Breakthroughs

wasn’t too young and he wasn’t too handsome, but she knew he had a good heart. She’d never tried living with a man with a good heart. Maybe it would make a difference.

And maybe, on their wedding night, he would show his heart wasn’t so good after all. She had seen how men who outwardly were pillars of respectability could turn into animals, brutes, when they found themselves alone with a woman. If she said yes and Jacobs turned out to be that kind of man, what would she do? What could she do then? Maybe one fine morning he would wake up dead, in as inconspicuous a manner as she could arrange.

Even if he wasn’t an animal, did she want him in her bed? No man had been to bed with her in a lot of years, and she hadn’t felt that to be a lack: on the contrary, if anything. But, when he’d kissed her the year before back in his shop, she’d been glad to have the kiss-and astonished that she was glad. What, exactly, did that mean? Did she want to take a chance and find out?

If she didn’t, what would she do? Stay the way she was and try to keep an eye on Edna till her daughter found another young man and moved away? Knowing Edna, that might happen in a matter of weeks, maybe even days. What then? Spend the rest of her life alone and getting more sour by the day? That didn’t sound like such a good bargain, either.

She looked down at Hal Jacobs again. She wished he’d never asked her. By asking her, he was making her think about things she would sooner have ignored. No matter what she did now, no matter what she said now, it would irrevocably change her life. She hated having to make choices that big, and hated having to do it on the spur of the moment even more.

Or perhaps it wasn’t exactly on the spur of the moment. Edna said, “Come on, Ma-you’ve got to tell the poor man something.”

With a sigh, Nellie realized her daughter was right. With another sigh, a longer and deeper one, she said, “I’ll marry you, Hal. Thank you for asking me.” She wondered how much she would regret that. More or less than saying no? One way or the other, she’d find out.

Edna let out a cheer that sounded almost like the yells with which Confederate soldiers went into battle. An enormous smile spread over Hal Jacobs’ face. He squeezed her hands and said, “Oh, Nellie, thank you so much. You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

“Don’t be silly,” Edna said. She came out to the front of the coffeehouse as Jacobs was getting to his feet. Kissing him on the cheek, she went on, “Teddy Roosevelt’s got to be the happiest man in the world now that the Rebs have quit. But if you want to say you’re running second, that’s all right.”

Jacobs laughed. Edna laughed. After a moment, Nellie laughed, too. She felt giddy and foolish, as if she’d been drinking whiskey, not coffee. Was that happiness? Or was it just surprise at what she’d gone and done? For the life of her, she couldn’t tell.

A customer came in then, distracting her. He wasn’t a military man, and he wasn’t one of the locals Nellie knew, either. He wore a black suit, a black cravat, and a black homburg, and carried a black leather briefcase. “Ham and eggs and coffee,” he said, like a Confederate plantation owner giving orders to his house niggers. “Eggs over medium, not too hard.”

“Yes, sir,” Nellie said; some of the Rebel officers who’d frequented the coffeehouse had been that peremptory, too. “Would you like your coffee now, or with the ham and eggs? And would you like toast to go with that? Like the menu says, an extra ten cents.”

“Coffee now. No toast. Had I wanted it, I should have requested it.” The newcomer looked around. “This is one of the few places I’ve seen since coming here that we won’t have to tear down and start over from the ground up.”

A light went on in Nellie’s head. “You’re from-” she began.

“Philadelphia?” the newcomer broke in. “Of course. You wouldn’t think I’d live in Washington, would you?”

“We manage,” Nellie said. The Philadelphia-lawyer? — sniffed. People from the de facto capital of the United States were in the habit of sneering at those from the legal capital. Nellie got him his coffee as Edna started the ham and eggs. His money would spend as well as anyone else’s.

“I am going back to my work, dear Nellie,” Jacobs said. “Thank you again. We will talk more of these arrangements as soon as we can.” He blew her a kiss as he went out the door.

Over the pleasant hiss and crackle of frying food, Edna spoke to the man from Philadelphia: “Mr. Jacobs there just asked my ma to marry him, and she said yes.”

“How nice,” the fellow said. “Given the way the tax laws are, it will likely prove an advantageous move for both of them.”

Nellie had worried about a lot of things before saying yes. Taxes weren’t one of them. Maybe she didn’t need the cold-blooded Philadelphian’s money so badly after all. Maybe, on the other hand, he was trying-coldbloodedly-to do her a favor.

Edna gave her the plate of ham and eggs, and she set it in front of the man who was helping decide how to restore, or whether to restore, Washington. She didn’t know a whole lot about taxes and how they worked. Maybe she should ask him for more good advice. About one thing she needed no advice whatever. Hal Jacobs, she resolved, would never, ever learn how Bill Reach had died.

Lieutenant Crowder was lecturing the crew of the depth-charge projector, which meant he was also lecturing George Enos, who, standing nearby at the one-pounder, could hardly escape the officer’s words. “We must maintain our vigilance,” Crowder declared, as if someone had suggested that the whole crew of the USS Ericsson should lie down and go to sleep. “The Confederate States may be out of the fight, but the Royal Navy is still in it.”

Carl Sturtevant’s sigh was visible but not audible. Out of the side of his mouth, he muttered, “Good thing he gives us the news, ain’t it, Enos?” George’s nod was half amused, half annoyed.

Crowder didn’t notice. When he was talking, he didn’t notice anything but the sound of his own voice. “And we must remain alert against submersibles from the C.S. Navy even now,” he said. “Some of them may have defective wireless gear, and so be ignorant that their government has at last given up its hopeless fight. And others may claim ignorance and seek to strike one last blow against the United States in spite of the armistice now in force.”

It was Enos’turn to roll his eyes. Sturtevant’s answering snort was almost as quiet as his sigh had been. As far as George was concerned, the lieutenant hadn’t a clue about how to keep the men wary. Talking about the Royal Navy was a decent idea, because England was still in the war. Talking about imaginary Confederates who wouldn’t surrender, though, made no sense at all. And, if the sailors decided Crowder didn’t make sense about one thing, they were apt to decide he didn’t make sense about anything, and so not keep an eye peeled for the limeys.

On second thought, George decided it didn’t matter so much. Most of the depth-charge projector crew, from everything he could see, had already concluded Lieutenant Crowder didn’t make sense about anything. They’d keep an eye on the Atlantic anyhow, for the sake of their own skins.

After a while, the all-clear sounded. Crowder hurried away from the depth-charge projector as if he had a beautiful blonde waiting under the covers back in his cabin. Thinking about a beautiful blonde made George think about Sylvia. “Christ, I want to go home,” he said.

Hearing the longing in this voice, Carl Sturtevant burst out laughing. “You want to kick your wife’s feet out from under her, is what you want.”

“What the devil’s wrong with that?” Enos said. “It’s been a hell of a long time.”

“Some ships, you could cornhole some pretty sailor if you really felt the lack,” Sturtevant said. “The Ericsson’s pretty good about that, though-pretty careful to make sure it doesn’t happen, I mean.”

“I should hope so,” George said. “I don’t want a pretty sailor. Hell, I don’t think there is such a thing as a pretty sailor. I want to go to bed with my wife.”

“I wouldn’t mind-” The petty officer stopped abruptly. He’d probably been about to say something like, I wouldn’t mind going to bed with your wife, either. He was smart not to have said that. Giving a sailor of higher rank a fat lip would have got George in a lot of trouble, but he would have done it without hesitation. After a couple of seconds, Sturtevant tried again. “I wouldn’t mind going to bed with anything female. Like you said, it’s been a hell of a long time.”