She Can Never Know

Benjamin Harrison sat behind a desk that could not be lifted by three men. This was partially because the desk was so heavy but also because it was illegal to steal furniture from the Oval Office. Harrison wrote on a piece of paper in silence. He wrote like a man writing a resignation letter, but he was not resigning. Nor was he just writing from the White House, he was writing from the soul.

In the letter Harrison confessed how he felt and when he started to feel that way. He told the woman why she was so special and how he could see a perfect life with her, even if the universe remained imperfect. Mention of her name stopped his world and seeing her lifted his heart every time. He started a new paragraph when he decided he must mention the obvious chasm between them, her husband, his friend, his party’s leader; all one man: Senator James Blaine.

With a single knock and a single second pause, Harrison’s secretary entered the office. Harrison had overheard many snide remarks on his choice to hire a woman as his personal secretary. He trusted a woman to organize his schedule? To communicate with ministers and kings around the world? What next, would Harrison hire a woman as Secretary of State? Or Supreme Court Justice? Perhaps Harrison thought a woman could be president. Obviously Harrison did not have a keen eye for competence.

Harrison, only slightly started by the intrusion, began to burn the letter he had written. And while his secretary was not the smartest person in the country, she knew enough to not waste time asking questions about a destroyed message.

Sir, she started, unsure if she had his attention. Walters just told me Puck is going to feature a segment criticizing you for allowing the creation of what they are calling “the Billion-Dollar Congress.”

Harrison continued to burn the letter until he couldn’t hold it any longer and dropped it on his desk. The fire would leave a small burn mark, but no bigger than the others. Harrison responded to his secretary by pointing out only President Jackson had gotten the country out of a national debt, and that only lasted for about thirty minutes. Unsure of whether to laugh or not, his secretary chose to remain silent.

Perhaps I should call together some reporters and defend the spending, Harrison suggested.
I wouldn’t sir.
Why?
For one, Senator Blaine has already come out and defended the policies and Republican Party.
Was it a speech?
Yes, sir.
Was it good?
Yes, sir.
Good, I suppose.

Harrison wondered if he should still say something to the public. He was, after all, the president. It did seem redundant though. Then it clicked. He could just ask Blaine what to do. He could ask him over for dinner and the three of them would talk about the direction of the party.

Who else are you talking about, sir?
Me, James, and Harriet.
His wife?
Yes. She’s a good friend of mine.

This all was quite short notice, Harrison knew. Blaine would likely already have plans for this entire week; he was, after all, a very busy senator. But maybe Harriet would still like to come to the White House for dinner. But no, James loved her and she loved James.

Sir?
Go now, schedule nothing and forget this conversation.
Like the others, Harrison’s secretary whispered to herself as she left.

Harrison realized his recent excitement had led him to the middle of the room for no particular reason. He then sat back down and looked at the smoldering ashes on his desk. Harrison loved Harriet but that just wasn’t going to be enough. Harrison wiped away the ashes like tears.

Caroline, Harrison’s wife, died two weeks before he lost his bid for re-election.