“What do you mean?” Her heart galloped with excitement.
“I’ve come into possession of a very interesting map. Courtesy of a certain member of the Military Affairs Committee,” Rose said with a sly smile. “Unfortunately, Bettie left on her errand before I obtained it, but the information would be of great interest to a certain Creole general in the vicinity of Manassas.”
All at once, Constance’s palms went damp beneath their gloves and her insides were fluttering. “I’ll go. Rose, you know I’ll go. I can, now that Daddy is recovering so well.”
“I was so hoping you’d say that.” Her friend smiled warmly. “How soon can you be ready?”
“Is tomorrow soon enough?”
“July ninth . . . the day General McDowell is supposed to leave with his troops? Yes, I think that will do just fine. One woman alone will travel much faster than that motley crew.”
* * *
It was after five o’clock when Adam arrived at the White House to find it in disarray. Troops were searching the grounds while Mrs. Lincoln, her female relatives who were visiting, and the staff were still going through every nook and cranny in the house. He didn’t waste time going inside to speak to the president—Mr. Lincoln had plenty to do besides talk to him—nor did he stop to interview anyone in the house about what they knew or where the search had gone.
Adam was looking for tracks.
His goal was to determine whether the boys had left on their own, or whether an adult—a potential abductor—had been with them, and of course, what direction they’d gone. He paused only to ask whether the guards stationed on the flat roof of the White House had seen the four boys on the grounds. They had, but it was much earlier in the day from when they’d gone missing, which was sometime after one o’clock.
No one had seen them in the stable, where their little wagon and pet goats were kept—along with ponies, horses, and a turkey that had been pardoned at Thanksgiving and saved from the oven. Tad’s most recent critter acquisition—a scrawny, stinky hound—wasn’t with him either, and was found sleeping under a tree by the stable.
None of the servants’ children—with whom the Lincoln boys often played on the lawn—had seen them for hours, nor had any idea where they might have gone. The rooftop, where Tad and Willie often patrolled with empty rifles or turned into a pirate ship, was empty of shrieking, running boys. And most tellingly, no one had heard Tad’s shrill bugle for hours.
Adam began by examining the grounds closest to the house. It took him nearly an hour as he made a circle from the east side of the mansion around the portico to the south, carefully trying to make out the trail he needed among all the other prints from patrolling officers and the search team. Along the way, he learned that a crew of men had gone from the mansion across the Ellipse down to the Canal. They were looking for signs the boys had gone in that direction, hoping none of them had fallen in. Another group of searchers walked around Lafayette Square and to and from the War and Treasury Departments, asking everyone if they’d seen the boys. They knocked on doors and stopped workers and hackney drivers.
Adam knew Tad and Willie particularly favored exiting the mansion from the ground floor, going out through the conservatory so they could play on the grassy lawn after pretending the huge greenhouse was a forest or adventure world. Because of all the searching that had already taken place, it was difficult to isolate any footprints, but Adam was finally able to find some of their much smaller foot markings that had been brought through the dirt on the floor of the greenhouse.
The greenhouse, which was connected to the White House by an enclosed glass walkway, was a magical place, and it was no wonder Tad and Willie liked to play there. The high, peaked ceiling was decorated with twelve colored transparent images, one for each month of the year. Now, in July, some of the doors and windows were open for a fresh breeze to today’s unusually cooler weather, but in the winter, the place was closed up tightly and heated water created the humidity that allowed plants to grow all year around.
There were lemon and orange trees, large terracotta pots arranged on green tables like blankets and hillocks of colorful flowers. The rich fragrance of herbs, roses, lilies, and more filled the warm, heavy air. Baskets hung with spills of colorful blooms, and there were spirea, poinsettia, camellias, jasmines, ferns, and many other plants Adam couldn’t identify. In the middle of the greenhouse was a large water tank that boasted goldfish the boys liked to try and catch with a net, the murky water topped by silky white and pink water lilies. And in the center of the conservatory was a large Sago palm that had once belonged to George Washington.
The only sign of the boys was a recent set of footprints exiting at the far, west end of the greenhouse, and it was that trail Adam began to follow. The process was tedious because of the thick grass outside and the many feet that had trampled the area since the boys had gone missing. The sun was still high in the sky, but it was beginning to touch the tops of the trees along the west stretch of the Potomac, which meant Adam had about four hours of full daylight left.
He was able to discern that the boys had left on their own—that is, without an adult or potential abductor—and based on the length and pattern of the strides, it seemed they had a destination in mind instead of playing and losing track of time and place. Adam followed and lost the trail several times over the south lawn of the Executive Mansion’s grounds, but it appeared the quartet of Lincoln and Taft boys were walking without hesitation down to the Tiber River—which was an offshoot of the Potomac, directly south of the White House’s huge south lawn. It was slow work, for several times the trail was obliterated by a cross path or other footsteps, and Adam would have to start making concentric circles around the marks he’d followed to determine which direction to pick up the trail.
However, he saw no indication that anyone had joined the children, which relieved some of his worry over them being taken as military pawns instead of merely going off on their own and forgetting to come home. But there was also the fear they’d taken a tumble into the Tiber, which flowed from the Potomac into the Canal, or even, knowing Tad and Willie, gone as far as the big, broad stretch of the Potomac and fallen in there.
Adam hurried as quickly as he could, for it was cloudy and now the sun was dipping below the trees. The light was getting chancier and the details of the sway or clipping or bending of the grass he relied on to see direction and speed would soon be lost in the dimming light. He reached the spot where the Tiber fed into the Canal, which flowed the length of the north side of the National Mall. Across the water, the Washington Monument, only half-constructed, cast a stubby shadow over the slaughterhouse next to it. Even from here, he could smell the stench of raw meat and rotting entrails.
Cattle mooed and roamed as Adam followed the boys’ trail and was relieved to see it led to the bridge from Fourteenth Street that crossed the Canal. As he loped over the murky, smelly water, he heard the nearby, regular reports and answering echoes of rifle shots. A portion of the Mall was also an area that had been designated as a shooting range for some of the troops. Once on the other side of the water, he lost the trail for a moment, and Adam had a bad moment worrying that Tad—because it would be Tad, the hooligan—had coerced his friends and brother into joining the soldiers for shooting practice—or simply had gotten too close to the targets.
Although he was certain someone from the search party would have already checked that area, Adam shielded his eyes against the lowering sun and peered toward the rows of soldiers as he hurried toward them. No short, slight bodies in sight.
Instead of walking over there, he pivoted and went back to where he’d lost the trail. The Capitol Building was directly ahead at the east end of the Mall, frosted with pale yellow in the setting sun. The Smithsonian Castle and its seven towers spiked into the heavens just ahead of him to the right, and the waning sunlight made its red-orange brick glow like a blazing fire against the dark blue sky. He wondered if Sophie was there, and considered whether to ask a
t the Castle whether anyone had seen the boys. Surely someone else had already done so . . . if they could conceive that four young children would have gone that far on their own.
Anyone who knew Tad Lincoln wouldn’t doubt that they would cross the Long Bridge into Virginia if they had a mind to do so, and that thought spurred Adam on. The boys could be anywhere, and conjecture wouldn’t help. He’d keep his attention on marks and prints, relying on fact instead of supposition.
He crouched once more, trying to find the trail the foursome had left behind just over the Canal. At last he was able to pick it up two yards farther east—the boys had splashed around at the edge of the water for a while. Adam grimaced, thinking of the sludgy, sewagelike water in which they’d been mucking around. They’d be filthy and stinky—and probably cold, for it wasn’t a warm day.
The trail he picked up had the quartet heading directly down the Mall toward the Capitol. He could see that they were in a hurry, and once more with a destination in mind—all because of the even lengths of the strides, the way their feet landed in the soft, muddy grass, and the lack of hesitation in any step.
Moving more quickly now, for this area wasn’t as trampled or overwalked and the trail was easy to follow, Adam picked up his speed. By the height of the sun, he guessed it was after half-seven. The shadows were growing longer faster and soon he wouldn’t be able to see much at all.
Then the tracks took a sudden sharp turn left, north, toward Centre Market on Seventh Street at Pennsylvania Avenue. Adam cursed under his breath, for he’d have no chance of following the path in or around the largest and busiest market in the city.
Sure enough, the boys had made their way to the large shopping area. A large, somewhat rickety building that had been constructed back when Jefferson was president housed booths for farmers and other merchants to offer their wares. Half the city visited there every day.
Adam stewed for a minute, standing there, wondering how he would ever be able to discern the boys’ footprints from here.
“Mr. Quinn!”
At any other time, the sound of Sophie’s voice would have been most welcome, but at the moment, Adam was frustrated and concerned. Nevertheless, he started over to meet her as she rushed toward him.
“Have they been found? The boys?” she asked. Her eyes were wide with worry, and that was when Adam noticed Mr. Taft and his daughter, Julia, hurrying along behind her.
“Not yet,” he said, pitching his voice enough for the other man to hear. “I was tracking them from the President’s House—”
“I knew it,” Sophie exclaimed.
“But I’ve lost them here,” he continued, trying and failing to keep the disgust from his tone. “There are just too many marks here, in and around the market. Mr. Taft, I’m sorry about this.”
“I was at the Patent Office when Julia came with the news,” Sophie said by way of explanation as she edged aside for a family making their way through the crowd. “We’ve been walking up and down the Avenue from the White House to the Capitol, asking everyone if they’d seen them. Even Mr. Birch at the Willard didn’t notice the boys.”
“I reckon I’m going to keep trying,” Adam told her, scanning the area of vendor stalls, parked carts and wagons, and the milling crowd in the slim hope his great height would help him locate one of the youngsters. “And if no one has seen them on the Avenue, maybe they went back down to the Mall.”
She spun in a slow circle as if looking as well. “So many people are helping to search. I’m sure they’ll be found soon.” He reckoned Sophie was about as optimistic as they came. “All sorts of people have joined in to help.”
“I’m glad to hear about that.” Adam couldn’t push away a new, niggling worry that maybe someone had heard about the lost boys and had lured them away from the market. But surely they wouldn’t take all four of them . . . even if it was for a military or hostage situation.
He hoped.
“Mr. Quinn! Mr. Quinn!”
With a sense of inevitability, Adam turned to see Brian Mulcahey flying toward him. “Mr. Quinn! I know where they are!” he shouted as he threaded none-too-gently through the crowd of people. He nearly knocked a loaf of bread from one woman’s hand in his haste, and tripped with his too-big feet over the peg leg of a fish cart. He barely caught himself before he went sprawling, stumbling up to Adam in a mess of gangly limbs.
Adam looked down at him and swore the boy had grown two inches since he’d seen him Friday. “You know where the boys are?”
Brian nodded, gasping for breath. He pointed urgently and Adam followed his finger.
“The Capitol?”
“Yes,” the boy managed to squeeze out. “I saw’em. I . . . talked . . . to ’em.” He was clutching his middle as if it pained him. “Mr. Birch . . . told me you . . . was about lookin’ for . . . them. I was on . . . to . . . getting home to Mam when I saw . . . him.”
“All right. When you catch your breath, you can tell me more.” Adam was already starting toward the Capitol, and as expected, Sophie, Brian, and the Tafts fell in with him.
It took a block before Brian could give a coherent explanation. “They’re fun boys,” he said right off, “even though they’re younger. They were looking around back there, all around the Market, seeing if there were any live lobsters they could poke at, and that’s when I met them. I was about showing them where the men were cutting off the frogs’ legs, and then they were on about how hungry they were and how the bread smelled so good, and so I was telling them about the big bread ovens in the Capitol—remember, Mr. Quinn, you told me about them? They’re baking them for all the soldiers?”
“Yes, Brian. Go on.”
“And so they wanted to see the ovens. They were all about pretending they were soldiers, and so they were thinking they could be getting some of that bread for themselves, and so we all went up there to look. I didn’t want to go inside,” he said, glancing bashfully at Adam, “but they said as I could, because they were the President’s sons—gor, I didn’t even know that till then!—and I had their permission. And that they’d be getting a loaf of bread for us, pretty as you please, because they were fighting their Paw’s war. And so that’s what we did.”
“And they were still there when you left?” Adam said.
“My mam would tan me if I wasn’t home in time, so I had to leave before those boys. But when I left, they were on about having a pirate’s treasure hideaway in the cellar there.” Brian seemed disappointed that he’d been required to leave the fun.
“Thank you for finding me and telling me this. How long ago did you leave them?”
“Only just as long as it was taking me to walk from the Capitol to Willard’s and say hi to Mr. Birch.”
Adam felt relieved. Far less than a half hour, he reckoned. At the very least, there’d be fresh tracks to follow if the boys had left the Capitol—which was as good a possibility as any, knowing Tad and Willie.
“Good. Now, I suppose you’d best be on your way home so your mama doesn’t tan you,” Adam told him. “I reckon you ought to take her a peach pie for being late—tell her it’s from Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln in thanks for helping to find their boys.” He gave Brian fifty cents and gestured to one of the stalls that was just closing up.
Brian took the money and turned away, albeit reluctantly. Adam could see the regret in every step he took—he wanted to go back with them to find the boys, and, probably more likely, to continue the fun. “Off with you now, before your mama gets more worried.”
Now slightly less anxious than he’d been, Adam automatically offered his arm to Sophie, who was doggedly trying to keep up with his longer strides. He slowed once again.
By the time they reached the Capitol building, she was a little out of breath, but still able to speak. “Where do we go inside? The main entrance leads to the second floor, and I think beneath the Rotunda is the Crypt. The”—she had to catch her breath—“basement must have its own entrance.”
Adam, who’d circled and exa
mined the grounds of more than half the building during his investigation, knew the answer to that. “The bakery is in the galleries under the Senate Chamber,” he explained, reminding himself again to slow down.
With a glance behind, he saw that Mr. Taft and Julia were still making their way up the hill, but he saw no reason to wait for them. He directed his companion to the Senate Wing on the south—and farthest—side of the building.
The exterior ground floor entrance, built into the side of the partially subterranean wall, was cluttered with covered wagons, horses, and soldiers unloading supplies and loading up finished loaves of bread to be delivered to regiments all over the city. Adam and Sophie went inside to find even more activity within: large canvas bags of bread, ready to be loaded, sacks and barrels of flour stamped with the name of their mill, crates of eggs, buckets of water, tubs of yeast, and more.
The workers rolled barrels down the center of the broad, two-sided marble stairway that led from the ground floor into the basement. Shouts rang out and echoed in the cellar, which had high, vaulted ceilings. The place smelled like yeast and heat and fresh bread, and Adam felt the twinge of a hunger pang.
He counted fifteen ovens and thought there were even more beyond the columns holding up the high ceilings. The massive chimneys and an array of coal stoves shot up along the walls, and he wondered where they led or opened into the floors above. Surely not into the Senate Chamber itself . . . ?
Adam approached one of the bakers who was manning four of the ovens. He assumed he was one of the few who’d been in the same location for a while and so he asked, “Have you seen four boys, about ages eight and ten?”
The man shoved a long-armed wooden paddle into the deep brick oven, using it to move a tray of bread around inside. Adam felt the waft of heat from within and appreciated why the man was wearing only shirtsleeves and a pair of trousers. “Saw ’em and chased ’em on out of the way,” he said. “Were about to get theirselves burnt, poking around in my ovens.”
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