Home of the Brave by Jeffry Hepple Page B

the cannonade, the crowd
surged forward regaining its enormous collective voice.
    Yank looked over his
shoulder for a moment then pulled Marina across the steps to follow
the President and Justices.
    “We’re supposed to wait,”
she protested, running to keep up with him.
    “The crowd broke through the
barrier,” he said. Still pulling her along behind him, he followed
the inaugural party into the Capital rotunda.
    When they reached the south
side, Yank stepped out the door and backed against the wall,
protecting Marina with his body. A few seconds later, the crowd
burst through the doors in pursuit of their hero.
    At the bottom of the steps,
thousands of people were already clogging Pennsylvania Avenue and
no amount of pushing or threatening by the police or militia could
open a path through them. Finally, Jackson took control, and
dismissing the cordon of uniformed men, walked smiling into the
crowd toward the big white horse that he was to ride to the White
House.
    “Would you look at that?”
Yank said in wonder.
    “Moses parting the Red Sea,”
Marina replied from behind him.
    “They’re all desperate to
touch him but they give him room.”
    “Dear God,” Marina gasped as
she caught a glimpse through the masses of people. “That horse is
wild-eyed and terrified.”
    “It’ll calm down. Watch
this.”
    Jackson had reached the
frightened animal now. He took the reins from the cavalryman,
pulled the horse’s muzzle toward him, blew in its face, whispered
something in its ear, patted its neck and then walked to the
animal’s left side and swung into the saddle with the practiced,
fluid motion of a born horseman.
    As Jackson rode regally
toward the White House, waving as he went, the last of people who
had come up the front steps spilled from the rotunda and raced down
the back steps onto Pennsylvania Avenue to follow him.
    As the surge passed, Yank
released Marina with a sigh of relief. “That must be how it feels
to escape a buffalo stampede.”
    “I don’t want to go to the
reception at the White House,” she said nervously.
    “Nor do I; that mob will
tear the place down.”
    “Where did General Coffee
and the others go?”
    “They were either trampled
or they found another way out.”
    “Shouldn’t we go back and
check on them?”
    “No. They’re fine or they’re
not. There’s nothing we can do now. We have a long walk back to
Alexandria and we have that damned Inaugural Ball tonight.” He took
her hand and started down the steps.
    “Where is it?”
    “Where’s what?”
    “The ball.”
    “There are two, actually.
One at Carusi’s Assembly Rooms and the other at the Central Masonic
Hall. Which do you prefer?”
    “Do you have tickets for
both?”
    “Yes.”
    “Dear God. How much did they
cost?”
    “Four dollars.”
    “Per couple?”
    “Per person.”
    “You spent sixteen dollars
on tickets?” she gasped.
    “Yes. Which one do you want
to attend?”
    “I’m Catholic.”
    “Only on Easter and
occasionally on Christmas Eve.”
    She made a face at him.
“Will they let me into a Masonic Hall?”
    “Yes. Although they may
sacrifice you on the altar.”
    “Then we should attend the
one at Carusi’s first.”
    “First? You can’t mean you
want to attend both.”
    “Me? You spent the sixteen
dollars.”
    Yank turned around then
stopped and waved. “There are the Coffees.”
    “What’s his wife’s
name?”
    “Mary. She’s Rachel’s niece.
Be sure to offer your condolences.”
    “I think I knew
that.”
    “We feared that you might
have been trampled,” Yank said as the couple caught up to
them.
    “Not quite,” Coffee replied.
“We lit out for the White House as soon as Andy kissed the Good
Book.”
    “It’s in a shambles
already,” Mrs. Coffee said. “We didn’t even go inside.”
    “I was so sorry to hear of
your Aunt Rachel’s death, Mary,” Marina said. “She was a fine woman
and I’m proud to have known her.”
    “Thank you, Marina, that’s
very kind