Doris didn't mind that some people hated her. She never paid them any attention since it had always been that way. Her dad used to tell her to "feed on their hatred" and that she "use their anger to make yourself stronger." She never quite understood what her dad meant. The extreme hatred made it easy for Doris to detach herself from caring about the court of public opinion.
Today, October 10, 1925, the 12-year-old Doris wanted detachment from more, from reality itself. Detach.
"Doris, I never meant for this to be your burden."
"I know, father."
She heard the words come from her lips, but her brain was in full-on revolt. Each new detail shared knocked Doris back an additional step - her father felt miles away, even though she was by his side. Father had invited her to the room after dismissing Doris' mother, Nanaline Inman.
Would these be his final words? Detach.
Doris struggled to keep her mind focused as she tried to piece together these new, startling notions in a way that made sense.
"I have failed. I have been the last remaining member of one of the founding families of 'The Society'. Now, you will take my place, or all will be lost. Doris, you must save us. You're America's last hope, and this will have to be your task to complete." Doris' mind whirled. She kept opening her mouth to ask a question, any question - but no words appeared, and her father continued, "Doris, we aren't alone. Humanity on Earth is an experiment in evolution - we aren't the real leaders, we're just here to report back."
Doris knew her father wasn't keen on fits of emotion, he seemed passionate about what he was saying, despite the sheer lunacy of it all.
"Margaret knows everything and has prepared you for the task at hand; Doris, she was never just a Nanny; her husband served The Society. Talk to John and Calvin," Mr. Duke paused to let out a pair of hearty coughs, "they abandoned the cause, but maybe they'll return to it when I'm gone - maybe they'll come to their senses if you visit them - you must visit them immediately. Those who oppose us and oppose a functioning society are in every direction. Above all else, Doris, trust no one. I'm so sorry, my darling, this was never meant to fall to you."
Mr. Duke had been ill for some time, his energy sapped, he was now bedridden and was starting to struggle with his words.
"Doris, they arrive on New Years' Eve. If there is no one there for the handoff, they'll reset our sector, and America will fall."
Detach.
Doris's mind reverted back a few years.
"Last one to the house is a RADISH!"
Doris had grown very fond of her nanny, Margaret Helen. In the Summer of 1921, Doris was an energetic 8-year-old with near free reign of her father's farm, Duke Farms. Using the word "farm" makes Duke Farms sound quaint; it was anything but. Duke Farms is a regal estate - vast, covering over 2500 acres with over 18 miles of roads, all connecting over 45 buildings. Doris would often get lost with Margaret out in the fields.
Doris burst through the door of the main house, "Ha! You're a sting-ey, smelly, pink RADISH!" she yelled back at Ms. Helen.
"DORIS!" Mr. Duke's voice boomed in the oversized conservatory, "You rambunctious girl! Alright, you're here, come and be introduced."
Mr. Duke, Doris' father, had left his first wife, remarried to Nanaline Holt Inman, and had hoped to produce a male heir to the fortune and business that James had built.
James had no such luck, and his patriarchal leanings were met nose-to-nose with his unflappable little Doris. James Duke had wanted an heir, but instead, he got a wild, young, female sack-of-elbows.
Doris was gangly but beautiful - and she knew it. Her newborn foal legs weren't ever quite properly underneath her always-moving body - two sticks with wobbly, knobby knees. Doris caught her breath and gained her composure after briefly feeling embarrassed for shouting during her father's meeting. She stepped towards the stranger just as Ms. Helen opened the door.
"I'm so sorry, Master Duke. I intended Doris to take a bath before meeting the President for dinner." Margaret explained.
"I'll have none of it. Come over, Doris. I've been chatting with President-Elect Warren Harding about our mutual interests and the future. " Mr. Duke turned to face Harding, "Henry David Thoreau extorted us to never look back unless we are planning to go that way. So, we look forward," Duke gestured to his daughter, "Doris is my lovely 8-year-old. Wild and free shall she ever be."
Doris was usually bored at dinners like these - the old people were boring, but Harding was unlike most. President-Elect Warren Harding was entertaining and boisterous. James Duke knew Harding from his days of running an Ohio newspaper - and he liked him. His wife, Florence Harding, was every bit as sharp and wise as her husband. To Doris, though, when Florence Harding walked over to the piano that the night really began.
When her father wasn't away on business, he was often in New York; he would spend time with Doris at Duke Farms in Hillsborough, NJ. Nanaline was never much of a mother, and Doris felt a much closer bond to Margaret, who she called "Ms. Helen" in front of company, but simply "Margaret" when it was just them. Shortly after Doris' birth, James Duke felt similarly about Nanaline - their marriage was a challenge to keep alight with love.
Doris heard more of her father's late-night conversations than she should have. One night Mr. Duke was having a conversation downstairs with a man whose voice was not recognized by Doris. "We'll make do with Doris, we have to; I don't know what other options we have." she heard her father's booming voice echo up the marble stairs. In response, the voice told James, "Right now, we're looking to the other families, but it isn't looking hopeful."
Doris knew that it was her and her alone. It always had been like that. She was just fine with it. She was.
Detach.