“Yes, sir.” Sullivan’s inflexible respect for the rules made him exactly the sort of man Nathaniel wanted as his second-in-command.
“Next week the first lady is hosting a luncheon at the Corcoran museum,” he continued. “I’ll inspect the museum to design a security plan, but please be sure the bushes and shrubs are cut back on that route as well.”
Sullivan’s freckled face bunched in confusion. “We are to protect the first lady too?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“It doesn’t seem right when she’s not in the building. If she wants to leave the White House, the people shouldn’t have to pay for security.”
Sullivan’s adherence to the rules was usually welcome, but it could be a stumbling block too. Congress hadn’t authorized security for the president’s family, but it was a gaping flaw that needed to be filled.
“Two years ago, the empress of Austria was assassinated while shopping,” he told Sullivan. “She was accompanied only by a single friend and was an obvious target. Now her husband is cracking down on the radicals, which is exacerbating the situation in Europe. I don’t want that here. We will protect the first lady, no matter what Congress says.”
“Then Congress ought to change the law.”
“Yes, they ought to, but we can’t let the congressional budget interfere with our mission to protect the president and his family. We cannot expect them to be prisoners in the White House. That means that when the first lady leaves the house, she will be protected.”
Sullivan’s light blue eyes were troubled, but he nodded. “Yes, sir. I just don’t like breaking the rules.”
Nathaniel didn’t either, but he liked the thought of an assassin’s bullet even less. And that meant he’d break the rules if it meant protecting Mrs. McKinley.
The Corcoran Gallery of Art was only blocks away from the White House, but any time the first family left the residence, Nathaniel was on edge. He had less control in public buildings, with their myriad entrances, exits, and unfamiliar staff.
At least he’d had plenty of notice about the upcoming receptionfor senators’ wives to be hosted by Mrs. McKinley at the Corcoran. The museum had been chosen for its charm rather than safety. It was going to be a security challenge, which was why he spent the afternoon inspecting the museum with Caroline as she outlined her vision for the luncheon.
“The formal portion will be in the upstairs exhibition gallery,” she said as they headed down the marble-lined corridor to inspect the only elevator in the building. “Mrs. McKinley has difficulty with stairs, and some of the other ladies may need to use the elevator as well. Senator Himmelfarb’s wife is eighty-six.”
“Mrs. McKinley will ride the elevator alone except for you and two members of my staff,” Nathaniel said. “I can’t allow her to be trapped in an elevator with people I don’t know.” He was pleased at how readily Caroline agreed. After a bumpy start, the two of them had been cooperating quite well over the past few weeks. Overall, working with Caroline was a joy.
No, that wasn’t quite right. It was better to think of her as a colleague for whom he had professional regard and nothing more. The other feelings that sometimes tugged at the edges of his awareness needed to be ignored.
Which was challenging today. Caroline stood only two feet away from him as they waited for the elevator, and her upswept hair exposed the curve of her neck, making it difficult to concentrate. The elevator arrived, and he stepped inside with Caroline.
“Going up?” the uniformed attendant asked. Nathaniel nodded, making a note to check the credentials of the elevator attendant who would be on duty the day of the event.
The luncheon would be held in the exhibition hall, a cavernous room with a domed ceiling. Their footsteps echoed as they entered the huge chamber.
“Each of the senators’ wives will have a special keepsake from Mrs. McKinley placed at her seat,” Caroline said. “I’llmake arrangements for the gifts to be delivered the morning of the event.”
She continued outlining how the tables would be arranged, the timing for the event, and how the servers would deliver and clear the meal, but Nathaniel’s attention kept drifting to the art on the walls, a collection of Renaissance engravings on loan to the museum for the rest of the year.
Renaissance engravings were his Achilles’ heel. His love of engraving dated back to his art school days in Chicago, when he used every dollar he could save to be trained in the creation of steel-faced copper plates used for making prints. Engraving merged artistic skill with attention to detail, and he loved it. It required hours of exacting concentration to make the plates that could produce designs on a grand scale.
He wandered over to admire Albrecht Dürer’s woodcut ofThe Prodigal Son. Dürer had perfectly captured the desperation in the young man’s clasped hands as he prayed for redemption. Nathaniel had always longed to be capable of portraying human emotion with such mastery. He was a good artist, but he’d long been reconciled to the fact that he would never compete on this level. Now he simply stared in silent admiration at the work of a long-dead genius.
Caroline came up alongside him. “That man looks like he’s seen better days,” she quipped with a nod to the prodigal son.
“Dürer changed my life,” Nathaniel said quietly.
What had made him say that? Caroline had no need to know of his long-ago visit to the Chicago museum where Dürer’s work set his adolescent imagination on fire.
“How so?” she asked.
He backed away from the truth and used a safer answer. “His engravings use similar techniques to those for printing currency. I went to art school and studied the process.”
“You can do art like this?” she asked, gaping at the exquisite woodcut before them.
To his mortification, a blush started to heat his cheeks. “No,” he rushed to say. “Albrecht Dürer is the holy grail of engravers. I’m only an amateur.”
