At each stop, the communication car hooked into the local telegraph wires to receive incoming cables. Caroline always awaited word from Gray, hoping for news of Luke. At their last stop, he’d wired to say that he’d had a letter from Luke and would forward it to the post office in Charleston for her to pick up.

This morning they were touring the Charleston Naval Shipyard, where Mrs. McKinley would christen an ironclad battleship before a cheering crowd. Caroline helped Ida down from the carriage and admired the harbor, where dozens of American flags snapped in the wind and a brass band played in the distance. Sunlight glinted on choppy waves, and she shielded her eyes to admire the steel-hulled battleship they were about to christen.

Nathaniel awaited them at the dock, along with a dozen members of the local police. She couldn’t help admiring his austere form as he stood at attention, awaiting the arrival of the presidential party. It had been five days since l’affaire de lobster, as the disaster had been dubbed, and Ida had been teasing her ever since.

“Your young man looks in fine form this morning,” Ida said.

“He’s always in fine form.”

Ida let out a bark of laughter. “You’d best do something to hold on to him. The Major warned him away, but you don’t want to be an old maid. You need to keep that young man interested.”

I intend to, she silently vowed.

The ceremony rolled out according to plan. The mayor of Charleston gave some opening remarks, then the president delivered his five-minute speech. After that, a navy admiral accompanied Mrs. McKinley into position to smash the bottle against the hull of the ship.

The crowd cheered, and the band began a rousing tune by John Philip Sousa. Mrs. Foster hovered in the background, waiting for her opportunity to pounce and share the McKinleys’ carriage back to the train depot, and Caroline was more than happy to surrender her seat to her.

Caroline thrust Mrs. Foster toward Ida. “You can help her back to the train,” she said. “I’ve heard wonderful things about the historic Charleston Post Office. I’m off for a quick peek.”

A local police officer had already told her where to catch a trolley that took her straight to the famous post office. It was a magnificent three-story building of white granite in the classic Renaissance Revival style. Inane wishes that Nathaniel could see it tugged at the corner of her mind, for he appreciated fine architecture.

Inside, it was even more impressive, with opulent red marble and mahogany floors. Her footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceiling as she approached the front counter.