Rebekah lay in the darkness for hours, listening to every creak, every groan the strange house made. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that sleep finally claimed her. When Sadie drew back the curtains and sunlight flooded the room, Rebekah woke with a jolt. The maid promptly set a breakfast tray on her lap.
“Mama said if you’d like something else, let her know. She’d be happy to oblige.”
Rebekah looked the food over. There were eggs, tea, toast and jam. She wouldn’t have been able to eat all of it even if she was hungry—which she wasn’t. “Oh, this is plenty,” she told Sadie. “Please tell your mother I am most appreciative.”
The young maid nodded. “I’m about to bathe Miss Grace, and Mama said to tell you Miss Kathleen is downstairs having her breakfast. Mr. Henry’s already had his, bein’ as he left so early.”
Rebekah’s stomach lurched. He’s gone?
She had thought surely he would speak to her this morning concerning the children. How was she to fulfill the role of mother if she wasn’t sure what steps to take? Why had he left her on her own?
“Mama said the council sent for him,” Sadie offered. “Said it was urgent business.”
So was it work? Was something pressing happening in the city? “Did he say when we should expect his return?”
“No, ma’am. He didn’t. At least not to Mama, but perhaps James might know.”
Yes, Rebekah thought. I shall ask him. Perhaps Henry left some sort of instructions with him. At that, she drew in a breath. It was time to begin a new day. Her first day as a mother. She had no idea where to begin.
Not wanting to offend Hannah, Rebekah ate what she could of the tray, then sent it back downstairs with Sadie. After dressing, she went in search of James. However, he was nowhere to be found.
She went to the kitchen. A pot was steaming on the stove, and bread dough lay upon the table. One meal was finished, and Hannah was already hard at work preparing the next. She smiled when Rebekah approached.
“Well, good morning, Mrs. Nash.”
“Good morning, Hannah.”
Kathleen was sitting at a small table in the far corner of the room, nibbling on her own plate of eggs. She was already dressed, her dark locks plaited and bound. That eliminated any notion Rebekah had of passing the time with the child by brushing her hair and assisting with her clothing. She drew in a nervous breath, then smiled at the girl. When she failed to receive one in return, the butterflies in Rebekah’s stomach once again took flight.
I can manage this, she told herself. I spent over a year managing a ward full of wounded soldiers. I can surely manage a four-year-old child and a baby. In the military hospital, however, she had been given detailed instructions, a strict schedule to keep. She turned back to Hannah. “I was looking for James. Do you know where he is?”
“Out on errands,” the woman replied, hands deep in the bread dough. “Is there something I might help you with?”
And there went any hope that Henry might have left instructions for Rebekah with Hannah. If he had, she surely would have said so. “No. That’s all right. Thank you for breakfast.”
Again the woman smiled. “I asked Mr. Henry what kind of eggs you liked, but he said he didn’t know.”
No. Of course he wouldn’t know, Rebekah thought. How could he?
“Mr. Henry always takes his poached. He suggested I make the same for you, and if you weren’t pleased, I could make something else.”
She could barely swallow the food, but that wasn’t Hannah’s fault. The truth was, on an ordinary day, she would have thoroughly enjoyed poached eggs. They were her favorite. At least Henry and I have that in common. “I was very pleased. Thank you.”
“What time will you be s’pectin’ supper?” Hannah then asked.
Rebekah balked. Dinner was always served in her father’s home promptly at seven, with no exceptions, but she had no idea what time her husband normally dined. Rebekah didn’t wish to run the risk of doing anything of which Henry might disapprove.
“At what time is Henry accustomed to dining?” she asked.
“’Round six, but he don’t always mind his watch. If he’s got business, sometimes he don’t show until nigh eight.”
“But when he is home he prefers to eat at six?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s keep the same schedule.”
Hannah then inquired what she would care to have served. It felt odd to be plied with such questions, for Rebekah had never been asked her preferences before. But I was never the lady of the house before.
While there were certain foods she liked and certain ones she disliked, again Rebekah was hesitant to put forth her opinions. She didn’t wish to do anything contrary to Henry’s preferences.
“Whatever meals Henry is used to having will be fine,” she told Hannah.
Hannah nodded and then went back to her bread dough. Kathleen was silently watching Rebekah from across the room. Rebekah wondered for a moment if she should have asked whether the child had any meal preferences, but again, she did not wish to do anything without her husband’s permission.
Standing there for a moment longer, she was tempted to ask the cook what she should do next. In her father’s house, she had always been issued orders, told where to go and whom to see. Now she had no direction.
For some strange reason, Rebekah thought again of Mary Lincoln. What had life been like for her those first few days of her husband’s presidency, trying to settle into a strange house, while he saw to the urgent business of the nation? And what must it have been like for her children? Lonely, I suspect.
Kathleen was still staring at her. Loneliness was an emotion Rebekah never wanted this little girl or her sister to experience. Marshaling what she hoped was a cheery, confident face, Rebekah claimed the chair beside her.
“You are to be my Aunt Rebekah,” Kathleen said.
Rebekah’s heart was stirred by the title. “Yes,” she said, “I am, and I would be very pleased to get to know you better. What would you like to do today?”
Kathleen blinked and shrugged her shoulders.
“Shall we find your sister and then decide?” Rebekah offered her hand. The child cautiously accepted. Giving her another smile, Rebekah led her to the foyer.
Sadie was just coming down the staircase with Grace in her arms. The baby wiggled, rooted and began to fuss. “I think she may be ready to eat again,” Sadie said. “She woke earlier than usual this morning, begging for a bottle.”
Rebekah was embarrassed that she hadn’t been woken by the child herself. Had Henry? Had he been irritated by the fact that she hadn’t come to feed the little one? Not that she would have known what to do, anyway. She’d never fed a child before.
But I must learn. And now is as good a time as any to start.
“If you’ll fetch me the necessary items, I’ll see to her,” Rebekah said.
The maid seemed most eager to hand the baby over. “Yes, ma’am,” she said before she flew off toward the kitchen.
A writhing babe now in her arms, Rebekah looked at Kathleen. “We’ll give your sister her bottle, and then we’ll find something amusing to do.”
They moved to the parlor. Rebekah settled in a comfortable chair while Kathleen took up post beside the nearby tea table, eyeing her sister and her new aunt with silent curiosity. Grace’s cry grew louder. Hannah came into the room.
“You sure you want to do this, Miss Rebekah?” she asked. “Sadie can feed her.”
For one quick moment, Rebekah was tempted to relinquish the child. However, she hid her nervousness with a smile and a bit of reason. “You and Sadie have done so much already. Please let me help you.”
Hannah grinned appreciatively, then showed Rebekah how to fix the rag inside the bottle and dab it on the baby’s lips. Grace quickly began to suck.
“There, that’s it,” Hannah said encouragingly. “You’ll want to give the bottle a slight turn every so often or it will leak. My, she is hungry.”
“Then she is growing,” Rebekah said, parroting what she’d heard her friend Julia say many times about her own child.
“Indeed,” Hannah said. “I believe she likes you.”
Rebekah’s heart swelled. Grace stared up at her, dark blueberry eyes wide with interest. So delicate, so helpless, Rebekah thought, and so easy to love. Inadvertently she thought of the baby’s uncle, wondering, Will he prove the same?
Shoving the thought aside, she gave Kathleen a smile and then returned her attention to the baby. Hannah, seeming confident the children were in good hands, left the room.
All went well for a few moments. Then milk began to dribble down Grace’s chin. Rebekah turned the bottle as directed but apparently did so much too fast. Milk suddenly rushed out, choking the child.
Oh! Rebekah frantically tossed the bottle aside and heaved the baby upon her shoulder. Upset by the sudden change of position, Grace spewed a mouthful of milk, then let out a wail.
Rebekah quickly patted her back. Milk was running down her own back and bodice, soaking through her corset cover and everything else. The forgotten bottle was leaking all over the nearby tea table, dripping to the floor below. Kathleen was now staring at it wide-eyed.
Rebekah gasped as she noticed the spill. “Oh no!”
Of the same thought, she and Kathleen both reached to right the bottle. Their hands collided. Rebekah succeeded only in knocking the bottle into the poor girl. Now her dress was wet, as well.
Kathleen fanned out her skirt, looking as though she wanted to cry. Rebekah was very near tears herself. Her cheeks burned with shame. “Oh, love... I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
How thankful she was that her new husband wasn’t here to see this. He would think her an incompetent fool. Perhaps that’s what she was. Grace, now beet red, was still screaming, and the milk meant to soothe her was everywhere but in the baby’s mouth.
Hannah returned, her eyes wide at the sight that greeted her. Repressing a smile, she came to Rebekah’s aid. “Here, miss—let me help you.”
“Bless you, Hannah,” was all Rebekah could think to say. The woman took the baby. “Oh, your dress,” Hannah exclaimed.
“It’s all right.” Kathleen is worse off than I.
“This is my fault,” Hannah said. “I shouldn’t have left you. You just seemed so confident—” She stopped, obviously uncertain if she could speak as frankly with Rebekah as she could with Henry. Rebekah, though, welcomed the friendly tone. In her father’s home, all her mistakes had been criticized with harshness...and sometimes violence. Hannah’s gentle reprimands were painless in comparison.
“No, Hannah. It is entirely my fault. And confident? I am anything but!”
Grace’s was still wailing, but the older woman seemed to take it in stride. “Don’t you worry, now. You’ll master things soon enough,” she assured Rebekah. “Why don’t you go and take care of Miss Kathleen, then change your dress, as well. I’ll finish with Miss Grace, and Sadie can see to the rest.”
The rest, meaning the milk-coated tea table and the stained carpet. Rebekah winced. If my father saw this, he would... She shook off the thought, for it was this family she needed to concern herself with now. She looked again at poor Kathleen.
“Come, love, let’s take care of that pretty dress of yours.”
The child once more reluctantly put her hand in hers. Together they walked upstairs.
“Have you a favorite color you like to wear?” she asked her.
“My mama likes yellow.”
Oh dear, Rebekah thought. Hence the yellow dress Kathleen now wore.
There were no other yellow dresses in the girl’s wardrobe, so Rebekah did her best to encourage her into a cream-colored one. “It’s almost yellow,” Rebekah said.
“But it’s not the same.”
“No, it isn’t,” she conceded, “but if you put this one on for now, I shall make certain your yellow dress is cleaned well so that you can wear it again very soon.”
Kathleen reluctantly stepped into the dress. Sadie arrived the moment Rebekah finished fastening the last of the hooks and eyes.
“If you’ll give me your dress, as well, I’ll see to it now,” she said to Rebekah.
Leaving Kathleen in her room, Rebekah went to change. When she returned, the little girl was at the window. In her hands was a tintype of a woman bearing her and Henry’s likeness.
“Is that your mother?” Rebekah asked gently.
Kathleen nodded but said nothing. Rebekah could only wonder what was going through the poor child’s mind.
“She is very pretty,” Rebekah said. “You look like her.”
The little girl stared down at the picture as if she were trying to decide if Rebekah’s words were true or not. Rebekah’s anxiety grew. She so desperately wanted to connect with Kathleen. She herself knew all too well what it was like to feel distant from those who were supposed to care for her.
As she glanced out the window, an idea came to her like a gift. The garden!
She remembered Kathleen’s delight over the jonquils presented to her. She remembered the conversation she’d once had with Henry, as well.
“I am afraid I haven’t the time or the skill to make this plot what it once was,” he had said.
“Would you like to go outside and help me in the garden?” Rebekah asked Kathleen.
Finally a look of interest, even eagerness, crossed the girl’s face. “Mama had a garden,” she said.
Enormously relieved by the response, Rebekah released a pent-up breath. “What kind of flowers did she have?”
“Big ones, little ones, pink ones, yellow ones...”
“Then what say we go outside and see if we can find some of the same?”
Kathleen nodded quickly.
“Very good!” Rebekah said.
They returned to the first floor. Rebekah found a cradle basket in the foyer, which she imagined Hannah laid Grace in when she was busy. “We can put your sister in this,” she told Kathleen. “She can look at the trees and the sky while we work with the flowers.”
The feeding now finished, Grace and Hannah were in the kitchen. The cook was holding the child in one arm, stirring a pot on the stove with the other hand.
“Here, Hannah. I’ll take her now,” Rebekah said.
“Thank you, miss.”
Rebekah told Hannah of her plan.
“That’s a good idea,” the woman said. “I sure would like to see that garden looked after, but I just don’ have the time for it, myself.”
Pleased, Rebekah was ready to move forward. However, the instant she laid the baby in the basket, Grace began to cry. Rebekah immediately tensed. What was she doing wrong? She patted the baby gently. “Shh, shh, little one. It’s all right...”
“She doesn’t like bein’ in that basket,” Kathleen informed her.
That was obvious by the wailing. Rebekah wondered how such a tiny child could produce such an ear-splitting protest. She continued to pat the baby, tried to reassure her. Short of being held, however, Grace was inconsolable.
What do I do now? How am I to work with Kathleen if I must hold the baby?
“You might try tyin’ her to your bosom,” Hannah suggested. “That’s what I sometimes do. That way she still feels close to you, but you can have your hands free.”
It was worth a try, for clearly Grace did not wish to be on her own. Hannah brought a large piece of cloth and secured it around her. “There. Now we put Miss Grace in just like so...”
The added weight of a child against her chest was something Rebekah wasn’t used to, but she would gladly adjust. Hannah had been right. Snuggled now against Rebekah’s heart, Grace soon settled. Rebekah’s nervousness did, as well.
“Well, then,” she said. “I believe this will work. Thank you, Hannah.” She offered a now free hand to Kathleen. “Shall we?”
Outside, the early May sunshine felt warm and comfortable. A rain shower the previous evening had freshened the air. Rebekah drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scents around her and her heart with determination. She didn’t bother to search for hand tools or gloves. The ground was soft, and she soon discovered that the weeds easily surrendered to a simple tug.
“We need to give the flowers room to grow,” she explained to Kathleen.
Soon the child was knees-down beside her, hands deep in the moist earth and loving every minute of it. The mud did not bother her in the least. It had never bothered Rebekah, either. Only her mother and father were offended by it. Rebekah smiled to herself. She need not worry about appearing unladylike now.
If Henry isn’t due to arrive until six, we can work until midafternoon and still have plenty of time to bathe and dress for dinner. Wouldn’t her husband be surprised to see how much she had completed by then? Won’t he appreciate the effort it takes to restore his mother’s garden to the beauty it surely once must have held? But most important, she was certain he’d appreciate the fact that Kathleen was enjoying herself. The little girl’s personality was beginning to blossom. She was asking questions about the flowers, pointing out butterflies. Grace was also content. From her pouch, she now cooed.
Rebekah’s anxieties evaporated with the morning dew as she and Kathleen rescued tulips from strangling weeds and braided spent daffodil greenery so next month’s flowers would have their turn on the stage.
Confidence bubbled up within her. Despite a disastrous beginning, she believed she could indeed be a good mother, even if she was still unsure how to be a good wife for Henry. Hopefully she could make her husband happy by making the children happy. The pile of weeds beside her was proof of her determination, and Kathleen’s delight at discovering wild geraniums was Rebekah’s reward.
“One of my mama’s flowers!” she exclaimed.
Rebekah happily plucked her a cluster. “Don’t they smell good?”
Kathleen buried her nose in the purple petals, then grinned.
“Here now,” Rebekah said, “we’ll put them in your hair. Then you’ll be a fairy princess.”
“And fly with the butterflies.”
“Indeed.” Rebekah grinned.
The sun climbed higher, as did the temperature, but Rebekah welcomed the warmth. Grace, well protected from the sun, now slept soundly against her chest. Kathleen flitted about the garden, discovering budding vines and grasshoppers in a mixture of play and curiosity.
“You have dirt on your face,” she said to Rebekah with a giggle.
“So do you. Never fear. A little soap and water will have us presentable again soon enough.”
“When Uncle Henry comes home, I’ll show him all the pretty flowers.”
“I’m certain he will be most pleased,” Rebekah said. I won’t disappoint him this time.
It was then that she heard the sound of the back door opening. Thinking it was probably Sadie coming to claim Grace, she looked up. Embarrassment flooded through her. It wasn’t Sadie, and it was too late for soap and water now.
Henry was home early.
* * *
Henry paused the moment he saw his new bride. She was a sight for certain. The prim and proper daughter of the next would-be governor was in dirt up to her elbows, with a baby strapped to her chest like a common field laborer. Beside her, Kathleen looked much the same. Dirt caked her hands and stained her dress. Neither of them was wearing a sunbonnet. Hair had escaped the confines of their combs and buns. It was now flower bedecked and tangled. They were smiling and laughing, and Henry had never seen a more beautiful sight.
The moment Rebekah noticed him, however, the smile fled from her face. She immediately stood and tried to wipe the dirt from her dress and hands. It was to no avail. Henry would have laughed were it not for the look of fear on her face. Why did his appearance provoke such a reaction? Did it have anything to do with his behavior last night? The visitor who had paid him a call?
Did she somehow know that Detective Smith had asked to see her?
“Why?” Henry had immediately wished to know.
“To congratulate her on the wedding nuptials,” the man had claimed. “I was not able to attend your wedding.”
Henry hadn’t known what to say to that. Had Theodore Van der Geld actually invited the man? If so, to what end? His father-in-law had come to him seeking this marital arrangement. What would he gain if Henry was publically humiliated? Or was it that Smith had simply invited himself—to the wedding, and now to their home? Was he about to finger a new conspirator? If he was, he didn’t need Rebekah to do so.
“Mrs. Nash is not to be disturbed,” he had told the man. “If you wish to call, you may do so at a more convenient time.”
Smith had accepted the firm reply with contrite posture. “Of course. My apologies.” And with that he had left.
Henry had gone to Rebekah directly after the disturbing encounter. He realized now that he shouldn’t have done so. Surely she recognized my distress. Had she misinterpreted it as some deficiency of her own?
He tried his best to be jovial now as he approached her. “Well, you’ve been hard at work today,” he said.
“Yes...” she stammered. “I...th-thought I’d...s-start on the garden...”
“So I see.” Henry glanced about. There were plants now visible that he hadn’t even known he possessed. “You’ve done a fine job.” Inwardly he winced. A fine job? I sound like I am complimenting Hannah or Sadie, not speaking to my wife.
“We found flowers like Mama’s!” Kathleen announced. “See?” She plucked a purple blossom and presented it to him.
“Beautiful,” he said. “Thank you.” The little girl grinned at him. Henry tried to encourage one from his wife. “Your dress.” He chuckled. “If your father could see you now...”
His comment had not the effect he intended. Reddening, Rebekah looked down at the ground. “I apologize for my appearance... I d-did not expect you home so soon. If you will excuse me, I’ll make certain Kathleen and I—”
He caught her arm before she could reach for the child. He felt terrible. “I didn’t mean...the truth is, I think you look...beautiful.”
Her eyes slowly met his. They were filled with incredulity.
He couldn’t blame her for her disbelief. He knew he hadn’t acted right last night. It had been her very first evening in a strange home, and he had done little to make her feel welcome. After saying good-night, he had walked to the room at the end of the hall and shut the door behind him. And today, he had left while she was still asleep—hadn’t even thought to leave a message for her with Hannah. How could he win his wife’s love if he didn’t spend time with her? How can I spend time with her without running the risk of her finding out why I married her in the first place?
Henry tucked Kathleen’s blossom in the pocket of his frock coat as she scampered to the far end of the garden. When she was out of earshot, Henry tried his best to explain. “I was distracted last night, and for that I am sorry. I was thinking politics...the assassination and all...” He didn’t tell Rebekah any more than that, and thankfully, she did not ask.
“And the council is what took you away early this morning,” she said. It was a statement, not a question, as if she completely accepted the intrusion of public service on one’s private life.
The request to convene had come just after sunrise. The concern was over former rebel soldiers now making their way home. The provost marshal was worried they would stir up trouble. With much of the Federal army still involved in the investigation surrounding Lincoln’s murder, the acting authorities wanted the Baltimore city police department to remain on full alert, and to have funding for additional deputies approved.
Henry told her all about it. Rebekah’s eyes were wide with interest. “It’s no wonder they are so concerned,” she said. “I saw the newspaper on your desk. The trial of the conspirators begins today.”
He felt the jolt of that last sentence. The emotion must have shown on his face, for Rebekah immediately looked contrite. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Henry blinked. Why was she apologizing?
“I didn’t disturb the paper,” she explained. “I only glanced at the headline.”
He blinked again. “Rebekah, why do you feel the need to assure me that you only glanced at the headline?”
She hesitated, then looked again at her mud-stained skirts. “Father didn’t wish for his mail to be disturbed.”
He tried to make sense of what she’d just said. There had to be more to it than a man wanting to keep his desk in order. “You mean, he didn’t wish for you to disturb it?”
She nodded slowly. “Especially the newspapers.”
“Why?”
She bit her lip before answering. “He said young ladies needn’t concern themselves with such things. That we have no aptitude for understanding such matters.”
Indignation swept through Henry. His proud father-in-law, Theodore Van der Geld, champion of liberty to the slaves—and at the same time, enslaver of women. The contradiction sickened him.
“He is wrong,” Henry said firmly. “Rebekah, you may read the newspapers and anything else in this house that is of interest to you anytime you wish. You need not ask my permission or pardon.”
Her face brightened. “Truly?”
“Indeed. You are my wife. I want you to be happy.”
The look she gave him made his pulse quicken. Was this the beginning of love? Was this what it felt like? Henry didn’t know, but if it was, he wanted to feel more of it.
“Now tell me,” he said, “besides the garden and the newspapers, what else are you fond of? And don’t give me an answer you think I want to hear. Hannah has already told me you’ve made absolutely no changes to the menu whatsoever.”
Embarrassment once more colored her face, but this time the hint of a smile accompanied it. “I should like to learn more of your work with the council,” she said. “What you do day in and day out.”
“All right. What else?”
“I’d like to know more about your time in the balloon corps.”
“I’d be happy to share such things with you,” he said.
“And I would like to learn more about this trial. Did you know that one of the accused conspirators is a woman?”
His heart slammed into his ribs. “Yes.” Mary Surratt, the widow who ran the Washington boardinghouse where Booth supposedly plotted to kill the president.
Of all the things he and his new bride could discuss, she had chosen the one topic he so wished to avoid. How was he to escape this conversation without discouraging her? Thankfully, he didn’t have to come up with a solution.
“Oh, listen to me,” Rebekah then said. “I’m prattling away... You’ll be sorry you ever asked of my interests.”
“No, I won’t,” he said. It was the truth. He wanted to learn her, win her, love her. What he didn’t want was for Rebekah to open the paper one morning and find the names of Mary Surratt and John Wilkes Booth listed beside his own.