After the photograph had been taken, Nathaniel slid a piece of paper before Mr. Jankowski. “I’d like you to write a short letter to the president, and I promise to deliver it,” he said. “I want you to include your name and address as well.”
Jankowski seemed eager for the chance to make his case and began writing. Behind him, Nathaniel watched as Sullivan led the McKinleys off the steamboat and into a waiting carriage.
There could be no reasoning with a man who thought electrical machines were sending him messages. While a piece of Nathaniel sympathized with Jankowski’s pain, it was time to be blunt, forceful, and intimidating. He waited until the president’s carriage was gone, then took the letter from Jankowski.
“I am going to deliver this letter to the president. If you hear nothing from him, it is because he wishes no contact with you. He is the most powerful man in the nation, and if he wishes to pursue a relationship with you, he will. You will not attempt to contact—”
Mr. Jankowski shot to his feet. “Unacceptable!”
Nathaniel stood. “I repeat. You will not contact the president. Any further communication will be considered a threat.These four officers are going to sit with you for a while. I will arrange for dinner to be sent over, and tomorrow you will board a train back to New Jersey.”
Jankowski shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not going to do it, boy. I won’t give up.”
Possibly, but the police departments along their upcoming route would be blanketed with Jankowski’s photograph, and the police in Jersey City would be instructed to keep an eye on him.
And Nathaniel would be on the lookout. As he headed back to the train, the gnawing anxiety never far beneath the surface roared to life.
The mood in the dining car that evening was unexpectedly boisterous, exacerbating Nathaniel’s headache. Only three hours had elapsed from the moment he had recognized Mr. Jankowski in the crowd, but he was exhausted as he took a seat at dinner. Most of the others in the dining car had mugs of beer or glasses of wine, but Nathaniel was in no mood to celebrate.
The president made a point of stopping at Nathaniel’s table. “Well done, Mr. Trask,” he said formally, offering a quick handshake.
Nathaniel stood. “Thank you, sir.”
The interaction took only a few seconds, then McKinley was on his way toward his own table.
Sullivan tried to push a beer on Nathaniel. “Relax!” he said. “We have no duties until we pull into New Orleans. You spotted the bad guy. Neutralized him. We should be celebrating.”
Nathaniel wasn’t entitled to celebrate. A dangerously unstable man had gotten within shooting distance of the president several times over the space of a week before Nathaniel had spotted him.
After dinner he retreated to the privacy of the sleeping car,where he could think. He brought his logbook and sat at the only table to record the day’s events. What could he learn from this breach that could be used to tighten security in the future? According to Mr. Jankowski, his wife and others in their town knew of his delusions about the president. As soon as Rembrandt developed the photograph, Nathaniel would distribute it and hopefully keep Jankowski neutralized, but how many other delusional men were out there?
It was impossible to sleep that night, for it might only be a matter of time before a crack in his security split wide open, and there’d be nothing he could do.
Twenty-Six
The following weeks would forever be crystallized in Caroline’s mind as an enchanted interlude, so different than anything she’d ever experienced in her life. In San Antonio they visited the Alamo and were serenaded by a mariachi band. In El Paso they were greeted with armfuls of roses, and President McKinley walked right up to the border, where he shook hands with the Mexican president.
Their traveling caravan moved through endless western vistas dotted with buffalo and wheat and an immense sky. They visited army outposts, ranches, and even an ostrich farm, where the hatching of two huge eggs was so fascinating that they delayed their departure to stay and watch. The beaming farmer named the newly hatched birds Mr. and Mrs. McKinley. They went through the desert southwest, where she had her photograph made while standing beside a cactus that towered more than twice her height.
In California they walked through fragrant orange groves and tasted pineapple freshly cut from the stalk. Ida’s sister, Pina, and her niece Mary joined them in California for the last few weeks of the journey, which meant Caroline had more free time.
More than anything, Caroline looked forward to seeing thePacific Ocean for the first time. In San Luis Obispo, they were scheduled to tour an old Spanish mission, but all Caroline could dream of was a chance to see the ocean only ten miles away. Ida was well cared for by her sister, and Caroline nagged Nathaniel to take her to the coast.
“Sullivan and the local sheriff can guard the president, and we’re so close I can smell the salt in the air. Please?”
Her cause was helped by Rembrandt and George, who both wanted to see the Pacific as well. She could see the longing just beneath Nathaniel’s austere expression and decided to tease him into temptation.
“George will assure we will be well chaperoned, so you need not fear I shall compromise your famed modesty.”
He cracked, giving her one of those closed-mouth smiles she adored, and agreed to rent a carriage to take them to the coast. It was a dusty ride as the carriage lurched over bumpy paths, but at last they arrived, and Caroline hiked up her skirts to climb the scrub-covered ridge, for the roar of the ocean could be heard on the other side.
“Oh my word,” she whispered upon seeing it. How different it was from the ocean in Virginia, where the harbors were heavily developed and protected by breakwaters. Here she stood on a rugged cliff, buffeted by the wind as she gazed at the splendor below. George scrambled down the cliffside toward the beach, but Rembrandt had lugged his equipment to the top of the ridge.
She reached for Nathaniel’s hand and smiled at Rembrandt. “Will you take our photograph?” she asked. This was a magical day, and she wanted to remember it forever.
“Certainly,” Rembrandt agreed, and began prowling for a level spot on which to place his tripod.
Nathaniel kept gazing out at the ocean with a quiet expression of awe. “It makes a person feel small, doesn’t it?”
