Underground: Traitors and Spies in Lincoln's War

Chapter 1

Wattys Short-listed! As Underground is scheduled to launch on Amazon on 9/16, I will have to pull the majority of the book off Wattpad on Saturday, 9/15. 

Hattie

February 1861

Baltimore's men were up in arms. Even at the unseemly early hour of three in the morning, shouts from angry secessionists echoed through the slats of the depot, drowned only by the train whistles announcing each new arrival.

"It will be coming soon, boys," a man in a straw hat and full beard announced. "Remember," he told the men who gathered around him, "no damned abolitionist shall pass through this town alive."

Hattie Lewis's eyes shifted to her friend and supervisor, Kate Warne, who stood just to the right of the mob. Kate's face held her usual inscrutable expression, but Hattie could tell from the way she gripped her handbag that she was as uncomfortable as Hattie. Most of the employees of the Pinkerton Detective Agency had arrived in Baltimore only a few days prior, but the depth of the anti-Union sentiment had greeted them almost as immediately as the concierge at the Barnum Hotel. Maryland was a swing state, and its rebel proclivities had boiled over with the election of the anti-slavery Lincoln to the Presidency.

Hattie turned at the sound of horses approaching. A plain coach stopped near the tracks, the horses whinnying as the driver pulled them to a halt. She hurried toward them. As she entered the coach, snatches of Dixie followed behind her, ceasing mercifully when she shut the door.

"No doubt there will be a good time in Dixie, by and by," a deep voice offered.

Hattie gave the man a tentative smile. The President Elect was dressed in a simple traveling suit, the shawl draped over his head taking the place of his stovepipe hat, which was placed beside him. She'd read multiple descriptions of Abraham Lincoln in the papers—most focused on the newly grown beard in response to the young lady Grace Bedell's request for him to cover his sunken jaw—but none of them had properly described his dignified manner, nor the fact that the beard still grew sparse over his gaunt cheeks. His eyes held an amiable crinkle as they focused on Hattie. She regretted that the tight quarters of the coach offered no room to show Mr. Lincoln the proper obsequies. She introduced herself to Mr. Lincoln and then told him, "Miss Warne has arranged an empty sleeping car for our purpose."

He nodded. "I am to be your brother, then," he stated, addressing Hattie.

She cast a sidelong glance at the man sitting beside her, her employer, Mr. Allan Pinkerton. He leaned forward. "It is for your safety." Even though he'd been in America for nearly two decades, his accent still resonated Scottish when he was anxious.

"I still think it is all nonsense." Ward Hill Lamon, Lincoln's personal bodyguard, sat back into the ripped velvet of the coach. "And ridiculous for our new President to be skulking about a city, unknown, in the middle of the night."

"It would be even more ridiculous to have our new President not arrive to his inauguration alive," Pinkerton replied evenly. He opened the door to the coach. With a swish of her satin skirts, Hattie scooted past him to retrieve the wheelchair the driver had unloaded. Lincoln looked down and sighed before climbing out of the coach and arranging himself into the chair. He made to replace his hat, but Hattie pulled the shawl up to obscure his face instead, knowing his customary hat would only serve to give him away.

"Brother, I believe our train has arrived." Hattie's hands tightened on the chair as she pushed forward toward the station. Lincoln was so tall he nearly reached Hattie's height sitting down. She did not look up, even as she passed by Kate, who stood in line waiting to board a car near the front of the train.