The Younger Brother
Jordan Thornhill was the second son and sixth child of real estate magnate and Mayflower descendant Abraham Thornhill. Roger, the firstborn, was more than a decade older than his brother. Following Roger, the Thornhills brought four daughters into the world before having another male child.
Young Jordan did not enjoy a close relationship with his brother as he was growing up. While he was in elementary school, his older brother was sent away to the prestigious Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire; when it was Jordan's turn to go to prep school, his brother was at Harvard. The boys did not even spend their summers together since Roger, who enjoyed an active social life, frequently traveled to Europe with friends during school vacations. It was only during the Christmas holidays that the two boys spent quality time together.
Despite not having forged a bond with his brother during his formative years—or perhaps because of it—Jordan looked up to the older boy. This wasn't hard to understand since Roger was one of those rare individuals who inspired a blend of admiration, respect and envy in men and adoration in women. Blessed with movie star looks, an athlete's physique, an excellent sense of humor and innate charm, the older brother made an immediate and favorable impression on everyone who met him. It was little wonder then that as Jordan grew older, his affection for his brother became akin to hero worship.
"I wish I could be just like Roger," he confided to his mother, Fawn Thornhill, on the day his brother graduated from Harvard Law School.
"Nonsense! You should be happy with who you are. Each of us is unique, born with our own gifts and talents. I'd hate to think what the world would be like if we were all the same."
"Some of us were born with more than others."
"Perhaps," she agreed. "I suppose the key to happiness is putting whatever gifts you are given to the best possible use."
"Mom, what was I given?" he asked earnestly. "I'm not good-looking or popular like Roger. I don't have a lot of friends like he does, and girls—well, I'm not very popular with them either."
"For one thing, you've got a good head on your shoulders. You make the dean's list every semester."
Jordan rolled his eyes as though getting A's in school meant little to him.
"For another, you've got character. You're honest, moral, hard-working, kind, generous ...."
"Big deal," he muttered.
"It is a big deal. You're a good person, and when the girls get to know you better, they'll come to appreciate that."
The heartfelt mother-son conversation was interrupted when Roger burst through the door of the family's Westport, Connecticut, home. As usual, an entourage of classmates and pretty girls followed him.
"Hi, Mom. Tadpole," he called—to the rest of the world his younger brother was Jordan, but Roger always referred to him as Tadpole.
The friends that followed him toward the kitchen respectfully greeted Mrs. Thornhill, but none acknowledged the young teenager at her side.
"I guess they didn't get a good look at my brains as they were chasing after Roger," he joked.
"Don't worry. Your time will come."
Although he often envied his sibling, Jordan felt no resentment toward him. He supposed his true gift was being born Roger Thornhill's brother. Friends would come and go, but the bonds of family were not as easily broken.
* * *
During Jordan's four years at Harvard—where he excelled academically—two major milestones in his life occurred. The first was that his brother was elected to the Connecticut State Senate; the second was that he finally met a girl who saw the person behind the skinny frame and plain face and liked what she saw.
Like the four Thornhill girls, Katherine Gratton was the progeny of wealthy and attended Miss Porter's School in Farmington. Unlike Jordan's older sisters, however, she was an excellent student and wanted more out of life than an advantageous marriage and a life of hosting charitable functions. At the time of their meeting, she was in her last year at Miss Porter's and was considering her choices for further education.
"I can't make up my mind if I want to attend Wellesley, Vassar or Bryn Mawr," she told Jordan on their first date. "Where did your sisters go to college?"
"They didn't. All four of them got married after completing their secondary education."
"Not me," the freckle-faced debutante insisted. "I want to make a difference in the world."
"Don't you believe you can make a difference and still be married?"
"Men can, but not women. It would be hard to maintain a medical practice or run a major corporation when you're changing diapers."
"That's why they invented nannies. Besides, married people don't necessarily have to have children."
"True, but, kids or no kids, most married women wind up supporting their husband's careers, not their own."
"I know how we can both change the world," he teased good-naturedly. "When we get married, you can have a career and I'll stay home with the children. After all, a man with a Harvard education ought to be able to change a diaper."
Blushing, Katherine turned her head away, wondering what kind of man discussed marriage on a first date, even in jest. In the year that followed, she learned exactly what kind of man Jordan Thornhill was, and she fell deeply in love with him.
* * *
Jordan looked into the mirror above his bedroom dresser and gave his hair a final combing. The tuxedo was beginning to feel a little tight around the middle. He didn't know if he should have it altered or buy a new one. Katherine walked into the bedroom, straightened her husband's tie and kissed him on the lips.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Just let me get my socks and shoes on."
"Don't think I'm sexist, but I always thought women took longer than men to get dressed. Yet I've been ready for close to an hour, and you're still in your bare feet."
"I'm sorry, honey. This is an important day for me."
"Is it?" his wife laughed. "I thought your brother was the one getting married."
"My brother is also the governor of Connecticut, and I'm his best man."
"Don't be intimidated by the office. He's still just Roger Thornhill, and he wouldn't be governor if you hadn't managed his election campaign."
Katherine's words were not idle flattery. It was a widely held belief in Hartford that Roger won the election due to a combination of his father's money and his brother's skills at marketing the candidate to the public.
"If you hadn't studied law, you could have had a successful career on Madison Avenue," she theorized.
"I wouldn't want to spend my life touting the virtues of the latest soft drink or a new gas-efficient car on the market."
"No, you'd rather promote your brother. Anyway, now that he's in office, you can concentrate on your own career," she said but changed the subject when she saw the frown on her husband's face. "Odd that he was the first one born yet the last one to marry."
"Not really. It just took him longer to find the right one. Not everyone was as lucky as I was to find the girl of my dreams while still in college."
Katherine thought her husband was incredibly naive where his brother was concerned. Although she wisely held her tongue, she believed Roger was marrying only to further his career. She did not believe for one moment that he was in love with Susan Claymore, an attractive, well-bred socialite whose father was so influential in national politics that he was referred to in Washington as the Kingmaker.
While Jordan was not blind to his brother's faults, he was extremely nearsighted in that regard. He was well aware of his brother's reputation with women. In fact, his sibling's popularity with the ladies was one of the qualities he admired most about his older brother. Jordan felt a strange sense of pride that Roger was the most eligible and sought-after bachelor in Connecticut. Still, being a romantic at heart, he not only believed that his brother was in love with Susan but that marriage would tame his wilder instincts.
"He's sewn his oats," the nervous best man told his wife. "Now he's ready to settle down and start a family."
Katherine, who was five months pregnant with her first child, seriously doubted her brother-in-law would ever be happy in a monogamous union.
* * *
Jordan had just welcomed his second child into the world when he received an unexpected visit from his brother who left the governor's residence in Hartford to become a U.S. Senator from Connecticut. It was always cause for celebration when Uncle Roger showed up at the young family's Bridgeport home.
"To what do we owe this honor?" Jordan teased as he mixed his brother a drink.
"I wanted you to hear the news from me before it was officially announced."
"What news is that?"
"I'm running for the presidency."
"I can't say I'm surprised. Well, let me be the first to wish you luck."
"Thank you, but I need more than luck. I need a campaign manager. That's why I'm here."
"I'm a public prosecutor," Jordan argued. "That hardly qualifies me to run a presidential campaign."
"You helped get me elected governor, and I wouldn't have made it to the Senate without you."
"That's different. I was working on a state level, dealing with many of Dad's old business cronies. Now you're talking about a national campaign and going up against people who have been entrenched in politics most of their adult lives."
"Yes, and the voters are dissatisfied with these people. The time is ripe for change."
Although impressed by his brother's enthusiasm, Jordan was reluctant to resign from his job and uproot his family in order to help Roger pursue his dreams.
"Come on, Tadpole," the senator urged, turning his charm on full volume. "You're the great promoter and the most organized man I know. Take a chance. The two of us together can make history."
Surprisingly, Jordan did not consult Katherine before making his decision. His older sibling, his hero, a man he had worshipped since childhood, wanted to team up with him to take on one of the greatest challenges in the world. A smile slowly lit up his face, a clear indication that he had made up his mind.
Given the combination of Roger's charisma and his brother's hard work and flair for marketing, the senator from Connecticut was able to upset the incumbent president in a landslide victory. With his brother bound for the White House, Jordan began making plans to return to Bridgeport. Now the father of three, he hoped to open his own law firm rather than return to the prosecutor's office.
"It will be nice having a husband who isn't flying around the country all the time," Katherine said while sitting at a children's table playing Chutes and Ladders with her oldest child.
Jordan enjoyed the simple domestic scene. In other aspects of life, he lived in his brother's shadow, but Roger would never know the happiness Jordan experienced when he was with his family. He loved his children and absolutely adored his wife.
"I can't promise you I'll be home on time for dinner every night, but I will try."
Two weeks after the election, the extended Thornhill clan met at the family estate in Westport to celebrate Thanksgiving. The four daughters were there with their husbands and children as were the president-elect, his wife and infant son, who were accompanied by Secret Service agents.
As usual, Fawn, the matriarch of the family arranged for a feast of epicurean delights. The team of cooks, working under the direction of a renowned Italian chef, was complimented by a French pastry chef. To slake their thirst, the finest vintages were brought up from Abraham's extensive wine cellar.
After the servers placed the first-course dishes on the main dining room table where the adults were seated, Roger rose from his chair.
"As the soon-to-be leader of the free world ...."
"God help us!" Embeth, the oldest sister declared. "Not another political speech! At least make it a short one. I'm starving."
"Don't worry, Punkin," Roger said, referring to her by her childhood nickname. "This isn't a speech. I'm just claiming the right—on this one occasion—to lead the family in saying Grace. Everyone, please bow your heads. For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."
The people seated around the table echoed, "Amen," as they raised their heads and picked up their silverware. Roger, who had sat down after the prayer, suddenly rose to his feet again.
"Oh, and one last thing ...."
There was a collective groan from the members of his family, all of whom were eager to begin eating.
"I'd like to offer a toast," the president-elect said, reaching for his wine glass, "to my White House chief of staff, my baby brother."
To say that Jordan's jaw dropped and that he was left speechless by the announcement was no trite exaggeration. He was stunned. He had not had the slightest clue of his brother's intentions. Suddenly, he broke out in laughter. Then a sudden look of relief appeared on his face.
"You had me going there for a minute, Rog," he said. "I thought you were serious."
"I am."
There was a brief silence in the room as the people seated around the table looked from one brother to the other.
"I'm not qualified for the job," Jordan insisted.
"You said the same thing when I asked you to be my campaign manager. How did that turn out? As chief of staff, you'd be my assistant, a trusted advisor. To be quite honest, there's no one whose assistance or advice I'd rather have."
"What about the cries of nepotism that would surely follow such a move?"
"Did that stop Kennedy from appointing Bobby as his attorney general? Not to mention the fact that, like you, Bobby also served as JFK's campaign manager."
Roger waited patiently as his brother tried to think of more convincing arguments. Not having had time to consider the matter beforehand, he was unable to do so.
"Say you'll accept, Tadpole. I need you."
Jordan looked at the handsome face that had won the trust of American voters. Those mesmerizing blue eyes appeared to be pleading with him. Once again, he agreed to his brother's request without even consulting his wife.
* * *
Not since the Kennedy administration had America fallen under the spell of its first family. Not only was the president young, handsome, athletic and personable, but the first lady was beautiful, cultured, intelligent and chic. Even Roger's mother and four sisters became celebrities, regularly appearing in fashion magazines and on television talk shows. Of all the Thornhill women, only Katherine kept out of the public eye, preferring to remain at home in Alexandria with her children than to attend Washington social functions.
"Honestly," her sister-in-law Cecily teased her one day, "you're becoming a hermit. I don't think you've left this house since the inaugural ball at the Hyatt. Why don't you find a sitter for the kids next week so you and Jordan can come to the ballet at the Kennedy Center with us?"
"I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"I'm just not one for these formal affairs. You know me; I grew up a bookworm, not a fashionista."
"Talk to me," Cecily urged the younger woman. "Is everything okay between you and my brother? You didn't even come to my parent's Fourth of July picnic this year."
"Of course, it is!" Katherine replied a bit too vehemently. "Now that he's off the campaign trail, we've never been happier. We're even considering having another child."
Cecily, who had her tubes tied after two children, exclaimed, "Another kid? No wonder we never see you two anymore!"
Katherine was not the only one avoiding the limelight. Since being appointed White House chief of staff, her husband seemed to be having a growing aversion to the Washington social scene. It began, oddly enough, during Roger's inauguration speech. As the newly sworn-in president spoke the moving words of promise for a renaissance in America, Jordan took a good look at the people's faces in the audience. They were staring up at his brother as though he were Jesus Christ come back to earth, a twenty-first-century messiah able to walk on water, heal the sick and raise the dead.
Jordan's eyes moved from the rapt expressions in the crowd to the president standing behind the podium. He saw the face from the right-hand side—every bit as handsome in profile as seen from the front. For the first time in his life, the younger brother removed the rose-colored glasses through which he had always viewed his sibling.
He's just an ordinary man, he thought. How can he hope to keep all the lofty promises he's making?
In all honesty, Roger wasn't even a good politician. He hadn't accomplished much of anything as governor of Connecticut and even less as a senator. His most glaring weakness was his indecisiveness. Jordan had to help his brother not only select his cabinet members but also fill key positions in the West Wing. Consequently, President Thornhill hadn't even moved into the Oval Office before his younger brother came to the inevitable conclusion that his childhood hero was not presidential material.
Moreover, it was not only in matters of his public life that Roger was weighed and found wanting. His private life, in Jordan's eyes, was reprehensible. During the months the brothers spent on the campaign trail, hundreds of women were sneaked into the candidate's hotel room, aboard his private plane and, occasionally, into the men's room at the venues where he delivered his speeches about preserving family values.
These new insights into his brother's character hit Jordan hard. At first, he made excuses for Roger, all the while feeling the heavy burden of guilt over his growing disloyalty. He went so far as to shoulder some of the blame for his brother's shortcomings.
As his campaign manager, I was the one who helped sell the image, he admitted to himself. He wasn't a candidate for public office; he was a brand. I helped package and market him to the public. As for his womanizing—well, I suppose that's between him and Susan.
Despite all his attempts at justifying his brother's failings, once those rose-colored glasses came off, Jordan couldn't put them back on again.
* * *
For the next two years, Jordan continued to give his brother sound advice when asked and support him to the best of his ability. Although the president noticed his chief of staff seemed increasingly more aloof, he did not mention it. As one who had always taken people's high regard for granted, Roger assumed his brother's moodiness had nothing to do with him.
It was when the family gathered in Westport during Christmas of President Thornhill's second year in office that Jordan finally voiced his discontent.
"What are you doing in here?" Katherine asked when she found her husband alone in the library rather than downstairs in the great room gathered around the tree with the rest of the family.
"Reading," he replied, holding up a book of poetry by Arthur Rimbaud.
"Why aren't you downstairs with the kids?"
"I want a break from my brother," he admitted.
"I don't believe it!" his wife laughed. "I thought you were at the forefront of the movement to canonize Roger Thornhill!"
"Not anymore I'm not."
"Why? What happened?"
"Nothing really. One day I just finally saw through all the bullshit I peddled to the American public during the campaign."
"This sounds serious," Katherine declared and took a seat near her husband.
Knowing he was in for a long talk with his wife, Jordan put down his book, placed a fresh log on the fire and poured them both a glass of wine from a bottle his father kept on one of the bookshelves.
"All my life I idolized Roger. He was everything I wasn't: handsome, athletic, outgoing, popular. I wished I could be more like him. Once he was elected president, though, I finally got a good look at who he really is. There's not much substance behind the impressive form. He's acting the part of president and using people to get what he wants."
"You, in particular."
"That was my own fault. I followed him blindly wherever he would lead. I quit my job as a prosecutor. I abandoned my plan to open my own law practice. Hell, I even gave up time with you and the kids to campaign for him. Why was I so stupid?"
"Stop beating yourself up. You're not the only one to fall under your brother's spell."
"Don't I know it! He's like a damned Svengali, especially when it comes to women. Women! Sometimes I think you and my sisters are the only females under sixty who haven't slept with him!"
Jordan chuckled at his use of humorous hyperbole, but the sound caught in his throat when he saw the look on his wife's face. Although she quickly covered it with an amused smile, there was no denying the guilt that momentarily appeared in her eyes.
"Oh, God! You didn't?" her husband asked, his face ashen with astonishment and horror.
Katherine turned her head toward the fireplace, unable to reply to his accusation.
"Please tell me you didn't sleep with my brother!" Jordan pleaded.
Tears burned her eyes and slid down Katherine's cheeks. She had always dreaded this moment and prayed it would never come. Yet here it was, and she must finally deal with it.
"It was before we were married," she admitted in a monotone voice, dulled with pain.
"When?"
"The summer when we first met. We sailed down to the Hamptons with your brother and that French girl, Odette, he was seeing then. It was only that one time, I swear. Oh, I know there's no excuse for my behavior, but I was so flattered that he found me attractive."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because I was afraid of losing you. You were the one I loved, not Roger."
Jordan finished his wine in silence. Then he rose from his chair, put the empty glass on his father's antique mahogany desk and walked out of the library, not bothering to acknowledge Katherine's tearful apology.
The next evening, Jordan took his wife out to a fancy restaurant even though candlelight dinners, minus their children, were usually a treat reserved for anniversaries and special occasions.
"Is this the point you ask me for a divorce?" Katherine laughed nervously after the couple finished their entrée and were awaiting their dessert.
"I don't want to end a good marriage because of something that happened before we were even engaged. Now, why don't we agree to let the past remain in the past?"
"That's fine with me!" she said with relief.
"In fact, I think it's time we have that fourth baby we've been talking about for the past two years."
Katherine's face lit up with joy. For a moment, Jordan saw not his wife and the mother of his children but the freckle-faced bookworm he had fallen in love with when he was attending Harvard.
How can I blame her for what happened? he thought. My brother is a master of seduction. What chance did she have against him?
Despite Katherine's revelation, the couple remained in Bridgeport until after the holidays. No one in the family ever suspected something might be amiss between them. One skill the White House chief of staff managed to master during his tenure in Washington was the ability to mask what he was feeling.
* * *
It was no surprise to Jordan when Roger called him into the Oval Office that January and announced his intention to run for reelection, nor was he surprised that his brother expected him to help with the campaign.
"You must think I'm a miracle worker," the younger brother laughed. "You expect me to run your campaign and serve as White House chief of staff, too?"
"Why not? I can be president and candidate at the same time."
"Plus I'm a husband and father of three with another on the way."
"Oh, your wife can handle things at home. I need you, Tadpole."
Jordan saw the familiar enticing look in his brother's eyes and could not help wondering if Katherine had seen the same look all those years ago in the Hamptons.
"And don't give me the old I'm-not-qualified-for-the-job argument. I've heard it before, and it doesn't wash."
Surprisingly, this time there was no argument at all. The president's younger brother immediately agreed to help.
"Whatever I can do," he said.
That night at dinner, Jordan broke the news of his brother's decision to his wife. Unlike the previous occasions, he asked for her opinion.
"He wants me to run his campaign," he announced.
"That doesn't surprise me," Katherine said.
"Would you mind if I did?"
"You don't need my permission."
"If I accept the responsibility, that'll mean a lot of traveling. I won't always be here for you and the kids."
"We'll survive. We've done it before. Besides, he can't run for a third term, so this will be the last time."
"Amen! Whether he's reelected or not, I can forget about Roger and concentrate on my own life for a change."
* * *
Katherine was entering the third trimester of her pregnancy when her husband, her in-laws, the four Thornhill daughters and their husbands journeyed to New Hampshire to support the president in the days leading up to the Granite State's primary election. As usual, Katherine remained in Alexandria with her children.
Frankly, I don't give a damn whether he wins or loses, she thought as she turned off the election updates in favor of watching a movie on Netflix.
She was indulging in a box of Raisinets and enjoying her favorite feel-good romantic comedy when the telephone rang.
People always recall where they were and what they were doing when they learned of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Kennedy's assassination or the 9/11 attacks. The day President Roger Thornhill was shot and killed Katherine was sitting in her living room, eating chocolate-covered raisins and watching Chevy Chase and Madolyn Smith in Funny Farm.
"I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone," Jordan said after breaking the news to her, "but I didn't want you to learn it from anyone else."
"Did they catch the person who shot him?"
"Yeah. He was killed by the Secret Service."
"Do they know why?"
"Not yet. I'm sure there'll be a full investigation. I've no doubt it was some lone nut rather than an organized plot."
Isn't it always? Katherine thought but kept her opinion to herself.
"I'll be flying back to Washington with the body."
"And the rest of the family?"
"Susan wants to go to her parents' house, and everyone else is going to Connecticut until the funeral."
"Will you come home after the plane lands?"
"Yeah, for a little while at least. Then I'll have to go back to the White House and begin making arrangements."
"Why you?" she asked. "Isn't that the First Lady's responsibility?"
"Susan is too upset. She was standing next to Roger when he was shot."
A vision of her sister-in-law in a blood-splattered pink suit with a matching pillbox hat—á la Jackie Kennedy—popped into Katherine's mind.
"Besides, it's the last thing I can ever do for my brother. I owe it to him."
Two days later Katherine, wearing a simple black dress by Chanel, stood beside her husband in the East Room, looking down at the flag-draped casket. In twenty-four hours, Roger's coffin would be transported to the Capitol Rotunda by horse-drawn caisson where it would lie in state for two days before being placed on a private plane and flown to Connecticut to be buried among several previous generations of Thornhills.
The president was not even in his grave yet, and already there were claims of a conspiracy. Was this the work of the Russians? North Koreans? A radical terrorist group?
I suppose we'll never know for sure, the pregnant woman thought.
As she turned toward her husband, a chill ran down her spine, causing her to shiver. For a fleeting moment, his carefully maintained mask dropped, and a malevolent smile appeared on Jordan's face. He clearly felt no sadness at his older brother's death. On the contrary, the look in his eyes was one of satisfaction.
Perhaps the idea of a conspiracy is not so farfetched, Katherine thought with dread. But the shooting might not necessarily have been an assassination with a political motive. Roger's death might have been a case of ordinary murder for purely personal reasons.
It was a possibility that would haunt Mrs. Jordan Thornhill for the rest of her life.
Salem of envious of his older brother who has become a superstar of YouTube videos.
