The Prodigal Daughter (11 page)

“You don’t need
them if you remain a virgin,” Florentyna said, passing on her newfound
knowledge.

The onty other
event of importance that year for Florentyna was her confirmation. Although
Father O’Reilly, a young priest from the Holy Name Cathedral, officially
instructed her, Miss Tredgold, resolutely suppressing the Church of England
tenets of her youth, studied the Roman Catholic “Orders in Confirmation” and
took Florentyna painstakingly through her preparation, leaving her in no doubt
of the obligations that her promises to our dear Lord brought upon her. The
Roman Catholic Archbishop of Chicago, assisted by Father O’Reilly, administered
the confirmation, and both Abet and Zaphia attended the servicc. Their divorce
having been completed, they sat in separate pews.

Florentyna wore
a simple white dress with a high neck, the hem falling a few inches below the
knee. She had made the dress herself, with--when she was asleep-a little help
from Miss Tredgold. The original design had come from a photograph in
Paris-Match of a dress worn by Princess Elizabeth.

Miss Tredgold
had brushed Florentyna’s long dark hair for over an hour until it
shone,
She even allowed it to fall to her shoulders.
Although she was only thirteen, the young confirmand looked stunning.

“My Kam is
beautiful,” said George as he stood next to Abel in the front pew of the
church.

I know.” said
Abel.

“No, I’m
serious,” said George. “Very soon there is going to be a line of men banging on
the Baron’s castle door demanding the hand ot’his only daughter.”

“As long as
she’s happy, I don’t mind who she marries.”

After the
service was over, the family had a celebration dinner in Abel’s private rooms
at the Baron. Florentyna received gifts from her family and friends, including
a beautiful leather-bound version of the King James Bible from Miss Tredgold,
but the present she treasured most was the one her father had kept safely until
he felt she was old enough to appreciate it, the antique ring that had been
given to Florentyna on her 73 christening by the man who had put his faith in
Papa and backed the Baron Group.

I must write and
thank him,” said Florentyna.

“You can’t, my
dear, as I am not certain who he is. I honored my part of the bargain long ago,
so now I will probably never discover his true identity.”

She slipped the
antique ring onto the third finger of her right hand and throughout the rest of
the day her eyes returned again and again to the sparkling little emeralds.

“
H
OW
WILL YOU BE VOTING in the Presidential election, madam?” asked the smartly
dressed young man.

“I shall not be
voting,” said Miss Tredgold, continuing down the street.

“Shall I put you
down as ‘Don’t know’?” said the man, jogging to keep up with her.

“Most certainly
not,” said Miss Tredgold. I made no such suggestion.”

“Am I to
understand you don’t wish to state your preference?”

“I am quite
happy to state my preference, young man, but as I conic from Much Hadham in
England, it is unlikely to influence either Mr. Truman or Mr. Dewey.”

The rimn
conducting the Gallup Poll retreated, but Florentyna watched him carefully
because she had read somewhere that the results of such polls were now being
taken seriously by all leading politicians.

Nineteen
forty-eight, and America was in the middle of another election campaign. Unlike
the Olympics, the race for the White House was re-run every four years, war or
peace. Florentyna remained loyal to the Democrats but did not see how President
Truman could possibly hold on to the White House after three such unpopular
years as President. The Republican candidate, Thomas E. Dewey, had a lead of
over 8 percent in the latest Gallup Poll and looked certain of victory.

Florewyna
followed both campaigns closely and was delighted when Margaret Chase Smith
beat three men to be chosen as the Republican senatorial candidate for Maine.
For the first time, the American people were able to follow the election on
television. Abel had installed an RCA at Rigg Street only months before he
departed, but during term time Miss Tredgold would not allow Florentyna to
watch “that newfangled machine” for more than one hour a day. “It can never be
a substitute for the written word,” she declared. “I agree with Professor
Chester L. Dawes of Harvard,” she added. “Too many instant decisions will be
made in front of the cameras that will later be regretted.”

Although she did
not fully agree with Miss Tredgold’s sentiments at the time, Florentyna
selected her hour carefully, particularIN on Sundays, always choosing the CBS
evening news, during which Douglas Edwards would give the campaign roundup,
over Ed Sullivan’s more popular “Toast of the Town.” However, she still found
time to listen to Ed Murrow on the radio.

Aftcr all his
broadcasts from London during the war, she, like so many other millions of
Americans, remained loyal to his kind of newscasting.

She felt it was
the least she could do.

During the
summer vacation Florentyna parked herself in Congressman Osborne’s campaign
headquarters and, along with scores of other volunteers of assorted ages and
ability, filled envelopes with “A Message from Your Congressman” and a bumper
sticker that said in bold print “Re-elect Osborne.” She and a pale, angular
youth who never proffered any opinions would then lick the flap of each
envelope and place it on a pile according to district, for hand delivery by
another helper,
By
the end of each day her mouth and
lips were covered in gum and she would return home feeling thirsty and sick.

One Thursday the
receptionist in charge of the telephone inquiries asked if Florentyna could
take over her spot while she took a break for lunch.

“Of course,”
said Florentyna with tremendous excitement, and jumped into the vacated seat
before the pale youth could volunteer.

“There shouldn’t
be any problems,” the receptionist said. “Just say ‘Congressman Osborne’s
office,’ and if you’re not sure of anything, look it up in the campaign
handbook. Everything you need to know is in there,” she added, pointing to the
thick booklet by the side of the phone.

“I’ll be just
fine,” said Florentyna.

She sat in the
exalted chair, staring at the phone, willing it to ring.

She didn’t have
to wait long. The first caller was a man who wanted to know where he voted.
That’s a strange question, thought Florentyna.

“At the polls,”
she said, a little pertly.

“Sure, I know
that, you stupid bitch,” came back the reply. “But where is my polling place?”

Florentyna was
speechless for a moment, and then asked, very politely, where he lived.

“In
the seventh precinct.”

Florentyna
flicked through her guide. “You should vote at Saint Chrysostom’s Church, on
Dearborn Street.”

“Where’s that?’

Florentyna
studied the map. “The church is located five blocks from the lake shore and
fifteen blocks north of the Loop.” The phone clicked and immediately rang
again.

“Is that
Osborne’s headquarters?”

“Yes, sir.” said
Florentyna.

“Well, you can
tell that lazy bastard I wouldn’t vote for him if he was the only candidate
alive.” The phone clicked again and Florentyna felt queasier than she had been
when she was licking envelopes. She let the bell ring three times before she
could summon up the courage to lift the receiver to answer.

“Hello,” she said
nervously. “This is Congressman Oshome’s headquarters.

Miss
Rosnovski speaking.”

“Hello, my dear,
mv name is Daisy Bishop, and I will need a car to take my husband to the polls
on Election Day because he lost both of his legs in the war.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,”
said Florentyna.

“Don’t worry
yourself, young lady. We wouldn’t let wonderful Mr. Roosevelt down.”

“But Mr.
Roosevelt is... Yes, of course you wouldn’t. Can I please take down your
telephone number and address?”

“Mr. and Mrs.
Bishop, KI-5-4816” came the reply.

“We will phone
you on election morning to let you know what time the car will pick you up.
Thank you for supporting the Democratic ticket, Mrs. Bishop,” said Florentyna.

“We always do,
my dear. Goodbye and good luck.”

“Goodbye,” said
Florentyna, who took a deep breath and felt a little better. She wrote a -2” in
brackets after the Bishops’ narne and placed the note in the file marked
“Transportation for Election Day.” Then she waited for the next call.

It was some
minutes before the phone sounded again and by then Florentyna had fully
regained her confidence.

“Good morning,
is this the Osborne office?”

“Yes, sir.” said
Florentyna.

“My name is
Melvin Crudick and I want to know Congressman Osborne’s views on the Marshall
Plan.”

“
The what
plan?” said Florentyna.

“The Marshall
Plan,” the voice enunciated.

Florentyna
frantically flipped the pages of the campaign handbook that she had been
promised would reveal everything.

“Are you still
there?” barked the voice.

“Yes, sir,” said
Florentyna. “I just wanted to
he
sure you were given a
full and detailed answer on the congressman’s views.
If you
would be kind enough to wait one moment.”

At last
Florentyna found the Marshall Plan and read through Henry Osborne’s words on
the subject.

“Hello, iir.”

“Yes,” said the
voice, and Florentyna started to read Henry’s views out loud.

“‘Congiessman
Osborne approves of the Marshall Plan.”‘ There was a long silence.

“Yes, I know he
does,” said the voice from the other end.

Florentyna felt
weak. “Yes, he does support the plan,” she repeated.

“Why does he?”
said the voice.

“Because it will
benefit everyone in his district,” said Florentyna firt-rily, feeling rather
pleased with
herself
.

“Pray tell me,
how can giving six billion American dollars to Europe help the Ninth District
of Illinois?” Florentyna could feel the perspiration on her forehead. “Miss,
you may inform your congressman that because of your personal incompetence I
shall be voting Republican on this occasion.”

Florentyna put the
phone down and was considering running out of the door when the regular
receptionist arrived back from her lunch. Florentyna did not know what to tell
her.

“Anything
interesting?” the girl asked as she resumed her place. “Of was it the usual
mixture of weirdos, perverts and cranks who have got nothing better to do with
their lunch break?”

“Nothing
special,” said Florentyna nervously, “except I think I’ve lost the vote of a
Mr. Crudick.”

“Not
Mad Mel again?
What was it this time, the House Un-American Activities Committee, the Marshall
Plan or the slums of Chicago…?”

Florentyna
happily returned to licking envelopes, On Election Day, Florentyna arrived at
campaign headquarters at eight o’clock in the morning and spent the day
telephoning registered Democrats to be sure they had voted. “Never forget,”
said Henry Osborne irr his final pep talk to his voluntary helpers, “no man has
ever lived in the White House who hasn’t carried Illinois.”

Florentyna felt
very proud to think she was helping to elect a President and didn’t take a
break all day. At eight o’clock that evening. Miss Tredgold came to collect
her. She had worked twelve hours without letting up, but never once did she
stop talking all the way home.

“Do you think
Mr. Truman will win?” she asked finally.

“Only it’ he
gets more than fifty percent of the votes cast,” said Miss Tredgold.

“Wrong.” said
Florentyna. “It is possible to win a Presidential election in the United States
by winning more Electoral College votes than your opponent while failing to secure
a majority of the plebiscite.” She then proceeded to give Miss Tredgold a brief
lesson on how the American political system worked.

“Such a thing
would never have happened if only dear George III had known where America was.”
said Miss Tredgold. “And I become daily aware that it will not be long before
you have no further need of me, child.”

It was the first
time Florentyna had ever considered that Miss Tredgold would not spend the rest
of her life with her.

When they
reached home, Florentyna sat in her father’s old chair to watch the early
returns, but she was so tired that she dozed off in tront of the fire. She,
like most of America, went to sleep belicving that Thomas Dewey had won the
election. When Florentyna woke the next morning, she dashed downstairs to fetch
the Tribune. Her fears were confirmed: “Dewey Defeats Truman” ran the headline,
and it took half an hour of radio bulletins and confirmation by her mother
before Florentyna believed that Truman had been- returned to the White House.
An I I P.m. decision had been made by the night editor of the Tribune to run a
headline that he would not live down for the rest of his life. At least he had
been tight in stating that Henry Osborne was returned to Congress for a sixth
term.