The President's Daughter Read online

  I begged and pleaded the whole drive home, but Arthur wouldn't give in. He pulled up to the front door of the White House. “Hop down, now, and run and see your mother. I believe that's where you'll find your surprise.”

  I took the front steps two at a time, dodged some important-looking gentlemen in the Cross Hall, waved at Tom Pen, nearly ran smack into Secretary Hay, who was always visiting Father, and thundered up the stairs to the family quarters. I threw open Mother's library door. “I'm home! Arthur said there was— Sister!”

  She was sitting on the floor in front of Mother's desk. She stood up when she saw me, and I launched myself at her. “Ethel! Whoa, careful, honey!” Sister staggered to the divan and pulled me onto her lap. I was too big for that, of course, but I laughed and hugged her all the same. “How sweet you look!” she said. “I've missed you!”

  “I've missed you, too!” I told her. “I've missed you for ages. I wish you'd come to school with me.”

  “Hello, Ethel,” Mother said quietly. She had a funny look on her face, one she got only when Sister was around.

  “Hello, Mother,” I said.

  Sister wore a white skirt and a white blouse, and her hat had beautiful white silk flowers on the brim. She looked so trim and pretty. Her wide-set eyes, which I had always admired, glittered with amusement. “Is school any better?” she asked. “Any less dreadful?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then I'd better not try it. If you don't like it, I'm sure I wouldn't be able to bear it. Anyway, I don't want to. Look, I brought you something from New Haven.” She plucked a parcel off the floor and gave it to me. Inside was a purple felt banner reading YALE. “It's from the university,” she explained. “I went with Father to the dinner where he spoke.”

  “Thank you!” I stroked the banner, then folded it carefully. “I'll take it to school and hang it in my room.” It would look just right there. Sister must have known it was the sort of thing all the girls had. She knew how to do everything right. “I'll show it to Emily on Monday,” I said.

  “Is that the girl you were rude to?” Sister asked. “The one you wrote to me about?”

  I flushed. I'd been rude to Emily more than once, but never exactly on purpose. “I like her best of all the girls,” I said. “I'm going to try to be nicer.”

  “Of course you are!” Sister said. “I'm sure she likes you, anyway. How couldn't she? My lovely darling sister!” A warm feeling, almost a glow, spread through me. I giggled. Sister giggled back.

  Mother had finished stacking the papers on her desk. She looked up. “We need to get changed now,” she said. “We're meeting your father at the stables in half an hour.”

  “Are you coming?” I asked Sister.

  “I am!”

  I took Sister's arm and we skipped off to our rooms. I took her through mine first and showed her the door that connected them. “You've got the bigger one,” I said, opening the door. To my surprise, I saw that her trunks were already unpacked. “When did you get here?” I asked.

  “Yesterday morning. Father and I took the night train from New Haven. Didn't they tell you I was coming?” “No,” I said. She frowned. “Mother knew last week. And Father did too, he cabled me at Aunt Bamie's to say when I should be ready.” “They just wanted to surprise me.” I sat on Sister's bed and bounced up and down. “That or they were afraid I wouldn't come.” I stopped bouncing. “Did you think you wouldn't come?” Sister wrinkled her nose. “I couldn't stay away forever, could I?” “I don't know,” I said. I had worried that she could. “Silly girl.” She pulled a riding habit out of her wardrobe. “Is that new?” I asked. “It's beautiful.” Sister stroked the smooth navy wool. “Grandpa Lee bought it for me.” “That's nice,” I said.

  She turned and smiled. “It's nicer still that you missed me. I know you really did. I can tell!”

  With Sister there I had to ride Diamond, Father's old polo pony, who was practically a hundred years old and could barely stagger. I had wondered why we'd brought him to Washington at all. Sister got Wyoming. “Can't I ride Renown?” I asked. Kermit had him, but for once he could take old Diamond instead of me.

  “Not in a sidesaddle,” Father said. “Renown's not trained for it. You could ride him astride—”

  Mother cut in. “No.”

  “You take Wyoming,” Sister offered. “I'll ride Diamond.”

  “No, no,” Father said cheerfully. “You'll have more fun on Wyoming. Ethel doesn't mind. Do you, Ethel?”

  Father looked happy for the first time since Mr. Washington had come to dinner. How could I mind?

  Sister, who looked happy too, rolled her eyes at me. “Don't worry,” she whispered, “you know I won't ride very often.” She rode because we all rode, because Father expected us to. She very nearly hated horses. “They're so twitchy and quick,” she'd said once.

  “Like you,” I had replied, and she'd laughed. She looked graceful in the saddle, and she never refused any fence that Father would take first, but she didn't love riding, she dreaded it. Her face grew paler and her eyes wider. She bossed her horses not firmly, the way they ought to be bossed, but fearfully. Fortunately, ours were not the sort of horses to take advantage, except Algonquin, perhaps, and Sister had outgrown him long before.

  “I'll stay back with Ethel,” she said now as we started out.

  “Ride up here with me!” Father said. He and Bleistein surged ahead. Bleistein was lovely. “Come see my new horse, Sister! Come on!”

  Sister's face lit with a quick smile. She spurred Wyoming on, and I was left with Mr. Gilbert, the rear-guard policeman. He had to pull his heavy hunter up to stay with me.

  Diamond leaned into my hands and ignored my leg altogether. He was old, but he wasn't as incapable as he liked to pretend. “You stubborn beast.” I smacked him with my whip. He jolted forward, offended, then lapsed back into a petulant trot. “I can't stand this horse,” I said to Mr. Gilbert.

  He eyed Sister, cantering ahead with Father and Mother. “Kind of hard, is it?” he said. “The older kids come home and steal all your fun.”

  I blinked. “It's not hard,” I said. I would have preferred Wyoming, true. But I wasn't jealous of Sister. It would have been hard to envy her, knowing that her mother had died, knowing that so many secrets in our family existed because of her. Besides, I was happy she'd come home. Sister was fun to be around.

  On Saturday Mother began to make plans for Sister's debut. This was the big party that would launch her into proper society; she would be almost a grown-up afterward. Mother was pleased. Sister's debut would be held the night of January 2, right after the New Year's reception that would mark both the opening of the social season and the end of the official mourning for President McKinley.

  “Do we have to have it here?” Sister asked. We were sitting in the East Room, where Mr. Hoover had brought us tea.

  Mother looked shocked. “It's the president's house. Of course we must have it here.”

  “But it's hideous,” Sister said.

  The weather had grown colder, so we had to keep the windows shut. The White House was as gloomy as an Egyptian tomb. Musty smells had returned. The elaborate rococo fixtures of the East Room glimmered in the flickering gaslight. The extra flowers Mother had ordered did little to improve the atmosphere. I could see Sister's point. State dinners were one thing. “It's not cheerful enough for a real party,” I said.

  Sister shot me a grateful look. “See?” she said. “Ethel thinks so. It's not just me.” She sniffed, looking around. “This room is all late Grant and early Pullman,” she said.

  It was true. Grant, who had been president twenty years before, could be blamed for most of the ugly furniture. Mother said styles were different then. And much of the White House did look like a Pullman railroad car, especially the State Dining Room, with all that purple velvet and the carpets worn thin.

  “I agree.” Mother sighed. “For one thing, the ceiling in this room has got to be replaced. We need more light, more dignity. We
ought to put in electricity. We also need a dining room that can seat a large group of people, not the pokey broken-up thing we have now. And your father wants a place to hang his trophies.”

  Father's trophies were the stuffed heads of animals he'd killed on his hunts. He had a lot of them. “No,” Sister said. “We are not having that moth-eaten buffalo head staring down at people during my debut.”

  “I like the buffalo head,” I said. “It's my favorite.” Father was very proud of it. I loved hearing him tell about his buffalo hunt.

  “Absolutely not,” Sister said. “No dead animals.”

  Mother pursed her lips. “Very nice, Ethel, but the trophies aren't something Sister needs to worry about. I doubt very much we'll be able to make any major improvements before the debut. It's barely two months away.”

  Sister's eyes darted around the room. Mother jotted some notes on a piece of paper. I reached for another tea cake. Suddenly Sister burst out, “There's no dance floor! Not anywhere! All the big rooms have carpet.”

  I hadn't realized this, but it was true. The East Room and the State Dining Room were the only rooms big enough for a ball—but you couldn't dance properly on carpet. You had to have a wooden floor. Even I, who hadn't started dancing lessons yet, knew that.

  “I know,” Mother said ruefully. “I already asked Mr. Hoover about that. He said they have a special floor covering that they put over the carpet in the East Room for dances. It's waxed linen. A crash floor, he called it.”

  “Oh, no!” Sister cried. “How utterly obscene!”

  “I agree it will be a bit peculiar,” Mother said calmly, “but I don't see what we can do about it. Even in the money Congress gave McKinley there wasn't anything set aside for a dance floor—and of course, we haven't yet gotten permission to spend the money they did set aside.” She smiled. “We're having some congressmen to dinner next week, dear. You might want to bring the subject up to them.”

  Sister's eyes glittered. “I will,” she said. “I'll charm a dance floor out of them.”

  I grinned. I couldn't wait to see Sister turned loose on Congress.

  Sunday was Father's forty-third birthday. Sister and I decorated a cake for him, with colored icing and sugar roses. Halfway through the afternoon, when we were all sitting in the Red Room reading together, Mr. Hoover knocked on the door. “A birthday gift for you, Mr. President,” he said. Birthday gifts had been coming all weekend, so I wondered why Mr. Hoover made such a point of this one. “Fresh possum,” he said. “From some Negro admirers.”

  It was a kind gift—Father loved roast possum—but his face saddened as he took it. He was still unhappy most of the time about the business with Mr. Washington. “I will have anyone I wish to dine at any time I please,” he had declared at breakfast, but then he shook his head, as if he wasn't really sure.

  “Are you afraid people don't like you?” I asked him after he'd handed the possum back and Mr. Hoover had left the room.

  “I know people don't like me,” he replied. “Some people won't like a president no matter what he does. I'm just surprised that there's still this much fuss over something so small.” He patted my shoulder. “Not to worry. It'll pass.”

  Sister came to Father's birthday supper smoking a cigarette. “Put that out!” Father thundered. “Yes, Father.” She calmly snuffed it on the edge of her saucer. “Really!” he sputtered. “Your aunt Bamie can't have allowed you to smoke in her house!” Sister said nothing, only smiled at Uncle Will, who had come to dinner and was sitting across the table.

  “Certainly not,” Uncle Will said gravely.

  “Can I have one?” Archie asked.

  “Of course not,” Sister said. “You don't want to stunt your growth, do you? Besides, cigarettes make you vomit. At least, they made me.”

  Archie groaned. Kermit looked disgusted. Mother and Uncle Will did not look amused.

  Then I noticed Emily Spinach, Sister's small green snake, draped over her shoulders like a scarf. Uncle Will saw Emily at the same time I did, and shook his finger at Sister. Sister patted Emily Spinach, who was quite tame, and winked at Uncle Will.

  Mother didn't mind snakes at the table so long as it was a family meal. Kermit's rat always came to Saturday breakfast. Father didn't especially mind either, though he did say reprovingly, “I hope you weren't parading that poor creature all around the homes of the Four Hundred.”

  “Dear Emily,” Sister murmured, patting the snake.

  Mr. Hoover minded. He came in with a set of birthday telegrams for Father, and when he saw Emily he went right back out again. Kermit and I laughed. “Wait till he sees the king snake I'm going to buy,” Kermit said.

  Quentin asked if we were getting a queen snake too, so we could have prince and princess snakes. Archie said that no snake had better eat his guinea pigs.

  “They're not just your guinea pigs,” I said. “They're everyone's.”

  “Not Bishop Doane,” Quentin said. “Bishop Doane is mine.”

  When coffee came Sister took another cigarette out of her reticule. Father exploded. “No!” he said. “Put it away!” His mustache quivered. “Sister, you may not smoke under this roof. Is that clear?”

  Her eyes flashed, but she set the cigarette down. “Clear,” she said.

  Before bed Kermit and I climbed to our watch spot on the roof. There sat Sister, smoking. “You promised Father!” I said.

  She blew the smoke out airily. “I promised not to smoke under his roof. I'm not under the roof, I'm on top of it.”

  I wished I knew how to rearrange rules the way Sister did. If I did, I'd never leave home again.

  Now that Sister was home, going to school felt even more like going into exile. I went into her bedroom before I left. She was still sleeping; she didn't like to come to breakfast. I poked her. “Good-bye,” I said. “I'm going now.”

  She opened one eye. “Bye, dearie. Give me a hug.”

  I hugged her. “I hate school,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “I wish I were you.”

  “Don't bother,” she said. “When you make your debut they'll have a dance floor.” As I eased her bedroom door shut she called, “Have a good day! Be nice to Emily!” and I smiled.

  Emily had made friends with Sophie.

  When I'd left school on Friday she'd been as alone as I was. When I went back on Monday she and Sophie were arm in arm. Bosom friends. No room for me.

  “Uh—hello, Ethel,” Emily said when she saw me.

  “Hello, Ethel,” said Sophie.

  “Hello.” I could barely speak. All my plans for befriending Emily came crashing down. On the carriage ride to school I had thought out exactly what I would say. I had planned to invite her to my room after evening study.

  Now it was too late. Emily didn't need me.

  Miss Bangs tapped my shoulder. “Run along, Ethel. Hurry and put your things away so you can get to class on time.”

  In my room I found a letter waiting from Ted, full of forced cheerfulness about the Groton football team. He didn't say anything about being lonely himself, and he acted as if I'd never told him I was lonely, even though I had. He did promise to take me fox hunting on Thanksgiving.

  I would love to go fox hunting. But Thanksgiving was three weeks away, and reading Ted's letter made me late for my first class. Miss Whiton was not happy.

  At lunch, Harriet was still out to get me. I had resolved not to say anything else that might sound snobbish or give offense. So when Harriet said, “Who does your father plan to have for dinner this week, Ethel? The lantern lighter from Pennsylvania Avenue?” I swallowed hard and didn't say a word.

  The lantern lighter was an old white man, anyway. I knew because Archie and Quentin had gotten into trouble for following him and blowing out lights as he lit them.

  On Tuesday, when Harriet said, “Interesting new frock, Ethel, but shouldn't a girl in your position dress more fashionably?” I said nothing. All through lunch I said nothing, except when Miss Mallett made
me.

  On Thursday, when Harriet said, “Your sister was in the paper again. She drove an automobile through the middle of Washington without a proper chaperone,” I smiled and said nothing.

  That would be Sister, I thought. I wondered where she'd gotten the automobile.

  On Friday afternoon I found out.

  When I ran out the door, instead of Arthur and the White House carriage, I found Sister and another girl waiting for me behind the wheel of a noisy two-seater automobile. It was bright red. “Climb in!” Sister yelled above the roar of the engine.

  I scrambled to open the back door. Sister shook her head. “Squeeze right up here with us!” she said. “You'll get a better view.”

  Sister stomped on some foot pedals and moved levers with her hands, and the auto roared off. I laughed. I'd never ridden in one before, never knew they were so loud and bumpy and wonderful. “Better than horses!” Sister shouted. “More sense!” She turned the corner and had to swerve to avoid a carriage.

  “Engines haven't got any sense!” I shouted. The wind blew my hair back.

  “My point exactly! They can't do what you don't want them to do!”

  Sister's companion was dark-haired and pretty. “This is Margot Cassini,” Sister shouted. “Her father's Count Cassini, the Russian ambassador. It's her automobile.”

  “Alice is a better driver,” Margot said. She spoke with an accent that was almost British, like some of Father and Mother's friends.

  “Whoo-ee!” Sister shouted as we turned another corner. People stopped to stare at us. “Stuffy old bird,” Sister said when a society matron lifted her skirts away from our dust.

  Too soon we were back at the White House. “Here you are, then,” Sister said. “Tell Mother not to expect me for dinner. I'm going out with Margot. And, Ethel—” She winked. “Don't tell her how you got home. I only told Father. Mother doesn't like me driving.”

  On my way into the house Tom Pen shook his head at me. “Glad to see you back in one piece, Miss Ethel. Some days I think we are living in dangerous times.”