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.

Caroline complied. “Bring your Bible with you. Be prepared to read his favorite psalms. Look him in the eyes. Smile. Hold his hands and let your strength flow from you and into him. I know you can do this.”

“I can do this,” Ida repeated, straightening her shoulders and composing her features.

Caroline kept up the stream of orders mingled with compassion as the carriage drove them to the Milburn house. To her surprise, Ida did not even request her wheelchair but walked into the home leaning only on her cane, her chin high and shoulders back.

Mrs. Milburn welcomed them inside. She was surprisingly young, with kind eyes and dark hair swept into a modest bun. “He is awake,” she said, ushering them toward the dining room that had been converted into a convalescent room.

Caroline paused outside the room. “Would you like me to go in with you?”

Ida hesitated only a moment, then squeezed Caroline’s hand. “Nonsense. I will be the soul of valor. An Old Testament heroine. Deborah. Esther. Ruth.”