She shoved a paper into his hands. The security form. He needed to fill it out, but hearing Mr. Roosevelt being called president had thrown him.

Because President McKinley was dead, and it was his fault. Now he needed to guard a new president. He set the form on the table, staring at the blank lines needing to be filled in with security personnel. Caroline stood over him, as though she expected him to do it immediately.

“I’ll do this soon,” he said, pushing the form a few inches away. He couldn’t look at it yet and took a long sip of coffee instead. Maybe it would help beat back this avalanche of exhaustion clobbering him. He doubted he could rise from this chair if his life depended on it.

Caroline looked at her watch. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Please have it ready.”

The acid of the coffee ate at his stomach. The thought of being responsible for another president’s life was . . . well, he couldn’t do it. Not now, anyway. Normally he could fill out this form blindfolded, but not now.

Maybe later. Maybe soon he’d have the strength to stand up and help with the flurry of activities going on around him, but right now it would be far too much effort. He stared at the cup of coffee growing cold before his eyes, wondering what he should do.

Caroline and George juggled telegrams, made lists, and took turns using the Milburn house telephone. They needed to transfer the president’s body, arrange for the lying-in-state at the Capitol, and summon thousands of troops to march in the funeral procession. She wanted church bells to toll along the route as the funeral train made its journey to Washington, and wrote out a list of towns to contact for local arrangements. There would be two memorial services, one in Washington with thousands of dignitaries, and another private ceremony in Ohio. She would make the arrangements for both.

All of it needed to be scheduled within the next twenty-four hours, but the most urgent matter of business was coordinating President Roosevelt’s security on the train to Washington. That duty fell to Nathaniel, but a glance down the hallway showed him still staring blankly at the form. It had been twenty minutes, and he hadn’t made a single mark on it.

George interrupted her thoughts. “Caroline, the hearse to carry President McKinley to the depot is here. Have the flowers arrived yet?”

She glanced at her list of tasks. “I sent a pair of army privates to collect them from the florist. They should be here shortly.”

The president’s hearse would be draped with an American flag and a mourning bouquet of white lilies, but she also wanted red carnations. Mr. McKinley was famous for wearing a red carnation pinned to his lapel each day, and she ordered boutonnieres of red carnations for the men who would accompany his body home.