“How’s he a hero of the siege at Paris? They lost that one.”
“The country lost, but a few men did prove themselves. Faber was one of them. He was always interested in ballooning, and when he got caught in Paris during the war he was one of a small band of balloon enthusiasts who assembled their aerial crafts and flew out people, pigeons, and important documents.”
“Pigeons?”
“Yeah, believe it or not, they were transporting homing pigeons out of the city so the birds would carry messages back into the city from French-held territory. The Germans tried but couldn’t stop the aerial flights, neither the balloons nor the birds. Sounds ridiculous now, but it was deadly serious then and it worked. One of the few things the French have to brag about from that siege—birds and bags of air. You should hear Faber’s tales. He made one of those flights himself. Crashed down with the bag deflated and a bunch of bullet holes in the fabric. Damned near died.”
“How is he the least likable?”
“His attitude. No skill at talking with people. Strom’s a natural—you instinctively trust what he’s saying. I can at least fake it in the company of these people. But Faber, he talks with a mean edge, like he’s got a grudge against life itself. Manages to put off just about everyone who listens to him for longer than thirty seconds. Gotta voice like the sound of doom. Never seen the man laugh or even smile.”
Wake remembered the eyes and could well imagine the voice. “Then why did they send him here as a diplomat?”
“Good question. Nobody knows, but everyone assumes it’s a quid pro quo for his sacrifice during the war. He lost a lot of money and almost his life. That’s how senior diplomatic posts get filled by most countries. Payback.”
“Is Faber anti-American, like the Spaniard?”
“I don’t really know. He acts like he’s anti-everyone.”
“I wonder what his relationship with the leaders in Paris is now?”
Davis tilted his head. “Tenuous, I should think. The leadership will be changing soon.”
Lunch was done and Davis appeared ready to leave, but Wake had one more question. “All these politicos, what’s their opinion of the U.S. Navy?”
Davis sighed and looked down at his plate. “You really want to know? You won’t like it.”
Wake nodded.
“They think it’s a joke. Just like our Monroe Doctrine of protecting the Western Hemisphere from their incursions. They treat us, and our navy, as they would a young nephew, with condescending charity, but no professional respect. Our navy is neither powerful nor numerous, and so its image—and our national prestige—are on a par with countries like Argentina.”
Wake thought as much. He remembered Catherine’s warning about appearing weak to Europeans.
“And you know what really galls the hell out of me about all that, Peter?”
Wake shook his head, the myriad of information circulating in his mind while Davis’ face tightened with anger.
“The sons of bitches are right. . . .”
***
The day following that lunch brought a letter from Linda. Wake opened it fast, hoping for positive news.
January 15th, 1874
Dear Peter,
First things first. The children are fine. Sean is playing at climbing trees now, pretending they are masts on a ship and you are the captain. Useppa’s limp is the same but she says she is in less pain, but I wonder if she’s just trying to make me feel better. She can tell that Mommy is sad. I never say anything in front of them about us, but Useppa can tell, I think.
I found out from Mrs. Leary that the Navy department has a rule they started back in 1869 saying an officer will do 3 years sea duty, followed by 3 years of shore duty—alternating every 3 years. I couldn’t believe it! She got me that order number from her husband. It’s General Order 112 from the 17th of March 1869. Her husband came ashore three months ago after only two years. And I’ve talked with other wives whose husbands haven’t as much sea time as you.
Peter, since your court-martial in ’69 you’ve been on continuous sea duty, and now they say you’re staying on it until 1875? That’s six years of straight sea duty and it’s absolutely outrageous!
I’m very angry at how they’ve treated you and how you put up with it, like some whipped dog. It’s time for you to tell them either they give you another shore duty assignment or you’ll leave. You have every right and your family needs you at home.
Forgive me for being blunt, but I love you and want the best for us, and our children. I don’t even know where you are right now, which really just adds to the worry. It’s a new year and time for you to have a new outlook on your life and your responsibilities to your family. Now, Peter. This is making me more bitter by the day.
With love,
Linda
Wake sat for a long time staring at the ultimatum. Looking at the curls and swirls of her handwriting, the slant of her script, the black ink’s shades, trying to divine more from the letter, to understand the depth of her anger. Since the court-martial she had been increasingly angry with his naval career, but Linda knew that he was a naval officer when she married him. Now the guilt he had felt for some time over her unhappiness was turning to anger. An ultimatum? Heat rose through his body, flooding into his mind. His jaw tensed as he thought about the tone of her letter.
Wake stood and looked out the window at the ships moving around the harbor, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, trying to calm himself. He knew of that regulation, but it was a guide, not an ironclad rule, and most officers knew that. Most of their wives knew it too. And understood. He exhaled slowly
