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Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. Half Title Page
  3. Books by Elizabeth Camden
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-One
  27. Twenty-Two
  28. Twenty-Three
  29. Twenty-Four
  30. Twenty-Five
  31. Twenty-Six
  32. Twenty-Seven
  33. Twenty-Eight
  34. Twenty-Nine
  35. Thirty
  36. Thirty-One
  37. Thirty-Two
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Historical Note
  46. Questions for Discussion
  47. In 2021, look for Luke Delacroix’s story in
  48. About the Author
  49. Back Ads
  50. Back Cover

On Tuesday, September 17th, Nathaniel put on his best suit to stand alongside thousands of others lining Pennsylvania Avenue to watch the president’s funeral procession. Wilkie had suggested he leave White House duties entirely, but that was unthinkable. He couldn’t leave in the middle of a national emergency. It would be the ultimate failure.

Nevertheless, his demotion was obvious to all. Sullivan was now in charge of presidential security, and Nathaniel was one of hundreds of men stationed every ten yards along the funeral route. A light drizzle started to fall as the procession began, dribbling down the side of his face, but he refused to move. He needed to stand at attention and bear witness as his last official duty to a good and decent man.

First came a drum corps, playing a somber muffled drum beat, followed immediately by a hearse bearing the president’s flower-draped casket. After that came President Roosevelt in an open carriage drawn by four black horses, followed by the Supreme Court justices wearing their robes of office, then officers from the army and navy in full military regalia.

Signs of Caroline’s hand in the dignified ceremony were everywhere, from the red carnations worn by the presidential guard, the brigade of old Civil War soldiers, and the selection of a lone silvery bugle’s soaring requiem as the procession passed. It was very Caroline. Perfect, always.

Not like him. He stood in the rain, the wet wool of his suit itching and the sense of failure nearly strangling him, but he owed it to his president to stand at complete attention. When he had the energy he would plant red carnations in a park down by the river. Mr. McKinley used to walk there in the evenings, and those carnations would be a quiet memorial to one of the best men Nathaniel had ever known.

A man he had failed.

Thirty-One

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Out with the old and in with the new.

That was the mantra Caroline repeated to herself in the days after the president’s funeral. She managed the thousands of condolence messages while George masterfully juggled the new president’s schedule. Pina shouldered the primary duty of comforting Ida, leaving Caroline to help steer the White House toward welcoming in a new administration. She handled tasks both high and low. She ensured protocol was met for visiting dignitaries and served coffee to the journalists who camped outside the White House. She decided menus, handled correspondence, and planned the Ohio funeral.