“I know you’re Kifo. But I’m not a cop and I can prove it.”
“Well, you better prove it cause there’s nothing these boys like better than killin’ cops. And the only people, besides us,” he said as he used his gun to gesture around the apartment at the rest of the group, “who knows about Kifo is cops.”
“I know about it because I’m on the inside with the organizers of the march. That’s how I know who you are and that’s how I have access to Dr. King. I can tell you exactly where he is and what he’s doing. You just tell me what you’re planning and I’ll figure out a way to get him where you need him to be.” Calvin felt sick at his stomach just saying the words. He revered Dr. King and even pretending that he was on the side of these thugs made him sick. He kept reminding himself he just had to find out the plan so the police could take over. He kept talking. “If you want to get attention then you have to make a big splash and you need a big name for that. You want a race war, right?”
“Only way to get what’s ours is to fight for it. Talkin’ never did no good,” Fish said.
Calvin could see he was getting somewhere. “If you take out Dr. King, you’ll get the race war you want. He’s not the only organizer, but he’s the most famous and the most moderate. He’s the main voice for peace. If you take out the one calling for peace you’ll get war.”
Calvin stopped talking because he could see Fish was considering what he had said.
“All right, I won’t kill you tonight. But I still don’t believe you so you gonna have to prove yourself.”
“How?”
“If you so close to King, you be back here at seven o’clock tomorrow morning with proof that you was with him today.”
“What kind of proof?” Calvin asked.
“Well, Pro-fess-a, you gonna have to figure that out on your own. And you better get it done cause Tiny here is gonna follow you home so we’ll know right where to find you if you try to pull anything shady.”
Tiny turned out to be anything but. He was a mammoth man with a fierce scowl. Calvin had a feeling Tiny could do unspeakable things to him and not be late for dinner.
After a few more admonishments and reminders of what kinds of horror they would visit on him if he betrayed them, Fish let Calvin leave with Tiny in tow. They started the long walk to the Willard while Calvin tried to figure out a way to explain his new shadow’s presence in the grand hotel. He hoped Edward Chase had some tricks up his sleeve.
CHAPTER 30
OLIVIA FORDHAM
1913
From the time Abigail Adams had written to her husband, John, during his attendance at the Continental Congress in Philadelphia in 1776 asking him to “remember the ladies,” the role of women in society and in government had been hotly debated. For some it was not a question of if, but when, women would be recognized as fully involved, equal citizens. For others the question was whether or not they were mentally qualified or if the act of political involvement was too rough for their delicate sensibilities. By the time Victoria Webster and Olivia Fordham walked into the NAWSA offices the very idea that women were too delicate to participate fully in society was a notion that was on its way out of popular thinking, although it would take years to completely defeat the idea. Olivia wasn’t sure if the notion was ever truly defeated given some of the chauvinists she had known over the course of her career. Still, there was important work being done and Olivia quickly noticed the zeal with which the women went about their duties. It reminded her of the staffs of some of the causes she worked with. They were true believers with no frame of reference for surrender.
Alice Paul was leading the charge for the organization. She was well known in suffrage circles and her methods tended to be more radical than those of other pioneers of the movement. She was officially the chairperson of the Congressional Committee whose members had been known to resort to hunger strikes when picket lines didn’t yield the desired results. She was a New Jersey Quaker, twenty-eight years old, and a veteran of the movement in England where she had been imprisoned and later force-fed when she wouldn’t end her hunger strike. Paul was a legend in suffrage circles, eclipsing even the work of such earlier luminaries as Lucretia Mott, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Susan B. Anthony. Though some states had given women the vote, Paul and her compatriots would not be satisfied until the federal government mandated it from sea to shining sea.
The office was bustling with activity for the march that was just two days away. When Olivia introduced herself to the young girl at the front desk and also gave her Victoria’s name, Alice Paul was summoned at once. Olivia found it strange that they would be so quickly and enthusiastically received, but pushed the thought aside as they were led to a rear office. Her uneasiness was soon answered when Amelia Sutherland joined them as well.
“Miss Webster, I’m so pleased to meet you. Please forgive me for not being at the hotel when you arrived. My assistance was needed here and I’m very glad you’ve made it,” Sutherland said as she turned to Paul. “Alice, this is the young lady Sarah was telling us about.”
Sarah Lanphear was the woman Victoria had met at the Philadelphia rally and who had visited the Webster home encouraging Victoria to get involved. Alice Paul came forward to shake Victoria’s hand. “Yes, of course! Sarah wrote me about you and I’m very happy to meet you. And who is your companion?”
“This is Olivia Fordham, Ms. Paul. I just met her at the hotel and she was planning to come here as well so we rode over together.”
Alice and Olivia shook hands and Alice asked Olivia where she was from.
“I’m here from New York and I’ve heard great things about your organization. I wanted to come by and see for myself.”
Alice could see that Olivia was a woman of means. Her appearance and mannerisms were both flawless and she had a New York connection. Park Avenue, she thought, or maybe Fifth. Definitely Upper East Side. Plus she had Victoria Webster in her office, a coup for the group no doubt. Sarah had told Alice about Victoria’s family in Philadelphia. They were an old money, Main Line family with lineage traceable to the early settlers and landed gentry in England before that. A woman of her standing would be an invaluable asset for the movement and Philadelphia was a hard nut to crack. Victoria could be the key. Alice was thrilled to have two well-connected women joining the ranks.
The women talked for a while about plans for the march as well as their intention to meet with President Wilson after the inauguration. Alice told them about efforts in other states and how each could be beneficial in their home cities. Victoria looked uncomfortable and Olivia noticed. When Alice and Amelia stepped out for a moment to tend to business Olivia asked Victoria what was wrong.
“It was just something she said,” Victoria said, referring to Alice. “She talked about my family and how important that could be in Philadelphia. But I’m here on my own. My family doesn’t support this and I don’t think my parents would be happy with their name being used.” She looked defeated. “I’m afraid my mother might be right. I’m just a girl. What use could I be to them except for my name?”
“That’s nonsense, Victoria. You are your own person and it’s your name as well as your family’s. I do agree that you have to be careful. A good name is built over a long period of time and torn down in a moment if one is not careful. But you haven’t heard yet what they want you to do. You can always say no, but you should determine for yourself if the cause is something you want to lend your name to. It doesn’t hurt to hear them out.”
“You’re right. I am passionate about women having the vote. I’ve met quite a few young men who, frankly Mrs. Fordham, I don’t believe are as intelligent as I am. I know that sounds terribly conceited, but why shouldn’t a smart woman have just as much right to a voice as any man has regardless of his education?”
“Victoria, I’m quite certain there are many men and women who are not as learned as you are,” Olivia said with a smile. “And I dare say most are not as brave. You seem to have a good head on y
our shoulders and I believe you can make an informed decision.”
Victoria looked much more comfortable when the ladies returned.
“I would be happy to help you this week in any way I can,” Victoria said to Ms. Paul. “And when the march is over we can discuss how I might be of service to you in Philadelphia if that is agreeable to us both.” Olivia was impressed with the confidence she heard in Victoria’s voice.
They left the office with the understanding that both would return to the office the following morning to join the effort.
The afternoon was lovely and they decided to walk back to the hotel. The two women chatted easily and Olivia had to keep reminding herself that this young girl was actually her grandmother. Because of their current ages she found herself mothering the girl while marveling at the courage and fortitude she showed at such a tender age. Seventeen in 1913 was a far cry from seventeen in the twenty-first century. Plus, Victoria had grown up sheltered in a world of class and wealth. She couldn’t have seen much of the seedier side of life, but she carried herself with such resolve that it conflicted with her age and circumstances.
After they had walked several blocks and taken in the sights of the city, both women were starting to wish for a taxi to come along. The thought had barely crossed their minds when they came to a street corner and a motorcar came to a screeching halt, sending water from a curbside puddle all over Olivia’s dress. Victoria escaped the deluge, but was mortified at the sight before her. The driver of the car leapt out and immediately began apologizing to the women. He was practically stumbling over himself with embarrassment at causing the scene. The car was new to him, he reported, and he was still having difficulty with some of the rigors of driving. He was a terribly kind young man and it was apparent that he felt terrible about the mess.
Victoria was using her white gloves to try and dry some of the fetid water from the shoulders of Olivia’s ruined dress. The young man passed his linen handkerchief to Olivia so she could wipe her face. She was struggling with her hat, which was dripping dirty water all over her. She finally got the hat off and wiped her face and when she looked up she had another shock in store. It was a good thing her health problems were limited to her head and not her heart because two shocks in one day would have been more than she could take.
She thanked him for the handkerchief and handed it back, dumbstruck. As she did, she noticed the monogrammed initials, JFA. James Franklin Asher. Her grandfather.
CHAPTER 31
CATHERINE PARKER
1865
Against all odds, Catherine was able to fall asleep without much of a struggle. The situation she found herself in was too big for her mind to comprehend and she just shut down for a few hours. It was the best thing she could have done for herself.
The next morning when she woke up and started to stretch and wipe the sleep from her eyes, she thought for a moment she’d been dreaming until she looked around the room and saw the evidence of a bygone era. A glance out the window confirmed her suspicion. The half-finished monument stared back at her like an omen. She thought about the date. April 13. Not just April 13. . . .April 13, 1865. One day before the Lincoln assassination. She recalled from her school days that Lincoln was shot on Good Friday. That made today Maundy Thursday, the date of remembrance marking the night of the Last Supper. She couldn’t get the thought out of her mind.
She took care in her dressing, this time letting the lady’s maid Mr. Chase offered help her into the corset. It wasn’t quite as painful as she anticipated, but the real shock was how it changed the shape of her body. She admired her hourglass figure in the full-length mirror and pushed the thoughts of women’s liberation and so forth to the back of her mind. Even her best push-up bra couldn’t do what this had done for her cleavage. After a few more admiring turns before the mirror she got back to business. Chase had spoken of tears in the fabric of history. All through school she’d been an excellent student of history and the law and although she would love to have her laptop and access to Google she knew she would have to reason this out the old-fashioned way. She took out a sheet of heavy paper from the drawer along with the elaborate quill and ink bottle. It looked like a mess waiting to happen. Oh well, the Lord hates a coward, she thought. She dipped the nub of the quill into the bottle and after a few blobs and smears, she began to make a list of what she could remember about the assassination and Lincoln’s last days. To figure out what she was supposed to do she had to find out where the tear was. What was “off” about the situation? Who wasn’t where they were supposed to be? What part of the puzzle was missing? The list began to grow, but she felt like it was done by a seventh grader. These were facts most everyone knew. Was there anything here that would point her in the right direction? She read the list over and over, adding small details as she remembered them.
Lincoln was shot just a few days after Lee surrendered to Grant. John Wilkes Booth was an actor. . .well-known. Ladies’ man?
Shot at Ford’s Theatre. . .play was “Our American Cousin” Laura Keene is the star of the play!
The Lincolns attended the play with another couple. . .names?
The assassination was part of a larger plot that included plans to murder the Vice President and other top government officials. Who? Seward? The folly guy?
There was a woman involved. She had a tavern and boarding house. Mary Surratt. What is the address of the boarding house?
Lincoln had a guard with him who left the theatre and went to a tavern, leaving him unguarded.
The opera box Lincoln sat in overlooked the stage. Check out at rehearsal this afternoon.
Booth found out the president was coming when he went to get his mail at the theatre. (He traveled as an actor and had his mail sent there.) Was this the day of?
Even after the official surrender the war still went on in other parts of the country.
Grant went to Washington to sign papers formally ending the business of war. Lots of people wanted to see this hero.
Lincoln was the most hated man in the country.
Vice President Johnson was not popular either because he was a Southerner who sided with the union, but the union didn’t trust him because he was from Tennessee.
Booth had a gun that only fired one bullet.
Booth believed he would be hailed a hero for killing the president.
After what felt like the hundredth reading of the list she was no closer to figuring out her next step. She decided the best move would be getting out among the people and trying to observe as much as possible. Maybe something would stand out. She recalled learning that, during this time in history, anyone could just walk into the White House without an appointment. Catherine folded the list and put it in her reticule, added a pair of delicate lace-trimmed gloves to her ensemble, and headed out the door for the short walk down Pennsylvania Avenue.
CHAPTER 32
TOM KELLY
1962
Once he had Ethan on his way to the Willard, Tom hung around in the hallway until he was called to the Oval Office. He didn’t want anyone yelling at the young man for leaving his post so he made sure to let some higher-ups know he had sent him on a very important errand to retrieve something from his hotel. He hoped the boy was able to get through to his mother and that they could catch up and offer each other some comfort. It would be nice if he could pick up the phone and call his own mother, but at this rate he might be seeing her sooner rather than later. He supposed his apology for skipping out on law school could be delivered once he passed through the pearly gates if it came to that in the next few hours or days.
Mrs. Lincoln ushered him into the Oval where the president, the attorney general, the national security adviser, and the head of the CIA (John McCone, as he had suspected) were waiting to speak with him. The hour was getting late and Tom noticed the long shadows outside the window.
The attorney general spoke first. “Have a seat, Mr. Kelly. Our time is short because the president has to get back to the Sit Room
but we’d like to follow up on something you said earlier today.”
“Fine,” answered Tom.
“You said you think Khrushchev believes the US will blink first. Why do you say that?”
Tom was ready for this question. He had been thinking about it all afternoon. “The Soviet premier believes the U.S. will blink first because of an inherent characteristic in the Russian male nature.”
“Go on,” the President encouraged.
“Mr. President, you must remember that since the overthrow of the imperial government in 1917 the Soviet state has been challenged with keeping control of its population under a communist system that provides for, ironically, an unequal allocation of resources. The poor are still the poor; the working class is still the working class. Only now, instead of the opulence of a royal family and the trappings of imperialism, the workers labor under the iron fist of a faceless, industrial entity. The proletariat isn’t enjoying a better life than they had before, it’s just that now they go about their meager existence without a glamorous family to fawn over and with a secret police presence to keep them up worrying at night. This government has little to offer them so they give them heaping doses of something that is not in short supply.” Tom paused to see if anyone in the room would fill in the blank.
“And what is that, Mr. Kelly?” The question came from the CIA director. “What are they giving them that has anything at all to do with the problem at hand?”
“Propaganda. They’re giving them propaganda.” Tom could see the director was about to interject with a comment but he kept going. “The Soviet mentality is no accident. For more than forty years, the people have been told by the government that they are superior in every way to the rest of the world’s population, especially the Americans.”
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