Henry and Clara by Thomas Mallon

Author:Thomas Mallon [Mallon, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-80475-4
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2013-04-22T16:00:00+00:00

Pauline came to life in the dining room. “I’m afraid the theatregoers will be disappointed,” she called.

Lina pinched her older sister and the two of them stifled laughter. Pauline simply would not let Clara enjoy it, would never forgive Ira Harris for being away with his two other daughters.

Sitting across the parlor, Henry looked almost his old self to Clara, fuller in the face behind his red whiskers and mustache. He hadn’t put on the foulard she’d bought him at the Sanitary Fair, but still, how wonderful it was to see him out of uniform, in shoes instead of boots.

But it was 8:20 now, and even Henry could no longer concentrate on the Star. He folded it up and crossed his legs, drummed his fingers on his shin and picked at the velvet sofa, the same sort of nervous movements he had made all day in the adjutant general’s office as he toted up the blood money, the government’s filthy take from commutation, each $300 of it a bullet that one Northerner had fired into another’s back. When his disgust got the better of him, he would take a break and look at Clara’s photograph from Gardner’s studio, which sat on his rolltop desk, and he would try not to imagine, once more, the romantic farewell he was sure she and Howard had taken of each other in the New York Hospital.

Pauline entered the parlor and took a chair beside him. “Of course,” she said, “I’ve already seen Miss Keene do this play, six or seven years ago at her theatre in New York. It wasn’t long before we took our European trip.” Clara was about to say something, but she stopped herself. Her spirits were too good tonight; she would not be drawn into any war of oblique words with Pauline. She would listen to the tick of the clock, smooth her handkerchief, and imagine herself a little while from now, standing in the golden glow of the gaslight at Ford’s, between Henry and Mr. Lincoln, as the audience came to its feet.

“The story is crude but amusing,” said Pauline. “A lot of fuss over an inheritance. But you’ll be amused by Lord Dundreary’s silly affectations. Sothern was marvelous in the part. He —”

Lina shrieked.

“Let the girl get it,” cried Pauline, but it was too late. Her youngest child had already raced past the maid to the door, opening it for Charles Forbes, who took off his hat and inquired, “Major Rathbone and Miss Harris?”

“They’re right in here,” said Lina, pointing from the hallway into the parlor.

“Please tell them that the President and his lady are here.”

Before Lina had a chance to follow his instructions, Henry and Clara had come into the hall. “Good evening, Mr. Forbes,” she said. He smiled at this one of Mrs. Lincoln’s favorites and stepped aside so she and Major Rathbone might precede him to the coach. Lina followed the three of them with her eyes, straining for a glimpse of the President inside the carriage that had just made the brief journey from the Executive Mansion.

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