Shooting For Justice G. Tilman (short books to read .txt) 📖

“What are we missing, Sarah?” Pope asked.

“If we are wrong about Conkling, I don’t know. Like you said the other day, what we don’t know is what we don’t know. It will be something out of the blue neither us nor the two secretaries never dreamed about.”

“What are you seeing as being the most discussed and contentious things in Congress right now?” Pope asked.

“There are always arguments and speeches leading to more arguments about the expansion of the Navy.”

“Is it always the same argument?”

“No, not at all. A lot of people in both houses oppose it because the money takes funds away from their states or their pet interests. Those interests taken alone are not much. Taken together, they represent a lot of Congressional power.

“Do we need a bigger Navy? So much at one time? Changing from wooden ships to steel ones? Which Navy shipyards should get which slices of the shipbuilding pie? What ships should come first?”

“Sarah, let’s go back to your next-to-last. About the shipyards. Are you saying commercial shipyards don’t build Navy ships?”

“I am. The Navy has its own shipyards. Which in itself is a bone of contention. It seems it costs more to build a warship in a Navy shipyard than in one which builds commercial ships. Since the shipyards employ civilian builders, they have to hire crews of specialty workers for each ship approved for them. So, the interests of cities and states come back on the scene because a ship provides more jobs for some period of time.”

“Despite Arthur trying to do away with the spoils system for government jobs, spoils still describes almost everything else the government does, right?” Pope asked.

“Right! Spoils in the way of jobs, budgets, building projects. Virtually everything.”

“It’s clear any special interest group could be behind the threat Lincoln heard. We are looking for a needle in a haystack, aren’t we?” he asked.

“I am afraid so. There will always be people against a president. Crazy and legitimate people both. Your moves to protect the President’s House and guard the president when he is out and about may be all we can do. Even if we miss the conspirators on the train, but save him from another one, we will have accomplished a lot, John.”

The following morning, Pope had the same conversation with the secretary of war.

“You are not giving up are you, John?” Lincoln asked.

“Not in the least, sir. This is not a conversation full of excuses. It’s a statement of how very many reasons groups, even obscure ones, could have a gripe against the president. Sarah and I think protecting him from both organized conspiracies and single crazies is the first order of business. While he is being protected as reasonably possible, we will continue to chase down potential threat sources.”

“I admit, John, neither Ben nor I had previously given much thought to the presidency or the perils which come with it. I realize, particularly as the son of Abraham Lincoln, it’s pretty naïve of me. Try to keep him safe. I have a lead on a townhouse about five blocks from here.

“Please consider moving into it for the duration. It’s a few blocks more walking from the President’s House but gives the two of you a more established Washingtonian look. It actually will not cost as much as the Willard, is fully furnished and will allow you both to have a more normal life. I can have it billed directly here. Would you like to see it?”

“No, sir. If you think it would be best, we will move right away.”

“Oh! And it comes with a live-in housekeeper. Her presence will allow us to install a telephone so you can be reached or called out in an emergency.”

“Sounds good, sir. Perhaps I could take Sarah over today. Would you send the housekeeper a message introducing us?” Pope asked.

“It will be on the way before you make it back to the Willard.” Lincoln wrote down the address and handed the slip of paper to Pope as he was leaving.

He walked back to the Willard, happy with the turn of events. As nice as it was, it was still a hotel room with no way to cook. It did not have the space to stretch out. It was a room, not a home.

The two of them walked back to F Street NW and found the address. It was a well-kept brick townhouse with dark green shutters. They met May, the middle-aged housekeeper at the door. She showed them the parlor, dining room, master and second bedrooms and pointed up some narrow, steep steps. “I live at the top of the steps,” May said.

“I clean and cook. I can do hors oeuvres if you do a party or reception.”

“This is beautiful, May. I am sure we will be at home here!” Sarah told her.

“We may be installing a telephone, so there are times you may have to take messages,” Pope told her.

“A telephone! How exciting. I have a good handwriting. I never even saw a telephone. Who might call us?” she asked.

“The President’s House, attorney general, or secretary of war primarily.”

“The president?” she asked excitedly.

“No, the security office there. I head it up,” Pope told her. “If they call, especially in the middle of the night, there is a real problem. We will try to keep you aware of where both of us are during the day, in case either gets a call you can advise people.”

“There’s a backyard and two-horse stable through the kitchen door as well as a privy. The bathroom is just beyond. It’s brick to prevent fires from the wood heater for the tub. If you want a bath, just let me know ahead and I’ll fire up the water heater. It takes maybe half an hour for real hot water in the tub.”

“Thanks, May. We will move in late today. We only have clothes here. I am new to my job with the war office,” Pope said.

They went