night, wanted only to sit beside the fire in an effort to warm away the fear I felt inside. My mother, I was sure, had not wanted for doctors nor for medicine aplenty.
There were no lessons at the White House now. Day after day, Grandmother came home to say Willie had not improved. I wished mightily for blue material to make him a handkerchief. I knew of one piece of blue cloth in the house. In the corner of our tiny cottage sat an old chifforobe that held our meager supply of clothing. Inside, I knew, was my greatest joy, the Sunday dress that my grandmother had recently made for me. It was exactly the right shade of blue. I had worn the dress twice.
Probably if I had told my grandmother how desperately I wanted a piece of bright blue cloth, she would have gotten me one. Never able to talk of the things that meant most to me, I was loath to try to explain. On the fourth day, I could fight the urge no longer. I took the dress from its hanger, caressed the folds of the skirt, carried it to the table, measured, as I had been taught, and cut a large square. I took careful, even stitches to put in the hem. Finishing just before my grandmother was expected, I held it up to admire. Even Mrs. Keckley would say it was well done.
I had no notion of what I would tell my grandmother about the dress or how I would get the gift to Willie. No sewing was being done in the White House. Mrs. Keckley nursed Willie and tried to keep Mrs. Lincoln calm.
When Grandmother did come home that evening, she had news. Tad too was ill. “The little one is no ways as bad as his brother,” she said. “Their mother’s a wreck, poor thing, but it’s Mr. Lincoln as breaks my heart. Oh, the look on that man’s face when he comes out of that room.” She shook her head. “And him with the weight of this terrible war to boot.”
The next day I folded the handkerchief into a small square and put it into my coat pocket. I would, I had decided, take it to the White House. The guard, of course, did not stop me, and I saw no one else as I entered the backdoor and climbed the stairs. On the second floor, the door to Mr. Lincoln’s personal office was open. I stopped to look in.
The floor had a dark green carpet. I could see spots of dark green wallpaper too, but mostly the walls were covered with war maps and drawings. Newspapers were stacked on the desk and tables, along with great stacks of mail. Mr. Lincoln sat at the desk, his back to me. He seemed to be staring out the window before him.
I pulled in a great breath and tiptoed into the room to stand beside him. I thought he would turn toward me, but he did not. I waited, but his eyes never left the window. Ithought of leaving as quietly as I had come in, but I wanted mightily to give that handkerchief to Willie.
Finally, I put out my hand and touched the top of his long, suit-covered arm. “Mr. President, sir,” I whispered softly.
He did not start, did not seem startled at all, but only turned to look at me, a sort of glazed expression in his soft gray eyes. “You’re Mistress Cora’s granddaughter,” he said, and I nodded. “Our Willie’s sick, but I suspect you knew that.” I nodded again. “Tad too, but the doctor says Tad will mend. Willie, though . . .”
I took the blue material from my pocket, and I held out my hand with it lying flat against my palm. “It’s a handkerchief,” I said. “I made it special for Willie.” Tears were coming up from my chest, and I could hear them in my voice. “He told me he was partial to blue, like the soldiers’ uniforms.”
“Why, thank you for making it,” he said, and taking the handkerchief, he held it up to the light from the window. “You’ve done fine work. I’ll see that Willie gets this.”
He laid the cloth on his desk, swiveled in his chair, and put his arms around me. I could feel the sorrow pouring out of his heart, coming through his white shirt and black coat. I could feel the sorrow filling up the room and spilling
There were no lessons at the White House now. Day after day, Grandmother came home to say Willie had not improved. I wished mightily for blue material to make him a handkerchief. I knew of one piece of blue cloth in the house. In the corner of our tiny cottage sat an old chifforobe that held our meager supply of clothing. Inside, I knew, was my greatest joy, the Sunday dress that my grandmother had recently made for me. It was exactly the right shade of blue. I had worn the dress twice.
Probably if I had told my grandmother how desperately I wanted a piece of bright blue cloth, she would have gotten me one. Never able to talk of the things that meant most to me, I was loath to try to explain. On the fourth day, I could fight the urge no longer. I took the dress from its hanger, caressed the folds of the skirt, carried it to the table, measured, as I had been taught, and cut a large square. I took careful, even stitches to put in the hem. Finishing just before my grandmother was expected, I held it up to admire. Even Mrs. Keckley would say it was well done.
I had no notion of what I would tell my grandmother about the dress or how I would get the gift to Willie. No sewing was being done in the White House. Mrs. Keckley nursed Willie and tried to keep Mrs. Lincoln calm.
When Grandmother did come home that evening, she had news. Tad too was ill. “The little one is no ways as bad as his brother,” she said. “Their mother’s a wreck, poor thing, but it’s Mr. Lincoln as breaks my heart. Oh, the look on that man’s face when he comes out of that room.” She shook her head. “And him with the weight of this terrible war to boot.”
The next day I folded the handkerchief into a small square and put it into my coat pocket. I would, I had decided, take it to the White House. The guard, of course, did not stop me, and I saw no one else as I entered the backdoor and climbed the stairs. On the second floor, the door to Mr. Lincoln’s personal office was open. I stopped to look in.
The floor had a dark green carpet. I could see spots of dark green wallpaper too, but mostly the walls were covered with war maps and drawings. Newspapers were stacked on the desk and tables, along with great stacks of mail. Mr. Lincoln sat at the desk, his back to me. He seemed to be staring out the window before him.
I pulled in a great breath and tiptoed into the room to stand beside him. I thought he would turn toward me, but he did not. I waited, but his eyes never left the window. Ithought of leaving as quietly as I had come in, but I wanted mightily to give that handkerchief to Willie.
Finally, I put out my hand and touched the top of his long, suit-covered arm. “Mr. President, sir,” I whispered softly.
He did not start, did not seem startled at all, but only turned to look at me, a sort of glazed expression in his soft gray eyes. “You’re Mistress Cora’s granddaughter,” he said, and I nodded. “Our Willie’s sick, but I suspect you knew that.” I nodded again. “Tad too, but the doctor says Tad will mend. Willie, though . . .”
I took the blue material from my pocket, and I held out my hand with it lying flat against my palm. “It’s a handkerchief,” I said. “I made it special for Willie.” Tears were coming up from my chest, and I could hear them in my voice. “He told me he was partial to blue, like the soldiers’ uniforms.”
“Why, thank you for making it,” he said, and taking the handkerchief, he held it up to the light from the window. “You’ve done fine work. I’ll see that Willie gets this.”
He laid the cloth on his desk, swiveled in his chair, and put his arms around me. I could feel the sorrow pouring out of his heart, coming through his white shirt and black coat. I could feel the sorrow filling up the room and spilling
Similar Books
