God's Crusade

Part Twenty-Nine

May 2041

Shap Nixon failed, but not by much, as he would always remind people. Despite support from the traditionally Christian part of the vastly diverse country, the GOP played defiantly safe. Aaron Lumsfield, a slightly younger, less radical option, carried the day and would fight for the right to continue President Rosen's work, although few Republicans thought that they would win a third consecutive term in office. Rosen would hand over to a Democrat, for their turn at the wheel, because the country just felt like a change. It was just the way of things of course. Howard Marino, the Democrat candidate, was a soft socialist who could unite both houses and get things done. Reformism lite was consequently back off the agenda, according to the pundits, and Nixon reluctantly left the stage.

He had anticipated defeat, and after thanking his team and supporters he disappeared to lick his wounds. No one wanted to interview him anymore. The USA never did like losers. He would have turned off his phone, but no one was calling it anyway so he did not bother, and he sat in his hotel room on his own, wondering what to do next. He ended up watching the TV and studiously avoiding the news. He ordered a room service dinner, with a bottle of wine and considered getting quietly drunk in private. His entourage, the people who had been with him on the campaign trail, had all disappeared and he felt quite alone. He was on the last glass when the phone started to beep and he answered it with some reluctance.

"Shap, Jacob Bush...I have reserved a seat for you on the BA flight to London leaving in two hours. I'm just off the Florida flight so I'll see you in the lounge."

"What? Why?"

"Oh you know those Brits my friend, they always have something up their sleeve." Bush laughed, checking his watch as he waited for his baggage. "Come on, we need their help...and you can spend some time with that daughter of yours?"

۩

Madison Nixon watched the news with Mrs Radcliffe, as was their usual routine. Kieran considered it an indulgence, as he saw no particular need for the ladies to be well-informed on current affairs, but it was harmless enough and meant that any chatter over dinner did not need to be explained to them, most of the time. Miss Dexter kept them muzzled, but they had both been working on their needlepoint so their hands were free. Madison did not know if her father's defeat was good or bad news, for her. She did wonder, at first, if he would change his mind and call her home. But he never changed his mind about anything. She had hated the school he sent her to, but he made her stay there, and he had made her go to college. So if he said she was staying in England to be trained as a maiden and then married off, then that was that, end of story. She was still confused about things. Everyone told her that she had been duped by a bunch of terrorists, but she still found that so hard to believe. But Miss Dexter was irresistible. Madison knew that she was being trained, but she could not deny it, and she knew that she had changed, but was it for the better or for the worse? It was impossible to tell most of the time.

She had to wonder if her father blamed her. He might, she realised, and would he then take it out on her? It did not bear thinking about. She was thus distracted when Miss Dexter was putting her to bed and earned a paddling as a result. She screamed into her muzzle, cursing her stupidity, her gullibility and her father. But the lesson was learned. She had no choice and she could not afford to let her mind wander if she wanted to earn God's love. Miss Dexter sensed that her pupil was at a crossroads and, like the excellent guardian she was, made the punishment even more severe.

۩

Hermione was shocked of course. She cried a lot, both for her grandmother and herself, but Miss Scott refused to let her dwell on things, constantly reminding her that she did not want to go to college. Her guardian insisted that she was being chosen by God to live in his love and that it was what her grandmother would have wanted for her. And that much really was true. Hermione knew that was true. Her father was really only doing what he thought was best for her, Miss Scott said, over and over again, reminding Hermione how much she had enjoyed her summer. But at the same time her relentless daily routine became a constant challenge. Miss Scott was no longer her friend and confidante; she was a guardian like no other Hermione had ever come across. She had spent several days with Miss Derbyshire at the Osborne's, and she had been a step up from Miss King and Miss Donald, but Miss Scott simply overwhelmed her. She could not move, look or even breathe without risking harsh censure. Miss Scott missed nothing and she punished everything if she saw the need, but always with obvious regret, as if it was just a dirty job that had to be done. But talking to her mother was the hardest thing of all, because it reminded her that her father, and therefore Miss Scott, were right all along about her future.