Maude wasn’t intimidated. She raised her chin and met old Magruder’s gaze without flinching. “Not your maple syrup. I was cheated, and your son just admitted it.”
“I know all about genuine maple syrup,” Jedidiah said, his voice trembling with anger. He stood and jerked his suit jacket off, then began rolling up his sleeves. Clyde tried to coax his father down, but Jedidiah shrugged him off. “I was harvesting and boiling maple sap when I was eight years old. You see these scars?” he demanded, holding up his forearms. “That’s what comes from getting scalded on a sap boiler. I’m proud of these scars. I’m proud of every product coming out of a Magruder factory. Of course our maple syrup is pure. I have no problem listing exactly what is in every tin of Magruder syrup.”
Clyde stood and tried to force the old man to sit down, but Jedidiah was having none of it, continuing to rant that all Magruder products were pure. The journalists scribbled to keep up with the stream of angry promises, but most important was the government stenographer, whose rattling machine captured every word. Jedidiah’s ranting carried no legal weight, but he was still painting his company into a corner.
Maude held up a paper summarizing their research from the Library of Congress. “I’d also like the company to address their fraudulent applesauce, vanilla flavoring, coffee—”
“That will do,” Major Gilligan interrupted. “This is irrelevant to the military, but you can send those papers over to the Department of Agriculture. They’d probably care; they love that sort of thing.”
“Actually, we’re here,” someone said at the back of the room. Four men in plain suits stood, introducing themselves as members of the committee for food standards. “We are overjoyed the Magruders have agreed to list ingredients on their products for all the American people. Well done, sir!”
Jedidiah finally realized his every word was being recorded,and plopped back into his chair, breathing heavily, while Clyde remained standing and took over for his father.
“That’s not going to happen,” Clyde said. “I know that government bureaucrats may lack an understanding of the complexities of labeling processed food—”
“I don’t,” Gray said. “It’s actually quite easy to get new labels printed up. I can show you how.”
Clyde’s eyes narrowed, no doubt remembering the laughing mice on the label Luke had designed. “Nothing said here today is legally binding,” he bit out. “The only thing that matters are the words written on that contract, and it’s for baked beans and chipped—”
A commotion in the doorway caused Clyde to pause. Two bull-necked men entered the room, followed by Caroline pushing a dour-looking woman in a wheelchair. The first lady? The middle-aged woman wore a high-necked gown, and her steel-gray hair was braided around her head like a crown. Caroline met Gray’s gaze across the crowded conference room and winked. In front of her, Ida McKinley sat in the wheelchair like it was a throne, wearing a fierce expression as she banged her cane on the floor with considerable vigor.
“Why did this meeting start without me?” the first lady demanded, her voice ringing through the chamber. Even Maude Larkin dropped into her seat, stunned into dazed silence.
Major Gilligan rose, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he adjusted the collar of his uniform. “We were unaware you planned on attending, ma’am.”
“I take an avid interest in the health of our troops. Everyone knows that.”
Major Gilligan gestured to a young orderly to make space at the table. “Please join us, ma’am. We certainly welcome your insight on supporting our troops.”
Ida McKinley was as welcome as a wasp at a picnic. She was notorious for her surly disposition and gauche personal attacks,which was why she rarely made public appearances. Caroline looked serenely smug as she positioned Mrs. McKinley’s wheelchair at the conference table, then glided into the neighboring chair like a princess. With a smile at Clyde, she set a copy ofGood Housekeepingon the table before Mrs. McKinley.
Clyde looked ready to choke. His eyes narrowed and his hands fisted, but Mrs. McKinley was sermonizing about the health of the troops, and he could hardly interrupt the first lady.
“The canned food served to our troops during the recent war was an abomination,” Mrs. McKinley pronounced. “What did those newspapers call it?” she asked, turning to Caroline.
“Embalmed beef, ma’am,” Caroline supplied.
Mrs. McKinley smacked the table before her. “Embalmed beef!” she said in a scornful tone and turned to Major Gilligan. “To send our young men overseas and feed them slop? I’m ashamed of our conduct. Ashamed! I certainly hope there is no embalmed beef on that contract before you.”
“No indeed, ma’am,” Major Gilligan said. “Magruder’s chipped beef is the only canned meat in the contract, and I can attest it is a recipe I myself enjoy. Our troops will, as well.”
Mrs. McKinley swiveled her steely gaze to Clyde. “You are Mr. Magruder?”
Clyde gave a stiff nod.
“Aiming to be Congressman Magruder, if the rumors are true,” Mrs. McKinley said.
“They are,” Clyde said. “I aspire to represent the great city of Baltimore.”
“It is indeed a great city,” Mrs. McKinley said. “Baltimore is the home of Fort McHenry and birthplace of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Next month the crown princess of Greece will be visiting, and her itinerary will take her through Baltimore. I can only hope there will be no counterfeit applesauce on the menu?”
“Of course not,” Clyde said, flustered by this unexpected turn in the meeting.
“Good, because some of the shoddy food I’ve seen in Washington never fails to amaze me. You should have seen the stale tea cakes I was served by the Ladies Temperance Union. You would think those women would have—”
Caroline placed a hand on the first lady’s wrist, and she immediately stopped talking as Caroline whispered in her ear, gesturing to the military contract on the table. Mrs. McKinley nodded and straightened, focusing her attention back on Clyde.
“Well, we aren’t here to revisit that luncheon, no matter how substandard the tea cakes. I need to be assured that the leading food manufacturer in this nation, led by a man who hopes to grace the halls of Congress, will not foist counterfeit applesauce on the crown princess of Greece.”
