“Grandma,” said her granddaughter, in reply to a request that she be given the telegram that she knew must be there, “would you be surprised to get bad news this morning?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she answered slowly.
“Grandma,” she said, “there is bad news.”
“Is he dead?” asked the old lady tremulously.
“He is.”
The tears started as she asked, “Is it true? Then the Lord help me, for if he is dead what shall I do? I have no further wish to live, and I cannot live if it is so.”
The tolling of the bells had not wakened her in the night, and every care was taken to keep her from excitement; but she was rendered nervous and weak, and those about greatly feared the result of the shock. Several times she retired to her room, and later in the day it was evident that she had brought herself into a composed state. Alone in her grief she had found strength to meet the blow, and she read the telegram which said, “James died this evening at 10.35. He calmly breathed his life away.” Then after a long silence she slowly said, “I can firmly believe that God knows best, and I must not murmur.”
At Mentor the two younger sons were staying with Mrs. Garfield’s brother, and in the early morning they were told of their loss. At Williams College were Harry and James, the latter ill of malaria contracted in Washington. The eldest son reached his mother’s side the next day, leaving his brother behind.
At Elberon preparations were making for the removal of the body to Washington, and Mrs. Garfield was surrounded by the ladies of the Cabinet and others. After the autopsy, which revealed the nature of the wound and showed that the President could not have recovered, and that had he lived he would have been a hopeless invalid, the brave, suffering woman grew calmer, and with unfailing courage met the demands made upon her. She saw President Arthur, who called with General Grant, and refused herself to none whose presence was warranted by right of official rank or personal friendship.
It was Mrs. Garfield’s wish that there should be a religious service held at the cottage before the start was made for Washington. At half-past nine on Wednesday morning the doors were closed to the public, and the Rev. Charles J. Young, of Long Branch, stepped to the head of the bier to begin the service. The audience gathered about him comprised the highest officials of the land and their wives, together with all who had been in attendance upon the President. At the moment when all was in readiness, Mrs. Garfield leaned towards Colonel Rockwell, who stood near her, and spoke in a whisper to him. He raised his hand to bid the minister wait, and said in a low tone that Mrs. Garfield wished to look into the coffin before the service. Immediately she arose and taking her daughter by the hand went to the side of it. Both stood hand in hand, the daughter weeping violently, the mother looking down into the coffin, showing no emotion beyond a face like marble. She stood motionless for what seemed a very long time to the anxious friends about her. There was not a dry eye in the room, and strong men wept as they gazed upon the touching scene.