The Prodigal Daughter Page 12

  When they reached the platform, Florentyna felt an arm encircle her waist and a rose appeared in front of her.

  “Edward, you nut.”

  “That is not the way to address the president of the Student Council. Don’t bother to come back if you fail to win the Woolson Prize,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

  Neither of them noticed the smile on Miss Tredgold’s face.

  Florentyna found a car that was virtually empty. She would remember very little of the journey, for she rarely looked up from her copy of the Oresteia.

  When she arrived in Boston, she was met by a Ford “Woody” station wagon, which took her and four other girls who must have been on the same train to the Radcliffe yard. During the journey spasmodic exchanges of polite conversation punctuated long, tense silences. Florentyna was relieved to find that she had been put in a residential house at 55 Garden Street in a room of her own: she hoped she would be able to conceal how nervous she was.

  At six o’clock the girls all met in Longfellow Hall, where the dean of instruction, Mrs. Wilma Kirby-Miller, reviewed the details of the examination.

  “Tomorrow, ladies, between nine and twelve, you will write the Latin paper, and in the afternoon between three and six, the Greek paper. The following morning you will complete the examination with the general paper on current affairs. It would be foolish to wish everyone success, as you cannot all expect to win the Woolson Prize, so I will only express the hope that when you have completed the three papers, each and every one of you will feel that you could not have done better.”

  Florentyna returned to her room in Garden Street conscious of how little she knew and feeling very lonely. She went down to the ground floor and called her mother and Miss Tredgold on the pay phone. The next morning she woke at three and read a few pages of Aristotle’s Politics, but nothing would stick. When she came downstairs at seven, she walked around Radcliffe Yard several times before going to Agassiz House for breakfast. She found two telegrams awaiting her, one from her father wishing her luck and inviting her to join him for a trip to Europe in the summer. The second, from Miss Tredgold, read: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

  After breakfast, she walked once again around the yard, this time with several other girls, before taking her place in Longfellow Hall. Two hundred forty-three girls waited for the clock to chime nine, when the proctors allowed them to open the little brown envelopes placed on the desk in front of them. Florentyna read through the Latin paper once quickly and then again carefully, before selecting those questions that she felt best equipped to answer. At twelve the clock struck again and her blue books were taken away from her. She returned to her room and read Greek for two hours, eating a solitary Hershey bar for lunch. In the afternoon she attempted three questions in Greek. At six she was penning emendations when the paper had to be handed in. She walked back to her little room in Garden Street exhausted, fell onto the narrow bed and didn’t stir until it was time to eat. Over a late dinner, she listened to the same conversations with different accents from Philadelphia to Houston, and from Detroit to Atlanta: it was comforting to discover that everyone was as nervous about the outcome of the examination as she was. Florentyna knew that almost everyone who took the scholarship examination would be offered a place at Radcliffe, and twenty-two could be awarded scholarships; but only one would win the James Adams Woolson Prize.

  On the second day she opened the brown envelope containing the general paper fearing the worst but relaxed a little when she read the first question: “What changes would have taken place in America if the Twenty-second Amendment had been passed before Roosevelt became President?” She began to write furiously.

  On Florentyna’s return to Chicago, Miss Tredgold was standing on the platform waiting for her.

  “I shall not ask if you consider you have won the prize, my dear, only if you did as well as you had hoped.”

  “Yes,” said Florentyna, after some thought. “If I don’t win a scholarship, it will be because I am not good enough.”

  “You can ask for no more, child, and neither can I, so the time has come to tell you that I shall be returning to England in July.”

  “Why?” said Florentyna, stunned.

  “What do you imagine there is left for me to do for you, now that you’re off to university? I have been offered the post of head of the classics department at a girls’ school in the west country of England, starting in September, and I have accepted.”

  “‘You could not leave me if you knew how much I loved you.’”

  Miss Tredgold smiled at the quotation and produced the next line. “‘It is because of how much I love you that I must now leave you, Perdano.’”

  Florentyna took her hand, and Miss Tredgold smiled at the beautiful young woman who could already make men’s heads turn as the two women passed by.

  The next few weeks at school were not easy for Florentyna as she waited for the exam results. She tried to assure Edward that at least he was certain to gain a place at Harvard.

  “They have more sports fields than lecture halls,” she teased, “so you can’t fail.”

  He could fail and she knew it, and as each day passed, the hopes of both turned to fears. Florentyna had been told that the results of the examination would be known on April 14. On that morning the headmistress called Florentyna to her study and sat her in a corner of the room while she called the registrar at Radcliffe. The registrar already had several people holding to speak to her. At last she took Miss Allen’s call.

  “Would you be kind enough to let me know if a Miss Florentyna Rosnovski has won a scholarship to Radcliffe?” asked the headmistress.

  There was a long pause. “How do you spell that name?”

  “R-O-S-N-O-V-S-K-I.”

  Another pause. Florentyna clenched her fist. Then the registrar’s voice, audible to them both, came over the line: “No, I am sorry to tell you that Miss Rosnovski’s name is not among the list of scholars, but more than seventy percent of those who took the scholarship examination will be offered a place at Radcliffe and will be hearing from us in the next few days.”

  Neither Miss Allen nor Florentyna could mask their disappointment. As Florentyna came out of the study she found Edward waiting for her. He threw his arms around her and almost shouted, “I’m going to Harvard. And how about you? Did you win the Woolson?” But he could see the answer in her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “How thoughtless of me,” and held her in his arms as the tears came. Some younger girls who passed them giggled. Edward took her home and she, Miss Tredgold and her mother ate dinner together in silence.

  Two weeks later, on Parents’ Day, Miss Allen presented Florentyna with the school Classics Prize, but it was no consolation. Her mother and Miss Tredgold applauded politely, but Florentyna had told her father not to come to Chicago as there was nothing particular to celebrate.

  After the presentation, Miss Allen tapped the lectern in front of her before she started to speak. “In all my years at Girls Latin,” said the headmistress in clear, resonant tones, “it has been no secret that I wanted a pupil to win the James Adams Woolson Prize Scholarship to Radcliffe.” Florentyna stared down at the wooden floorboard between her feet. “And this year,” continued Miss Allen, “I was convinced that we had produced our finest scholar in twenty-five years and that my dream would be realized. Two weeks ago, I phoned Radcliffe to discover our entrant had not won a scholarship. But today I received a telegram that is nevertheless worth reading to you.”

  Florentyna sat back, hoping her father was not responsible for some embarrassing message of congratulation.

  Miss Allen put on her reading spectacles. “‘Name of Florentyna Rosnovski not announced among general scholars because happy to inform you she is winner of James Adams Woolson Prize. Please telegraph acceptance.’” The room erupted as pupils and parents cheered. Miss Allen raised a hand, and the hall fell silent. “After twenty-five years I should have remembered that the Woolson is al
ways announced separately at a later day. You must put it down to old age.” There was a polite ripple of laughter before Miss Allen continued: “There are those of us here who believe that Florentyna will go on to serve her college and country in a manner that can only reflect well upon this school. I now have only one wish left: that I live long enough to witness it.”

  Florentyna stood and looked toward her mother. Large tears were coursing down Zaphia’s cheeks.

  No one present would have realized that the lady seated bolt upright next to Zaphia, staring straight ahead, was reveling in the applause.

  Much happiness and sadness now surrounded Florentyna, but nothing was to compare with her farewell to Miss Tredgold. On the train journey from Chicago to New York, during which Florentyna tried to express her love and gratitude, she handed the older woman an envelope.

  “What’s this, child?” asked Miss Tredgold.

  “The four thousand shares of the Baron Group which we have earned over the past four years.”

  “But that includes your shares as well as mine, my dear.”

  “No,” said Florentyna, “it doesn’t take into account my saving on the Woolson Prize Scholarship.”

  Miss Tredgold made no reply.

  An hour later, Miss Tredgold stood on the dock in New York’s Hudson River waiting to board her ship, finally to release her charge to adult life.

  “I shall think of you from time to time, my dear,” she said, “and hope that my father was right about destiny.” Florentyna kissed Miss Tredgold on both cheeks and watched her mount the gangplank. When she reached the deck, Miss Tredgold turned, waved a gloved hand once and then hailed a porter, who picked up her bags and followed the stern-looking lady toward her cabin. She did not once look at Florentyna, who stood like a statue on the pier holding back the tears because she knew Miss Tredgold would not approve.

  When Miss Tredgold reached her berth, she tipped the porter fifty cents and locked the door.

  Winifred Tredgold sat down on the end of the bunk and wept unashamedly.

  Chapter

  Ten

  Florentyna had not been so unsure about anything since her first day at the Girls Latin School. When she returned from her summer holiday in Europe with her father a thick manila envelope from Radcliffe was awaiting her. It contained all the details of when and where she should report, what to wear, a course catalogue and the “Red Book” detailing Radcliffe rules. Florentyna sat on her bed studiously taking in page after page of information until she came to Rule 11a: If you entertain a man in your room for tea, at all times the door must be kept ajar, and all four feet must always be touching the floor. Florentyna burst out laughing at the thought that the first time she made love it might be standing up, behind an open door, holding a cup of tea.

  As the time drew nearer for her to leave Chicago, she began to realize just how much she had depended on Miss Tredgold. She packed three large suitcases, including all the new clothes she had bought on her European trip. Her mother, looking elegant in the latest Chanel suit, drove Florentyna to the station. When she boarded the train she was suddenly aware it was the first time she had traveled anywhere for any period of time without knowing somebody at the other end.

  She arrived in Boston to find New England a beautiful contrast of September greens and yellows. An old school bus was waiting to transport students to the campus. As the ancient vehicle crossed the Charles, Florentyna looked through the back window to see the sun glinting off the dome of the State House. A few sails dotted the water, and eight enthusiastic students were pulling their oars through the wash while an older man on a bicycle shouted orders through a megaphone as he rode along the towpath. When the bus came to a halt at Radcliffe, a middle-aged woman in academic dress herded the freshmen into Longfellow Hall, where Florentyna had taken the Woolson exam. There they were briefed on which hall they would live in during their first year and their rooms were allocated to them. Florentyna drew room 7 in Whitman Hall. A sophomore helped her carry her bags across to Whitman and then left her to unpack.

  The room smelled as if the painters had moved out only the day before. It was clear that she was to share with two other girls: there were three beds, three dressers, three desks, three desk chairs, three desk lamps, three pillows, three coverlets and three sets of blankets, according to the checklist that was left on the inside of the door. As there was no sign of her roommates, she chose the bed nearest the window and started to unpack. She was just about to unlock the last suitcase when the door was flung open and a large valise landed in the middle of the room.

  “Hi,” said a voice that sounded to Florentyna more like a foghorn than a freshman from Radcliffe. “My name is Bella Hellaman. I’m from San Francisco.”

  Bella shook hands with Florentyna, who immediately regretted the act as she smiled up at the six-foot giant who must have weighed well over two hundred pounds. Bella looked like a double bass and sounded like a tuba. She began to size up the room.

  “I knew they wouldn’t have a bed large enough for me,” was her next pronouncement. “My headmistress did warn me that I should have applied to a men’s college.”

  Florentyna burst out laughing.

  “You won’t laugh so loud when I keep you awake all night. I toss and turn so much you’ll think you’re on board a ship,” Bella warned as she pushed open the window above Florentyna’s bed to let in the cool Boston air. “What time do they serve dinner at this place? I haven’t had a decent meal since I left California.”

  “I’ve no idea, but it’s all in the Red Book,” said Florentyna, picking up her copy from the side of her bed. She started flicking through the pages until she reached “Meals, times of.” “Dinner, six-thirty to seven-thirty.”

  “Then at the stroke of six-thirty,” Bella said, “I shall be under starter’s orders at the dining room door. Have you found out where the gymnasium is?”

  “To be honest, I haven’t,” said Florentyna, grinning. “It wasn’t high on my list of priorities for the first day.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Bella shouted, “Come in.” Florentyna later learned that it had not been a shout, just her normal speaking voice. Into the room stepped a Dresden china blonde, not a hair out of place, dressed in a neat dark-blue suit. She smiled, revealing a set of small, even teeth. Bella smiled back at her as though her dinner had arrived early.

  “My name is Wendy Brinklow,” said a voice with a slight southern accent. “I think I’m sharing a room with you.” Florentyna wanted to warn her about Bella’s handshake, but it was too late. She watched Wendy cringe.

  “You’ll have to sleep over there,” Bella said, pointing to the remaining bed. “You don’t by any chance know where the gymnasium is, do you?”

  “Why should Radcliffe need a gymnasium?” said Wendy as Bella helped her in with her suitcases. Bella and Wendy started to unpack and Florentyna fiddled with her books, trying not to make it too obvious that she was fascinated by what came out of Bella’s suitcases. First there were goalie pads, a breast pad, and two pairs of cleats, then a face mask, which Florentyna tried on, and finally a pair of hockey gloves, all in addition to the two hockey sticks she had had strapped to the valise she had earlier flung into the room. Wendy had all her clothes in neat little piles packed away in her dresser before Bella had even worked out where to put her hockey sticks. Eventually she just threw them under the bed.

  When they had finished unpacking, the three girls set off for the dining hall. Bella was the first to reach the cafeteria line and loaded her plate so full with meat and vegetables that she had to balance it on the palm of her hand. Florentyna helped herself to what she considered a normal amount and Wendy managed a couple of spoonfuls of salad. Florentyna was beginning to feel they resembled Goldilocks’s three bears.

  Two of them had the sleepless night Bella had promised Florentyna and it was several weeks before either she or Wendy managed eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Years later, Florentyna discovered that she could slee
p anywhere, even in a crowded airport lounge, thanks to spending her freshman year with Bella.

  Bella was the first freshman to play goalie for the Radcliffe varsity and she spent the year happily terrifying anyone who dared to try to score against her. She always shook hands with the few who did. Wendy spent much of the time being chased by men who visited the campus and some of the time being caught. She also passed more hours reading the Kinsey Report than her class notes.

  “Darlings,” she said, eyes saucer-wide, “it’s a serious piece of academic work written by a distinguished professor.”

  “The first academic work to sell over a million copies,” commented Bella, as she picked up her hockey sticks and left the room.

  Wendy, seated in front of the one mirror in the room, was checking her lipstick.

  “Who’s it this time?” asked Florentyna.

  “No one in particular,” she replied. “But Dartmouth has sent their tennis team over to play Harvard and I couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Do you want to come along?”

  “No thanks, but I would like to know the secret of how you find them,” said Florentyna, looking at herself appraisingly in the mirror. “I can’t remember when anyone other than Edward last asked me out.”

  “It doesn’t take a lot of research,” said Wendy. “Perhaps you put them off.”

  “How?” asked Florentyna, turning toward her.

  Wendy put down her lipstick and picked up a comb. “You’re too obviously bright and intelligent, and not many men can handle that. You frighten them and that’s not good for their egos.”

  Florentyna laughed.

  “I’m serious. How many men would have dared to approach your beloved Miss Tredgold, let alone make a pass at her?”

  “So what do you suggest I do about it?” asked Florentyna.

  “You’re good-looking enough, and I don’t know anyone with a better dress sense, so just act dumb and massage their ego; then they feel they have to take care of you. It always works for me.”