“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 of Northanger Abbey, a silly novel she secretly adored. In deference to the kitchen staff who were 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.”