“I’m sorry if this line of questioning makes you uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I ignored this.”
Her jaw tightened as she moved away to stare out at the lawn. She wasn’t angry on Petra’s behalf so much as fearful for her brother. What would Nathaniel say if he knew her twin brother was currently being held in a Cuban prison, suspected of plotting treason against the United States?
Luke’s arrest had been a stunning shock. As always, thinking about him caused a crushing weight of sadness to settle on her chest. This time last summer, she and Luke had been indulging in outdoor picnics and long afternoons sailing on the Potomac. She had been teaching him to play lawn tennis, while he’d been tutoring her in Spanish. How long ago those memories seemed now.
“Petra is seeking funding for a girl’s school,” she said, trying to mask the defensiveness in her voice. “You have nothing to fear from her.”
She retreated into the coolness of the house, unable to bear Nathaniel’s scrutiny any longer. At all costs, she must ensure that he didn’t learn of Luke’s dilemma, or he would boot her from the White House without ceremony.
Five
Caroline was still worried about her tiff with Nathaniel as she headed to afternoon tea with Petra the next day. Despite her Bohemian ways, it was Petra who first suggested the idea of establishing a school as a means of lifting immigrant girls out of grinding poverty and into a respectable profession.
Caroline’s hope was that Ida might help raise funds for the school. Last month the first lady had visited a factory of female lace makers in Baltimore, and the associated publicity had garnered hefty donations from as far away as San Francisco to improve the working conditions. Caroline hoped for similar success with Petra’s school.
Tea had already been set up in the back garden of Petra’s townhouse when Caroline arrived.
“Darling,” Petra drawled, although in her thick Serbian accent it sounded more like “daaahlink.” They embraced and kissed on both cheeks as the Europeans did, and then Petra gestured to the table set beneath cherry trees. “Come try this new tea. It’s imported from the Himalayas.”
Petra poured tea and sliced an almond cake with the elegance of the diplomat’s wife she once had been. Caroline gamely took a sip of the Himalayan tea and winced.
“It’s not very good, is it?” Petra asked.
“You taught me better than to answer a question like that.” Caroline had learned much from Petra, everything from how to flatter a disgruntled bureaucrat to carefully navigating a minefield of politically charged conversations.
After finishing their almond cake, Petra launched into the reason for their meeting today. She had already leased a building close to a streetcar stop so students could get to it without difficulty. Rooms would be designated for English language instruction, typing, and switchboard skills.
“I also want the school to help the students find jobs,” Petra said.
Caroline nodded. “I can help there. I know plenty of people who own businesses in Washington, and my brother knows even more.” Her brother Gray employed hundreds in his spice business and had connections all over the East Coast.
Petra opened a petite jade box filled with loose tobacco and began rolling a cigarette. Caroline looked away, focusing on a squirrel gathering acorns for the coming winter. Anything to distract her from the craving for a cigarette. It had been twelve days since she’d given in to temptation.
The strike of a match startled the squirrel, and a moment later Petra released a long sigh as she drew on the cigarette. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”
“I’m sure.”
Nathaniel wouldn’t like a woman who smoked. Not that she would ever change to suit Nathaniel Trask. It was merely that he knew how hard she was trying to quit, and she refused to be a failure in his eyes. She wanted his respect.
“There is a new head of security in the White House,” she said, hoping the topic would divert her from the tense, tingly desire for a cigarette. She stood and paced in the small garden. “He’s completely irrational. He won’t even permit men to have their hands in their pockets if the president is nearby.”
Petra shrugged. “What sort of person would act so casual when the president is in the room? That sounds like good manners to me.”
“It’s paranoia. He’s afraid any given person might have a gun or a knife in his pocket. It’s embarrassing.”
Petra gave a world-weary sigh. “My friend, I’m afraid you are sadly naive. We live in a dangerous world with hostile people who would force change at the end of a gun. It’s far easier to eliminate the head of your enemy than to take on his army. That is why the assassins are so dangerous these days. Let your new security agent enforce his rules, even if you think them silly. Someday you may be grateful for that.”
It was a worrisome thought. Caroline’s entire life had been spent among wealthy, high-society intellectuals who fought with words, not guns. It was hard to imagine the world Petra described, but maybe she was right.
Nathaniel strolled the White House grounds to inspect the new security fence along the perimeter. Cormac Sullivan stood guard at the main entrance, broiling beneath the hot August sun. He was a newly promoted field agent and the son of Irish immigrants from Boston’s south side. Next week a guardhouse would be installed to provide shelter for the men on guard duty, but for now Sullivan stood in the open, the beginning of a sunburn on his pale Irish face.
Nathaniel moved in close to speak in a low voice. “I overheard a tourist from Maryland say she thinks you look like Prince Charming.”
Sullivan blanched. “Really?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
Nathaniel continued patrolling the grounds. A pair of electricians worked to install new lampposts every twenty yards along the perimeter, a desperately needed addition to theirnighttime security. The new fencing, the lamps, the guardhouse, and the nightly patrols had already greatly improved security outside the house.
