“In heaven since last February, God rest her soul. She’d been suffering from consumption for years, but now she’s in God’s hands, and I can finally track Edgar down. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for letting his mother go to her grave believing him dead.” Jankowski folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, watching Nathaniel through speculative eyes. “What did you say your role on this train was?”

“I help organize the speaking events,” he said vaguely.

“Have you met him?”

“I have.”

At last he had Mr. Jankowski’s complete attention. The older man’s face transformed with heartbreaking anticipation. “Can you get me through to him? Please. I’ve been waiting thirty years . . . more than thirty years. I must see him.”

Nathaniel would never let this man within view of the president, but he needed some things put in place before he said so.

“Wait here. Let me see if it would be possible.” Nathaniel left the table and spoke to one of the plainclothes officers. “Head back to the ship. There’s a photographer on board named Rembrandt. Tell him to get here immediately and bring his equipment. I want to get a photograph of this guy.”

“Yes, sir.”

On his way back to the table, Nathaniel brought Sullivan along. “This is a friend of mine,” he told Jankowski genially. “Can you tell him your story? It’s fascinating.”

Mr. Jankowski needed no further urging. He eagerly explained that the president was actually his long-lost son, providing additional details about the messages he’d received from various pieces of machinery over the years.

Rembrandt soon arrived at the canteen, lugging his equipment. They would need Jankowski’s cooperation to hold still for a photograph that would be distributed to every town and train station along the path the president would travel.

Nathaniel stood. “Let’s see if we can persuade that photographer to take our picture. I’ve enjoyed our conversation and would like to remember this meeting.”

Mr. Jankowski’s brows lowered. “I don’t have a lot of spare coin for that sort of thing.”

“My treat,” Nathaniel said. “If you give me your home address, I’ll even send you a copy.”

As Mr. Jankowski stood for the photograph, Nathaniel quietly gave instructions to Sullivan, who stepped away to carry them out.

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.