der Geld was apparently eager to finish his rounds. “Come, Rebekah,” he said. “I’m certain Councilman Nash has other matters to attend to. We mustn’t keep him.”
She nodded respectfully, then bid Henry and the children farewell.
Henry couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. It was becoming obvious to him that she had been groomed to be a sturdy, silent wife, one who would never even think of causing inconvenience to the man to whom she was bound or to the father who had arranged it. He despised himself for being part of such a plot. How can I continue to go along with this?
But he already knew the answer. There was an eight-week-old baby girl in his arms. Her four-year-old sister was standing beside him, and Detective Smith was still somewhere in the crowd.
* * *
Lincoln’s funeral train arrived in Baltimore on Wednesday morning. The weather matched the somber occasion. A cold rain poured down, yet, just as Theodore Van der Geld had predicted, thousands turned out to view the elaborate procession. The president’s coffin was removed from the train at Camden Station, placed in a rosewood hearse, then pulled by four horses through the city. Nearly every person who held a position of authority in Baltimore—military, political or clerical—followed the remains.
Henry and his fellow council members were no exception. They were placed just behind Governor Bradford and then the aspiring governor, Theodore Van der Geld. Henry drove alone in his carriage. The children were at home with Hannah and Sadie, while Harold and Miss Van der Geld were to meet him at the Merchant’s Exchange Building. It was there that the late president’s body would be available for public view.
It took nearly three hours to cover the short distance. Lining the cobblestone streets were grief-stricken faces. Sprinkled among them were those wearing various expressions of anger. Many were armless or legless Union veterans looking as though they would gladly sacrifice what remained of their bodies in order to capture those responsible for the death of their beloved commander-in-chief.
Henry shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat. He believed Booth and those complicit in his crime should be punished, but those who had nothing to do with the horrible deed should not be caught in the wake.
Yet am I not doing the very same to Miss Van der Geld? Sentencing her to a life of unhappiness, bound to a man who does not really love her?
Guilt surged through him and he decided right then and there to figure out some other way of protecting himself and his sister’s children. To avoid embarrassing Miss Van der Geld, he would go through the charade her father expected at the Merchant’s Exchange. He would not cause a scene, but before the day was through, he would end this matter once and for all.
I’ll speak with Miss Van der Geld before I speak with her father. I’ll tell her that it isn’t right for me to expect her to become mother to my sister’s children and that it appears to me that she may not have been given full choice. I will free her and face whatever consequences come.
His carriage crept forward. At the turn to Caroline Street, Henry spied that familiar charcoal greatcoat. His heart skipped a beat when he realized Detective Smith was waving him down.
God help me, he prayed as Smith commandeered the seat beside him.
“Dreadful rain,” the man mumbled crossly.
“Have you been standing in it long?”
“You could say that.”
A chill ran down Henry’s spine, but it had little to do with the cold downpour. Smith’s answer was vague. He knew exactly why. The detective had been working the funeral route.
“I appreciate you giving me a lift,” Smith said.
I didn’t, Henry thought. You stopped me. “Are you going to the Exchange?”
“Perhaps.”
Neither man said anything more for several moments. Rain continued its thunderous barrage while the president’s body continued its journey. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Smith scouring the crowd.
He’s still working, he thought.
Henry knew he needed to acknowledge the fact that Smith had attempted to pay him a call. If he didn’t, it would bring further suspicion upon him. Swallowing hard, he hoped his voice remained steady.
“I understand you wished to see me the other day,” he said. “I apologize for not being at home. I had—”
“—business with the city council. Yes. I know.”
Henry swallowed once more. What else do you know? “Was there something particular you wished to see me about?”
“Not now,” Smith said.
Not now?
As the carriage continued its plodding pace, Henry could feel the man’s eyes upon him. The regimental band was playing a funeral dirge. Henry felt as though it was being played not for Lincoln but for himself.
The last thing Henry wanted to discuss was the manhunt for Booth, but he realized any normal, loyal man would be curious about the investigation.
“Are you looking for him?” Henry asked. He did not need to elaborate. Smith would know exactly to whom he was referring. “Do you think he’s here in Baltimore?”
“He was here,” Smith said, now eyeing the crowd. “That I do know. Just hours before the assassination, trying to recruit more conspirators.”
Henry’s grip on the reins tightened. His horse threw back its long golden mane in protest.
Smith turned from the crowd and looked directly at him once more. “But why should that be any business of yours right now, Mr. Councilman?” he said, voice devoid of any expression, any way to read his mood. “Haven’t you other matters on your mind?”
“Have I?”
“Taking a bride? I should say so.”
In spite of turn in the conversation, Henry felt no relief. “How did you know of that?” he asked. “We’ve yet to announce the engagement publicly.”
“I make it my business to know such things,” Smith said, and he gestured toward an upcoming lamppost. “Let me off here.”
Henry slowed to do so, and without further word, the detective disappeared into crowd. The man’s words haunted him. “I make it my business to know such things.”
Henry couldn’t help but wonder just what else Detective Smith had uncovered.
He obviously suspects something. But what Henry couldn’t figure out was why the detective didn’t simply ask him what he wanted to know. Is he waiting to see where else I might lead him?
He told himself Smith would get nothing. He was no conspirator. He hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not as far as it pertained to President Lincoln.
* * *
Rebekah stood silently in the place reserved for dignitaries and family members as President Lincoln’s coffin was carried inside.
