Chapter 30
30
Woodrow Wilson was reelected to the presidency on November 7, 1916.
Benedict and everyone else at Alton House rejoiced because the nation had reelected the man who’d vowed to keep America out of the war. Larry opened a bottle of champagne, and they all shared a toast together.
Then Benedict sneaked out to the garden with Inga to celebrate on their own. In the three weeks since she’d returned from America, they’d maintained their professionalism at the embassy, let down their guard a smidge at Alton House, and threw caution to the wind after dark in the quiet of the garden. They probably weren’t fooling anyone at Alton House, but they never shared a bed or got too intimate because Inga insisted on keeping her options open.
The morning after Wilson’s reelection, Ambassador Gerard summoned Benedict and Colonel Reyes to his office for a highly confidential meeting to discuss the consequences of the election. The doors were closed, the secretaries dismissed, and guards had been posted outside the door and windows to ensure no eavesdroppers could overhear.
Nevertheless, Ambassador Gerard couldn’t resist shouting as he paced around the office. “The president has gone insane! He wants us to kowtow to the kaiser.”
“Give me a specific example,” Benedict asked, striving to keep his voice calm. President Wilson was no longer beholden to popular opinion, which meant big changes could be looming.
“The president wants to force England, France, and Germany to the negotiating table. He wants ‘peace without victory.’ He’s afraid of making the Germans feel bad about the violence they’ve unleashed on the world, so he wants me to beg the kaiser to play nice. Who does he think he is?”
“He is our commander in chief, who has given us our negotiating instructions,” Benedict said, struggling not to sound like he was delivering a reprimand. If President Wilson wanted the United States to take the lead in negotiating a peace treaty, the embassy had their marching orders and needed to carry them out.
The ambassador settled back in his desk chair, motioning them both closer. The anger in his expression drained into one of concern, and he lowered his voice. “The president’s spies believe the Germans intend to resume unrestricted submarine warfare again.”
Benedict stiffened. “They promised they wouldn’t after they sank the Lusitania .”
“Proof that the word of a kraut is no good,” the ambassador growled, but Colonel Reyes sounded more analytical.
“German submarines are the best in the world. They’ve been fighting with one arm tied behind their back ever since they made that promise. We should have expected this.”
True, but it would be a dangerous move to unleash that particular weapon if it killed more Americans. The United States escaped getting dragged into the war after the Lusitania only through the grace of God and President Wilson’s firm resolve.
“I advise keeping our communications with the Germans open and friendly,” Benedict stressed. “Referring to them as ‘krauts,’ even in the privacy of our own discussions, can taint our attitude toward them. The president wants us to persuade the warring parties to the peace table, and we are obligated to do so.”
“We’ll be doing it with a new foreign minister,” the ambassador said. “Von Jagow has been fired, and Arthur Zimmermann promoted in his place.”
Benedict stifled a curse. Von Jagow was a decent man with whom he’d had cordial relations for years. Arthur Zimmermann was crafty, aggressive, and inscrutable. “No matter who is at the table, we will give it our best shot.”
Ambassador Gerard rolled his eyes. “ You give it your best shot,” he said. “Zimmermann invited me to share his box at the opera this evening. My wife is exhausted and suffering a bout of pleurisy. Benedict, you’ll have to go in my place.”
He instantly agreed. Mingling with high-ranking diplomats at social events was a golden opportunity to start building a productive relationship with Germany’s new foreign minister.
He sought out Inga on the second floor of the embassy, where she was taking supply inventory with Larry.
“Inga. A word, please.”
The pleasure that lit her face at his arrival never failed to make his heart kick up a notch. Ever since they quietly began exploring the possibility of turning their marriage of convenience into a romantic lifetime together, Inga brought warmth and vitality into his world that made each day a little brighter.
She followed him to his office, where he closed the door and stole a loving but all too short embrace. He never pressed Inga for greater intimacy than she was willing to share, but stolen kisses were a guilty pleasure they both enjoyed. He stepped away and straightened his tie, for they had business to discuss.
“I am expected to attend the opera tonight to represent the embassy. The kaiser and half the court will be there.”
Her eyes sparkled. “How exciting! Which opera will be playing?”
He had no idea. Tonight wasn’t about enjoying an opera; it was a chance for him to reinforce America’s neutral position and ease the tension between their two nations.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Probably something by Mozart, since the kaiser is partial to Mozart. I was hoping you would accompany me. I don’t expect you’ve ever seen anything quite as grand as the Staatsoper Unter den Linden. It will be a chance for you to experience a bit of what it’s like to be a diplomat’s wife.” And he desperately hoped she would soon be ready to accept that role and all that it entailed.
She blinked in surprise. “I’m not ready for something like that. What would I wear? And what on earth would I talk about? Benedict, I’m not smart like you—”
“Shhh.” He cut her off. “Inga, you will do fine. You are fresh and funny and could charm a doorpost. I think ... I hope you will enjoy the evening. It’s the sort of thing I’ve been doing for years, and I believe you will enjoy yourself.”
Inga was smart enough to understand exactly what he was saying. If she wanted to be the wife of a diplomat, this was part of the duties. Anxiety warred with excitement on Inga’s face as she mulled over the invitation. By now he could tell exactly what she was thinking. Inside, she worried that she was an uneducated shoemaker’s daughter who didn’t belong. But after a moment, she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. “If you need me to be there, I shall do it. Yes, of course I can.”
His heart turned over. Sweet Inga, always so desperate to please. “Excellent,” he said with relief. Inga had only one evening gown, and it wasn’t formal enough for a royal event at the opera. Luckily, the high-end dress shops of Berlin continued to serve customers as though there were no war only a few hundred miles away. “You’ll need a formal gown, so we should leave immediately.”
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the Palast aus Seide on Leipziger Strasse in the heart of Berlin. The ultra-feminine shop smelled of lavender and looked like a jewel box inside. Brilliantly colored gowns of silk, satin, and beadwork glimmered beneath a sparkling chandelier. A stern-looking woman wearing a black gown and hard expression descended on Inga like a crow. She frowned at Inga’s ordinary white blouse and navy skirt.
Benedict intervened before the woman could try to throw Inga out of the shop. He took Inga’s hand. “My wife needs a ready-made gown suitable for the Royal Opera House,” he said in his loftiest voice. The saleslady’s disdain eased a touch, but Benedict wasn’t going to leave Inga alone with this viper. “We need it for tonight. I am happy to pay for immediate alterations.”
There weren’t many ready-made gowns to choose from at the Palast aus Seide. Some were matronly, some for mourning, and the two white gowns were for debutantes. He homed in on a gown of amethyst silk with a fitted bodice, a softly draped skirt, and a small train. It was the right gown for Inga. It was fresh yet sophisticated, and Inga would look dazzling in it.
Even the stern crow gave a stiff nod of agreement. “Ja. This is the gown for her.”