WELCOME BACK TO WASHINGTON, SENATOR KANE
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Nineteen eighty-five was to be a year for funerals, which made Florentyna feel every day of her fifty-one years.
She returned to Washington to find she had been allocated a suite in the Russell Building, a mere six hundred yards from her old congressional office in the Longworth Building. For several days while she was settling in, she found herself still driving into the Longworth garage rather than the Russell courtyard. She also could not get used to being addressed as Senator, especially by Richard, who could mouth the title in such a way as to make it sound like a term of abuse. “You may imagine your status has increased, but they still haven’t given you a raise in salary. I can’t wait for you to be President,” he added. “Then at least you will earn as much as one of the bank’s vice presidents.”
Florentyna’s salary might not have risen, but her expenses had as once again she surrounded herself with a team many senators would envy. She would have been the first to acknowledge the advantage of a strong financial base outside the world of politics. Most of her old team returned and were supplemented by new staffers who were in no doubt about Florentyna’s future. Her office in the Russell Building was in Suite 440. The other four rooms were now occupied by the fourteen staffers, led by the intrepid Janet Brown, who Florentyna had decided long ago was married to her job. In addition, Florentyna now had four offices throughout Illinois with three staffers working in each of them.
Her new office overlooked the courtyard, with its fountain and cobblestoned parking area. The green lawn would be a popular lunch place for senate staffers during the warm weather, and for an army of squirrels in the winter.
Florentyna told Richard that she estimated she would be paying out of her own pocket over $200,000 a year more than her senatorial allowance, an amount which varies from senator to senator depending on the size of their state and its population, she explained to her husband. Richard smiled and made a mental note to donate exactly the same sum to the Republican Party.
No sooner had the Illinois State Seal been affixed to her office door than Florentyna received the telegram. It was simple and stark: “WINIFRED TREDGOLD PASSED AWAY ON THURSDAY AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK.”
It was the first time Florentyna was aware of Miss Tredgold’s Christian name. She checked her watch, made two overseas calls and then buzzed for Janet to explain where she would be for the next forty-eight hours. By one o’clock that afternoon she was on board the Concorde and she arrived in London three hours and twenty-five minutes later at nine twenty-five. The chauffeur-driven car she had ordered was waiting for her as she emerged from Customs and drove her down the M4 motorway to Wiltshire. She checked into the Landsdowne Arms Hotel and read Saul Bellow’s The Dean’s December until three o’clock in the morning to counter the jet lag. Before turning the light out she called Richard.
“Where are you?” were his first words.
“I’m in a small hotel at Calne in Wiltshire, England.”
“Why, pray? Is the Senate doing a fact-finding mission on English pubs?”
“No, my darling. Miss Tredgold has died and I’m attending the funeral tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry,” said Richard. “If you had let me know I would have come with you. We both have a lot to thank that lady for.” Florentyna smiled. “When will you be coming home?”
“Tomorrow evening’s Concorde.”
“Sleep well, Jessie: I’ll be thinking of you—and Miss Tredgold.”
At nine-thirty the next morning a maid brought in a breakfast tray of kippers, toast with Cooper’s Oxford marmalade, coffee and a copy of the London Times. She sat in bed savoring every moment, an indulgence she would never have allowed herself in Washington. By ten-thirty she had absorbed the Times and was not surprised to discover that the British were having the same problems with inflation and unemployment as those that prevailed in America. Florentyna got up and dressed in a simple black knitted suit. The only jewelry she wore was the little watch that Miss Tredgold had given her on her thirteenth birthday.
The hotel porter told her that the church was about a mile away, and since the morning was so clear and crisp she decided to walk. What the porter had failed to point out to her was that the journey was uphill the whole way and his “about” was a “guesstimate.” As she strode along, she reflected on how little exercise she had had lately, despite the pristine Exercycle, which had been shipped up to Cape Cod. She had also allowed the jogging mania to pass her by.
The tiny Norman church, surrounded by oaks and elms, was perched on the side of the hill. On the bulletin board was an appeal for 25,000 pounds to save the church roof; according to a little blob of red on a thermometer, over 1,000 pounds had already been collected. To Florentyna’s surprise she was met in the vestry by a waiting verger and led to a place in the front pew next to an imperious lady who could only have been the headmistress.
The church was far fuller than Florentyna had expected it to be and the school had supplied the choir. The service was simple, and the address given by the parish priest left Florentyna in no doubt that Miss Tredgold had continued to teach others with the same dedication and common sense that had influenced the whole of Florentyna’s life. She tried not to cry during the address—she knew Miss Tredgold would not have approved—but she nearly succumbed when they sang her governess’s favorite hymn, “Rock of Ages.”
When the service was over, Florentyna filed back with the rest of the congregation through the Norman porch and stood in the little churchyard to watch the mortal remains of Winifred Tredgold disappear into the ground. The headmistress, a carbon copy of Miss Tredgold—Florentyna found it hard to believe that such women still existed—said she would like to show Florentyna something of the school before she left. On their way, she learned that Miss Tredgold had never talked about Florentyna except to her two or three closest friends, but when the headmistress opened the door of a small bedroom in a cottage on the school estate, Florentyna could no longer hold back the tears. By the bed was a photograph of a vicar who, Florentyna remembered, was Miss Tredgold’s father, and by its side, in a small silver Victorian frame, stood a picture of Florentyna graduating from Girls Latin next to an old Bible. In the bedside drawer, they discovered every one of Florentyna’s letters written over the past thirty years; the last one remained unopened by her bed.
“Did she know I had been elected to the Senate?” Florentyna asked diffidently.
“Oh, yes, the whole school prayed for you that day. It was the last occasion on which Miss Tredgold read the lesson in chapel, and before she died she asked me to write to tell you she felt her father had been right and that she had indeed taught a woman of destiny. My dear, you must not cry; her belief in God was so unshakable that she died in total peace with this world. Miss Tredgold also asked me to give you her Bible and this envelope, which you must not open until you have returned home. It’s something she bequeathed you in her will.”
As Florentyna left, she thanked the headmistress for all her kindness and added that she had been touched and surprised at being met by the verger when no one knew she was coming.
“Oh, you should have not been surprised, child,” said the headmistress. “I never doubted for a moment that you would come.”
Florentyna traveled back to London clutching the envelope. She longed to open it, like a little girl who has seen a package in the hall but knows it is for her birthday the following day. She caught the Concorde at 6:30 that evening, arriving back at Dulles by 5:30 P.M. She was seated at her desk in the Russell Building by 6:30 the same evening. She stared at the envelope marked “Florentyna Kane” and then slowly tore it open. She pulled out the contents, four thousand shares of Baron Group stock. Miss Tredgold had died presumably unaware that she was worth over half a million dollars. Florentyna took out her pen and wrote out a check for 25,000 pounds for a new church roof in memory of Miss Winifred Tredgold and sent the shares to Professo
r Ferpozzi to be placed at the disposal of the Remagen Trust. When Richard heard the story he told Florentyna that his father had once acted the same way, but the sum required had been only 500 pounds. “It seems even God is affected by inflation,” he added.
Washington was preparing for another inauguration of a President. On this occasion Senator Kane was placed in the VIP stand from which the new chief executive was to make his speech. She listened intently to the blueprint for American policy over the next four years, now referred to by everyone as the “Fresh Approach.”
“You’re getting nearer the lectern every time,” Richard had told her at breakfast.
Florentyna glanced around among her colleagues and friends in a Washington where she now felt at home. Senator Ralph Brooks, a row in front of her, was even nearer the President. His eyes never left the podium.
Florentyna found herself on the Defense Subcommittee of the Appropriations Committee and on the Environment and Public Works Committee. She was also asked to chair the Committee on Small Business. Her days once again resembled a never-ending chase for more hours. Janet and the other staffers would brief her in elevators, cars, planes, en route to vote on the floor, and even on the run between committee rooms. Florentyna was tireless in her efforts to complete her daily schedule, and all fourteen staffers wondered how much they could pile on her before she cracked under the strain. In the Senate, Florentyna quickly enhanced the reputation she had made for herself in the House of Representatives by speaking only on matters on which she was well briefed, and then with compassion and common sense. She still remained silent on issues on which she did not consider herself well informed. She voted against her party on several defense matters and twice over the new energy policy provoked by the latest war in the Middle East.
As the only Democratic woman senator, Florentyna received invitations to speak all over the nation, and the other senators soon learned that Florentyna Kane was not the token Democratic woman in the Senate but someone whom they could never afford to underestimate.
Florentyna was pleased to find how often she was invited to the inner sanctum of the Majority Leader’s office to discuss matters of policy as well as party problems.
During her first session as a senator, Florentyna sponsored an amendment on the Small Business bill, giving generous tax concessions to manufacturers that exported over 35 percent of their products. For a long time she had believed that companies who did not seek to sell their goods in an overseas market were suffering from the same delusions of grandeur as the English in the mid-twentieth century, and that if they were not careful, Americans would enter the twenty-first century with the same problems that the British had failed to come to terms with in the 1980s.
In her first three months she had answered 6,416 letters, voted 79 times, spoken on 8 occasions in the chamber, 14 times outside and missed lunch on 43 of the last ninety days.
“I don’t need to diet,” she told Janet, “I weigh less than when I was twenty-four and opened my first shop in San Francisco.”
The second death was every bit as much of a shock as Miss Tredgold’s, because the whole family had spent the previous weekend together on Cape Cod.
The maid reported to the butler that Mrs. Kate Kane had not come down to breakfast as the grandfather clock chimed eight. “Then she must be dead,” said the butler.
Kate Kane was seventy-nine when she failed to come down for breakfast, and the family gathered for a Brahmin funeral. The service was held at Trinity Church, Copley Square, and could not have been a greater contrast to the service for Miss Tredgold, for this time the bishop addressed a congregation who between them could have walked from Boston to San Francisco on their own land. All the Kanes and Cabots were present along with two other senators and a congressman. Almost everyone who had ever known Grandmother Kane, and a good many of those who had not, filled the pews behind Richard and Florentyna.
Florentyna glanced at William and Joanna. Joanna looked as though she would be giving birth in about a month and it made Florentyna feel sad that Kate had not lived long enough to become Great-Grandmother Kane.
After the funeral, they spent a somber family weekend in the Red House on Beacon Hill. Florentyna would never forget Kate’s tireless efforts to bring her husband and son together. Richard was now the sole head of the Kane family, which Florentyna realized would add further responsibility to his already impossible work load. She also knew that he would not complain and it made her feel guilty that she was unable to do much about making his life any easier.
Like a typical Kane, Kate’s will was sensible and prudent; the bulk of the estate was left to Richard and his sisters, Lucy and Virginia, and large settlements were made on William and Annabel. William was to receive two million dollars on his thirtieth birthday. Annabel, on the other hand, was to live off the interest of a further two million until she was forty-five or had two legitimate children. Grandmother Kane hadn’t missed much.
In Washington, the battle for the midterm election had already begun and Florentyna was glad to have a six-year term before she faced the voters again, giving her a chance for the first time to do some real work without the biennial break for party squabbles. Nevertheless, so many of her colleagues invited her to speak in their states that she seemed to be working just as hard and the only request she politely refused was in Tennessee: she explained she could not speak against Bob Buchanan, who was seeking re-election for the last time.
The little white card which Louise gave her each night was always filled with appointments from dawn to dusk indicating the routine for the following day:
“7:45: breakfast with a visiting foreign minister of defense. 9:00: staff meeting. 9:30: Defense Subcommittee hearing. 11:30: interview with Chicago Tribune. 12:30: lunch with six Senate colleagues to discuss defense budget. 2:00: weekly radio broadcast. 2:30: photo on Capitol steps with Illinois 4-H’ers. 3:15: staff briefing on Small Business bill. 5:30: drop by reception of Associated General Contractors. 7:00: cocktail party at French Embassy. 8:00: dinner with Donald Graham of the Washington Post. 11:00: phone Richard at the Denver Baron.”
As a senator, Florentyna was able to reduce her trips to Illinois to every other weekend. On every other Friday, she would catch the U.S. Air flight to Providence, where she would be met by Richard on his way up from New York. They would then drive out on Route 6 to the Cape, which gave them a chance to catch up with each other’s week.
Richard and Florentyna spent their free weekends on Cape Cod, which had become their family home since Kate’s death, Richard having given the Red House to William and Joanna.
On Saturday mornings, they would lounge around reading newspapers and magazines. Richard might play the cello while Florentyna would look over the paperwork she had brought with her from Washington. When weather permitted they played golf in the afternoon and, whatever the weather, backgammon in the evening. Florentyna always ended the evening owing Richard a couple of hundred dollars, which he said he would donate to the Republican Party if she ever honored her gambling debts. Florentyna always queried the value of giving to the Massachusetts Republican Party, but Richard pointed out that he also supported a Republican governor and senator in New York.
Patriotically, Joanna gave birth to a son on February 22, and they christened him Richard. Suddenly Florentyna was a grandmother.
People magazine stopped describing her as the most elegant lady in Washington and started calling her the best-looking grandmother in America. This caused a flurry of letters of protest including hundreds of photographs of other glamorous grannies for the editor to consider, which only made Florentyna even more popular.
The rumors that she would be a strong contender for the Vice Presidency in 1988 started in July when the Small Business Association made her Illinoisan of the year and a Newsweek poll voted her Woman of the Year. Whenever she was questioned on the subject she reminded her inquirers that she had been in the Senate for less than a year and that her first priority was to represen
t her state in Congress, although she noted that she was being invited to the White House more and more often for sessions with the President. It was the first time that being the one woman in the majority party was turning out to be an advantage.
Florentyna learned of Bob Buchanan’s death when she asked why the flag on the Russell Building was at half mast. The funeral was on the Wednesday when she was due to offer an amendment to the Public Health Service Act in the Senate and address a seminar on defense at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. She canceled one, postponed the other and flew to Nashville, Tennessee.
Both of the state’s senators and its seven remaining congressmen were present. Florentyna stood next to her House colleagues in silent tribute. As they waited to go into the Lutheran chapel, one of them told her that Bob had had five sons and one daughter. Gerald, the youngest, had been killed in Vietnam. She thanked God that Richard had been too old and William too young to be sent to that pointless war.
Steven, the eldest son, led the Buchanan family into the chapel. Tall and thin, with a warm, open face, he could only have been the son of Bob, and when Florentyna spoke to him after the service he revealed the same southern charm and straight approach that had endeared his father to her. Florentyna was delighted when she learned that Steven was going to run for his father’s seat in the upcoming special election.
“It will give me someone new to quarrel with,” she said, smiling.
“He greatly admired you,” said Steven.
Florentyna was not prepared to see her photograph all over the major newspapers the next morning being described as a gallant lady. Janet placed a New York Times editorial on top of her press clippings for her to read:
The Prodigal Daughter Page 38
