Free Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker by Jennifer Chiaverini

ships on the Potomac through a telescope, occasionally letting his gaze drift upward to the rebel flag whipping in the wind. If it seemed an especial taunt, he never said so in Elizabeth’s presence.
    The war was very close, and it would come closer still.
    Telegraph and mail service resumed, and in early May, Elizabeth received a letter that had been delayed in the crisis.
    April 24, 1861
    Dearest Mother,
    I hope this letter finds you safe and well. The news from Washington has been so alarming of late that I can only pray that the papers are following their usual custom of exaggeration.
    I write in haste, and yet I write reluctantly, for I fear that you will not welcome what I must tell you. Mother, I am a soldier. You may well ask how this can be, since colored men are not welcome in the ranks of the Union Army. This I discovered firsthand when I and some of my fellows went to enlist at Columbus and were rejected, withthe jeers and insults of the white recruits burning in our ears. My friends had no choice but to return to school, but I was too restless to remain, so instead I went home to St. Louis. There, alone, without my duskier-skinned friends, no one had cause to think me other than a white man, and so I signed my name.
    Mother, I know you will not be pleased that I have left school without finishing the term, and I am sorry for grieving you, but I am confident I will be allowed to resume my studies when my service is done. It is only a three-month enlistment, but everyone says it will be over well before then, and I could not miss my chance to strike a blow for the Union. I am ever mindful that if not for you I would still be a slave, and thus I have a special obligation to help deliver others from bondage into freedom. I am willing to give this noble cause the three months they ask, and my life if necessary.
    Please write to me often, and pray for me always. I am and will always be
    Your Devoted Son,
    George W. D. Kirkland
    Private
    First Missouri Volunteers, Company D
    Elizabeth was in tears well before she reached his closing lines. He thought she would be upset because he left college before the end of the term?
That
was what he believed would grieve her the most—not his deception, not his youthful, impetuous enlistment, not the possibility of his death on the battlefield?
    Blinded by tears, dizzy with anguish, she groped for a chair and sank into it, crumpling the letter in her hand. She pressed her lips together to still her weeping, before Virginia or Walker or one of the other tenants heard her distress and came running to see what was wrong. She trembled in silence until she calmed herself, desperately chasing from her mind’s eye visions of her precious only child lying wounded or dying in some distant Southern meadow.
    But even in the midst of her fear, she was proud of her son—deeply,profoundly proud. He was right. God had blessed them with the means to free themselves from the misery of enslavement, and therefore they both were obliged to help the many others of their race still held in bondage—George in his way, and she in hers.
    She prayed the Lord would reward his noble willingness to sacrifice his life by sparing it.

Chapter Four

M AY –A UGUST 1861
    D uring the winter of secession, Elizabeth’s dressmaking business had declined as many of her best patrons departed for the South, but as spring flourished, so did her fortunes. By that time Mrs. Lincoln had proudly displayed Elizabeth’s handiwork at many a White House gathering, and suddenly she found herself the best-known and most coveted mantua maker among the loyal Union women of Washington. With more work than she could handle on her own, she rented a workroom across the street from her boardinghouse and hired assistants. Her patrons understood that Elizabeth must always give the First Lady preference, so whenever Mrs. Lincoln traveled, other ladies rushed to place their orders.
    Mrs. Lincoln could scarcely stroll down Pennsylvania