America the Beautiful

by Laura Hayden

  After several days of intense review of Benton platform programs, Kate sent a couple of her staffers along with Bochner and his traveling crew while he made his maiden voyage representing the team of Benton/Bochner in ’08. The encouraging reports that came back included words like brilliant and team player. He entranced the press as well, and their news footage of his appearances showed him to be enthusiastic, well-spoken, and best of all, well-versed.

  Everyone—from the most critical pundits to the average woman on the street—felt that Emily had made the right choice of running mates.

  And Kate couldn’t help but agree.

  She prayed that Emily thought so, or things could get ugly fast.

  AUGUST IN DENVER.

  Instead of being covered in several feet of winter snow, the mountains off in the distance were brown and bare with only small patches of dirty snow hiding in the shadows. In the city itself, summer temperatures had soared to record highs, and Kate felt every degree of heat and every foot of altitude. Fifteen minutes in the sun walking from the hotel to the convention center and she was searching for water. Fifteen steps up to the next floor and she was panting for breath.

  It hadn’t been that hot in Virginia only a few days earlier at the Benton farm. Or maybe it was the vast number of trees that shaded the mansion and outer buildings that made the summer heat more bearable. Emily had retired to her family estate near Charlottesville to work on what amounted to the most important speech in her life. That didn’t necessarily mean writing every word herself but working with Hugo Bills, quite possibly the best and, more importantly, the hottest political speechwriter around.

  In Kate’s opinion, Hugo was quite an enigma. She’d never met anyone who could write with such heart and compose such moving words and who, in real life, could be such a complete waste of carbon. He was the biggest jerk she’d ever met. He was loud and demanding; he drank too much and made raunchy and inappropriate jokes at the worst possible times.

  He tested her patience and her ability to turn the other cheek on a regular basis.

  Yet he and Emily worked well as a team. That wasn’t to say that they got along well. Kate conducted her business while staying in the main house, and Emily and Hugo worked in one of the guest bungalows, ostensibly for the privacy but in reality so no one could hear their screaming arguments. But despite the rancor, together they were able to craft a speech that absolutely awed Kate when she read it, with its stirring eloquence and precision in defining Emily’s goals for the country and its people.

  As thrilling as the written words were, when Kate listened to Emily practice it aloud, her recitation sent actual chills up Kate’s spine. At that moment, she knew that when Emily delivered her acceptance speech at the party convention, the speaker of those words would go down in history, not for being the first woman to reach this lofty stage of American politics but for being a brilliant politician and astounding orator.

  Then, that day came. . . .

  The Benton staff had a temporary office on the club level of the Pepsi Center, where the party’s national convention was in full swing. Between the tight security, the crush of delegates filling the arena below them, and the astonishing number of media people each vying for a chance to see, photograph, or better yet, speak with Emily, Kate had been going nonstop for over twenty-four hours straight without any sleep and barely any food.

  All she had to do was hang on a little while longer. . . .

  But an hour before Emily was about to be introduced and make her grand entrance into the convention hall, Kate had the closest thing she’d ever had to a panic attack. Her pulse shot up, it became hard to catch her breath, and suddenly her most important task was to get out of the incredibly shrinking room by any means necessary.

  And yet she knew she shouldn’t, couldn’t, leave.

  The only person who noticed her mini-meltdown in the making was Wes Kingsbury, who had risen from unofficial religious adviser to a more official position. He’d come on board to head the Religious Initiatives office under Kate’s supervision. The Office of Religious Initiatives might have started as Kate’s idea, but she soon realized she needed someone else who shared her vision to chart this course into previously shark-ridden governmental waters. A similar office had been tried under President George W. Bush and had been too quickly politicized, underfunded, and undermined. Kate wanted it to be a true reflection of Christ’s mercy, open to all and a beacon of light in the political and governmental darkness. Wes had been her one and only choice to head up the mission, and he’d quickly accepted the tentative position.

  If Emily benefited from having Kate’s conscience help her make decisions, then she’d be doubly blessed when Wes also had an official position within Emily’s White House.

  But right now, all Kate could think of was figuring out how to survive the next fifteen minutes in the crowded room. Wes saw her distress and maneuvered through the throng until he was next to her. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You okay?”

  “Sure,” she lied. In her mind, she was plotting the path of least resistance to the nearest exit. Once she got outside, she was going to either keel over or scream; she hadn’t decided which.

  “You don’t look okay. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  “I’m just a little tired,” she offered as an explanation.

  “It’s more than that. C’mon.” He grabbed her arm and began to follow the very same path Kate had plotted in her mental escape. But what she’d thought might be an exit turned out to lead to an outside balcony. Wes held open the door and she stepped out into the dry heat of a sweltering Colorado summer.

  “Take a few deep breaths,” he suggested as he led her to the railing, closing off the noise behind them by shutting the door. “Take a few minutes. Admire the view.”

  She stared bleakly at the jagged horizon of the Rocky Mountains that managed to be majestic and imposing yet brown and bare at the same time.

  “God’s playground,” he said quietly.

  Kate pointed to a large amusement park much closer in the foreground. “Much more beautiful and serene than man’s playground.”

  “It’s an interesting juxtaposition, don’t you think?”

  “True.”

  They could both hear some faint screams, presumably coming from the roller coaster that peeked out over the tops of trees and buildings at the end of the park.

  “Political conventions are a lot like roller coasters,” Wes said in his best “I’m a preachin’ man” voice. “Lots of ups and downs, unexpected turns to the left and right. Some of them even turn you upside down, swing you around, make you go backwards. There’s some laughter, some screaming—”

  “—and some puking,” Kate added.

  “That too. But in the end, you complete your journey and that’s when you realize you were never in trouble at all.”

  Kate knew exactly what he was doing and appreciated the distraction. But she spotted what she considered a flaw in his sermon. “But the problem is, you end up in the exact same place you started.”

  “Hmm . . .” He rested his elbows on the balcony railing. “You have a point.” He tilted his head for a moment, then began again in a slightly comedic voice. “Political conventions are a lot like amusement parks. There are many rides to choose from—ones that go up and down, sideways, around in circles. Some are slow and some are lightning fast. Sometimes, you have to wait in line a long time, longer than the time the actual ride takes, but the moment you step off, you’re ready to get back in that line again.”

  Not to be outdone, Kate took his analogy a step further. “Then again, after a long, full day of riding every ride, eating all the great junk food, getting a bit too much sun, drinking expensive fruity drinks that turn your tongue blue, buying one too many expensive souvenirs, you get back to the car and you slump over the wheel and say, ‘Now that was a great time. I’ll never forget it.’”

  Belatedly Kate realized that her heart wasn’t hammering as
hard and her breath was easier to catch. His insidious little plan to help her gain control of herself had worked. “Then you try to stay awake during the drive home and eventually collapse onto your bed, exhausted.”

  “Exhausted but happy,” he added. “Kinda like you’re feeling right now?”

  “I’ve got the exhausted part down pat.”

  He studied her face. “But you’re not happy?”

  She managed to paste on a tired smile. “Sure I am. Phase one is all but accomplished. We’re here.” She gestured to the melee behind the glass doors. “We’ve made the convention and in less than an hour, Emily’s going to make history by walking out of here as the first female presidential candidate to win either major party.”

  “And then the fright ride starts up all over again?”

  “Yeah.” Kate nodded. “I think that’s what just hit me. We do exactly what we’ve been doing for over a year and a half—hit the road, campaigning all over again. Same places, new faces. We have to continue to work aggressively, to be on the offense to get our message and our team to the people. But we also have to be on the defense and repel incoming barbs, innuendos, and insinuations.”

  “But isn’t that what you’re doing to Talbot and Mason? Trying to distract them from delivering their message by lobbing similar accusations so they spend more time cleaning up than reaching out?”

  She spread out her hands. “Welcome to the wonderful world of politics. We spend more of our time twisting the knife or rotating the roasting spit than we do turning the other cheek.”

  “You’ve been with Emily for a long time. You knew this when you signed up for the big race. I think you’ve done a remarkable job of handling your responsibility to Emily but holding yourself accountable to a higher authority.”

  Kate sighed. “I hope so. I knew that politics can be an intense and sometimes dirty business. But even if I had a pretty good idea of the work involved before I got into it, no one goes out of their way to point out all the details of the seamy underbelly.”

  “Why would they? It’s not what you’d call a great recruitment tool.”

  “You’re right.” She reached over and patted his arm. “Don’t pay much attention to me. It’s the exhaustion talking. That’s all. Yeah, I’m tired but I’m not disillusioned. I’m still in this for the long run. But boy, will I be glad when November 4 finally rolls around. Maybe I’ll get some sleep then.”

  “Plus, you’ll get a great corner office on Pennsylvania Avenue with an amazing view.”

  “And Emily will get an even cooler oval-shaped one. And we’ll be able to make the world a better place. That’s the goal.” Kate turned from the view and leaned against the balcony railing, facing the glass door and watching the throng of people milling about inside the room. “And I, for one, can’t wait until that happens.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s been a long time coming. But remember, even with God’s help, you may find that the Rose Garden isn’t always a bed of roses.”

  She grinned at his analogy. “Don’t I know it. The job comes with a completely new set of thorns. I might not know exactly what those thorns are, but at least I know in advance that I have to watch out for them. I suppose that little panic attack was just a demonstration of good sense.”

  Wes rested his elbows on the railing and looked toward the mountains. Kate turned and mimicked his position. After a moment of contemplative silence, he spoke. “The chief of staff position won’t be an easy one.”

  “No job is. Especially that one. But it’s going to be a bit easier with you working with us in an official capacity.”

  “I’ll do what I can. But the real trick will be to keep the new responsibilities from isolating you from the things you hold dear—your relationship with your family, your friends, and more importantly, your God. The White House can be an ivory tower sometimes and—”

  They both heard a noise behind them. Emily had slid open the glass door and was shading her eyes from the sun. “What are you two slackers doing out here?”

  “Praying,” Wes deadpanned.

  “Dear Lord, give them whatever they asked for. They’re that good.” Emily stepped out onto the balcony and shut the door behind her. “Now how about praying for a break in this heat? I thought Denver was supposed to have cool, comfortable summers.” She fanned her face as if suggesting that eighty-five degrees of dry Colorado heat was far more uncomfortable than ninety-five degrees and 95 percent humidity in D.C. “Better yet, pray that this insane circus comes off as planned and we can get back to our real business of whuppin’ the competition.”

  “Emily!” Kate instinctively looked around, hoping that no one had overheard her statement from a nearby balcony. She didn’t put it past certain less savory members of the media to have parabolic microphones pointed in their direction at all times. It had happened before. Even some politicians weren’t above it. Nixon had routinely bugged his opponents. The Watergate break-ins had been just another string in the president’s bow, another tool to keep his eyes and ears on what he referred to as his “enemies list.” Kate didn’t want any listeners mistaking Emily’s nervous facetiousness for her real sentiments.

  “I’m just kidding; you know that.” Evidently Emily remembered the parabolic mics too, if only a moment too late. She quirked one eyebrow as if telling Kate, Okay, I screwed up. I’ll get out of this. “The convention is a critical step in our journey. I don’t mean to diminish its importance or its sense of tradition. It’s just that I find the hoopla sometimes . . . straining.”

  Good recovery, Kate thought to herself.

  Wes turned away from the majestic view and faced Emily. “I think a prayer wouldn’t be out of place at the moment.”

  Emily, obviously mindful of unwanted ears, nodded. “Good idea.”

  Wes reached over, grasped Emily’s hand, and then placed his other hand on Kate’s shoulder. He closed his eyes. “Dear Lord, please watch over our Emily here as she steps into a new arena. Give her the insight to see into the true hearts of her constituents, give her the wisdom to know what they need and what they want, and give her the strength to do what must be done in accordance with your will. Please keep her strong in mind and body to serve you as she serves your people.

  “Help her use that same wisdom and grace when she reaches the White House, to lead a great nation into even more greatness.”

  Kate peeked.

  It’d been a habit she’d tried to break since childhood. Sitting in a hard pew and listening to a thoughtful, albeit long, prayer, she would sometimes take quick glimpses of the faces around her. She’d watch her father concentrate on the preacher’s words as if trying to memorize them. Her mother would wear a look of bliss and contentment that always filled Kate with a similar sense of satisfaction.

  In Wes’s face, she saw strength and commitment. He might be primarily an academician, but in his heart and in her eyes, he was still a man of the cloth. If her own pipeline to God was often clogged with the flotsam and jetsam of a complicated everyday life, it was good to know that she could turn to Wes and be assured that his line of communication was clear and his advice sound.

  Kate listened more closely to his words as she scanned the imposing mountains in the distance. She’d needed this moment and Wes had instinctively known it. That thought alone brought her a sense of comfort, making the pressures of the day ease somewhat to a more manageable level. She glanced over at Emily, expecting to see her friend reflect some of the same inner peace, but instead, she saw boredom in Emily’s expression, her mouth tight with impatience, her other hand tapping an irritated cadence on the railing.

  For a moment, Kate allowed Emily’s discontent to override her own feelings. Almost everyone connected with the campaign had learned early to heed the adage, “If Emily ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.”

  Kate, more than anyone, kept a constant watch on Emily’s emotional status and had a host of tricks and diversions to lighten her dark moods and narrow her focus or, when called for,
a list of excuses to explain her actions or reactions. Often that’d been the most exhausting part of Kate’s job.

  But Kate knew that right now Emily’s apparent sense of annoyance was merely to mask her very real emotions of anxiety and fear. Even though those were reasonable reactions considering the profound burden she was about to accept, Emily’s upbringing didn’t allow her to display such sentiments. She went with undiluted bile instead.

  As if reading Kate’s mind, Wes added, “And, Lord, please help guide Kate as she works with Emily. Help them both to stay on the path, temper their decisions with your wisdom, use their energies and power to serve you.”

  A sense of renewed joy filled Kate and an uncontrollable smile made her lips quirk. The spirit of the Lord . . . what a remarkable medicine.

  Straightening, she reached up and covered Wes’s hand with her own, hoping to draw the strength she needed to better grasp this newly regained sense of emotional balance. Somehow, she knew he had strength to spare, thanks to the strength of his own faith. He squeezed her fingers lightly and completed his prayer, ending with a quiet, “In God’s name we pray, amen.”

  Both Kate and Emily echoed, “Amen.”

  He turned to Kate, noting her smile. “Better?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Emily answered quickly for them both, already pivoting toward the door leading back inside. “Thanks, Wes. Let’s get inside. I’d better get ready. I go on stage in less than twenty minutes.” She paused and gave them her brightest and most intense smile.

  “Time to get this party started.”

  Any lingering doubts in the crowd of delegates concerning Emily Benton’s potential presidency faded away the moment Dozier Marsh began the carefully crafted speech they’d written for him. It was designed to prove that, although he was eightysomething, he still understood and was a master of the theatrics of politics. His speech ended with a resounding introduction of Emily as the next President Benton, which was her cue to step out on stage.