Andrew Johnson had accused Jefferson Davis of acting to "inspire" and "procure" the assassination at Ford's Theatre. He made the obligatory harsh statements about the South, but he also insisted that he would carry out Lincoln's moderate program. Lately, George had heard that Johnson intended to implement the program by means of executive orders during the summer and fall. Since Congress had adjourned and was not scheduled to reconvene until late in the year, and since Johnson certainly wouldn't call a special session, the Radicals would be thwarted.

So the political wind carried word of coining Radical reprisals. One of George's missions in Washington was to speak to a powerful Pennsylvania politician, to state his views on the situation. He donated enough to the party each year to feel entitled to do so. He might even do some good.

"Papa, there's Aunt Isabel," said Patricia from behind him.

George saw Stanley's wife waving from the presidential stand. He grimaced and returned the wave. "She wanted us to be sure and see her."

Brett smiled. Constance patted his hand. "Now, George, don't be spiteful. You wouldn't trade places with Stanley."

George shrugged and continued scanning the crowd on his side of the street, searching for the congressman from his state whom he wanted to corner. While he was occupied, Constance reached into her reticule for a piece of hard candy. Her red hair shone where it curled from beneath a fashionable straw bonnet. She still possessed a pale Irish loveliness, but she'd gained thirty pounds since her marriage, at the end of the Mexican War. George said he didn't mind; he considered the weight a sign of contentment.