She shot to her feet. “You could have acted like you cared! I have no experience with how to behave when someone shoots at me, so I cowered in the dirt and screamed like a nitwit. It was horrible and embarrassing and frightening.”
She must have gotten through to him, for he looked away and spoke under his breath. “Caroline, I’m sorry.”
It was an infinitesimal budge, but it was enough. He’d done exactly the right thing yesterday. It was childish to wish he had deviated from the rules for her, but the fact that he admitted regret was enough.
“Thank you,” she said, and returned to her breakfast.
Nathaniel left the kitchen without a backward glance. The war would probably be back on the next time she saw him, but at least there was still a scintilla of human warmth in him.
The day went from bad to worse, for Ida was in a roaring mood. She awakened with a headache, her leg hurt, and breakfast did not agree with her. She focused her ire on the starch from the president’s newly laundered shirts.
“They smell,” she groused. “I won’t subject the Major to foul-smelling shirts while he is sacrificing himself for the good of this country. They must all be washed and pressed again, and this time, tell that girl to do it right.”
Ida dumped the shirts on the floor, ensuring they would need to be laundered again. That meant Ludmila would endure hours of additional work, all because Ida was in a crabby mood. Caroline swallowed back a retort.
“It will be done,” she said, calmly picking up the shirts. It was the same starch that had been used for years, but Ida was still tense after yesterday’s events at the Naval Hospital, and the starch was an easy target for her anxiety. She flatly refused to meet Petra to discuss funding for the girls’ school, so Caroline spent the day planning dinner menus for the following week.
In the evening, she retreated to the roof of the White House to watch the setting sun and quietly pray.
Dear Lord, I want to build a school,she silently implored.It’s the only truly selfless thing I’ve ever done in my life. Please grant me the wisdom and the patience to see this through.
The worries and tensions of the day began to unknot, and peace settled around her. She couldn’t know if Petra’s school would succeed or if Luke would ever enjoy another day of freedom, but there was dignity to be found in fighting for a cause.
She gazed at the streaks of gold from the setting sun and closed her prayer.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Twelve
Sharing a dormitory with nine other women made sleep a challenge for Caroline, especially since everyone had different work schedules. The kitchen staff were always first to rise. Caroline snapped awake as soon as Betsy, the kitchen maid whose bed was closest to hers, rose from her mattress.
It was only five o’clock and still pitch dark as Betsy and the other kitchen staff quietly dressed, then tiptoed from the dormitory. Caroline burrowed deeper into her mattress in hope of finding a little more rest.
It was not to be. A few minutes later, the patter of light footsteps sounded in the hallway, and the door squeaked open. Betsy tiptoed to Caroline’s bedside and tapped her shoulder. “Caroline, wake up,” she whispered. “Happy birthday.”
Ludmila was still sound asleep, so Caroline kept her voice low as she rolled over to peer at the maid. “How did you know it was my birthday?”
In truth, she had completely forgotten about it, but as of five hours ago, she was twenty-nine years old.
“A gift was delivered for you last night,” Betsy whispered. “Come down to the kitchen and see.”
It must be from Gray. He was the only person likely to rememberher birthday, and a tiny niggle of delight stirred inside. She loved presents, even if they were only from her brother.
She quickly pulled on her plainest gown and followed Betsy down the servants’ staircase. The kitchen smelled good, for coffee was already percolating and Mrs. Fitzpatrick was making cinnamon rolls. The counters were filled with food for the day: crates of vegetables, stacks of bread, chickens soon to be plucked, and a bowl of eggs.
“Something arrived for me?” she asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
The cook nodded to the far side of the kitchen where a basket overflowing with artichokes sat on the staff dining table. Caroline stood in dazed amazement, then walked over to it, still not believing her eyes.
A card rested atop the mound of artichokes, reading simply,Happy Birthday, Caroline.
Luke was the only person who ever gave her artichokes, and her fingers trembled as she picked up the card. There was no signature or return address. The message was typed, so she couldn’t even study the handwriting.
“You adorable fool,” she whispered.
“Who sent it?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick asked.
Luke.He was the only person she could imagine doing such a thing, but she could hardly say so.
