“I don’t either.”
“‘A time to mourn and a time to dance,’” he read, “then he flat out tells you to dance. I think you must be the good dancer he speaks of in the first part.”
“Unless, of course...”
“Unless we’re reading too much into this, and it is the ramblings of a confused and delirious man.”
She’d rather believe Luke was somehow up to his old tricks, like finagling a way to send a basket of artichokes or a dozen cadets to cheer a lonely girl on her birthday. Instead she was left with the uncomfortable conclusion that he was indeed losing hold of his sanity.
Nathaniel continued studying the letter. “He writes, ‘You know what to do,’ but youdon’t. The good news is that the army is allowing his letters to get through, so wait for more information. I know this is frustrating. Remember, this is a battle that might take months or years. When you have more details, you’ll be able to draw a better conclusion.”
Unless the army ordered a quick trial and execution. She closed her eyes and prayed.Dear Lord, what do you want me to do?
“Your brother quotes Ecclesiastes,” Nathaniel said. “It’s always been my favorite book in the Bible.”
She turned to him, question in her eyes, and he responded.
“In the dark time after Molly died I hated myself. I was strangled by grief and regret, but when I read Ecclesiastes, it brought comfort. We can’t control the seasons in our lives, only how we respond to them. God planted eternity in our hearts, a longing to find meaning in the world. I still haven’t found meaning in Molly’s death. I don’t know that I ever will. But Ecclesiastes teaches that such questioning is normal, and that brings me great comfort.”
Peace settled on her shoulders at his words, and she slipped her hand into his. He returned her squeeze, but she wouldn’t put him in an awkward situation, so she withdrew quickly.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, wishing for more but grateful for the fleeting moment of compassion he provided.
Twenty-Five
Contrary to his initial fears, Nathaniel was enjoying the cross-country tour with the McKinleys. After leaving Atlanta, the presidential party moved on to Alabama and Mississippi, stopping several times a day for visits at various locales. At each stop, Nathaniel and Sullivan were always first off the train, meeting with members of the local police to confirm security for the visit. By the time the entourage arrived at the venue, he was usually able to watch some of the ongoing festivities. He had accompanied the president to inspect army bases, lay memorial wreaths, and tour factories. He’d been to county fairs and watched hog racing. He escorted Mrs. McKinley to tour rose gardens and visit orphanages.
Caroline was breathing easier, having gotten a telegram from Gray reporting that Luke was well enough to be discharged from the hospital and was now confined to a private cell at the military base in Havana. Nathaniel still worried about her, though.
Today his challenge was to keep the president safe during a paddlewheel steamboat ride on the Mississippi River. He and Sullivan arrived an hour ahead of the president to secure the venue. A crowd had already begun gathering behind a barricadeset up by the police, and Nathaniel scanned the faces, noting the excited families with young children in tow, vendors hawking pastries, and the ever-present journalists with their notebooks. A weathered man with no shirt but a huge pair of angel wings anchored to his back held up a Bible and preached doom.
“Keep an eye on that one,” he said to the local police chief.
“We’ve already got him covered, but you don’t need to worry. Old Jake has been pacing the wharf for years and never done any harm.”
Old Jake might be a harmless loon, but Nathaniel still didn’t like it. He asked a local officer to continue scanning the crowd as he and Sullivan boarded the steamer for an inspection. As steamboats went, this was a compact one, with only three levels: the main deck, the boiler deck, and the hurricane deck on top, where the McKinleys would ride for the best view of the passing countryside.
Nathaniel searched each storage room and closet to ensure no stowaways had slipped aboard. He headed up to the top level, where a spacious sun deck surrounded the pilothouse. A high tea would be served on the deck in the middle of the four-hour tour, and a canvas pavilion had been erected to shield the first lady from the sun.
“It all checks out,” Sullivan confirmed, and Nathaniel agreed. He remained on the top deck to watch as the line of carriages carrying the president’s party approached the wharf. Mounted police officers rode ahead, alongside, and behind the carriages, and as instructed, there were no identifying decorations on the McKinley carriage.
By the time the president arrived, at least a thousand people had gathered to hear a brief speech. Cheers broke out as McKinley approached the podium, and a local band played “Hail to the Chief,” a song engraved on Nathaniel’s brain. When he was an old man, that tune would no doubt summon memories of this once-in-a-lifetime summer.
He scanned the crowd through his binoculars, searching for anyone who didn’t belong. All sorts had turned out today. Well-dressed men and ladies in their finest rubbed shoulders with longshoremen and street vendors. A little girl carried a lollipop almost as big as her head, and the child’s anxious mother tried to stop her from rubbing it in her hair.
The cheering went on for a full minute after McKinley mounted the podium. Caroline stood near the podium with the congressmen’s wives, smiling and clapping in the morning breeze. By heaven, she was lovely, and he stole a few seconds to indulge in the simple pleasure of admiring her.
A part of him wished they both lived in Chicago, where he could lead an uncomplicated life as an artist, and she could be a secretary for some local official. There wouldn’t be much money, but they could live simply. During the day he’d make engravings, and in the evenings they would go out to one of the many beer gardens, where they’d laugh and dance and sing long into the night.
“Get your head out of the clouds,” Sullivan said. “The speech is almost over, and we need to report to the main deck.”
“Of course,” Nathaniel said, pulling away from the railing. He shouldn’t be mooning over Caroline anyway.
Twenty minutes later, the presidential party was aboard, the gangway lifted, and the entrance secured. As the steamboat pulled away from shore, his tension began melting away. They were on a secure boat, and he could enjoy the ride like all the others onboard.
Everyone headed to the top deck, where the mayor of Natchez pointed out sights of interest to the president and congressmen. It didn’t take long to sail past the city, and then the slow-moving steamboat carried them into the marshlands, where cypress and tupelo trees draped with Spanish moss grew along the banks. Egrets picked through the cane grass while gulls swooped overhead.
All the while Nathaniel was intensely aware of Caroline. First she helped Mrs. McKinley to the main table, then she fetched a pitcher of iced tea and a plate of lemon cookies for the ladies. Twice she caught him admiring her, but maybe there was something about the languid weather that made it easy to let his guard down, and he didn’t look away like he normally would. It was a perfect day, and the natural beauty of the river made him long for an easel, his sketchpad, and a whole box of pastels. All around him, the sounds of the party unfolded, but he didn’t mind being alone. The beauty of the countryside and Caroline Delacroix was enough to keep him entranced for hours.
