The Murder of Willie Lincoln Page 31
A few other details have been changed for the sake of the story. I’ve made Dr. Stone handsomer than he was. The House Select Committee on the Loyalty of Government Clerks had already published its report, in January 1862; it described Thomas Stackpole as a messenger at the president’s house (apparently because of an earlier post) instead of as a doorkeeper. Grant’s army captured Fort Donelson, in Tennessee, five days earlier than I have it here. The soldier in Lincoln’s anecdote was shot in the testicles at Antietam, six months after this story ends, not at Dranesville. Lincoln’s tearful conversation in chapter 5 took place with Rebecca Pomroy, Tad’s nurse, and not with Hay. His scolding of McClellan in chapter 9 was actually delivered to General Randolph Marcy, McClellan’s son-in-law and chief of staff, and his jab at McClellan about borrowing his army happened a month later. I found no indication that Lincoln spoke from the White House window on the anniversary of his inauguration. The Calvert estate’s slave ledger, which is real, lists “Negroes sold to Mr. Armfield,” not to Armistead Burwell. I am not aware that the Calverts and Burwell were friends or that any staff ledger existed.
And, of course, many of the scenes and most of the dialogue are invented, but I hope they ring true.
Acknowledgments
One morning, while I was writing a book about FDR’s attempt to pack the Supreme Court in 1937, I had Tommy Corcoran showing up at the White House. I wanted the brash aide to have a newspaper under his arm, but I couldn’t do it. The book was nonfiction, and I’m a purist about the facts.
It was that day or the next, staring at my computer screen, that an idea came into my head: a murder mystery in the Lincoln White House. Then a second: John Hay as the detective. I didn’t even know I knew who he was. But I love mysteries. I love Lincoln. This was a book I wanted to read. So I’d better write it.
It proved to be a labor of love, all the more because of the many people who helped me along. This is a work of fiction, but it was rooted in research. Librarians and curators were their usual wonderful selves, especially James M. Cornelius at the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, who kindly read the manuscript and saved me from many a mistake; Nancy Kervin at the US Senate Library; Stephen Greenberg at the US National Library of Medicine; Jerry McCoy and others at the D.C. Public Library’s Washingtoniana Collection; and too many to mention at the Library of Congress. My thanks to National Park Service ranger Adam Gresek at Arlington House, director Erin Mast of the Lincoln cottage, historian Ann Wass at the Riversdale House Museum, boxing historian Elliott Gorn at Brown University, Wilson Golden of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, Scott Stephens at the National Weather Service, Isobel Ellis of National Journal, and Mathew Polowitz, my son-in-law’s brother, for helping me learn the things I needed to know.
I am grateful to the editors at National Journal and The Atlantic, especially Charlie Green, Ron Brownstein, and Scott Stossel, for giving me chances to earn some dough while I was writing this.
Friends pitched in. Bill O’Brian masterminded a promotional video and, along with Steve Morgan and Joel Altschul, read early drafts. Jonathan Rauch proposed the title, Paul Golob suggested a detective series, and Monte Lorell thought Hay should compose bad poetry (which is way easier to write). Pat LoBrutto, as an editorial consultant, had astute ideas about how to sharpen the mystery and to deepen Hay as a character.
It’s hard to sell fiction, and thanks to Jim Fallows and Jim Srodes, I’ve found literary agents willing to represent a first-time novelist. I am indebted to the late Wendy Weil, to Paul Bresnick and, above all, to Ron Goldfarb and Gerrie Sturman for taking on this book and finding a home for it. And such a good home. At Macmillan’s Tom Doherty Associates, Claire Eddy’s enthusiasm for this book and her deftness in editorial judgment have been a wonder.
The best home, of course, is my real home, with my unfathomably patient and ever-loving wife, Nancy Tuholski. After decades, I’m still smitten. If she had moments of doubt about what I was up to for five years, she was kind enough not to say so.
About the Author
Burt Solomon is a contributing editor for The Atlantic and for National Journal, where he has covered the White House and other aspects of Washington life. In 1991, he won the Gerald R. Ford Prize for Distinguished Reporting on the Presidency. He is also the author of the acclaimed Where They Ain’t, a history of baseball in the 1890s. He and his wife and family live inside the Beltway. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE MURDER OF WILLIE LINCOLN
Copyright © 2017 by Burt Solomon
All rights reserved.
Cover art courtesy of the United States Library of Congress
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10010
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Forge® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8583-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8584-0 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9780765385840
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First Edition: February 2017