THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...

by Cara Charles

  Little Shasha took out his handkerchief and wiped his tears. Joseph smiled, then took her hand and together they watched the show.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DUTY

  THE WHITE HOUSE CHEF PREPARED and the staff served Mama’s favorite recipes from her story on the Kennedy’s White House China. How thoughtful the kitchen staff had been to use the recipes in Mama Julia’s reprinted cookbook, a favorite keepsake of generations of White House staff.

  Peter took a family photograph with the guests surrounding Joseph center stage.

  The First Lady had set up a gift and guest book table for the guests to take home Mama Julia’s reprinted recipe book. She assured everyone they would soon receive a family photo.

  Joseph was extremely touched by the First Lady’s creativity. Joseph had forgotten about the anniversary day since the call. And it had slipped his mind since the Recession.

  His duty was waiting for him to muster his courage and remember his oath. Tonight at the midnight snack would be the perfect time, when he and his President were alone enjoying each other’s company, and Mama’s spoon bread with warm vanilla sauce, which had soothed many a Presidents’ heavy heart. Tonight, it would fortify her own heart heavy son.

  Since 1962, Mama had kept a secret told to her by Mrs. Roosevelt. Like Mrs. Roosevelt, Mama had guarded the secret all those years, since. She was allowed to share it with Joseph on the day of her own Anniversary party.

  Mama said they would only contact him when they needed him.

  Joseph had met with Dr. Desiree Richards a few times since January 2009. It took Desiree a long time to get him to see their problem. They were dying off. Who else could be trusted? Who else would carry on their mission?

  Joseph had argued and resisted, wanting to protect the new President, the Nation’s embodiment of hope, but METAPHOR’S only hope. Finally, Joseph agreed. Would a scholarly man from Harvard and the Leader of the Free World believe an aging common serving man?

  Joseph stole a look at his President and believed he would.

  LATER THAT EVENING as Joseph prepared for the President his special grilled cheese on sourdough with pepper jack, ham, onions, and green chilies, the President and Joseph chatted about the ceremony.

  The food disappeared. The President leaned back in his chair, full and satisfied.

  “I’ll have to do an extra twenty minutes on the treadmill to keep my waistline.”

  “It will keep you young sir. You’re fighting jet lag. Shall we call it a day?”

  Joseph got up to take a breath to steady his pounding heart.

  “Yes. Let’s hit the sack, shall we? You must be tired, too?”

  “No, sir. Still floating on all that love. It was a beautiful day, with memories made to last a lifetime. I’m sure you have a big day tomorrow, though sir. I’ll tidy up, now.”

  “Here, let me help,” the President was finishing his smoothie.

  “Wonderful day, wonderful day. Not too tired from wonderful.”

  Joseph turned on the faucet. Although his hands were shaking he sighed, and pulled a chair closer to the President, then put a trembling finger to his lips.

  Barack Obama was taken aback.

  ‘What’s bothering you?’ the President’s expression said.

  Joseph leaned in motioning him closer. Joseph took 3x5 pieces of paper from his breast pocket, licked his finger, and ran it across the middle of each piece.

  Messages appeared.

  Joseph showed them to the President. Joseph put a finger up to his lips.

  The President nodded.

  ‘Can they hear us in here?’ the first paper said.

  ‘Yes,’ the President nodded.

  Joseph turned on the exhaust fan and got out an old whistling teakettle. Joseph ran his wet finger across the papers, one by one, handing them to the President. Joseph braced himself as the President read the longest message.

  When the President finished reading, he froze. He looked at Joseph, then he dropped his head to look at the floor.

  The President handed off the long message. The words faded away. Joseph added the card to the pot, and threw in a match.

  The President looked at the floor beneath his hands, seeing it again in his mind, he looked at the pot, burning what he had read. It said —

  “Sir. Our biological mother, a Mitochondrial Eve who scientists discovered the timeline of her existence because of the Human Genome Project in 2006, is miraculously still alive. This current generation of genetic scientists are not aware she is still alive. They have traced the human race back to her through computers. The Nazi genetic scientists had her at Ravensbruck trying to prove and disprove her to be the ageless woman from an old African legend. Their Eve story. General Eisenhower and Mrs. Roosevelt were made aware of her. Attached to our computer message to you is a B&W photo of her with them then and there is a photo of her 30 yrs. later. Notice she has not aged. That was last time we had contact with her. They created a program to move her and hide her in plain sight. She has been hiding as an African Studies college professor in the United States, since WWII’s end. Because of an accidental FOIA leak from College Park, Maryland’s Archives of the Berlin Archival information to the FOIA just hours ago on 17 Dec, factions that would harm her are now aware of her possible existence. They are on the move. They will stop at nothing, and are extremely determined to find evidence of her. Due to the program and its security measures, we don’t know where she is now, or even her name now. But we know someone who may, if the subliminal programming still holds after many decades and if we can successfully find this attorney and deprogram her. Will you help us protect them both?”

  The edges turned brown and the message curled into fine brown ash and smoke.

  One by one, Joseph activated other remaining messages on the pieces of paper, and handed them off to the President.

  Joseph was worried. Again, he’s staring at the floor.

  Joseph handed the President’s open hand the last of the messages, then cleaned up his dishes while the President read on.

  Finally finishing, the President handed off the last piece of paper and looked at Joseph, who was watching.

  The President mouthed, ‘Wow.’

  The President returned to looking at the floor beyond his hands, then slowly shook his head in amazement, then talking to himself, he mentally reviewed the PRA and was pretty sure he would not be violating the PRA, if the phone was in Joseph’s name and messages were not directly addressed to him.

  Joseph froze. He was shaking his head, he was saying, ‘no.’ Tears came to his eyes. He couldn’t believe the one man in the whole world he believed in, was saying no. He needed to lean on the counter.

  As the President was recovering from this extraordinary news, he finally looked back at Joseph, and read the despair on his face. The President realized his astonishment and his head shaking, Joseph had interpreted as a ‘no’. He touched Joseph’s sleeve, but Joseph would not look at him. Then the President tugged on his sleeve.

  Joseph turned to look at the man who he never thought would disappoint him.

  The President vigorously nodded ‘yes’. He put his thumb in the air. He was indicating ‘he was in’ while patting Joseph’s arm in reassurance and apology.

  Joseph put his face in his hands and quietly wept.

  The President rose, embraced him hard, trying to say he was sorry, without uttering a word. The President pushed Joseph out of the embrace and lifted his chin, to get Joseph to look him in the eye. He handed Joseph his own handkerchief and Joseph wiped his eyes.

  A smile crept over Joseph’s sober face, realizing the handkerchief’s significance.

  The President took Joseph’s hand and shook it.

  Joseph nodded, put his forehead on the President’s shoulder, and cried quietly as the stress rolled away. As Joseph regained his composure, he received a pat on the back from his President.

  Joseph nodded. He took a breath, then resumed his role as valet, washed the po
t residue down the sink, washed the kettle, put it away, and used a spritz of air freshener to clean the air as the President paced. Joseph put the President’s chair back in place and sat heavily in his own. He watched his President, reading his face.

  President Barack Obama now knew the biggest secret buried for almost seventy years, just confirmed by science in 2006. It was the biggest scientific discovery of the modern world, it was impossible, but true they said. Logic made him skeptical.

  ‘Why was she still alive?’

  As the President covered the floor of his kitchen several times lost in thought, what could he or would he be able to set in motion, without it leaking to the public or arousing the ever watchful media or his own security team? He looked at Joseph and saw the weight of this duty. He imagined the others, clearly Joseph’s age maybe older, who had lived with this duty their entire lives. Each of them had been prepared to die with it, but one of them had let the secret see the light of day. And the secret had become a freight train barreling down on all of them, especially m-Eve and her programmed secret holder, wherever and who ever they were. He was clueless how to help them, except for his immediate assignment. He had to keep the secret contained. He’d wait to fulfill their needs as they came up. And if everything went correctly no one would ever know. And if he made an error, and leaked the information he hated to think of that consequence. He reviewed the immediate info in his mind before he spoke.

  Barack Obama was on a greater mission than being the President of the Free World. He was on the greatest mission of the human race, and would have to conduct himself as if nothing were different. The world watched his every move and could read his body language. He’d be determined not to give this extraordinary development away.

  The President moved his chair closer to Joseph, who looked like the air had been let out of him, and noted his coloring was off. The President took Joseph’s hand. It was cold and trembling.

  He poured the last of the warm milk in a mug and placed it in Joseph’s cold hands.

  “Joseph? Let’s go to bed. Finish up in the morning.”

  “Yes sir. I am a bit tired. Thank you again for a wonderful anniversary party.”

  “Joseph,” the President said calmly and quietly.

  Joseph slowly raised his head. Those sad eyes looked into this young President’s sincere but smiling face. What Joseph saw there gave him energy, and hope even though he suddenly felt very old and tired.

  The President offered Joseph his own handkerchief, crossed to the sink, turned on the water, and started the microwave. Then he sat down and leaned in.

  The President of the United States raised his hand in a pledge, as if once again being sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America. He took Joseph’s hand in his other hand and mouthed the words slowly.

  ‘I, Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States of America, and as a man who cares deeply about this mission to protect this extraordinary person, will do every thing in my power to protect and defend her and them her Protectors. As God is my judge, I will not let your people, now my people, down. Not even if my life depends on it. You have my solemn word. So help me, God.’

  Joseph took the President's hands and vigorously shook them, smiling.

  “Down the hatch. Let’s get you to your room,” the President said normally.

  The President turned off the faucet and microwave.

  They left the kitchen with the mug of warm milk, the President’s arm firmly around Joseph’s waist.

  THEY TOOK the elevator to Joseph’s room. He was still pale and cold.

  Barack helped him into his flannel pajamas, hung up his suit, and lifted his feet into bed.

  “Socks or no socks?”

  “Socks tonight sir.”

  The President tucked Joseph in then added a down comforter.

  ‘I have something for you in the jacket’s breast pocket,’ Joseph told the President with his gestures, pointing to his suit jacket.

  The President nodded and retrieved the Blackberry.

  “All right. Take a day off here at the White House. I’ll need you close by.”

  “Yes sir.” Joseph sighed. “I’d feel better if I was busy, Mr. President.”

  “At the very least take the morning off. I don’t want to worry about you over doing it.”

  The President pocketed the silver Blackberry, picked up the White House intercom phone, then flattened his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “I’m having the Colonel, and Casey the Corpsman up to give you a mild sedative, so you can get some sleep tonight. That’s an order Joseph, my friend. You did your duty for today. You’re very special to me you know. More warm milk?”

  He dialed.

  “You’re the President, sir.”

  The President laughed, “It’s a little like castor oil. But my Grandmother, another very wise woman, swore by it. So will you, after tonight.”

  “Yes sir and thank you.”

  The President winked.

  Joseph smiled, finally setting his burden down.

  “Good evening, Casey. This is the President. Could you send Colonel Smith to look in on Mr. Jefferson? He’d like some warm milk in a thermos, please. He won’t admit it, but he’s a little tired from today’s excitement. Thank you.”

  Casey had something to add. The President listened.

  “He says he’s fine, but you know Joseph. I’d like you to watch over Joseph tonight, and through lunch or whenever he says he’s ready to start his day. I’d like him to take the whole day off, but he won’t hear of it. Thanks. Good night.”

  The President hung up. He held Joseph’s hand, his pulse strong, and regular. The President sighed. Joseph’s coloring was better. He looked at the hand of a man who had seen so much history, so much self sacrifice. He’d remembered his Grandfather and Grandmother’s hands and wished he’d taken a picture of those hands that had comforted him, and shaped him into the man he was today. He only hoped to live up to their idea of him. The success of this huge mission would define him, forever. The friendship he’d quickly formed with Joseph when he was the Freshman Senator from Illinois ran deep. Joseph had filled an emptiness he’d denied himself since the election.

  He missed his grandparents, especially his Grandmother. He’d never had the time to grieve properly. This old man was precious. Fragile, determined, but loyal to this cause.

  ‘Whom could a new President really trust?’ He thought. ‘People of Joseph’s age.’

  There was a soft knock on his door.

  Casey, the Corpsman opened the door.

  LATER, with an IV infusing and a portable EKG monitor on, the President watched as Joseph sipped his warm milk. The Colonel left after giving orders to Casey. He’d given Joseph a mild sleeping pill to take with his warm milk.

  The President stayed until Joseph fell asleep, then he tiptoed out.

  Casey sat outside in the hallway, a crash cart beside him.

  “Casey, call me if Joseph needs anything,” the President whispered.

  “Yes sir. By that do you mean day or night?”

  “Yes. Give him anything he wants. He’s like family. Stay with him. You know how delicate these seniors are. Hungry?”

  “Sir? It’s plain wrong giving you my food order. I can call the kitchen.”

  “I’ve got your back. What will it be?”

  “Gosh. All right sir, thank you. Two Diet Dr. Peppers lots of ice in a big Sippy, cup gets me through the night. I understand about his age. He’d be safer at Walter Reed Annex. We have a team standing by just in case.”

  “Good. Being here is what he wants. It’s difficult to rest in a hospital.”

  “Understood, sir.” Casey the Army Corpsman, saluted.

  The President ran up the stairs to his personal office.

  THE AMBIEN, warm milk, the setting down of the burden to his hero, finally relaxed Joseph. He drifted off to a sleep, imagining the President on his way beyond the White House gates, jogging free, alone,
and vulnerable. A rejuvenating sleep found Joseph, and soon he began to dream.

  JOSEPH IS FIVE YEARS, playing at the Little White House on Pine Mountain Georgia, riding a stick horse in the large fenced back yard, laughing with the new puppy, Fala FDR’s Scotty.

  “Hi-oh-Silver, away! Come here, Fala! Get me Fala come! He’s so funny, sir!”

  Mama was smiling at him from the wheelchair ramp, vigorously beating egg whites in her new copper bowl. Today was Angel Food cake day. She looked behind her and moved aside.

  “Good morning, Mr. President.”

  “Nice to be home, Julia. Let’s never go back. Look at that will you! Joe and Fala will be good friends,” FDR said with a huge smile on his face.

  “Truly is, sir. I’ll vote for that. Two little Rascals to be sure.” Julia laughed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN -- THE PROPHESY

  FDR, IN HIS PANAMA STRAW HAT cocked to one side, chewed on the stem of his cigarette holder. He wheeled himself down into the yard watching Joseph and Fala play, enjoying their fun. Fala ran for his master then back to Joseph, playfully shaking a stick in his mouth, taunting little Joseph to chase him.

  Little Joseph galloped over to the President.

  “Good morning, sir! I love Silver! Thank you sir! Thank you!”

  “Every sheriff deserves a sidekick and a great and noble steed, my boy. You’re very welcome. Say, Little Joe? Tell me what’s on the radio today, Laddie?”

  FDR throws the stick for Fala.

  “The Lone Ranger is about to arrest a dastardly hombre hiding in Palm Desert.”

  FDR laughed, “Dastardly is he? Jolly good word. Pronounced perfectly. Well that’s fine, really fine. We’ll have to listen in. How’s school?”

  Fala drops the stick in FDR’s lap barking, insisting his master throw it. Fala was not one for waiting. FDR throws the stick quite far.