The Senator and the Student

Chester took a deep breath and willed himself not to falter or cry as he spoke. "First, I am not the father. I can't be, and you don't need to know how I know it, but I know it."

"And second, Mr. Croft?" asked a cub reporter he didn't recognize.

"And second, I've learned my lesson from this horror story," Chester said. "I love Rebecca, but our affair is over. That is all."

Now the questions came fast and thick again as he turned and went back inside. Once again he ignored them all.

Blissfully unaware for the moment of the scandal engulfing her, Rebecca was late in getting out of bed. She wasn't feeling very well, but she knew that mustn't stop her from visiting Warkon. Reminding herself as usual that she was good at hiding this particular discomfort and that she wanted to set a good example for Sarah when she got it, Rebecca smiled through the pain as she made her way downstairs.

She was not surprised to find Martha looking agitated from her perch on the couch, but it was odd that Esther hadn't opened the curtains. "Isn't it awfully dark for you in here?" she asked with a smile. "I can call Esther to --"

"Don't!" Martha held her hand up. "Senator, when were you planning to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What?!" Martha jumped up, clenching both her fists in frustration. "It's bad enough to have you gallivanting around with a man half your age, but didn't you know what could come of that? Or what the voters would think of it?"

"Oh, good heavens, she took it to the papers," Rebecca was horrified and embarrassed but, she had to admit, not entirely surprised. "I was only hoping to get proof that she was the one who'd leaked my journal, and I guess now I've got it."

"Who?"

Rebecca flopped down on the couch and buried her head in her hands. "How could she do that to her own son?"

"You mean Winnifred Croft, then?" Martha asked.

Rebecca looked up and nodded. "I thought even she would show some common decency here, and confront me privately. Then I could tell her I knew she was the mole who'd revealed my feelings for Chester in the first place, and that might shame her into silence. I guess I should've known she has no shame."

"With all due respect, Senator, if it were my son you were pregnant by..."

"I'm not."

"What?"

Rebecca sat up straight and looked her aide in the eye. "I'm not pregnant. I just got my period this morning, if you must know. That's why I overslept."

"Then the story is wrong?" Martha was elated. "Let's get out there and let them know!"

"Not yet," Rebecca said. "I've got to confront Winnifred first, and of course I need to let Chester know it's not true. Heavens, I hate to think of what he might have gone through this morning! I ought to send a telegram."

"Let's get to the telegraph office now," Martha agreed. "Then I suggest you call a press conference rather than going to Warkon."

"I suppose so," Rebecca said. Rubbing her side, she added, "It's not a great day for being out in the field for hours anyway."

"Just one thing, Rebecca." Martha stopped just inside the still-closed door. "How do you know it was Winnifred Croft who alerted the press?"

"It's better if you don't know the answer to that for now," Rebecca said. "Trust me on this."

"I guess I've got no choice," Martha said. "Listen, no comments for the press yet, understood? Just say you'll be calling a press conference shortly."

"Absolutely," Rebecca said, and she set her face in the usual politician's smile as she opened the door.

The usual cacophony of voices roared from just beyond the fence as Rebecca held her head high and strolled down the path, with Martha two steps behind. As she opened the gate and stepped into the lion's den, Rebecca raised her arms for silence. "Ladies, gentlemen, I plan to call a press conference shortly, where I will answer all your questions no matter how inappropriately intimate they are. In the meantime, I am sure you can respect Chester's and my privacy in this difficult time!"

She turned to go and ignored the shouted questions as usual.

Rebecca nodded and smiled at the constituents who passed her on the walk into town, addressing the ones she recognized by name, and read nothing into the uncomfortable looks many of them had on their faces. This too would pass with the news cycle, she reminded herself. The telegraph office was three blocks from her house, on the edge of the high street, where the Christmas decorations had lately been put up. The whole busy street was awash in red and green and silver, and Rebecca just had to take a moment to admire the view before she stepped inside. Win or lose, this would be the merriest Christmas in quite some time!

"Senator!" Callie Stanfield, the telegraph shop manager, looked just as awkward as everyone else she had seen that morning.

"Good morning, Callie," Rebecca said. "No need to be uncomfortable, I'm sure you've heard the news."

"It's none of my business, Senator, but yes."

"You might as well be the next to know, the rumour is false." Lowering her voice in case Callie's husband might be in earshot and rubbing her side, she added, "And I've got the cramps to prove it!" She laughed.

Callie let out a titter in response, but it was a hollow sounding one. "I'm glad to hear that, Senator," she said. "Listen, I was just about to send one of my girls around with this." She reached into the cabinet beside the service desk and handed Rebecca a telegram. "It just came in a few minutes ago, I promise!"

"Yes, yes, of course," Rebecca said, taking the folded telegram and tucking it into her purse without looking at it. "Probably just as well that you didn't send a girl out. If you've heard the news, you can imagine how crowded my front yard is at the moment. In any event, I've got a telegram of my own to send, to the university. We must let Chester know as soon as possible that the story isn't true!"

Callie gripped at the desktop with both her hands, and struggled to make eye contact with Rebecca. "Ma'am, that telegram I just gave you is from the university. It might be from Chester."

"The poor dear is probably horrified," Rebecca said. "Maybe I should at least read this first so I can reply directly."

"I swear on my mother's grave I didn't read it," Callie said. "But in this line of work one does notice stray words here and there before you can fold the papers."

"I trust you, of course, Callie," Rebecca said, though she didn't completely; she'd learned long ago that a politician must pretend to be everybody's friend. "Let's see just how bad the damage is now that I'm set to clean it up." She retrieved the telegram from her purse and unfolded the paper.

Martha stood by and looked away respectfully. And so she heard Rebecca's anguish before she saw it. "No!" Rebecca wailed, and presently she burst into tears. "No, no, no, no, no..." She collapsed in Martha's arms, sobbing.

Martha held her until the tears stopped, while Callie and her husband went politely about their work, pretending they weren't there. When at last Rebecca had regained control of herself, Martha asked, "Is there a back door here?"

"Yes, and I can give you both a ride to her back door if you wish, ma'am," Callie's husband said.

"I'd appreciate that greatly," Martha said.

"You've still got my vote, Senator!" Callie called after them as her husband ushered the women out to the alley.

"Thank you," Rebecca managed to say.

A person can only cry for so long, and Rebecca knew there was no time to waste on the campaign trail. So after a day off to mourn, she and Martha went to Warkon on Wednesday -- and had soon wished they hadn't. She'd stopped counting the number of doors slammed in their faces after the seventh or so, and she never even tried to count the expressions of disgust from those who were willing to talk to her. Even most of the positive reactions were begrudging. "I'll vote for you because I want my husband and son to get a vote," one woman told her, "But how could you do that to that poor young man?"

"I'm...sorry." Even Rebecca knew it sounded forced.

After she'd had to say it several times, Martha took her by the arm and led her across the street to sit on a bench on the town square. "Rebecca, you've got to either start saying that like you mean it or stop saying it all together!" she ordered.

"I guess you're right," Rebecca said. "I just -- it's a private failing! It's nobody's business but Chester's and mine!"

"And the other man who had you thinking you were pregnant," Martha added. When Rebecca gaped at her, Martha reminded her, "I'm a woman too; I can do the maths."

Rebecca looked up at the Warkon town hall, decked out in garlands and coloured baubles. "The merriest time of the year, and I've gone and made a horrible mess of it just by bluffing Winnifred," she said.

"Bluffing Winnifred?" Martha asked.

"There's something I haven't told you," Rebecca said. "I was going to -- still am going to -- explain things at that press conference. In the meantime I hoped I wouldn't have to tell anyone. I was out to prove even a senator can keep her own business to herself. But I was wrong, and I've hurt Chester and myself in the process."

"And your chances of winning re-election," Martha reminded her.

"And how." Rebecca stood up. "Martha, I have an idea. The press conference..."

"Next Monday," Martha said.

"It can't wait that long. Can you get me an audience with Jessica Stratton? From the Beacon?"

"If it's an exclusive with you, I can have her on your carpet by dinner tonight," Martha said. "Maybe sooner."

"Let's get back to Laucester and then you do that, would you?"

Later that afternoon, Rebecca was settled in the members' lounge of the Lyceum Club, the only gender-integrated club in Laucester. With her satchel clutched by her side in the armchair by the window overlooking the street below, she sipped her warm cognac and did her best to enjoy the Christmas decorations inside and out. A huge Christmas tree held court at the far end of the lounge, awash in tinsel and green and silver balls, but the closest Rebecca could muster to a sense of holiday joy was a spark of hope that her ploy might still work.

While she waited, Rebecca pulled her personal stationery out of her satchel and wrote Chester a letter. She knew better than to tell Martha she was even writing to him; their battle over her wish to visit him in person had led to the worst row they'd ever had. But he deserved to know the truth, and ideally to know it first. That was unlikely, but she could post it that very afternoon from the club and hope for the best.

"Senator?"

Rebecca had had time to finish the letter but not yet to fold and seal it; that was no matter. She stood up and shook hands with Jessica Stratton, who looked equal parts titillated and nervous. "Please don't be uncomfortable, Jessica," she said. "You couldn't do anything to hurt me any more than you already have, and there's a way you can fix it."

"I'm...I mean, thank you, Senator," Jessica said. "I want you to know I dislike yellow journalism like that letter, but our editor-in-chief insisted."

"Ah yes, the redoubtable Nancy Duggins." Rebecca's battles with the editor in chief of the Beacon were legion. "No doubt she's already got her endorsement ready for Lady Rollins."

"I think she had it written the day you took office, Senator," Jessica said. The barmaid stopped by and Jessica ordered a hot cider, and then she turned back to Rebecca. "But the only thing she loves more than Supremacists is selling papers, so..."

"Is that what she told you when you heard from me?"

"I haven't told her anything yet," Jessica said. "But if it's half as juicy as you've got me thinking..."

"Oh, I think it is." Rebecca opened her satchel and pulled out a jagged scrap of paper.

Chester wasn't surprised when he heard nothing from Rebecca through that long and miserable week. He didn't know Rebecca had desperately wanted to come see him and talk the matter over and Martha had used every ounce of resolve she had to talk her out of it. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had known, but he didn't know.

Alice and a few other friends had been keeping him company, holding his hand when he needed it, listening to his bittersweet memories when the mood struck him. Chester had thrown himself into his studies as best he could, and his efforts had borne some fruit. Late Friday morning, he emerged from algebra class with a 100% on the latest quiz -- his first ever. A number of the other students even felt compelled to say "Congratulations," as he and Alice made their way out of the room.

"I wonder how they knew?" Chester said to Alice, looking down at the treasured quiz paper. "Did you notice no one gave me a hard time about Rebecca, too? That's the first time that's happened."

"Bullies move on quickly," Alice mused. "I guess they're losing interest."

"I'd sure like to tell my mom about this," he said, waving his paper about as they stepped out into the snowy courtyard. "She's always told me men are hopeless at maths, as long as I can remember."

"So did mine," said Alice, who was quite happy with her own 94%. "I think that's what first got me thinking, why can't boys be good at it too? I didn't get it then and I don't get it now."

She looked up at her friend to see he'd stopped and was gazing off at the woods beyond the campus. "You all right, Chester?" she asked him.

"Remember the first snowfall when you were a little girl?" he asked her. "How you couldn't wait to get outside and frolic all day in the stuff?"

"I sure do," Alice said, hooking her arm through his. "But what brought that on?"

"It's how I'd been feeling these past few weeks," Chester said. "Like a kid on a beautiful morning. Have you ever had that feeling and lost it?"

"With a boy on my block," Alice said. "We were the best of friends, but he didn't want any more than that. Then I came here and he went in the army, and that was that. So I won't tell you to just get over it, Chester, but I'll say you will someday, probably sooner than you think."

Chester nodded, still gazing at the trees and trying not to think of the image he'd let himself entertain of himself and Rebecca welcoming Sarah downstairs on Christmas morning. It was too late; he felt the tears coming. "Let's get inside," he said.

Alice guessed why and said nothing as she followed his hasty retreat toward their dormitory. At least the press had gone. The campus almost felt boring without them, but of course Alice didn't dare say that.

"Let's get some hot tea, shall we?" Alice said as soon as they were inside; she desperately wanted to stretch out her damp stocking-clad feet by the lounge fire.

"Wonderful idea," Chester agreed. "You get the tea, I'll check our post?"

"Perfect," Alice said.

She knew how he liked his tea -- plain and strong -- and she once again toyed with trying it that way herself. Once again she opted to add plenty of sugar, but she allowed herself only one of the biscuits that had been set out by the tea service. She took three for Chester, promising herself she wouldn't eat any of them if he refused and knowing of course she would. She was settled by the fire in plenty of time before Chester returned from the post boxes.

"Here you are," he said when he appeared a moment later, holding out a letter from her.

"Thank you." It was from a school chum who'd moved abroad to study. "Did you get anything?" she asked him.

"Just one letter," Chester said. "I'm not sure if I'm going to read it." He threw it down on the table, address-side down so Alice couldn't see who it was from.

"Chester, is that from..."

"Yes," Chester said. "How's she got any time to write when she should be out campaigning?"

"That's not fair! Besides, she might even be apologizing in that letter."

"She's got nothing to apologize for," Chester said. "Heck, I ought to apologize for breaking up by telegram of all things. It's all those people who wouldn't leave us alone who really ought to apologize."

"I agree," Alice said. "Your decision, but if it were me, I'd want to know what she said."

"Can't I read that in the paper?" Chester grumbled. "Say, have you seen anything in the papers about her?"

"Just that she's heartbroken, but she's keeping that to herself on the campaign trail," Alice said. "People ask, and she just says never mind that, can I count on your vote? And apparently she can't with a lot of people."

"She's not losing because of me!"

"I don't know if she's losing, but there's a whole lot of 'I'll vote for you because you kept my brother out of the poorhouse, but I don't like you very much right now,' that sort of thing. It's not your fault, though, Chester, it's because she was with this other guy just before you and she keeps telling everyone it's none of their business."

"It isn't!"

"You and I know that, but don't you think people are going to wonder?"

Chester looked down at the envelope and nodded. "I guess so."

"Want to be alone when you read it?" Alice asked.

"Yes, please. For now, let's enjoy the tea." He kicked his damp shoes off and joined Alice in letting the fire do its magic. "Just tell me one thing," he said. "What have the papers said about the real father?"

"No one knows anything about him," Alice said. "Of course Senator Wharton isn't telling anyone."

Chester nodded and cast another look at the envelope. Only one way to know if it contained any of the answers he wanted.

Alice picked up her wet boots and stood up. "Well, I'll leave you to it," she said. "Meet here in an hour for lunch?"

"Sure," Chester said. With a quick look around to make sure no one but Alice could see, he broke the seal on the envelope.

Alice nodded her approval and turned to go. Just inside the door out to the hallway, a discarded newspaper caught her eye and stopped her in her tracks.

WHARTON LETTER FAKED

Alice grabbed up the paper and turned on her heel. "Chester!" she said. "You'll never guess what!"

"Oh yes I will!" Chester leapt up from his chair and treated his friend to the first smile she'd seen from him all week. He had opened the letter.

Martha had shrewdly scheduled a question and answer session for the Friday lunch hour in Laucester Square. By that time, of course, the news had spread across the district and indeed across the country: the scandalous letter to Chester was a bluff, a trick that had backfired horribly when Winnifred Croft had taken the portion she'd procured to the press rather than to Rebecca. The front page of the Beacon featured a photograph of the complete note after Rebecca had provided Jessica Stratton with the missing lower portion, leaving no doubt that the two parts fit together perfectly.

Some of Rebecca's more enthusiastic supporters had memorized the complete note by the time she took the podium on Friday:

My dearest Chester,

I scarcely know how to tell you this, but I think our plans for a new beginning may have been placed on a fast track. I am nine days 'late' and I don't mean with a homework assignment. I know this is no time to burden you with such news, but I cannot very well hide the news indefinitely!

We do have options, of course. But it is imperative that we make a decision together regarding those options before anyone else knows. I am sure you join me in not wanting this to affect the elections in any way, after all. I likely will not be 'showing' by then, because I'm not really pregnant at all, as anyone who reads this half of my letter will be aware. If the other half should fall into your mother's hands, I will be delighted to present her with this half when she confronts me.

It is a rather manipulative trick, isn't it? But politics is a dirty business, and I trust your mother loves you enough that she will confront me privately on this matter. Then I can set her mind at ease, and equally important, I will know how she got a hold of that journal entry that led to our falling in love in the first place. It is my greatest hope that she will let me thank her for that and then give us her blessing.