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also rejected. You know how much criticism the president received for his passage through Baltimore, even from some of his closest friends. It was an awful start to his time in Washington. And then the inaugural security was very tight. Some believed it was too tight. Nobody failed to notice it. You did a superb job that day. I commend you for it. Yet our actions have their critics. They thought the security was overwhelming, even anti-democratic. I know the president himself shares this view. He has told me as much. We are fortunate that he has accepted the guards who surround him now. It is my concern that one day he will order them away. We should be grateful that he doesn’t walk though the city in the dark by himself. I’m learning that he can be a stubborn man—he is probably capable of going for a midnight stroll in Murder Bay just to prove a point. I appreciate your concerns, Colonel, but you must put these notions out of your head.”
    There was no getting through, Rook realized. It sounded as though Scott possibly agreed with him at some level. That was not the same thing as the president’s agreeing with them, of course. Rook understood that he was supposed to abide by the orders of his superior officer, and now he realized that Scott was simply following orders given by the one man in the whole country who could tell the general what to do.
    “Is there anything else, Colonel?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Then I will see you tomorrow. Good night.”

SIX
     
    THURSDAY, APRIL 11, 1861
     
    Bennett and Hughes sat unsmiling in chairs just a few feet apart. They were dressed almost exactly alike, both in dark frock coats and black gloves. Each rested a cane against one knee and propped a hat on the other. They looked ready to go somewhere, but they sat perfectly still.
    “Steady…steady…”
    The men fixed their eyes on the same point across the room. Hughes appeared at ease, relaxing in his chair as if he could sit there all day.
    “Steady…steady…”
    Bennett, however, was clearly perturbed. For him, sitting motionless required total concentration. His face slowly twisted into a frown. His wide-open eyes blazed with intensity. He seemed ready to burst.
    “Steady…steady…done!”
    A man on the other side of the room gently placed a cap on a small tube projecting out of a wooden box. The contraption stood on three legs about five feet off the ground.
    Bennett bolted up. He let out a loud hack and collapsed back into the chair, exhausted from the effort.
    “We’re almost done, Langston. Only one more picture, I promise,” said Hughes.
    “Let’s see how this one came out,” said the photographer, a wiry man with curly blond hair. His sleeves were rolled up, and silver stains covered an apron he wore over his shirt. He turned to his subjects and rubbed his hands together. “Would you like to see how the process works, Mr. Bennett?”
    The old man grunted. “No thank you, Mr. Leery. I would not even begin to understand it.”
    “Very well.”
    The photographer removed a slide from the camera. It was housed in a protective case, out of the light. “Hold this, Marcus,” he said to his assistant, a light-skinned black boy who looked about twelve years old. Then Leery disappeared into a large box covered by a red curtain.
    “Where did you find this man?” asked Bennett.
    “He opened a shop on King Street last fall. He came down here from New York City.”
    “I could tell that just by listening to him talk. I don’t trust people with a Yankee accent.”
    “Many of the New Yorkers are on our side in this, Langston. You know that. They depend on us for trade. The whole merchant class there needs us. Besides, photography has nothing to do with the crisis. It’s just a diversion. You don’t need to be so grumpy about it.”
    “I am restless. Our days are filled with waiting.”
    Hughes could not disagree. He was coming to Bennett’s house every afternoon now. They spent long hours together, sharing