“No.”
“No? It’s very interesting. Apparently President McKinley was dismayed by how popular William Jennings Bryan proved to be in the heartland. He thinks perhaps he’s been too closeted in the White House. He plans a transcontinental tour of the country next year. All the way to California and back. A three-month tour.”
Three months living on a train would be pure torture, butsince Nathaniel wouldn’t be there, it didn’t matter. “I wish him joy in it.”
“I need you to be on that train.”
Nathaniel vaulted off the bench. “Absolutely not! I’ve drafted a comprehensive plan for securing the White House and the safety of the first family. I did exactly what you asked. Now I’m done.”
Wilkie shifted on the bench, his face wincing in discomfort. “You did. But no one understands security on a moving train more than you. That sort of traveling caravan is a dangerous operation, and you’re the best we have for the job.”
It was true. Once he’d provided security for six months on payroll trains as they traveled to army encampments throughout the United States. He’d planned reconnaissance, surveyed routes, organized transfers, and successfully fought off two attempted train robberies, but he was done. Wilkie couldn’t ask this of him. It was true that no one knew more about securing the safety of a target-rich train than he did, but he couldn’t go on. Three months of constant vigilance, seven days a week, had taken its toll. Even now it felt like steel bands tightening around his chest.
“John, don’t ask this of me.”
“I’m asking. I don’t want to, but it’s the right thing to do, and we both know it.”
There was no need for elaboration. If the cross-country tour didn’t exist, Wilkie would gladly let Nathaniel go back to investigating counterfeit. That wasn’t the case, and there was no need to dwell on impossibilities. Nathaniel stared at a street sweeper in the distance as suffocating walls closed in around him, making it hard to breathe.
“All right. I’ll do it,” he said.
He was in a foul mood all the way back to the White House. The weather was getting worse, with sleet turning into snow as he approached the iron railing encircling the White House lawn. As he passed through the gates, it felt like walking into a prison.
He choked back his distaste and assumed a mask of calm professionalism. He’d always been able to hide his emotions, locking them down so firmly that no one would ever suspect the cauldron boiling beneath the surface. He nodded to the sentry at the front door and exchanged pleasantries with the cook as he asked her to make a sandwich he could take to his office.
“And a glass of milk, please.” It would help with the ulcer starting to burn in the pit of his gut.
The cook beamed as she bought him a glass. “What a fine young man you are! Most men want a beer with their dinner, but I like that you prefer milk. You’re the sort who would never drink alcohol in the White House, even after hours.”
“True,” he conceded, wishing he had the ability to take life a little less seriously. He breathed a sigh of relief as he left the kitchen and headed toward his office. No one downstairs suspected his panic.
He’d just sat down at his desk to eat his sandwich when Caroline appeared in his doorway.
“Good, you’re here,” she said with a smile. Then it vanished. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Yes, it is. You look all stiff and grim. Has something bad happened?”
It was annoying that Caroline could see through him so easily. He had no intention of discussing this weakness with her. “What do you need?”
She smiled prettily. “I’m hoping to use your telephone. There’s bad weather coming, and the line to use the one in the basement is atrocious, with people calling to cancel plans. I need to call my older brother. Please?”
He gestured to the telephone and took a bite of his sandwich. Caroline stepped forward and picked up the receiver but made no move to initiate the call.
“It’s a private conversation.”
At least she had the grace to look embarrassed. He glared while he finished chewing, then drained half the milk and plunked the glass down with a thud. He picked up his sandwich to carry it outside.
“Make it quick,” he said as he headed into the hall. Caroline flashed him a grateful smile and closed the door behind him.
He probably ought to leave, but he was in no mood for it, so he quickly set his plate on the floor, then leaned in to eavesdrop. Caroline was lying about her reason for wanting the privacy of his office. He could tell by the way she tried to keep smiling while she talked. A dead giveaway.
The telephone connection was patched through, but it didn’t sound like she was talking to her brother. It sounded like ...a bill collector? All his senses went on alert. Tension was coiled in her voice as she asked for more time to come up with the funds. He leaned in closer and held his breath to catch her end of the conversation.
“All I need is two more months,” she said. “Repossessing the equipment won’t do either of us any good.”
Was Caroline in some sort of financial difficulty? He pressed his ear to the door, eyes widening in surprise as details of the debt emerged.
