The Senator and the Student

She had tried so to dissuade him from joining the great folly. "You have a daughter!" she'd reminded him. "Do you want her to grow up without a father?"

"She won't," Melvin had puffed ever so confidently. "We'll be home victorious by Christmas. Everyone says so."

"Didn't you read your history in school?" Rebecca had demanded. "That's what they say about every war, and most of them drag on for years!"

"School is for girls, and so is starting wars, if it comes to that. You ladies vote for war, you send us to fight 'em, now you're telling me I can't even do my God-given duty as a man? Shame, Rebecca."

"Not all of us did vote for war," Rebecca had snapped. "I visited Lady Gwen's office myself and urged her to vote against it. Of course her husband won't be marching off to war, will he?"

"All the more reason why I ought to," Melvin had insisted. "Gents like him surely won't bother. But look, Rebecca, being a woman, you wouldn't understand. It's what we're called to do. We males may not be good for much in this world, but we're good for fighting. I won't shirk my duty, and that's flat."

Rebecca knew a losing battle when she saw one, and so she had swallowed her horror as best she could and pretended to support her beloved's decision. She'd stood cheering and waving on the pavement as he had marched off with all the others to defend the frontier in the hills.

The territory just beyond the hills had been in dispute for generations, and control had passed back and forth between their small but prosperous republic and the kingdom beyond with depressing regularity. Each generation seemed to need to have its bloodlust whetted with the blood of their fathers, brothers and husbands sooner or later, and Rebecca had never had any doubt this would just be another such round of that vicious circle. Sure enough, that was just what it was, and by the time their troops had secured the hills but failed to make much headway beyond, support for the war was gone in a cloud of misery. And so yet another truce was called, and there was hope the border might finally be settled.

But not before Rebecca, then an attorney in Laucester, had been visited at her office with the worst news of her life.

The bloodshed had not diminished the war's popularity in the outer ridings, least of all in Sandrine Wynnton's rural riding, out along the foothills of the Eastern mountains. The invaders had always been a threat there, after all. Nor had her staunch opposition to male suffrage posed any threat to her career as support for it had grown steadily in the cities and along the coast: from time immemorial, men had supplied the grunt work on the farms and ranches, and they had taken as much pride in their work as the women of the hinterland had done in the business of selling their wares and keeping up the delicate rural economy and keeping the rough-hewn communities civilised. So although the Mainline party -- the country's oldest, and until recently its most successful -- had been utterly decimated in the last election, Sandrine Wynnton had won in a landslide as usual and had easily claimed the leader's chair of her party's greatly reduced delegation back in the capital.

Elsewhere, in the urban and coastal ridings, the rising anti-war sentiment and a sense of obligation to the men who'd returned from the frontier had fed unprecedented support for the Egalitarian Party. Previously a fringe party that had rarely elected more than one or two members in a fluke by-election here and there, it now brought in a wave of women like Rebecca who were fed up with the old ways.

Regrettably, the anti-war vote had been split with the Progressives, who despite their name were ambivalent on male suffrage. Complicating the picture further were the Supremists, a party dedicated to keeping gender roles just as they always had been, which became a suitable option for right-of-centre women who did not wish to vote for the Mainliners. So intense was the backlash against the Mainliners that the Supremists elected the second-most members while the Mainliners elected the fewest.

The Egalitarians had netted the largest delegation, but they'd fallen six seats short of a majority. Sandrine Wynnton had managed to cobble together a coalition with most of the Supremists and a few maverick Progressives that made for a bare majority and made her premiere. Three by-elections since then had left her without that majority, but she still held the reins until the next election and she had no obligation to call that election for another year yet.

And, Rebecca knew, Martha was right. Now that Premiere Wynnton knew Rebecca had a majority lined up in support of male suffrage, she would stop at nothing to derail her efforts to bring it to a vote, or to remove Rebecca from office. Or both.

Well, then, Rebecca told herself as she settled on the train for the ride to Laucester, we shall just have to hold that vote before she can rid the Senate of me.

Arriving home just after dark, Rebecca learned just how widespread the news was, in the worst way imaginable. "Mother, is it true?" Sarah exclaimed the moment she'd walked in the door.

"Is what true?" Rebecca asked, leaning down to embrace her daughter. Whatever "it" was, Sarah was clearly very happy about it, and that was most welcome after the day she'd had.

"You're going to marry Mr. Croft?!"

"Sarah!" Rebecca was aghast.

"Oh, do let it be true, Mother! He's such a wonderful closetball player, and I do enjoy it so when you have him and his mother to dinner! Oh, and when he reads to me..."

"Sarah, a word in the parlour if you will." Rebecca hung her coat in the closet, and watched as her daughter dutifully retired to the parlour, where Robert and Guy had just lit the fire. They were off downstairs, but Esther was at attention. "Tea, please, Esther, and a cocoa for Sarah if you will?"

"Certainly, ma'am." Esther was off to the kitchen, and Rebecca settled herself beside Sarah on the couch. "Sarah, darling," she asked, "Where on earth did you hear such a thing about Mr. Croft?"

"Maxie Wood told us all about it at playtime today! She said her mother read it in the paper. She said good for you, too, a hero like you deserves a lovely young man like him. Whatever that means."

"Whatever it means indeed," Rebecca said. "And I suppose Maxie told all the girls?"

"And the boys too. I think boys are icky, you know, except for Daniel of course, but Maxie loves them all. I mean, Mr. Croft isn't icky, but he's not a boy, is he? He's a man!"

"Barely, but yes," Rebecca said. "Yes, he is."

"So are you going to marry him?"

"That's none of Maxie Wood's business, darling."

"It's my business, though!" Sarah looked like she might well cry. "I'd love to have a father again, you know."

"Oh, my dear!" Now Rebecca herself felt near tears, and she took her little girl in a fierce embrace. "I'd love for you to have a father again, too."

"So, are you going to marry him?"

Rebecca knew what she ought to say -- "Absolutely not" -- but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Didn't she adore Chester? Wasn't every word in that cursed journal entry true? And hadn't he always shown every sign of adoring Rebecca since he was first out of the nursery all those seasons before?

Rebecca sighed and held Sarah tightly. "I don't know, darling. I think tomorrow I'll pay him a visit at the university, and we'll see what happens."

"Aren't you going to ask his mother's permission to marry him first? Like you did with Grandmama?"

"No need, Sarah," Rebecca said. "I already know what her answer will be."

Fortunately, Esther returned with the beverages, and Sarah was suddenly far more interested in her hot chocolate than in her mother's marriage prospects. Rebecca sipped her tea and steered the conversation in the direction of what else Sarah had been up to at school. When they were finished, she stood up. "Go on about your business, dear, and I'll see you at dinner. I've an errand to run before then."

"Yes, Mother." And Sarah scampered off to the nursery.

Rebecca watched her retreating figure, and wondered once again how she -- rebellious, defiant, Blushing Becky -- had raised such an obedient little girl. Though she was tremendously proud of Sarah, there were times when she wasn't sure if she was happy about that.

In her cold study, Sarah lit the oil lamp on her desk and opened the vent to let in the warm air from the parlour, and settled herself with pen and ink.

Dearest Chester,

I am painfully aware that you will have heard the news by now. I want you to know that I never had any intention of those words reaching your ears or anyone else's. You have my undying love and respect, and I would never share such thoughts with the world without sharing them with you first. You have always been a source of great joy in my life, and I can only hope that remains unchanged!

I feel it only appropriate that I pay you a visit tomorrow to apologize and explain myself in person. Please, if at all possible, meet me in the Great Hall at eleven o'clock tomorrow.

Much Love,

Rebecca Wharton

Rebecca's hand lingered long over her first name before she resolved to sign her last name. Surely Chester would know which Rebecca this was without it? But the politician in her knew it wouldn't do to be that familiar with him if the note should get out to the public. As well she knew it might.

Then again, she thought as she sealed the envelope and rang for Guy to run it over to the courier's, there was little chance of Winnifred getting her hands on this note.

On that point, Rebecca wondered once again about the mystery that had been bothering her all day: she had no doubt it was Winnifred who had leaked that journal entry to the press, but just how had she found it in the first place? Rebecca had spent plenty of time at her home in those long days and weeks after the loss of Melvin, but surely she hadn't been careless enough to leave such a deeply personal note behind when she'd finally gone home?

Well, she further mused, it would hardly be the unlikeliest thing to ever happen between the unlikeliest pair of old girl friends.

"Blushing Becky!"

All the third form girls in the study lounge looked at one another in fright at the ringing of Patricia Lease's voice, and all eyes darted around the room for their fearless classmate. The first girl to locate her might get a break, after all. But Becky was nowhere to be found. And so they all sat rooted to their seats as Patricia's big body and bigger attitude darkened the doorway a moment later.

"Well?" she demanded.

None dared say, "She's not here," for Patricia had no qualms about shooting the messenger. Patricia could, in any event, see that for herself.

"Who's seen her since lunch?" Patricia demanded. "And where?" With that, Patricia Lease -- the terror of the underclasswomen from their first moments on campus nearly three years ago -- stepped along between the study tables, looking for one with some sign of keeping a secret. Of course she knew which of the girls looked up to their most rebellious classmate and which were repulsed by her. But today, neither group showed any sign of knowing anything. "I ordered her to tidy my chamber by lunch," Patricia said as she searched each girl's eyes for a clue. "But of course she hasn't done it. When I find her, I shall make Blushing Becky blush, if it's the last thing I do! I'll have her take her dress off and tidy my room naked while I and one lucky guest watch. Who wants to watch?"

The invitation proved irresistible to Patricia's willing victims, who all knew Becky's nickname was pure wishful thinking on the bullies' part; it came from their utter inability to ever make her blush. With such a victory finally at hand if only she could be found, half a dozen of the usual smarms' hands went up. Patricia was surprised to see Winnifred Croft, the snottiest little groveler of all, was not among them; she kept her hands primly folded in her lap as she stared straight ahead rather than at Patricia.

That was a sure sign of something not right. "Winnifred," she said, crouching down beside her chair so Winnifred instinctively turned to look at her. "Surely you are interested in such a spectacle?"

"Oh, well, of course I am, Patricia," Winnifred said dutifully. "But I thought someone else might prefer a turn. That is all."

This caused a round of laughter, for every girl in the room knew Winnifred would never be so noble for its own sake. When the laughter didn't die down quickly, Patricia roared, "Shut up!" And the girls did. "Winnifred, that is very noble of you. But it is also unlike you. Just what is it you're hiding, my dear?"

"Hiding? From you, Patricia?" Winnifred smiled as sweetly as she could. "Nothing! I know better than that!"

But something in Winnifred's eyes gave her away, and Patricia yanked her to her feet. "We shall see about that."

"Patricia, please!" Winnifred begged. "You know what I think of Becky, don't you? Of course I'd tell you where she was if I but knew!"

"You do know!"

"I don't! That's why I didn't raise my hand!"

"You said that was because you wanted someone else to have a turn!"

"That too!"

"I know you better than that, Winnifred," Patricia growled. She grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the door. "My chamber, now, and maybe you'll be the one cleaning the place in the altogether!"

No one dared laugh, nor was there any talk of getting to watch, for all were acutely aware that they could be next.

Patricia read nothing into the fact that Winnifred went along willingly down the corridor to the upperclasswomen's wing. After all, she was accustomed to getting her way. She made no comment about the hint of a smile on her victim's lips, for Winnifred had always been known for her willingness to take it all on the chin in anticipation of reaping her rewards when she was an upperclasswoman. She didn't think to see if Winnifred was at all surprised when they got to Patricia's door and she didn't need to pull her key out. Surely all the little brats knew Patricia never locked her door because all knew entering her chamber uninvited would bring on a fate worse than death.

Everyone, that was, except Becky, who appeared from behind Patricia's dresser as soon as the door was shut. "Hello, Patricia," she said with a sugary smile, and proceeded to box her longtime tormentor on the left ear as Winnifred grabbed both her wrists in the nick of time and held her back.

"What in the hell are you doing in my room?!" Patricia bellowed, struggling to free herself, but Winnifred managed to hang on.

"Well, you told me to tidy it, didn't you?" Becky said. "And Winnifred here and I shall, as soon as we've taught you a lesson." With that she socked Patricia twice in the gut, once with each fist, and as Patricia doubled over in pain, Winnifred tripped her and shoved her to the floor.

They both kicked her several times as she writhed about in agony, trying and failing to get up as one or the other of her attackers always knocked her back over. "For three years of nothing but abuse no matter how polite I was to you!" Winnifred grunted.

"For never letting anyone be herself in this godforsaken place!" Becky added.

They let up when Patricia started crying. "Get up, then," Becky said at that point, and she and Winnifred each took an arm and dragged her to her bed, where they tied her to the posts.

"Now then," Winnifred said. "We'll clean the place up, but you'd better not try to escape until we're done."

"You'll never get away with this," Patricia whined.

"Oh, I think we will," Becky said. "Scarcely a month till you graduate and you can leave here knowing all but two of us think you were the queen of the place, or you can spend your last month here with everyone knowing the truth. I think you'd much rather have all the girls thinking you walked into a door, Patricia."

And that was just what she did let everyone think. None of the other girls ever knew there was any connection between Patricia's "accident" and the fact that the two former adversaries were suddenly best friends. Even had they known the truth, none ever would have guessed the attack was Winnifred's idea. But it was, after she had Patricia go too far with a first form girl who missed her parents and cried easily. "It's all very well in playing our part until we get to be the big girls," she'd told Rebecca later that very day, "But the fun and games should only go so far!"

Rebecca herself hadn't expected to remain friends with her partner in crime after it was over with. But from that day onward, she and Winnifred were the tightest of friends, all the way on to university and beyond. Their philosophical and political differences had proven a boon rather than an obstacle, for both girls had enjoyed a good argument so.

Rebecca stood up to greet Guy when he arrived a moment later, prompt as always. "You rang, Senator?" he asked with a twinkle in his young eye as always.

"I've told you, Guy, there is no need to call me that," Rebecca said, handing him the envelope.

"And I've told you, Senator, it's only what I'm comfortable with. My mum raised me to respect women, after all." He glanced at the address. "Poor little Master Croft," he said. "Hate to think what he's going through with the rumours flying about."

"That is just what the letter is about," Rebecca said. "I hate to send you out of town at this hour, but it really is imperative that I let him know I'm handling this."

"I understand, Senator," Guy said. "Politics is a dirty business, isn't it? No place for a man, if you ask me, you know. Our violent tendencies and all, we'd just muck it up even further!"

"Surely you want the vote, though, Guy?" Rebecca asked.

"Respectfully, madam, I don't," Guy said. "Ought to be left to the women to run the show, is what I've always thought. We men, we're just too hotheaded and we don't have the kind of emotional range women do. We're good for brute strength, but what's that got to do with making the world go 'round? But I know you've got your job to do." He buttoned up his coat. "I'll have this in Mister Croft's hands tonight," he said.

"Well...thank you, Guy," Rebecca said. "Good evening."

"Evening, Senator."

With a few minutes to spare yet before dinnertime, Rebecca lingered in the study, pondering Guy's comments. Who'd have guessed such a kind and responsible young man -- and industrious, too, having worked his way up from the stables to the kitchen to Robert's second in command -- would be a Supremist? But then, she reminded herself, the whole bedrock of her conviction was that men were entitled to their own opinions, even if those opinions tended towards rejecting equality.

Dinner came and went, with many more questions and comments from Sarah about Chester. Though Rebecca would have preferred to talk of anything else, she did find herself enjoying the excuse to think so extensively about darling Chester.

Rebecca's trust in Guy's discretion was absolute, and she knew Chester would tell no one of her visit in advance, not under the circumstances that had inspired it. But she'd been in politics long enough to know word would get out, one way or another. Maybe Millicent had even anticipated her move; they certainly knew one another well enough for that.

In any event, she was annoyed but not at all surprised when the train pulled into University Station at late morning and a clutch of reporters were waiting for her. So she remembered to smile through her disgust when she stepped down from the train to a cacophony of "Senator, is it true?" "Do you have a relationship with Chester Croft?" And worse.

As they all gathered around her, Rebecca raised her hands for silence. "It's a pleasure to be back here," she said. "Some of the loveliest memories of my life are of working and playing with my friends here, and I'm always delighted to come back and meet the latest generation of scholars doing the same. I'm even more delighted now that the university is integrated! Chester Croft is a dear friend, and I am here to reassure him of that. I know I can trust the media to respect the young man's privacy in the absence of any reason at all to doubt my veracity. Thank you." She turned on her heel and strode down the platform to the streetcar stand, ignoring the questions that her comments had failed utterly to quell.