“We’re moving the ceremony inside,” Nathaniel insisted. Captain Dorset had no authority over this event. As the agent in charge of the first lady’s security, Nathaniel had the ultimate say on anything regarding the first family’s safety.

“Are you sure?” Caroline asked. “It’s so much prettier outside.”

“I’m sure,” he said, striding toward Mrs. McKinley, who was already seated in her wheelchair.

Captain Dorset reluctantly agreed and gestured for the Marines with the bouquets to head inside. The band members stood, and Caroline turned the first lady’s wheelchair, heading toward the front door.

Someone in the crowd began shouting. Something about the war and blood on McKinley’s hands. Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a shotgun among the civilians.

People screamed, and Nathaniel scooped Mrs. McKinley into his arms, lurching with her toward the open door of the carriage. He grunted as he hoisted her inside. Two loud blasts shattered the air. Flower petals scattered everywhere. People yelled. A pair of civilians vaulted over the low brick wall, heading straight at him, one shouldering a shotgun. Nathaniel dumped Mrs. McKinley onto the carriage floor, then threw his body over her and pulled the door shut.

“Go!” he shouted at the driver. “Go!”

Mrs. McKinley lay sprawled beneath him, but he jerked upright, looking out the window at the yard. Caroline was screaming and huddled behind the wheelchair, and flower petals drifted in the air like snow. Marine guards tackled the men, but one of them hurled red paint at the door of the hospital.

The carriage reached the street, and the horses gained speed, the yard disappearing into the distance.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked.

She looked up at him in a combination of fear and horror. “I’m all right. Are you?”

Something warm trickled down his neck, and he touched it, his fingers coming away bloody. He’d been hit. Strange, he hadn’t felt the pain until now. A few pellets of birdshot rolled off his suit jacket. He pulled away so the blood wouldn’t drip on her.

“I’m fine,” he said. He grasped Mrs. McKinley’s arms to heft her up onto the bench. The roar of blood in his ears pounded like a drum, and perspiration covered his body.

He started to shake, finding it hard to breathe. He’d done his job. The first lady was safe. He looked out the window, but the hospital was no longer in view. He’d abandoned Caroline and the others, but he’d done his job.

It took less than ten minutes to get back to the White House, the carriage careening through the streets at breakneck speed. Someone must have telephoned ahead, for members of the staff and Dr. Tisdale awaited their arrival. Mrs. McKinley was unharmed but given a sedative nevertheless.