“It doesn’t seem right having the President’s brother be one of the bosses,” Doug said.
“He’s not one of the bosses. He’s Attorney General,” Mark said.
“What does an Attorney General do?” Doug asked.
Mark hesitated. “He’s in charge of legal decisions,” he said, sounding unsure.
“That’s being one of the bosses, then,” Doug said. “Having the President’s brother be one of the bosses makes them seem like feudalism.”
“This isn’t the moment, when Kennedy has just been killed,” Mark said, angrily. “Anyway, it’s time you were in bed.”
Doug kissed Tricia goodnight and went upstairs. “I’ll come up and tuck you in in five minutes,” Tricia said.
“You should stop babying him,” Mark said, as the scene of carnage played again on the black-and-white screen.
The next day at the CND office everyone was talking about the assassination. Some of the people were quite well-informed. “There are lots of Latino people in Texas,” Sylvia said. “A Cuban could disguise himself as a waiter and get the bomb in on a tray, easily.”
Tim, a one-legged veteran of the Great War, disagreed. “I think it was an internal thing. If it had been the Russians, or even the Cubans, something else would have happened by now. The President has been killed, but there’s been no attack.”
“The Americans can’t think they can just do whatever they want anywhere in the world without making themselves unpopular,” Tricia said. “I mean sometimes it’s good, like stopping us from attacking Egypt over Suez, but all this sponsoring coups in countries because you don’t like their governments? It had to end in tears.”
“I agree!” Sylvia said. “They have that awful Committee for Un-American Activities and they’re interfering in Vietnam. Maybe this will bring it home to them.”
“Well, time will tell, when we see what comes of it,” Tim said. “Did we get that Vietnam petition out, by the way? Military advisors my foot.”
“Yes, I did it Friday,” Tricia said. “Do you really think something else will happen?”
“If it was the Russians it will,” Tim said. “Surely they’d have an attack ready to take out America while they’re all still reeling. They’ve declared a national day of mourning, all schools and everything closed. If the communists had real support there would be strikes and uprisings. Or if they don’t have that kind of thing because their leaders have all been imprisoned or suppressed, you’d expect a military attack.”
“War?” Sylvia asked, shuddering.
Tricia glanced at the peace symbol on the wall. “It feels closer than ever. The war that will end everything. I was tucking my little boy in last night and I wondered if we’d even see the morning.”
Sylvia hugged her. “That’s how I feel every night!”
No attacks followed the assassination. Things continued on, and the big war news was Johnson wanting to site more missiles in Britain, while sending more troops to Vietnam. Then in February, to everyone’s astonishment, Bobby Kennedy’s investigation into his brother’s death found evidence implicating Johnson in the purchase of the explosives. The evidence was by no means conclusive, and people were vehemently divided on the subject. Some thought Bobby Kennedy was trying to smear Johnson, and others were equally sure that Johnson was the real murderer.
“Cui bono,” said Mark, as if he had always suspected the Vice-President of luring the President to Dallas so he could kill him and take his place.
Though some called for impeachment, nothing came of it. Johnson, beaten down by the scandal, declined to run again. Bobby Kennedy, flanked by his brother’s children, declared his own candidacy for the 1964 election. There seemed little doubt he would be elected.
“Feudalism,” muttered Doug under his breath.
“I always thought that Johnson was a piece of work,” Sylvia said. “Not a trustworthy person. I’m glad he won’t be the one with his finger on the button any more.”
“It’s as if they weren’t content with instigating coups abroad and had to have a coup at home,” Tim said, shaking his head. “Do you think Bobby will relent about those missiles that were coming here?”
“My son says it’s feudalism,” Tricia said. “Bobby being JFK’s brother, I mean.”
They laughed, uneasily. “It is like feudalism in a way,” Sylvia said.
“Nothing wrong with having political families. We think family businesses are good. If you heard about a son inheriting his father’s shop, or a doctor whose two sons became doctors, you’d think that was splendid,” Tim said.
“It’s different with power,” Sylvia protested.
Tim threw up his hands. “It is different.”
In the autumn of 1964, Cathy got a place at nursery school. Tricia suggested to Mark one night when the children were in bed that she might go back to teaching, part-time or on supply at first.