← Scripts

“A Nonsensical Affair”

by Pam Brown

(walking into the space) Thank you for helping me upstairs with the cake, Elizabeth…I will probably take a nap after I eat it.

(looks at room) Happy birthday to me. (walk to pic of MrL…talking to him) I am celebrating another birthday, Mr. Lincoln…(pfffft)…such a nonsensical affair…I realized that when we celebrated Willie’s 9th birthday in the form of a party on December 22nd…50, 60 children? What on earth was I thinking that made me do that right before Christmas…perhaps I really was crazy (giggle)…62 years old…I am now 6 years older than you. I never thought I would see this many birthdays after you were taken from me. (pause) Remember when I told you on your birthday how grateful I was to your mother? I still am. I do feel privileged, though, to be sharing my birthday with another woman you loved…Sarah Lincoln…December 13, 1788. A long time ago. You were lucky to have two such wonderful mothers in your life. If only I…….

I am now living the last of my life with sister Elizabeth. I am back in my old room from years past…when we were courting. Her granddaughter, Mary Edwards, spends the days tending to me, as Elizabeth is in poor health herself…we aren’t getting any younger that is for sure. I pay rent to her so as to not be too much of a burden, but I believe my presence causes us to fuss with each other just as we did when I was living here as a young woman seeking that man of my dreams…you.

(sigh) Look at this mess. I do love looking through all my old trunks. Each one is like opening…a birthday present…but, then trying to get everything back in…is almost impossible. I left the white house with around 64 trunks…full of memories. (laugh) I am sure you would say “full of flub dubs.” I really took very little with me from the White House…your night stand and a few personal gifts. More was due me…much more. After you left us, a veritable stream of, shall I say, ‘unauthorized visitors’ began their plunder of our belongings. Within days, several pieces of my prized Haughout crystal and new buff colored china had been seen in a second hand shop in Georgetown, and my prized Japanese punchbowl was seen at Christopher Shaw’s Saloon on High Street in Baltimore…my word, even the precious pet nanny goats mysteriously disappeared on their way to Francis Blair’s country estate in Maryland.

Remember our first home, Mr. Lincoln? The Globe Tavern. We walked in as newly weds, full of dreams, with our clothes and the few wedding gifts we had received…probably not even enough to fill one trunk. Our home was one 12’x14’ room…I know because I measured it every day detecting no signs of growth! (giggle) we took our meals at a common table filled with cigar smoking officials and traveling peddlers. Remember the advertisement? “Eight pleasant and comfortable rooms for boarders, as well as convenient resting places for the weary.” A person would have to be mightily weary to ever get any rest in that first home of ours. Travelers pulling up in the dead of night looking for a room, and would stand on the front step pulling on the bell until someone finally answered…next door we had the clanging and banging of the blacksmith, and the parlor was filled day and night with lobbyists and their shoutings…and, then after Robert was born, everyone complained that his crying was too much noise. The nerve! We ended up leaving and moving into that cottage on 4th street, and we eventually had enough money to purchase the house at the corner of 8th street and Jackson…$1500! That was a lot of money, Mr. Lincoln. Do you realize, if my sister hadn’t interfered with our wedding plans, we would have been married in the same house we eventually purchased…wouldn’t that have been an interesting story? Three children were born in that home…and one died. (long pause)

We lost our Taddie, Mr. Lincoln. He was 18…just arrived at the doorstep of manhood. Pneumonia. He had to be tied to a chair that last few months of his life, so he would not suffocate from his lungs continually filling with fluid. He died a hard death, just like our Eddy and Willie. Taddie was my rock for so long after you were taken from me, and when I lost him, I lost everything. (pick up jack doll) Look at this…Jack! How many times did you have to unbury Jack? A dozen? Those boys were forever putting Jack on trial for some type of military crime where he was sentenced to death by firing squad or hanging, and then they, along with the Taft children, would walk slowly outside playing their “death march” on make shift instruments, and bury him in the white house rose garden. Finally the gardener, Major Watt, was so exasperated at these burials, that he recommended they just once give the poor soldier a pardon. Tad got so excited about that idea that he didn’t even wait…ran upstairs to talk to the president about giving him one…and, of course, you being a doting father complied. I miss those boys so much.

The antics those boys pulled in the White House, as irritating as they were, were certainly appreciated by all those working inside, considering all the bad that was going on outside. I still smile when I ponder on them…like the time they turned the roof of the white house into a ships deck so the could watch for the enemy…or when Willie would write a circus or a theatre piece, and the two boys would invite visitors to the white house to come to their room to see their show….the time they discovered all the bell cords in the attic and found a way to tie them all together which caused them all to ring simultaneously, causing the staff to run madly throughout the mansion…and, the goat pulling their wagon throughout the mansion. (smiling)

Their antics bring back so many memories of my own antics as a child! I am sure during our marriage you figured out that I loved fashion…but, when I was a girl that’s when I figured out that sometimes it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I hated that the only dresses I could wear for Sunday, were simple, plain white muslin. So, one day, my cousin Betsy Humphreys and I concocted a scheme to make our own hoops out of stripped willow branches to place under our skirts so we would appear very fashionable when we attended church on Sunday. We were so proud, and felt so grown up. Sadly, my step mother, Betsy, interceded before we got out of the house and forced us to abandon our homemade hoops. I was heartbroken, and very surprised that I didn’t get my way. Betsy was always a bee in my bonnet for sure. Oh my…and the time Mammy Sally gave me permission to ride my new pony around the grounds, and once again displayed my abandonment of rules. I decided to ride over to Henry Clay’s home to ask him to look at the pony, because my father had once told me he was a great evaluator of horse flesh. I knocked on the door, only to be told by his butler that he was with guests. I firmly said that it was of no matter, I needed to see him. Mr. Clay obliged me…as he always did. He assured me that my pony was indeed a good looking specimen…and, then asked if I wanted to join him and his quests. We talked about him running for the presidency and Mr. Clay expressed, “if I am ever president I shall expect Mary Todd to be one of my first guests!” I believe that is what inspired me to always dream of becoming Mrs. President for the rest of my life…all I needed to do was to marry the right man. And, then I met you…my love…and, I knew from the first time I heard you speak, that you were going to one day be the president. How honored I was that you found me and asked me to be your wife.

You were very bold, Mr. Lincoln…that first evening when you walked up to me at that cotillion and said, “Miss Todd, I would like to dance with you in the worst way.” (giggle) And…you did dance with me in the worst way…that was our little joke for years, wasn’t it? I hope I did not hurt your feelings when I laughingly told my cousin Elizabeth Grimsley about it. (looking around) where is my memory box…here it is…do you remember these? (pull out roll of paper) You gave these to me. Our first courtship had broken up…with a lot of help from my sister Elizabeth…you called our break up the ‘fatal first.’ You even missed six consecutive days of the January legislative session in your grief. One of your close friends wrote…’Lincoln is rather in a bad way, the doctor say he game within an inch of being a perfect lunatic for life.’ I highly doubt that, but your good friend, Joshua Speed, took away your razor as a precaution. You even wrote to my cousin, John Todd Stuart, “I am the most miserable man living, and if what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be a cheerful face on the planet.” Ohhh, how our army of friends worked so diligently to bring us back together…Eliza Frances invited me to dinner, and her husband, Simeon, invited you as well the same night…neither of us knowing the other was going to be there. We talked the night away…it was like we had never been apart all those previous months. But, this, after that meeting, you walked down the street to my sister’s house and handed me something that was, well, as close as you could come to a sentimental peace offering…election returns from your last three legislative races…you had them tied with a pink ribbon. Other women may have cherished their lover’s gardenia and rose blossoms as they wished…I had my election returns. (pause) You certainly knew the way to my heart!

And what followed was funny, yet caused us both a lot of problems. You wrote an anonymous letter to the Sangamo Journal. It was from the Lost Township, and you signed it, Rebecca. It was simply just a ruse to embarrass all the local democrats. Then, Julia Jayne and I couldn’t be left out, so we composed some poetry and satirical letters of our own, lampooning Mr. Shields, the Illinois democratic auditor. I still have that poem somewhere (looking in box)…here it is…

Ye Jews-harp awake! The [Auditor]’s won- Rebecca the widow has gained Erin’s son; The pride of the north from the Emerald Isle Has been woo’d and won by a woman’s sweet smile. The combat’s relinquished, old loves all forgot: To the widow he’s bound, Oh! Bright be his lot!

Happy groom! In sadness far distant from thee The Fair girls dream only of past times of glee Enjoyed in thy presence; whilst the soft blarnied store Will be fondly remembered as relics of yore, And hands that in rapture you oft would have prest, In prayer will be clasp’d that your lot may be blest. (laugh)

Mr. Shields was so angry he went directly to Simeon Francis, the editor, demanding to know who the writer was. Simeon asked for some time and contacted you informing you of Shield’s request, and you said, “…say to Shields that, ‘I am responsible.’” Shields was so upset he challenged you to a duel. I was shocked when you accepted that challenge and then, you chose broad swords as the weapon! You even practiced for the duel! But, it had to be moved across the state line to Missouri to avoid Illinois prohibition. Wasn’t the place called Bloody Island Missouri? How appropriate. When you arrived, you started swinging around your sword, showing him the length of your arms by reaching up and whacking off a limb. Shields recognized his possible demise, and settled the matter. But, you know what, my love, I think you would have shown yourself splendidly and emerged with Shields head on a silver platter. After all…he was a democrat. I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned this…it was the one thing you never wanted to hear of again. And…me as well… “…very silly verses they were…said to be abound in sarcasm, causing them to be very offensive.” But…I do love your chivalry for taking up for me. My hero…my Galahad. I miss us. I miss our fun…our tears…our talks…our love.

I am getting sappy…let me see what else is in this trunk. What is this? Oh my goodness, I cannot believe I kept this. A shingle! (laughing) A reminder of a fun afternoon with my kindred spirit, Merce Levering. I remember it was spring, just after I moved to Springfield, and we had been under siege for some time by rain. The streets were muddy, but I could stand it no longer…I had to get out of the house. So I convinced my most prim and proper friend to accompany me into town…but, we had to figure out how. The streets were so muddy from the rain, and we didn’t want to soil our shoes, so I came up with a most ingenious plan of using wooden shingles, which we would toss and jump, toss and jump the five blocks to town. As good as an idea as it was to make it into town…Merce was correct when she figured we would not get back the way we came. About the time we were trying to return home, Mr. Hart drove by in his cart and offered us a ride…I accepted, Merce declined. I felt honored that someone who had witnessed my ride wrote a poem about it, and it made its way into the local paper! Where is my copy? I think it’s in my little box.

“Riding on a Dray” As I walked out on Monday last A wet and muddy day ‘Twas there I saw a pretty lass A riding on a dray, a riding on a dray. Quoth I sweet lass, what do you do there Said she good lack a day I had no couch to take me home So I am riding on a dray. Up flew windows, out popped heads, To see this Lady gay In a silken cloak and feathers white A riding on a dray. At length arrived at Edwards’ gate Hart back the usual way. And taking out the iron pin He rolled her off the dray. When safely landed on her feet Said she what is to pay Quoth Hart I cannot charge you aught For riding on my dray.

I had such good times with her. I never enjoyed myself more than ‘when in society and surrounded by the company of merry friends.’ After she married and moved away, writing to her during our time apart, helped me so much as I continued to wait for you. I suffered as much as you did during that time. But…it did eventually turn out exactly as I dreamed. Mrs. Abraham Lincoln.

I keep thinking about our boys…trying to remind myself of the happier times with them, as opposed to the bad. Those times make me smile now…but, not so much when they happened. Like little Eddy and his love of cats…just like you, and your hobby of cats…it’s clear he inherited that gene from you. Remember when you were elected to the U.S. congress, and I insisted we all go with you to Washington City? I thought it to be better to keep the family together considering it was a two year term, but it was more difficult than I could have imagined. Two adults and two very active children in one room?! I shake my head trying to discern how I thought that would work. I finally gave up, but I still didn’t want to go home and be alone so long with those two boys…so, the three of us headed to Lexington to be with my family. I wrote lengthy letters to you, trying to sooth your worries about me and the boys that you had written to me…concern about my migraines, and having people there to help me…and especially how much you missed the ‘little codgers’…how lonely you were feeling without us. You know, it was because of you being such a wonderful father to our boys that I knew when you ran for the presidency, you would be a wonderful father to the nation. And you were. (pause) Eddy was such a loving little boy. I remember in one letter I wrote you about “Bobby wandering outside when he came across a little kitten…he said he asked the man for it…brought it home, and as soon as Eddy saw it, and in his tenderness, made them bring it water, fed it bread himself with his own dear hands…but, in the midst of his happiness, Ma came in, and as you know she disliked the whole cat race, I thought in a very unfeeling manner, she ordered the servant [near] to throw it out, which, of course, was done. Eddy screamed loud and long, but it didn’t phase her one bit.” Then I went on to tell you to “not fear the children have forgotten you…Eddy’s eyes brighten at the mention of your name.”

It’s hard to believe that this joy of our lives was taken from us so soon. Three and a half years old…Consumption was a hard death…all my men died hard deaths…we first thought Eddy was suffering from diphtheria, but he had consumption. He had such high fevers, coughing, lifeless intervals of exhaustion, only to be racked again and again with that horrible cough. Our hopes raised then lowered. Medicines, purgatives, blood-letting. We tried everything. I sat with him through each night and rubbed his little chest with balsam, then tried to get just a mouthful of jelly into his swollen lips…I would cry begging him to take a bite…to just swallow what I had put in his little mouth. And, I would look around and the shadows…those shadows would just draw in tighter and tighter…(long pause) 52 days of suffering…our boy…our angel…he died a very hard death.

Where’s that poem? The one that was in the paper after he left us…here…

Those midnight stars are sadly dimmed, That late so brilliantly shone, And the crimson tinge from cheek and lip, With the heart’s warm life has flown- The angel death was hovering nigh, And lovely boy was called to die.

The silken waves of his glossy hair Lie still over his marble brow, And pallid lip and pearly cheek The presence of Death avow. Pure little bud in kindness given, In mercy taken to bloom in heaven.

Happier far is the angel child With the harp and crown of gold, Who warbles now at the Saviour’s feet The glories to us untold. Eddy, meet blossom of heavenly love, Dwells in the spirit-world above.

Angel boy-fare thee well, farewell Sweet Eddy, we bid thee adieu! Affection’s wail cannot reach thee now, Deep though it be, and true. Bright is the home to him now given, For “of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

We never learned who requested it be printed or where it came from…but, it was certainly a wonderful gesture…don’t you think?

Of course, after the loss of our angel boy, we were blessed with two more angels…our Willie, and our tad-pole, Thomas. Those two imps kept me on my toes most every day. I cannot help but smile thinking on them. I remember with pleasure now…not so much when it happened…the time I was preparing those two for a bath. Willie was around 3 at the time. I had him undressed, and left him for just a minute to attend to Taddie…when that little imp made his escape out the front door of the house. I guess he saw his chance for freedom unhampered by anything…especially his clothes! He ran down the street and under a fence, and into a green field. You were on the porch…LAUGHING…and I had to beg you to fetch him. In your laughter, you eventually caught up to him, and swept him up in your long, loving arms…both of you chuckling in the fun of his adventure. I was so angry, but I too had to eventually laugh at that wonderful image of father and son.

And, how about the time you gave Taddie his first pocket knife? You were such a great father in how you handled that moment between Taddie and Bobby. (giggling) You were so animated when you told me the story. Let’s see, how did it go? Chime in at anytime if I get the facts wrong. You were talking with…with…help me here (pause) Mr. Davis…thank you, I am assuming about politics, and Tad was holding onto your coattails. Bobby came along and started talking to Tad, when something that was said caught your ear. You decided, as a good attorney would, to question the culprits. I believe you told me that you asked Tad to show Mr. Davis the pocketknife you had given him the day before, describing it as ‘his very first pocketknife.’ Tad did not move. Then you said to him, “you haven’t already lost it have you?” Taddie said, “no..but I ain’t got any.” So you asked him what had become of it. Poor Taddie just couldn’t find the words. You just stood there staring at him, and he finally broke. “Bob told me that if he was me, he would swap my knife for candy.” So that’s when the attorney went to work, asking Bobby how much he paid for that candy. He answered and you promptly said, “Taddies knife cost three bits…do you think you made a fair trade with Tad?” Bob was such an honest young man said, “No, sir,” and pulled the knife from his pocket, handing it back to Tad. Then…you told Tad that in order to make it a fair transition, he had to give back the candy. Now as you were telling this, you opened your eyes very wide to display the expression on Tad’s face when he said, “I can’t…’cause I ate up all the candy Bob gave me and I ain’t got no money to buy it!” You told him, “Bob must have his candy back to make things square between you.” All three of you stood there silent…then you handed Tad one bit, to which Tad said “come on Bob, I’ll get your candy back for you.” I just love that story. You taught those boys a wonderful lesson, and did it as gently as a lamb to the slaughter.

Our boys did cause mischief. Many people told us on many countless occasions that we were too easy on our children. You saying, “let the children be children, there is plenty of time for them to become pokey!” I love you for that. But, Bobby. Were we too hard on him? So much was expected from him. When you rode the circuit, he was the man of the house, with so much responsibility. I was frightened of so many things…and, he was always so protective. Sometimes, I think we made him grow up too soon…like we did…we promised we would never do that to our children…but, I think we did, with Robert. Yes, know it was a normal way to raise children with an absent, working father, but still…(pause) I can’t help but wonder.

But, whatever we did, right or wrong, I will always be proud of his education, and how he managed to ‘right his ship’ on his own merit. Leaving Springfield determined to get into Harvard. He took sixteen entrance exams, and failed fifteen of them…but he was determined to get in. He secured a meeting with the president and asked what he could do to better his chances of admission. He was given good advice…attend Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. That school gave him the preparation he needed to finally get into my dream school of Harvard. While he was away we both missed him so. Then, you received an invitation from Reverend Beecher to speak at his church in New York, and with the money promised for the speech, you were able to go east. After the speech you gave at Cooper Union, you were quickly inundated with invitations to make more speeches, and when you finally arrived in Exeter to see Bobby, you were asked to speak there as well. He spent some quality with you, that I think was desperately needed by him, without his younger brothers constantly trying to steal your attention. He was a driven young man.

I have never shared this with you…remember those girls we always wanted? Well…we now have two granddaughters! Two!! Oh, I wish you could see them…they are beautiful. Robert married Mary Harlan. You remember her. Her father was Senator James Harlan from Iowa…a beautiful girl. She and Robert have given us a granddaughter, Mary Lincoln, who is 11…we call her Mamie to avoid confusion, a grandson, Abraham Lincoln II. We call him Jack…that is an awfully big name for such a little boy. He is 7 years old. And another granddaughter, Jessie…sweet Jessie, is 5. I don’t get to see them very often. Some…some things happened between Robert and me, and it has left our relationship…how can I put this…well, let’s just say our relationship has been very strained for the last few yes. I don’t want to get into all of the details, but our son acted very…very badly. I pray one day we can reconcile our differences…but, I am not ready for that quite yet.

Bobby is a Todd…in every sense of the name…very controlling…Eddy…he was so young when he was taken from us, we’ll never know what would have come of him…Willie…was so much like us…loved literature, writing, fun loving…and, Tad, our little tadpole, you will be glad to know, he over came his speech issues, learned German like you did, even had a slight German accent after our few years in Germany. He attended Dr. Hohaugan’s Institute. (pause) He took very good care of me while we were in Europe. Some days I feel so lost without him…if only we were all together again.

I have got to stop this…feeling sorry for myself! It is my birthday…I should be rejoicing that I am still celebrating them. But…I can’t. I just can’t. You do not know all that I have endured since you were taken from me. I do know one thing…I found that I am stronger than people thought I would be after your death. When Robert returned to Washington after your funeral, he informed me that the Illinois officialdom had decided to bury you in the old Mather property near the center of town, without any consultations with me…your wife! They were raising money for a monument without any provision for a family vault. So, I informed the “Lincoln Monument Association” and Governor Oglesby that you would be buried in Oak Ridge Cemetery…as we had discussed that one day walking through the countryside and you told me, that when you died, you wanted to be buried in a quiet place like that. I informed them, that if my wishes were not granted, I would have your precious remains placed in a vault in the National Capitol. Let’s just say, I got my way! And, now, all our beautiful sons are there with you, as will I when God sees fit for me to join you. I can’t deal with death…you know that. I attended none of the funerals…not even yours…I couldn’t…I would not. I know it is not unusual for the ladies…the mothers, the widows to absent themselves from final services. We are thought to weak, perhaps prone to any emotional display at the graveside…but, custom or no, I could not have gone.

It’s interesting, but Willie, even in his youth, was much better at handling death than I was. Remember when our dear Colonel Baker was taken from us…we were so grief stricken by his death. You had just met with him the day before. But, Willie was moved to write a poem (digging through my box) and sent it with a note to the editor of the Washington National Republican. (reading note) Dear Sir: I enclose you my first attempt at poetry. Yours truly, William W. Lincoln”

There was no patriot like Baker, So noble and so true; He fell as a soldier on the field, His face to the sky of blue.

His voice is silent in the hall, Which oft his presence grac’d, No more he’ll bear the loud acclaim, Which rang from place to place. (stop reading?)

No squeamish notions filled his breast, The Union was his theme, “No surrender and no comprise,” His day thought and night’s dream.

His country has her part to play, To’rds those he has left behind, His widow and his children all— She must always keep in mind.

A month later he was so pleased to find it published in that paper. He was remarkable wasn’t he? (looong pause…walking around)

That party…that damned party. It stills weighs so heavily on my heart. We should have cancelled it, but the invitations were already sent…500 invitations. I remember that so well…Christmas was just over, we were nearly a year into the war…and, there was no indication that the Confederates were not going to storm Washington in victory…the mood of the country was dismal. So I decided to throw that…that party…a soiree! I had hoped that the party to be as much a balm for us as for the nation…but, in the midst of what should have been a joyous, healing time…both, Willie and Tad came down with typhoid fever…by the day of the party, Willie had taken a turn for worse…but we still had to oblige our guests. We took turns going upstairs to sit with Willie…each of us missing so much of the evening, never letting on to our guests our fears. He was taken from us two weeks later. We each handle our grief in our own ways…me by outwardly expressing my grief…you by locking yourself in Willie’s room each Thursday, the day of our boy’s death. I wish I could have handled it more like Willie.

Those four years in the white house were filled with so much heartache. We lost our Willie…Emily lost her husband. (smiling) Little Sister. (pulling out Oath of Allegiance…reading) I, Emily T. Helm, do solemnly swear in the presence of Almighty God, that I will henceforth support, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States…and, so on. The oath of amnesty that you asked her to sign in order to come north to see me. She didn’t want it so she gave it to me. It still angers me that my family, my half brothers, brother-in-law, went against you. And when they went against you, they also went against me. I have never forgiven them that. She refused sign that paper, but you, with all you goodness and facing much condemnation, you still allowed her to come North to see me. You loved her. I loved her. When she entered the White House that first morning, you said to her, “You know, Little Sister, I tried to have Ben come with me. I hope you do not feel any bitterness, or that I am in any way to blame for all this sorrow.” And then you put your loving arms around her and you both wept. We dined alone that evening, just Emily and me; our tears gathered silently and fell unheeded, as with choking voices we tried to speak of other things. You knew I needed her, I needed her desperately then. Our time together was short, but I always felt it some how helped us to heal. But, then that last letter she wrote to you was so filled with such venom that I could never forgive that. Never. I will never forget her words to you. “I also remind you that your minie bullets have made us what we are.”

That war…that horrible war was not something separate from our lives. Until the Union troops captured Alexandria, the enemy was just across the Potomac River from the capital. I feared for our lives more than you, I suppose…you always said that the threats made you “a little uncomfortable…but, there is nothing like getting used to things.” I never did…I never did get used to things. I am still not used to things. I hate what my life became after you were taken from me. Sorrow….Shadows….Darkness…endless darkness.

I have become accustomed to saying goodbye to those I have loved. Accustomed? No, perhaps not accustomed…that word implies…some type of settlement…some sort of peace. And there has been no peace…not in my heart. Tragedy works in shadows. It cannot be clearly seen nor felt except by those whose soul has known the chill of the darkness. No doctor can ever bring a candle of healing into those dark shadows. No friend can pry open a window to the sunshine of a cure. There is…no escape from those shadows.

I brought four shining sons into this world of shadows, and three have receded into the dark corners of death. After we lost Eddy and Willie, I always had your strong hand to hold me…a strong hand to hold me…and, you were truly my all…“always lover-husband-friend-father and all, all to me.” Even when the war was increasingly demanding you time and mind, you would come to me and reassure me that I was the only one you ever loved. And, then my strong hand my all…you slipped away into the same shadows our two loving boys had gone.

I still have your copy of your favorite poem…Mortality. I have read this so many times these past 15 years.

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal by proud? Like a swift fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passes from life to his rest in the grave.

The leave of the oak and the willow will fade, Be scattered around and together be laid; And the young and the old, the low and the high, Shall molder to dust and together shall lie.

But, this verse…this verse…touches me the most.

The infant a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant’s affection who proved, The husband, that mother and infant who blessed; Each, all, are away to their dwelling of rest.

Soon my love…soon…and we will be together again. I love you still…so much.

The events that happened during our last few days together are burned into my brain. No matter how hard I tried to turn them off…they have haunted me every single day. Oh, how happy we were on that chilly day in November of 1860. When I looked out the upstairs window, and saw a crowd coming down the street, cheering, throw their hats in air…and, in the center of the crowd, taller than any of them, walked my husband…a slight smile on your face. My heart was beating so hard, I had to hold onto the windowsill. I ran down the stairs to greet you at the door. You came in and stood over me with you hand on my shoulder and said, “We are elected, Mary!” Little did either of us know that that was to be the beginning of the end.

That presidency was not the one I imagined as a young girl when I listened to Henry Clay talk about his aspirations. I dreamed of parties, helping you as you lifter the country up, watching our sons grow and learn of the politics I so enjoyed learning. That war…that damned war took all my dreams away. Then you were elected to a second term, and I thought THIS was our chance to shine. We were so happy. Then the dream you had…the dream where you were wakened by the sound of weeping. You told me you were wandering through the White House trying to find the source. The east room…a corpse resting in its coffin. “Who is dead in the White House you asked.” And the soldier standing guard said, “The president.” I was such a believer in dreams…that one shook me to the core…and, you as well.

A chilly April afternoon we went on a carriage ride. You were so happy, even giddy. And, for the first time in a very long time, we talked of the future…our future…where we might live…places we might see. We usually invited friends along with us on those afternoon carriage rides, but on that day, you deemed we should go alone, be alone. And…we laughed…how long had it been since we had just simply and completely and wholly laughed?

When we pulled up in front of the White House, the driver had to politely let us know we were home. Remember…you wrote me a sweet little love note earlier in the week, and I surprised you as I recited it to you from memory. When we stepped out of the carriage…I should have seen the shadows creeping across the spring meadow, but I was a giddy girl from Kentucky at that moment and I could not take my eye off the man to whom I had said ‘I do,’ on a cold November night in Springfield, IL, standing in my sister’s parlor, as Reverend Dresser asked us to pledge our love to one another forever. “To love and to cherish…it was always music to my ears, both before and after our marriage…” “…til death do us part…the only consolation left me, is the certainty that each day brings me nearer my ‘loved and lost.’”

We were late for the play…I don’t know that we were on time to any play while in Washington. I prepared for the theatre by donning my pretty bonnet and small-patterned black dress and you by brushing your hand through your stubborn hair and picking up your silk hat.

We had invited the Grants to join us for the evening, but they were returning to New Jersey to see their children after such a long time away from them, so we ended up inviting Major Rathbone and his fiancée, Clara Harris. I had hoped that Robert would join us, but he begged off saying he was exhausted after his long journey home, and Tad had planned an excursion with one of the White House doormen.

When the four of us entered the box, and the orchestra started playing “Hail to the Chief,” the cast stopped the show and applauded along with the audience and bowed to their president…after a few minutes, the show continued. We laughed, and were enjoying ourselves immensely. I had my arm through yours, and I remember I said to you, “what would Miss Harris think of me holding onto you so?” And, you sweetly said, “she won’t think a thing about it.” Those were your last words to me.

An actor…one we had watched on so many occasions with such admiration, entered our box uninvited, and took away my love, my all. He jumped from the box onto the stage, yelling, “Sic simper tyrannis” as you lay on the floor…dying.

The White House was too far away…you were carried across the street to the Peterson House…a boarding house. Mr. Stanton couldn’t understand my ‘extreme’ fear…they would only allow me in the room a few times during the course of the night, and I was quickly escorted out when I became overwhelmed with grief. And, at 7:22 that next morning, my strong hand, my all…took your last breath. I didn’t attend your funeral…I am so sorry, but you know how my grief overwhelms me…I just could not face that without you. Vice President Johnson was kind enough to allow me time to recover. And then, with my boys in tow, I moved to Chicago…not Springfield…I was not ready for that. That house…OUR house…had been so full of love and laugher…I just couldn’t bring myself to bring so much grief inside.

There is a tail, and I’ve heard it to be true, of two pine trees that stood in a pleasant grove, one towering far above the other. One evening, a storm arose and the taller of the two trees was struck by lightening, yet both trees died…their roots had become intertwined. That is us, Mr. Lincoln. Our roots are much intertwined. One day. One day soon, my love.

I am tired, Mr. Lincoln. I think I am going to close my eyes and rest. Thank you for being her with me for my birthday, my love.

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