President Lincoln slept fitfully that night.

He dreamt he had been shot—and that this time he had not survived. He saw Mary seated in black, her face hollow with grief. Robert stood beside her, rigid and pale. Tad clung to her arm, confused and frightened. They stood before his coffin, receiving condolences from a nation he could no longer serve.

But it was not only the living who attended.

Eddie was there. Willie stood beside him.

They appeared as Lincoln remembered them – unburdened by sickness, unmarked by suffering. They did not speak, but their purpose was unmistakable. They had come to escort him home.

Seeing them again filled him with a strange peace. Death itself did not trouble him. But Mary’s grief did. He tried to speak to her, to comfort her, but she could neither see nor hear him. Her sorrow was a thing beyond his reach.

He woke suddenly, drenched in sweat. For a moment he did not move.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his long legs bent awkwardly beneath him, his hands resting on his knees. The room was quiet. The familiar furniture, the faint morning light filtering through the curtains, the smell of coffee – all of it reassured him he was still among the living.

He felt an unexpected urge to weep, but he did not. He rose slowly and dressed.

There was work to be done. He knew the day would bring an endless procession of anxious faces, men relieved to see him alive, yet unable to conceal their horror at how near he had come to death. He dreaded their sympathy more than their fear.

He had no desire to be celebrated for surviving. He only wished to resume the work of restoring the nation.

He called for his aide, Ward Hill Lamon, but John Nicolay appeared instead.

Nicolay stood in the doorway, composed as always.

“Mr. President,” he said, “Mr. Lamon has not yet returned. He remains in transit from Richmond. He is expected within the hour.”

Lincoln had forgotten he had sent him away. The realization troubled him. Lamon was more than an aide. He was a friend. One of the few men Lincoln trusted without reservation.

Nicolay continued.

“Sir, your Cabinet has assembled and awaits you in the Cabinet Room following breakfast.”

Lincoln nodded faintly.

“Who will be in attendance, John?”

Nicolay answered with quiet precision.

“Secretaries Stanton, McCulloch, Welles, Dennison, and Speed. General Halleck will also be present. General Grant has returned to Washington upon hearing of last night’s events and will attend as well.”

Lincoln absorbed this.

“And Mr. Seward?”

Nicolay hesitated.

“No, sir. Secretary Seward was attacked in his home last evening. He was stabbed repeatedly by another assailant and remains confined to his bed. His son Frederick will attend in his place.”

Lincoln winced. “You mean they were after more than just me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nicolay spoke carefully.

“Vice President Johnson was also believed to be a target, though no attack was carried out. He is presently under guard.”

Lincoln said nothing. He had never held Johnson in high regard, but the implication was unmistakable. This had been no solitary act. It had been an attempt to cripple the government itself.

“Please have breakfast served in my private sitting room,” Lincoln said quietly. “And ask Mrs. Lincoln to join me.”

Before Nicolay could respond, Mary entered carrying a tray herself.

Lincoln smiled faintly.

“That was certainly quick, John,” he said.

Mary gave him a reproving look. “Do not pretend you are not hungry, Abe,” she said. “After last night, you must eat something.”

Mary possessed a curious conviction that food could remedy nearly any human distress. Lincoln found this belief quietly exasperating, though he would never have wounded her by saying so.

She set the tray before him. Coffee. An egg. Strawberries with cream.

Lincoln looked at it dutifully.

“Yes, dear.”

He glanced at Nicolay.

“John, please inform the Cabinet I will join them shortly.”

Nicolay inclined his head.

Lincoln stopped him.

“Remain nearby. I may have need of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nicolay withdrew.

Lincoln and Mary sat together in silence.

Lincoln drank his coffee slowly. He broke the egg but did not finish it. The strawberries he ate completely.

Mary watched him closely, as if he might vanish if she looked away.

“Abe,” she said finally, “you must not attend to business today.”

Lincoln looked at her gently.

“It appears Providence has other plans for me,” he said. “I must not disappoint it.”

Mary’s composure faltered.

“Your sons wish to see you,” she said. “They were terrified.”

Lincoln closed his eyes briefly. He had not thought of them.

“As always,” he said softly, “you are right.”

He rang the bell. Nicolay appeared almost immediately.

“John, please ask Robert and Tad to join us. And inform the Cabinet I shall require a few additional minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

He departed.

Mary remained seated, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

She said nothing.

But her fear lingered in the room.