to President Lincoln. So I went to General Scott. At least he had treated me decentlythe last time we met, even though his passes had been overridden by McClellan.
Under McClellanâs new regulations certainly Scottâs name would be good on passes this time, wouldnât it?
I got to the War Department building and left Priscilla in the carriage with instructions not to move the wagon. âI am on important business with General Scott,â I told her. And I left her a note with my name on it and the name of the Association.
Inside was the usual crowd of hangers-on, favor seekers, and soldiers. I pushed my way through to General Scotts aide and told him what I wanted.
âHe isnât in today, miss. Heâs sick.â
âThen, who do I see?â
He shrugged. âThe president. Lincoln. If McClellan has refused you, there is no power on Earth who can help you now but President Lincoln.â
âHow do I do that?â I asked.
He said to go right to the White House. He grinned. âEverybody else does,â he told me.
So, on to the White House. And more maneuvering to find a place for our buggy, and the same instructions to Priscilla. All I managed to absorb, as I was led by a soldier through the presidents house, was a glimpse of the Blue Room and the elegant carpets underfoot.
I was in the White House! What would Fanny say? Iwondered as I climbed the stairs to the presidentâs office. Would she still insist on coming to fetch me home?
Likely sheâd scold me at this moment because my dress wasnât fancy enough or my shoes dusty.
What would Miss Semple think of me now?
When I finally got in to see him, the president was at the window in his office, reading something. His glasses were on the edge of his nose. He was dressed in black, as I expected. But he appeared rumpled, from his cravat to his wrinkled trousers.
âMiss Sarah Tracy, sir, from the Mount Vernon Ladiesâ Association,â his secretary announced me.
Would he remonstrate with me for not receiving his wife that day? Would he even know of it?
âAh.â He turned, adjusted his spectacles, and looked at me. âDo sit, Miss Tracy. Can you believe that I do not have a telegraph in my office? That I must go over to the War Department and Mr. Stantonâs office to get news?â
I nodded and smiled. He didnât have scores of guards, like McClellan had. Or an expensive uniform. Or more than one headquarters.
A servant came in, peered at a plate of food on his desk. âMr. President, sir, you havenât eaten,â he said sadly.
âFood does not appeal to me, Henley. Get me an apple.â
The servant took the plate and left. Mr. Lincoln sat. His bony knees stuck out in front. He didnât seem to knowwhat to do with his hands. He was all arms and legs. His face was sallow and wrinkled, but when he smiled and asked me about how Mount Vernon was doing, I felt a whole sense of warmth, I felt the world opening up for me, and I found myself telling him my troubles.
âI must come to see you there sometime,â he said. âI must come and see the generals tomb,â
The servant returned with an apple on a plate. Mr. Lincoln proceeded to pick it up and peel it with a knife, trying to get all the skin off in one long peel.
âCan you do this, Miss Tracy?â he asked.
âI did it once, sir,â I said.
âItâs an accomplishment,â he said. âGo on, so you were saying that General McClellan denied his aides issuing your passes.â
âIâm sure he forgot, sir. He has many responsibilities.â
âYes, Iâm sure.â Then he smiled, and the homely face was full of a sort of rapture. âLike the farmer said to the pig after he slit its throat, Miss Tracy: âYou must forgive me. I forgot you were the one I was going to let live. Next time Iâll do better,ââ
We laughed at the joke together, and when he
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