The Impeachment of Abraham Lincoln by Stephen L. Carter Read Free Book Online Page A

he scampered off.
    “I imagine,” said Dinah, brushing off her bag, “that he will shortly be stealing another.” She adjusted her hat. “I do wonder how they live.”
    She linked her arm through Abigail’s and they resumed their stroll, Dinah expostulating on Lincoln’s crimes in a voice meant to be overheard, and Abigail barely listening, so sickened was she by the episode with the thief.
    The giant had disappeared, but Abigail knew he was nearby. He was never separated from Dinah by more than a dozen paces. His name was Alexander Waverly, late corporal in the Second Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia under “Stonewall” Jackson. He was one of two former Confederates hired by the Berryhills to keep their headstrong daughter out of harm’s way: Corporal Waverly guarded Dinah during the day, and a Corporal Cutler by night. Dinah insisted that both men were as gentle as could be, but Abigail found them terrifying.
    Why does your father hire only Confederates to protect you?
Abigail had once asked her friend.
    Dinah’s answer was succinct:
Because we won, dear
.
    III
    McShane spent the afternoon at the White House. The city was dark when he returned. The only illumination in the common room came from a noisy gas chandelier. Jonathan was seated at the table, working his way through an evidence treatise. Little was putting one last shovelful of coal into the stove. Abigail was dusting the shelves. McShane stood silently, but gave her a long look that seemed to Jonathan almost hostile. Then he beckoned the young man to join him in his office. Abigail watched them go.
    “Close the door,” the lawyer said.
    He perched on the edge of his desk. He was a pleasant man, with little use for affectation or formality.
    “The President has instructed us,” McShane began, “to go to the Hill and get more time to file our response. Never mind. We have more pressing matters to discuss. I am afraid we have a bit of a problem.” A heavy pause. “It involves Miss Canner.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “What do you think of her?”
    A sudden gray rain assaulted the windows. Jonathan fought the instinct to sing Abigail’s praises. Instead, he decided to tread carefully,at least until he learned what the “problem” was. “She is intelligent. She is hardworking. Given the proper training, I think she might well succeed in her ambition to become a lawyer.”
    “Ah,” said McShane, but the single syllable somehow registered displeasure.
    Jonathan plunged on. “That idea you liked, the one about the disqualification of feudal lords—that idea was Miss Canner’s. She found it in Blackstone.” He saw no way out. “And she made other suggestions as well.”
    A prickly pause.
    “I see.” McShane seemed unhappier than ever. He turned away, as if seeking answers in the storm beyond the window. The rain had grown louder, like gunfire against the panes. “She made suggestions for a memorandum about the legal strategy of the President of the United States.” He shook his head. “And how exactly did Miss Canner know what you were working on?”
    Jonathan had gone very still. “I told her.”
    “Never again.” The tone was sharp. His employer faced him once more, eyes rock-hard. “Never. She is not to be admitted to the secrets of this office. Am I being clear?”
    “Yes, of course, but she might be helpful—”
    The little man was suddenly on his feet. Agitated. Pacing. The worry lines in his face seemed to have deepened over the past week. Jonathan remembered that Rufus Dennard, the senior partner, had been dead-set against representing the President, fearing that more lucrative clients might flee to a firm less involved in the nation’s nasty politics. “Be quiet and listen. It appears that our difficulties are greater than I suspected. I told you that records of our deliberations are finding their way into the hands of the President’s political opponents. That is bad enough. But there are larger forces at