The Willard

by LeAnne Burnett Morse

  “Miss, would you like to wear this?” the maid asked.

  Catherine snapped out of her daze and noticed the maid was holding her grandmother’s diamond brooch. It was the one Catherine herself had pinned on her navy suit just before she had taken a nap that first day here.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked the maid.

  “It was here,” the maid indicated a rosewood box on the dresser Catherine had not noticed before. The brooch was the only thing in the box. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Catherine looked at her grandmother’s pin and felt tears come to her eyes.

  “Yes. I would like to wear it,” she said.

  The maid pinned the delicate brooch on the neckline of her mantua where it sparkled in the lamplight.

  What have I done, Gramma?

  Whatever she must face this night she would face with her grandmother’s strength. She took her wrap and went to meet the carriage that would take her to Ford’s.

  CHAPTER 60

  TOM KELLY

  1962

  The Soviets were furious. The messages coming back and forth were getting more heated and trigger fingers were getting itchy. The official clandestine pipeline was bogged down with Khrushchev insisting the Turkish missiles were nonnegotiable. But that was only one channel and nobody on either side seemed sure which one was truly “official.” Back Channel was pulling missives off the line showing the contentious exchange over the suggestion that Khrushchev take out Castro. The first responses simply ignored that part of the message, but someone on the American end kept putting it back on the table. Finally, the Soviets addressed it and said there would be no deal. The American side reported the president was considering bringing the blockade ships closer to Cuba to aid in a possible invasion and that American submarines were being redeployed to join in the effort. None of this was true, which made it all the more frightening because every man on the ExComm swore on his sainted mother’s grave that he knew nothing of these messages. It quickly became clear that someone had gone rogue and was threatening the safety of the world.

  Officials began trying to mitigate the damage by adding assurances to the official clandestine messages that the negotiations were still on track, but they couldn’t outright say there was someone outside their control sending the messages. There was simply no way to know who it was or what the final agenda might be. Every hour the clock ticked closer toward Armageddon.

  Tom was moving back and forth between the Willard and the White House, but he needed help. He had asked to have Ethan be a runner for him. At first the officials balked at sending Top Secret information out with an intern, but Tom argued that Ethan would have no idea what he was carrying or what any message he might send meant. In the end, they didn’t have anyone of the right clearance who could be spared so the young man from Fort Mill became Tom’s courier.

  CHAPTER 61

  CALVIN WALKER

  1963

  It was like they had disappeared; they had simply vanished into the crowd. Or more likely they just blended into the sea of people, just as they had planned to do. Calvin couldn’t find any of the men he had seen at the apartment. The police were executing a grid search as effectively as they could, given the enormous crowd. Once or twice they thought they had found something, but came up empty. The program had moved on and Roy Wilkins of the NAACP was addressing the crowd.

  Calvin and Captain Perry had covered the area where Fish was last seen. Their actions didn’t go unnoticed. From his perch in the tree, Fish could see them. He wasn’t surprised Calvin had turned, but he was angry at himself for not completely trusting his gut with regard to the man who had shown up at the eleventh hour claiming he could get to Dr. King. Fish knew it was his own ego that had caused him to let down his guard. He had briefly entertained the idea of a one-on-one confrontation with the movement’s most heralded leader. During the night that Calvin had gone to get his proof, Fish had chastised himself for such hubris and vowed that if Calvin returned he wouldn’t be swayed by his claims of insider status. He’d keep the man close in case he turned out to be a traitor, which he had. By that time, Fish knew his plans had already been successfully put in place so he wasn’t concerned about any damage Calvin might be able to do. On the contrary, the stupid man was right in the blast zone and had brought three cops with him. Yes, everything was working out exactly as Fish had planned, even with the diversion of Calvin.

  Roy Wilkins concluded his speech and the crowd was getting restless. Four speakers had taken the podium since a choir had performed and it was time for more music to stir the souls of the crowd. The great Mahalia Jackson took the stage and Calvin heard the opening bars of her song.

  He was briefly distracted by the music and stopped to see who was about to perform. From his vantage point something caught his eye as he turned to look at the stage. A man off to the side of the crowd, a good distance from the stage but not too far to be out of Calvin’s line of sight, was unwrapping something. It looked to be a small box with wire around it. He seemed nervous, fidgety almost. But when he finished unwrapping the wire he looked back at the stage and that’s when Calvin got a look at his face. He had seen it in the apartment that morning and now it bore the same look of hatred and resolve that the other Kifo members wore. In a split second Calvin realized the wire he had unwrapped was part of a long run that headed off in the direction of the stage. With all the people around and the technical equipment nobody had noticed a thin wire that had been carefully placed to protect it from being pulled loose. Calvin’s eyes moved in the direction of where the man was intently staring. He looked all the way to the stage and that’s when he saw it. Just below the podium, on the structure under the stage, was a black box. It blended in with the rest of the apparatus but Calvin instinctively knew what it was.

  Mahalia Jackson started to sing “How I Got Over.” Calvin knew the bombs were about to explode, including this new one he had just discovered. He still believed the duffel bags were real bombs. Even though they weren’t, they still had a role to play and the men who carried them began placing them on the ground at their feet and preparing to open them at the first chorus of the song. This would start the panic and once it began the man with the detonator would slowly count down from fifteen and fire the switch.

  Calvin had no idea where the other “bombs” were but he knew he had to stop the man with the detonator. It was the only thing he could do. There was no time to explain to the Captain as Calvin pushed his way to the edge of the crowd and sprinted for the man with the tiny box in his hand.

  Mahalia Jackson approached the chorus of the song with gusto and the men with duffel bags bent and prepared to open them. Calvin lunged for the det man and, in what seemed like slow motion, he felt his feet leave the ground.

  CHAPTER 62

  OLIVIA FORDHAM

  1913

  All afternoon Olivia had paced and worried about the scene outside. Things could not be more messed up. The situation felt a bit like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree; you can’t do it because pieces of it keep falling off. Victoria was leaving and now she’s staying. James was gone, then back, then drunk and confused, and now Olivia had more or less told him to take a hike. And Edward had been uncharacteristically stern with her about keeping her focus on the big picture. Yes, it was important for Victoria to be part of the movement, but it was equally important for her grandparents to get together. That part was bothering Olivia because she remembered specifically hearing that her grandparents had met in Washington as the result of a carriage accident, not a motorcar spewing dirty water and not because of some political event. None of it made sense and Olivia was out of ideas for how to fix it. Her grandparents were turning out to be very stubborn young people.

  There was a knock at the suite door and Olivia found Victoria standing there looking tired, but happy. She’d been working all day at the office and looked like she was ready to drop.

  “I ran into Mr. Chase downstairs and he told me you wanted to speak
with me.”

  “Yes, please come in. Would you like something to eat? I had a few things sent up.”

  “Now that you mention it I didn’t actually eat lunch today. Once that telegram occupied my mind I forgot all about it.” They each filled a plate and sat at the dining room table.

  Olivia saw no way around what she had to do. “I saw James this afternoon. He was looking for you outside the hotel.” Victoria’s eyes lit up. “But before you get excited you should know I told him to go home to Middleburg and leave you alone.”

  “Why? Why would you do something like that?”

  “Because he was talking nonsense about what other men would think of him if he took up with a woman who would devote herself to causes like this one.”

  Victoria visibly deflated. “Oh. I see.”

  “No, you don’t see, Victoria, and neither did I. He came here, quite a bit past tipsy I might add, because it bothered him that he was concerned with such things.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He was disappointed in himself that it mattered what they thought and I didn’t see that he needed to be encouraged and not scolded for how he was feeling. He likes you, Victoria. In fact, I think he likes you so much he’s looking for a reason to tell everyone else to go fly a kite. But I jumped to the conclusion that he was somehow judging you unfairly and I’m afraid I was unkind to him.”

  Tears were welling up in Victoria’s eyes. She looked for all the world like a child, and Olivia had to remind herself she wasn’t. She was a young woman who knew her own mind enough to defy her parents to be here and she was capable of deciding for herself whether or not James Asher was worth her time.

  “He’s like every other well-bred young man in this day and age. He’s been raised to see things only one way, just as you have. But now you’ve been exposed to other ideas and started to see the value in them while this is all new to him. He only knows the opinions he’s been taught to have. I believe that, given time, he will come to see things as you do and be a support for you, and you for him, as time goes on. I urge you to give him another chance.”

  “But you said he’s gone home.”

  “No, he hasn’t left yet to the best of my knowledge. He’s planning to leave tomorrow afternoon, but that gives you enough time to get a message to him if you want to. Mr. Chase will arrange to have it delivered.”

  Victoria looked torn. Her head and heart were fighting for dominance. She felt she barely knew her own mind and recognized there was so much more for her to learn and to see and do. She was already fighting her parents for the right to do it. Did she really want to take up a fight with a man she barely knew? What right did he have to a say in her life?

  On the other hand, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had met the man she would one day marry when he screeched to a halt at the corner. He had come to the hotel with no idea what to say to her but at least he had made the effort. Wasn’t it up to her now to make an effort of her own or let him leave and accept that she would likely never see him again?

  “I don’t know what to do, Olivia. And I have a terrible headache. I think I’ll go to my room and lie down if you don’t mind.”

  Olivia walked her to the door and gave her a warm hug. “I’ll support whatever you decide. Just don’t wait too long. You know they say lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

  Victoria thanked her and left. On the way to her room she thought how appropriate Olivia’s words had been.

  I feel like I’m in the midst of a storm and calamity is on the horizon.

  CHAPTER 63

  CATHERINE PARKER

  1865

  Catherine arrived at Ford’s before the official opening of the doors for the audience. As Laura’s guest she was allowed entry and shown to the star’s dressing room where she found her new friend in costume and makeup and astonishingly nervous in spite of her familiarity with the role.

  Laura wasn’t just the star of the show. She had bought the rights to the play a few years before and she was also a theatre owner herself so she took a great deal of responsibility on her shoulders knowing the combination of this being the 1000th performance and having the president in the audience would bring added attention to the stage tonight. Catherine wished her well and left the dressing room to find her seat.

  When an usher showed her to the house she was virtually alone in the great space, as the audience had still not been allowed inside. There were a few ushers milling about and some last-minute work going on onstage, but Catherine’s attention was captured by the now decorated state box. She had been seen in the company of Ms. Keene over the past couple of days so no one stopped her as she made her way to the private box. Once again she entered through the unlocked doors and found herself standing where the president would stand to acknowledge the crowd in just a short while. She ran her hand along the deep red upholstery of the chair where he would take his ease for the final time and she looked around the box contemplating the horror that was to take place there. Absentmindedly she reached forward and touched the flag that was gathered into bunting on the front of the box. She ran her hand along it, feeling the folds and noticing the texture under her fingers. Without thinking, she straightened the framed portrait of George Washington and continued to smooth and straighten the fabric of the draped and upright flags. She wanted to them to be perfect and found herself lost in the act like a mother fussing over a daughter’s wedding dress and veil. It kept her busy for a moment and gave her a purpose—something good that she could do in a situation so terrible.

  Finally, she knew she had to leave the box and she did, closing each door carefully behind her. The house doors were now open and the audience was filing in to find their seats. She returned to orchestra level and made her way to the left of the house where Laura had reserved a place for her. Soon the theatre was filled, announcements were made and the entertainment began. Catherine found she couldn’t focus on what was happening onstage. She kept looking up to the state box, but she wasn’t the only one. Everyone kept monitoring the area as though the president might sneak in there unnoticed. A few patrons were getting visibly antsy that the president had not arrived as the play progressed until suddenly Laura Keene noticed action in the balcony and improvised a line to draw the audience’s attention to the entrance of the president. The orchestra struck up “Hail to the Chief” as the group made their way into the state box and suddenly there he was. Though she had accepted this moment would come, Catherine was unprepared for her reaction to seeing it with her own eyes. There, standing at the edge of the box where she had smoothed the flag not an hour before, was Abraham Lincoln. He held his signature stovepipe hat in his hand as he acknowledged the crowd with a smile, something not seen in photographs of the great man. Catherine could see his wife, Mary, beside him and two other people taking their seats in the box. Major Rathbone and Clara Harris took their places on the settee as the president continued to thrill the crowd with his acknowledgment before taking his own seat so the performance could resume. Catherine was amazed. She felt like she had been on a merry-go-round that was spinning too fast. The man revered for preserving the union and freeing the slaves, the one in the giant sculpture at the Lincoln Memorial, was sitting less than the length of a football field from her. He was there in the flesh, alive and well.

  Alive. Catherine’s earlier nausea returned and she fidgeted in her seat.

  The audience was once again attentive to the action onstage though there were many stolen glances at the state box. Everything was normal for a little while. Intermission came and went and with it went the only security guard Lincoln had between him and an assassin. The derelict guard abandoned his post and went drinking at the tavern next door.

  As the play continued its second act Catherine kept stealing glances at the box and the area leading to it. When her nerves were almost beyond frayed she saw him, a figure in black approaching an usher and handing him a card. The usher allowed him to pass and John Wilkes Booth rea
ched for the handle of the outer door to the state box. Before he entered, he looked around to see if anyone was watching and as he glanced back his eyes swept the orchestra level. He did a double take and locked eyes with the lovely young woman in the deep blue dress sitting house left a few rows from the stage. Catherine felt her breath catch in her throat. His eyes were black and soulless. They reflected the gaslights like onyx and she felt he could see through her, that he knew that she knew. She sat paralyzed like a statue as he turned the knob and passed through the outer door.

  A fan. The women always find me, even in the dark. Especially in the dark, Booth almost chuckled to himself. He knew his fame was about to grow exponentially.

  As Booth was carefully opening the inner door and slipping silently into the back of the box Catherine was coming apart in her seat downstairs. The man to her right noticed her distress.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss?” he inquired.

  “I’m not feeling well.” She stood abruptly and everyone in her row adjusted to allow her to pass to the aisle. It was apparent she needed to get out of the room. She walked quickly up the aisle and into the lobby. Laura did not see her retreat. The actor on stage was gearing up for a well-known line using some of the play’s folksy language. Catherine ignored the ushers who inquired about her condition and flew up the stairs to the dress circle. She topped the stairs and started around the outer wall toward the box, determined now to stop the would-be assassin.

  "Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal—you sockdologizing old man-trap," came the line from the stage, followed by an eruption of laughter from the audience and a sound that didn’t fit the scene. It was a gunshot. Catherine stopped in her tracks and sank down against the wall, just steps away from the door to the state box.