Army reinforcements had already arrived to help with security, for angry crowds were swarming the police headquarters where the gunman was held. He had been identified as Leon Czolgosz, the son of Polish immigrants and a fervent anarchist.
Caroline didn’t care about the shooter. All she cared about was Ida. A doctor had already gently informed Mrs. McKinley of what had happened and offered her a tonic to soothe her nerves.
“Is it working?” Caroline asked the doctor.
“She’s stable,” he replied. “The hospital is telephoning regular updates to us, and there’s been no change. The hospital director suggested the first lady remain here, as there’s alreadyenough chaos at the hospital. Everything will be touch and go for the next few hours.”
Caroline nodded and headed upstairs. She placed her hand on the cold brass doorknob and bowed her head, praying for wisdom. Enough people were sending up prayers for the president, but she prayed for Ida.
Dear Lord, please give me the wisdom to comfort her. She’s already lost both her daughters. Please don’t take her husband.
She drew a steadying breath and entered the room.
Ida sat in her wheelchair, staring out the hotel window. Her face looked carved in stone, but she was sitting upright and wasn’t in hysterics. A nurse and Pina sat nearby, looking frightened.
“There’s been no change,” Caroline said as she moved to Ida’s side, keeping her voice calm and soothing. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You can find a pistol, then go out and shoot that man,” Ida replied, her steely tone a clear indication that she was nowhere close to collapsing in a puddle of grief.
“Anything legal?”
“Sadly, no.” Ida stared straight ahead with her fists clenched. “I feel so helpless.”
“We all do,” Caroline said.
She didn’t know what else to say, and silence lengthened in the room, becoming unbearable. Pina wrung her hands while the nurse fidgeted in discomfort. Ida kept staring out the window.
Unbidden, one of Caroline’s earliest memories came to the surface. She must have been less than four years old, for her mother was still alive. Caroline had been sobbing over some long-forgotten incident, but Mama’s voice had soothed her, coaxing her to sit in a chair while her mother undid her braids to comb her hair. How lovely it had felt to relax under her mother’s soothing ministrations.
“Would you like me to comb your hair?” Caroline asked Ida. “It’s mussed in the back.”
Ida immediately straightened, her spine rigid as a bayonet. “I can’t have mussed hair. If I am called to visit the Major, I must look presentable.”
Caroline reached for a hairbrush. A Bible lay on the bedside table, and she passed it to Pina. “Perhaps you can read some psalms while we all wait,” she suggested. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Pina looked grateful as she opened the book, landing quickly on Psalm 23, the eternal words a soothing comfort while the president’s life hung in the balance. Ida sat calmly as Caroline unpinned her hair, spreading its length down her back. In truth, it wasn’t terribly mussed, but perhaps the gentle act of having her hair combed might bring a smidgeon of comfort on this most horrible of days.
Pina read psalm after psalm, and Caroline ought to be concentrating her prayers on the president, but all she could think of was Nathaniel. Where was he? Was he all right? This was going to hit him hard, and Caroline feared he might be headed for a very dark place.
Caroline did not sleep, but by morning the world looked brighter. The president had made it through surgery and survived the night. The fairground’s temporary hospital was unsuitable for his recovery, and he had been transferred to the Milburn home, a stately house less than a mile away that belonged to a personal friend of the president.
George Cortelyou arrived at the hotel before sunrise to confer with Caroline privately, reporting that the president was alert and coherent.
“He even wanted to know how his speech has been received in the papers,” George said. “I didn’t have the heart to tell himthat all papers are only reporting news of his shooting, but he’s already strategizing how to make hay of things. He’s asked all available cabinet members to come to Buffalo immediately. He wants them to keep pushing on his legislation.”
George reported that the surgeon thought a visit with Ida might be too stressful for the president. What an irony that cabinet members were being summoned to discuss politics, while a visit with the notoriously unstable Ida was thought to be a health risk.
“Personally, I think a visit from his wife might be helpful,” George said. “He keeps asking after her. Do you think she can compose herself for a visit?”
“I do,” Caroline affirmed. Then she asked the question that had been nagging her from the moment she’d heard about the shooting. “Where is Nathaniel?”
The corners of George’s mouth turned down. “Nathaniel is obsessed with sniffing out additional assassins. He thinks there are more in the shadows. John Wilkie arrived late last night, and they’ve been holed up at the police station ever since.”
Caroline watched George’s face carefully, bothered by the hint of disapproval just beneath the surface, but she needed to get Ida ready for a visit to the president. During times of crisis, the first lady leaned heavily on her husband, as though the simplest decision was beyond her. In such times the president had always firmly instructed Ida on how to behave, and this morning Caroline would do the same.
“You are not to cry,” she ordered once she helped Ida rise from bed. “You must appear calm and in good spirits. He worries about you, and the best tonic for him will be to see you sailing through this crisis like a champion. You are a woman of strength and valor, like Deborah from the Bible, defending her people. Today you will be just as strong, fighting to prop up your man.”
Ida stared straight ahead but paid fierce attention to every word. “Keep talking,” she said.
