These Honored Dead (7 page)

When we reached the Hutchason house, a modest one-story dwelling on the west side of town, Molly was standing on the front stoop, her condition concealed as much as was possible by a billowing housedress. The two childhood friends shared a long embrace and many tears of happiness while the stable lads finished lugging Martha’s trunks into the house.

“I’ll return at sunset to take you to dinner,” I told Martha before she went inside.

“When do I get to meet this Mr. Lincoln you’ve written me about?” she asked. “He sounds most interesting.”

“This very evening, I suppose,” I returned. “He’ll be cross if I don’t introduce you to him straight away. We can stop by his offices, and then I thought we’d dine at the American House.”

My sister shook her head decisively. “I told Jane we’d join her for dinner tonight.”

“Who’s Jane?”

“Jane Patterson? The doctor’s daughter? Really, Joshua, sometimes I think you’re completely hopeless.”

“How do you know Jane Patterson?” I asked, dumbfounded. “I don’t even know her, not well anyway.”

“Well, that’s exactly the point, isn’t it,” said Martha cheerfully. “When we got to town this afternoon, we weren’t sure of where the stables were and I spied this
most beautiful
young woman walking along the streets. I got out of the carriage and went up and admired her, and she admired me, and I said I was your sister and asked her to kindly direct us to the stables. And after she pointed us in the correct direction, we started visiting and we realized we already knew of each other, through Molly, of course. And after we’d talked for a while, she said why didn’t I come over for dinner this evening and I could bring you as well if I wanted, which I did want to, naturally.” Martha paused and squinted at me, before adding: “You’ll want to look in the glass before we do, I think.

“Come along, Phillis.” And with that, my sister ushered the old Negro slave into the Hutchason house and shut the door firmly in my face.

W
hen I returned to the Globe, Jesse was nowhere to be found. One of the lads assured me an older woman fitting Rebecca’s description had been by for him. In his place there was a great hubbub in the stable yard, as a fashionable four-wheeled “Lafayette calèche” carriage with a partially enclosed compartment, pulled by two majestic thoroughbreds, had just arrived and was in need of much attending. I spent a moment trying to identify the owner of this grand conveyance, but when no obvious candidates declared themselves, I headed back to my store so that a whole afternoon’s receipts would not be lost.

Several hours later, I sent word to Lincoln, warning him that Martha and I would be by shortly, and then dressed for dinner. Against my better judgment I did, indeed, linger for an extra moment in front of the looking glass before going out to collect my sister.

Lincoln’s office was on the upper floor of one of the series of stout, two-story red-brick buildings the landlord Hoffman had recently built a block north of A. Y. Ellis & Co. I led Martha through the door of the second building in the row and up the rickety wooden staircase to the upper floor, where we encountered a closed door announcing, in white-painted lettering, “Stuart and Lincoln, Attorneys and Counselors at Law.” I knocked once, loudly.

“At your own peril,” called Lincoln’s voice from inside.

Pushing open the door, we encountered my friend just as he was rising from his chair by the window and casting off the buffalo-skin cloak he habitually wore around his shoulders. He came forward with a warm smile and took Martha’s hands in his. “Miss Speed, it’s a pleasure,” he said, giving a slightly ungainly bow. “Though I had understood your visit was to be delayed.”

“Nobody and nothing can get in my sister’s way when she sets her mind to something,” I said.

Lincoln looked between her and me and smiled. “I’m sure they can’t,” he said. “At last, someone who can tell me the truth about Speed here.”

“I’ll tell you everything about him growing up, Mr. Lincoln,” Martha said with a laugh, “If you reveal his present life to me.”

“Neither of you will do any such thing,” I said sharply.

Lincoln drew us into the room and indicated two places to sit. As he did, he turned to Martha and said in a mock whisper, “We have an arrangement.” She giggled, and I glared at her.

“You might have cleaned your office when you knew we were coming by, Lincoln,” I said. “I’ve seen pigsties that were tidier.”

Lincoln surveyed the room. Every surface was covered by packets of paper and scrolls of parchment, some in orderly stacks, others strewn around seemingly at random. There was a cluttered square table in the center of the room and a reclining lounge Stuart used by the near wall. In the far, dimly lit corner stood a small bookcase with a chessboard balanced on top of three thick volumes of Blackstone’s
Commentaries on the Common Law
.

“As have I,” Lincoln admitted, taking in the scene. “Stuart says he leaves straightening to the junior partner and the junior partner is, well, lacking in matters of organization.” Lincoln gave a self-deprecating smile, and my sister stifled another giggle.

“Joshua has written about you often in his letters, Mr. Lincoln,” Martha said earnestly once she had settled her skirts. She was wearing a long peach-colored dress with a ruffled bodice and billowing silk sleeves. Her hands were sheathed in white silk gloves.

“Don’t believe a word he’s said, whatever it is,” Lincoln replied merrily. “For my part, I must say I’m surprised to have confirmation our Speed has a family. From his utter lack of social grace, I’d become convinced he was an orphan raised by a she-wolf.”

“If you heard the howls coming from his bedroom when we were growing up, I’m not sure you could tell the difference.”

“Ha! Not only does she have the beauty that passed you by, Speed, but she’s quicker than you, too, and by a good margin.”

Martha gave a pure smile and blushed.

I cleared my throat unhappily and said, “Perhaps it’s time for us to be going, Martha. We don’t want to keep Jane and her father waiting, do we?” I took my sister’s arm and began to rise from my chair.

“‘Jane and her father’—surely you’re not dining with my client Dr. Patterson tonight, are you?” Lincoln said. “I didn’t think you knew them socially.”

Before I could respond, Martha eagerly explained her acquaintance with Jane Patterson. “Why’s he your client?” she asked Lincoln. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“Not with the criminal law or anything of that nature,” Lincoln responded. “It’s a business affair gone bad I’m helping him sort out. There’s a court case now.”

“What kind of business affair?” Martha asked.

“I’m sure that’s none of your concern,” I said. “And we’ve already taken too much of Lincoln’s time as it is.” I tugged on her arm with renewed force, but she shook off my hand and stared at Lincoln earnestly.

“That’s more interest in my docket than your brother’s ever shown,” Lincoln said, his eyes twinkling. “Dr. Patterson doesn’t want to go through with a land purchase he discussed with an old veteran in the spring. The price of land has been falling severely all over, so the proposed deal doesn’t make sense anymore, not for the doctor anyway.”

Martha’s face lit up. “The ground the two parties thought they were bargaining over has shifted, hasn’t it?” she said with enthusiasm.
“It would be inequitable to hold the doctor to an agreement that didn’t contemplate these new facts. Surely your clerk can find a decision from the Lord High Chancellor in England to that effect.”

Against my better wishes, I found myself laughing out loud as Lincoln stared with astonishment. “Not for nothing,” I said, “is Martha the daughter and younger sister of lawyers.”

“I’m afraid
I’m
the clerk, but that’s actually not half bad, Miss Speed,” Lincoln said. “I’ll have a look to see if there’s support for such a theory.”

“Or perhaps not,” Martha said gaily with a shrug. “I’m sure you’ll know best, Mr. Lincoln.
Now
, Joshua, we should be on our way. The Pattersons will be waiting. And I assured Molly we wouldn’t leave her to Phillis’s sufferance for too long on this first night.” She rose and gave me her arm.

“Phillis?” asked Lincoln.

“I brought one of our house girls with me,” Martha said, “to help out with Molly when her time arrives.”

Lincoln’s eyes widened as he comprehended Martha’s meaning. “You brought a Negro slave with you into Illinois? A free state?”

His sharp tone caused both my sister and I to turn and stare. Martha wrinkled her nose.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “she won’t run off anywhere. How could she? Besides,
why
would she? Her kin’s been in our family for generations. And she’s got the best lot she could possibly have in life. She’s fed, clothed, sheltered—all at our expense.”

An awkward silence suffused the formerly jolly room. Lincoln’s face had lost its good humor. He seemed to be wrestling with how to respond to Martha. I had a pretty good idea of his true thoughts; after a long night early in his residency that very nearly ended in blows, he and I had consented to disagree on the merits of the peculiar institution so enthusiastically championed by my native land.

“I doubt very much,” he said at last, choosing his words carefully, “this woman Phillis would agree fully with your sentiments, Miss Speed—” Martha opened up her mouth to protest,
but Lincoln held up his hand—“Though I don’t impugn your honesty in expressing them. I’m not suggesting we debate the merits of the practice, not now at least. For the present, I’m concerned with the laws of this state.”

“The laws of this state?” I asked. I found my own temper rising. “What could the Illinois law possibly have to say on the matter? It’s a simple matter of private property, solemnized by a sister state.”

“Slavery’s illegal under our state constitution.”

“No one’s proposing to make anyone a slave in Illinois.”

“That’s not the point, Speed,” Lincoln said. He was pacing the room now, skirting scattered pieces of paper that had fallen from the table, his hands clutched behind his back. “Our constitution specifically provides any slave forced to work in this state is emancipated from his obligation of service. The only exception is if a slave and slave owner are merely passing through Illinois, from one slave state to another.”

“I’m not forcing her to work here,” Martha said with conviction. “She came willingly. I expect she’s pleased, in fact, to have the opportunity to help ease Molly’s discomfort. Her soul is simple but kindhearted.”

“And besides,” I added, “they’re as good as passing through. It’s not as if Martha has moved here permanently with her.”

Lincoln looked unpersuaded. “I’m afraid you’ve exposed her and yourselves, for that matter, to substantial jeopardy by bringing her. Our laws on this issue are very exacting. Even free Negroes, you know, are required by our Black Code to register with the county clerk and post a substantial bond in order to legalize their residency.”

“I thank you for your advice, unsolicited though it was,” I said stiffly, facing the door rather than meeting Lincoln’s gaze, “but you may be sure we’ll take care of all appropriate formalities. We will ensure Phillis’s comfort and contentment, as we do for all our bondsmen.”

Martha and I linked arms, and on that strained note, we walked from Lincoln’s office.

S
unset had come and gone and twilight had settled in. The brooding sky was a crepuscular purple. Still arm in arm, my sister and I walked toward the Pattersons’ house.

“I can see why you’ve found him a convivial friend,” Martha said after a few minutes of silence.

I nodded. “I know he was outspoken at the end,” I said, “but he meant nothing personal by it. Try not to hold his pique against him. It’s an issue he feels strongly about, even though he himself was Kentucky born. Not a few persons around here feel that way. I’ve found it best to ignore the subject altogether wherever possible.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Martha returned.

A moment later, she shrieked. A low shadow had suddenly materialized, darted across the street in front of us, and disappeared.

“You’ll have to get used to those, too,” I said, laughing. “It’s merely a feral hog. We’ve got a bunch of them roaming about. They’ve outwitted the control efforts of the town fathers at every turn.”

We soon arrived at the Patterson house. It was one of the largest in town, two wooden stories painted light brown with bright green shutters bracketing each of the windows. There was a stately brick walkway leading up to the crimson-colored
front door, where a brass nameplate identified the master of the mansion.

The Pattersons’ hired girl ushered us into the rear parlor, and after several minutes, Jane Patterson entered. She greeted Martha like an old friend and curtsied toward me demurely. Jane was wearing a fashionable dress of light-blue muslin, with a full skirt reaching to the floor and close-fitting bodice flattering her well-rounded bosom. Her beauty was accentuated by a hint of red flush in her cheeks.

“You two know each other, I expect,” said Martha.

“Mostly from afar, I’m afraid,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to encounter you in person, Miss Patterson.”

Jane nodded while Martha said, “I beg you’ll excuse my brother’s poor manners, Miss Patterson, in not making your acquaintance earlier. I had hoped he’d have developed more social grace by now, but alas.” Martha sighed dramatically. I smiled indulgently at her.

After Martha and Jane had chattered on for some time, the hired girl appeared again to announce dinner. Jane led us into the dining room, which was dominated by a large chandelier with a dozen candles ablaze. Dr. Patterson was already there, wearing his surgical coat and seated in one of four chairs surrounding a solid, rectangular table. When we entered, he stood and shook my hand gravely, looking me over from top to toe. I introduced my sister, and he greeted her with elaborate formality.

Partway through a very tasty meal—the hired girl had just brought in a china platter heaped with a whole roast duck—Martha turned to Dr. Patterson and asked, “How long have you and your daughter made Springfield your home, sir?”

“It’s been almost four years now,” Patterson replied.

“Do you like it?” Martha asked. “My brother seems to, very much.”

“In that event, I concur with him,” the doctor returned as he chewed strenuously. “It’s a vital, growing town. The future state capital, as you’ve no doubt heard.”

“Why’d you move here?” Martha continued.

“It was a good time for a change. We’d lived near Decatur for a long time—all of Jane’s life, in fact. Her mother’s buried there.” He paused, as Jane nodded her head silently. “But I hoped there might be more demand for my services, as a modern medical man, here in Springfield, and I’ve been proven correct.”

Martha speared a forkful of duck and asked, “Why’d you become a—”

“Martha!” I exclaimed. “You’re not letting the gentleman eat his own dinner.”

Martha glared at me while the doctor laughed. “I don’t mind, Speed,” he said. “In fact, I positively admire a young woman unafraid to speak her mind. It’s a story I don’t mind telling. Though it began in tragedy. My wife, Jane’s mother, passed on shortly after Jane’s birth. She didn’t receive the treatment her life depended on. The medical arts at the time were positively primitive.”

“She drowned herself,” said Jane. “In a tub.”

“What?” Martha gasped.

The doctor nodded. “It’s true. I later came to understand my wife suffered from puerperal insanity. But no one had recognized it at the time, least of all me. That’s when I resolved to begin medical training.”

I stared at Patterson in disbelief. I could not fathom his callousness in discussing the scandalous nature of his wife’s passing so openly in front of Jane. But as I looked over at Jane, I saw her visage was apparently untroubled. This was, I gathered, not the first time her mother’s death had become a topic of conversation.

Martha had her hand over her mouth. “How horrible, for both of you,” she said. “But what a beautiful tribute to your wife, for you to go into medicine in her memory. So you’ve raised Jane by yourself, all this time?”

Patterson paused for a moment and then nodded.

“Whenever you find a husband, Miss Patterson,” Martha said with sincerity, “he’ll have quite a job to live up to the kind attentions of your father, I am most sure.”

“Father will ensure I’m well taken care of,” said Jane calmly. “As you say, Miss Speed, he always has.” She gazed steadily at her father, and he at her, but as I scrutinized them, I thought Patterson’s look was somehow more complicated than a simple expression of parental love. I was still trying to decipher its true meaning when the man himself interrupted my thoughts.

“May I inquire, Speed, of your father’s position?” Patterson asked.

I quickly cast off my ruminations. “He’s a man of the law, but Judge Speed is a farmer, first and foremost,” I said. “Our Farmington produced twenty-one tons of hemp last year, enough that my father had to help manufacture the hemp into bags with his own hands.”

“Will the estate be yours one day?”

I shook my head and said, “My elder brother’s. I considered the law myself, but I settled upon the merchant’s life. I’ve found it a more vigorous, active profession. And I think there’s more profit in it, too, in the long run.”

“Are you familiar, Miss Patterson, with my brother’s store on the square?” asked Martha.

“Of course,” Jane said. “Everyone in town finds their way into A. Y. Ellis & Co. at some point or other.”

“And do you find it the best-run establishment of its kind in Springfield?” my sister continued. I shot her a warning glance.

“I’m sure I do,” Jane answered, her face reddening slightly and her gaze fixed determinedly on Martha.

“With the most pleasing and courteous—
oh!
” I had kicked Martha in the shin, and she bent over in pain.

“I wish you every good fortune in your endeavors, Speed,” said Patterson, heedless of my sister’s sudden silence. He chewed vigorously on a strand of duck for a few moments, then continued: “Not that the law doesn’t have its place. I’m tangled up just now in this spurious lawsuit.”

“I share a lodging with your lawyer, Lincoln,” I said. “There’s not a smarter attorney in the county. If there’s a basis for your position, I’m sure he’ll find it and argue it to the hilt.”

Patterson twirled the ends of his moustache. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s something stiff about him.”

“He can be earnest in the courtroom, perhaps. But he’s very good.” I paused for a moment before adding, “Though my father always says nothing’s certain where a judge or jury’s involved.”

“What’s certain is my opponent in the case, this so-called Major Richmond, is a menace,” said Patterson. He waved his knife around. “You should have seen him in the courtroom the other day, yelling at us, unhinged. Mark my words—the man’s a certified lunatic.”

“Do you truly think him mad?” I asked. “Can one tell merely by observing from a distance?”

“If you know what to look for, you can,” the doctor said. “Anyway, I know this Richmond fellow well. There’s not a doubt in my mind. He has the predisposition to madness of Lear, even if, like Hamlet, he sometimes appears rational.”

“My father’s made quite a study of the furiously insane,” said Jane.

“He should be locked up in the poorhouse,” the doctor said. He slammed his fist onto the table for emphasis.

“The poorhouse? But surely he’s not indigent,” I said.

“I’m not sure if you follow the same practice in Kentucky,” Patterson replied, “but here in Illinois, when we have men unable to govern themselves, they often end up confined to a small room at the back of the poorhouse. Some European states have lately suggested that these madmen should be removed to special therapeutic hospitals where they may receive
moral treatment
, as a result of which some may be cured of their defect, but here in Illinois we’re still locking them away. In most circumstances, I consider our practice a tragedy, a waste of a life. But for Richmond? Nothing would suit him better.”

Fortunately, the hired girl appeared at that moment and started clearing the dishes from the table. The doctor seethed silently while the other three of us sat in silence. By the time the girl was done, the doctor’s anger had seemed to subside.

“Jane, why don’t you and Miss Speed retire to the family parlor,” he said. “I want a word with Mr. Speed.”

Martha winked at me as she took Jane’s arm and escorted her from the room. The hired girl placed two drinking glasses and a long-stemmed, green-glass wine bottle on the table. Patterson filled both glasses.

“Tell me what you think,” he said, nodding at me to take one up. “I brew my own medicinal liquors. My formulation’s a secret. Those charlatans Gage and Warren”—two of the other doctors in Springfield—“would gladly poison me if they thought I’d give up the recipe on my deathbed. Three slugs of this every night and you’ll never have a day’s sickness. I guarantee it.”

I threw back the liquor and barely managed to keep it down. I had never tasted alcohol so strong or bitter. If I have three slugs of that, I thought, I’ll be lying in the corner begging for my mother.

“Good, isn’t it?” the doctor murmured as he filled the glasses again.

“Delicious,” I managed.

“Mind you, this is the mildest of my formulations. If you’d like, we can sample the stronger brews as well.” He started to call for the hired girl, but I hurriedly waved him off.

“Let’s savor this one,” I said.

“As you wish.” He raised up his second glass and tossed it back. I lifted mine and took a tiny sip.

“You seem a sensible young man, Speed,” Patterson said, settling back into the deep recess of his chair.

I nodded politely. “I’d like to think so.”

“I want to know your intentions are honorable.”

“Er—I certainly hope they are,” I returned. “Though I confess I’m not altogether sure what you’re referring to.”

Patterson reached out and poured himself another glass. He put the liquor bottle back onto the tabletop with force, causing my glass to jump. “You’re here to court Jane, aren’t you?” he asked. His face was suddenly hard, his jaw set and his eyes boring in on mine.

I silently cursed Martha’s scheme and took a long drink of the bitter liquor. No holding back this time.

“I hope there’s been no misunderstanding,” I said, feeling my way slowly over the uncertain terrain. “Any unmarried man of Springfield would be, I’m sure, lucky to court your daughter. You have every reason to be prideful of her.” I paused. “But I’ve dined here tonight at the instigation of my sister, who’s made your daughter’s acquaintance through a mutual friend. It wasn’t my intention to signal anything deeper to you, or her, by my presence. I certainly hope I haven’t inadvertently done so.”

Patterson deliberately tipped back his glass and drank deeply, while I wondered if my words had been sufficient to extricate myself. But at that instant, there was a loud pounding on the dining room door and the hired girl barged in.

“Not now—” began Patterson with a loose wave of his arm.

“I’m sorry, sir, but she said it was urgent,” said the girl breathlessly. “One of your patients, sir, one who was here this afternoon. She’s returned and she says she needs to see you at once. She says it’s a matter of life or death.”

The doctor jumped up, swayed, and hurried toward the entrance hall, his steps slightly unsteady and the tails of his surgical coat fluttering behind him. I followed a few steps back. Standing at the open front door, the flickering candlelight showing her face wrought and her mourning bonnet askew, was Rebecca Harriman.

She had grabbed the doctor’s arm when she saw me come into view behind him, and we stared at each other in wonder.

“Mr. Speed? But what are you doing here?” she said.

“I was about to ask the same question.”

“You two know each other?” said the doctor, looking back and forth between us.

“Never mind that,” Rebecca said. She wrung her hands together frantically. “I’m glad I found both of you. I need help. Jesse’s missing.”