Free Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker by Jennifer Chiaverini Page B

entered, a faint light of surprise cutting through her grief. “Ah, Elizabeth,” she said. “How did you know I needed you?”
    “I heard the bells tolling for the colonel and thought you might.” Elizabeth went straight to the wardrobe and began sorting through the First Lady’s dresses for a more suitable garment. Suddenly she was seized by the cold realization that she would likely be asked to sew many black dresses in the months ahead as her patrons lost husbands, sons, and brothers, and donned the somber colors of mourning that custom demanded. Shaking off the thought, she spied a black silk dress Mrs. Lincoln must have brought with her from Illinois and held it up. “What do you think of this?”
    “It will be fine, I’m sure.” Mrs. Lincoln barely glanced at the dress.“We’re going out this afternoon, Mr. Lincoln and I, to the navy yard to view the body and pay our respects. After that I believe—I believe the colonel will be removed here, to lie in state in the East Room.”
    Elizabeth nodded and began unbuttoning Mrs. Lincoln’s bodice.
    “That dreadful flag provoked him so,” said Mrs. Lincoln, her voice distant. “He promised my husband he would tear it down. That’s exactly what he did, and he was killed for it.”
    “Killed for a flag?” asked Elizabeth, without thinking. It seemed like such a waste.
    “It should never have happened.” Mrs. Lincoln knotted her handkerchief in her lap. “Before a single shot was fired, a lieutenant was sent into Alexandria under a flag of truce, to warn the Confederate commander that they faced an overwhelming force, and he had until nine o’clock to evacuate or surrender.”
    The commander must have chosen one or the other rather than fight; surely Elizabeth would have heard some distant sounds of battle in Washington if the rebels had resisted. “Which did they choose?”
    “They chose to retreat. The lieutenant reported to Colonel Ellsworth that the rebels said they would not resist because the town was full of women and children. Most of the rebel troops boarded a train and left Alexandria well before the deadline, but a few stayed behind. I don’t know why. They were captured and imprisoned in a slaver’s pen.” Mrs. Lincoln sighed as Elizabeth helped her out of her day dress. “I should tell you, Elizabeth, this is only what I’ve gathered here and there, not an official report of any kind.” A trace of anger made her voice tremble. “My husband confides in me less and less.”
    “Tell me anyway,” Elizabeth prompted gently as she straightened Mrs. Lincoln’s chemise. She wanted to know what had become of the young officer, and the effort of telling the story seemed to keep Mrs. Lincoln calm.
    “Well, from what I’ve heard, Colonel Ellsworth set off with some of his men to capture the telegraph office, but then he happened to pass the hotel where that flag was flying as bold as brass. He knew how it vexed my husband, what an eyesore it had become.”
    “For everyone in Washington,” Elizabeth agreed, assisting Mrs. Lincoln into the black silk dress. Mrs. Lincoln moved as Elizabeth willed, as compliant as a doll.
    “Perhaps he thought the president was watching the hotel that very moment, and perhaps he wanted to signal that the town had been captured. We’ll never know. But in any case, Colonel Ellsworth marched into the hotel and up to the roof, and he took hold of that flag and tore it down. He returned downstairs to his men—” Mrs. Lincoln pressed her handkerchief to her lips, steeled herself, and continued. “As he carried the captured banner downstairs, the owner of the hotel stepped out of nowhere and shot him in the chest, from just a few feet away.”
    Elizabeth’s hands froze in the midst of buttoning Mrs. Lincoln’s bodice. “Lord have mercy.”
    “One of Colonel Ellsworth’s soldiers promptly avenged him—he killed the man with a musket round to the head.” Mrs. Lincoln looked over her shoulder at Elizabeth, her