keep the pistol close to me at all times, so there is no danger that it will fall into a child’s hands,” she had declared. “And in a time of danger, what use to anyone is an unloaded pistol?”
Thus thwarted, Elizabeth decided to ask Robert to write to his mother and demand that she turn the pistol over to Ninian for safekeeping. “This way, Ninian will have an excuse to confiscate the weapon without bringing Mary’s wrath down upon his head or mine,” said Elizabeth one snowy morning in early January when she and Frances met secretly at Ann’s house. Lewis had promised to escort his great-aunt on a sleigh ride out into the country; Elizabeth would return home first, and with any luck Mary would never know that she had left the house.
“Yes, but then Mary will bring her wrath down upon Robert’s head instead,” said Frances. “She has already threatened to have him murdered. It’s dangerously imprudent to give her any more justification.”
Elizabeth gazed heavenward and sighed. “Mary has not hired any assassins. She wouldn’t even know how. In any case, she is angry at Robert, but not murderous.”
“We should hire a Pinkerton agent to pose as an assassin for hire,” exclaimed Ann, inspired. “He and Mary could meet ostensibly by chance at one of her favorite shops. He could confess the nature of his profession and tell her that it would be his great honor to serve the widow of the great Abraham Lincoln—you know, the sort of effusive praise she basks in—if she should ever require his services. If Mary attempts to hire him to kill Robert, the authorities would have evidence that she is not of sound mind, and she would be returned to Bellevue.”
“No, Ann,” said Frances, incredulous. “The authorities would have evidence that Mary plotted to commit murder. She wouldn’t go to Bellevue, but to prison!”
“No judge in the nation would send Abraham Lincoln’s deranged widow to prison,” Ann retorted. “Not if no one was actually harmed. She would be sentenced to Bellevue, or another place like it.”
“Oh dear Lord in heaven.” Frances covered her face with her hands and heaved a sigh. “Sometimes I have no idea what you’re thinking.”
Elizabeth regarded Ann sharply. “Sometimes I think you’re entirely too flippant about Mary’s suffering.”
“My suggestion was made in earnest,” Ann protested. “Believe me, I take Mary’s suffering very seriously. Sometimes I suspect I’m the only one who does. She is not well, and she belongs in an asylum. She has threatened Robert’s life, and you two seem more concerned with sparing her feelings than with getting a deadly weapon out of her hands!”
“Well, then, how would you get the gun away from her?” said Frances.
“Oh, no, no.” Ann laughed shortly. “I already told you what I would do. I would have a Pinkerton take it, but I am too flippant, so no one need listen to me.”
“Please,” begged Elizabeth, raising her hands, “let’s not argue among ourselves. We all want to help Mary.” She let her arms fall to her sides. “I’ll write to Robert to warn him about the gun. He will either tell us what he wants us to do, or he will consult Dr. Patterson, and we shall follow the doctor’s recommendations.”
“In the meantime,” said Frances pointedly, “you have a deeply troubled woman carrying a loaded pistol around your house.”
“In the meantime,” Elizabeth replied, an edge to her voice, “if I can think of another way to convince her to relinquish the gun, I shall do so.” Her gaze shifted to include Ann. “I trust we will all remain committed to helping Mary, if not out of sisterly love and duty, then as repayment of our debt to her martyred husband.”
Debt? Ann raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth, but when Frances nodded somberly in reply, Ann muffled a sigh and did the same. Let her sisters interpret the gesture as they wished. Of course she would continue to help Mary, in her own way, but not as repayment of any debt to Abe. She owed him for preserving the Union and for abolishing slavery, as every American did; she admired him for his accomplishments, loved him as a brother, and mourned him deeply. But to be personally indebted to him? Ann did not see it.
After her sisters left, Ann continued to mull over Elizabeth’s curious turn of phrase as she went about the daily routine of the household. Elizabeth and Ninian certainly had been in Abe’s debt, for after Ninian wrote to humbly suggest that he be offered a patronage position, Abe had appointed him a captain with the Commissary of Subsistence. William had been made an army paymaster, and his brother, Dr. Edward Wallace, had been appointed as the naval officer at the Philadelphia customhouse. Frances too owed Abe, in a sense, for it was through him that she had met William. Emilie’s husband would have owed Abe a great deal if he had been wise enough to accept the commission Abe had offered him at the beginning of the war—a post any of his brothers-in-law would have gratefully accepted—but Ben had thrown in his lot with the Confederates and had suffered the consequences, as had their brother and half-brothers who had enlisted in the rebel army.
They had all benefited from Abe’s position with regard to pride and esteem, but what had Abe ever offered Ann and Clark from his presidential largess? No patronage positions, that was for certain, not as others had received. Only Levi had been similarly overlooked, but he had fallen back into his dissipated ways and could not have been trusted with an important post. Not so Clark, a proven businessman and loyal Unionist who had deserved better. Abe had not even done Clark the courtesy of offering a satisfactory response to a simple request, something that would have been inconsequential for Abe to provide but profoundly beneficial to Clark if he had received it. All Clark had wanted, back in the winter of 1864, was for Abe to give him “simply a hint” as to when the war would end, once he was reasonably certain. If Clark had a bit of advance notice, he could strategically close out some stocks, earn a profit, and pay off some rather substantial debts. But even this little thing Abe had declined to do. Instead of promising to grant Clark’s request when the time came, he wrote only that he had no hopes of an imminent conclusion to the war, but rather expected it to be fought out “to the bitter end,” a statement that was true but entirely unhelpful.
No, Ann loved and respected Abe in life and would honor his memory in death, but she would not agree that she owed him any debt other than that which every faithful American owed to the president who had held the fractured nation together during its greatest crisis. Ann would help Mary, not to repay a debt, but because they were sisters; despite their differences and personal squabbles, if one Todd sister suffered, none of them could be truly happy.
But what to do? Someone could get hurt while they awaited advice from Robert or Dr. Patterson. Once again, it fell to Ann to act while everyone else dithered.
Rather than try to speak to Mary alone at the Edwards residence, where Elizabeth, Ninian, or Julia was sure to interrupt and possibly ruin everything, Ann came by the house one morning and invited Mary to go shopping. Mary’s eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, but she could not resist her favorite pastime, so she put on her wraps, took up her reticule, and joined Ann in the carriage.
They began at Mary’s favorite shop for fabric, notions, and trims, where she purchased some lavender silk ribbon for a new bonnet and a spool of thread. Next they went to the milliner’s, but only to browse for inspiration. They chatted pleasantly about fashion and the weather as they went from shop to shop, and as soon as Ann sensed that Mary was feeling at ease, she said, “Mary, may I ask you a frank question?”
Mary inhaled deeply as if to steel herself. “I suppose.”
“Do you understand how upset we all are about your pistol?”
She gestured dismissively. “Many people carry pistols.”
“You never used to be one of them.”
“After what happened to my beloved husband, no one should wonder why I should want to protect myself.”
“I agree.” Ann paused. “However, I thought you should know what others are saying behind your back.”
Mary’s gaze sharpened. “And what is that?”
“I probably shouldn’t say.” Ann pretended to mull it over. “Do you promise not to tell Frances or Elizabeth that I was the one to tell you?”
“Yes, yes, just get on with it.”
“Dr. Patterson is convinced that your compulsion to carry a gun is a sign of paranoia. Dangerous paranoia, and mania,” Ann added for emphasis, for Mary was frowning skeptically. “Apparently the unreasonable refusal to give up an object, even if it is forbidden by law or the rules of a particular household, can be a sign of madness.”
“Dr. Patterson said this? To whom?”
“In separate letters to Robert and Ninian.”
“Naturally.” Pursing her mouth, Mary wheeled about, left the shop, and headed down the sidewalk, obliging Ann to follow. “I assume they are conspiring to take it from me by force.”
“Not exactly.” When Mary halted and turned around, frowning quizzically, Ann said, “They intend to wait, observe, and keep a record of how many days you refuse to part with the pistol. When you exceed a certain limit, they may, if they desire, use this to justify sending you back to Bellevue.”
Mary blanched. “That’s nonsense. They would need another trial.”
“I believe they’re counting on you to dread a second trial so much that you will go quietly. Of course, the obvious way to avoid all that, to keep your freedom as well as your pistol—well, I’m sure you’ve already thought of it.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Simply give the gun to someone you trust, and declare that you sold it. They will be satisfied that you don’t intend to harm yourself or anyone else, and you can have your gun quickly returned to you if you ever have a particular need for it.”
Mary pondered this, a canny glint in her eye. “I suppose you’re offering to hold my gun for me. How could I be certain that you wouldn’t give it to Ninian to lock up in his safe the moment I gave it to you?”
“You would have my solemn promise as a sister.”
“And if I asked you to return it to me?”
“I would inquire whom you wanted to shoot, and whether you intended to kill or merely maim. If I thought you were making a terrible decision, I’d attempt to help you find a better solution to whatever had you so vexed.” Ann smiled a bit sardonically. “Do you have a better idea? Which is more important to you, feeling the weight of that pistol in your pocket or being at liberty to do as you please?”
Mary considered, but they both knew there was really only one choice.
Ann’s expectations for her scheme’s success had been rather low, so it was with great relief that she carried the pistol home, removed the bullets, and locked the pistol and ammunition in separate drawers of Clark’s desk.
The following evening, when the families gathered at the Edwards residence for Sunday dinner, Elizabeth took Frances and Ann aside. “Isn’t it wonderful that Mary sold the pistol?” she murmured, the relief having taken years off her face. “How thankful I am to be relieved of this worry!”
“You’re welcome,” said Ann dryly. “She didn’t sell the pistol. I convinced her to entrust it to me until she actually needs to shoot someone, at which time I am supposed to return it, which obviously I shall not do.” Elizabeth and Frances stared at her, dumbfounded. “Yes, I also told her to lie about it. Don’t tell her you know the truth, or you’ll create anxiety where for the moment none exists.”
“Well done, Ann,” said Frances, looking somewhat amazed.
“The gun is secure, everyone is safe, and that is what matters,” said Elizabeth, smiling and reaching out to give Ann’s hand a quick squeeze.
But that was not all that mattered to Robert.
“Your letters give me great concern, not for myself, but for the things unforeseen that may yet happen,” Robert replied after his aunts wrote to tell him how the conflict over the pistol had been resolved. He reminded them that the doctors they had consulted the previous spring had warned them that no one could predict the possible derangements that could take possession of his mother, and therefore she should be placed where no catastrophe could happen.
The obvious implication was that evidently the Edwards residence was not such a place.
“I am afraid the present situation will, as it did last spring, move from bad to worse,” he continued. “If it would get better, it would relieve me from an overwhelming anxiety. My mother was removed from the care of Dr. Patterson despite my concerns as to the safety of such a step, and she remains out of professional care contrary to my judgment. No catastrophe has yet occurred, but I live in continual apprehension of it.”
If his mother’s condition did not improve, Robert concluded, he might have to return her to Bellevue Place, despite the anguish and scandal this would undoubtedly foment. “If your influence cannot restrain her in Springfield,” he asked his aunts, “what are we to do?”
What indeed, Ann wondered. She had cleverly resolved the problem of the pistol, all but single-handedly, but what about the next problem and the one after that? Because as long as Mary was free to do as she pleased, there would inevitably be more problems.