I know the vote is only four days away; I know you're concerned. Thank you for your concern over this, and I want you to know: They'll approve it. God will see to it.

I don't envy Him His task. He may wish He'd chosen an instrument for His purpose more wieldy than the House of Representatives.

Then you'll see to it.

Are you afraid of what lies ahead? For your people? If we succeed?

White people don't want us here.

Many don't.

What about you?

I... I don't know you, Mrs. Keckley. Any of you. You're... familiar to me, as all people are. Un-accommodated, poor, bare, forked creatures such as we all are. You have a right to expect what I expect, and likely our expectations are not incomprehensible to each other. I assume I'll get used to you. But what you are to the nation, what'll become of you once slavery's day is done, I don't know.

What my people are to be, I can't say. Negroes have been fighting and dying for freedom since the first of us was a slave. I never heard any ask what freedom will bring. Freedom's first. As for me: My son died, fighting for the Union, wearing the Union blue. For freedom he died. I'm his mother. That's what I am to the nation, Mr. Lincoln. What else must I be?