Breakthroughs

When Elizabeth finished the dishes, Cinci

Someone knocked on the door. Cinci

Only one way to find out. “Who is it?” Cinci

A deep voice answered: “It sure as hell ain’t the Easter bu

Cinci

“And it ain’t,” Apicius said, squeezing past him. “I ain’t here on my business. I’m here on the business of the workers and peasants of the state of Kentucky.” His chuckle was wheezy. “And why ain’t you surprised?”

“Can’t imagine,” Cinci

“You got the fine start to a family here,” Apicius said, and nodded at his own words. “Need yourself some more young uns, but that’ll come, that’ll come.”

“You didn’t come over here to jaw about my family,” Cinci

“That’s a fact,” Apicius said. “You never was a fool, Cinci

“Yeah, go on and baste me with that big old long-handled brush o’ yours,” Cinci

Apicius laughed, but he quickly sobered. “All right. I won’t waste your time. I won’t waste my time. What I got to know is this: whose man is you? I can talk with you if you is my man. I can talk with you if you is Tom Ke

“You know what happened to him,” Cinci

“I know what. I du

Cinci

“Hell I don’t,” Apicius said. “Ain’t no law says the forces of reaction can’t have people on their side who know what they’s doin’. But I can talk with you if you is Bliss’ man. Have to watch what I say, but I can talk. But if I don’t know whose man you is, Cinci

Apicius’ point made perfectly good sense. Of all the factions still struggling in Kentucky, Cinci

The other side of the coin was that, if Apicius didn’t like the answer Cinci

Apicius sighed, too. “You know too goddamn much to be your own man and nobody else’s. You is mixed up in this. Can’t get yourself unmixed, any more’n you can take the sugar out of the coffee once it’s in.”

That was probably true, too. Cinci

“Who?” Apicius whispered.

“Don’t know,” Cinci

“Queen of the May,” the man outside answered.

Everyone was giving smart answers tonight. Cinci

“Evenin’, Apicius, you damn Red,” Bliss answered amiably. Cinci

Apicius laughed again, louder this time. He pointed to Cinci

“Only man I work for is Lieutenant Straubing, who bosses my truck unit,” Cinci

In the mid-Atlantic, Sylvia Enos read in the Boston Globe as she rode the trolley to work, the USS Ericsson engaged and sank the CSS Bonefish, a submersible that had for some time tormented shipping in the region. The Bonefish had previously torpedoed the SS Teton, a civilian steamship in U.S. service. Our bold Navy has valiantly swept away yet another vicious scourge of the sea.

That was George’s ship. If they’d fought a Confederate submarine, he’d surely been in danger. She folded the paper and leaned back in the uncomfortable seat. He was all right now. And with this Bonefish sunk, he’d keep on being all right a while longer. Now that she hadn’t seen him for a few months, her anger was cooling. He might have wanted to be unfaithful, but he hadn’t actually gone and done it.

And he was all right. Thank you, God, Sylvia thought. Next to that simple fact, the war news on the front page, the mutinies in the French Army and all the rest of it, faded to insignificance. The Ericsson had fought again, and nothing had happened to George. The world looked good.

When the trolley came to her stop, Sylvia left the Globe on the seat for whoever might want it. She hoped the next person who picked it up would find as much good news as she had, and not a name he recognized in the black-bordered casualty lists.

She had a spring in her step as she went into the ca