Young Four Eyes

By Rich/Ruth Melheim/Brubakken

He was 25 when she died in his arms. It was Valentine's Day - the anniversary of their engagement. Young Theodore Roosevelt gave his newborn daughter to his sister and left Manhattan for the Badlands of the Dakotas, privately telling his friend Henry Cabot Lodge that he didn't know when, or if, he would ever return. =It was in the Badlands of what is now North Dakota in the badlands of his life that he began to heal. The raw beauty of the land and the strenuous life of the cowboy conspired to bring him back to life. It was the love of his childhood sweetheart that drew him back to Manhattan, back into the political arena, and hurled him into the center of the events that launched him as the youngest president in U.S. history and the man who set the stage for the American Century. Most people have a picture of the robust TR as president. Few know the story of his pain, struggle and triumph over multiple tragedies as a young man. We hope this piece of historical fiction does a little to remedy that situation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Creative Outlet
• Release date: Dec 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9780978562199

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Forward

He was 25 when she died in his arms. It was Valentine's Day - the anniversary of their engagement. He gave his newborn daughter to his sister and left Manhattan for the Badlands of the Dakotas, privately telling his friend Henry Cabot Lodge that he didn't know when, or if, he would ever return.

It was in the Badlands of what is now North Dakota in the badlands of his life that he began to heal. The raw beauty of the land and the strenuous life of the cowboy conspired to bring him back to life. It was the love of his childhood sweetheart that drew him back to Manhattan, back into the political arena, and hurled him into the center of the events that launched him as the youngest president in U.S. history and the man who set the stage for the American Century.

Our Thanks

Most people have a picture of the robust TR as president. Few know the story of YOUNG FOUR EYES, a story of pain and triumph over multiple tragedies. We hope this piece of historical fiction does a little to remedy that situation. Meticulous research has lifted the essence of young TR from the many newspaper accounts, memoirs, diaries of those who knew him, and the 38 books and 100,000 existing letters and journal entries from his own hand. Our thanks goes out to the good people at Sagamore Hill, the Harvard Houghton Library, the Theodore Roosevelt Medora Foundation, the city of Medora (TR's Dakota hangout), Theodore Roosevelt National Park, the TR Birthplace Museum on Manhattan, the Wilcox Mansion in Buffalo, NY, and especially to the late Dr. John A. Gable, Executive Director of the Theodore Roosevelt Association of Oyster Bay, for his personal interest in helping us tell the inside stories of TR's grand adventure.

- RAM & RMB

PART I: BEGINNINGS

Preface

West 57th Street, Manhattan, NY

February 13, 1884

Foghorns echoed across the Hudson River and a lonely locomotive whistled out its haunting refrain. Young Theodore Roosevelt stood on the rear car platform, helplessly peering into the swirling mist as the train inched along much too slowly. He glanced at his pocket watch, then crumpled a yellow telegram in his shaking fist. His jaw began to quiver, whispering a prayer through clenched teeth.

Horse hooves pounded wet cobblestone. It was 10:30 p.m. when the carriage finally lurched to a halt. A single lamp glowed from the third floor window.

Where are they? Theodore demanded, bursting through the door.

Elliott rose and slipped a flask beneath coat, nodding toward the hallway.

What's happening?

Mother. Doctor says typhoid. Elliott sighed before speaking. And Alice...

Where is she? Theodore brushed quickly past his brother.

The baby's doing fine.

The baby? Theodore exhaled without comprehension. Where is my wife?

Elliott glanced and nodded again toward the hall.

Theodore rushed to the bedroom and held the limp body of his dying young bride. She stirred. Who?

It's me, darling. Theodore.

Who? she murmured.

Sunshine! He was desperate. We have a daughter.

Vacant eyes focused briefly as Alice managed a smile. Baby. Yes. The baby.

Baby Alice. You must live for baby Alice.

Alice, she smiled. It was her last coherent moment.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s... He rocked her in his arms. Distant bells begin to chime. Midnight. Our anniversary. Dear God! He could feel her shallow breathing on his neck as he sensed her drifting away.

Dear God. Dear God. Not this! Not now!

Chapter 1: Nineteen Years Earlier

14th and Broadway, Manhattan, NY

April 25, 1865

Haunting drums beat their dirge down Broadway. Bells tolled. The sea of mourners watched in stunned silence. A Union flag fluttered at half-mast as the endless column of soldiers marched solemnly on beneath buildings and lampposts draped in black muslin. Walt Whitman fetched a scrap of paper from his pocket and began to write:

When lilacs last

in the dooryard bloom’d,

And the great star early droop’d

in the western sky in the night,

I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn

with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring,

trinity sure to me you bring,

Lilac blooming perennial

and drooping star in the west,

And thought of him I love...

With the tolling tolling bells’

perpetual clang,

Here, coffin that slowly passes,

I give you my sprig of lilac.

Above it all in an elegant parlor of the C.V.S. Roosevelt mansion, a pale child squinted up at the window. A wren, thought the little boy to himself as a small bird hopped about the sill. He watched until the creature flew off, then returned to his reading, ripping out magazine pages as fast as he could scan them.

Teedie! Teedie! Elliott Roosevelt squeezed through the massive leaded glass doors and glanced frantically about the room. Honing in on his brother’s belabored breathing, Elliott bounded over the couch. They're coming! They're coming!

The six year old looked up from his magazines and caught his younger brother’s eyes. The president!

They dashed down the hallway, passing a dainty girl as she sang to her dolls. Theodore paused, then stepped back to pull her from the floor. Edie, come quick! They're bringing Mr. Lincoln!

Mr. Lincoln? Young Edith Kermit Carow, almost four and darling, brushed back her silky blonde curls and followed reluctantly. The sounds from the street frightened her. She didn’t wish to attend the president’s funeral - not even from a window.

Theodore pried the shutters open and leaned out to catch a better view. Father says you shouldn't shoot the president.

Edith began to whimper. You shouldn't shoot anyone!

'Specially not the president! said the boy.

Hundreds of swords flashed in the sunlight as the children gazed at the procession. Edith gasped as black crepe snapped in the wind, loosened and floated from the nearby street lamp. Theodore thought it was all so very grand.

Cold pounding drums were joined by the eerie wail of bagpipes as a column of horribly wounded soldiers passed directly beneath their window. Edith's whimper turned into a sob.

Stop your sniveling, Edith, Theodore ordered. She was spoiling a moment to be savored.

It's so black! Edith cried. So black and ugly.

The Roosevelt boys rolled their eyes in tandem and quickly shoved the little bother into a nearby closet, locking the door behind them. Theodore and Elliott returned to their front row seats just as the coffin and riderless horse came into view.

Edith’s sobs turned into a wail as the procession marched on. And on. And on.

Grandpa C.V.S. Roosevelt stood in the doorway of the opulent house, watching his youngest son more carefully than he watched the sad parade. Theodore, Sr., had known the president personally, and had spent a better part of the war in Washington working to help soldiers provide for their families. He had become close friends with both the President and Mrs. Lincoln. Grandpa often bragged that Mary Lincoln wouldn’t pick out a hat without his son’s approval - a rumor that he believed in all certainty and was most happy to repeat. Old C.V.S. knew that this tragedy would not merely affect the nation. It would affect his Theodore profoundly, and in doing so, it would affect the family. The wiry Dutchman didn’t like this at all.

C.V.S. tilted his head and scowled through small brass spectacles at the huge American flag drooping from the roof. His eyesight was getting worse and there was nothing to be done about it. Not a good show, C.V.S. muttered. Not a good day. He sighed and gripped his son’s shoulders. Well, Thee, the president is dead.

Theodore shook his ashen face and sighed. What in God's name will become of us now?

What indeed?

Thee leaned back on the goose-down pillow, rubbed his pounding temples and tried to forget the day. He watched as his beautiful wife finished the letter to her brothers in England. Mittie Bulloch Roosevelt’s silken black hair draped across her porcelain skin and glimmered in the lamplight. She sealed the envelope, then turned to her husband. Sensing the anguish in his eyes, she smiled and looked to the door.

How about a little Southern hospitality? Mittie whispered, unbuttoning her nightgown.

Thee’s grin surprised his own face. Why, Mrs. Roosevelt!

The moment he slid the gown from her shoulders, a finger tapped lightly on the bedroom door. Dreadfully sorry to disturb you, Mr. Roosevelt, came the voice. It's young Theodore again.

Why does this always seem to happen on Saturday night! He sighed and gathered up his housecoat. The blue-eyed Southern belle pulled at the collar of her husband’s nightshirt and kissed his lips in a promise. We can see to this later.

Six anxious eyes peered up from the staircase as the Roosevelts stepped out into the hallway.

The asmer again? asked Anna, holding little Corinne in her arms. At nine years of age, Bamie seemed more like a second mother than a sister to the children.

Is he going to die, Father? asked Corinne.

Such thoughts! Mittie gasped. He’ll be just fine! Just fine!

Elliott sat scowling with elbows on his knees and fists propping his chin. Brother Theodore was getting all the attention. Again. Mittie motioned to her eldest. Anna, bring the children to your room. Now!

Young Theodore was rocking back and forth, wheezing as father searched his pockets for a match. Thee lit a cigar. Dearest mamma! Dearest mamma... Theodore gagged and shoved the foul smelling object away.

Is he going to die, mamma? asked Corinne, breaking from her older sister’s grip.

Thee propped the struggling lad firmly in his arms, forced the cigar into his mouth, and began to rock along with his son. No one's going to die on my watch, Corinne. Go to bed.

Drowning. Drowning... the strangled boy gulped for air.

Drowning is quicker, father thought to himself.

Mittie rubbed her tired eyes and whispered. How long must this go on? Is there nothing we can do?

The rising smoke and Mittie's helpless plea sent Thee back in time. His thoughts drifted to the night shortly after their youngest daughter’s birth when these cursed attacks first assailed his eldest son. In the vision, Thee was rocking the three-year-old in his arms, helpless against the demons of the night.

Is there nothing we can do? Mittie's voice echoed in his memories.

The boy’s bare little chest rose and fell valiantly, struggling for breath. The zeal! he screamed. The zeal!

The homely Irish chambermaid poured a cup of steaming black coffee and added a dash of Castor Oil at Thee’s command. Poor lad can't breathe. Now he thinks there's some monster in the hallway.

Did he take a look at you? Thee muttered.

The zeal!

Thee paced about the room with the suffocating body in his arms. He couldn’t take this torture any longer. Fetch my coach!

Zeal! Theodore gasped. It's going to eat me up!

What zeal? What in heaven’s name are you talking about?

The zeal! The boy’s eyes were frantic.

Coach! Thee glared at the servant girl. I said coach!

Mittie shook her head. It's freezing out there. He’ll catch his death.

Here or there! Thee glared. Damnation! Get my coach!

Terrified, Anna implored her father: Will you take him to the doctor? Father never swore.

Thee shook off the memories and brought himself back into the moment. He gazed down at the frail frame gulping for oxygen through acrid yellow smoke. Anna entered and grasped her little sister’s hand to remove her from the room. Father? Will you call the doctor?

Doctor? Doctors! Thee raged. The doctors can't do a thing! Coffee! Whiskey! Chloroform! I'm taking him to the park.

Mittie’s eyebrows rose.

The park! Fresh air! Coach! This time the servants jumped at Thee's command. He ripped his coat and cane from the butler’s hands. Now!

Elliott watched with a mixture of jealousy and fright as father hoisted Theodore, Jr., into his great arms and carried him off into the night.

Circles of ragged children were warming themselves at corncob fires as the magnificent carriage turned into Central Park. Thee glanced at the glassy eyes staring up at him in the fire’s glow, then to the precious bundle cradled gently beneath his heavy woolen topcoat. Light rain tickled Theodore’s face as he peered out. His warm breath was fogging father’s brass buttons. Twenty minutes later, asleep and snuggled into his father’s chest, young Theodore Roosevelt’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

My boy. My poor little boy, Thee whispered. A short prayer of thanksgiving was followed by a plea for an end to the torment. Hee-Yah! Thee snapped the reigns and urged his long-tailed horses on.

Mittie was asleep in the Queen Anne chair when Thee returned and placed the exhausted child gently on the bed. A book fell from her hand. She stirred. Thee?

Fine. Just fine. A clear wet crystal formed in his eyes. Lips began to tremble.

Mittie yawned, rose and slipped beneath Thee’s strong arms. You are a wonderful father.

I wish there was something I could do. Anything.

Wonderful father.

They are my life.

A wistful smile crept over Mittie's face as they gazed at the boy. Now. I believe you have an appointment.

At this hour? Thee was suddenly indignant. Who would be so audacious as to disturb...

She traced his lips with her finger. A certain Southern lady seeking the company of a fine gentleman and a little Northern hospitality. She turned and kissed his open eyes.

A Southern... It took him a moment to realize the nature of the invitation. Yes. Well.

Mittie spoke again, this time with only her lips.

Ah, Southern hospitality. Thee grinned and swept her up in his arms.

Mittie was searching a society page for news of the latest Paris fashions when Thee stepped into the dining room. Mittie! We'll be late for church! She turned the page as slowly as possible and leaned back in her chair. Thee was not pleased. Mittie! Sabbath!

Mrs. Roosevelt motioned the maid to pour another cup of coffee.

Mittie!

Thee! The Georgian absolutely hated all the hurry and flurry of New York. Must we rush everywhere?

Church! Theodore was serious. But then, he was often serious when it came to matters of piety and promptness. C.V.S. had seen to that. And afterwards I’m taking the children to the mission school to distribute tracts. Thee opened the golden watch his father had given him and pointed to the time. Well?

Corinne and Elliott appeared in the doorway, dressed in their Sunday finery. Mittie rose, slowly sipping her coffee and rolled her eyes in resignation. Where's Theodore?

Rough night, ma'am, the maid answered. Mr. Roosevelt suggests we let him sleep in.

Sleep in? Miss church again? Mittie winked at the girl. Wish I had the asthma.

Laughter spilled through parlor doors and out into the hallway as two maids entered the party. They set the Petit Fours and yellow roses onto the well-appointed table and returned to the kitchen for the other trays. Mittie, dressed in white muslin with a gardenia behind her ear, was surrounded by a crowd of wide-eyed children and fascinated relatives.

Tell us another, begged young Elliott. Another story!

The one about Old Bess and the fit! demanded Theodore.

The room erupted in laughter and applause. With a dramatic style all her own, Mrs. Roosevelt gladly took center stage whenever a good yarn was in demand. Wild stories of slaves, duels and the adventures at Bulloch Hall were the favorites of this crowd. Mittie kept them spellbound with tales of battles, beasts and her blockade-busting Confederate brothers. Thee put up with most of his flamboyant wife’s antics, but whenever she was asked to act out the seizures of her family's epileptic slave, Thee’s dignity demanded intervention.

Enough! He rose from his horsehair chair. Not Old Bess! Not that one. I can't bear to see your lovely face so contorted!

Well, Old Bess... Mittie began.

Mittie!

Thee! The petite woman backed away from her husband’s reach. Twitching her face, she continued quickly. Old Bess! Lord have mercy! Bless her departed soul! Old Bess had the most unusual countenance when she...

Enough! Thee roared. The four Roosevelt brothers applauded and all the cousins booed as Thee hoisted his wife up over his shoulder and headed to the door. To the delight of the children Mittie continued with her horrid faces as she was hauled from the room.

It's no wonder the little ones have nightmares, the elderly maid muttered from the doorway. With stories the likes of which she tells. Werewolves, spies, gun runners. Those children will grow up strange enough as it is...

The maid turned in surprise, stopping mid-sentence. Thee was standing not three feet behind her. He shrugged in amusement at catching her complaint. Mittie popped up from behind and made yet another face as the wide-eyed servant hurried off to the howls of the guests.

Chapter 2: The Cubby

28 East 20th Street, Manhattan, NY

June 1866

The mantel clock chimed nine and the Roosevelt morning ritual began. Anna arranged the children in a military line at the foot of the stairs. The master bedroom door opened precisely two minutes later and the heavy footsteps descended. The troops broke rank and strained upwards, shouting for their father's attention.

I speak for you and the cubby hole, too! they chanted together.

Splendid, Anna! Thee inspected his unruly battalion. Let us commence with morning prayers.

Theodore pleaded for the spot beneath his father’s great arm on the horsehair sofa. May I sit in the cubby today?

You did it last time, complained Elliott.

I think it's little Corinne's turn, said Thee, scooping up his youngest and steering the entire assembly into the inner parlor. Elliott stuck his tongue out at his brother and plopped down on one side of the sofa. Corinne, grinning broadly, snuggled in between her father and the mahogany arm. Mittie and Anna followed and the day began as it always did.

Our Father, which art in heaven...

That afternoon Theodore, Jr. was sent on an errand. He was strolling through the bustling market, inhaling the damp sea air along with the sights and sounds of Broadway when he saw it. He had just stopped at a fruit stand and was selecting strawberries when his eyes widened and riveted on the large dead seal laid out upon a slab of wood. The strawberries dropped to the ground and he advanced to the nearby stand.

What was... he began. Where was it killed?

The harbor, said a huge ruddy-skinned man who smelled of garlic and beer.

Do you mind if... you don't mind if I inspect it?

The fishmonger shrugged his tattooed shoulders. Suit yourself. Theodore unfolded a wooden pocket ruler and began to measure the seal, scribbling notes in a small black book.

Sir? Sir? He tugged on the merchant’s arm. When you're through with the animal, do you think I might procure the skull for the Roosevelt Museum of Natural History?

The man could only shake his head. Strange lad.

A cloud of blue cigar smoke filled the office at the Roosevelt & Son building at 94 Maiden Lane. Thee was surrounded by a room of distinguished middle-aged businessmen. A balding banker reached into his pocket and retrieved a leather purse. All right, Roosevelt. How much is it this time?

The moment you see him coming, you might as well just pull out your wallet, chuckled another. Saves time. The room erupted in laughter. The Crippled Children's Hospital? A base for that damn French statue in the harbor? Rail fare to ship poor orphans out west?

Thee cleared his throat and rose. "Mother always says, ‘Great wealth imposes great obligations.’ Noblesse oblige and all. If we are thus endowed, blessed, we must put great wealth to some great purpose."

A distinguished looking man at Thee’s right side tapped his silver cane. Here, here.

Thank you, Edwin, Thee nodded.

Here, here it comes, laughed a mustached broker.

Thee pulled back his coat and slid his hands into his vest pockets. It is a huge danger to society, this vagrant class of orphans. If New York is to become the shining beacon for the world, then we must disinfect these quarters where the homeless children languish.

A heavy-set man in the corner feigned objection. I believe Mr. Dickens wrote it well on the lips of Scrooge: ‘Have we no prisons? Let them die now and help decrease the surplus...’

Thee raised a menacing eyebrow.

Only joking, Roosevelt.

The banker pulled out his golden pen. How long will you keep up this maniacal benevolence? There are thousands of street rats crawling the city.

For five cents a night we can give them a clean bed and a warm meal, Theodore argued. Five cents.

A dignified Dutchman shook his head. You can't save all the poor in New York.

Thee spun about and latched onto his friend’s eyes. Some of them, Thomas. Some of them.

The meeting concluded. Wealthy men wrote checks. Thee applauded their generosity, knowing full well that every one of them could have easily moved a decimal point two spaces to the right without missing a meal. The money was turned directly over to the appropriate charity and that night Theodore Roosevelt strolled home through the streets of New York; a thankful man who wished he could have done more.

Elliott was bouncing a ball against the floor above the kitchen just to bother the cook as he awaited his father’s return from the labors of the day. Anna and Corinne were perched on the banister. Young Theodore was balanced on a bench, mesmerized by a drawing of Martha Washington’s Inaugural Reception which hung above the piano. For a moment the boy found himself drawn into the picture. He could almost hear Jefferson and Madison debating in a corner. Nearby sat old Ben Franklin, resting his old bones in an ornate chair while delighting the ladies with a story of the courts of France. The President towered over the crowd like a Greek god looking down from Mt. Olympus. But it was Martha who appealed most to young Theodore’s imagination. The short, plain woman stood proudly surveying the scene, as if she had orchestrated it all. There was a look in her eyes which the boy couldn’t quite interpret. Pride. Accomplishment. Such confidence.

The hallway clock chimed five and, as if on cue, a key rattled in the latch. The children raced to door, squealing in delight.

Father! Father!

Elliot knew he could gain great approval this day. Father! I have learned a new Scripture.

Splendid! Thee mussed his youngest son's hair.

Little Corinne spotted something behind her father’s back. She tried to peak, but he blocked her way. What did you bring?

Nothing today, Thee lamented, mustering a serious frown.

What's that behind? she objected.

Nothing but... he pulled out his treasure, ...ice cream and peaches!

The children cheered and clung to their idol’s legs as he muscled his way up the stairs. They sprawled out on the edge of the piazza, laughing, eating peaches and reveling in father’s attention. Juices dripped from little chins as they related the events of the day. Anna recited her French. Theodore showed off a snakeskin that the dog had chewed to pieces that morning. Corinne displayed her newly scraped knee. Elliott’s chosen Scripture was from Ecclesiastes: To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven.

Later in his bedroom, Thee emptied his pockets of pennies, papers and a small ivory calendar. The children inspected each item their father removed, watching in admiration and awe as he dressed for dinner.

Did you behave admirably today? he asked, attaching a favorite pearl cufflink to his heavily starched dinner shirt.

I didn't get into a pigeon fit when Edith Carow played with my dolly, Corinne boasted. I shared.

Splendid! He patted her golden head. I have always thought that unselfishness combined in one word all the teachings of the Bible.

I learned a new Scripture today AND I learned something from grandpapa, too, beamed Elliott.

Thee raised an eyebrow. Oh? And what did father teach you?

That ours was the only bank in New York that never failed to meet its oblations in gold even during the Civil War!

Obligations, Elliot.

Yes, he beamed. In gold!

A useful bit of information, to be sure, smiled Thee. And Theodore?

The boy’s eyes widened. I saw something simply wonderful today, father.

Yes?

Theodore jumped up on the bed and held his father’s face. It was a most amazing seal.

A seal? Where were you?

In the market. Buying strawberries.

Elliott pulled at his brother’s leg. The seal was buying strawberries?

Elliott, father scolded. Let the boy proceed!

Are you sure it wasn't a dead zeal? Elliott continued to tease. Now that would have been something!

Theodore ignored his brother and described his adventure. I was walking up Broadway and there it was. Oh, father, it filled me with every possible feeling of romance and adventure. I'm going back tomorrow to take more measurements and begin writing a natural history.

Of a smelly seal? pestered Elliott. Maybe tomorrow it will be buying melons!

Leave your brother be, Elliott. I believe young Theodore is undertaking a valuable endeavor. One mustn't deride him for his enterprise. Thee caught the boys making nasty faces in the mirror. He turned sternly and glowered. They lowered their heads. Father managed to hold a fierce countenance for five seconds, before his smile broke through. He winked and lifted the boys, tucking one under each arm. Corinne jumped onto his shoulders from behind. Come now! We're off to grandpapa's tonight with all the cousins!

I'm so hungry, announced Theodore. I could eat a horse.

Elliott couldn’t let this one pass. How about a seal?

Thee paused, then dropped the children to the bed, tickling them soundly as they squealed in delight.

The five brothers and their bejeweled wives were seated at C.V.S.’s magnificent table beneath a huge crystal chandelier. The black and white marble floor glowed