All along the way, there would be parades, speeches, dinners with local officials, and a nonstop stream of well-wishers. Thousands of people were expected at each stop. Most cities on the route wanted to treat the president to a parade with an open-air carriage ride for the first couple to see the town at its best. Nathaniel made a trip to John Wilkie’s office in an attempt to veto all open carriage rides.
“The parades are an unacceptable security risk,” he said. “You should see the letters the president has been receiving lately.”
Wilkie propped his feet on his desk, slowly puffing on a cigar. “What kind of letters?”
“Mostly from crackpots,” Nathaniel admitted. “An astrologer claims the stars are aligned for the president to die on thenext full moon, and a woman from Nebraska has foreseen the president’s death by falling off a grain elevator. Fortunately, there are no trips to grain elevators on the tour.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I can’t guarantee the president’s security,” Nathaniel said tightly. “Not with only four men.”
“There will be dozens of local police officers at each stop,” Wilkie said mildly.
“Who I’ll need to train in scarcely ten minutes before the president’s wife starts banging her cane to disembark. I know this woman, and the president can’t stand up to her.”
Thank heavens Caroline would be along on the trip. She was a godsend for keeping Mrs. McKinley pacified, even though it was getting harder for Nathaniel to maintain a professional distance from her. With such thin security on the train, he couldn’t be distracted by a pretty girl.
But he cared for her. A great deal. Their forced proximity during the journey would be sweet torture, for he could only admire her from afar. That would have to be enough.
“I have complete faith in you,” Wilkie said. “You will have the support of local police at every stop along the way. Everything will be fine.”
Nathaniel wished he shared Wilkie’s confidence.
Caroline’s days were busier than ever in the weeks leading up to the train tour, so she welcomed her rare evening free from duties. Mrs. McKinley had retired to bed early, meaning Caroline could do the same. She curled up atop her bedding, still wearing a skirt and blouse. Ida often changed her mind and decided she needed Caroline after all, but Caroline could shed her vest, unpin her collar, and kick off her shoes. It was time to finally begin a reread ofNorthanger Abbey, a silly novel she secretly adored. In deference to the kitchen staff whowere already abed, she read by the light of a single kerosene lantern turned low.
She hadn’t even finished the first chapter when a gentle tapping on the door disrupted the silence. “Man on the floor,” a soft voice called from the opposite side.
Caroline sighed but hurried to answer the door. The rest of the staff shouldn’t be disturbed because of Ida’s demands.
Sullivan was in the hallway. “There’s a man here to see you,” he said quietly. “He says he’s your brother Gray. He looks upset. He wants to see you right away.”
Her heart seized. It was nine o’clock, and Gray wasn’t the sort to make unexpected calls unless something was seriously wrong. She didn’t even bother to put her shoes back on, just hiked up her skirt and followed Sullivan to the main floor, where Gray paced in a small meeting room.
He looked terrible. His collar was askew and hair tousled, as though he’d been dragging his hands through it. She closed the door, and he grasped her by the forearms to lead her to a chair.
“What’s wrong,” she demanded. She knew it was about Luke, and it was surely bad.
“Luke is in trouble. He’s got pneumonia and is going downhill fast. The Cubans transferred him to the American hospital at the military base in Havana.”
She clasped a hand over her throat. She ought to have known that dank cell would be the death of him, and now he was battling for his life. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that the Cubans are afraid he might die. An army doctor has seen him, and he’s getting the best care possible, but they don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
“I’ll go to him.” Luke wouldn’t die alone. If she left now, she could be there within two days, but Gray kept talking.
“Things are going from bad to worse,” he said. “His guilty plea has been recognized, and now that he’s back in American custody, a date has been set for his trial. If he survives the illness,he’ll go on trial with no more delays, and we both know he intends to plead guilty. He’s charged with a hanging offense.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“What about Philip Ransom? Does he have any pull at all that might help?” For once, Gray looked panicked and uncertain, and it rattled her. Gray was supposed to be the strong one who always knew what to do, but Philip the Meek wasn’t the right person to depend on in an emergency.
She shook her head. “Philip can’t even maneuver himself out of a clerical job in the basement. He can’t possibly pull strings overseas.”
“Then we need to get Luke transferred to the mainland,” Gray said. “I don’t trust a trial in Cuba. They could slam him through an impromptu trial without any press or publicity. The outcome won’t be good.”
He outlined the only plan that made any sense. He would sail to Cuba immediately and provide whatever aid he could for Luke, while Caroline leaned on her connections here to get Luke transferred to the mainland.
It felt right to take action. No more waiting. It was time to pay another call on Captain Holland.
