The Prodigal Daughter Read online

  By the last quarter of 1939, Abel, with the help of a small loan from the First National Bank of Chicago, became the 100 percent owner of the Baron Group. He predicted in the annual report that profits for 1940 would be over half a million dollars.

  Franklin D. Roosevelt—the one with the red eyes and the fluffy brown fur—rarely left Florentyna’s side even when she progressed to second grade. Miss Tredgold considered that perhaps the time had come to leave FDR at home. In normal circumstances she would have insisted—there might have been a few tears and the matter would have been resolved—but against her better judgment she let the child have her own way. It was a decision that turned out to be one of Miss Tredgold’s rare mistakes.

  Every Monday, the Boys Latin School joined the Girls to be tutored in French by the modern language teacher, Mme. Mettinet. For everyone except Florentyna, this was a first, painful introduction to the language. As the class chanted boucher, boulanger and épicier after Madame, Florentyna, more out of boredom than bravado, began holding a conversation with FDR in French. Her next-door neighbor, a tall, rather lazy boy named Edward Winchester, who seemed unable to grasp the difference between le and la, leaned over and told Florentyna to stop showing off. Florentyna reddened. “I was only trying to explain to FDR the difference between the masculine and the feminine.”

  “Were you?” said Edward. “Well, I’ll show you le difference, Mademoiselle Know-All,” and in a fit of fury he grabbed FDR and with all the strength he could muster tore one of the bear’s arms from its body. Florentyna remained rooted to her seat in shock as Edward then took the inkwell out of his desk and poured the contents over the bear’s head.

  Mme. Mettinet, who had never approved of having boys in the same class as girls, rushed to the back of the room, but it was too late. FDR was already royal blue from head to toe and sat on the floor in the middle of a circle of stuffing from his severed arm. Florentyna grabbed her favorite friend, tears diluting the puddled ink. Mme. Mettinet marched Edward to the headmaster’s office and instructed the other children to sit in silence until she returned.

  Florentyna crawled around the floor, trying hopelessly to put the stuffing back into FDR, when a fair-haired girl Florentyna had never liked leaned over and hissed, “Serves you right, stupid Polack.” The class giggled at the girl’s remark and some of them started to chant, “Stupid Polack, stupid Polack, stupid Polack.” Florentyna clung to FDR and prayed for Mme. Mettinet’s return.

  It seemed like hours, although it was only a few minutes, before the French mistress reappeared, with Edward looking suitably crestfallen following in her wake. The chanting stopped the moment Mme. Mettinet entered the room, but Florentyna couldn’t even make herself look up. In the unnatural silence, Edward walked up to Florentyna and apologized in a voice that was as loud as it was unconvincing. He returned to his seat and grinned at his classmates.

  When Miss Tredgold picked up her charge from school that afternoon she could hardly miss noticing that the child’s face was red from crying and that she walked with a bowed head, clinging onto blue-faced FDR by his remaining arm. Miss Tredgold coaxed the whole story out of Florentyna before they reached home. She then gave the child her favorite supper of hamburger and ice cream, two dishes of which she normally disapproved, and put her to bed early, hoping she would quickly fall asleep. After a futile hour with nail brush and soap spent trying to clean up the indelibly stained bear, Miss Tredgold was forced to concede defeat. As she laid the damp animal by Florentyna’s side, a small voice from under the bedcovers said, “Thank you, Miss Tredgold. FDR needs all the friends he can get.”

  When Abel returned a little after 10 P.M.—he had taken to arriving home late almost every night—Miss Tredgold sought a private meeting with him. Abel was surprised by the request and led her at once to his study. During the eighteen months she had been in his employ, Miss Tredgold had always reported the week’s progress to Mr. Rosnovski on Sundays between 10 and 10:30 A.M. when Zaphia accompanied Florentyna to Sunday Mass at Holy Name Cathedral. Miss Tredgold’s reports were always clear and accurate; if anything, she had a tendency to underestimate the child’s achievements.

  “What’s the problem, Miss Tredgold?” asked Abel, trying to sound unworried. With such a break in routine he dreaded the thought that she might want to give her notice. Miss Tredgold repeated the story of what had taken place at school that day.

  Abel became redder and redder in the face as the story progressed and was scarlet before Miss Tredgold came to the end.

  “Intolerable” was his first word. “Florentyna must be removed immediately. I’ll personally see Miss Allen tomorrow and tell her exactly what I think of her and her school. I’m sure you will approve of my decision, Miss Tredgold.”

  “No, sir, I do not,” came back an unusually sharp reply.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Abel in disbelief.

  “I believe you are as much to blame as the parents of Edward Winchester.”

  “I?” said Abel. “Why?”

  “You should have told your daughter a long time ago the significance of being Polish and how to deal with any problems that might arise because of it. You should have explained the American’s deep-seated prejudice against the Poles, a prejudice that in my own opinion is every bit as reprehensible as the English attitude towards the Irish, and only a few steps away from the Nazi’s barbaric behavior towards the Jews.”

  Abel remained silent. It was a long time since anyone had told him he was wrong about anything.

  “Do you have anything else to say?” he asked when he had recovered.

  “Yes, Mr. Rosnovski. If you remove Florentyna from Girls Latin, I shall give my notice immediately. If on the first occasion the child encounters some problem you choose to run away from it, how can I hope to teach her to cope with life? Watching my own country at war because we wanted to go on believing Hitler was a reasonable man, if slightly misguided, I can hardly be expected to pass on the same misconstruction of events to Florentyna. It will be heartbreaking for me to have to leave her, because I could not love Florentyna more if she were my own child, but I cannot approve of disguising the real world because you have enough money to keep the truth conveniently hidden for a few more years. I must apologize for my frankness, Mr. Rosnovski, as I feel I have gone too far, but I cannot condemn other people’s prejudices while at the same time condoning yours.”

  Abel sank back into his seat before replying. “Miss Tredgold, you should have been an ambassador, not a governess. Of course you’re right. What would you advise me to do?”

  Miss Tredgold, who was still standing—she would never have dreamed of sitting in her employer’s presence unless she was with Florentyna—hesitated.

  “The child should rise thirty minutes earlier each day for the next month and be taught Polish history. She must learn why Poland is a great nation and why the Poles were willing to challenge the might of Germany when alone they could never have hoped for victory. Then she will be able to face those who goad her about her ancestry with knowledge, not ignorance.”

  Abel looked her squarely in the eyes. “I see now what George Bernard Shaw meant when he said that you have to meet the English governess to discover why Britain is great.”

  They both laughed.

  “I’m surprised you don’t want to make more of your life, Miss Tredgold,” said Abel, suddenly aware that what he had said might have sounded offensive. If it did, Miss Tredgold gave no sign of being offended.

  “My father had six daughters. He had hoped for a boy, but it was not to be.”

  “And what of the other five?”

  “They are all married,” she replied without bitterness.

  “And you?”

  “He once said to me that I was born to be a teacher and that the Lord’s plan took us all in its compass so perhaps I might teach someone who does have a destiny.”

  “Let us hope so, Miss Tredgold.” Abel would have called her by her first name, but he did not know what it