Petra gave a world-weary sigh. “My friend, I’m afraid you are sadly naive. We live in a dangerous world with hostile people who would force change at the end of a gun. It’s far easier to eliminate the head of your enemy than to take on his army. That is why the assassins are so dangerous these days. Let your new security agent enforce his rules, even if you think them silly. Someday you may be grateful for that.”
It was a worrisome thought. Caroline’s entire life had been spent among wealthy, high-society intellectuals who fought with words, not guns. It was hard to imagine the world Petra described, but maybe she was right.
Nathaniel strolled the White House grounds to inspect the new security fence along the perimeter. Cormac Sullivan stood guard at the main entrance, broiling beneath the hot August sun. He was a newly promoted field agent and the son of Irish immigrants from Boston’s south side. Next week a guardhouse would be installed to provide shelter for the men on guard duty, but for now Sullivan stood in the open, the beginning of a sunburn on his pale Irish face.
Nathaniel moved in close to speak in a low voice. “I overheard a tourist from Maryland say she thinks you look like Prince Charming.”
Sullivan blanched. “Really?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
Nathaniel continued patrolling the grounds. A pair of electricians worked to install new lampposts every twenty yards along the perimeter, a desperately needed addition to their nighttime security. The new fencing, the lamps, the guardhouse, and the nightly patrols had already greatly improved security outside the house.
The problems inside the White House were atrocious. The building was only partially electrified because Mrs. McKinley refused to tolerate construction racket. She had scuttled the west wing addition for the same reason. The house lacked proper office space and staff quarters, resulting in cramped and inadequate facilities. A west wing would have doubled the size of the mansion, but it wouldn’t be built until a new administration took office. For now, the western lawn was filled with a series of greenhouses to supply fresh flowers, fruits, and vegetables.
He strolled toward them, scanning for problems. This afternoon Mrs. McKinley would be posing for some official photographs in the greenhouse, and he needed to be sure the space was secure. The greenhouses covered almost two acres and were made of glass. Glass! Any radical anarchist could smash through that glass and be inside before a guard could even draw a gun. It made Nathaniel’s blood run cold.
A flash of amethyst silk inside the greenhouse caught his eye. Too much foliage blocked his view to identify the woman, but only one lady working at the White House was likely to wear that brilliant shade. He wandered closer, spotting Caroline as she glided among the aisles of potted herbs in the fruit and vegetable conservatory. She was with another woman, but he couldn’t tell who it was other than it was not the first lady.
Why was Caroline wandering in the conservatory at three o’clock in the afternoon? Given the casual way she strolled among the plants with the other woman, it seemed to be a social visit.
He slid toward the greenhouse door and held his hand over the mechanism to muffle the sound as he cracked it open and slipped inside. The air was warm and heavy with a green, peaty fragrance. He slipped behind a bushy screen of tomato plants to observe.
The woman was the young laundress from Croatia. Ludmila had a habit of giggling whenever his guards came into view. Most of the people who worked in the White House were single because there were no living quarters for married staff. The giggling Ludmila didn’t seem the sort of person Caroline would normally socialize with, so he slid closer to eavesdrop.
“I like apple on my oatmeal,” Ludmila said.
“Apples,” Caroline corrected. “Try again.”
“I like apples on my oatmeal,” the maid amended.
“Correct. If you like oatmeal and I like steak, that’s like comparing apples and oranges. What do I mean when I say that?”
“I know! It means they are two very different things.”
It seemed Caroline was testing the younger woman on the confusing idioms of the English language. They turned down a new aisle, and Nathaniel darted toward a trellis of squash plants to continue eavesdropping.
“If I say someone is a bad apple, what does that mean?”
“That means he is no good,” Ludmila said.
“And if someone is the apple of your eye?”
There was a long pause. Nathaniel leaned in, hoping the laundress would get it right, but this was a strange turn of phrase, and the maid struggled.
“Give me a hint,” Ludmila said.
“I was the apple of my father’s eye. He thought I was the perfect child. He blamed anything that went wrong on my twin brother, because Luke could be quite naughty, but Father adored me. I was the apple of his eye. What does that mean?”
“It means he liked you very much.”
“Correct!” Caroline said enthusiastically. She continued coaching Ludmila on quirks in the English language, using the plants surrounding them. Cool as a cucumber; low-hanging fruit; spill the beans; sour grapes.
Time and again Caroline put the idiom in context to help Ludmila guess its meaning. Most of the examples involved Caroline’s brother. Luke and I are like two peas in a pod. Luke upset the apple cart. Luke got into big trouble and is in quite a pickle. At one point Caroline stopped altogether to tell a story about Luke. They stood before a series of sprawling artichoke plants.
“Luke and I are twins, and he always gave me artichokes on our birthday. It was a private joke between us. He’d give one artichoke for every year. As I got older, it was a challenge to find that many artichokes in October.” Her voice was achingly sad as she reached out to touch a heavy artichoke bud. “Toward the end, he needed to deliver them in a great big basket.”
“Toward the end?” Ludmila asked. “He no longer does this?”
Caroline wandered toward another aisle. “That’s enough about Luke. What does it mean to be a shrinking violet? I’ll give you a clue. Mrs. McKinley is no shrinking violet.”
“It means she is a scary woman?”
“Shh!” Caroline laughed. “It means she is a strong woman who isn’t afraid to voice her opinions. And now I need to go ensure the first lady is ready for her photograph.”
The pair wandered toward the herb garden and out of Nathaniel’s range of hearing, but he’d learned a good deal from his surreptitious spying. Contrary to all appearances, Caroline Delacroix had a deep well of kindness beneath the glamour. She adored her twin brother, but he seemed to cause her a mysterious sadness, and Nathaniel wondered why.
Six
Nathaniel stood before the oversized map of the city tacked to the wall of his office. He had completed an initial draft of a plan to secure the White House, but the bigger challenge was to secure the president’s safety as he traveled. His gaze tracked the route from the White House to the Capitol, the War Department, and the Treasury, all of which the president visited on a weekly basis. All the routes to and from the buildings needed security plans. Then he needed plans for carriage travel, train travel, and when the president preferred to walk or ride his own horse, both of which he enjoyed.
Nathaniel pointed out a route to Sullivan. “I want you to meet with the head of groundskeeping and tell him to trim all the shrubbery along the route between the White House and the Capitol. That’s almost a mile of road that can hide anarchists and bomb threats.”