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Analecta
by: N. Y. Smith
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Category: AU (very), Josh/Donna Romance, Josh POV, Angst,
Spoilers: Through Season Three
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Contains references to 9/11/2001. Amy-free universe.
After leaving office the President would often receive calls from the Democratic leadership-advice, strategy,
courtesy calls. As his condition had deteriorated, I had increasingly waylaid those calls, speaking at first as I
knew he would then later as I thought. I expected those calls to cease after his passing and that Donna and I
would spend the rest of our days running the Foundation, lecturing (she was more in demand than I was, to my
chagrin and delight) and teaching.
But the calls continued. In fact, they increased through the years, especially as the House debated the Child
Health Care Reform Act of 2014. You may remember we fought this battle once before but the mandate had to
be renewed and, again, the Republicans were hanging all sorts of odd amendments on it. The Democrats had
selected some milquetoast kid to represent them on Capitol Beat and I (actually Donna, too; they didn't call us
JoshandDonna for nothing) was called on to represent the Foundation.
The pundits batted the issue back and forth zinging us questions occasionally before I finally lost my temper
exclaiming, "Why are we the only nation in the industrialized world that values its animals more than its
children?"
Donna cringed at that, but it was what I thought. It was a long fight, but the Act was eventually passed, without
most of the extraneous amendments and riders, in April-leaving just enough time to get ready for Noah's bar
mitzvah in May just before the convention where delegates of the party of the people would undoubtedly hand the
extremely popular governor of California the Presidential nomination. Because of our performance on Capitol
Beat-and various other shows-we, Donna and I, were expected to hit the road on behalf of the candidate. Our
first meeting was in Nashua on the last Saturday in May. There was just one problem: Kennedy was playing in a
baseball tournament near Boston.
When the kids started participating in their various activities we had, oftentimes, split up to cover more ground.
But we'd noticed the family cohesiveness had begun to flag so Donna instituted the first rule of being a Lyman-Mossketeers: all for one and one for all. As much as possible, the entire family would attend each event and
cheer on the participant with as much gusto as they would like to hear when they were competing. This was
relatively easy as long as the kids all played baseball but then Noah started wrestling with a club in Concord.
Kennedy played spring, summer and fall baseball for the team in Nashua. Moss-tall like her mother and her
brother Noah-played volleyball for her school. Pixie, from the age of four, was interested in nothing but
cheerleading and gymnastics and had earned a spot on a competitive squad in Boston. It was worse than the
Presidential schedule. It's a good thing we had experience with organizing the Presidential schedule, now wasn't
it?
All of the kids' events went on a master schedule with conflicts highlighted in red. Possible political events were
cross-checked against the kids' schedules so that we might take advantage of "serendipitous" scheduling as much
as possible. For example, we scheduled Boston events when we were in town either on business or for Pixie's
practices. Noah, Kennedy and Moss' schedules took them all over the New England and campaign events were
scheduled around as many games/meets as possible. During the month of June, the whole tribe from Camp
Runamok came along, prompting the DNC chairman to refer to us, only half in jest, as the Von Trapp Family
Singers. If only I'd known all the words to "Edelweiss..."
The Democratic candidate took New England but the Republicans captured the election. Donna and I returned
to the mill, enjoying our little lives until July of 2016 when Toby and Andrea came to pick up Isaac.
We knew something was up; CJ, Toby and Andrea had been sneaking glances at each other all weekend. After
the fireworks on the Fourth, the kids tumbled into the yard for moonlight tag leaving the adults somewhat alone.
"Alright, Toby," Donna warned, "spill it."
"Spill what?" his mock-innocent face had improved only marginally during his years working with the Congress.
"The party," CJ explained, "was disappointed with the performance of the candidate in the last election."
"No shit," Sam commented, taking another swig from his lager.
"The biggest disappointment was that the candidate should have been electable-he was safe, attractive, popular,
middle-of-the-road," Andrea continued.
"For the next election," CJ leaned forward, "they want to step outside the mainstream."
Donna looked at me fearfully.
"Guys," Sam warned.
"The leadership," Toby pressed on, "was very impressed with the way you delivered New England in two-thousand fourteen.
CJ gestured, "They've done some polling and your personal appeal numbers were through the roof."
"Guys," Sam interrupted again.
"Josh," Andrea hesitated only a moment. "The leadership wants you to consider running for President."
Donna's plastic glass thumped on the soft brick, lemonade splashing her now-empty chair.
"In fact," Toby fidgeted with his glass, "they're a little surprised you hadn't come to them with the idea."
I stared into the darkness, trying to identify the owners of the shouts and whoops emanating from it, idly rubbing
my thumb through the condensation on my glass before taking a gulp. I looked at Sam, whose eyes begged
permission, which I gave with a nod, before quietly stepping through the keeping room and up the stairs to our
bedroom. Donna leaned wearily by the window, one arm wrapped in front of her, other arm propped on that,
fingers sliding across thin lips. She turned her head slightly when a popping board indicated my entrance.
"They don't know, do they?"
I sat in the rocker next to her. "Sam's telling them now."
"Why now? I thought he told them years ago. I thought..."
I shook my head.
"What do you think?"
"I thought it was supposed to be Sam."
"Not without Mallory."
"Did he tell you that?"
I smiled. "He didn't have to."
She spoke to the window. "Joshua, I think you'll either make yourself sick or get yourself killed."(6)
"There's worse things than dying for your country, Donna."
"You almost did that already, Josh." She leaned over the arm of the chair, eyes fiery. "Just make sure you're
risking your life for your country and not your ego."
I grinned and grabbed her hands. "We can make a difference, Donna. We can make a real difference."
"We better." Fear clouded her attempt at a smile.
I pulled her into my lap. "Love you."
"Love you, too." She sat up with a grin. "But you get to tell the kids."
The kids were less than enthusiastic. Their mother invoked the "All for one" rule and they fell into line. We
spent the next year preparing-discreetly fundraising, working out strategies, mapping campaign stops all the
while maintaining as normal a life as possible.
On New Year's Day, 2018, we stepped onto the "Lyman for America" campaign bus for a ride across America.
We scheduled campaign stops around our kids' activities: wrestling and gymnastics meets in the winter, baseball
and volleyball in the spring. During that time, I think we shook every single hand in America at least twice. But
something else happened-something that had not happened to me during the campaigns of 1998 and 2002: we
got to know Americans. We met parents, much like ourselves, whose lives revolved around their children and
their children's future. We met children, many much less privileged and less loved than our own, who,
nonetheless, maintained hope for a brighter future. We played a pickup baseball game in every town we
could-getting to know our opponents as friends. It was less a strategy than a philosophy-which the pundits could
not understand. They created derisive nicknames for us: "The Von Lyman Family Singers," "Josh Lyman and
his Traveling All-Stars," "The Griswolds Go to Washington." Our children felt, for the first time, the sting of
rancor. But they taught us a lesson. Instead of becoming cynical, they displayed hope.
"Why do they say those things about us?" Noah asked his cohorts as they relaxed around a picnic table at
Arkansas Post State Park.
"They don't understand us," Kennedy began. "They don't understand that we're not about winning."
I sat up in my chair behind a shade tree, interest piqued at this little exchange.
"Then what are we about?" Moss crunched her favorite barbecue chips.
"We're about hope," Pixie explained.
"What's hope?" Samuel squeezed in between Abigail and William.
"Hope is the evidence of things not seen," Isaac explained.
"That's faith, Ziegler," Will disagreed.
"Then what is hope?" Abigail asked.
The only sound for a few minutes was chips crunching then Moss spoke. "Hope is having four kids when you
could die any day."
I nearly gasped. Although we'd disclosed all my medical conditions at the outset of the campaign, I didn't know
if they really understood.
"Hope," Pixie talked around a pickle, "is believing a three-month-premature baby can be anything she's willing
to work hard enough to be."
"Hope," sixteen-year-old Noah offered, "is daring to fall in love when you've watched three thousand people
die."
"Hope," Will brushed the hair out of Samuel's face, "is raising your kids on your own even though your heart is
broken." Abigail nodded.
"Hope," John Leo Butterfield said quietly, "is giving up everything to follow someone you believe in." Ron had
retired from the Secret Service to run security for the campaign.
"Hope," Isaac Ziegler playfully shoved Will Sawyer, "is believing the people will respect you for saying what's
right instead of what they want to hear."
"Hope," Kennedy stared at the behemoth in which we traveled, "is putting your ten kids on a bus, getting to
know America and letting them get to know you, and believing that they will vote for you because you are the
right people for the job."
"Do you think we'll win?" Abigail asked.
"It doesn't matter," Noah shrugged.
"Why not?" Samuel asked.
Noah, Kennedy, Will and Isaac looked at each other but Kennedy replied, "Because we're doing the right thing.
And we're trusting that America will, too."
"Time to go!" Donna called from the bus and we resumed our journey. By the time we reached San Diego and
the Convention, we had sewn up the nomination. By the time we returned to the mill, taking five months to
meander across parts of the nation we hadn't seen before, we were dead even with the Republicans. But that
election taught me to trust that Americans will do what's right. Sitting in my keeping room, at four minutes until
midnight on Election Day, 2018, I picked up the phone and my opponent conceded. Two months later, on a
bitter but clear day, my wife held the Bible while my children and my friends watched me, the first Jew to hold
the office, swear to uphold the Constitution of the United States.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the Assistant Director in Charge of the President's Security Detail, my
old friend Vladimir Lurcael, smile.
Chapters -
Prologue | 1 | 2 |
3 | 4 | 5 |
6 | 7 | 8 |
9 | 10 | 11 |
12 | 13 | 14 |
15 | 16 | 17 |
18 | 19 | 20 |
21 | 22 | 23
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