Джеффри Арчер - The Prodigal Daughter

‘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 Osborne’s headquarters. Miss Rosnovski speaking.’

‘Hello, my dear, my 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, KL5-4816’ 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’ name 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 be 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, sir.’

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

‘ “Congressman 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 firmly, 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. ‘Or 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 in 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 if 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 front of the fire. She, like most of America, went to sleep believing 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 11 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 right in stating that Henry Osborne was returned to Congress for a sixth term.

When Florentyna went back to Girls Latin the next day, her homeroom teacher called for her and made it quite clear that the election was now over and that the time had come to settle down and do some serious studying. Miss Tredgold agreed, and Florentyna worked with the same enthusiasm for her school exams as she had for President Truman.

During the year, she made the junior varsity hockey team, on which she played right wing without distinction, and even managed to squeeze onto the third-string tennis team on one occasion. When the summer term was drawing to a close, all the pupils received a note reminding them that if they wished to run for the Student Council their names must be sent to the headmaster of Boys Latin by the first Monday of the new school year. There were six representatives on the Council elected from both schools, and no one could remember a year when they had not all come from the twelfth grade. Nevertheless, many of Florentyna’s classmates suggested that she allow her name to be put forward. Edward Winchester, who had years before given up trying to beat Florentyna at anything except arm wrestling, volunteered to help her.

‘But anyone who helps me would have to be talented, good-looking, popular and charismatic,’ she teased.

‘For once, I agree with you,’ said Edward. ‘Any fool taking up such a cause will need every advantage possible to overcome the problems that come with a candidate who is stupid, ugly, unapproachable and dull.’