pardon, ma’am—to try givin’ us trouble here. Places where they’re still in arms against the CSA are places where there weren’t any soldiers to speak of. They take a deal of rooting out from places like that, on account of we can’t empty our lines against you Yankees to go back and get ’em. But here—we got plenty of soldiers here, coming and going and staying. Why, we got three regiments comin’ in tonight, back from whipping the Reds in Mississippi and heading up to the Maryland front. And it’s like that every day of the year. Sometimes I don’t think niggers is anything but a pack of fools.”
“Yes,” Nellie said again.
Three regiments in from Mississippi, going up to Maryland
. Hal Jacobs, who had a little bootmaking and shoe-repair business across the street, had ways of getting such tidbits to people in the USA who could do something useful with them.
“Bring me another sandwich here, ma’am?” a Confederate captain at a far table called. Nellie hurried over to serve him. Despite the rationing that made most of Washington a gray, joyless place, she never had trouble getting her hands on good food and good coffee. Of themselves, her eyes went across the street for a moment. She didn’t know exactly what connections Mr. Jacobs had, but they were good ones. And he liked having the coffeehouse full of Confederates talking at the top of their lungs—or even quietly, so long as they talked freely.
“You had a ham and cheese there?” she asked. The captain nodded. She hurried back of the counter to fix it for him.
Nicholas H. Kincaid was not without resource. He gulped down the coffee Nellie had given him and asked for another refill while she was still making the sandwich. That meant Edna had to take care of him. Not only did she bring him the coffee, she sat down at the table with him and started an animated conversation. The person to whom she was really telling something was Nellie, and the message was simple:
I’ll do whatever I please
.
Seething inside, Nellie sliced bread, ham, and cheese with mechanical competence. She wished she could haul off and give her daughter a good clout in the ear, but Edna was past twenty, so how much good could it do?
Why don’t young folks listen to people who know better?
she mourned silently, forgetting how little she’d listened to anyone at the same age.
She took the sandwich over to the captain, accepted his scrip with an inward sigh, and was about to head back behind the counter when the door opened and a new customer came in. Unlike most of her clientele, he was neither a Confederate soldier nor one of the plump, clever businessmen who hadn’t let a change of rulers in Washington keep them from turning a profit. He was about fifty, maybe a few years past, with a black overcoat that had seen better times, a derby about which the same could be said, and a couple of days’ stubble on his chin and cheeks. He picked a table near the doorway, and sat with his back against the wall.
When Nellie came over to him, he breathed whiskey fumes up into her face. She ignored them. “I thought I told you never to show your face in here again,” she said in a furious whisper.
“Oh, Little Nell, you don’t have to be that way,” he answered. His voice, unlike his appearance, was far from seedy: he sounded ready for anything. His eyes traveled the length of her, up and down. “You’re still one fine-looking woman, you know that?” he said, as if he’d seen right through the respectable gray wool dress she wore.
Her face heated. Bill Reach knew what she looked like under that dress, sure enough, or he knew what she had looked like under her clothes, back when she’d been younger than Edna was now. She hadn’t seen him since, or wanted to, till he’d shown up at the coffeehouse one day a few months before. Then she’d managed to frighten him off, and hoped he was gone for good. Now—
“If you don’t get out of here right now,” she said, “I’m
“Yes,” Nellie said again.
Three regiments in from Mississippi, going up to Maryland
. Hal Jacobs, who had a little bootmaking and shoe-repair business across the street, had ways of getting such tidbits to people in the USA who could do something useful with them.
“Bring me another sandwich here, ma’am?” a Confederate captain at a far table called. Nellie hurried over to serve him. Despite the rationing that made most of Washington a gray, joyless place, she never had trouble getting her hands on good food and good coffee. Of themselves, her eyes went across the street for a moment. She didn’t know exactly what connections Mr. Jacobs had, but they were good ones. And he liked having the coffeehouse full of Confederates talking at the top of their lungs—or even quietly, so long as they talked freely.
“You had a ham and cheese there?” she asked. The captain nodded. She hurried back of the counter to fix it for him.
Nicholas H. Kincaid was not without resource. He gulped down the coffee Nellie had given him and asked for another refill while she was still making the sandwich. That meant Edna had to take care of him. Not only did she bring him the coffee, she sat down at the table with him and started an animated conversation. The person to whom she was really telling something was Nellie, and the message was simple:
I’ll do whatever I please
.
Seething inside, Nellie sliced bread, ham, and cheese with mechanical competence. She wished she could haul off and give her daughter a good clout in the ear, but Edna was past twenty, so how much good could it do?
Why don’t young folks listen to people who know better?
she mourned silently, forgetting how little she’d listened to anyone at the same age.
She took the sandwich over to the captain, accepted his scrip with an inward sigh, and was about to head back behind the counter when the door opened and a new customer came in. Unlike most of her clientele, he was neither a Confederate soldier nor one of the plump, clever businessmen who hadn’t let a change of rulers in Washington keep them from turning a profit. He was about fifty, maybe a few years past, with a black overcoat that had seen better times, a derby about which the same could be said, and a couple of days’ stubble on his chin and cheeks. He picked a table near the doorway, and sat with his back against the wall.
When Nellie came over to him, he breathed whiskey fumes up into her face. She ignored them. “I thought I told you never to show your face in here again,” she said in a furious whisper.
“Oh, Little Nell, you don’t have to be that way,” he answered. His voice, unlike his appearance, was far from seedy: he sounded ready for anything. His eyes traveled the length of her, up and down. “You’re still one fine-looking woman, you know that?” he said, as if he’d seen right through the respectable gray wool dress she wore.
Her face heated. Bill Reach knew what she looked like under that dress, sure enough, or he knew what she had looked like under her clothes, back when she’d been younger than Edna was now. She hadn’t seen him since, or wanted to, till he’d shown up at the coffeehouse one day a few months before. Then she’d managed to frighten him off, and hoped he was gone for good. Now—
“If you don’t get out of here right now,” she said, “I’m
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