“What’s wrong?”
The moon cast enough light for me to see him clearly. His brown eyes were filled with such sadness that my heart began to sputter, and I could feel the weight of my fear settle on my face. I grabbed his arm, needing him to tell me why he had come.
Gray swallowed before he spoke, putting his hands under my elbows, as if to hold me up. I could tell it took him a great deal of effort. “It’s your father. There’s been an ambush at Ball’s Bluff on the Potomac.... He was killed, Maggie.”
For several heartbreaking moments, I stared at him, trying to make sense of what he’d just said, hoping and praying I had misheard him. But the look on his face told me that I had heard correctly. Papa was dead.
My knees buckled, and Gray tightened his hold, capturing me in his arms. He drew me close as the tears began.
“It can’t be true,” I said over and over again. “Not Papa.”
“I’m so sorry, Maggie.” There were tears in Gray’s voice as he soothed me. “I wish it were not true.”
I clung to the lapels of his coat as he held me up, his voice soothing, though I didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t rush me, nor did he try to make light of the news. Instead, he allowed me to grieve and tenderly handed me a fresh handkerchief to dry my face.
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you, but I couldn’t imagine you hearing it from anyone else. As soon as I learned the news, I went to President Lincoln and told him I would relay the information.” He shook his head, his gaze heavy. “The president isheartbroken, Maggie. I left him in tears. Your father was one of his closest friends.”
I nodded, trying to find my voice, though it was useless.
“Would you like me to take you home?” he asked. “I have a carriage waiting out front.”
“Yes, please.” My voice was small and hoarse.
“Is there anything I can get for you?”
“My shawl and handbag.” I started toward the door, but my legs were still weak.
He rushed to my side and put his arm around my waist. “Let me take you to the carriage, and I’ll go inside for your things.”
It felt like I was in a dream as he walked me around the building and helped me into the hired carriage. He’d thought ahead, knowing I would need a way home. His thoughtfulness and care bolstered my broken heart.
As I waited for him, I’d never felt so alone in my life. What would I do without Papa? He had been my sole purpose in this path since I was five years old. It had been just him and me against the world, and we were happy. I was proud to serve as his hostess and proud to be his daughter. What would life look like without him?
I began to weep again. I put my face in my hands, allowing the sorrow and grief to roll over me like tidal waves. This loss, combined with my death in 2001, was too much. All I wanted right now was Mama and Daddy, but I couldn’t even have them. They were in Williamsburg, and I was heading to Honolulu. They were my only remaining parents, and they were unreachable.
The carriage door opened, and Gray stepped in. He came to my side and pressed close to me, wrapping his arm around me, allowing me to lay my head on his shoulder. He gave a quick tap to the ceiling, and the carriage began to move toward home.
Gray held me tight, and I took comfort in knowing that he understood. He had lost his parents, his home, his country, andhis hopes and dreams when he was just fifteen years old. If anyone understood losing everything, it was him—yet he did not speak of his own loss. Instead, he allowed me to mourn mine. More importantly, he had not become bitter, though everything had been torn from him without cause or justification. He’d used his loss to fuel the passion and purpose he had for his work. Even in my sorrow and brokenness, he inspired me.
When we arrived at Lafayette Square, Gray paid the cab driver and then walked me inside. Joseph, Saphira, and Goldie had already heard the news and were mourning together in the kitchen when we entered the house. The moment they heard us, they came out to the parlor to offer their condolences, and I took more comfort in their love and respect for my father. They’d only known him for a year, but they had been honored to work for him and promised to stay as long as I needed them.
But I didn’t want to think about the future, or how I would pay for this house and our servants. Not yet. My only concern was staying afloat on the waves of grief threatening to pull me under.
Gray stayed with me throughout the evening, close at my side, until I fell into an exhausted sleep.
OCTOBER 24, 1861
The day of Papa’s funeral should have been cold and dreary. Instead, the sun shone, and it was unusually warm for the end of October. I had to shade my eyes as I stepped out of St. John’s Church with President and Mrs. Lincoln. It had been three unending days since Papa died, and whether I was in 1861 or 1941, I was still in shock. Thankfully, Anna was there to comfort me in 1941, and I had Gray in 1861.
Word of Papa’s death had shaken the entire Union. PresidentLincoln came to our home to pay his respects the morning after Papa died, telling me that he felt the loss like a brother and had walked the floor of his room through the night, grieving his old friend. I had received dozens of telegrams from as far away as California and almost every state in between.
But on that Thursday afternoon, as I walked slowly behind the hearse carrying Papa in a glass-front coffin on our way to the Congressional Cemetery, it didn’t matter how many people were grieving with me.
I felt utterly alone.
Mourners lined Pennsylvania Avenue as we walked past the White House and toward the Capitol Building. President Lincoln and Mrs. Lincoln walked on my left side and Gray was to my right. Just behind us were members of the president’s cabinet, as well as members of Congress.
Gray’s hand briefly found mine in the folds of my black gown, reminding me I wasn’t truly alone. He had been beside me every waking minute for the past three days, always ready to help in any way he could. Not once had he asked for anything in return, nor had he waited for me to seek his help. He’d arranged many of the funeral plans and had overseen the abundance of correspondence that had come my way, allowing me to accept the condolences of all my callers.
