Page 231 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

He heard several gasps from the audience, indicating that some had not heard, and the room went quiet. "We would like to play a special song now, a song for all of us, but especially for Americans."

He played a G chord.

Evie sang:

O say can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,

The room was dead silent.

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight

O'er the ramparts we watch'd were so gallantly streaming?

Evie's voice rose thrillingly.

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,

Several people in the audience were crying openly now, Dave saw.

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

"Thank you for listening," said Dave. "And God bless America."

PART FIVE

SONG

1963-1967

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Maria was not allowed to go to the funeral.

The day after the assassination was a Saturday, but like most White House staff she went into work, performing her duties in the press office with tears streaming down her face. It was not noticed: half the people there were crying.

She was better off here than at home alone. Work distracted her a little from her grief, and there was no end of work: the world's press wanted to know every detail of the funeral arrangements.

Everything was on TV. Millions of American families sat in front of their sets all weekend. The three networks canceled all their regular programs. The news consisted entirely of stories linked to the assassination, and between bulletins there were documentaries about John F. Kennedy, his life, his family, his career, and his presidency. With merciless pathos they reran the happy footage of Jack an

d Jackie greeting the crowds at Love Field on Friday morning, an hour before his death. Maria recalled how she had idly asked herself if she would change places with Jackie. Now both of them had lost him.

At midday on Sunday, in the basement of the Dallas police station, the prime suspect, Lee Harvey Oswald, was himself murdered, live on television, by a minor mobster called Jack Ruby; a sinister mystery piled on top of an insupportable tragedy.

On Sunday afternoon Maria asked Nelly Fordham if they needed tickets for the funeral. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry, no one from this office is invited," Nelly said gently. "Only Pierre Salinger."

Maria felt panicky. Her heart fluttered. How could she not be there when they lowered the man she loved into his grave? "I have to go!" she said. "I'll speak to Pierre."

"Maria, you can't go," Nelly said. "You absolutely can't."

Something in Nelly's tone rang an alarm bell. She was not just giving advice. She almost sounded scared.

Maria said: "Why not?"

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