Czolgosz was too simple to have carried this out on his own. It was possible that Goldman and her compatriots had already boarded a ship to flee the country, escaping responsibility for the violence they’d unleashed. Nathaniel wouldn’t let that happen.

“We need to round them all up,” he said. “I can’t turn the clock back and step in front of the bullets, but I can arrest the people who inspired that fool. I’ll present their heads on a platter to Mrs. McKinley.”

“And won’t that be a treat for her,” Wilkie said flatly.

“Shut up, Wilkie. I’ve studied anarchism, and I know how these people think. They represent chaos and violence. They have nothing to offer the world other than tearing down the accomplishments of decent, hardworking people.”

A part of him knew he sounded irrational, but he had to stay hard. He was hanging on to his sanity by a thread, and if he softened, he would break.

Caroline found the church service on Sunday morning a blessed oasis of peace after the chaos of the past two days. The pastor began with a prayer of thanksgiving for the president’s continuing recovery, and the mood inside the church was a combination of relief, hopeful expectation, and comradery.

Caroline knelt, sending up prayerful thanks as earnestly as she could. The president was on the mend, and Ida was weathering the storm better than expected. What an astounding blessing on both counts.

And yet, on the other side of the aisle, Nathaniel sat staring stonily ahead. This was the first time she’d seen him since the shooting, and something seemed off. He’d always been stern, but this was different. A layer of anger smoldered just beneath the surface, and it was worrisome. She stared at his flinty profile for an unseemly length of time, hoping to catch his attention, but it didn’t work.

After the service, people lingered in the foyer and filled the churchyard. Many wanted to recount where they had been when it happened, while others sought a chance to rub shoulders with the dozens of high-ranking Washington officials who’d flocked to town. Vice President Roosevelt had arrived in Buffalo the day of the shooting, but now that the president was on the mend, George thought Mr. Roosevelt’s presence conveyed a morbid implication to the public. On George’s recommendation, the Roosevelts left the city to continue their vacation in upstate New York.

Meanwhile, the secretaries of Agriculture, the Treasury, and the War Department had all gathered and would soon begin paying calls on the president, who intended to carry out his duties from his sickbed. Newspapermen jostled for position, and photographers took pictures, but the only person Caroline wanted to see was Nathaniel.

She scanned the throngs of churchgoers so intently that she almost missed him, for he’d already escaped the crowd and was a block away, striding down the tree-lined street in haste.