“Half the town’s out looking for them,” Lincoln added. “The sheriff’s posted a bounty. But I doubt highly they’re around to be found. It’s a good thing I thought to get my fee from the doctor up front.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said.
“Neither could Judge Thomas,” said Lincoln. “You should have seen it. He threw a fit. Shouted at the sheriff so loudly I feared the old walls of the courtroom might collapse then and there. But what can he do? Nothing, unless they find the fugitives.”
“Well, I suppose it’s all worked out for the best, somehow or other,” I said. “You’re sure Martha’s unharmed?”
“I just saw her with my own eyes over at the sheriff’s house. She’s never looked more spirited.”
“That’s saying something.” I yawned. “In that case, I think I’ll close my eyes for another hour. It was an awfully long day yesterday.” I lay back down on the bed.
“You’ll have to get up soon, though,” said Lincoln. “Now that court’s been cancelled, Hutchason has promised to start his spree on the stroke of twelve noon.”
“Why is he celebrating? He’s lost his prisoner.”
“But he’s gained a child. Molly gave birth to a little daughter early this morning. Phillis reached her side just in time. She may not have been able to testify, but her knowledge proved invaluable nonetheless.”
I could only shake my head in wonder. Lincoln and I agreed to meet in the storeroom shortly before noon to head over together to Hutchason’s spree. He turned to leave, but before he ducked out of the bedroom door I called after him. “You know, Lincoln, I’ve just realized—this keeps up your record in murder cases.”
His face broke into a broad, toothy grin. “You’re right, Speed,” he said. “Still haven’t lost one yet.”
***
Between the spree and the continuing commotion surrounding Patterson’s disappearance, it was not until two days later that I first got the chance to speak alone with Martha. She suggested we pick wildflowers to place by Molly Hutchason’s bedside. We walked out of town arm in arm and headed into the waning prairie.
“You must be pleased with yourself,” I said. The puzzle pieces of Patterson’s flight had long since come together in my mind.
She giggled. “Of course. Aren’t you pleased with me? Dr. Patterson did wrong by trying to cover for his daughter’s madness, but he didn’t deserve to hang for that mistake.”
“I agree, though I can’t figure out why you willingly courted such danger to ensure he didn’t,” I said. “If the sheriff had discovered your scheme . . .”
“When we got back to the house that night it was chaos. Molly was screaming in pain, Humble bellowing with worry. Phillis took charge immediately, directing everyone about. The last thing anyone possibly would have noticed was me taking the keys to the jail cell from the hook inside their back door. And if someone had, I would have said I was going out to ask Dr. Patterson a question about Molly’s care.”
Martha bent down and picked a few stems of striking smooth, blue asters. When she straightened up, she added, “Besides, it was apparent you weren’t going to take up Mr. Lincoln’s hint.”
“I plumb missed it at the time,” I admitted, “if he indeed meant it as a hint. Prussians travelling far for brandywine—what nonsense. Even now, I’m not completely sure he meant it as a suggestion rather than it being merely another of his absurd sayings.”
Martha laughed and skipped ahead, making a beeline for a spectacular stand of ox-eye sunflowers and compass plants, a riot of yellow, orange, and gold. “You can believe that if you want,” she called over her shoulder. “But I think I know your Mr. Lincoln better.”
I knelt and cut off several long stalks of Indian grass and little bluestem. The cold nights had already started to turn the bluestem a reddish bronze. I ran my fingers up its spine and the silvery-white seed heads scattered to the winds.
“What did you tell Patterson about Jane?” I asked.
“The truth. That Phillis had overheard their argument the prior afternoon, that Jane tried to have her stolen, to silence her, but that you’d tracked her down and learned what had happened. And that when Jane realized as much, she took her own life. I told him where we’d left her body, so he could recover the remains.”
“He must have been devastated.”
Martha nodded. “At first, he refused to leave the cell. But I convinced him that his senseless death wouldn’t do anything to reverse hers. And that he had a chance to do for others what he’d failed to do for Jane by covering for her madness for so long. In the end, he promised me he would.”
“I’m most surprised you were able to enlist Herr Gustorf in your scheme,” I said. “And to do so with such speed.”
“I wasn’t too sure I’d be able to,” Martha said, chewing on her lip seriously. “On my way over with his team and calèche carriage, I’d figured out all manner of ways of trying to wake him without disturbing the Pattersons’ hired girl. But when I got there, he was already on the porch, smoking his pipe in the murk.”
“But how did you get him to go along? It was quite a risk for him too.”
“A girl knows what a man wants,” said Martha, smiling at me slyly.
“Martha!” I exclaimed. “Don’t tell me that you—what did you do for him? Or promise to him?”
My sister bent over double, laughing so hard tears came to her eyes. “Not that,” she said when she finally recovered her breath. “He didn’t want that. Well, he probably did, but not as much as he wanted something else.”
She looked at me expectantly, but when I failed to supply the answer she continued, “His cast, Joshua. He wanted the doctor to be able to remove his cast, so he could go back to a normal existence. At first, he absolutely refused my suggestion he drive the doctor away in his carriage, but then I pointed out that if the doctor left without him, so too would the only medical man in the West with the knowledge of how to remove the cast without sawing off his leg. He tamped out his pipe at once and set off.”
I laughed and Martha smiled with satisfaction. We turned to head back to town, linked arm in arm. Martha carried a bouquet overflowing with the long stems of yellow and blue and purple wildflowers. She glowed vibrant and fresh against the slowly decaying prairie.
“I’ve decided to organize proper gravestones for Rebecca and the two children,” I said. “It isn’t much, but I think it’ll provide a final measure of honor to their lives. And deaths.” Martha squeezed my arm and I felt her warmth.
A little further along I added: “And you need never worry again that I won’t take you seriously. To have done everything you did—and before the sun even rose. No one else could have managed it.” I paused. “It was quite a risk you took, you know.”
“There was more peril in not acting,” she said. “That’s what I thought, anyway. You can’t go through life merely focusing on the risks of acting, Joshua. You might never get anything done.”
I looked at her with pride and wonder and thought how much more I had to learn from my younger sister. “Martha?” I began. “Do you want to stay—”
“Oh, yes, please,” she shouted, dropping her bouquet to the ground and throwing her arms around my neck. “Yes—yes—a thousand times yes. I was hoping you’d ask. I’ll stay here in Springfield forever.”
“No one’s said anything about forever,” I said, returning her hug and then slipping free of her embrace. “Let’s take it a season at a time. But I will write to Father and ask that you be allowed to stay here through the winter, at the least.”
“That’ll do, as a start,” said Martha. She bent down and carefully gathered up her flowers and then she gaily linked arms with me again. “As long as, next spring, you write him to say you’ve discovered you need my company through the fall. And so on. I’ll tell you this, Joshua. I’m never going back to the strictures of Farmington. Not after I’ve discovered what I can do—what I can be—here.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “As I sa
id, we’ll take it a season at a time.”
When we reached the Hutchason yard again, Phillis was at the pump, filling two earthenware jugs. Martha hurried up to her.
“Phillis dear,” she said. “I’ve decided to extend my stay in Springfield. Indefinitely. You shall stay here with me as my housemaid. I’m sure that’ll be pleasing for you, to be of further service. Besides, you’ll enjoy much more freedom here than you have at Farmington.
“Joshua will write to our father to sort things out with him. And we can register you as an indentured servant, which you’ll be, of a sort, so all the formalities will be taken care of. It shall be a tidy arrangement for us all.”
“Yes, Miss Martha,” Phillis mumbled after a brief pause. She had finished filling her jugs and stood, eyes downcast, next to the pump.
Martha gave a broad, pleased smile and started to continue into the Hutchason house, but when I took another look at Phillis, I came to a halt. Something about her posture, perhaps the strong carriage of her shoulders, recalled the fortitude she’d shown when confronting Jane Patterson in the darkened poorhouse.
“What is it?” I asked.
Phillis turned partially in my direction but remained mute.
“You may speak your mind,” I said.
“Sinderella needs me,” came the slave’s hoarse voice.
“Who’s Sinderella?”
“My gran’baby. Just turned one year. Her momma can’t care for her, not properly. She needs me.”
“And where does Sinderella live?” Martha asked. “Somewhere in Jefferson County, I’d guess. Near about Farmington?”
“At Farmington. She belongs to your papa. Like me.”
“Don’t you think one of the other girls on the farm can take of her?” asked Martha.
“I suppose, ma’am,” Phillis replied, her eyes focused on the brimming jugs that rested at her feet.
“Good, then it’s settled—”
I held up my hand. “Wait,” I said. “Are you saying, Phillis, you would rather go back to Farmington, to the conditions of your bond, than to stay here in Springfield with Miss Martha, where you’d enjoy so much more latitude?”
Phillis turned and looked me directly in the eyes. The experience was so unfamiliar that I found myself taking a half-step backward. “For Sinderella’s sake, Master,” she said quietly. “She needs me. Meaning no offense to Miss Martha.”
“Miss Martha takes no offense, I assure you,” I said. “She’ll manage here just fine without you. Won’t you, Martha?” My sister nodded resolutely. “We shall do as you ask.”
Phillis’s eyes had reverted to the ground. She gave no outward sign of gratitude but rather picked up her jugs, slopping with water, and walked through the back door and into the Hutchason house.
***
The following week, I encountered an engaging young woman with vivid blue eyes and rose-red lips who was returning to her native Kentucky after spending the summer visiting with her older sisters in Springfield. The woman seemed a responsible sort—she told me she was returning home to become an apprentice teacher—and I entrusted Phillis to her custody. She later wrote to confirm that she’d deposited Phillis at Farmington before completing her journey home to Lexington.
As it turned out, that woman, Mary Todd, would soon come back to Springfield—this time permanently. But that’s another story for another day.
CHAPTER 42
The letter arrived at the Department offices nearly two years later. Postmaster Clark himself brought it over to me at A. Y. Ellis & Co. to collect the postage due. As I handed him the coins, I knew at once whom it was from, even though the block handwriting on the outside flap was unfamiliar.
I slit open the envelope with a letter knife and took out a single folded sheet, covered on both sides with the same block writing. Inside the fold were several large denomination banknotes issued by a New York bank. I put these aside and read the letter:
My Dear Speed—
I am safe and sound. Due to the daring of our mutual friend from the Continent, and aided by your dear one’s quick thinking as the cocks began to stir in their coop, we got out of town well before anyone knew to give chase. I collected the package where you’d left it for me and we made it north to the little village of Chicago unmolested. From there, I set sail among the “Great Lakes.”
You will be glad to know I’ve kept the promise I made to your dear one when we last spoke. The tragic circumstances in Sangamon, which I abetted by my wishful blindness and inaction, increased my fervor to bring modern methods to the care of the ill. Especially for those who suffer from true afflictions of the mind.
With the assistance of some enlightened friends here in New York, and with the proceeds I’d managed to amass from my real estate schemes, I am organizing a new sort of hospital. It will be a “lunatic asylum,” supported by the state, where disturbed persons, regardless of their material circumstances, may be sent to receive moral treatment leading to their rehabilitation or, should that prove impossible, at least live out their days without posing any threat to their fellow man.
Had my daughter lived, she would have been our first patient. As it is, there are two men and a woman from the surrounding towns who are residing with us now. Several more sufferers are expected to arrive shortly. My daughter rests in eternal peace in the ground outside my window. A small sapling from an apple tree has recently taken hold above her. I am hopeful it will bear fruit in the coming years.
I have one final debt to pay, for which I humbly beg your assistance. My former brother-in-law was wrong in his belief that I caused the death of his sister, but he was right about everything else. I realize my sudden departure prevented him from securing the compensation he was due for my unworthy attempt to renege on our land transaction. The enclosed notes represent the full agreed-upon purchase price. Kindly see to it they reach his hands.
I have taken certain precautions to obscure my origins. Nonetheless, please destroy this letter for your safety and mine.
Yours sincerely,
Dr. Amariah Brigham
Founding Superintendent
New York State Lunatic Asylum at Utica
When I finished reading, I looked up and saw my sister Martha watching me closely from across the storeroom. Martha and I had since moved on to other adventures together, but not a month had passed where one of us had not wondered aloud about the fate of Dr. Patterson.
“He made it, then?” she asked.
“He did,” I said, as I struck a match and held the letter over the flame. “Thanks to you.” The fire ravenously tore its way up the sheet.
“What are those banknotes for?”
The fire had consumed the entire letter now, and once the flames licked my fingers at the very top of the page, I held the envelope to the flame until it, too, had all gone up in smoke.
“The doctor asked that I deliver them to Major Richmond, the so-called mad major. To make amends for his wrongdoing in the land dispute between the two of them.”
“I’d long ago forgotten all about Richmond,” my sister said. “Do you even know where to find him now?”
I nodded my head. “He’s at rest in the churchyard behind the Episcopalian Church,” I said. Martha’s eyes widened. “Passed on last year, from an ailment of the stomach, as I recall.”
“What are you going to do with the notes?” she asked. “That’s quite a sum.”
It took only a moment for the answer to come to me. “There’s to be a general muster next month, on the field south of town,” I said. “I’ll stand the entire regiment of the Late War with Great Britain. And I’ll tell them I’m doing it in Richmond’s honor.”
And that’s exactly what we did.
Historical Note
These Honored Dead is a work of imaginative fiction, but it is grounded in fact. Joshua Fry Speed and Abraham Lincoln shared a bed in the room atop Speed’s general store, A. Y. Ellis & Co., from the day Lincoln arrived in Springfield in April 1837 until the spring of
1841, when Speed returned home to Louisville. The two men remained close lifelong friends. Lincoln’s presidential secretaries John Nicolay and John Hay (the latter the nephew of Milton Hay, “young Hay” of the novel) wrote in their 1890 biography that Speed “was the only—as he was certainly the last—intimate friend that Lincoln ever had.”
Indeed, Lincoln would become close to several members of Speed’s large family during his life. Speed’s older brother James, depicted in the opening pages here, was named U.S. Attorney General by President Lincoln in 1864 and served in that position at the time of Lincoln’s assassination. He is best known to history for issuing the legal opinion that the Lincoln conspirators should be tried by a military commission rather than in civilian courts. Speed’s sister Martha was the youngest of the Speed children who survived into adulthood.
As portrayed in the novel, 1837 was a momentous year. The nationwide currency crisis, sparked in part by the closing of the Second Bank of the United States, set off the Panic of ’37, which would mire the country in a deep depression until the early 1840s. Meanwhile, in Springfield, only the lonely capitol cornerstone—laid on July 4, 1837—marked the coming arrival of the state government, which was moving there from the previous state capital, Vandalia. The state legislature, with Lincoln a prominent member, would first meet in Springfield in December 1839.
The trial at the heart of These Honored Dead is inspired by a number of actual cases Lincoln handled during his long and varied legal career. A surprisingly large number of Lincoln’s cases involved questions of insanity. And several defendants in Lincoln’s cases disappeared before justice was served. Among the murder defendants Lincoln represented was one Melissa Goings, charged with killing her abusive husband by striking him on the head with a piece of firewood. Goings fled during a recess in her trial. When the trial judge accused Lincoln of having encouraged her flight, Lincoln is said to have responded: “Your Honor, I did not chase her off. She simply asked me where she could get a good drink of water, and I said Tennessee has mighty fine drinkin’ water.”
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