Free The President's Daughter by Mariah Stewart Page A

to pneumonia five years ago. Simon had never quite forgiven himself for not making the trip back to Iowa during those last few weeks before his grandfather’s death. The fact that he probably wouldn’t have recognized Simon didn’t matter. He should have made the effort and hadn’t. He’d never ceased to regret it. That regret may have been at the heart of Simon’s decision to pay a second visit to St. Margaret’s.
    On his way, Simon stopped at a convenience store where he filled up the Mustang with gas and stocked up on mints. Minutes later, he parked in the lot at the home, locked the car, and headed for the front door, mints in one pocket, his tape recorder in the other.
    “You’re back.” June, the nurse’s aide he’d met on his first visit, waved from a concrete bench that was set in a patch of sunlight to the left of the steps.
    “I thought I’d stop in for a minute and drop off some mints for Mr. Kendall.”
    “That’s nice of you. He’s feeling pretty spunky today.” June closed the book she’d been reading.
    “Spunky?”
    “Oh, yeah. He’s been talking all morning about a trip he and his sister took to Chicago on the train. Sounds like they had a hell of a time.” June laughed.
    “Is he in the same room?” Simon paused with his hand on the doorknob.
    “The dayroom, yes. You remember how to get there?”
    “Yes. Thanks. Through the French doors and straight ahead to the end.” Simon paused in the doorway. “Did he say what his sister’s name was?”
    “Yes.” June nodded. “Dorothy.”
    Simon stepped into the cool quiet of the lobby and waved to the receptionist, who never missed a beat in her telephone conversation while pointing to the sign-in book. Simon wrote his name and the date and proceeded on his own to the dayroom, where he found Miles Kendall in the same chair close to the windows.
    “Hi, Mr. Kendall,” Simon said as he approached the chair.
    Kendall turned and smiled. There was a life in his eyes that Simon hadn’t seen in his previous visit.
    “How are you today?”
    “Quite well. And you?” Kendall appeared alert and tuned in to his surroundings.
    “I was just speaking to June outside,” Simon said as he pulled up a chair.
    “June?”
    “One of the aides.”
    “Ahhh, the cute little strawberry blonde?”
    “Yes.” Simon smiled. The old man may be forgetful, but he wasn’t blind. “June was saying that you’d told her about a trip you took to Chicago with your sister.”
    Kendall nodded. “I met Dorothy in New York, and from there we took the train to Chicago. It was very pleasant; do you remember?”
    “I wasn’t there with you,” Simon told him. “What year was that?”
    “It was for Cousin Eileen’s wedding. Lovely week in May we spent there.”
    Simon’s heart fell. He couldn’t even begin to guess at what year it might be in Miles Kendall’s world.
    Simon dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a box of mints. He had started to hand them to Kendall when the old man said, “Dorothy wanted to stay an extra week, but I had to get back to Washington.”
    Simon’s hand froze in midair and his heart tripped at the words.
    “Flying was faster, but Dorothy wouldn’t fly, so I took the train out and back with her,” Kendall added.
    “Why were you going to Washington?”
    Bony fingers reached out and grabbed the box of mints. “Because I worked there, of course.” He scrutinized the box, shook it, and started to bite into an end.
    “Of course. I’d forgotten.” Simon took the box and opened the bottom flap before handing it back to him. “When Graham was President, you worked in the White House.”
    “You do remember.” Kendall popped a mint into his mouth and sucked on it loudly. “Remember when the bagpipers were there? They always had bagpipers around Christmas. That Christmas . . . remember the Christmas Ball?”
    Simon nodded and slipped a hand into his pocket to turn on his recorder. He shouldn’t, of course, record without