The telephone hadn’t yet reached Raleigh, although there were a couple of ham radio operators. Interior plumbing was considered far more important than the telephone, and even that was in short supply.
Kirsten let her cousin drive the Model T. She could drive better than he, but she knew it would irk him if she insisted. This day she dressed more demurely in a long blue dress. Hemlines were coming up, but why shock the very conservative people of Raleigh? She did tell Leonard that she intended to speak her mind at the meeting if she thought it appropriate. Leonard laughed and wondered aloud just how on earth he could stop her. Ella stayed behind to mind the ranch. Functions like this didn’t interest her, and she didn’t think they should interest Kirsten. Kirsten thought she was afraid of them.
Roy Olson chaired the meeting. As the largest landowner in the area and the unofficial mayor of Raleigh, he felt it was his right and no one disagreed with him. A big man in his late forties, he stood and called for silence.
“Folks, I don’t think anybody’s gonna argue when I say we have a problem that’s getting out of control. The Mexican civil war has spilled over the border and now involves us. We’ve sent letters and telegrams to the Federal government in San Francisco and to Governor Stephens in Sacramento, but they all say they can do nothing about it. Therefore, it’s up to us to do something ourselves before the Carranza forces start attacking us instead of just the refugees. I think it’s only a matter of time before that happens.”
There were nods of agreement. Opinion held that Carranza was a bloodthirsty dictator who’d stop at nothing. “What are you proposing?” he was asked.
“Armed patrols,” Olson said.
Kirsten stood. “And what will they do, Roy? Will they fight Carranza’s army or will they fight the refugees and send them back? And what if Carranza’s Germans decide to help him out?”
Olson flushed. He was used to making pronouncements, not having discussions. “The purpose of the patrols would be to protect our property and our lives, and not to go about fighting anybody unless, of course, attacked. And I don’t think there’s any chance of the Germans coming across the border.”
“How would you organize these patrols?” Kirsten persisted. She didn’t like Olson. With his wealth came arrogance and, worse, he’d tried to make a pass at her at a town social a while ago. The man was single, so there was nothing wrong with him being interested, but he’d grabbed her bottom and squeezed and that offended her. Only her late husband had been permitted that privilege.
“Roy,” Kirsten added, “the patrols would have to be large enough to deter anybody and numerous enough to cover all the ground in the area, and we don’t have the numbers to do that. If we used all our people, we’d never be able to work our farms and ranches.”
Olson grudgingly acknowledged the truth. “I only suggest that we do what we can. I also suggest that we turn our homes into places that can more easily be defended in case the Mexicans get nasty and start raiding. I also would like us to establish means of communication so we can assemble for the common defense. Oh yes, I suggest everyone be packed and prepared to run quickly if things get out of hand.”
Fair enough, thought Kirsten. But how would there be instant communications without telephones or wireless radio? Even if they’d had phone lines, which they didn’t, they could easily be cut. And how long could fortified homes hold out, or where would they run to? There were too many questions and not enough answers.
Further discussion went long into the night. Nothing concrete was resolved and a highly perturbed and frustrated Olson finally adjourned the meeting with the thought that they could convene in a week’s time and hopefully have some alternate and workable suggestions for their mutual defense and safety.
Kirsten and Leonard drove home in silence. It was obvious that their peaceful existence could come unraveled at any time. Perhaps peace was only ever an illusion. Two of the older men at the meeting had fought in the American Civil War and looked distraught at the thought of violence catching up to them again.
She also wondered about Roy Olson. What had he expected them to do? A handful of armed adults could not begin to defend the area around Raleigh as well as their homes. He must have known that. Or did he have some kind of plan that would work to his own advantage? She thought it likely.
Kirsten looked up at the clear, starry sky in which seemingly millions of lights twinkled and danced. Was it an illusion too?
Ike Eisenhower grinned as he handed Luke a sheet of paper. “Congratulations and very long overdue.”
Now it was Luke’s turn to grin. Not only had he been promoted to first lieutenant, but there was a letter of commendation from General March, endorsed by Connor and Liggett regarding his last intelligence-gathering mission to Mexico. That was a surprise. He’d heard that Connor and Liggett had gotten chastised for his adventure. President Wilson was afraid that such intelligence-gathering efforts would offend the Mexicans and the Germans. He knew he’d been in the clear. After all, he’d just been following orders, but he’d thought the event would just be forgotten and filed away.
“Now that we have a new president,” Ike said, “it looks like we can start doing the things we should have been doing five years ago. And by the way, Patton and I have both been promoted to major so you’ll still have to be nice to us.”
Martel understood. Not only had the other two men been promoted, but they now held field-grade ranks, which were at least a world away from a first lieutenant. The three of them could definitely be friendly, but never friends. At least not until Martel caught up, which was profoundly unlikely.
Ike continued. “Any idea what your next assignment will be? Are you getting any kind of command?”
“Nah, who’d want me?” Luke grinned. “I’m going to be attached to Colonel Nolan.”
“Best place for you. You’ll be right on top of what the Germans and Mexicans are up to.”
Lieutenant Colonel Dennis Nolan, West Point ’96, was Hunter Liggett’s chief intelligence officer, and Luke considered working with him a plum assignment. He hoped it would allow him freedom to ferret out enemy intentions.
“And yourself?” Martel asked Ike.
“Plans, with Connor. Patton has managed himself a billet with the Seventh Cavalry outside of San Diego.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean an end to our seminars with General Connor,” Martel said.
“I hope not, either,” said Ike, “but it just might be that we’ll all be very busy soon when that storm from the south blows in.”
Robert Lansing wore two hats and neither of them fit very well. Along with being the newly sworn in President of the United States, he was still Secretary of State and had to make a decision. In the absence of a true vice president, the person Lansing appointed to replace himself at State would now become next in line to the presidency; therefore, it behooved him to choose well on two accounts.
So who would be the next secretary of state, he pondered as he paced the Oval Office? He immediately ruled out his predecessor, William Jennings Bryan. The man had not done a good job during peacetime and seemed totally dedicated to peace at any cost. How would he behave when thrust into an unwanted war? Lansing did not want to find out. Even though he was only sixty, Bryan was old beyond his years.
Some had suggested Colonel Edward House, the shadowy eminence grise’ behind Wilson. The title of “colonel” was strictly honorary but he was skilled in foreign policy. Too skilled, Lansing thought. The man’s ego was monumental and he’d be difficult to control.
Other major figures came to mind. Warren Harding of Onio, Wilson’s opponent in the last election, was an obvious choice. Also obvious were his sexual peccadillos that had achieved Olympian levels and cost him the election. The genial Harding would try to screw every woman in every country he went to as Secretary of State. Harding was out.