And They Called It Camelot: A Novel of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis

by Stephanie Marie Thornton

November 22, 1963 Air Force One touched down in Love Field with a teeth-jarring thump, and minutes later, the cabin door swung open to admit such a blast of scorching sunlight that the First Lady instinctively shielded her eyes against the unusual November brightness. In this, the first scene of an act she and her husband had replayed during each stop during this show-the-flag trip to Texas, she sniffed at the warm, oil-smelling Texas breeze and smoothed the skirt of her watermelon suit as the president stepped alongside her. “Last stop.” The president’s unstaged line was murmured so only she could hear. “We’ve made quite a team this trip.” Her smile made her almond-brown eyes sparkle as they stepped onto the tarmac. “Always.” Then they were in character again, waving their way down the metal ramp to greet Lyndon and Lady Bird Johnson in the same silly masquerade that had been staged for each crowd of waiting Texans. Aides pressed local papers into the president’s waiting hands while the First Lady accepted the ubiquitous welcome bouquet from the Dallas mayor’s wife. The unseasonable heat made their fragrance almost cloying. She had been greeted with Texan yellow roses—meant to convey welcome—in every other city, but Dallas’s bouquet was a shocking shade of ruby red. Everyone knew red roses symbolized love, but the White House floral staff had taught her they also represented regret. And sorrow. She didn’t have time to ponder that, for the president’s expression went gray ...