She felt less compassion for her former betrothed, however, when Elizabeth, always eager to pass on such things to her, informed her that Mr. Lincoln, who took his meals at the home of William and Eliza Butler, had taken an interest in Eliza’s young sister, Sarah Rickard. At the time Mary had arrived in Springfield, Sarah had been a mere girl in pantalettes, but in the past year her hems had dropped and she had developed a noticeable bosom. “He’s even taken her to see The Babes in the Woods,” Elizabeth told her. “The first time he’s been seen in female company.”
“The Butlers are good friends of his, and they took good care of him while he was…indisposed. He eats with them every day. No doubt he thinks of the child as a little sister. Look at what he took her to. A nursery tale!”
Still, Mary kept a close eye on the girl as she sashayed around town, swishing her long skirts and wearing brooches that drew the eye to her fine new bosom. It was a relief to see her drooping not at all when Mr. Lincoln left in the summer to visit Joshua Speed, who had returned to his family’s Kentucky plantation after the death of his father, although Mary also felt indignant on Lincoln’s behalf. Did not the silly chit appreciate him?
The months wore on. Mr. Lincoln returned, by all accounts more cheerful—not that Mary saw that in person. Mercy Levering returned to Springfield, married her beau James Conkling, and promptly turned into a staid matron. Matilda Edwards, having turned down several proposals on the grounds that the grooms were too dissolute, returned to her home in Alton, from which in due time she announced her upcoming marriage to Mr. Strong. The little train that chugged to Jacksonville finally made its way to Springfield.
Back in Lexington, Mary had acquired two more half sisters, little Elodie in 1840 and little Kitty in the fall of 1841. Mary thought of going to Lexington to see them, but decided against it. When she came back, it would be as Mrs. Abraham Lincoln, not as Miss Mary Todd.
Not that Mr. Lincoln was cooperating, she had to acknowledge as 1841 turned into 1842, and yet more of her friends tumbled into matrimony—the latest being Joshua Speed, now firmly settled on his Kentucky plantation. Men still called on her, but to talk, not to court. Even Mr. Webb had given up.
Then, as summer began to descend upon Springfield, her friend Mrs. Francis invited her to spend the evening with “just a few friends,” as she put it. This suited Mary well enough as she was beginning to tire of large gatherings, and what other parlor in Springfield smelled so pleasantly of newsprint? But when she arrived, she found herself the only person present, other than her hostess. “Am I frightfully early? Did I mistake the time?”
“No. You’re quite right.”
She led Mary to the parlor and began to chat, but her usual lively conversation seemed strained. And where were the other guests? Then a knock sounded, and Mrs. Francis sprang up, even though she had a servant to answer her door. After a moment, she reentered, leading in another guest, who came to a halt in the doorway. “Miss Todd?”
“Sir,” Mary said weakly.
“Come in, come in,” Eliza said. Mr. Lincoln obeyed, but remained gaping at Mary. “It is no accident that I brought the two of you here. Mr. Lincoln, sit on the sofa—yes, beside Miss Todd. There. Now, isn’t this pleasant? Here’s my husband, to balance things out.”
A Sangamon Journal in his hand, Simeon Francis nodded at them as he entered the room. “How is your meddling going, my dear?”
“’Tis too early to tell, but I have hope. Look at the two of them!” She beamed at Mary and Mr. Lincoln, sitting rigidly side by side. “I don’t see how they’ve stood to be apart all this time.”
“May I ask what this is about?” Mary said.
“Yes, you may, and I’m glad one of you can speak at least. Now, look! Whatever quarrel the two of you had, you must make it up and be friends again. I know that you’re fond of Mr. Lincoln, Mary, and I know that you, Mr. Lincoln, are fond of Mary. Why, you’re perfect for each other. It just kills my soul to see the two of you moping apart. Oh, don’t tell me that you haven’t moped! Now, Sim and I will leave the room, and I expect to hear some conversation emanating from here.” With a cheery wave, she departed, followed by Simeon Francis, who shrugged and gave Mr. Lincoln a sympathetic glance on his way out.
Mr. Lincoln arose and stared out the window, while Mary studied her hands. Finally, Lincoln spoke. “I’ve not stopped loving you. I’ve tried.”
“Well, that’s flattering, I suppose, Mr. Lincoln, but may I ask why you’ve tried?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do hope your arguments in court are more satisfactory than that.”
“Lord, I’ve missed that tongue of hers,” Mr. Lincoln said to the window.
“But you do love me, it seems? If I recall, you weren’t so certain of that before.”
“I do believe I’m certain of that now.” He continued his survey of the street for a few minutes, then turned. “I’ve discussed this with Dr. Henry.”
“You’ve made a medical case of me, Mr. Lincoln?”
“I near ran mad when I stopped seeing you. Guilt and shame. Anyway, as I told him, it’s not the way I act toward women normally. I have a story to tell on myself, one that only a handful of people know of. I had a good friend in New Salem, a married lady. She had a sister in Kentucky, a handsome gal. My married friend got it into her head that I should marry said sister, and like a blockhead, I agreed. I’d met her when she paid a short visit to New Salem and liked her well enough. And my friend and her husband had been so kind and hospitable to me when I was a poor newcomer to that area… Well, I felt I’d be ungrateful if I refused. So the lady came on consignment, as it were, and she was just as I remembered, except that there was quite a bit more of her. A good thirty pounds more.”
Mary sucked her breath in, wondering if she could lace her stays a little tighter. “So you rejected her?”
“No. I did as I promised. I courted her, wrote letters to her—by then I was off with the legislature—paid her visits. She had a fine face, a good wit, a good education, all the requisites. Finally, I realized it was now or never. I proposed, and she turned me down flat. Fool that I was, I proposed again, thinking perhaps she was being coy, and she turned me down as flat as a squashed frog. I should have been relieved, I suppose I was relieved, but when she said no, I almost fell in love with her then and there. A matter of wanting what we can’t have, I guess.”
“And perhaps not wanting what we can have?”
“I think you’ve hit it, Miss Todd. And so this is what I suggest: that we resume seeing each other again, but leave the question of marriage open until I can resolve my confounded doubts as to whether I can ever steel myself for matrimony.”
“Mr. Lincoln, your plan is sensible, but you forget how I am placed as a woman. I cannot see you indefinitely with no hope of being your wife. Either we must marry, or we must end it. Anything else would give rise to gossip that I am your mere paramour.”