“Did you take them to the house?”
“I bought one.”
“And took one there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you give one to Anna?”
I grimaced. “She bought one herself.”
Mr. Aiken nodded and passed me, as they say in court, to Judge Holt, who frowned at me and asked, “Did you ever know Mrs. Surratt to have any difficulty in recognizing her friends in the parlor by gaslight? Did she always recognize you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You spoke of owning some of the photographs. Did you own the photographs of Stephens and Beauregard and Davis?”
“No, sir, they did not belong to me.”
“You may step down.”
I obeyed and went back to the witness room rather dejectedly. I had answered all of the questions put to me—but had I really helped my landlady any?
The Misses Donovan, knowing my fondness for newspapers, had been so kind as to buy them for me while I was in prison, and I of course had bought them for myself once I was free. As the trial wore on, I read them all, back and current issues, Washington and out-of-town papers, and I came to realize that several things were damning to Mrs. Surratt: she had spoken to Mr. Booth in private in her home; she had seen him the very day of the assassination; she had delivered a package to Mr. Lloyd that day, along with a message about shooting irons (so said Mr. Lloyd); and Mr. Booth had come by that night to pick up those shooting irons. Nothing I could say about Mrs. Surratt’s eyesight, or really nothing else I could say, could change those facts.
Yet nothing in those facts showed she had known about a plot to kill the president. To kidnap, maybe, especially given that day in March when Mr. Surratt had said he was going away, and he, Mr. Payne, and Mr. Booth had all stormed into the house waving guns around while I had been happily visiting friends in Baltimore. Then again, what lies might Mr. Surratt have told her about all of these things? What might she not have known about his life? I certainly had a few secrets from my father, sheltered as I was. A man like Mr. Surratt, roaming between Richmond and Canada, might have plenty more from his mother.
There was only one thing, I decided as the newspapers piled up in my room, that would solve Mrs. Surratt’s troubles: Mr. Surratt coming home and taking her place on the prisoner’s dock.
But the trial dragged on, and the days grew hotter and more humid, with no appearance by Mr. Surratt. He seemed to have vanished off the very face of the earth.
41
MARY
MAY 25 TO JUNE 6, 1865
At last, my defense began. Mr. Aiken and Mr. Clampitt—Mr. Johnson had disappeared from the courtroom altogether—called a series of priests to the stand, each attesting to my good character, each attesting to the fact that I had never uttered disloyal sentiments to them. It was quite true; I had never spoken of politics with men of the cloth. The trouble was, except for Father Wiget, the first priest they called, I had hardly spoken to any of these priests at all, except for a few pleasant words after church from time to time. They could have been testifying about any pious and discreet woman in their congregation, and the commissioners knew it.
Mrs. Holohan took the stand on my behalf, and so did Nora. Poor Nora! She testified for the prosecution several days before, and I could tell the child had no desire to be there. She answered the questions in a flat, dreary voice, and she looked bedraggled and thin. If her late mother could have seen her little girl thus, it would have broken her heart.
But this Thursday, she came to court wearing a crisp dress and a smart bonnet, and she testified in my defense in a clear, firm voice. There was, admittedly, not too much she could do to help me, but I could see she was pleased to be trying to.
Over the next few days, other witnesses took the stand on my behalf. Mr. Gwynn testified to my difficulty collecting the debt owed to me by Mr. Nothey. Mr. Calvert came forth to confirm that he wrote a letter demanding his money from me. Mr. Nothey himself acknowledged that he owed me money.
As he left the stand, I wondered if he would ever pay it to me.
• • •
I had not seen Mr. Howell since he dashed off from my boardinghouse that day with Mrs. Slater, although when I was still at the Old Capitol, Anna saw him exercising in the yard there on occasion. Ragged and thinner than ever, he coughed no fewer than five times as he approached the witness stand, and it occurred to me that he had every incentive to shorten his stay in prison by giving testimony that favored the government.
But he did not, and I felt more than a twinge of guilt when I recalled that I did not warm to him during his brief stay with me. Mr. Weichmann, he told the court, was no loyal unionist, but a secesh sympathizer who longed to pack up and move to the South. He showed Mr. Weichmann how to make a cipher—obtained from a magic book—and Mr. Weichmann in turn gave him information, culled from his employment in the War Department, about the number of Southern prisoners the North had in its custody. There were some mutterings among the commissioners when he gave that testimony, and for a moment it seemed that the halo around Mr. Weichmann’s head had begun to slip a little.
But not for long. Soon the government was questioning Mr. Howell about his stint in the Confederate army, his trips to Richmond, and his association with Mrs. Slater, and after a great deal of effort on the government’s part, he was forced to admit my Johnny traveled with the woman. Moreover, Mr. Howell acknowledged, he had never taken the oath of allegiance to the United States.
Still, I had to give Mr. Aiken credit for trying with him.
• • •
My brother came to the stand on May 30. It was good to see a friendly face there—even though my lawyers failed to have him state his relationship to me, leaving that to the government to point out, as if it were something we were trying to hide.
Would they call Olivia? I was pondering this when the next witness was called. “Miss Anna Surratt.”
I had not seen my dear child in a month, and now because of the spectators sitting close to me and a guard standing in front of me, I could only hear her voice as she gave her testimony. In a haughty tone, she admitted to owning photographs of Davis, Stephens, Beauregard, and Stonewall Jackson; she treasured them because they were given to her by her father, and she also owned photographs of General McClellan, General Grant, and General Joe Hooker.
And then she unraveled.
“Did you ever hear it discussed by any member of the family to capture the president of the United States?”
“No, sir, I did not. Where’s Ma?” Anna’s voice climbed. “Where’s Mama?”
“Anna!” But I spoke so little, my voice came out as a croak.
None of these men were prepared to deal with this situation. Near me, one of the lady spectators rose to her feet, as if to help, and one of the other defense attorneys rose. In a paternal voice, he said, “What year did your brother leave college?”
“In 1861 or 1862, the year my father died. Where is Mama?”
“What years were you at school in Bryantown?”
“From 1851 to 1861. The sixteenth of July was the day I left.”
“Did you ever see Dr. Mudd at your mother’s house at Washington?”
“No, sir.” The courtroom was silent but for the sound of Anna’s foot tapping. She had never had a fit, but I feared she was on the verge of one.
“Is Surrattsville on the road between Washington and Bryantown?”
“Yes. Oh, where is Mama?”
A man hurried through the crowd and took Anna by her arm. Mr. Aiken followed. “You shall soon see your mama, Miss Surratt,” he promised her as they headed back toward the witness room.
It was too much, at last, for me to bear. As my daughter passed close to me, allowing me to glimpse only the sweep of her black silk dress and her pretty jockey hat, I leaned my head on the railing and wept.
• • •
Two days later, as General Hartranft led me into court, he smiled and nodded over in the direction of the pr
ess table. There, seated at a discreet distance from the lady spectators, was my daughter.
Her own guard nodded in my direction, and Anna gave me a tremulous smile. We were not allowed to speak to each other, but for that whole blissful day in court, we could look at each other all we pleased. When we were not trading glances, she put her hands under her chin in her most endearing fashion and listened to Judge Bingham and a Mr. Craig, one of Mr. Lloyd’s drinking companions, square off over who was more drunk on the afternoon of April 14: Mr. Craig or Mr. Lloyd.
• • •
There were no church services here, of course, so on Sunday, the only day court was not in session, I performed my own devotions as best I could. I had just finished when General Hartranft entered.
“Mrs. Surratt, your daughter has obtained a pass to see you and is waiting for you in the courtroom.”
Anna threw herself into my arms, weeping, as soon as I stepped inside the courtroom. “I have missed you so much,” she whispered at last. “I thought those horrid Yankees would never let us meet.”
I looked around for the horrid Yankees who were supposed to be guarding us, but they had all quietly left the room to Anna and me. “Child, it was General Hartranft who made it possible for you to be in the courtroom with me.”
“He is still a Yankee beast. He confessed to me that he stationed a guard in front of you that day to keep me from getting distracted on the stand.”
“Well, that didn’t exactly work.”
“No indeed,” Anna said with a slight grin. “I have been released from prison, Ma.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Father Walter found me a boardinghouse, but I have been told that the government is willing to let me move back into our house.”
“You will be lonely there, child.”
“It’s home, Ma. And the Holohans told me they would come back to stay if I was there. It’s too crowded at Mrs. Holohan’s mother’s house, and besides, I think Mr. Holohan wants to help me. I wish Nora would come, but her father won’t let her. She’s back living with those old maids she lived with before.”
For two heavenly hours, Anna and I sat and talked, undisturbed by the guards. She did not ask what would happen if I was sent to prison, and I dared not bring it up. Instead, Anna told me the news of our friends and family, and I assured her that I was not being ill-used. Of our friends in prison, she informed me that Miss Lomax had been long since released, and even Mrs. Baxley had finally given in and signed the oath of loyalty and returned to Baltimore, where I hoped she would soon be able to move her son’s remains.
A guard scratched at the door and called, “Time!”
I embraced Anna, who broke down weeping again. “Child, this won’t do,” I said. “We will see each other in the courtroom tomorrow—General Hartranft said so—and I am sure you will get another pass soon. You must be brave.”
Anna nodded as the guards came to lead her off. “All right, Ma.”
“God be with you, child,” I said calmly, watching as she passed out of sight.
Whether it was the heat, the strain, or what, I cannot say, but I found myself swaying on my feet. Before I could call for help, I fainted.
• • •
One day, we had a diversion in court—a Bloomerite resplendent in short skirt and trousers. The male prisoners, so used to being stared at themselves, fixed their eyes upon her and grinned, and Mr. Herold snickered outright. The Bloomerite ignored them but sat down calmly amid her hoop-skirted sister women. With the bloomers on, she took up much less space than they did, which I heard one lady noting as a relief.
“Who was that?” I asked Mr. Aiken as we conferred during the recess.
“Dr. Mary Walker, a surgeon. Now, I have a matter of business to discuss.” Mr. Aiken pushed a paper toward me. “Read this carefully, please, and sign it. It concerns my fee.”
“Again? I signed something not that long ago.”
“Yes, but there are some points that need to be clarified. Read it very carefully, please.”
How like a lawyer; however the world might roll along, they must get paid. I fought through a thicket of “hereafters” and “party of the first parts” and “party of the second parts.”
“Let me clarify something for you.” Mr. Aiken bent close to me. He whispered, “Your son is safe and secure, and sends his love. He wishes to know whether he should give himself up. If you wish it, say so, and he will surrender himself immediately.”
I stared at the paper.
So he has not forgotten me, was my first thought. My second thought was of him hooded and shackled, possibly swinging on the gallows. “No,” I whispered. “Keep him away from here.”
“Mrs. Surratt, as your attorney, I must tell you that if he were to turn himself in, there is a strong chance that you would be set free.”
“Perhaps, but I will not trade my chances for his. Tell him he can do no good by coming here. Tell him I will be acquitted. Tell him anything—just keep him from coming to Washington.”
“I promise, Mrs. Surratt, I will.” Mr. Aiken resumed his normal tone. “If these terms are satisfactory to you, Mrs. Surratt, please sign.”
I frowned. “You lawyers bleed your clients to death with your fees,” I snapped. “But I suppose I have no choice.”
As the trial resumed—Anna was sitting in the courtroom—I thought of Johnny. I wished I could have asked Mr. Aiken where he was and how he was living—if, indeed, Mr. Aiken even knew these things—but at least I knew he was safe and, I hoped, far from here. With God’s help, he would stay there.
42
NORA
JUNE 1865
I was called once more to give testimony for Mrs. Surratt in early June. I told the court that Anna and Mrs. Surratt had never denied seeing Mr. Payne before, only that Anna had emphatically denied that that man was her brother. I did not know whether my testimony would do any good, but at least it would do no harm.
In the meantime, Anna had been released from prison, and on the same day I gave my testimony, she was allowed to return to her house. Father had flat-out refused, when he heard of this, to allow me to move back in as a boarder, but he had not forbade me from visiting Anna (at least not in so many words), so a few days later, I called at my old lodgings.
How sad they looked! It was not just seeing the mess the government had left behind, but the emptiness—the deserted room where Mr. Weichmann and Mr. Surratt had shared a bed, the bare attic, Miss Dean’s unused trundle bed, and, most of all, Mrs. Surratt’s favorite chair, in which Anna studiously avoided sitting. And though he lay rotting goodness knew where, I could almost fancy that Mr. Booth might walk in at any moment and ask Anna to play on the forlorn pianoforte, the keys of which had not been uncovered in weeks.
Anna followed my glance around the place. “It’s not so bad now that the Holohans are here,” she said bravely. “Though I don’t know how long they’ll be willing to stay. Besides there being no servant, I spend most of my time in court with Mama. They’ll have to get their board elsewhere until…”
As her sentence trailed off, the doorbell rang. Seeing Anna’s pale face, I hastened to answer it myself. A man in his early twenties stood on the doorstep. In a voice that like my father’s bore traces of time in Ireland, he said, “I am Mr. John Brophy, miss, here to see Miss Surratt.”
“Let him in, Nora.”
I obeyed. “Mr. Brophy went to school with Johnny and that creature Weichmann,” Anna said after introducing us. “He has been taking an interest in Ma’s case.”
“Meddling, some might say,” Mr. Brophy said with a smile. “But I believe Mrs. Surratt to be innocent, even though I fear the press has already convicted her. They have said the most vicious things about her. So I have taken the liberty of distributing this.”
He handed each of us a little pamphlet. “The Trial of Mrs. Surratt,” I read. I turned to the last page. “By Amator Justitiae. Lover of Justice.”
“I didn’t deem it wise to publ
ish it under my own name, as I am employed by a school here,” Mr. Brophy explained. “But I have distributed it all over the city—at the railway station, at the circulating libraries, even in some of the taverns—and I hope one of the newspapers will print it.”
I scanned the pamphlet. Written in high-flown language, with numerous literary allusions, it passionately argued for Mrs. Surratt’s innocence.
Anna said, “Sir, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for this, but I hope you are not putting yourself in danger.”
“No, Miss Surratt, but even if I were, I cannot just sit back and do nothing. It is not in my nature.”
“Pity my brother didn’t have you boarding with us instead of that creature Weichmann,” Anna muttered.
Mr. Brophy smiled. “And now I must be going, Miss Surratt. I have a few more places to leave my pamphlets.”
As he left, I took Anna’s hand. “There’s hope, Anna. If one man feels this strongly, perhaps others do too.”
Anna nodded. “That is what I have been telling myself.”
I couldn’t resist asking. “This Mr. Brophy, is he unmarried?”
“Nora! Yes, he is, but he is courting a young lady here in Washington. And he has rather too many freckles for my liking anyway. But he certainly has been kind.”
I grinned and took my own leave. As I walked home, I passed a newsstand piled high with out-of-town papers. Casually, I put my copy of Mr. Brophy’s pamphlet in their midst.
If Mr. Brophy could do his part to help Mrs. Surratt, I could certainly do my own.
43
MARY
JUNE 19 TO JULY 6, 1865
The last of the witnesses—there had been close to three hundred of them, Major Hartranft told me—had testified, and there was nothing to do but for the lawyers to sum up their cases. I had not seen Senator Johnson in weeks, and I no longer even looked for him in the courtroom. So I was not surprised when Mr. Clampitt announced to the court that Senator Johnson had prepared a closing argument, but had delegated Mr. Clampitt to read it.
It was, as far as I could comprehend, a repetition of Senator Johnson’s earlier jurisdictional argument. It was full of fine words, and Mr. Clampitt tried his best to put some fire into his reading, but either he was falling short, or I could not focus on what he was saying. Soon even his figure began to blur and dance before me, and I shut my eyes to make it stop.
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