The young Abraham Lincoln had a girlfriend: It is one of those anecdotes in a history, the kind that provokes a bemused "Really?" or just a passing sparkle in your eye. Her name was Ann Rutledge, she died of typhus at age 22, and no one knows her actual relationship to Lincoln, if any. Supposing the anecdote to be true, it serves as a reminder that our icons were real people, and their destinies were never set in stone until they actually occurred. Everyone loves a biographical crossroads.
Ann lived, died, was buried, and was for some reason reburied under a gravestone with a foolishly grandiose epitaph by Edgar Leigh Masters, a poem that gives this unfortunate girl an almost maternal role, comparable to the Virgin Mary: the wellspring from which a great man sprang and thereby the mother of an entire nation. So what was she really? Posterity decides, as always. More specifically, I could decide. After carefully considering current literary trends, however, the most satisfactory answer is that she should be a detective; given that detectives have been made of such unlikely stuff as Freud, Kant, the Rat Pack, and Jane Austen, I think a teenaged girl in 1820s Illinois is a perfect candidate for becoming a sleuth. Best of all, a certain honest young lawyer will be her Dr. Watson.
Probably she would come across as Little House on the Prairie meets Nancy Drew, although I will strive to make Ann Rutledge better than that. She should be intelligent without being excessively erudite, no-nonsense but never rude; it goes without saying that she would bear a resemblance to Jane Austen's heroines, though Ann might have actually done a day or two of actual work at some point in her life. Historic physical descriptions of the real-life Ann describe her as auburn-haired, 5'3", and approximately 120 lbs.; she was also considered beautiful. The source of these remarks (statistics, really) is unknown, but apparently it was local data and not the worshipful observations of Lincoln. (Some apocryphal comments attributed to Lincoln in his later years suggest that he thought Ann to be "handsome" and worthy to be his partner for life.) Given the unreliability of 200-year-old descriptions, I'm going to take some liberties. I'm guessing an out-and-out redhead would make the strongest impression on the reading public, preferably a solidly built, not to say stout redhead. Ann needs to be attractive enough to turn the head of the future president, and lovely enough to quicken the reader's concern for her in moments of danger, but nothing should detract from the aura of chastity she emanates, a "Maid of Orleans" aspect that she must never lose. These novels must appeal on the strength of tight plotting, believable details, and I suppose a little bit of good old-fashioned sexual tension. Just not actual sex or even deliberate sexiness. If the male protagonist was anyone else, that might be fine, but we must draw the line at fully imagining the loves and lusts of Lincoln.
(It should be pointed out that the Lincoln featured in this series is an unfamiliar one. This is an optimistic and beardless Abe, not the gloomy patriarch Abraham. He is a 20-year-old autodidact, still trying to discover what his role will be in this world. Ann Rutledge is perhaps the first sure thing he has encountered, although their courtship will be full of ups and downs. Why? Because it's more interesting that way.)
Ann and Abe's conversations would turn upon agricultural topics, ancient history, the Bible, Aesop's Fables, local politics, family matters, etc. The trick for me or any other author is to make such chats somehow readable, sort of like the witty banter of Nick and Nora in The Thin Man, minus the nonstop consumption of alcoholic beverages. Suffice it to say, the wit must be extremely dry, without being utterly obscure. No one wants footnotes in a mystery novel.
"Abe, look not at the stars in their courses but look directly into my eyes. Do you mean to say this cow was murdered?"
Rubbing his chin with his thumb, Abe looked at the ground. "I know not, Ann. I know only that Annabelle was a healthy animal at this hour yesterday, and now she is no more."
Ann raised her hands into the air dramatically, causing her ruffled sleeves to flutter like wings. "Then perhaps we'd better have another discussion with a certain blacksmith!"
"Yes," cried Abe, becoming animated, "he looks guilty of something, and possibly we shall discover why!"
Arm and arm they quickly vanished into the gloaming of an oppressive August evening. The little girl hiding behind the tree ran in the opposite direction.
You see? I know nothing about early 19th Century dialect. A year of research would be necessary to avoid wooden conversations like the one printed above. Then again, most of the readers won't be historians, and don't expect me to be, either. Maybe I can skip the research, as long as I can be more consistent about their speech patterns.
A more pressing issue is to decide what kind of cases the duo will be pursuing. Tame, "cozy" cases, like finding a stolen antique watch? Pursuing con men who swindle senior citizens? Or darker tales, like a serial killer who frames the local Native Americans? A charismatic, genius-IQ-Jack the Ripper from Kentucky?
I've settled the matter. The recurring villain will be named Reynaldo Hazelrigg. He is a blacksmith as far as the town knows, but in reality he is a 19th Century terrorist. Hazelrigg uses his metallurgical skills to manufacture exotic and easily concealed weapons, which he sells to international dictators and secret socities. Furthermore he should engage in some comparatively commonplace villainy, such as black mail and sexual assault, to insure that no reader—some rabid fan of anti-heroes—will be tempted to side with him. In appearance Hazelrigg must be Abraham Lincoln's photo negative: short, corpulent, blond, and perhaps 50 years of age. He might as well have a beard, since the young Lincoln did not. And although one might be tempted to picture Hazelrigg as a gnarled little troll, a Uriah Heep, he instead possesses the strength of a grizzly bear, which he uses to intimidate anyone who opposes him. Like many such characters, he is a bully with a cowardly streak, and when his threats fail to impress Abe and Ann, Hazelrigg begins his clandestine scheming against the young meddlers.
They sat side by side against a haystack. The moon rose like a searchlight.
"Abe," she whispered.
He grunted in reply.
"One day, when you're a lawyer, you'll bring Reynaldo Hazelrigg his disgrace. Sooner or later, he will make a mistake and you shall deliver him into prison."
With his head upon his fists, Abe replied, "I'm glad you're sure. It's hard to imagine that I shall pass the bar, and harder still to imagine that we shall outwit the devil's own blacksmith."
Ann stood up. "Not another word. You know what my Daddy says. ‘Doubt is fine if it's a motivator. Otherwise, let it go.'"
Abe grasped her hand and pulled her back down, as if she were no more than a balloon that had escaped its moorings. "You're my motivator. For the rest of my life."
It really is a bit too much, isn't it? And I will have to research the speech patterns of that era after all, because there are more than a few false notes in the dialogue.
The love triangle may be a trite plot device but it does work, so our series will need one. Happily, a triangle already exists. It seems Miss Rutledge was engaged to one John MacNamar, who wasn't exactly the most upstanding individual. Isn't it funny that history preserves such judgments, without recalling the nature of this B-grade cad's offenses? One version of the story is that Ann Rutledge asked Abe to wait for her, while she waited for MacNamar to release her from her obligation. Her disreputable adventurer sent her letters from wherever he had run off to, letters which became increasingly formal and infrequent until they ceased altogether.
Now, I think this conflict could be drawn out across many novels, with MacNamar (a former slave owner?) and Abe engaging in verbal sparring, courtly contests, and perhaps a duel. In fact, definitely a duel, preferably with pistols. Perhaps MacNamar will be hit in the calf, and Abe will suffer a minor grazing of his scalp. The foreshadowing might sound obvious, but in the context of a 15 page duel scene, it will be almost subliminal and make perfect sense. The duel is declared a draw—
"Will you shake hands like a respectable man, John?"
MacNamar limped over to him and looked deeply into his face. For a moment it looked as if he would spit, but instead he aggressively proffered his hand. "I can't say this is how I'd prefer it, Lincoln. But blood is blood. The duel is over. We're different now."
Abe was surprised at this access of profundity in MacNamar, but decided not to call attention to it. After all, what he had said was correct.
It is proving difficult to establish the right tone. That last passage was written in a realistic, historical style (with a bit of added zest) whereas this next excerpt partakes of pure campiness:
"Well if it isn't the young lovers!" Reynaldo Hazelrigg flashed his teeth, which seemed to glow in the firelight. "You are both so lovely, so fresh-faced and pure. What a pity that you cannot be allowed to leave this house alive." He raised his hook and lurched forward. Hazelrigg's foot caught against the desk, and as he stumbled his hook became embedded in the banister just behind Abe. Seeing her opportunity and mustering her strength, Ann raised the fireplace poker.
What follows is a preview of several novels.
Shadow Farm: Being the Debut of Ann Rutledge: 17-year-old Ann, not meant to attend higher education, is taught a "scientific deductive method" by her grandfather, who suggests she "uncover some of the world's mysteries." When Ann and her neighbor Abe attend the county fair, they are horrified to find the prize-winning steer dead. Other mysterious cattle deaths follow. The young couple investigates, eventually finding evidence of a ruthless cattle baron attempting to create a monopoly. With the help of the sheriff and the governor, Ann and Abe defeat this vicious conspiracy. At the end, they hold hands for the first time, in a scene evoking both our own nostalgia for the teen years and also a feeling of doubt and uncertainty. Shadow Farm will be one of the most beloved books in the series, despite its simplistic plot and the lack of colorful supporting characters. Since the book hasn't been written yet, you will ask why I don't work on these weaknesses before it is published. Well, I want the series to have a believable artistic trajectory: first two or three books—competent, next eight or ten—-excellent, all the rest—a bit tired and derivative, except for the final novel, which will perhaps be the best, and will be hailed as "a return to form for the venerable detective series." (NY Times Book Review) So no, I won't fix it and I don't know why people are going to like it so much.
Ill in Illinois: While taking a shortcut home one evening, Ann and Abe encounter Hazelrigg for the first time. He is attempting to break into the barracks of the local law enforcement officers to poison their food and water. The duo act quickly but they soon hear that the sheriff has already succumbed to a different dose of poison. The couple pursues Hazelrigg all the way to his secret cabin in Kentucky, where they confront vicious dogs, hostile locals, and a violent storm. And although Ann and Abe thwart the madman's plans, Hazelrigg escapes on a raft, threatening to have his revenge upon them. Returning to Illinois on horses loaned by a kindly farmer, the youngsters exchange a lingering kiss. The atmosphere might be described as romantic and yet somehow pensive, quite as if some yet-unknown Sword of Damocles threatens their long-term happiness.
Virginia Midmornings: This 9th outing in the series is one of my personal favorites, although sales were somewhat lower than that of Ann Rutledge and the Three Napoleons. While visiting the late Thomas Jefferson's Monticello in Virginia, Ann and Abe overhear the household staff planning to find and make public a document that would smear Jefferson's name and many others as well. This damning epistle—allegedly written decades earlier by Jefferson himself—divulges the "secret" agenda of such Founding Fathers as Adams, Hamilton, and even Washington. The implications are profound, so our crime-fighting duo race against the miscreants, who have dubbed themselves "The Velvet Virginians." And of course at the center of this metaphorical maze, the merciless Hazelrigg will be waiting for them. Somewhere near the end, having thwarted the Velvet Virginians, an elated Ann and Abe exchange a lingering kiss. The Washington Post deemed this book "…as cerebral as Conan Doyle's best work, and with the dark psychological acumen one would expect of Patricia Highsmith." Well to be honest, that's what they will say about this book, once it has been written.
How long can this go on? Maybe 20 novels or so, which if written at the rate of one per year will occupy most of my prime. Eventually I will have to contend with the historical record, which states in no uncertain terms that Ann Rutledge died at 22 in the midst of a typhus outbreak. A few of the real-life Abe's friends declared that he was devastated by her passing, and an anonymous poem about suicide that was printed in the newspaper has been attributed to him. The final novel would need a poetic title, rife with dark symbolism: Crossing the River, The Original Mystery, The Insoluble Mystery, The Black Curtain, A Fabric of Stars, Under This Tree I Lay......you get the picture. A postillion or business traveler will bring news of the wandering cad John MacNamar, saying he has died abroad, perhaps even heroically. Why not? And it would be too much to kill off Reynaldo Hazelrigg; that sort of villain never dies, and so he will wind up in prison, out in the Wild West, or in elected office. There needs to be a substantial denoument in which we catch a glimpse of Abe Lincoln in transition, a young man who is shouldering tremendous grief even while he moves onward towards both triumphs and far greater misfortunes.
I will never write about Lincoln's years as president. That time period has been exhaustively covered, and besides it is too profound and too dramatic for my purposes. On the other hand, young Lincoln the lawyer should be fine material for a courtroom thriller series, one that could very well keep me occupied into my dotage. Enough with these outlines. It's time to start fabricating.
Postscript:
Further details about Hazelrigg have emerged, drawn of course from the historical record. In his later years he traveled with a family of actors, a few of which were unstable at best. Ann and Abe's crime-fighting efforts had blackened his reputation considerably, so the proximity to itinerant thespians made it easier for Hazelrigg to change names and guises with some regularity.
When Abraham Lincoln died in 1865, assassinated by John Wilkes Booth and his extensive cabal of conspirators, Hazelrigg's jubilation must have been boundless, but he later found further outlets for his malevolence. In hopes of distressing Lincoln's family, a book by the spuriously-named R. Higgins was published which claimed that Ann Rutledge—daughter of "a failed barkeep"—was the one true love of Abraham Lincoln's life. There were a few lurid insinuations about their relationship, an unpleasantly detailed account of Ann's last days, and an "eyewitness report" of a bereaved Abe going on a violent, drunken spree. Mary Todd Lincoln and her son were very much disturbed by these rumors, as might be imagined.
On second thought, I might just lay down my metaphorical pen and reconsider the whole thing. I'm already feeling depressed, and maybe the dead should bury their dead, or however the saying goes. It's time to start over, and think of some clever animals—perhaps a rhinoceros or an ostrich—that learn to talk and start solving crimes.
That sort of story might not be as compelling to you, but it hurts me so much less.
John Dutterer is a short story writer and poet, although he mostly works in the book biz and tries to teach his kids how to play tennis. If he ever gets ahead of the daily grind, he wants to go back to abstract painting and maybe really learn French and Latin this time.
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