One of the hardest things facing me in 1941 was Zechariah’srecovery. He might never be able to use his right leg as before since the knee was likely never to bend properly again. For a man who prided himself on his work and who had done nothing but serve as a navy surgeon for most of his adult life, the news was a crushing blow. If he could not use his leg, could he perform surgeries again? He had gone into a depression and had put up all his old defenses, becoming impossible to talk to.
Besides the unknown future, the wound also gave him intense pain, but he refused to accept morphine, concerned he’d get addicted. Worse, he’d been eating wheat again, aggravating his celiac disease, and he didn’t appear to care.
How could I leave 1941 when he needed me? Almost every day, when I went to see him, he asked me to stay. I cared for Zechariah, but as my birthday drew closer and closer, I doubted that Zechariah was enough for me.
Snow fell on Lafayette Square as I accepted Saphira’s help in the foyer. She lifted a cape up to my shoulders and smiled with admiration.
“You’ve never looked prettier, Miss Margaret. That black gown suits you.”
I smiled at her compliment, though I knew the black mourning gown was stark against my complexion. I was wearing it in honor of Papa, and I didn’t mind. “Thank you.”
“Will you be out late?” She handed me one long black glove after the other.
“No. I’m tired.” I couldn’t remember when I hadn’t been tired in the past two weeks. “I don’t think I’ll stay long.”
“Would you like me to send Joseph for you later?”
“I’ll be fine to walk home on my own.” I lifted the hood over my intricately styled hair. Saphira had outdone herself preparing me for the Christmas ball at the White House. Theteardrop onyx earrings I wore had been a present from Papa last Christmas.
“If you change your mind,” she said, “send a runner over here to get him.”
“I will.” I took the gift I’d wrapped for the Lincolns and tucked it into my reticule as Saphira opened the door for me.
“Good night,” she said. “And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy your evening festivities.”
“The same to you, Miss Margaret.”
I stepped out into the chilly air and took a deep breath. Large snowflakes fell from the dark sky, resting along the frozen street in front of the house.
As I walked toward the White House, I thought of the night Gray had walked me home from the dinner party at Rose’s house and we’d sat on the bench. It was the first time I realized I was falling in love with him.
My heart ached at the memory, causing me to miss him more than ever. But I lifted my chin, soldiering on as Papa had taught me to do.
I arrived at the White House front door, and a doorkeeper allowed me in. After taking my wrap, he directed me to the East Room, where the Lincolns were entertaining. I’d heard rumors that many of their relatives from Kentucky and Illinois had arrived for the holidays and that they’d also invited the cabinet, members of Congress, and other military officials and staff. I was there because the Lincolns still thought of Papa and me as family. And this year, more than any other, I needed that family bond.
As I walked into the East Room, I wondered if Gray would be there. After two weeks apart, I understood the deep longing and desire he spoke of. It was a constant companion, like a hollow echo in my chest that would not stop aching unless he was near. My life was not the same without him. I had started several letters, begging him to ask me to stay,but I didn’t send them. It wasn’t fair to put the burden of my decision on him.
I had just one more week to choose. One week to know, for all time, what path I was meant to take. I longed to see Gray at least once more, to know for certain what my heart truly wanted. Did I have the courage to make the best choice for me?
Did he still want me? What if he had already moved on? Or left Washington? The very thought made my spirits sink lower than they’d ever been.
Yet—was I meant to stay in 1941 and care for Zechariah? To stand by his side and help him heal? After all, that was my highest calling, wasn’t it? His depression was severe, but I was familiar enough with trauma to know that he could recover, given the right therapy. Was I supposed to be the one to administer that therapy? The thought of leaving him brought on such guilt, especially now, given his injury. Would it eat me alive forever if I didn’t stay to help him?
The East Room opened up before me, filled with laughter, conversation, and the delicious scent of fresh pine garland, apple cider, cinnamon, and oranges. It should have made me feel joyful, but it didn’t.
“Margaret,” Mrs. Lincoln said when she spotted me from the receiving line. “Do come here.”
I approached the Lincolns as Mr. Lincoln nodded farewell to two other guests. He turned and smiled, and I noted a marked difference in the lines on his face. He looked as if he’d aged a decade since the war started. It broke my heart to think he would give everything to keep the Union together and emancipate the slaves—and then die just days after victory. It was senseless, and just like Pearl Harbor, I hated that I knew the future and could do nothing to stop it.
Mrs. Lincoln accepted my hand and lowered her chin as she looked me over. She wore a stunning silk gown with beautifully crafted satin roses along the neckline and matching roses in herupturned hair. “Merry Christmas, my dear. I’m so happy you chose to join us this evening.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Mr. Lincoln took my gloved hand next, clasping it within both of his. “I wish you a Merry Christmas, Margaret, though I know it will be a difficult season without your father. We miss him every day.”
“Thank you.” I handed him the present I’d brought. “I hope you’ll accept this gift.”
