The first thing she did the next morning was carry the box to the basement and pay the clerk a small fee to include the care package in the outgoing mail shipment. Then she went to the kitchen for breakfast.

She hadn’t even taken her first bite of oatmeal before Nathaniel came barging in. His arm was still in the sling, and his neck was bandaged. She started to inquire after his health, but he didn’t let her get a word out.

“What’s in the package?” he demanded.

She winced, kicking herself for not taking the time to deliver it directly to a post office. Somehow Nathaniel had been informed of a package destined for Cuba, and it aroused his fear-mongering ways.

She glanced around the kitchen to see who else might overhear. Two cooks, two ushers, and Ludmila. None of them knew of Luke’s plight, and she wanted to keep it that way.

“I’m sending a care package to the imprisoned,” she said defensively. “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”

“What’s in it?”

“Peppermint sticks, some beef jerky, and a Mark Twain novel. Too wicked for you? Maybe I should swap out the Twain for a book of sermons.”

His face darkened, and he scanned her attire. He obviously disapproved as he looked at her frothy lace jabot and old-fashioned cameo. “It looks like you were pilfering the first lady’s wardrobe again this morning.”

She hadn’t pilfered! Yesterday had been unsettling, and the conservative attire made her feel composed. Yes, she’d gone to Ida’s closet, for Ida generously let Caroline store some of her clothes upstairs.

“I only have eighteen inches of wardrobe space in the ladies’ dorm,” she defended.

“I can hear the angels weep.”

Ludmila stifled a laugh, but Caroline was beginning to seethe. He still hadn’t bothered to ask how she fared after yesterday. All he’d done was fling insults at her.

“I survived yesterday’s shooting very well thanks to a brave clarinetist. Thank you for asking. Your concern means the world to me. Incidentally, I have invited my friend from Serbia to have tea with the first lady today. Should Petra come armed with a grenade or other anarchist weapons, perhaps there will be a brave clarinetist or a trombone player on hand to come to my rescue.” She was being a snotty brat but couldn’t help it. He still wore that expressionless mask, and she needed to crack it. She turned to Ludmila. “We all know that knights in shining armor have a limited number of damsels they are willing to save.”

“I was doing my job,” Nathaniel defended.

She shot to her feet. “You could have acted like you cared! I have no experience with how to behave when someone shoots at me, so I cowered in the dirt and screamed like a nitwit. It was horrible and embarrassing and frightening.”