The Prodigal Daughter Read online

  It was agreed that each candidate would give a five-minute talk to the remaining twenty-seven members of the two classes. Miss Tredgold, without wishing to influence Florentyna, listened to her deliver her oration thirty-one times—or was it thirty-two?—as she remarked to Mr. Rosnovski the Sunday morning before the great election.

  Florentyna read the political columns of the Chicago Tribune out loud each day to Miss Tredgold, searching for any scrap of information she could add to her speech. Kate Smith seemed to be singing “God Bless America” everywhere and the Dow Jones Index had passed 150 for the first time: whatever that was, it seemed to favor the incumbent. Florentyna also read about the progress of the war in Europe and the launching of a 36,600-ton U.S. battleship Washington, the first fighting vessel America had built in nineteen years.

  “Why are we building a battleship if the President has promised that the American people will never have to go to war?”

  “I presume it’s in the best interest of our own defense,” suggested Miss Tredgold, who was furiously knitting socks for the boys back home. “Just in case the Germans decide to attack us.”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” said Florentyna.

  The day that Trotsky was slain with a pickaxe in Mexico, Miss Tredgold kept the paper away from her charge, while on another morning she was quite unable to explain what nylons were and why the first 72,000 were sold out in eight hours, the shops limiting the sale to two pairs per customer.

  Miss Tredgold, whose legs were habitually clad in beige lisle stockings of a shade optimistically entitled “Allure,” studied the item frowningly. “I’m sure I shall never wear nylons,” she declared, and indeed she never did.

  When Election Day came, Florentyna’s head was crammed with facts and figures, some of which she did not understand, but they gave her the confidence to feel she would win. The only problem that still concerned her was that Edward was bigger than she was. Florentyna imagined that this was a definite advantage as she had read that twenty-seven of the thirty-two Presidents of the United States had been taller than their rivals.

  The two contestants tossed a newly minted Jefferson nickel to decide the order of speaking. Florentyna won and chose to speak first, a mistake she never made again in her life. She walked to the front of the class, a frail figure, and mindful of Miss Tredgold’s final words of advice—“Stand up straight, child. Remember you’re not a question mark”—she stood bolt upright in the center of the raised wooden platform in front of Miss Evans’s desk and waited to be told she could begin. Her first few sentences came choking out. She explained her policies for ensuring that the nation’s finances remained stable while at the same time promising to keep the United States out of the war. “There is no need for one American to die because the nations of Europe cannot stay at peace,” she declared—a sentence from one of Mr. Roosevelt’s speeches that she had learned by heart. Mary Gill started to applaud, but Florentyna took no notice and went on talking while, at the same time, pushing her dress down nervously with damp hands. Her last few sentences came out in a great rush, and she sat down to a lot of clapping and smiles.

  Edward Winchester rose to follow her, and a few of the boys from his class cheered him as he walked up to the blackboard. It was the first time Florentyna realized that some of the votes had been decided even before the speeches began. She only hoped that was true for her side as well. Edward told his classmates that winning at kickball was the same as winning for your country, and in any case Willkie stood for all the things that their parents believed in. Did they want to vote against the wishes of their fathers and mothers? Because if they did support FDR they would lose everything. This line was greeted with a splutter of applause, so he repeated it. At the end of his speech, Edward was also rewarded with claps and smiles, but Florentyna convinced herself they were no louder or wider than hers had been.

  After Edward had sat down, Miss Evans congratulated both candidates and asked the twenty-seven voters to take a blank page from their notebooks and write down the name of Edward or Florentyna, according to who they felt should be President. Pens dipped furiously into inkwells, scratched across paper. Voting slips were blotted, folded, and then passed forward to Miss Evans. When the teacher had received the last one, she began to unfold the little rectangles and place them in front of her in separate piles, a process that seemed to take hours. The whole classroom remained silent throughout the count, which in itself was an unusual event. Once Miss Evans had completed the unfolding she counted the twenty-seven sheets of paper slowly and carefully, and then double-checked them.

  “The result of the mock election”—Florentyna held her breath—“for President of the United States is thirteen votes for Edward Winchester”—Florentyna nearly cheered: she had won—“and twelve votes for Florentyna Rosnovski. Two people left their papers blank, which is called abstaining.” Florentyna couldn’t believe it. “I therefore declare Edward Winchester, representing Wendell Willkie, to be the new President.”

  It was the only election FDR lost that year, but Florentyna was unable to disguise her disappointment and ran to hide in the girls’ locker room to be sure no one could see her crying. When she came out she found Mary Gill and Susie Jacobson waiting for her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Florentyna, trying to put a brave face on the result. “At least I know both of you supported me.”

  “We couldn’t.”

  “Why couldn’t you?” asked Florentyna in disbelief.

  “We didn’t want Miss Evans to know that we weren’t sure how to spell your name,” said Mary.

  On the way home, after Miss Tredgold had heard the story seven times, she made so bold as to ask if the child had learned anything from the exercise.

  “Oh, yes,” replied Florentyna emphatically. “I’m going to marry a man with a very simple name.”

  Abel laughed when he heard the story that night and repeated it to Henry Osborne over dinner. “Better keep your eye on her, Henry, because it won’t be long before she’s after your seat.”

  “I’ve got fifteen years before she can vote, and by then I’ll be ready to hand the constituency over to her.”

  “What are you doing about convincing the International Relations Committee that we ought to be in this war?”

  “FDR will do nothing until the result of the election is known. Everybody is aware of that, including Hitler.”

  “If that’s so, I only pray that Britain won’t lose before we join in because America will have to wait until November to confirm FDR as President.”

  During the year Abel broke ground on two more hotels, in Philadelphia and San Francisco, and had begun his first project in Canada, the Montreal Baron. Although his thoughts were rarely far from the success of the Group, something else still remained on his mind.

  He wanted to be in Europe, and it wasn’t to build hotels.

  At the end of the fall term, Florentyna got her first spanking. In later life she always associated this with snow. Her classmates decided to build a massive snowman, and each member of the class had to bring something with which to decorate him. The snowman ended up with raisin eyes, a carrot nose, potato ears, an old pair of garden gloves, a cigar and a hat supplied by Florentyna. On the last day of the term all the parents were invited to view the snowman, and many of them remarked on its hat. Florentyna beamed with pride until her father and mother arrived. Zaphia burst out laughing, but Abel was not amused at the sight of his fine silk topper on the head of a grinning snowman. Once they had arrived home, Florentyna was taken to her father’s study and given a long lecture on the irresponsibility of taking things that did not belong to her. Abel bent her over his knee and gave her three hard slaps with a hairbrush.

  That Saturday night was one she would never forget.

  That Sunday morning was one America would always remember.

  The Rising Sun appeared over Pearl Harbor on the wings of hostile aircraft and crippled the U.S. battle fleet, virtually wiping out the base and killin