Her biggest challenge was the inaugural ball, to be held in the Pension Building. Despite its fusty name, it was a majestic space with a three-story Italianate atrium surrounded by towering marble columns and wraparound balconies overlooking the grand hall. That meant Caroline had acres to decorate with thousands of candles, swags of bunting, and towering floral arrangements. Endless rounds of canapés and finger food would be served throughout the ball, all of it accompanied by wines and punch.

Planning the nation’s biggest party was a challenge Caroline eagerly embraced, but as the inauguration drew near, her divided loyalties grew. While she planned a party, her brother languished in jail. By making herself indispensable to the president, she hoped to earn Luke a presidential pardon, but what if she didn’t?

Sven de Haas was usually on hand. Now that the election was over, the president’s chief strategist worried about setting the perfect tone to kick off the second term. She spent an entire afternoon bickering with him about the flags to be displayed at the ball. The president’s new agenda would push for an end to American isolation, and Sven wanted as many foreign flags as American. She disagreed, insisting that the evening was an American party and the theme shouldn’t be watered down.

She lost that battle, giving her a headache and the need for an hour of peace. She retreated to the White House roof for some privacy and gazed out over the bleak February landscape.

“It’s just a party,” she whispered. Did the president even realize how hard she’d been working, slogging through ice storms and designing a series of meals, receptions, and the inaugural ball while Ida knitted baby booties in the comfort of her parlor?

She opened the latest letter from Luke, which had arrived in yesterday’s post, rereading it yet again. It was typical of all his letters: jokes about the bad food and commentary about the weather. Gray had been sending the guards money to smuggle Luke whatever reading material they could find, but it seemed the guards deliberately taunted Luke by bringing him obscure books in languages he could not read.

But they underestimated her brother, whose hungry mind devoured whatever they brought him. Yesterday’s letter was proof of that.

The guards provided a copy of the Old Testament in Hebrew, but they failed to notice the transliteration primer for Hebrew, Latin, and Greek in the back. I’m at last putting those tedious Latin classes Dad insisted on to good use! Between the primer and comparing the text with my English Bible, I’m making solid progress on learning Hebrew. Perhaps I shall become a Hebrew scholar while imprisoned.

Now, buck up. Even from a thousand miles away, I can feel your worries. Fear not! I am invincible.