Instead, she looked in the mirror and smiled. Smiling back at her was Woodrow Wilson. She showed her teeth and the reflection showed those teeth back. She couldn’t explain it – somehow she was still herself but seen by others (including herself) as the twenty-eighth President of the United States.
A knock on the door distracted her from her thoughts. She walked to and opened the door and there stood Edith Wilson, the First Lady. First Lady Wilson was someone whom Libby had always respected. In 1919, after her husband’s stroke, she opposed Vice-President Marshall’s assuming of Presidential power and took on many of the Presidential responsibilities herself. As a result, she was nicknamed the Secret President and even the first female President of the United States by others in the cabinet.
In 1916, she took over her husband’s scheduling, something that had always been taken care of by the Chief of Staff (called Secretary in those days). She was a strong woman, similar to Libby and Libby could relate to some of her struggles in politics.
Libby was a little taken aback by seeing Edith out of awe and surprise. Not that she should have been surprised that President Wilson’s wife would be around but she was still grappling with the fact that she had somehow become Woodrow Wilson.
“Woodrow, are you okay?” The concern in her voice was evident. The fact that she didn’t call him Woody or Tommy as she sometimes did was enough to show that she was worried.
“Why do you ask?” Libby answered, realizing once again that she spoke in a deeper voice, which now seemed explained.
“Don’t try to fool me Woodrow Wilson, you know exactly what I mean. Joe said you were acting strange. He said you asked him some unusual questions and then ran back into your office.”
The stress and the unusualness of the situation almost made Libby laugh. She stopped herself but she couldn’t suppress a smile. She knew right away she had made a mistake.
“Do you think this is funny?” Edith almost shouted. “Here I am worried to death about you as it is, about you cracking up during a war. And you show the agents that might be true, yet you think that is funny.”
Libby had to put her head down to keep from laughing out loud. Edith took that as a sign that her husband was worn physically and stressed out. Libby waited for the reaction that didn’t come and when it didn’t she looked up at Edith. She could see that Edith’s expression had softened.
“I’m sorry to worry you, dear,” Libby repeated the line her husband had said to her many times. It felt strange. At the same time, however, she felt equally excited and guilty. She was playing the role of Woodrow Wilson, a very successful President. Now that she had come to a very small level of understanding about her situation, she was beginning to embrace it.
At the same time, she also felt guilt as she knew that Edith Wilson was living out her life unsuspecting there was anything unusual about her husband. Edith was living through a stressful period of her life yet Libby was enjoying the moment.
Edith looked at her husband with soft eyes. “Look, I know it hasn’t been easy. This is the largest war our country has been engaged in since our own Civil War. But you know that I’m here for you. We’re in this together. If you can’t talk to me, I can’t help you.”
Libby let Edith embrace her and hoped that the embrace would not be accompanied by a kiss. She was not sure how she would handle that. When they parted, Edith looked seriously at her husband. “Now get yourself together. You have a cabinet meeting in an hour.”
Libby started to ask her why she would have a cabinet meeting in the middle of the night but as she was about to reply, she looked out of the window behind the desk and saw that the horizon has begun to turn pink in anticipation of the rising sun.
“I’ll be ready,” she promised the First Lady.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Passchendaele, Belgium – November 1917
Vincent woke up on the killing field. At first, he was not aware of where he was; all he saw was mud.
His first thought was that he had been knocked down by the mob. His last memory was of seeing the President of the United States shot. The gunfire rang out but the sound came after the shirt of President Williams exploded in red.
That was when the pain came to him. The vision of President Williams covered in blood dissolved into a dull grey. A throb in his temple became his world before that world turned black; and then there was nothing.
The sound of gunfire brought him back. The first thought that came to him was that the President had been shot again. Then, the smell came. His nose was filled with the stench that only death can bring – spilled blood and that which escapes a gutted corpse. The smell brought him to full awareness.
He turned his head and saw the dead all around him. It seemed the assassination of the President had turned into a full scale assault and everyone in the audience was now lifeless.
A large explosion filled the air and he swore it was cannon fire. The surprising sound almost caused him to instinctively sit up but a deeper sense of survival forced him to stay where he was. All around him he could hear men screaming – some in fear, some in rage, most in pain. These screams were accompanied by the boots of men driving through mud, gunfire and something hitting the earth. He had never actually heard that sound in person but had seen plenty of war movies. There was no mistake
