The following morning Lincoln arose and looked out the window onto the front lawn. The first thing he noticed was a throng of people standing a hundred yards away being held back by a small band of soldiers in the standard blue uniform of the Union. He dressed and went outside. To his consternation there were two more men guarding the front door.

“Morning, boys,” Lincoln said. “What seems to be the issue out there?” he asked, pointing in the direction of the people being held back.

“Grant’s orders, sir,” one guard stated. “Nobody is to be let on the property and we’ve been stationed here in case anybody does get through.”

“Seems like an awful amount of men to guard one man,” Lincoln said as he walked to the stairs. Immediately the two guards followed him. Lincoln looked at them uncomfortably.

“Morning all,” Lincoln said as he approached the people being held back. “Sergeant, may I ask what is going on here.”

“Just following orders,” a burly sergeant said. “Nobody is to come upon the White House lawn, by order of General Grant. I think these folks wanted to make sure you’re okay after your ordeal.”

“I see, sergeant, and thank you,” Lincoln replied. He smiled at the crowd. “Folks, as you can see, I am no worse for the wear. I suppose I will be around for a while longer, so no reason to be alarmed. But thank you for checking on me.”

The people in attendance started to clap. Pretty soon they began chanting, “Lincoln, Lincoln.”

The president nodded at them and turned to return to the White House. Then he had a thought and turned to the sergeant. “Would you do me the honor and request General Grant to visit me today.”

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied, and then he saluted.

Lincoln shook his head and walked back to the White House, the crowd still chanting his name.

At breakfast he informed his family what he had just witnessed. “It would appear the General has decided I am of such value to the nation that they’ve posted more boys with muskets around the White House. I reckon if I embark on a walk I shall require a pass signed by myself.”

Robert laughed at his father’s remark. Mary exclaimed it was about time.

Lincoln looked at Tad, who sat there silently.  “Thaddeus, I don’t think they’re all there for me, though. I suspect they’re going to keep an eye out on you to keep you out of mischief.”

Robert laughed again, but not Mary.

“Abraham, you need to do as they say from now on,” Mary said tersely.

“Yes, dear,” Lincoln replied.

Later Lincoln returned to the Cabinet Room, accompanied by a new set of men to guard him, plus Lamon. The same cabinet members that had been there the day before sat there, with the exception of Grant.

“How was your afternoon with the family, Mr. President?” Stanton asked. “Relaxing, I hope.”

“It was, Mr. Stanton,” Lincoln replied, sitting down in his rocking chair at the head of the table. “But now it appears we need to discuss our plan for Reconstruction, which promises to remove any relaxation I might have experienced, I reckon.”

An uncomfortable chuckle went around the room.

“Mr. Stanton,” Lincoln began. “Is General Grant going to join us today?”

“Not this morning, I am afraid, sir. He is overseeing your new guard detail at the moment.”

“I’m glad you brought that up, Mr. Stanton,” Lincoln said. “You think you might have overdone that just a little?”

“No, sir, I don’t,” Stanton replied. “Nor does any man sitting around this table. The

attempt on your life was just a little too close for comfort and we don’t intend to let it happen again.”

“I see,” Lincoln replied. “Have any of the perpetrators been caught yet?”

Stanton cleared his throat. “Not yet, sir, but we have some suspicions that are being looked into by the Secret Service.”

“Anything you wish to share, Mr. Stanton?”

““Anything you wish to share, Mr. Stanton?”

“Not at this time, sir, as we have no concrete evidence,” replied Stanton. “But we don’t believe Booth was the mastermind. We believe this goes higher.”

“I see,” replied Lincoln. “Hopefully, you will find the culprit’s identity soon so that we can get back to healing our nation. Compassion needs to be our guidepost, not vengeance.”

“Yes, sir,” Stanton replied, though without conviction.

Lincoln leaned back in his rocker, shifting his weight as the faint creak of the wood became the only sound that followed. Around the table, some men exchanged glances, while others studied their papers with sudden interest. The room, though filled, felt curiously hollow. These were men accustomed to results and punishment, not what many of them now regarded as civility without consequence.

Stanton lowered his eyes to the documents before him. He had heard the President’s words, understanding his orders, but he could not accept them. The matter, he was certain, ran deeper than any of them yet knew. And somewhere within that depth, there was a will at work that would not be turned aside by appeals to mercy. Around the table, others felt it too, though none spoke of it plainly. Someone they believed, must answer for this plot, and that answer must be seen.

Outside the windows, the soldiers remained at their posts. The crowd had thinned, though not entirely dispersed. A few still lingered at the edge of the lawn, watching… waiting.

And though the President sat at the head of the table, it was not entirely clear—to Stanton or to anyone else who was truly being protected… and from whom.