“And you could have stood up for Rembrandt when Mrs. McKinley attacked him over his vest.”
She lifted her chin. “I choose my battles carefully.”
“As do I.”
And he wanted out of this particular battle. He was in over his head. The first lady had been within yards of a potential assassin, and her secretary consorted with traitors. Even thinking about it made his ulcer ache.
“Caroline, I’m very busy, and unless you’re here to tell me that you are leaving White House employment, I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
A range of emotions flashed across her face before it finally settled into an expression of wounded anger.
“I came to see if you were all right after the stress of the day,” she said. “I can see that you have enough spit and vinegar to keep you fueled for decades. Good night, Nathaniel.”
Her voice radiated anger, but she closed the door with a soft click.
Caroline found it impossible to sleep that night. Every time she began drifting off, something caused her to jolt awake, the sound of shotguns echoing in her mind. She’d never been so terrified in her life as when she dove behind Ida’s wheelchair, hidinglike a coward. She had inanely covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, as though that would help her hide. She’d also screamed like a banshee, because that was what cowards did.
While she’d collapsed into mindless screaming, Nathaniel scooped Ida up like she weighed no more than a feather. He’d been so brave, but his abandonment hurt.
Logic said that Nathaniel had done exactly what he was supposed to do: protect the first lady at all costs. But the way he left her behind still stung. It was the Marine band’s clarinet player who came to her rescue, darting to her side and ushering her to safety.
Thank heaven for clarinet players, or she might still be cowering in the dirt behind that wheelchair.
Back at the White House, the staff were eager to hear her side of the dramatic events. She’d sat in the basement dining area while Mrs. Fitzpatrick made her a cup of chamomile tea. When Ludmila noticed Caroline trembling, the laundress gave her a warm hug. Later, the housekeeper turned down her bedsheets and offered to bring her a cool compress.
Everyone was so kind, but nervous agitation made the thought of sleep impossible. Caroline had gone to Nathaniel’s office to seek a bit of comfort from someone who had been there and might understand. Ida was being comforted by the president, and Rembrandt didn’t live at the White House, so that left Nathaniel, but he was as cold and nasty as he’d been since he learned about Luke.
Despite the trauma, life went on. Gray had said some of their care packages were now getting through to Luke, and Caroline intended to send him an extra-nice one, since their shared birthday was next week.
The first thing she did the next morning was carry the box to the basement and pay the clerk a small fee to include the care package in the outgoing mail shipment. Then she went to the kitchen for breakfast.
She hadn’t even taken her first bite of oatmeal before Nathaniel came barging in. His arm was still in the sling, and his neck was bandaged. She started to inquire after his health, but he didn’t let her get a word out.
“What’s in the package?” he demanded.
She winced, kicking herself for not taking the time to deliver it directly to a post office. Somehow Nathaniel had been informed of a package destined for Cuba, and it aroused his fear-mongering ways.
She glanced around the kitchen to see who else might overhear. Two cooks, two ushers, and Ludmila. None of them knew of Luke’s plight, and she wanted to keep it that way.
“I’m sending a care package to the imprisoned,” she said defensively. “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”
“What’s in it?”
“Peppermint sticks, some beef jerky, and a Mark Twain novel. Too wicked for you? Maybe I should swap out the Twain for a book of sermons.”
His face darkened, and he scanned her attire. He obviously disapproved as he looked at her frothy lace jabot and old-fashioned cameo. “It looks like you were pilfering the first lady’s wardrobe again this morning.”
She hadn’t pilfered! Yesterday had been unsettling, and the conservative attire made her feel composed. Yes, she’d gone to Ida’s closet, for Ida generously let Caroline store some of her clothes upstairs.
“I only have eighteen inches of wardrobe space in the ladies’ dorm,” she defended.
“I can hear the angels weep.”
Ludmila stifled a laugh, but Caroline was beginning to seethe. Hestillhadn’t bothered to ask how she fared after yesterday. All he’d done was fling insults at her.
“I survived yesterday’s shooting very well thanks to a brave clarinetist. Thank you for asking. Your concern means theworld to me. Incidentally, I have invited my friend from Serbia to have tea with the first lady today. Should Petra come armed with a grenade or other anarchist weapons, perhaps there will be a brave clarinetist or a trombone player on hand to come to my rescue.” She was being a snotty brat but couldn’t help it. He still wore that expressionless mask, and she needed to crack it. She turned to Ludmila. “We all know that knights in shining armor have a limited number of damsels they are willing to save.”
“I was doing my job,” Nathaniel defended.
