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The White House
Senator William Alden Smith
Bill had not slept. Shock and conscience had kept him awake. He ate an early breakfast and set out to walk to the White House. He hoped that a brisk walk in the clean spring air would clear his mind. For weeks, he had dwelled on the image of the Titanic’s passengers fighting for survival in the icy Atlantic, and now that image had been replaced by something new—something else he could do nothing about. Myra had accused the small local newspaper of yellow journalism, but Bill could not agree. The unknown journalist had painted a picture that Bill could not forget even as he added his own touches to the painting. He saw Kate and her father hiding in the forest and Kate waiting alone as her father stepped away into the dense undergrowth. He saw her being startled by a sudden gunshot, then running to the place where her father had fallen. That was the point where Bill’s imagination failed him. He could not imagine what happened next or how Kate came to be on board the Carpathia.
He took a deep breath and made a determined effort to clear his mind of everything except the fact that Joe was supposed to bring Danny McSorley to meet with the president. He wondered how Joe had spent the night. Despite his denials, it was obvious to Bill that Joe had formed some kind of attachment to Kate Royston. Perhaps it was a fatherly attachment, and perhaps it was not.
He was relieved when Joe arrived on time, escorting Danny McSorley, who wore a dark suit, a dazzling white shirt, and a look of nervous anticipation.
“Well, here he is,” Joe said, ushering the young Englishman in through the front entrance of the White House. “Is Taft ready for him?”
“Mr. Hilles is inside with the president. He’ll let us know when we can go in,” Bill said.
Joe studied his surroundings. “Never thought I’d find myself here,” he said. He took a cheroot from his pocket, thought better of it, put it back, and gave a prodigious yawn.
“Didn’t you sleep?” Bill asked softly.
Joe shook his head. “No, I didn’t. How about you?”
“Couldn’t get my mind off what that reporter said about pointing fingers,” Bill admitted. “It doesn’t change my opinion of Bruce Ismay—he’s a damned unpleasant fellow—but that doesn’t make him a criminal, does it?”
“How’s your wife?” Joe asked.
“Upset,” Bill replied. “Nightmares. I shouldn’t have brought her with me last night.”
Joe gave a short bark of a laugh. “We wouldn’t have any information without her quick thinking. Women are stronger than we know. Think about all that Kate’s been through, and still she keeps on going.”
“Kate?” Danny interrupted. “What do you know about Kate? Do you know where she is? I’m sure Wolfie will want to see her before we leave.”
“Wolfie?” Joe queried. “Are you taking that hound with you to Newfoundland?”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what else to do with him,” Danny said. “Mrs. Trentham doesn’t want him, and he’ll be no problem up there. We’ll have plenty of space.”
Bill allowed the silence to linger and waited for Joe to tell Danny what he knew about Kate, but Joe continued to ask questions about the dog. He was a rare breed, so where would Danny find a mate for an otterhound?
Danny shook his head. “I don’t even know where I’ll find a mate for myself,” he said. “I really wish I could talk to Kate.”
“She’s left already,” Joe said carelessly. Bill caught his eye for a moment, but Joe looked away and continued to destroy any hope McSorley might have of seeing Kate again. “No one seems to know where she’s gone,” he said, “not even Mrs. Trentham. Don’t worry about her. If we find her, I’ll tell her you wanted to say goodbye. She’ll understand.”
“I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t a coward. Once I’ve told the president, I assume I’ll be able to tell her why I had to get into a lifeboat.”
“But she’s gone already,” Joe insisted. “She left last night. Don’t worry about her. I’m sure there are plenty of girls in Newfoundland. There’ll be a girl for you.”
“Not the one I want,” Danny muttered.
“Well,” said Joe, “we can’t always have what we want, can we? Have you made your arrangements to leave?”
“Day after tomorrow. I’ll go by train to New York, and then I’ve a berth on a packet steamer, the Prospero, to St. John’s. The Marconi office has made the reservation.” He patted the pocket of his dark suit. “I have my ticket and a ticket for Wolfie. It will be strange to be back on the sea after what happened last time.”
“You’ll be fine,” Joe said encouragingly. “The icebergs will have gone south by now.” He thrust out his hand. “Good luck, lad. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again.”
“No, I should think not.”
The door to the president’s office swung open, and Hilles stepped out. He looked at Danny suspiciously. “Is this him?”
“Yes.”
“Canadian?”
“No. British.”
Hilles continued his inspection. “He looks like a Viking,” he said.
“I’m British,” Danny repeated.
Hilles nodded. “Well, at least you have a decent suit. The president has agreed to see you, but you’d better not be playing any kind of game here. I’m only permitting this meeting because you have something to say about Major Butt. You’d better make it good and you’d better make it quick. The president is a busy man.”
Danny nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I’m going in with him,” Bill said. “That’s what we agreed.”
Hilles pulled Bill aside and spoke softly. “If you can do anything to get the president moving, I will be very grateful. The country is going to the dogs while he mopes around in there.”
Bill shrugged. “I don’t know the nature of the message, but McSorley is a decent kind of fellow and very insistent.”
“And what about your cowboy friend?” Hilles asked, cocking an eyebrow in Joe’s direction.
“He’s leaving now,” Bill replied.
Hilles nodded his response. “All right, then. You can go in. He’ll see you now.”
Bill ushered Danny into the gloom of the president’s office. Although the morning sun was shining brightly outside, the drapes on the tall windows were partially closed, and the electric light sconces on the walls fought a losing battle with gloomy green wallpaper. Taft was behind his desk. Although it had been no more than a few days since their last meeting, Bill thought the president had lost weight in his face, if not in his body. His jowls drooped like those of a depressed bloodhound, and his skin had taken on a yellow tinge. Oh God, Bill thought, calling on the Almighty with complete sincerity, let Danny have good news. He regretted his prayer almost immediately. How could there be good news of Archibald Butt? The president’s envoy was gone. Even his body was gone. He would not be seen again until the final day, when the sea would give up its dead.
“Mr. Taft.”
Bill was suddenly aware that Danny was reaching into his pocket. For a horrified moment, he wondered if he had brought an assassin into the White House. Should he shout for help? Marines were stationed in the White House. Would they arrive in time?
Danny withdrew his hand from his pocket and deposited a bloodstained envelope on the cluttered surface of Taft’s desk.
Taft sat up, suddenly alert. “What’s this? Whose blood is this?”
“Some of it’s mine, and some belongs to Major Butt,” Danny said.
Taft pulled the envelope toward him with reverent fingers. “What’s in here?”
“I don’t know, but Major Butt died trying to bring it to you, and the captain himself put me in a lifeboat. My instructions were to stay alive and bring this to you without fail, and that’s what I’ve done.”
“And you say that some of this blood is yours?” Taft asked. He was sitting up straight in his chair now, and his eyes were gleaming with interest. Suddenly he was the man that Bill knew, the man who could had beaten Roosevelt.
“Most of it belongs to the major,” Danny said. “He was gutshot.”
Taft winced. “Tell me.”
“Well, sir—”
“Sit down,” Taft ordered. “You are too tall to be standing up. You too, Smith. Sit down, the pair of you, and tell me what this is all about. Why was this given to you?”
“Well,” Danny said, “we knew we were going down. There was no two ways about it. She was going fast, but it was chaos, and it seemed like no one remembered the lifeboat drill. Some of the boats were away on the port side, and most on the starboard. Major Butt and the other gentlemen were helping. He was very brave, sir. He tried to get the women and children into the boats, but it was hard. A lot of shouting and a lot of people who didn’t speak English, and there was the whole issue of the other ship.”
“What other ship?”
“Some people said they could see the light of another ship and she was coming for us, but some said there was no such thing.”
“We’ve had testimony,” Bill interrupted. “We’ve found the blighter.”
“I hope we shoot him,” Taft said vehemently. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”
Bill bit his tongue. Because you haven’t been listening.
“Towards the end,” Danny said, “when it was obvious that no one was coming for us and there were never going to be enough lifeboats, we saw a boat, collapsible A, going down the side of the ship. You see, that one wasn’t kept on the deck; it was kept in davits for general use, but I don’t think anyone had noticed it until then. Major Butt said he would have to try to get in. He said he was sorry, but he had a mission for the president and it was his duty to carry it through to the end. He wasn’t a coward, sir.”
“I know he wasn’t,” Taft interrupted.
“He could have insisted on going on any of the boats,” Danny continued doggedly. “All he had to say was he was acting on the president’s orders, but he waited until the last minute. I think he would have made it, sir, if it had not been for the officer with the gun.”
“What officer with a gun?” Taft roared. “Smith, do you know anything about this? Did a British officer shoot Major Butt?”
Danny shook his head vehemently. “No, it wasn’t like that. The third-class passengers had come swarming up on deck, and they were going to rush the boats. We were lowering the lifeboat. The officer, I think it was Officer Wilde, but I will not swear to it, fired along the side of the ship to keep them back. But you see, just as he fired, Major Butt moved to get in the boat, and the bullet took him in the gut.”
“You know this for a fact?” Taft asked.
“Yes, sir. I’ve seen gutshots before. I’ve been in action against ... well, I’ve been in places where men have been shooting, and I know how it is. The major knew too. He knew he couldn’t survive. He couldn’t get up off the deck, let alone get down into a lifeboat. That’s when he gave me the envelope. Captain Smith was there. He was watching. I think he knew the major had an important mission.”
“Yes,” said Taft gravely. “Archie had a very important mission.”
“So Captain Smith told me to take the envelope and get down into collapsible A—by then it was in the water. I had to go down a rope. Major Butt couldn’t have done it, sir. If I’d thought he could have survived, I would never have taken his place.”
Bill stared at the young Englishman. “Why have you kept all this to yourself?” he asked.
Danny scratched at the top of his head for a moment. “Well, Senator, it was a secret. Major Butt said I should go to the president and no one else. I did tell you I needed to see the president.”
“But you didn’t tell me why.”
“I was not clear as to who I should trust,” Danny explained.
“I’m a senator,” Bill hissed. “You could have trusted me.”
“I didn’t know that, sir. I don’t understand the politics of your country. I was not sure of your party affiliation.”
Taft’s chair creaked as he leaned back in his seat. “I think he understands us perfectly well.” He turned the envelope in his hands. “How did your blood get on here, young man?”
“I went down a rope,” Danny said, “but it wasn’t long enough. In the end, I had to jump. I banged my head. Heads bleed a lot, you see.” An expression of regret crossed his face. “I wanted to tell Miss Kate what happened—how come I was in that boat with only those few people and none of them willing to help anyone else—but I couldn’t say, could I? I had to let her think badly of me. I don’t suppose I’ll have another chance to tell her, this being a secret meeting.” He sighed. “Oh well, at least I’ll have Wolfie.”
Taft shook his head and looked at Bill. “Don’t know what he’s talking about, but I want you to make sure he’s looked after. Give him a medal or something.”
“I can’t just—”
“I don’t need a medal,” Danny said. He leaned forward and frowned at Taft. “I’d just like to know that it was all worth it, Major Butt dying and everything.”
Taft’s puffy fingers pawed through the papers on his desk and retrieved a letter opener. “Let’s see,” he said.
“Sir,” Bill protested, “you surely don’t plan to expose state secrets.”
“I plan to open this envelope,” Taft said, “and when I have opened it, I will tell you what I plan to do next.”
Bill had become so accustomed to Taft’s morose apathy that he had almost forgotten how energetic the president could be when the mood was upon him.
With a deft stroke of the letter opener, Taft slit the bloodstained envelope and pulled out a sheet of heavy, embossed paper.
“German,” Taft said. “So he managed to see him. Good old Archie. He got his meeting with the kaiser.” The note was short, and Taft scanned it quickly before folding it and reinserting it in the envelope. Then he lumbered to his feet.
“War,” he said. “There will be war. The kaiser will not promise peace, and so there will be war.”
Bill forgot that Danny was still listening. “When? Does he say when?”
Taft shook his head. “No, he doesn’t, but the kaiser warns me not to interfere. He says that the German immigrants he has sent to America will rise up if America goes to war against Germany.” He slammed the letter down on the desk. “The cheek of it,” he said. “How dare he threaten me!” He looked at Danny. “So, you’re British?” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I imagine your king will fight,” Taft said. “It will be a bloody mess with or without German immigrants rising up and starting a civil war.”
“What will you do?” Danny asked.
“Damned if I know,” Taft replied.
He walked around the desk and extended his hand to Danny. “Thank you, young man. You’ve done a great service, and now you’d best be on your way. Newfoundland, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Cape Race.”
“I shall think of you when next I receive a Marconigram forwarded on from your station,” Taft said. “Good day to you. Safe journey.”
Taft waited until the door had closed behind Danny before he spoke again. “All right, Smith. Time to be done with this inquisition of yours. Find someone to blame, and send everyone else home. Get it done quickly. We have work to do.”
Bill closed the door of the Oval Office behind him and found Joe still hovering in the corridor.
“Where’s McSorley?”
“Gone on ahead,” Joe said. “Is everything all right?”
Bill shook his head. “No, everything is not all right. I’m supposed to find someone to blame and wrap up the inquiry. This has basically been a waste of time, Joe. Now that Taft is over his grief, he doesn’t want to hear another word.”
“And who will you blame?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know,” Bill replied. “I’m not even sure if it will make a difference. We haven’t broken through to J. P. Morgan, and we’ve ruined Ismay and Lord, but we’ve achieved nothing.”
“So you no longer need me?” Joe asked.
“No,” Bill said morosely, “I suppose not. There’s no point in subpoenaing any additional witnesses. We know what we need to know.”
“In that case, I’ll make my way back to Michigan,” Joe said.
“When will you leave?”
“As soon as I can.”
“Well,” Bill said. “I ... uh ...” He found himself stumbling for words to thank his friend for all that he had done.
“Bill,” Joe said, “did you know that poor Mrs. Astor is only eighteen?”
“Yes ...”
“And Jacob Astor was forty-seven.”
“Yes ...”
“Good to know,” Joe said. He pulled a cheroot from his pocket, struck a match against his boot, and sauntered away, leaving a trail of fragrant smoke.
Bill glanced at his watch and realized that the committee would soon be taking their lunch break. He mentally reviewed the list of witnesses who had been called for the morning session. Marconi would be given another chance to showcase his remarkable invention. Harold Bride, hopefully in better health, would assure them once again that he had passed all ice warnings to the bridge, and Harold Cottam would be back in the witness chair to tell of the warnings he had received on board the Carpathia.
Bill fought against an overwhelming feeling that he was wasting his time. Increasingly the witness statements had been one man’s word against another man’s word, or memory, and even memories were shifting on a daily basis. Now a new phenomenon had arisen: witnesses who simply could not be trusted at all. Yesterday the committee had been in recess for hours waiting for a witness who had been brought by armed guard from Cleveland. He had claimed to be Luis Klein, a Titanic crew member, and he had vowed that the captain and all the officers had been drunk at the time of the collision. Unfortunately, having installed Klein in a guesthouse, the marshal from Cleveland had failed to watch him, and the witness vanished overnight. Even more unfortunately, neither the crew nor the officers knew of anyone named Luis Klein.
As tired and irritated as he was, Bill had wondered whether some unfortunate fatal accident had overtaken that particular witness, or whether he was simply a confidence trickster who had never been at sea on the Titanic—a man from Cleveland looking for a free visit to Washington. Bill had wasted an hour of committee time questioning the crew and the passengers very closely about any suspicion of the captain and officers being drunk and had come away with the impression that none of them had been seen to touch a drink while the Titanic was underway. He had also come away with the impression that he had made a fool of himself ... yet again.
He decided not to lunch at the Willard and stepped off the curb to call a cab. He would go home. Nana would be surprised to see him, but she would come up with something for his lunch, and he needed her company and her plain common sense.
He found the dining room empty and kitchen in turmoil. Myra Grunwald had arrived to question the two Irish girls, and according to a flustered Nana, things had not gone well. Kitty had become a spitting fury, and Maeve had dissolved into a puddle of tears. The end result was an empty table and no lunch for the senator.
Bill repaired to the parlor with the morning paper while Nana restored order. He read quickly through the headlines. Congressman Oscar Underwood of Alabama had won the Democratic primary in Georgia, defeating New Jersey governor Woodrow Wilson. Bill began to suspect that Taft would find himself running against Wilson for the presidency. He could only hope, now that the major question of Archibald Butt’s fate had been answered, Taft would start to pay attention to his political future. He scanned on down the page. Only two days until the British Wreck Commissioner, in England, would open his own hearing into the sinking of the Titanic, but Bill was still holding Ismay in the United States. He shook his head. The British were growing impatient, and he was rapidly running out of time.
He flipped the page to the shipping news. The Olympic, sister of the Titanic, had docked in New York. He studied the grainy photograph. These two ships were said to be almost identical. What if ...?
He opened the kitchen door, steeled himself against the tumult within, and beckoned to Nana. “Will you come with me to New York?”
Nana bustled out of the kitchen. “New York?” she queried. “What would we do in New York?”
Bill ushered her into his study, where he could no longer hear the hubbub in the kitchen. “Every day,” he said, “I question witnesses about what happened. Where were they on the ship? Where were the lifeboats? Where were the immigrant quarters, and how could they reach the boat deck? People give me answers, but I know that the best words they have cannot describe the scene. I can’t see it in my mind, Nana. If I could go on board the Olympic and walk its decks, maybe the picture would become clearer. I have to bring this inquiry to a close, but I know I don’t have the full picture.”
“No one expects you to know everything,” Nana said. “And you have other committee members.”
Bill shook his head. “I’m the one who has to write the report. I have to put this tragedy into words, apportion blame, and find ways to make sure this never happens again. I wasn’t on the Titanic, but I can go aboard the Olympic. What do you say? Will you come to New York?”
Nana frowned. “Why do you need me? Surely you should take one of the other senators.”
Bill slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. “I watched you at the Willard,” he said, “and I saw you take on Eva Trentham and Myra Grunwald. You were stronger than I would ever have imagined. And then there was the conversation you had about what fate could befall Kate Royston in Gibraltar and—”
Nana buried her face in her hands. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. Were you shocked?”
“Intrigued,” Bill admitted. “I believe that I have underestimated you. I don’t think I need some crusty old senator at my side; I believe I need my charming, surprising, and highly intelligent wife. What do you say? Will you come?”
Nana smiled. “When you put it like that, how can I resist? All right. Let’s go and walk the decks of the Olympic and see what she has to tell us.”