The Eisenhower Chronicles

Ike can’t decide whether or not to run for President. He doesn’t want to, but the Korean War and the Cold War stimulate his sense of duty. One night, his subconscious sends him a message…

Feel disgusting. So sweaty. Bet I could see my chest hair through my Ike Jacket right now. Because of how soaked I am. Don’t look at it. Why am I wearing my full uniform and jacket in this heat? Where am I?

Ike’s gaze rose from the ground to the grassy fields. White oak and magnolia towered over him, though their shade did not diminish the heat or humidity. Gardens stretched in every direction. A large estate loomed in the distance, a great wooden mansion at its center. Its roof was bright red, and its walls were white wood. A circular dirt path sat in front of the building surrounding a large patch of trimmed grass. Single-story wings flanked the mansion on each side.

Why does that building look so familiar? Shouldn’t trespass. But I’ll pass out if I don’t get a drink of water.

Ike stumbled toward the mansion, every step a struggle. No sooner did Ike begin his quest than a man on horseback intercepted him. He wore a corn yellow worn-out vest and a black tricorn hat that shaded his shoulders. Sweat shone on his forehead. His black horse neighed as he came to a stop. Ike looked up at him.

What the hell is he wearing? Either he’s out of fashion, even for a farmer, or I’m so old I missed the new look.

“What’s your name?” the man on horseback asked, his knuckles white from gripping the reins.

Ike felt an unconscious jolt; he’d been famous for a decade. This was a nice change of pace.

“I’m General Eisenhower.”

“A general?” the man asked. “Did you fight in the war?”

“Yes, sir,” Ike replied politely.

“Where?”

“I commanded the European Theater.”

“Europe? You mean you were with Dr. Franklin?”

What?

“That’s a strange uniform for a general,” the man said.

“You don’t like my jacket?” Ike asked as he glanced at it briefly. “I know it’s a sweaty mess, but I designed it myself.” He looked the man in the eye as his horse trotted to his right. “You haven’t given me your name yet.”

“Joseph Cash,” the man said, still suspicious. “I assume you’re here for a visit.”

“Sure,” Ike muttered quietly. “Where am I exactly?”

Cash’s eyebrow rose.

“You’re on the most famous estate in the country. Maybe the world.”

“That’s not helping.”

“Mount Vernon.”

Mount Vernon? How the hell… alright. I guess that explains why he’s dressed like he’s from another century. Must be a tour guide or something.

“Can I get a glass of water before my tour?”

Cash ignored him.

“I don’t think he’s very busy right now. Not sure he’s had many visitors today. You can probably see him if you want.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“General Washington.”

“Come again?”

“George Washington. The general and President. You’re not from around here, are you?”

Washington? The George Washington? Can’t believe it! My God! Oh my God! Stomach’s doing a somersault! How in the hell… I don’t know. But this fellow is right in front of me and saying I’m about to meet George Washington, who I’ve idolized since I could read. I wonder if I can confirm the cherry tree story.