“Who? Mary, if any man has behaved disrespectfully to you, you must let Mr. Edwards know.”
“I’ll not pass on tales that may be mere malicious gossip, Sister. And I will thank you to do the same with Mr. Lincoln.”
In fact, she knew of no such ill behavior by any visitor to her sister’s house. But it was delicious to see Elizabeth worry.
* * *
The Hardin house was stuffed full of humanity. Mary and Matilda found themselves sharing a bed with Mr. Hardin’s pert little sister, Martinette, visiting from Kentucky—yet another girl in search of a husband, Mary supposed. “The three M’s,” Martinette said as they settled into their bed. Crowded as it was, Mary had no complaints as it was freezing outside and chilly inside even with a fire. “Matilda, could you scoot over just a bit? Think of it, we could be one of the poor men having to share a bed with Mr. Lincoln.” Martinette giggled. “But I bet some ladies wouldn’t mind that.”
Matilda, who was pious, let out a disapproving noise, and Mary preserved a judicious silence until Martinette moved to her next topic. “My brother has a surprise for us tomorrow.”
“Oh, will you tell us what it is?”
“No, as it wouldn’t be a surprise then,” Martinette said predictably.
After everyone consumed a hearty breakfast the next morning, Sarah Hardin rose, two metal objects in her hand. “It’s freezing outside. So what is it perfect for?”
“Staying by the fire,” Mary suggested.
“No, my dear, ice skating! It’s the rage in England; the queen loves it. Remember the delightful scene where Mr. Pickwick goes ice skating?”
“And falls in, my dear,” John Hardin said.
“That’s when he’s sliding, not skating, and our men have tested the pond. An elephant could walk over it, they swear. Now, I have plenty of skates for anyone who’s daring enough to try. Who is?”
“We are!” said Mr. Webb’s son and daughter in unison.
“Well, I certainly am,” said Orville Browning.
“And so am I!” Mary lifted her hand, then turned to Mr. Lincoln. “If you will assist me, sir.”
Sarah Hardin winked, anticipating Mr. Lincoln’s answer. “These skates will fit even your feet, Mr. Lincoln.”
With this settled, the party bundled up and walked to the pond. Martinette, who had been on skates before, managed a pretty turn or two on the ice, while the Webb children—the two sweet objections, as Mary had dubbed them—fell down as often as they stood up, but shrieked joyously the entire time they did so. Matilda did not venture onto the pond, perhaps to the disappointment of the men who would have welcomed a glimpse of her stockinged legs, but did the next best thing by standing by the pond, looking her most fetching with her cheeks rosy from the cold and her dainty hands snuggled inside a muff.
Her arm in Mr. Lincoln’s, Mary shuffled onto the ice. Awkward on a dance floor, Mr. Lincoln proved startlingly sure-footed on skates, and with him to prop her up, Mary grew daring to enough to glide forward. And what a treat, to have an excuse to lean against him! If only the sweet objections did not insist on skating so close to him—for children adored Mr. Lincoln—it would have been perfect.
Then a terrible shriek filled the air, and Mary and Mr. Lincoln turned to see Matilda Edwards’s golden head slipping below the ice.
No human being had ever been rescued so quickly, Mary was to reflect later. In seconds, every male inhabitant of the Hardin house collected around the dainty little hole into which poor Matilda had slipped. Even Mr. Lincoln released Mary and with two long glides was at the scene, leaving Mary to capsize onto her bottom and, unable to right herself without assistance, to crawl ignominiously to the edge of the pond. By the time she reached it, the men already had Matilda free and were bearing her to the house. There was nothing for Mary to do but pry off her skates, herd the Webb children, quite forgotten by the adults, off the pond, and grimly follow the procession.
Sarah Hardin wasted no time putting Matilda to bed and dosing her with brandy. As far as Mary could tell, she was none the worse for wear, except perhaps for the effects of the brandy, which sent her fast asleep, but the party was dampened none the less for it. John Hardin said that he wished he had never bought the blasted skates. Martinette, who turned out to be the culprit who had persuaded Matilda to step onto the ice, was so lugubrious in bewailing her guilt that she too had to be helped to bed. Mr. Browning hoped that Matilda was not from consumptive stock. And Mr. Lincoln said nothing, but stared mournfully out the window.
It was like a funeral without a corpse.
In the late afternoon, Matilda came downstairs. If anything, she looked prettier after her ordeal. Bundled up in the most comfortable chair, she accepted mug after mug of hot cocoa from a penitent Martinette as the men praised her courage and the women urged her to stay by the fire so she would not catch cold. Mr. Lincoln’s pained face broke into a smile, and he regaled the crowd with his best stories, at which Matilda laughed gently as befitted an invalid.
So when the stony-hearted Mr. Webb, who said he had had several plunges into the ice as a boy and had lived to tell about them, turned his attention to Mary, what else could she do but talk to him? She’d always liked him perfectly well; it wasn’t his fault that he did not set her heart to fluttering. Still, when the party broke up for the evening (Matilda being helped up the stairs, although she hardly needed it), Mary lingered in the parlor, hoping that Mr. Lincoln might want a word with her, but he followed the men to his sleeping quarters, and Mary went in silence to her own bedchamber.
* * *
The men returned to Springfield the next day to attend the legislature, but Mary and Matilda lingered a couple of days in Jacksonville, hoping for snow and a sleigh ride. As the former never came, they rode back by coach to Springfield, for the tiny train that puttered its way to Jacksonville once each day had not yet been extended to the fledgling capital.
On New Year’s Day, 1841, Mary was sitting in the parlor when she heard a knock at the front door, followed by the appearance of Mr. Lincoln. “Why, I wish you a happy New Year, sir. And”—she lowered her voice and smiled—“what a better way to start a new year than by planning a wedding? I’ve been reading cookery books and am growing quite domesticated.”
“Mary—”
“Now, I know you consider me a spoiled creature, but really, sir, you underestimate us Todd girls. Why, my sister Mrs. Wallace is still lodging in the Globe Tavern, and she never complains of the quarters, even after becoming a mother! We have the capacity to make do, sir.”
“Mary—”
“I am sure you don’t want a grand ceremony; I don’t want one either. Just a few friends and family—”
“We can’t do this. We can’t marry.”