Power Play

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There was a hansom cab at the airport. Looking over her grandfather’s shoulder, Evelyn Canby saw the black and red cab rolling out across the tarmac toward their plane, pulled by a discouraged-looking gray horse. She looked to see, but it wasn’t Uncle Harrison at the reins. Of course not; it had been private irony to consider he might be.

Three-year-old Dinah said, “I can’t see. Mommy?” And tugged at Evelyn’s wrist.

But it was Bradford who turned around and said, “Well, of course you can’t see. And there’s a horse out here to look at. Why aren’t you up in my arms, where you belong?”

Evelyn said, “Yes, that’s a good idea, Dinah. Go with Grampa.”

Bradford Lockridge, once the President of the United States, and now at seventy an elder statesman who retained the politician’s touch, picked up his great-granddaughter in his arms and stepped out smiling and waving onto the platform at the top of the stairs. “See the horse, Dinah? Wave to the horse. Wave to the people.”

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