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going down

by

Gary Jordan

Copyright © 2003-2015

Preface: Revised Tuesday, August 7th, 2015

Clear
High—84°F
Low—73°F
Humidity 80%
Chance of Rain—20%
Wind 9 mph (N)
Sunrise 6:18 AM Sunset 20:10 PM

Waverly, Virginia, 20:00

Every story has a real life backstory. This story is no exception. It
was originally part of a challenge to write about an alternate
universe created by a single changed decision; some pivot point in
history which changed the world we live in in some way.

"Fine," I thought. "I can write that." In my senior year of high
school (class of '69), I had read a book—more a long essay—entitled If
The South Had Won The Civil War by M. Kantor. Combine this with the
fact that in several newsgroups, I occasionally posted, in a humorous
fashion I hope, as though a Confederate Nuclear Submarine armed with
"torpeanuts" was rising to "throw peanuts" at a particularly odious
pun. I had a ready-made crew to base my story on.

If I had written that story, Captain John Carter, a clean-limbed
fighting man of Virginia, would have ignored orders to stop pursuit
after the battle of Manassas (Bull Run to damnyankees) because he had
a "hot" letter from his lover in Washington (a Miss Thoris, of course,
a visiting Mormon Patriarch's daughter), and was eager to see her.
Other units, in hot blood, would have followed and Washington would be
captured. The pivot point would have been the episode of lovemaking
that inspired Miss T. to write a letter so hot that a rebel officer
disobeyed orders and accidentally won the war.

This isn't that story.

Historians are quite fond of pointing out, using the 20/20 hindsight
of the microscope of time, the enormous number of pivotal points in
battles, campaigns or wars. Civil War historians especially point
gleefully and highlight the many ways in which the outcome could have
been quite different. The South had superior leadership, but the North
had superior numbers and materiel. But none of that is important. This
story takes place 140 years later. The Confederacy won that war. In
enticing other states and territories to secede, they legalized
polygamy. It brought in Utah and southern Idaho and changed the
society in ways unanticipated by the framers of that law.

What's that? Farfetched, you say? So what? It's fun!

Another bit of fun is acknowledging some of the people who encouraged
me to finish this story. They may not share the concept, but they
encouraged the writing thereof. Desdmona encouraged me to write; she
always has. Girl Friday did the same. I think she rolls her eyes at my
polygamous society. Alexis has always been supportive. Denny, my
editor, snorts a lot at the entire idea. But he proofs my most
egregious errors anyway. And to all the fans who asked "When are you
going to write more? I like it," I say "THANK YOU!"

Thursday, May 3rd, 2001

Clear
High—84°F
Low—59°F
Dew Point 55 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 10 mph (SW) Gusting to 15 mph
Sunrise 5:08 AM Sunset 6:55 PM
Moonrise 2:46 PM, Waxing Gibbous, 82% of the Moon is Illuminated

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Norfolk, Virginia, 11:21

As he accompanied the Executive Officer on this final pre-turnover
inspection, the Captain's mind was not on finding fault or dirt. It
rarely was on any inspection—the XO was too good at her job to let any
remain hidden, and he'd already read the reports and approved and
forwarded the final work package. Tomorrow, Friday morning, there
would be a formal "Change of Command" and the CSS Robert E. Lee would
become the property of the yardmaster for four and a half weeks.

Instead, Commander Robert Edward Yarborough (Bobby) Lee reflected (not
for the first time) that a whole slew of Public Affairs Officers and
flacks in the War Department were still getting their jollies from
having "Captain Robert E. Lee" commanding the "Robert E. Lee." And he
wasn't a direct descendant—at best they were umpteenth cousins
incredibly removed. Not that his branch of the Lees of Virginia wasn't
prestigious in its own right… never mind. It was moot.

Bob did what good Captains do on inspections. He smiled, spoke
familiarly to his crew, and let the XO steer him around. Everything
that truly needed his attention, the XO had briefed him in private
about. Some XOs might hide a thing or two, but he trusted Sam.
Samantha Stuart-Forrest was the direct descendant of another hero, and
married to yet another. She was driven by those expectations. She'd be
a Commander and Captain of a ship younger than he had, and someday
he'd be saluting her.

That was a primary reason he hadn't been tempted to break his policy
of not dating within his command with Samantha. The fact she had shown
no interest in anything but a professional relationship was another.

Another reason snapped to attention to present the torpedo room as
they entered. Lieutenant (lower grade) Deborah Hubbard presented her
domain ready for inspection. Bob only wanted to inspect Deborah. Crisp
and starched in her dress grays, his acting Weapons Officer (Weps was
on emergency leave to bury his husband and comfort their wives), she
was still a very feminine woman. Deborah was the only woman for whom
he had ever broken his policy.

That their date hadn't worked out had been neither of their faults.
Deborah's wife had shown an instant dislike for Bob, and you don't
date one wife without the other. To do so was tantamount to adultery,
and Bob would never push a woman to that extreme.

Deborah was also Duty Officer today, and would not be relieved until
the Change of Command ceremony. Bob had been planning to go ashore
tonight, and spend the evening at the Bachelor Officer's Quarters
working on his hobby. Maybe that would wait.

Norfolk Naval Shipyard Pier 26, 12:44

Caroline Stuart-Forrest waited on the pier with the other Navy
Spouses, knowing that Samantha would be one of the last to disembark.
She always was. Even money she'd wait until after the Captain had
left. That trait was both a source of pride in her wife and an
irritation, though the irritation never started until her fellow
spouses dwindled down to the last few, and then it was just her and
their daughter, Tiffany.

There she was, emerging from the torpedo loading hatch. She waved.
Today, the Captain was on her heels. They did some sort of "after you"
dance at the head of the brow, until Captain Bob folded his arms.
Samantha evidently lost, and departed first, saluting the Officer of
the Deck and then the ensign. As Bob performed the ritual, Caroline
could hear the announcement, "Robert E. Lee, departing."

Caroline hugged and kissed her wife, who picked up their daughter.
Turning to Bob, she said, "Need a ride, sailor?"

Bob laughed. "Could you drop me at the BOQ? It'd save me waiting on
the shuttle or for the duty driver to return."

"Don't the Skippers rate their own cars and drivers?" Caroline wasn't
well versed in nautical customs, but she recalled that Colonel Stuart,
Sam's Uncle, had a car and a driver.

Bob shook his head. "A boat rates only one vehicle, and one duty
driver. I could commandeer them, but I would never interfere with my
ship's routine that way. She's on a guard mail run."

Bob forestalled another possible attempt at over-courtesy by walking
straight to the back door of the car and climbing in. Tiffany joined
him, and Sam sat with Caroline in the front. Caroline hid how pleased
she was at this while catching up on three weeks' worth of
inconsequentials. Tiffany monopolized Bob's attention in the back with
a barrage of chatter.

"Cap'n Bob, an' you know what?" she'd ask then proceed without waiting
for an answer, "I get to go to kiddiegarter this year! An' you know
what?"

Bob would occasionally get in a few words, always with a delighted if
tolerant smile. "No! What, Tiffy?"

"Mommy Caroline says I'm gonna have a new brother or sister! An' you
know what?"

Caroline felt the blush on her cheeks. A glance told her that her wife
was staring at her open-mouthed while "Cap'n Bob" looked at them both
with one eyebrow raised, still smiling and answering Tiffany's
prattle. This was not how she'd meant to make the announcement.
Tonight at dinner with Nathan and Samantha both present… too late now.
She nodded.

In the back, Bob said, "Pull in ahead at the Base Exchange, and I'll
treat you all to ice cream. Would you like that, Tiffy?"

"Yay!"

With Samantha's hand on her shoulder, Caroline pulled off the road.

Navy Housing, 12:51

Chief Alberto Nunez had been home long enough for a very private
welcome by his wives and husband. Now he was at the grill, guiding
flames to just the right height while his nine children cavorted about
playing football. Jesus, the eldest, dribbled the ball with his foot
in a nearly professional fashion. Alberto sighed for the many high
school games his naval career had caused him to miss.

Maria, his senior wife, brought out a heaping platter of chicken parts
slathered in marinade, accompanied now by Señorita Kylia O'Reilly.
Kylia had become something of a fixture at their house the last
several months. Alberto wondered which of his wives would propose her
for marriage. Perhaps she would be forward enough to propose to them?
Modern women, Alberto grinned, shaking his head.

Kylia was eight years younger than Maria, five younger than Madonna,
his junior wife. That she had never married before was a story of some
embarrassment which she had haltingly shared with the Nunez family one
night. Discussing it later, none of the Nunezes found it at all an
impediment to continuing to see her.

Alberto was certain that Maria approved of Kylia, and that would make
her inclusion certain. He fondly recalled the days when he was a young
man of Guantanamo. He had met Maria in a trip to Havana, and courted
her despite the long distance relationship. It was Maria who had
convinced him to add his brother, Juan, to their marriage; it was she
who introduced them to Madonna. He could not recall who invited Kylia
to dinner the first time—she was, after all, one of his husband's
political volunteers.

And that was another thing. Juan was active in local politics wherever
the Navy had stationed Alberto, had never complained about moving for
Alberto's career. They had all decided together that with the chief's
retirement, the family would return to Guantanamo, and Juan had
renewed his contacts in the political parties there. He had ambitions
to be one of the Representatives from Cuba. And who could tell?
Senator Castro would someday retire, and someone must fill his seat in
the Confederacy's Senate.

Such thoughts always brought a smile to Alberto's face. If Kylia
thought the smile was for her, no harm was done, since he had such
smiles as well.

Wives to love, children to cherish, and a future to plan and build.
What more could a man desire? Life is good.

Portsmouth Marine Terminal Offices, 13:15

Nancy glanced at the clock, something she did not intend to allow to
become a habit. Hours left to go, anyway, until her 15:00 quitting
time. There were plenty of invoices to prepare, manifests to examine
until then. She glanced again.

Damn it. She was normally more patient than this. If she and Deborah
hadn't had that fight the night before Deborah went to sea, she'd be
her usual patient self. But they had, and then Deborah was gone. Nancy
had time to think, and much to think about.

It was all the Dick's fault. That's was how they'd taken to referring
to Richard, their ex-husband. Not Richard, not Dick—"the" Dick. He had
been a real prick if anyone was. Abusive, domineering, critical of
everything and everything. The Dick.

Deborah had always been strong enough to stand up to him, but
Deborah's career meant that she wasn't always there. Nancy wasn't that
strong, not then, and she was always there. She'd borne the brunt of
the Dick's abuse, been his whipping post when he needed to take out
his frustrations from work.

When Deborah was home, things were tolerable, occasionally even
pleasant. Nancy loved Deborah for that, as much as she had when they'd
married the Dick together after college. But Deborah had been in
NROTC, and wanted a military career. Nancy became a shipping manager
at the Marine Terminal. The Dick tried to start a business as a
contractor.

The first few years were good, at least for Deborah and Nancy. The
Dick's business had a rocky start, but he'd landed a military
contract, something about producing desalting equipment or distilling
units, something every ship needed. Nancy moved up. Deborah got her
first promotion and assignment to submarines, which she loved. But the
Dick's contract was in jeopardy, something about failure to perform to
specifications, and he turned sour.

Never mind. The Dick was gone, and although the divorce could have
severed all bonds, Nancy and Deborah had decided to remain wives
together. Nancy had needed that, still needed it. She loved Deborah,
and found in her the strength and courage to move on.

They'd dated men since the divorce. It was always someone Deborah
suggested. They'd never dated anyone twice, and that was Nancy's
fault. And it had come to a head, just before the deployment.

"Damn it, Nancy, you can't keep doing this."

"I don't mean to," she'd replied, knowing it was only half true. The
incipient tears were real enough.

"This one was important to me. I really like him," Deborah said. "Even
if it doesn't go anywhere, I can't afford to alienate him—we'll be
seeing him socially from time to time, whether you like him or not!"

"I said I was sorry," she'd cried. She had been.

"Are you?" Deborah had asked. "After last night, he might not ask
again. And I want him to."

On that note, Deborah had gone to the ship, and the ship had gone to
sea.

Three weeks was more than enough time for Nancy to regret her
behavior. She'd looked at herself, and realized that she'd been
possessive and jealous. Their dates brought out hostility toward any
potential future husband with whom she'd have to share Deborah.

But Deborah's happiness was as important to her as her own. If it
would make Deborah happy, Nancy would learn to contain her fears, to
deal with them without driving anyone away—especially Deborah.

She could call her on the phone to apologize. But no, that wasn't
their way. They'd argued face to face; they'd make up that way as
well.

Perhaps she'd go to the ship. Deborah didn't encourage visits when she
had duty to perform, but knowing that she was home, but not home, was
hard on Nancy.

She glanced at the clock.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Wardroom, 13:16

Lieutenant(lg) Deborah Hubbard thanked the duty Yeoman and perused the
Guard Mail. She signed, dated and timed the receipt, and the Yeoman
went about the business of logging and distributing the mail. None of
it was of immediate concern to the duty section.

In fact, there was little to concern the duty section. In another
twenty hours, the entire ship would be turned over to the Bureau of
Shipbuilding. The ship was clean, defueled, and disarmed. As far as
the War Department was concerned, The CSS R. E. Lee (Deborah was
careful never to let the nickname "Areolee" escape her lips aloud) was
no longer a combat asset.

Duty required that she see to her vessel, regardless. As the Captain's
representative, she was responsible for the ship and all government
property therein. She would make routine rounds to verify the
continued integrity (water tightness) of the ship, for fire and
security, and to maintain good order and discipline. She would carry
out the Captain's standing and supplementary night orders, which
tonight said only, "Continue preparations for turnover per SubShips
Inst. 4790.4."

The only item of concern this evening was the stream of crew members
in varying states of inebriation to finish removing personal effects
to their homes or temporary quarters on base. So far, there had been
no incidents (or none had been reported); it was a quiet duty day.

With so little of military discipline to occupy her, Deborah could
allow her personal thoughts to intrude. She was in port, less than
thirty miles from her home and hearth. Her wife would be at work, but
Deborah had little doubt that when that civilian workday ended, she
would shortly afterwards receive a phone call. They had parted angry;
neither would let that go on a moment longer than necessary.

For her part, the anger was gone but the cause still needed to be
addressed. Deborah understood her wife's insecurities, worked hard to
build her self-confidence back to its pre-marriage levels. She blamed
herself for leading Nancy into marrying the Dick. Were her judgment,
her character skills, always so poor? He had seemed so loving, kind,
so chivalrous. Still, she had forgiven herself that mistake and
corrected it. Why couldn't Nancy do the same?

Nancy hadn't forgiven herself, or hadn't forgiven Deborah, and that
was a problem. Deborah loved Nancy, loved having her in her arms,
loved waking up by her side, but… There's always a "but." Deborah
craved the kind of male companionship a husband could provide. Nancy
had, too, and would again with the right man.

Nancy never actively objected to dating; she displayed her objections
on the dates, with passive-aggressive behavior or overt hostility
toward the gentleman caller. The overt behavior had all but subsided
until Deborah had accepted a date with a man whom she truly liked and
hoped to see more of. It didn't help that the man was her commanding
officer.

Deborah had dreaded serving three weeks at sea with Captain Lee in the
aftermath of that date. But he had continued to be the personable,
professional officer he had been before the date, no more and no less
cordial.

Her own embarrassment about the date might have abated had she not
been approached by some of the other female officers. The Captain was
discretion incarnate—the details of their date might as well have been
stamped top secret. Their inquisitiveness was how she had learned of
the Captain's policy of not dating within his command—several had been
politely turned down. They all wanted to know how she had changed his
mind.

She honored his silence with her own, except to divulge that it was he
who had asked her, and not the other way around. Even the Executive
Officer had called Deborah to her stateroom to discuss it. As it
turned out, the XO wanted no details, nor personal secrets. She only
wanted to reiterate naval policy regarding not letting personal
relationships affect performance or preference. The XO said she agreed
with the Skipper's personal policy, but, "between us girls? He's one
of the good ones. Sink your hooks in, and don't let go."

His behavior and attitude hadn't changed, but neither had he asked her
and Nancy out again. When her leave started tomorrow, she planned to
have a long talk with her wife. Then, perhaps, she could work up the
nerve to ask him out herself.

None of which was pertinent to her duties of the moment, she reminded
herself. She left the wardroom for a tour of the ship.

Base Exchange, 13:20

Bob was utterly fascinated at the way Tiffany ate her ice cream cone.
So far, despite the warmth of the first week of May, not a single drop
of the chocolaty confection had dripped below the rim of the cone.
Tiffany was an expert, keeping the cone in motion, her tongue nearly
always in contact. His own nephews would have been covered by now,
hands and shirts, and likely knees or pants.

Minding Tiffany gave Samantha and Caroline time to hug, and cry, and
do feminine things he'd long suspected his XO capable of (but never
seen displayed.) She'd asked the due date and Bob could tell she was
picturing their projected deployment schedule with concern.

Caroline went straight to the heart of the matter. "Will you be able
to take leave when the time comes?"

Samantha hemmed and hawed, until Bob pointed out a quiet place by some
trees and said, "Go over there and talk quietly. The spouses'
grapevine knows our schedule as well as we do." Bob knew his exec
would be reluctant to speak of specific dates. She was more security
conscious than even he.

They did, and Bob could tell from the frustration and disappointment
on Caroline's face what her answer was. Not that he'd expected
anything else from his career-oriented First Officer. The due date
would fall toward the end of a joint international exercise lasting
eight weeks—far too long for Bob to excuse a crew member without
replacement.

Caroline might argue that no one was indispensable, but Samantha would
rightly argue that any replacement of a senior officer for that long a
period would be permanent. After her absence, Samantha would be placed
at another command, possibly still as an XO, but with an invisible
mark next to her name. A command of her own would be much longer in
arriving.

By the time they returned to the table, Tiffany's cone had
accomplished what the scoop had not. Still without a drop on her
sundress, Tiffany sported a chocolate smile twice as wide as her
mouth, and sticky fingers held up and apart.

Caroline spat on a handkerchief and would have applied it had not
Samantha harrumphed, and told Tiffany to go with her to the ladies'.
Bob found himself alone with Caroline.

Bob watched them go. "She's a real cutie," he smiled.

"So's Tiffany," Caroline replied.

Bob turned to say he was talking about Tiffany, but the twinkling in
Caroline's eyes told him he'd just been teased.

"I know all about your policy," she said. "For the record, Sam agrees
with it and has embraced it as her own." Bob relaxed.

"Also for the record, Cap'n Bob," she continued, "I'm not a member of
your crew, and I think you'd make a dandy addition to the family."

Startled only for a moment, Bob grinned back evilly. "Tell you what.
I'll have Sam transferred so it won't be a problem, and we can see
what develops."

Caroline blinked. "You wouldn't!" She watched Bob's face, concerned.
Bob waggled his eyebrows. "You wouldn't," she laughed, reassured.

"Caroline, I'm not oblivious to Samantha's charms," Bob soothed. "Nor
yours," he added, touching her hand lightly. "I'm also not unmindful
of the pressure Samantha feels to live up to her family name." He
looked in the general direction Sam and Tiffy had taken. "She's more
aware of the pressure than you or I. She'll be the youngest Submarine
Commander and one of the youngest admirals if she keeps her present
pace."

"So? Is ambition necessarily a bad thing?"

Bob shook his head. "Not necessarily. But will she take the time to
carry on the family name, or will you provide all the Stuart-
Forrests?"

Caroline didn't answer, a frown creasing her forehead.

"Do you have any idea what kind of pressure the children of a Stuart-
Forrest-Lee union would suffer?"

"We're not putting any pressure on our kids!" Caroline was defensive.

"Of course not. The pressure comes from the expectations of others.
Sam actually handles it quite well."

"Nat opted out completely. Went into business instead." The lioness
defended her cubs.

Bob sighed. "You don't think he's driven to succeed in business?
Nathan Bedford Forrest was one of our most famous tacticians. Everyone
expects Nat to be a brilliant businessman, just like his great to the
nth grandfather. Anything less is failure. Keep that in mind when Nat
has a bad day."

"Fine," Caroline relented. "You've made your point." Still, she took
Bob's hand. "Don't you think there is anyone out there for you, Bob?"

Bob laughed. "Yes, I do. Look, I've seen the stats from the 2000
Census. Average family, 2.4 husbands, 3.1 wives, 7.7 kids, a kennel of
dogs and a passel of cats. I know I'm an anomaly, not even one spouse.
That's pressure, too. But I have hopes."

Caroline perked up. "Do tell!"

"Can't. Too soon. Besides, I wouldn't want to cheat Sam out of a
chance to play gossipy woman for a change."

"Ah, it's like that, is it?" Caroline said, laughing. "Policy made to
be broken?"

"My lips are sealed."

University of Virginia, Norfolk Campus, 14:01

"Let's resume our review for the finals with a comparison not of the
religions within our own national boundaries, but between our own and
those of our brethren to the north." Professor Warfield ignored the
collective groan. Comparative Religion 101 was an elective. Nobody
forced these students to choose his class, but he saw to it that it
wasn't the skate class they'd all hoped for.

He picked one of the Latter Day Saints from his seating chart. "Mister
Grace, explain the difference, if any, between religious tolerance in
the Confederate States and in the United States."

"Sir, at the constitutional level, both nations guarantee freedom of
religion, and separation of church and state. But as practical
application, the United States are tolerant only of certain Christian
Religions, while the Confederate states make no laws restricting
religious freedoms and practices."

"True in the broad sense, Mr. Grace, if somewhat overstated. The
Confederate States do restrict some areas of religion with regard to
human or animal sacrifice, and also in the matter of hallucinogens."

Mr. Grace nodded. "That's true, sir. But they don't, in the case of
hallucinogens, prevent their use; they merely require that such
substances be used in a manner in accord with civil law."

"And that is?"

"Use of a hallucinogen shall not be deemed an excuse for civil
disorder or criminal behavior, since such use is at the discretion of
the user. The United States prohibit any use of hallucinogens,
euphoriants, or the like."

"Very good, Mister Grace. Strangely enough, you didn't point out one
of the historical differences owed primarily to your own faith."

There was a chuckle throughout the class. "No, sir," he said, smiling.
"Polygamy hasn't been an issue in the Confederate States for nearly a
hundred years, since the Southern Baptist Convention of 1903 voted to
allow it. Even the pope in Rome decreed a dispensation for American
Catholics earlier than that."

"A dispensation which our brothers in the United States avail
themselves not of." Another group chuckle, no doubt for the
professor's dangling participle. "The Confederate States were no more
tolerant of 'aberrant' marriage laws at the time of the War of
Secession than the United States were, despite the presence of the
Acadians in Louisiana. What we were more conscious of was the rights
of states.

"The Law of Unforeseen Consequences was invoked. Having passed a law
allowing polygamy—'the Confederate States shall make no law
prohibiting polygamous marriage'—it should have been obvious that the
practice would not be confined to the practitioners of the Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. There were a great many war widows
who became brides of their husband's kin or their kin's husbands.
Civil marriage stirred religious debate and found eventual
acceptance."

Professor Warfield consulted his seating chart. "Miss Cushman, since
Mister Grace mentioned the pope, can you elaborate on the differences
between northern and southern American Catholics?"

"Sir, one of the differences is a matter of Orders. The vast majority
of northern Catholics follow priests of one of the monastic orders
that forbid marriage. They take vows of celibacy or chastity, and view
plural marriage as a sinful state, even though the popes permit it. In
my reading, I saw that the majority of priests in the north come from
Irish or Northern European roots. They try to be more Catholic than
the pope."

The professor joined in the laughter. Miss Cushman continued. "There
were always some orders which permitted marriage, mostly in the
eastern rite. The Greek Catholics had no problem with it, although
plural marriage was less easily accepted. The great influx of Moslem
and south-eastern European and Asian immigrants following the Great
War felt quite at home."

"Quite true. As did a great many Jewish immigrants both from overseas
and from the United States when they began to persecute their Jewish
minorities. But we were speaking of Catholicism. Mister Schultz,
please continue where Miss Cushman left off."

Professor Warfield glanced at the clock. Plenty of time left to get to
the various Wiccan religions and the Tribal faiths of the American
Aborigines. He returned his attention to Mister Schultz.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Mess Decks, 14:11

Deborah paused in the door to the crew's mess. One of her weaponeers
was good-naturedly joking with one of the "nukes" from the engineering
department. She listened and watched.

"Ever seen a Nuke wind-up toy, Roy?" asked TM1/SS (Torpedo Mech First
Class/Submarine Qualified) Douglas Whalen.

"No," replied MK2 (Mechanical Technician Second Class) Roy Ingalls. "I
suppose you'll show me?"

Grinning, Doug extended his right hand, fingers together and thumb up,
setting the edge on the table. He wrapped his left fist around the
thumb and made "winding" motions clockwise, repeating six times. Then
he used his left index finger to "push" the thumb down to meet the
fingers.

Immediately, he flopped his right hand back and forth on the table
top, palm down to palm up, beginning rapidly and then slowing down.

Laughter erupted all around Doug, including from Roy. Deborah smiled,
knowing that the joke would be repeated all over the ship before the
next duty section arrived. She hoped she could show it to the Chief
Engineer and his assistants before they got it from someone else.

She resumed her tour of the ship.

Portsmouth Marine Terminal Offices, 14:45

Nancy glanced at the clock, thinking she might as well make a day of
it. She wasn't getting anything productive done, anyway; hadn't the
past hour.

Her intercom buzzed. She answered, "Yes, Amy?"

"I have Robert E. Lee on line one, ma'am," her secretary said crisply.
Will you take the call, or shall I give your regrets?"

Nancy's face lit up. "I've got it, Amy!" She depressed the numbered
button on her phone. "Deborah, I'm so glad you called! I've wanted to
apologize for screwing up the date with that guy you like so much for
three weeks and I'm sorry and if he asks again you can say yes for us
and I'm so sorry forgive me pl…

A masculine voice interrupted with, "Thank you, Nancy! Would you like
the details of the date you just accepted?"

Nancy froze.

After an extended silence, Bob said, "Nancy? Are you still there?"

Nancy managed to squeak out, "My secretary said it was Robert E. Lee,
and I thought… I thought…"

Bob's laughter was soft, somehow, rather than the nasty snickers she
halfway expected. The Dick would have teased her unmercifully. He
said, "It's my fault. I should have given my name as Bob Lee. Please
don't be angry with your secretary."

He was apologizing? He was asking her not to blame Amy for her own
error, and for making a fool of herself? He was apologizing? To her?

"Nancy?

"Mrs. Hubbard? Will you please forgive me?" His tone was almost
pleading.

Nancy managed to find her voice, "Of course." She coughed. "Of course,
no harm was meant, no need to apologize. It was my assumptions that
caused the misunderstanding." She calmed down, though her heart was
still pounding. "Why were you… How may I help you, C-Captain."

"Mrs. Hubbard… may I call you Nancy?" She assented. "Nancy, would you
do me the honor of dining with me aboard my ship this evening? I
realize this is short notice, and despite your impassioned opening
speech, you might wish more time to consider, but nothing would please
me more than if you accept."

Nancy's mind was reeling. What had she said? Oh Lord, she had said it
to him. She had said it to him. She tried to recover. "H-have you
asked Deborah?"

"No, ma'am. I will if you wish, but given your opinion that I am 'that
guy she likes so much', might we let that be a surprise?"

"Captain Lee…" "Bob," he interrupted. "Bob… I'm afraid you have me at
a disadvantage. I can scarcely refuse at this point, having blurted
out my acceptance unasked."

"Most gracious of you, Nancy. Shall I call upon you, or would you
prefer to meet us at the ship? I confess I have several preparations
to make, if dinner isn't to be unduly delayed."

"I would be happy to meet you at the ship," she replied, fearing to be
in his presence without Deborah. Will 18:00 be suitable?"

"Quite. And, Nancy?" he hesitated. "Might I further ask you to stay
aboard as my guest overnight?"

"I… I… I…"

"I mean nothing untoward, Nancy. I know Deborah would not consider
asking, but you would stay with her, as my guest, and attend the
Change of Command ceremony tomorrow."

"Put that way, sir, how could I refuse? I'll plan accordingly."

"Nancy? Thank you for the honor of your company."

Nancy hung up the phone. What had she gotten herself into?

She glanced at the clock. It was after 15:00. She closed her office,
dismissed Amy for the weekend, and went home to pack… to prepare for
her date.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Engine Room, 16:15

"Robert E. Lee, arriving," the Internal announcing system blared.

Deborah looked up from the seawater pump she was examining with the
Engineering Duty Chief, frowning. She hadn't expected the Captain's
return; he hadn't mentioned it in his night orders, nor to her
personally. She excused herself. It might be important.

He wasn't in the control room when she reached it, the most logical
place if there was an emergency regarding the ship. She tried the
Captain's sea cabin, then his stateroom, unsuccessfully. She doubled
back to the control room, and from there proceeded to the wardroom.

She made a cursory check of the wardroom, and was about to close the
door when she heard his voice, coming from the pantry. He was
apparently discussing something with the duty cook in there. She
waited patiently, just out of earshot. He acknowledged her with a nod,
and held up a single finger as if to say "Just a minute…"

Deborah saw the Captain clap the steward on his shoulder, grinning,
before he turned to enter the wardroom.

"Good Afternoon, Lieutenant Deborah." He was smiling expansively. "How
floats the boat?"

Deborah was more than a little startled by his informality, but began
a formal report. He held up a hand. "Repeat after me: The boat's
afloat."

"The boat's afloat," she said, confused. Given his behavior, Deborah
wondered if he might be just a little bit inebriated. She stepped a
little closer to try to detect alcohol on his breath.

He stepped closer as well, almost uncomfortably close. She was very,
very aware of him. At this distance, he needn't speak in his normal
voice; instead, he spoke in a lower, softer register. "I've taken the
liberty of changing the time and menu for dinner this evening. Hors-
d'oeuvres will be served at 18:30, and dinner will begin shortly after
evening colors. I shall be entertaining a date in the wardroom this
evening. You will join me, won't you Lieutenant?"

Deborah was—devastated might not be too strong a word. Bad enough that
he did not offer her a second chance, not that she could blame him,
but to expect her to participate in entertaining his guest…

He wasn't quite done, though. "I've also asked the steward to make up
my stateroom. Our guest will be spending the night."

Deborah felt the heat in her face. She didn't know if she was blushing
or angry, or both. If he would just take a step backwards, she might
slap his face. But if anything, he was even closer.

She fell back on naval training. Stiffly, she asked, "May I inquire as
to the name and description of our guest, so that she may be brought
aboard without undue delay, sir?" And she did resent having her meal
time pushed back. Deborah had eaten only a light lunch and had been
looking forward to the evening meal.

"You may," he replied, grinning. "In fact, it might be nice, if the
duty driver is otherwise unoccupied, to have her met in visitor
parking and driven to the brow." Deborah was nearly at her boiling
point. "Her name," he dragged the moment out interminably, "is Nancy
Hubbard. I believe you know her description."

Deborah found herself rendered speechless. Her mouth opened and closed
repeatedly—nothing would come out.

Seeing her shock and incredulity, Bob feared he might have carried
things too far. In his best command voice, he ordered, "Take… SEAT!"

As though back in "knife and fork" school, Deborah faced the table,
withdrew a chair, stepped sideways in front of it and seated herself,
moving the chair forward at the same time. She folded one hand over
the other in her lap, back straight and eyes front.

Bob placed a hand on the back of the chair. A fingertip just made
contact with the short hairs on her neck, sending thrills up and down
her spine.

From behind, Bob began again. "Lieutenant Hubbard, may I call you
Deborah?" She nodded. "Deborah, may I have the pleasure of your
company, duty permitting, and that of your wife, for dinner as my
guests this evening? I convey that your wife has conditionally
accepted, pending your approval; and that either way, I have invited
her to spend the night in your company and to attend the change of
command ceremony in the morning. To that end, I have made my stateroom
available to you and your wife; I shall be sleeping in my sea cabin."

Deborah thought: the smug, conniving, insolent… "I would be honored,
sir." I should marry him if for no other reason than to pay him back
for the anguish he… "I accept on behalf of myself and my wife." …put
me through. "I thank you for the use of your cabin as well." You
utterly sweet, thoughtful, rotten little boy. "You're a horrible
tease." Was that last thought out loud? He was laughing! Oh, God, I
said it aloud.

He moved away, rounding the table, to sit across from her. Should she
be grateful that his finger no longer touched her hair?

"Yes," he said, his eyes meeting hers, "I am a horrible tease." She
had said it aloud! "I have been in a teasing mood since I spoke to
your wife. I'll let her relate the details of that conversation."

Somewhere in Portsmouth, VA, 16:32

David was a first generation immigrant from Connecticut. Unlike a
European immigrant, he already spoke the language, sort of. After ten
years, his accent had softened and his speech slowed from what he'd
spoken as a child, but it would still rate a second look from a
stranger.

Home from another long day at the shipyard, he kissed his wife,
Melody, and then kissed his other wife, Marla. He even hugged his
husband, Arthur. All the while, David felt a delightful thrill of
wickedness. Being married to more than one woman, having a husband for
God's sake, was not how David was raised.

"Have I told you all lately how much I love you?" he asked. It was
true. Arthur had been his best friend in high school, almost his only
friend. Not many 'natives' wanted to get to know the new kid with the
obvious Yankee accent and the embarrassing manners and weird beliefs.
Arthur was the exception. Their friendship might have started from
pure curiosity, but it had grown as they challenged each other, each
learning to think beyond their boundaries.

At 13, David had no choice but to accompany his parents—and his
father's mistress—when they left the narrow intolerant morality of
United States for the equally narrow but completely different morality
of the Confederacy. David had two mothers now, though it had taken
until he had gotten engaged himself to reconcile with his father's
second wife. He could even call her "Mom" now, without reservation.
Throughout his teenaged years he had resented that other woman, whose
presence had caused him to be uprooted from a known and comfortable
existence.

Looking at his smiling spouses, he remembered his father's many
attempts to explain that a person could love more than one other
person. He understood that now, though his Roman Catholic roots still
inspired a sense of thrilling wickedness in his current circumstance.

He followed his spouses to their bedroom. After a family council,
Marla had thrown away her birth control and they were "all trying to
become pregnant," as she put it. Dave had agreed that he and Arthur
would do their best, and Melody would help, too.

Each of them carefully removed Marla's clothing, kissing and caressing
the skin revealed. David reflected that this wasn't greatly different
from any other night, except somehow slower—more deliberate… more
emphasis on Marla. The rest would undress each other as usual, but
Marla would be naked and waiting. Unlike other nights, Marla would be
the depository of all sperm spent in their lovemaking.

Somehow David was the next to be nude. He decided to one-up his
husband by preparing Marla for him, rather than taking that honor. He
began to caress her, teasing her breasts and nuzzling the nape of her
neck.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Wardroom, 18:15

"Did he tell you how he tricked me into accepting this date?"

"I did not trick you…"

"With all due respect, Captain Lee, I was speaking to my wife."

"Pardon me, ma'am. By all means, proceed—but please… call me Bob."

"Did he?"

"No, he said he would leave the explanation of this evening to you,
and I can tell by your blush the story will be good."

"Yes, well, perhaps for some values of 'good'. It is certainly a tale
of deceit and chicanery worthy of a cautionary fable."

"Mmmph."

"Do control yourself, sir. You shall have your own opportunity to
explain your misdeeds. Where was I?"

"I believe it was, 'worthy of a cautionary fable'. Please continue.
I've had my own dealings with the Captain's sense of propriety."

"Of that I have no doubt. First, he misrepresented himself in such a
fashion that I thought I was receiving a call from you. As eager as I
was to speak to you, I'm afraid I may have tendered an apology for… a
disagreement we… we had before you left.

"An apology?"

"Yes, well… The apology was intended for your ears alone. It may have
alluded to a certain willingness to entertain the possibility of…

"She said we could date."

"Please, this is difficult enough!"

"Sorry. I'll try to be quiet."

"Thank you."

"Did you really say that?"

"Worse."

"Worse?"

"Much. Oh, wipe that silly grin from your face, sir!"

"Bob."

"Hush! This is difficult enough without your smirks and grimaces and
boyish smiles."

"I'll try to contain myself."

"I'm sure. As I was saying, much worse. In addition to indicating my
willingness to accommodate your… interest… in another date with Bob…"

"Oh, Lord!"

"…I may have inadvertently indicated, or even exaggerated, the level
of interest you might have in pursuing a relationship with him."

"Am I blushing as hard as you are? What did you say?"

"Oh, go ahead, Bob. I can see you're fit to burst. Tell her what I
said."

"It wasn't really that bad, Nancy, honestly. Deborah, she merely used
the words, 'that guy you like so much.' Now both of you stop blushing!
That's hardly a proposal of marriage!"

"I should think not!"

"No, not at all."

"I'll wait to do that until after dinner, ladies."

"Ladies?"

"Nancy… Deborah… Nancy, at least finish your fable while Deborah
catches her breath. I'm certain you weren't done with the cautionary
parts."

"Yes, well."  "Deborah, is he always like this?"

"Nancy, I'm seeing a side of my Captain I don't recall ever having
seen before."

"Perhaps the rest of my tale is redundant?"

"No, please. Continue. Unless, of, course, you feel it will contribute
to that smug look on his face."

"I doubt that anything I could say could remove it. Suffice to say
that once I realized to whom I spoke, I was at a decided disadvantage.
And advantage is what he took, pressing me to be here."

"Nancy. He forced you to come?"

"Deborah, don't be angry. It wasn't exactly that way. Oh, look! That's
wiped the expression from his face."

"Did he…"

"Oh, Deborah! No, I'm sorry I put it that way. He wasn't like the Dick
at all, not at all! Please calm down."

"Perhaps you ladies need a moment alone. I'll just check on the hors-
d'oeuvres."

"Can he hear us?"

"Not if we keep our voices down. Now tell me—did he coerce you in any
way to…"

"No-no-no, nothing like that! In fact, he apologized! He was so…
opposite of what The Dick would have been like that I was flustered.
Oh, now you're going to wear the silly grin. Just don't tease. He does
that more than enough."

"All right. But I did tell you I like him. Can you see why?"

"I suppose. He isn't what I expected."

"Just get to know him. That's all I ask."

"Was he serious about proposing, do you think?"

"Nancy, an hour ago I'd have said 'Don't be silly.' Now? Despite his
teasing—and isn't he a tease? Despite that, I'm certain he's serious
about courting us. Whether that'll lead to a proposal, I don't know."

"Deborah, I really am sorry for the way I've behaved. I love you. I
need you. But I'm not ready for that."

"Don't worry. I'm not quite ready for that, either."

"You aren't?"

"No."

"That's such a relief. He's had you to himself for weeks. I was
afraid…"

"He isn't like that. He was strictly professional… until today."

"He's been teasing you, too?"

"Yes, a lot! I thought for a moment he was drunk."

"I know how to get even."

"You do? How?"

"If the tease brings up marriage or a proposal again, we'll both say,
'We accept.' That'll rock him back on his heels, and at least stop the
teasing about that."

"Do you real—oh, he's coming back."

Mariners Seafood Restaurant, Norfolk, Virginia, 18:30

Brenda and Jean Clamarre, as most females seem to do at restaurants,
went to the Ladies' room together. And, as most females seem to do,
they began discussing their date as soon as the door swung closed.

"So, Jean, what do you think? Beaufort's been particularly sweet
tonight."

"Bren, Boo is sweet all the time. I don't have any problem with him,
it's Jaimie I'm wondering about."

"I guess." They used adjacent stalls to continue the discussion. "I
think Jaimie likes to ride on Beaufort's coattails. He doesn't make
half the effort to be sweet because Boo's sweet enough for two."

Jean giggled. "I think you got him pegged. Trouble is, they're
inseparable—like us."

"You mean you'd take Boo if he and Jaimie weren't a package."

"In a heartbeat, Sis!" Jean was emphatic. "The question is, would Boo
take us as a package deal? I mean, here we are comparing Beaufort and
Jaimie and totting up negatives on Jaimie's side of the checklist.
What says they're not doing the very same thing back at the table?"

Brenda rolled her eyes, though her twin couldn't see it through the
partition. Of course they are, she thought. And I'm the one on the
short end of that list. She said, "I'm sure they are, but they'd be
more than willing to put up with me to have you."

An exasperated sigh accompanied the sounds of the flushing toilet.
Brenda hurried to finish her business and join Jean at the sink. They
spoke over the sound of the running water.

"You have to stop putting yourself down." Jean said that a lot.

"I know." But knowing and doing are two different things. She looked
in the mirrored wall at their reflections. Jean is the pretty one.
Hazel eyes, wavy chestnut hair, oval face, eyelashes to die for. She
looked at herself critically. The best I can say for me is 'not ugly.'
She'd never liked her brown eyes, dishwater hair, and square jaw.
Fraternal twins. I look like her brother, not her sister.

Jean picked up on her thoughts. "I know you think of yourself as 'the
plain one,' but it just isn't so. You have this thing where you can
convey so much… I don't know, attitude, with your eyes and your
shoulders and stuff. I've seen it. So have the boys." She captured
Brenda's eyes in the mirror. "They may come over to talk to my chest,
look at my face, but they end up paying more attention to you. Haven't
you ever noticed that?"

"They're just being polite," Brenda scoffed. "They know they have to
butter me up to get to you."

"Bullshit." Brenda was startled by Jean's vehemence. "I grant you it
may start that way, but nobody we've ever dated more than twice did it
just to try to get in my knickers. I'm just a bonus attached to you."

Now Brenda stared at Jean in the mirror. Did Jean really feel that
way? She did—Brenda could see it in her eyes. She turned to face Jean
directly. "How long have you felt that way?"

"Since the first time Dad let us date." Jean bowed her head and
whispered, "I know it's true, too. I overheard Ben Kirkwood tell his
brother 'Jean got the looks, but Brenda got the personality' after one
of our dates."

"Benjamin Kirkwood was a troll, and his brother wasn't much better,"
Brenda said, pulling Jean into a hug. "I don't know why we went out
with them in the first place."

"I do," Jean replied in a small voice to Brenda's neck. "I accepted
that date. Remember? Ever since then, when someone asks, I say 'Ask
Brenda.' Every date I ever accepted for us was a disaster, or at least
a washout. Every date you ever agreed to was at the very least fun."
She pulled back to look Brenda in the eyes again. "I don't know how
you do it. Maybe we haven't found our princes yet, but you never pick
toads, either." She braved a smile.

"Even if you're right—and I'm not admitting that—why bring it up now?
I mean, I'm very flattered you feel that way…"

"Because of the way you asked about Jaimie, and what you said." She
turned back to the mirror to repair her makeup, which had a hint of
tear stains. "I might dismiss him, and write off this date—which I
would have accepted because of Boo—but you see something about Jaimie
I don't. I only see that he's not sweet like Beaufort. But you see
something else, don't you?"

"I guess I do," Brenda said. "I think he's like the way you describe
me, if you see what I'm saying. There's more to him than sweetness and
good looks. If you give him a chance, get to know him, I think you'll
like him as much as Boo." She smiled. "I'll give you long odds that
this won't be our last date, and when the time comes, it'll be Jaimie
asking us to go steady with them."

Jean smiled back. "I won't bet. But I will pay more attention to
Jaimie. If he's hiding some sweetness, I'll drag it out of him. After
all, they've got to court us both."

Brenda laughed. "True, Sis, very true." She took one last glance in
the mirror. "Okay, you're gorgeous, and I'm me, so let's go show our
date how lucky they are to know us."

Giggling like schoolgirls, they returned to their table.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Wardroom, 18:30

Bob entered the wardroom again, greeted by sudden silence. Had Chief
Ghirardelli not been on his heels with the canapés, he might have
backed out again. Both Deborah and Nancy turned to face him, and he
could tell from the set of their shoulders, their eyebrows, their
lips, that he was in trouble.

He squared his own shoulders and returned to his seat. Whatever the
situation, he'd handle it. That's why they paid him the big bucks.

Both pairs of eyes followed him to his seat. Looking into each pair in
turn, Bob was uncertain what to say, and neither Nancy nor Deborah
seemed inclined to start. Perhaps an apology was in order.

"Nancy, Deborah… about the proposal of marriage…"

"We accept," the ladies said, together.

Bob blinked, mouth agape, but only for a moment. His mouth snapped
shut while his mind raced. His teasing had been thrown back in his
face, but… he had only been half-teasing. He truly liked Deborah,
liked Nancy as well, despite the defensive hostility she had projected
on their first date. He didn't date casually—he was courting these
women, whether they'd realized it or not. He smiled, shyly.

They'd accepted, and he'd hold them to it. But it wouldn't do to
pounce on that fact just now. They thought they were teasing him back.
He glanced at Chief Ghirardelli. He'd need to speak with him,
privately. But that was later. For now…

Bob raised his hands. "I surrender." What he was surrendering, he
wouldn't say.

Deborah's smile was a starburst. Nancy's grin was triumphant. He
treasured both.

Mariners Seafood Restaurant, Norfolk, Virginia, 18:30

Jaime Lafitte and Beaufort Rosenkrans rose as their date rejoined them
at the table. They seated the ladies and signaled the waiter to bring
dessert.

NROTC Engineering students at William and Mary's Princess Anne Campus,
they'd met the young ladies at a school-sponsored social. Jean and
Brenda were nursing majors at the same campus. For Beaufort, it had
been love at first sight—but it was always love-at-first-sight for
Boo.

Jaime appreciated a pretty face or an hourglass figure as much as the
next man, but he was of an age where every date was a potential mate.
He was more… discriminating. Maybe that was too harsh on Beaufort.
After all, he'd noticed the same mysterious allure that Brenda
carried, had commented on it in fact. That had been enough to let
Jaime agree to ask them out.

If it weren't for his minor in Cultural Anthropology—and isn't that a
strange interest for an Engineering major—he wouldn't have been
cognizant of his relationship with Boo, and with the women who had
agreed to dine with them tonight. The people immersed in a culture
take it for granted. It just is. His courses taught him that there
were reasons for everything, and that no one way was the right way.

The United States are a monogamous culture. The Confederate States are
a polygamous culture. Jaime couldn't help but consider the
differences, fresh in his mind from recent research. After all, the
two cultures were once one. Without the course, Jaime would have taken
for granted that male bonding such as enjoyed by him and Beaufort was
the norm. Two or more compatible men associating with the intent to
become co-husbands of two or more compatible women was, in fact, a
minority culture in predominantly Judeo-Christian countries, he'd
learned.

"Other countries, other mores;" that was the lesson. The polygamy laws
enacted to entice Utah into the Confederacy during the War of
Secession had permitted, not required, plural spouses. It was the
absorption of widows into other marriages following the war that had
given the culture its first momentum, its foray into legitimacy. Faced
with a fait accompli, the churches had sought grounds to justify the
legitimacy of plural marriage rather than condemn it. Elsewhere,
religion took a distinctly Pauline view, claiming "the Apostle Paul
says God commands monogamy."

Southern scholars disputed that view, pointing out that Paul was
enjoining the monogamists of that day to obey the secular laws of
their culture, not establishing a rule for all the faithful. There
were schisms in various liturgies. The Anglican Church and the Roman
Catholics in particular split over the issue. But today, Catholic
Priests in the Confederacy don't take vows of celibacy. By special
dispensation, American Catholics observe the sacrament of marriage in
its plural form.

The other factor that led to a predominantly polygamous Confederacy,
his teachers claimed, was human nature. Crudely put, they said that
men tend to want to impregnate as many women as possible, while women
sought the best single specimen to mate with. Polygamy represented a
compromise. Granted, the initial thrust was polygynous, or multiple
wives for a single husband. Such had been the Mormon way. But
population pressure and the way the law had been written had changed
all that.

Jaime shook his head to clear it of these distractions. Jean had asked
him something. Embarrassed, he was forced to ask her to repeat the
question. He allowed his inner smile to reach the outside as he
realized this beautiful sister was trying to ascertain if he were as
charming as his future husband. No one was that charming, he thought,
but allowed her to see that he was not without charms of his own. And
it was clear as Brenda occupied Boo, that these sisters loved one
another as much as he and Boo. He began to entertain the notion that
he and Boo might have finally found women with whom they might share
their love.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Topside, 18:58

"Evening Colors" is a relatively simple ceremony. The Honor Guard is
the topside watch and Duty Driver, supervised by the Duty Officer.
Exactly at sunset, "Attention", "Retreat", and "Carry on" are played
over the ship's announcing circuit, and the flag is lowered from the
jack staff and folded, while the Duty Officer and any other person
topside faces the flag and salutes. Civilians place their hand over
their hearts.

At 19:00, Deborah and I snapped to attention and saluted the flag.
Nancy placed her hand over her heart. The Color Guard lowered the flag
six feet and unclipped it from lines. They stepped back one pace and
saluted the empty staff. Fifteen seconds later, "Carry On" sounded and
we all dropped our salutes.

It was a simple ceremony, but one that makes me proud to be an
American. It's just another military tradition, to some. I guess some
traditions are more important than others. Take the tradition of
announcing the banns. It's considered customary to announce an
engagement in a public newspaper, usually with a picture of the woman
or women (and sometimes even the men) who've pledged their hands.

It had been a simple matter to have the ship's photographer, while
briefly aboard moving her equipment, take several photos of my guests.
She assured me she would deliver the photos and a hastily worded
announcement to the Virginian Pilot and Daily Press offices
immediately after change of command. She promised confidentiality as
well, despite a burning desire to congratulate the ladies. She did
congratulate me.

I escorted my fiancées below.

Elsewhere, 22:17

Jean moaned. There was no way she could contain the sound, nor did she
want to. What Jaimie was doing with his tongue…

Near her on the bed, Brenda was starting to keen. Apparently, Boo was
just as talented with his tongue as Jaimie, and not just with words.
The sound of her sister in ecstasy pushed her closer, as did the
sudden flurry of activity at her center. Another moan escaped as she
writhed on the sheets.

God, what is he doing to me, she thought. He knows tricks Brenda never
thought of! Fingers, tongue, lips, even his nose was involved, and
what is he doing with that finger on my… Pleasure erupted, and Jean
lost track of details. Distantly she heard wailing.

When next she could take stock of her surroundings, she found herself…
surrounded. Wrapped in Jaimie's arms, a leg thrown over her own, his
lips moving against her hair. She would have been quite comfortable
and comforted, but for two things; the first was the aftershocks which
made her shiver in his arms; the second, the sound of her sister
grunting and rutting close by.

Somewhere in Portsmouth, VA, 23:02

David awoke. The one thought on his mind was that he needed to take a
piss. With that goal, he carefully and lovingly disengaged from the
tangle that was Arthur, Marla, and Melody. He made it to the bathroom
in time, but barely.

Returning to the bedroom, he gazed fondly at the sweaty tangle his
spouses made on the bed. If mere volume could do it, he thought, Marla
couldn't help but be pregnant. He still couldn't believe how many
times he and Arthur had risen to the occasion. They'd never been that
randy before, not even on their honeymoon.

He felt a tear on his cheek. It was hard to contain the joy his
husband and wives stirred in him.

Someone else stirred. Melody asked softly, "David? Are you all right?"

He sniffled. "Yeah. I love you. I love you all so much."

Melody smiled. "I love you, too, sweetheart. We all do. Are you coming
back to bed?"

He nodded in the dark. "Of course. My mammas didn't raise no fools."

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Captain's Stateroom, 23:08

Nancy felt just a little uncomfortable. A strange bed, a strange
"room," strange sounds and a current of air from a vent duct blowing
past her head, and strangest of all, Deborah spooned behind her lying
on their right sides. That was even stranger than the pajamas she wore
to bed. They normally slept nude.

But Deborah was there, and it was enough. She'd missed the arm draped
over her, missed the wife, friend, lover, to whom the arm was
attached. She was complete again.

She'd wanted to welcome Deborah home in the privacy of the Captain's
cabin, but Deborah had refused, gently but too firmly to argue.
"Whatever else happens, I'm still the Duty Officer. I might be needed
on a moment's notice. We can go home after the change of command and
take our time, without interruptions." Nancy could only agree.

She snuggled back, wanting at least make contact with as much of
Deborah's skin as her pajamas and Deborah's panties and undershirt
permitted. Deborah hugged her tightly, then relaxed.

She was almost asleep when the question popped into her head. Was
Deborah asleep? She had to ask.

"We're going to marry him, aren't we?" she whispered.

There was no response, only steady breathing behind her for so long,
she was sure Deborah was asleep. She didn't know whether to be
relieved or not. She knew she'd have to ask the question again in the
morning.

"Yes," Deborah whispered into her hair. Tickling, "I think we are."

Facing inward, she couldn't see the ship's clock above the Captain's
folded-up desk. So she could only judge by the many heartbeats that a
long time had passed before she asked, "Will he be good to us?" to me?

"Yes, Deborah said. "Good to us and good for us." Nancy felt a hug,
and hugged the arm in return.

She was asleep before that unseen clock's eight chimes told midnight.

Friday, May 4th, 2001

Clear
High—84°F
Low—61°F
Dew Point 56 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 12 mph (SW) Gusting to 15 mph
Sunrise 5:07 AM Sunset 6:56 PM
Moonrise 3:54 PM, Waxing Gibbous, 90% of the Moon is Illuminated

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Captain's Sea Cabin, 06:00

Bob woke up smiling. Why shouldn't he? He had an excellent position as
commander of the pride of the Confederate States Navy, excellent
prospects for advancement, excellent health, and most excellently, two
beautiful women had agreed to become his wives.

Sort of.

Well, they'd hash out the details. Bob had set himself to win them
with his boyish charm, teased them into accepting a proposal that he
hadn't actually reached the point of making; now he would have to woo
them like any suitor. Backwards, as usual, Bob, he told himself. Just
like your football style. See the goal, kick the ball through the
goalie's legs, then charge the goal. Backwards.

He was in his tiny shower closet when his steward knocked.

"Begging the Captain's pardon, sir, but shall I remove the remaining
clothing and linens to the BOQ, or has the Captain made other
arrangements?"

Other arrangements? Great day, last night can't possibly be all over
the ship already, can it? The Captain thought about everyone who had
actually seen the arrival of Mrs. Hubbard, who had seen them in the
wardroom, who might have overheard any snatch of conversation. The
Pantry cook and Chief Ghirardelli were sworn to secrecy. They'd not
talk. So what…?

Bob realized he was overreacting. "No, no other arrangements. The BOQ
will be fine."

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it as soon as Mrs. Hubbard's guest is
done with your stateroom."

"That'll be fine."

He dressed in the uniform laid out for him, double-checked the locked
safes and left them all open, empty. Time for breakfast. He left for
the Wardroom.

Engineering, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, 06:00

Siobhan Dorchester scanned her control panel frequently, changing the
order each time to prevent herself from becoming complacent with the
readings. Even shut down, a reactor plant was never truly shut down.
Once brought to initial criticality, the fuel would continue to
fission at faster than isotopic decay rates, and each neutron released
had at least the potential to cause more fissioning.

The rate was low enough now, with all control rods fully inserted, to
be negligible, so long as the conditions of temperature and pressure
stayed within their limits. Room-temperature water could reflect many
more neutrons back into the fuel than the less-dense hot water could,
so she was vigilant to avoid such conditions. Gotta keep the gamma
rays outa the people tank, she thought to herself.

She smiled, thinking why that was even more important now. Military-
issued birth control was first rate, but no birth control was
infallible. This had been her last tour at sea for a few years. Of
course, every silver lining had a dark cloud.

Siobhan contemplated clouds and linings while she made a log entry.
It'll be wonderful to be at home full time, even with Roy and
Cassandra still on the 'Areolee,' and I'll certainly see more of my
other husband and wife, Darren and Libby, when the Jeff Davis is in
port. She stood and turned to read through a bank of remote Resistance
Temperature Detectors (RTDs). Jeff Davis is in port now. The whole
family will be together tonight and tomorrow, before they pull out on
Monday. She smiled a huge smile.

Her shadow watch showed up just then, and if she chose to believe that
smile was for her, Siobhan didn't mind. She began a leisurely turnover
with the shipyard Reactor Operator who would assume her duties upon
change of command.

On the Norfolk-Newport News Ferry, 06:21

Captain John Carter was a clean-limbed fighting man of Virginia. At
25, already a Company Commander in the Confederate States Marine Corps
(CSMC) and veteran of two campaigns, he was looking forward to his
transfer to CASA, the Confederate Air and Space Administration.
Between his Engineering Degree and combat experience, he'd won an
appointment for consideration as crew of the manned Mars probe
scheduled for 2006.

He knew he'd make the team. Young, exceptionally fit, outstanding
coordination, keen eyesight, and an exceptional leader, he'd never
failed at anything he'd set his mind to, and this would not be an
exception. Not while he breathed and there was a God in heaven.

He planned to stop in Norfolk overnight to let his sister know. And
her husband, Nat Forrest. He loved his sister and liked her husband,
but there was just that tiny voice itching to tell Nat, "See? Naked
Talent and pure ability are as good as a family name any day!"

Not that Nat had ever acted the Aristocrat, but still—he had That
Name. John had always felt the need to 'live up' to his brother-in-
law's family. This assignment could more than fulfill that need. Maybe
if I became famous enough…

John squelched the thought in its tracks. Sisters could be wives.
Brothers could be husbands. But Brother and sister could never be
husband and wife. Not even if their family name was Ptolemy, not in
this day and age. He'd just have to find a wife or wives he could love
as much as his sister.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Wardroom, 06:30

Bob happily joined Deborah and Nancy in the wardroom for breakfast.
After he'd 'surrendered' last night, their conversation had turned to
the sort of small talk dating people engaged in. Some light and
inconsequential, some sniffing around the edges, some serious long-
term thoughts. At no time had Nancy displayed the attitude that had
spoiled their first date.

Nancy was speaking. "You must let us show our appreciation for last
night by inviting you to dinner. A home cooked meal, that is. Are you
available Saturday evening?"

Bob didn't waste an instant's thought on why he wasn't invited
tonight—Deborah and Nancy's first night alone together in weeks. But,
"I'm sorry; I'll be in Washington City tomorrow, at the War
Department." He regretted turning down any invitation the Hubbard
women tendered, but especially one from Nancy. "Perhaps another time?"

Nancy and Deborah exchanged looks. Marital code flashed in head leans,
eyebrow motions, and a nod. "Will you be back Sunday?"

"Certainly. I'd be pleased to take dinner with you Sunday, Nancy,
Deborah. What time, and what can I bring?"

"Sunday Dinner is early, say 16:00?" Bob nodded. "Bring a hearty
appetite."

Bob nodded again, grinning. He'd bring more than that—flowers, of a
certainty, and perhaps sherry or other wine. An early dinner might
mean, if he hadn't been thrown out, drinks or a snack later.

His lovely guest hadn't commented, but she must have noticed that
breakfast was served on disposable plates, with disposable cutlery.
Dinner last night would have been similar, had Bob not brought back
his personal service, or at least part of it. His steward had already
packed and removed that and his other personal items by now. Even the
breakfast, tolerable as it was, was catered from the pier. By now the
wardroom pantry and the galley were scrubbed down for turnover.

He glanced at the clock. Less than an hour until turnover.

Forward Berthing Compartment, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Norfolk,
Virginia, 07:30

As part of the working party that had off-loaded the last of the
personal gear to a waiting shuttle bus, Seaman Sizeman didn't have to
attend the change of command ceremony. She did have to follow the
Chief-of-the-Boat (COB) and his yard bird counterpart as they
inspected the berthing spaces to ensure nothing was left behind.

So far, the lucky-bag contained two sets of underwear, a bra, several
toothbrushes, assorted combs, several shampoo bottles, about six
dollars in loose change and a bible. Nothing anyone would claim,
except for the bible, and that had a name in it. Petty Officer
Whitehead would owe the COB an hour for that. The change would go into
the crew's rec fund and the toothbrushes would end up applying polish
to the COB's shoes. The rest was trash.

Susan was already looking eagerly ahead an hour to when the working
party would be dismissed at the temporary off-ship crew's quarters.
She had leave that started immediately after, and a noon flight out of
Norfolk International, home to Salt Lake City. She was even looking
forward to being greeted by her husband's silly ditty, the one that
went, "Seaman Susie Sizeman sails subs by the sea shore." Her wives
would help her tease him back. They always did.

Before they finished with the compartment, four paperback books—two
romances and two mystery stories—had joined the bible in the lucky-
bag, as well as a dozen magazines of a type that made Susan blush.
Slavery had been abolished well over a hundred years ago—she couldn't
understand why anyone would want to tie someone up that way and whip
them. Especially naked. That would be so… well… humiliating.

And the woman tied up wasn't even dark skinned! Still, the expression
on her face…

Susan began to suspect that her upbringing was even more sheltered
than she'd realized.

The 1MC saved her from further embarrassment. "This is Lieutenant
Commander Paul Darnick, Ship Superintendent, Norfolk Naval Shipyard. I
will read my orders…"

Topside, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Norfolk, Virginia, 08:00

Deborah stood at attention. Behind her, five of the crew in dress
grays represented the rest for the brief ceremony. The rest of her
duty section was below decks, waiting for the magic words that would
start their R&R, almost a day behind the rest of the crew. From the
corner of her eye, she could see Nancy behind the Captain and the Ship
Superintendent on the microphone. Several other guests attended as
well, near Nancy.

But now she was watching the Captain… Bob. For thirty more seconds, he
was The Captain. Commanding Officer of The CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507.
Master before God of the finest warship in the Fleet of Virginia and
the Confederate States Navy…

"From: Admiral Jonas S. Sampson, Commander, Submarine Forces Atlantic
Fleet. To: Lieutenant Commander Paul Darnick, Ship Superintendent,
Norfolk Naval Shipyard. You will proceed on or about 08:00, Four May,
2001 to assume Command of the Confederate States Ship Robert E. Lee on
behalf of Norfolk Naval Shipyard for the purpose of overhaul, upgrade,
and refurbishment." Lieutenant Commander Darnick handed the microphone
to a yeoman, who kept the key depressed. He saluted Captain Lee.
"Captain Lee, I relieve you."

"I stand relieved." Bob saluted back. The Yeoman unkeyed the
microphone. The two officers shook hands, Bob saying, "Take good care
of her for me."

The new master of the Areolee grinned back and nodded. He directed one
of his personnel, "Strike the colors." All saluted as the flag was
lowered. Then he took the mike again. "That is all. Carry on."

…and just like that, Bob was simply 'Officer in Charge, Submarine
Cadre Detachment.' The CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507 was officially 'Out
of Commission.' Deborah watched his shoulders slump, slightly. Relief
from the burdens of command, she wondered silently, or depression from
the reduction in power? Will it change that cocky attitude?

The rest of the duty section poured from the torpedo loading hatch and
exited the ship, many boarding the shuttle bus, but others being met
by family. The COB was the last one up. "That's the lot, Skipper," he
reported.

Deborah had Nancy precede her down the brow. It felt strange not to
salute a Quarterdeck Watch or the flag. Looking over her shoulder, she
saw Bob twitch when it was his turn. It also felt strange not to hear
"Robert E. Lee, departing" announced.

Bob insisted that she and Nancy board the shuttle, and had the driver
drop them at Nancy's car in the visitor's lot. There, he bade them
goodbye, "…until Sunday."

As Deborah watched the shuttle pull away, Nancy placed an arm around
her shoulder. "I felt it, too. Almost wanted to take him in my arms
and comfort him."

Deborah grinned at her wife. "Grows on you, doesn't he?"

"I guess. Let's go home."

They went home.

The Stuart-Forrest Home, 10:07

"They seemed quite attractive," Caroline said. "Especially your young
Lieutenant. I can see why he might bend a rule or two." She and
Samantha had watched the Change of Command from the pier, unnoticed,
mostly so Sam could point out the woman Bob had turned Caroline down
for. The gossip had been every bit as juicy as Bob had promised.

Samantha sighed. "I think I envy her a little." She looked askance at
Caroline. "You should have given me more notice that you were going to
put a move on Bob. I could have done a little groundwork. Not, in view
of the circumstances, that it would have done any good, but I would
have appreciated being in the loop."

Caroline tilted her head. "I didn't think that… look, I worried more
that you'd be upset with the idea. You've expressed the same
reservations about, you know, same-ship relationships."

"How can I put this," Samantha said. "Ah. Let me paraphrase. 'In her
professional capacity, Samantha Stuart-Forrest must embrace policies
which she abhors in her personal capacity.' How's that?"

"Sounds like delusions of godhood," Caroline said, laughing. "So what
you're saying…"

"What I'm saying," Samantha interrupted, "is that I agree with that
wise old bureaucrat in the early twentieth century who decided you
couldn't legislate morality and got most of the fraternization
directives expunged from military regulations. Deal with the problems
you see, not the ones you think you see."

"Deal with the favoritism, not with the affair."

"Right. You can document instances of preferential treatment. You
can't document the emotions or attitudes that caused them." Sam looked
reflective. "When word of Bob's first date with Deborah and her wife
reached me through the grapevine, I called her into my stateroom—I
couldn't talk to Bob—and lectured her on not accepting any
favoritism."

"And?"

"For one thing, she had no idea about Bob's policy. It was so funny
watching her realize that Bob had done something extraordinary with
her. For another, she was holding details very close, giving up
nothing, and I could see that preference was not an issue…
militarily."

Caroline laughed.

Samantha's face turned… apprehensive. "I know juggling a military
career and a marriage means I'll be 'out of the loop' on domestic
matters way too often, but…

"Damn it, Caroline! It was my turn!"

Caroline was startled by the vehemence, and lost as to what turn Sam
was claiming. For a moment. Then, "Oh, sweetheart! I'm so sorry. But
you need to know, it wasn't planned."

Samantha, holding back tears, sniffed. "It wasn't?"

"Remember back to the night of the alert? 'All military personnel
report to your units by 20:00.' You pushed us all into the bedroom,
saying you only had an hour before you had to leave for God knows how
long. I didn't have time to insert my diaphragm, you were in such a
rush. And I thought it was safe enough…"

"Oh my God! I got you pregnant?"

Caroline nodded. "And you were home by midnight anyway, but that's not
important." They held one another, laughing and crying, for a long
time.

After a while, they pulled apart, wiping cheeks and straightening
themselves. "Well," said Caroline, "at least I don't feel quite so bad
about being turned down by Bob, now."

"You don't?"

"No. He isn't as perceptive as I thought he was."

"What makes you say that?"

"He said he thought you were too driven and career oriented to want
babies. He even made me doubt it myself."

Sam looked into Caroline's eyes. "Have no doubts on that score. I love
babies, and I want to make some with you and Nat. I just wanted to
time them for shore duty. I love you."

"I love you, too. So you're okay with me being…" She waved a hand over
her belly.

"I am now. Let's talk names."

Hubbard House, 12:00

"Yes! Yes! There! Ohgodohgodohgod!"

Collapsed on the bed afterward, Mrs. and Mrs. Hubbard alternately
panted and giggled. Hands intertwined between them squeezed often.
Sweat and other moisture slowly dried in the breeze from a ceiling
fan. Eventually, the room became quiet.

Nancy broke the silence. "Welcome home."

Deborah smiled. "It's good to be home."

Arlington, Virginia, 16:33

If, in his temporarily reduced circumstance, Bob rated neither a
driver nor a steward, the same did not apply to his cousin, Major
General James Ezekiel Lee. The same cousin who, knowing that Bob would
meet briefly with his superiors in the War Department on Saturday,
sent driver and car to fetch Bob to the family estates in Arlington
rather than allow him to use public transportation and military
lodging.

Bob wasn't entirely certain the courtesy was worth it. An automobile
ride from Norfolk to Washington City, no matter how luxurious the
vehicle, was still three hours and more of automobile ride. The air
packet from the Naval Air Station would have arrived much later, but
with less than half an hour in air travel.

Bob reminded himself, any time his legs cramped or his back protested,
the cadet branches of the Lee family do not insult the main branch by
refusing their hospitality.

He reminded himself again as the driver negotiated the traffic of
Washington City. Even in Arlington, where the family still lived,
traffic was intense. Bob was already adding an hour to his planned
travel time to the inner city in the morning.

Mariners Seafood Restaurant, 19:05

Donna Delvecchio smiled at Jason LaPaz as his brother seated her.
Jason was seating their wife, Belinda, across from her. She smiled at
Belinda as well. She enjoyed dating the LaPazes, and not just for the
newspaper contacts she'd made for when her enlistment was up in
August. They were fun people, and Donna enjoyed their company.

Belinda spoke as the men seated themselves. "Jason tells us you
brought him some excellent art from this last trip."

"I don't know that I'd call it art, but I took some photos I was quite
pleased with. Sometimes, a photographer just needs to be in the right
place with a camera."

"She's too modest," Jason said. "It isn't enough to be there, you also
have to have the eye, and the presence of mind to make the right
settings to capture what that eye sees. Donna has both."

"Trust his word," interjected Leo, his brother. "Jason is an expert on
capturing what the eye sees." He let his gaze linger on Donna with a
slight smile.

Donna blushed. What Leo had said was certainly true. She normally
dated single men or women, avoiding married groups because such dates
tended to become more serious too quickly. But the LaPazes had never
proposed anything more serious, or even exclusive. Donna was free to
play the fields, and did.

While Jason described some of her photographs, a waiter came and went.
Drinks appeared and their orders were taken. Donna was fascinated by
Jason's descriptions—he saw critical detail much better than she did
herself. She usually took the pictures because they simply appealed to
her, making decisions about aperture and exposure almost subliminally.

"So anyway," Jason was saying, "I showed the photographs to Willard in
Society, particularly the engagement photos. He asked if you'd be
interested in a job. Oh, and he'll insert the engagement announcement
in Sunday's page; he had a cancellation."

"A job?" Donna asked. She knew she should be excited for the
Captain—neither had expected the announcement to run until the
following weekend—but the prospect of post-service employment crowded
out the lesser excitement.

Jason nodded. "He liked all your work, but was particularly enamored
with the engagement photos. He needs a better society photographer,
wants me to set up an interview. If you're interested…"

"I'm interested, I'm interested!" Donna laughed. "I'm not at all sure
what I'll be doing when my enlistment's up. I have applications at
bunches of electronics firms, since that's what my rating mainly deals
with. My hobby and collateral duty as a photographer gives me other
options, and I had applications at various chain portrait studios as
well. So far all I've received is acknowledgement of the resumes and
apps. I'd love an actual interview."

They discussed it a little more before leaving for a dance club. Donna
was floating on a cloud, and let it show through dancing. She accepted
eagerly when the LaPazes invited her home. It was a wonderful cap to a
wonderful date.

The Lees' Arlington Home, 20:44

Jimmy Lee was laughing out loud. When, after dinner, his junior wife
had turned the conversation from military shop talk to Bob's personal
life, she'd managed to pry all the details of both dates with the
ladies Hubbard out of his cousin. The story of the second date, and
the engagement—if it was an engagement—reminded him of a younger Bobby
he remembered fondly.

But Priscilla was frowning. For that matter, so were Constance and
Olivia if somewhat less so. Jimmy calmed himself and leaned back to
listen to his wives' counsel on the matter. Donald, his husband,
smiled, but wryly.

"You do realize that they were only teasing back, don't you?" The
doubtful tone in Priscilla's voice gave doubt that she believed any
such thing.

"I know no such thing," Bob said, grinning. "They accepted, and I for
one appreciate the brevity of the courtship. I've never been
particularly good at the dating thing."

"I'd say that's a bit of an understatement," Connie said. Priscilla
and Livvy both nodded.

"If you take for granted that this 'engagement' is a fait accompli,
Priscilla added, "You're only setting yourself up for a rude
awakening." She delivered this verdict in the same tone that she had
once informed Jimmy that "Prissy" and "Silly" would not be regarded as
terms of endearment.

Bob sat up straighter in his seat. "You really think so." It wasn't a
question.

"I know how I would react in their position, and I doubt they'd react
much differently. On the plus side, you've been invited to dinner at
their home, so there is some interest in pursuing a relationship. But
if you even hint at taking that for granted…"

"Okay, I get it." Bob said. He seemed distracted. "I need to call the
paper first thing Monday morning and pull an engagement announcement."

Jimmy laughed again. So did Don. Their wives were all but physically
beating poor Bob about the head and shoulders for his "insensitivity"
and "brashness," not to mention his complete and utter lack of any
hint of romance or empathy. Strike that—now they were slapping him on
top of his head, like some errant school-boy.

But Jimmy also appreciated Bob's gesture on some levels. His military
acumen liked the decisiveness and the flanking maneuver. See the
enemy, engage the enemy—and that thought brought fresh laughter
burbling to the surface, which earned him a few "you aren't helping"
stares of his own.

He managed to restrain himself to merely grinning, and sharing those
grins with Don. Poor Bob would be grateful for the reprieve of a visit
to the War Department in the morning.

Slap. "If they even hear a rumor that you placed an engagement
announcement without their permission…" Slap.

Very, very grateful.

Hubbard House, 22:00

This was more like it, Nancy thought. Awash in the afterglow of making
love—again—she felt very comfortable. Her familiar bed, her familiar
room, no strange sounds and the currents of air from a ceiling fan,
not some vent duct blowing past her head, and best of all, Deborah
spooned behind her lying on their left sides. Nude.

Which made her say aloud, "I wonder what side of the bed Bob likes to
sleep on."

Only another woman would find such a statement, made at the borders of
sleep, completely normal. "He's not The Dick," Deborah pointed out.
"Maybe he won't roll away on a side at all."

"You mean he might cuddle up behind you like you're behind me?" That
appealed to Nancy. She felt Deborah's nod.

"He might. Or maybe he'll snuggle in between us, and this," she hugged
Nancy, "would be his arm, and this," she bumped her pelvis forward,
"would be his cock, nestling against your ass."

That image left Nancy… ambivalent. That mixture of feelings surprised
her. The thought that Bob might come between her and Deborah, on any
level… the thought that Bob might nestle his cock against her ass….
"You chose those words deliberately." Her nipples were hardening.

Giggling answered her, and soft whispering. "Cock. Ass." Deborah's arm
left Nancy's ribs and reappeared between them. A thumb wiggled between
Nancy's cheeks. "Cock. Ass."

Nancy groaned. Deborah knew all her secrets, all her weaknesses. She
felt, despite her tiredness, a certain moisture forming. The thumb
began to press gently on her sphincter, and fingers slid across her
perineum to caress her lips. Her own hand slid up to fondle her tits.
Boobs. Knockers.

Deborah slid the thumb past her sphincter, and began slowly sawing in
and out. "Cock. Bugger. Assfuck. Cornhole." Her fingers continued to
rub and spread Nancy's labia. "Pussy. Cunt. Twat."

Nancy was approaching orgasm rapidly, one hand on her melons-casabas-
honkers, the other bracketing her clitoris-clit-girl-dick, vibrating
furiously.

Deborah could tell when she arrived. "Come! Gush! Squirt, fucking
squirt!"

Some minutes later, Nancy had calmed, her breathing almost normal.
"Okay. Bob can sleep in the middle if he wants to."

Deborah just giggled.

A Warehouse in Ocean View, Norfolk, 23:15

If the Commonwealth of Virginia and the Confederate States of America
had no law against the possession and use of what their neighbors and
cousins to the north called narcotics, the abuse of euphoriants or
analgesics or others of the Pharmacopoeia was strongly frowned on.

Richard "The Dick" Traylor might be such an abuser. Who could blame
me, he thought to himself. The whole freakin' world is out to get me.
A little problem with quality control, no big deal, and those fuckers
in military procurement put a hold on all my contracts. Could've
worked it all out if they'd given me time. Then those bitches deserted
me. First sign of trouble, worse'n those supply pimps.

Richard laughed at his own play on words. Procurers. Pimps. And who
does that make their whore? Better off without 'em, I don't fuckin'
whore for nobody. Not like those bitches that ran off without givin'
me time to fix things. Nobody ever gave me time. Fuckin' creditors
pushed me into bankruptcy rather than gimme a chance to fix things.
All I needed was a chance, a little more time.

He patted his shirt pocket. He had half a pack of marijuana cigarettes
laced with a dusting of ecstasy. He wasn't supposed to smoke at work;
had, in fact, received two warnings to that effect. He frowned, and
left them in his pocket.

That's another thing. Assholes here act like they're doing me some big
favor hirin' me for this shitty job. Like I don't have a college
degree in business admin, good as any of 'em. He looked at the clock.
S'pose I ought to make a round, check on those dickhead rent-a-cops
they saddled me with. In fact, his job description implied continuous
rounds under the theory that you got what you inspect, not what you
expect, when it came to low-paying semi-skilled labor.

What Richard's subordinates had come to expect was a visit early on
the 22:00 to 06:00 graveyard shift, and then maybe another just before
the morning crew arrived. Richard didn't like to be caught in his
office in the morning—that might imply sloth on his part—so he
randomly visited one or two guards, to be found out and about at
shift's end. The guards behaved in this vacuum of supervision as one
might expect; most did their jobs, some slacked off or napped, a
smaller fraction stole or dealt stolen merchandise from warehouse
docks, as their natures decreed. They knew "the Dick" didn't care.

Richard was assigned a battery-operated cart to travel among the
baker's dozen warehouses in his custody. Someone had thought it made
sense to provide the security chief with a nearly silent vehicle.
Naturally, Richard negated that advantage by radioing his subordinates
to open doors ahead of him, so he could ride through the warehouses.
It was another of his grievances. Cheap bastards won't shell out to
provide me with a real car.

Not all of his employers were satisfied with "expecting" good
performance. As it happened, Richard's near midnight ride between the
warehouses was observed by the vice president for personnel, who
believed in inspection. Though Richard didn't know it, his job was
preserved for another week by that observation. The V.P. was pleased,
but planned on a 04:00 inspection next week. Richard was, after all,
on probation, and these warehouses suffered the highest rate of
"shrinkage" in the company. Shrinkage was a polite euphemism for "loss
due to employee theft."

Oblivious, Richard radioed the guard in Warehouse 3 to open the roll-
up door on the south end. Ten minutes later, he and the like-minded
guard were smoking laced hemp together.

Saturday, May 5th, 2001

Clear
High—87°F
Low—61°F
Dew Point 58 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 12 mph (WSW) Gusting to 30 mph
Sunrise 5:06 AM Sunset 6:57 PM
Moonrise 5:01 PM, Waxing Gibbous, 95% of the Moon is Illuminated

Navy Housing, Norfolk, Virginia, 06:17

The wonderful thing about Saturday, Alex Ghirardelli thought, is that
you don't have to get out of bed until you're damn good and ready. The
sad thing was, after twenty-eight years of getting up at 04:00 to
start breakfast for hungry sailors, Lex was damn good and ready. He'd
already slept in two hours later than usual.

Lex slipped from the covers, knowing that no matter how careful he
was, the motion would wake DeeDee. She was a light sleeper—always had
been. He watched her cat-like stretch as he walked to the head… the
bathroom. Have to start thinking in Civilian terms again.

After he relieved his bladder, Lex decided to take a hot shower. A
long, hot shower. Submarine showers is one thing I won't miss for a
while. He adjusted the temperature and stood under the nozzle, letting
the heat open his pores.

He heard the shower curtain drawn and smiled. After a few seconds, he
felt a washcloth on his back. "Need your back scrubbed, sailor?"
DeeDee asked.

"Okay," he replied, "but you'll have to hurry. My wife might come in
any minute. She's a light sleeper."

DeeDee laughed, just as she always did. It was a familiar routine, one
of the many that had survived twenty years of marriage. If her laugh
was shorter, or less loud than in years past, it was so in honor of
the memory of their other wives and husbands who'd shared the
routines.

Lex turned around to rinse his back and begin soaping DeeDee's. She
had her hair pinned up to keep it dry, and he lovingly scrubbed her
back, just as she had his. When he made room for her to rinse, she did
so, then turned with another cloth so they could wash each other.

Maybe they both sagged a bit, showing their ages, but DeeDee still
looked damn good to Lex. As good a time as any, he thought, gently
laving her breasts. "Dee, darlin', I've been thinking." He paused for
the inevitable comeback.

"Shall I turn down the water temperature so you can cool your head?"
Inevitable.

"Might not hurt, at that," Lex said. Routine. "Is that how you do it?"
They smiled at each other. "Anyway, I think it's time we…."

"Please don't finish that thought." DeeDee's face had lost the smile.

Lex gathered her into his arms. It was awkward, turning off the shower
without letting go, but he managed. Then he held her as she began to
sob into his wet chest. He knew her tears were mixing with the
wetness. "Okay, baby, not now. But soon."

Tragedy can strike anyone, anytime, anywhere. God knows we've seen
enough for one lifetime. No one should have to bury two wives and two
husbands. But if they must, they shouldn't have to bury them alone, or
be alone afterwards. Lex did not intend to leave DeeDee alone. We're
plenty young enough to marry again. It's time she faced that.

When she seemed calm enough, he hugged her one more time. Then they
resumed the routine, as though nothing had happened. Dried. Dressed.
DeeDee made the bed while Lex went to the kitchen.

She'll come around, he thought, while starting yet another breakfast.
He snorted to himself. Don't know why I think she will, she hasn't so
far. But she's got to. If we start living like some old couple or
triple, waiting to die, we will. And we'll waste twenty or thirty of
what's supposed to be our "Golden Years."

He had a thought. I'll take her out tonight. Chiefs' Club, or maybe
the Mariner. Dancing after, she always liked that. Maybe we'll meet
someone she takes a fancy to.

Hell, I know what'd put her in the mood. I wish I could tell her about
the Skipper and his finance… feasance… "Fee on says," he finished
aloud.

"Whose fiancées?" DeeDee asked, entering the kitchen.

Lex groaned. "I don't think I can tell you." …unless I want all of
Norfolk to know about it. Telephone, telegraph, tell a Chief's wife,
the three fastest ways to spread a message.

"There you go, thinking again. I thought that smell was bacon frying."

"Well, I can't tell you. The Captain swore me to…"

"The Captain proposed to Nancy and Debby Hubbard and they accepted?
That's wonderful!"

"…secrecy," he finished, mouth remaining open. "How in the hell did
you figure that?"

"Obvious! Fiancées, Captain swore, and everyone knows about the date
with the Hubbards. Who else would it be? Oh, I gotta call Milly,
she'll love this." And she was gone.

"Telephone, telegraph, tell a wife." I am so screwed when the Skipper
finds out.

He turned back to the bacon.

Arlington, Virginia, 09:30

Well, that was painless enough, Bob thought, as he relaxed in his
cousin's staff car. James had thoughtfully made both car and driver
available for Bob's trip to the War Department. The interview with the
Commander of Submarine Forces (Atlantic) and Fleet Commander,
Virginia, was more social call than anything else. Just another
tradition, in a tradition-bound service.

The morning traffic hadn't been nearly as bad as Bob had expected—it
was, after all, Saturday—and the return traffic was even less so. So
the debriefing over coffee and coffeecake was anticlimactic. A Captain
of a decommissioned ship normally received his or her new orders at
these debriefings, whether a new ship or some other assignment. Bob
had been relieved to hear that he would resume the helm of CSS Robert
E. Lee SSN 507 when she was recommissioned following overhaul.

I didn't really expect anything different. Why was it such a relief to
hear it confirmed? Am I that insecure? Bob knew he wasn't, but… there
were always possibilities. If they'd offered something newer, he
pictured the Ballistic Missile submarine under construction at
Pascagoula, would I have turned it down? Officers who turn down
promotions or opportunities generally aren't 'bothered' with any more
of either.

He frowned. Would the idea of such an offer have bothered me at all,
if I hadn't just begun courting Nancy and Deborah? Never mind my
Exec's commitment to her career—what about mine? The unwritten rule
was always, "Junior Officers should not marry—senior officers must."
It's never applied to female officers, either way—how fair is that—and
the boundary between "junior" and "senior" was extremely flexible. Bob
was certain that his position as a ship's captain was on the senior
side of that line.

Bob gazed out the car's window, but his eyes focused on none of the
landscape or building that rushed by. How much did that unwritten rule
influence my decision to court the Hubbards? He thought back to the
day Deborah reported aboard, all starched and crisp… and smiled. He'd
liked "the cut of her jib" even then. And at the Submarine Ball, Nancy
seemed so shy, so fragile—and Deborah so fiercely protective, without
being assertive. He'd danced with both, and with all his officers or
their spouses, as custom demanded. But I enjoyed Deborah—and Nancy—in
my arms more than any of the others.

No, he reassured himself, I didn't start thinking about any silly
unwritten rules until after I'd made the decision to ask them out.
Just the head trying to provide justification for what the heart had
already decided. And nothing in our two dates has changed the heart's
decision. If anything, the attraction is stronger. Now if I can just
keep my too-clever head from screwing up what the heart needs…

The diorama beyond the windows slowed and stopped. Bob was startled to
realize that they were once again at Lee House. He profusely thanked
the General's driver and proceeded into the house.

Priscilla and Connie were waiting for him in the family room. From the
set of their jaws, they were ready to resume castigating him for the
clumsy way in which he'd handled the courtship so far. Well, enough's
enough. It's my courtship, and clumsy or inept or not, it's my affair
to run or ruin. So, let's set that record straight.

"Bob, we think you need to…"

"Good morning, ladies. Prissy, are you still beating that dead horse,
or are you prepared to offer constructive criticism of my love life?"

Priscilla's eyes darkened and her brows knit. Her face began to color
ominously. Constance, on the other hand, took a step back, her eyes
widening. A hand darted to her lips, and she appeared to be stifling
herself. She looked at the back of Priscilla's head, darting glances
at Bob. Priscilla began to inflate, preparatory to an explosion.

Get there firstest with the mostest. "Stop looking at me in that tone
of voice, Prissy. If you don't like the nickname, don't act the part.
Constructive criticism or silence. I've taken enough of the other."

If Priscilla had inflated before, now she positively swelled, her face
a beet red…

…and then she let it all out, in one prolonged "Bronx cheer." Her
shoulders didn't quite slump, but they were no longer pulled back. Her
color returned to normal. She cocked her head to one side, and looked
Bob in the eyes.

"Rings."

"Rings?"

Priscilla nodded. "Engagement rings. If you're determined to
aggressively pursue them, get the rings on your way home and carry
them on you all the time. Be prepared to whip them out on a moment's
notice."

Connie joined in. "Take a cab to this dinner tomorrow. Don't make it
easy to get rid of you. Dismiss the cab immediately when you arrive."

"Don't push. Just be your sweet, boyish," Priscilla cocked her head
the other way, "bedeviling, annoyingly charming self."

Bob laughed, and hugged his cousin's wives.

Priscilla said, "Just two more constructive criticisms, and I'm done
criticizing for the rest of your visit."

Bob smiled wider. "Go ahead. What's the first?"

She nodded. "Whatever you're planning on spending on those engagement
rings? Double it. At least."

Bob laughed again. "To make up for my 'annoying' charm? Fine. What's
the second item?"

Priscilla swelled again, slightly, and in deadly earnest said, "Don't
call me 'Prissy'."

The COB's Home, Princess Anne, Virginia ,10:59

Winnie Tanner-Bloom ran a tight ship. As senior wife to a pair of
Chiefs-of-the-Boats, she had to. A COB's spouse is as close to an
official position as any unofficial position can get. The spouse of
the COB is at once a counselor, a confidant, a confessor, a crying
post… the list goes on.

That list includes "town crier." If the ship had news, it was up to
the COB's spouse to activate the phone tree and get it out there to
everyone who had a need to know. So, as she set the telephone in its
cradle, she wondered why she wasn't one of the first to know what she
had just learned coming up the phone tree. But she knew who to ask.

"Lucas Tanner!"

"Ma'am?" The gruff, no-nonsense macho Chief-of-the-whole-damn-boat-
and-don't-you-forget-it COB of the Robert E. Lee scrambled out of his
recliner and left behind the sports page to stand in the door of
Winnie's den.

Winnie cut straight to the chase. "What's going on between The Captain
and Lieutenant Hubbard and her wife?"

Luke swallowed. "Officially, I don't know. The Captain hasn't said
anything to me, nor has the Lieutenant." He swallowed again. "I heard
they had dinner together last night. Mrs. Hubbard stayed aboard with
the Lieutenant and was present at Change o' Command. That's all I
know." He wanted to swallow again, but his mouth was suddenly dry.

"According to Georgia Carter, she heard from… well, never mind the
chain, but it leads to a 'reliable source'—that The Captain proposed
and the Hubbards accepted. Now, I need to be able to confirm or deny.
Get me proof one way or the other." Winnie went back to preparing the
Spouses' Club Newsletter, trying to decide whether an announcement
should be on the front or in the personal news section.

Luke had his marching orders. The simplest way to verify the story
would be simply to ask the Captain. He even knew approximately where
the Captain might be. But no way was he calling
COMNAVSUBFOR(Atlantic), or even his office, to ask about a personal
matter—not even for Winnie "Ironfist" Tanner-Bloom.

The next simplest was to ask the Lieutenant, if he could figure out a
delicate way to phrase the question. He dug into his own phone list
and looked them up. He reached for the phone.

Hubbard House, 11:02

Nancy and Deborah looked at what may well have been the entire
contents of their walk-in closet, laid out on their bed, across their
dressers, and on the backs of chairs. Then they looked at each other.
"Road trip," they both said, and laughed.

Choosing clothes to shop in was a matter of grabbing slacks and a
blouse, and in moments, both women were heading out the front door,
purses in hand. Nancy had the keys; Deborah paused to lock and shut
the door behind them.

As they pulled out of the driveway, their phone began to ring.

The COB's Home, Princess Anne, Virginia ,11:15

Luke set the phone down, mildly annoyed. Neither the Captain nor the
Lieutenant are available for comment, not that I know exactly what to
ask. "Good evening Lieutenant, sorry for calling you at home, but did
you and your wife get engaged to the Skipper last night, and was it
supposed to be a secret?" Oh yeah, that's a great way to start. So now
what do I do?

He broke out the muster sheet he'd used the day before to ensure that
the duty section was mustered off the ship. The Captain's steward… he
cross-checked his leave and school schedule… on leave, home to Sonora.
A General Delivery address and phone for contact. No help there.

Then there were the Wardroom pantry cook and Senior Chief Mess
Specialist Ghirardelli, both on board last night. Luke's face broke
into a grin considering Winnie's "reliable source." But he decided to
call the pantry cook first. The phone rang twice before someone picked
it up.

"Good morning, Mrs. Pufta. This is Master Chief Tanner, the Chief of
the Boat. I'm trying to reach Stamos, is he in today?… Yes, ma'am,
I'll hold… Oh, no ma'am, there's no emergency. He won't be called in,
I just need some information… Thank you, Alicia, and you can call me
Luke. Stamos has to call me 'COB', but you don't." Luke found himself
laughing. "Alicia, I've heard the very same rumor. That's the reason I
called, in fact… Yes, I'd have to agree it would be a good thing, if
it turns out to be … Oh, he won't? Well, we'll see about… thank you,
Alicia."

"Good morning to you, too… So you know why I call… Wait, I haven't
asked you to confirm or deny any… Yes, I understand oaths… No, I… No,
I… But, I…"

Enough is enough. "Petty Officer Pufta, shut up and let me explain why
I'm on this phone. No. Shut up and listen." Luke took a deep breath
and waited for silence on the line. "There is a rumor making the
circuit—rapidly—that the Captain asked Lieutenant and Mrs. Hubbard to
marry him, and that they accepted. Shut up, I'm not done." Another
deep breath.

"Sta, listen very carefully. If the rumor is true, but the Captain and
the Mmes. Hubbard do not want it public—yet—then the word must be put
out to keep quiet, because those are their wishes. If he asked and
they are thinking about it, a call for discretion is even more
important, lest we screw it up for either side. If he asked and they
said no, discretion is even more important, or a lot of people are
going to be very embarrassed.

"The fourth case is that he never asked, in which case not only must
the rumor be squelched, but I need to track down the rumor monger for
counseling. All four cases require investigation. So, now I'm going to
ask you just one question… no, wait for the question, damn it!"

Luke wondered how to phrase the question. He only had one shot, and he
didn't want to waste it. Okay, here goes. "If my wife passes word on
the phone tree that the Captain and the Mmes. Hubbard do not want
their relationship discussed until they discuss it publicly, will she
be correct?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone while Sta Pufta
reviewed the details of his promise.

"…nor deny that information. Yes, I understand. I don't have any other
questions, Sta. Enjoy your weekend, and when it comes time, I'll
personally inform the Skipper that you never broke your promise not to
tell anyone about his engagement."

Luke smiled slyly at the response. "You're very welcome, Sta—it's the
least I can do." After a few more pleasantries, he hung up.

Way to go, you crafty old bastard. The kid doesn't even realize his
thanks gave away the whole show. He paused. Or maybe he does, and he
just needed a discreet way to let it slip, without actually letting it
slip. Either way, I've got confirmation. Now I just need to deal with
the discretion issue. This phone number he knew from memory. No need
to reach for the lists. But first he'd better give Winnie the poop.

Offices of the Virginian Pilot, 13:08

Willard Schotz finished speed-reading the resume in his hands and
turned his attention to the young woman who had brought it with her.
He next asked for her portfolio, and thanked her for having it
available on such short notice. "When Jason told me this morning that
you'd agree to an interview, I couldn't wait to get you in here. Based
on his recommendation and the photos I've already seen, I'm prepared
to offer you a position."

Donna hesitated. "You understand that I'm not available full time
until August first? My enlistment doesn't expire until then."

Willard nodded, thumbing through her portfolio. If anything, the
photos there were even more impressive than what he'd seen before.
"Since my previous photographer moved to Albuquerque last summer, I've
been making do with interns from the art college at William and Mary's
Norfolk campus. Some of them are very talented, but most want to be
'news' photographers, or photojournalists, or the like. They seem to
think of the Society Section as practice—or purgatory."

He leaned back. "How do you feel about photographing for the Society
pages? Please be candid."

"Truthfully, I just love to take pictures." They both laughed. "I'm a
city girl. I can appreciate photos taken in a war zone, or by someone
accompanying a trek through the wilds; I can admire the artistry of a
given shot; but I've no wish to put up with the bugs or lack of toilet
paper it took to get them." They both laughed again.

"All my other applications—for photo work, I mean—have been with
portrait studios. I like working with people. Does that answer
sufficiently?"

Willard smiled. He'd seen enough. "As I said, I'm prepared to offer
you a position. Are you prepared to negotiate a salary, or am I
wasting our time?"

"With the understanding that the Navy has first claim on my time…."

Willard waved that off. "Not a problem. We want to claim your free
time—we'll work around military duty until your enlistment is up. If
what Jase told me is correct, you're too 'short' to deploy with your
current command, and you'll finish your hitch on temporary duty at the
Naval Station here."

Donna nodded. "With that stipulation, then, yes. I'm prepared to
discuss salary."

"Good. What would you say to…" he named a monthly figure, midrange on
the scale he was authorized to offer.

Donna's brows knit.

Shit, he thought. I don't want to lose her. "…to start, of course.
During the three month transition from naval service to our service.
After three months probation, I can offer…" he named a figure three
quarters up the scale.

Donna's lips pursed.

"…with full dental and medical insurance, of course, and the usual
stock options and retirement plan."

Donna's hand shot across the desk. "Deal. Where do I sign?"

Willard took her hand and shook it. He didn't learn until much, much
later that in researching salaries for his negotiating position, he
wasn't dealing with the equivalent of a Public Affairs Officer with
less than six years of service, but a petty officer second class.
Donna had been ready to leap across the desk and kiss him after the
first offer—she thought she'd heard wrong.

By the time he learned his error, she'd been Chief Photographer for a
year, and he consoled himself that it had still been a bargain.

While they were filling out forms in personnel, she remembered to
thank him for getting the Captain's engagement announcement into
tomorrow's paper.

A Phoneline, 14:00

"Hello?"

"Claire? Hi, it's Winnie…"

"I'm not Claire, I'm Samantha. Hold on a second and I'll get her."

"Wait—if it wouldn't be too much trouble, Commander, could you stay on
an extension? This concerns you, too."

"Certainly. Just a moment… Okay, she'll join us in a few seconds.
Winnie? Winifred Tanner-Bloom, the COB's wife, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Please call me Winnie. Everyone does."

"I will if you'll call me Sam."

"Thank you, Sam. I'll do that."

"Hi, Winnie. What's up?"

"Hi, Claire. I don't know if it's reached the officer's wives yet, but
there's a rumor going around about the Captain and Lieutenant and
Nancy Hubbard…"

"I haven't heard anything except from Sam. Sam?"

"They dated once before the last deployment. We saw them together
after Change of Command, leaving the ship. What does the rumor say?"

"First, the facts. The Captain invited Nancy Hubbard to dinner with
Deborah and himself. He gave them the use of his stateroom—Nancy
stayed aboard last night, with Deborah. The Captain slept in his sea
cabin."

"Date number two." "Interesting. Go on."

"The rumor—and it's all but verified—is that Captain Lee proposed to
them…

"Oh, my!" "Jesus!"

"…and they accepted."

"Sam, stop laughing. Winnie, why do you say 'all but verified'?"

"I'm sorry, but it's funny. You make a pass at him…"

"Sam!"

"…and later that night he proposes to someone else. That's so funny!"

"Winnie, that's for your ears only. Sam, it's not that funny."

"Yes it is. We never stood a chance."

"So I put a bug in his ear. Got him at least thinking about marriage.
Nancy and Deb can thank me later. Claire?"

"Sam's right, it is funny."

"Winnie! Whose side are you on?"

"Do I have to take sides? Anyway, neither the Captain nor the Hubbards
have been available for comment. So I had Luke—COB—check for
witnesses."

"And?"

"His steward's on leave and hard to reach, but the wardroom cook and
Chief Ghirardelli are both pleading the fifth. 'I can neither confirm
nor deny' and 'don't ask me, I made a promise to the Captain not to
say anything.' But DeeDee Ghirardelli says her husband mumbled about
'fiancées' and then started that 'promise' speech when she asked what
he was talking about."

"So she started the rumor?"

"Right. She put one and one together and leapt straight to ten.
Digital logic."

"Digital logic?"

"In binary, one plus one equals one-zero. It equals two, but it's
written like a ten."

"Oh." "I'll explain it later, Claire. Go on, Winnie."

"What it boils down to, is the Captain apparently asked, and they
accepted, but they don't want it known right away. I'm guessing they
plan a formal announcement, or…

"Or?"

"Or they're planning to sneak off and get married without telling
anyone—until they get back."

"Sam? You know his schedule, right?"

"Right, Claire. Let me think… Okay. Of course, if they want, they can
spend thirty minutes getting the license and taking the vows with any
justice of the peace. No waiting period or blood tests in Virginia.
But if they want a honeymoon, It has to be in the next two or three
weeks. He's booked for witnessing acceptance tests and trials after
that.

"Winnie, what have you done so far?"

"So far, I activated the enlisted call tree. I told everyone that yes,
he asked. Yes, they said yes. But they want it a secret, so don't let
on and act surprised when the time comes. I figure you'll handle the
officers' spouses, Claire."

"Yep, and I'll tell them the same thing."

"I'm also taking up a collection for a wedding present from the crew."

"Good plan. I'll see if I can organize a secret wedding shower from
the wardroom on short notice."

"I'll help."

"What if they elope?"

"Winnie, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

"Good enough."

"Thanks for calling, Winnie. Talk to you again soon."

"You too. Bye."

"Bye." "Bye."

Navy Housing, Norfolk, Virginia, 16:17

I said I was sorry. Why does he have to be so pigheaded about it?
DeeDee asked herself for the tenth or eleventh time. So I'm good at
puzzles. So I like to gossip a little. That just makes this silent
treatment so much worse!

I said I was sorry!

Serve him right if I went out and found another husband or wife to
talk to when he gets like this. She stopped meandering from shelf to
end table, clutching her dustrag suddenly tighter. He tried to suggest
that very thing, this morning, and I shut him out. Maybe I should have
listened. She went to the kitchen, poured herself an iced tea, and sat
at the table.

I'm only forty-five. How did I get to be such a gossipy old woman? I
wasn't like this when Frank and Alice were alive. Well, maybe a bit,
but only in the family. I didn't need to call everyone I know to
prove… to prove… DeeDee started sobbing. I'm not dead. God took Frank
and Charlie, Alice and Loretta, but not me and Alex. We still have
each other.

Oh, God, I need Alex so much right now and I fucked up and got him in
trouble and now he won't even speak to me and it's all my fault and…
DeeDee began openly weeping.

And then she felt Alex's arms coming around her. She turned into him
and bawled, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over, even when she could
feel his hand stroking her hair while the other hugged her close.

It was a struggle, but DeeDee managed to control her breathing. "I
really am sorry, Alex. Are you going to be in very much trouble?" She
sniffled into her dustrag, grimaced, and set it aside.

Alex turned her face up with a hand under her chin. Alex shook his
head while keeping eye contact. "I don't think it'll be very much
trouble."

DeeDee tried to grin. She wasn't sure she pulled it off. "There you
go, thinking again."

Alex's grin was real. "I know. I can hear the rusty gears in my own
head, squealing. Maybe we ought to go out tonight and get 'em really
lubricated."

DeeDee shook her own head. "Maybe we ought to call out for delivery
and just talk together, tonight. I think you were right this morning.
It's time."

"There you go thinking. Let's follow the Skipper's example—less
thinking, more action."

"Think you're up to it, old man?"

"Think you can handle it, old woman?"

"Enough thinking. More action."

The Stuart-Forrest Home, 18:33

"I still can't believe it—my baby brother, a spaceman."

"Well, let's not put the cart before the horse, Claire," John replied,
laughing. "I'll be training for the Mars landing along with about a
hundred other people, but most of us will end up being ground
support."

"Nonsense," Nat put in. "I've been watching you ever since Claire and
I first met. You're one of those people. The type that lead the
charge, win the battle, get the job done."

"Thank you, Nat."

"It's not a compliment, just an observation."

"Nat, from you that makes it an even bigger compliment."

Nat shrugged, smiling. "I just call it the way I see it."

"He's right," Samantha interjected. "And you're cute, besides." They
all laughed.

"So. Since May seems to be the month for romance," Claire said, "have
you got any news for us on that front?"

"Romance? John scoffed. "Me? Not hardly! What makes May so special,
anyway?"

"Have you met Samantha's Commanding Officer?" Claire asked.

"Certainly. At the Submarine Ball, remember? You ladies drug me along
for a fourth." He remembered the ball very well. He'd danced with
Samantha, whom he liked very much, as well as his sister.

"Right. Well, do you remember a brand-spanking new Lieutenant Lower
Grade named Deborah Hubbard and her wife, Nancy?"

John thought for a few seconds. "Yes, actually, I do. I remember her
because she reminded me of you, Claire."

"Reminded you of me? Claire was startled. "In what way?"

"Poised. Confident. Very protective of her wife. Recently divorced, if
memory serves, but determined to deal with it." He thought a little
more. "Oh, and gorgeous. See? just like Claire—except for the divorce,
of course."

Claire blushed. "Oh, you!"

"Can I take it that Sam's Commanding Officer also noted these
qualities, and acted on them?"

"You may," said Sam.

"Damn. There goes the closest thing I've found to my big sister. Maybe
they'd like another husband in the Marines?"

Everyone laughed. "I'll make sure you get another introduction,"
Claire promised. "After the wedding."

Mariners Seafood Restaurant, 19:19

Once again in the ladies' room, Jean and Brenda were hugging, tightly.
When they finally separated, Jean was the first to speak.

"Oh God, sis, you were so right!"

"I'd say I told you so, but this is a shock, even for me!"

"I know! Three nights, three dates, and now they want to go steady?
Nobody on the face of the earth moves this fast. At this rate, we'd be
married in a month."

"But how do you feel about it?"

"If you hadn't grabbed my hand and told 'em we needed a minute alone,
I was all set to accept."

Brenda grinned, hugely. "I know that. That's why I grabbed."

Jean looked puzzled for a moment. "Don't you want to accept? All
you've talked about all weekend was how well-suited we are to each
other, the four of us. I've agreed with every word. You were right
about Jaimie—Jaime—and there's so much more to Boo than just his
charming smile."

Brenda couldn't help it. "Told you so." They giggled together. "But
before we go back out there with our panties dripping and scream
'Yes!' you need to think about this; if we do that, there'll be no
more 'Ask Brenda' when a guy hits on us… you. The boys are asking for
exclusivity."

Jean dismissed it. "That won't be a problem."

"No?" Brenda asked. "Suppose, oh," she recalled someone Jean had
drooled over, "Bradley O'Mara asks you for a date. What will you say
to him?"

"I'll say, 'Ask our boyfriends.' How's that?"

Brenda laughed out loud. "Good answer." She was very happy to see that
Jean understood what the boys wanted. Happier still that Jean wanted
what she wanted herself. "Let's go let the boys know we reluctantly
accept, despite the sacrifice to our busy social lives it entails."

"Good answer."

Hubbard House, 20:20

"I'm pooped."

Deborah silently agreed with her wife. Shopping could be exhausting—if
you did it right. They were just finishing rearranging the closet, the
new summer dresses on the back of the door for tomorrow.

She glanced at the packages on the bed. Finding just the right
combination of demure and provocative in a summer dress had only
occupied a couple of hours. The contents of those bags—well, Lady
Victoria had many secrets, and the Hubbards had been let in on a few.
Quite a few, as a matter of fact.

It's not like Bob will get to see any of those things any time soon,
she thought to herself. If ever, she added, but the thought lacked
sincerity even in her mind. She looked at Nancy, stripping her
shopping clothes directly into a wash basket. We never play "dress-up"
for each other, either. So why did we blow so much of the clothing
budget on these frilly wisps of not-much?

She closed her eyes and thought back to the store. There, a model had
repeatedly changed and displayed outfits. The model was no singular
beauty, just another average woman with the luck to have a job she
seemed to enjoy—and she owned every outfit she modeled; Nancy had
asked. They don't let you try on intimate apparel unless you buy. What
had made Nancy and Deborah buy them?

Nancy was in the shower now. Deborah opened the packages. The first
thing she withdrew was a sheer camisole and panty set in peach. Nancy
had said, "Good Lord! If Bob sees you in that, he'll eat you up like
French Vanilla ice cream." Well, that explains that purchase. Are they
all like that? Nancy pulled out another item.

A black lace garter belt and sheer black nylons… "Oh, my! Bob sees
those, Nancy, and he's all over your ass." Deborah giggled. I guess I
take the blame for those. I pushed her buttons. She dumped the bags on
the bed. Looking over their buys, she shook her head. She pushed mine,
too. We egged each other on unmercifully.

Stepping over to the laundry basket, she undressed for her own shower.
Then she stepped back to the bed, gathering the lingerie and setting
it on the dresser. One item she didn't remember buying caught her
attention. She tried it on. What in the world?

She moved to the mirror on the bathroom door. Deborah didn't consider
herself "well endowed," but the push-up shelf bra took what she had
and… presented it. Nothing covered her nipples, which the chill of the
room caused to stand up. This is downright lewd. I'm certain I'd
remember if this was modeled, and I don't.

The bathroom door opened suddenly; Deborah was face-to-face with
Nancy, whose face was breaking into a huge grin. Deborah blushed.

"I see you found my present to myself."

"This was yours?" Deborah's blush deepened. "I'm sorry, I was trying
to remember when we saw it, and I—I'll take it off."

"No, don't!" Nancy closed the gap. "I said it was a present for me."
Dropping her towel, she raised her hands to Deborah's breasts. "I
didn't say it was for me to wear."

The light went off in Deborah's head as Nancy bent to take a nipple in
her mouth. "Why, you little minx! Oh!" Yes, do that. You aren't the
only one with buttons, are you. And I love the way you suck on mine.
"What… what else did you get that I don't know about?"

Nancy stood up, her twisting fingers taking the place of her tongue.
"Did you know that Lady Victoria had a secret toy department?" Deborah
shook her head.

Things got even more… playful… after that question.

The Lee House, Arlington, Virginia, 21:25

Everyone stared at the open velvet box on the coffee table.

"They're really… big." Livvy hadn't accompanied Bob to the jeweler's.
This was her first look at the engagement rings.

Priscilla nodded. She was staring, and she had accompanied Bob, but
she hadn't seen his final selection. "I made the mistake of telling
Bob to double whatever he'd planned to spend. I had no idea just how
generous an amount he'd allotted."

Connie sighed as she stared. "They do catch the light, don't they?"

Livvy nodded, still staring. "They're really big."

"The real question," Bob asked, "is do they convey that I am serious
in pledging my heart and my soul? I didn't believe a word the jeweler
said; he sells dreams and diamonds, and both at a substantial profit."

James cleared his throat. He was staring, too. "Well, I think you
managed to just avoid accusations of gaudiness, but not by much.
Sparklers like those are impressive. I'm almost afraid you've given
our wives some unreasonable expectations." He reached for Connie's
hand, nearest his.

Priscilla moved over and took James' other hand. "You didn't answer
his question," she chided. Turning to Bob, "Every woman knows it isn't
the actual dollar value of the rings that's important. But it goes to
symbolism. The engagement ring says something about how a man values
the woman he gives it to, but only if he means it the same way. So the
most important question is, what do the rings mean to you?"

Bob frowned. "I didn't really care about the stones in the rings. The
fact that they are engagement rings is what makes them important to
me. At the same time, I wanted something as beautiful as my fiancées.
Anything less would be an insult, and even these are only a pale
shadow to me."

There were smiles all around. Connie said, "I hope you can remember
those words when the time comes." She turned to Livvy. "Isn't that
about the sweetest thing you've ever heard?"

Livvy nodded. "They're really big."

Don groaned though he was still smiling. "Jim, where did he say this
jeweler was? I think we're going to need to pay him a visit." The
ladies laughed, but James only smiled, nodding.

Priscilla noticed, and squeezed James' hand again. "Now boys, you
shouldn't feel under any pressure to compete with Bob." She held out
her left hand, palm down. Her own engagement ring, welded to the
wedding band, sparkled with three stones, one for each of the Lee
wives in the room. If the individual stones were smaller, the total
carat weight was definitely higher. Connie and Livvy extended their
left hands as well, and displayed matching rings. "You've done fine by
us."

Livvy swung her hand near the jewelry box. She held her fist with her
own rings near the two in the case. "They're really big."

Don reached over and closed the case. He tossed it to Bob. "Guard that
with your life."

After the laughter finally settled down, the Lees discussed Bob's
travel plans for the morning. Once again, James insisted on providing
car and driver after church.

"Doesn't your driver ever get weekends off?" Bob protested.

James laughed. "The drivers are all sergeants, and part of a pool.
They get more time off than anyone else in the army, in exchange for
working a few weekends a month. After tomorrow, I won't see that
driver again for two weeks."

That settled, the ladies helped him refine his plans to get flowers
and recommended a good after-dinner cordial.

Just before bedtime, Bob quietly pulled the ring box from his pocket
again, and glanced inside. Behind him, he heard Livvy say quietly,
"They are really big."

He hoped they were big enough.

Sunday, May 6th, 2001

Clear
High—64°F
Low—52°F
Dew Point 52 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 16 mph (ENE) Gusting to 25 mph
Sunrise 5:05 AM Sunset 6:58 PM
Moonrise 6:08 PM, Waxing Gibbous, 99% of the Moon is Illuminated

Virginia Beach Oceanfront, 05:08

Tommy Cornelson loved May. Actually, he loved all the months from May
through October, but May was special. May marked the end of the Winter
season and the beginning of the summer season, so business on his
fishing pier picked up considerably, as it did on the entire
oceanfront, but it was still early for most of the tourists, so the
May business was mainly locals.

He almost regretted doubling his prices. Almost. But they'd double
again in mid-June when the Canadians and damnyankees invaded the
Oceanfront for the official tourist season. The tourist season was
what he lived on the rest of the year round. May and October were
buffer months to make up for bad tourist months or to buy luxuries.

He knew he'd feel the opposite regret come October, when he'd have to
lower prices again to have any business at all. There were always
fishermen willing to pay to fish from his pier, even when the weather
turned cold and blustery. Serious fishermen, or subsistence families
who relied on the crabs that fed on fish guts from the cleaning
stations and whatever fish they could catch. Those months, he'd barely
break even.

Those months Lilith and Maribeth would serve coffee and sandwiches,
instead of all the deep-fried goodies the tourists loved so much. No
clams, no oysters, not even hush puppies. They'd fire the grill for
the lunch crowd, but not the fryers, nor the ovens. Oil and
electricity cost money, and the restaurant and bait and tackle shops
had to be heated.

Just now, Tommy was enjoying a cup of coffee laced with chicory,
listening to three of the die-hards discuss the catch of the day. They
were expecting the usual spot and croaker, and Spanish Mackerel had
been biting of late. One was the local skate expert, and he expected a
good catch today.

Tommy listened with half an ear while he read the Sunday paper. He
started with the fishing reports from other locations. It wasn't
enough to know the local conditions—he was the source of those for the
paper, anyway—people expected you to be knowledgeable about what was
biting and what was running for miles in either direction, clear down
to North Carolina or up to the Eastern Shore.

Next he turned to sports, checking the injury reports for the various
Atlantic Football Conference teams, including his own Portsmouth
Mariners. Another nice thing about the "locals" season was when his
customers talked football, they didn't confuse it with that damnyankee
sport with the funny-shaped ball and leather armor and helmets. Some
kind of rugby imitation.

Next he turned to the obits, wondering if he'd recognize anyone. At
least once a month, he'd spy some old crony of his fathers' or
grandfathers' in the notices. Weddings and engagements were after
that, looking for his own friends and acquaintances. Once you took the
plunge yourself, you kind of expected the rest of your peers to do the
same.

He recognized five names in that section, but nobody who'd send him or
his husband Vinnie an invitation. Maybe Lilith or Mar would, and one
or the other would attend, business permitting. Winston-LaMar-Goudy…
nobody he knew. Phillips-Cross-Magnuson-Sharone… nope. Hubbard-Lee…
one of the names looked familiar. Where did he know the Hubbards from?
The ladies were married, maybe he'd read the announcement of their
previous wedding? No matter.

As he finished each section, he traded or passed it on to his wives.
They all read quickly, since the paper would be wrapping bait before
too long, except for the coupons. The last section he looked at was
the travel section. Someday, maybe they'd have enough set aside to
take a vacation of their own, when the kids were old enough to stay
home and mind the shops. Someplace quiet and secluded, not some
tourist Mecca.

For sure he wasn't going to visit the United States, nothing up north
that interested him. If he went to a foreign country, he thought he'd
stick to the English Commonwealth. Horrible accents, but they did
speak the same language. Yep. Someplace like Hawaii. Nobody went
there.

Navy Housing, 06:30

Maria enjoyed mornings, although she enjoyed them more once the
children were all roused and fed and off to school. Sundays were
different, though. "Day of Rest," pfah! Rest for men and children,
perhaps, but not for wives or women. Six days each week, her time came
when the niños and niñas were fed and sent to school, when the
husbands were fed and sent to work, when the beds were made and the
clothing and linens laundered.

On Sundays she must take her time from the beginning, while the others
slept. Soon enough, they would be feeding them all a Sunday
"brunch"—such a lovely word—and engrossed in making them all ready for
church. Then there would be the vigilance, the looks, the pinches to
keep them all attentive to Jesus and Father Navarone instead of
sleeping or fidgeting. Once home, there would be the gathering of the
Sunday clothing to launder, and beds to make, and finally dinner to
prepare while her husbands monopolized the televideo with their
sports.

Madonna joined her at the table with two cups of good Cuban coffee,
the kind of dark brew that opens eyes. "I see that Señora
Ghirardelli's news has proven true," she said, pointing at the
newspaper open to that page.

"Si. Eh-Yes, El Capitan has finally been snared. I had not heard that
he chased them long before they caught him. Delilah might not have
been surprised, but I was." Maria never referred to DeeDee by that
diminutive. It seemed somehow disrespectful, whatever the customs.

Madonna was amused. "You think perhaps they should have run from him
harder, if no faster?"

Maria shrugged. "A man values most what he must work to acquire, and
least what he obtains without effort. Since I know nothing of his
efforts in the matter, it is not for me to judge."

"You sound just like Señora Navarone."

"Our good priest's esposa… er, wife is a wise woman. As befits the
wife of a priest, eh-yes?"

"You need not work so hard to correct your language with me, querida.
Be comfortable with yourself. I will always love you."

"The wifes… wives of a Senator should be cultured, educated women, mi
esposa acariciada. Able to converse in several languages, no? I
practice always."

Madonna laughed softly. "Senator's wives? You dream el sueño grande.
¿El hombre expresa este sueño grande?"

"En Inglés, por favor." Maria replied. "No, Juan has not dreamt so big
a dream, not that he has shared. But Alberto, that one thinks Juan has
the heart, the fire to go so far. He told me so last night, before we
slept."

"Our eldest husband may be right. He often is."

"Then we must learn to be senator's wives."

Hubbard House, 07:49

"Come on, Deb! Shake a tail feather, or we'll never make the oh-eight
hundred service!"

"I can't find my earrings!"

"Wear some of mine. The pearls would look good with that dress."

Deborah didn't answer, which Nancy interpreted as, "Fine." Not "fine"
as in "that's a great idea," but "fine" as in "have it your way, but
Things Will Be Said Later." Every spouse knows that "fine," even when
unspoken.

But Deborah was heading for the door moments later, both hands
fumbling with her left ear. Nancy could see the pearl stud, and
grinned. She checked herself. Purse, check. Keys? Right here. What am
I forgetting? She crossed the room to the telephone, and switched on
the answering machine. Forgot that yesterday. I hope nobody called.
Oh, well. If it was important, they'll call again.

Deborah was waiting by the driver-side door. "My turn to drive," she
said, fumbling now with her right ear.

Nancy shook her head. "No way. You drive like an old lady, and we're
already going to be late."

Deborah stood her ground. "Come on, cough up the keys. You drive like
a maniac. Late or not, we'll get there faster if we don't have to stop
for a speeding ticket, or to help someone out of a ditch your lane-
changing forced them into."

"I haven't gotten a ticket in years, and I've never forced anyone into
a ditch," Nancy retorted.

"That's 'year,' singular, and the latter says more for their driving
skills than yours." Deborah now stood with her hand out for the keys.

"Two out of three?"

"Deal."

The two shook their right fists at each other once, twice, a third
time. On the third, Nancy extended two fingers; Deborah kept her fist
closed. They repeated the ritual, this time with both palms out. Yet
again they shook their fists. Nancy ended with her palm out, Deborah
with two fingers. Nancy groaned, but handed Deborah the keys. They got
into the car.

Before Deborah could close her door, she heard the sound of the
telephone. She bit her lip. Turning to Nancy, she said, "Phone's
ringing. Should I answer it?"

And she's the confident one! "No. Let's go. If we're not there by
quarter after, we'll have to go to the 09:30 service, and we'll miss
brunch at the International House. Let the answering machine do its
job."

Deborah closed her door and started the car. As she pulled away, she
grinned. "The truth comes out. You aren't worried about the church
service; you're afraid they'll stop serving crêpes before you get your
fill."

Like that's a big revelation. She knows me so well. "You know me too
well. So get a move on, will you?"

Deborah eased up to the posted speed limit, no higher. "You know,
International House serves breakfast with crêpes, too. We could have a
nice, leisurely meal before services, instead of all this rushing
about."

Now, why didn't I think of that? It's still a late breakfast, and not
too long til our early dinner. Am I so constrained by habit? "I like
the way you think. Let's do that."

Deborah smiled and drove.

Navy Housing, 09:33

DeeDee hung up the phone and turned to Alex. "That was the girls,
Lex," she said, excitedly. "They want to come to lunch, and they want
to bring their new boyfriends."

"New boyfriends?" Alex asked, crossing the parlor to his favorite
chair. A plethora of mixed feelings chased briefly across his face.
"And they want to bring them home to meet the parents?"

DeeDee laughed. "You should see your face. You can't decide whether to
be happy or sad, proud or protective, nervous or relieved, can you?"

For now, Alex settled for chagrined. "Hey, it's only, what, the second
time since high school they've brought someone home for parental
review. How should I feel?

"I know. The twins have always been so picky about boys. Or Brenda
has," she amended, "which is the same thing."

Alex agreed, nodding. "Nothing wrong with that." In fact, secretly he
was just a hair prouder of the twins than of their other six kids. Not
that he'd ever let any of them know that.

The phone rang again, and DeeDee answered, giving Alex time to turn
reflective. I guess I am prouder of the twins, not that there's any
rational reason. All our kids have turned out just fine. Renée is on
the partnership track with a law firm in Austin; William and Emíle are
working the off-shore oil rigs and coining money; Michelle is happy
with her husbands in New Mexico, and she was the first and most recent
to make me a grandpa. A soft smile lit his face. Danielle has been
accepted to medical school in New Orleans. Always so busy, too busy to
write often enough. Douglas rarely wrote either, but he had an excuse,
serving in the army with the Columbian Peace-keeping expedition.

DeeDee squealed something into the phone. No matter, he'd find out
soon enough. It isn't that the twins are the youngest. Or even that
they haven't moved far away. It's just… Alex couldn't articulate, even
to himself, that he was fairly certain the girls were the fruit of his
loins, his and Alice's. Good parents don't keep score that way. The
children of a polygamous marriage were all the parents' children.

DeeDee hung up again. She was practically bubbling as she
skipped—She's actually skipping!—over to Alex's chair. She plopped
into his lap, and put her arms around his neck.

"It just keeps getting better!"

"More good news, I take it?" Alex was amused.

DeeDee nodded rapidly. "You are off the hook!" she burbled.

His eyebrows rose. "You mean…"

She interrupted him with a short kiss. Pressing her forehead to his,
she said, "That was Winnie. Guess whose engagement got announced in
today's paper?"

"You mean…"

Her forehead nodding made his nod as well. "You got it! Winnie can't
understand what the big deal was about 'secrecy' considering they
broke it themselves before the weekend was up." She kissed him again.
"Winnie said to tell you the COB says 'don't sweat it, and be prepared
to cater a bachelor party,' so everything's okay."

Alex snorted. DeeDee leaned back to look at his face, wondering why.

"There'll be no bachelor party," he told her. "You didn't watch this
boy at work. They'll be married long before anyone can get a party
organized." He made motions to shoo DeeDee off his lap. "Speaking of
short notice for parties, what do you suppose the girls' boyfriends
would enjoy for lunch?"

Hubbard House, 11:44

Deborah and Nancy came home laden with brown shopping bags from the
grocery store. After she tossed the keys on a convenient end-table,
Deborah removed a bag from her teeth. That allowed her to say, "'I
just need a couple of things for dinner,' yeah, sure." She kicked the
door closed with a heel.

"Well, all I needed were a couple of things, but, you know…"

"Yes, I know…"

"Well you're not any better!" They carried the bags to the kitchen.
"At least a third of this stuff you picked out," she said as she
placed her bags on a counter.

Deborah grinned, unrepentant. "True, but that means you picked the
other two thirds." She set her own bags down.

Nancy grinned too. "Any time you want to take over cooking, y—

"I give! I give! So, what's on the menu tonight?"

Nancy gave Deborah a very spousal look, one that said, "You never
listen to me, do you." In lieu of answering, she pulled a recipe from
under a refrigerator magnet and proffered it.

Deborah took it and read:

Blackened Prime Rib

Serves 8-(16 ounce portions)

1-16 lb. oven ready Rib Roast

Méthode:

Pull back fat cap and liberally sprinkle Blackening Seasoning (recipe
to follow) on rib roast. Replace fat cap and netting. Place onto a
preheated 350º oven for 4 hours until you have an internal temperature
of 145º. Remove and allow to rest for 15 minutes, slice in between
each rib and serve with 2 oz. of sauce (Tabasco Horseradish Sauce
recipe to follow).

Blackening Seasoning

4 tbsp. Garlic Powder

4 tbsp. Onion Powder

3 tbsp. Lemon Pepper

3 tbsp. Black Pepper

4 tbsp. Dry Rosemary

4 tbsp. Dry Thyme

4 tbsp. Dry Parsley

8 tbsp. Paprika

1 tsp. Cayenne

Méthode:

Mix together and coat prime rib.

Tabasco Horseradish Sauce

Serves 8-(2 ounce portions)

16 oz. Heavy Cream

4 tbsp. grated Fresh Horseradish

1 tbsp. minced Garlic

1 tbsp. minced Onion

2 tbsp. minced Basil

3 tbsp. Unsalted butter

1/4 cup Marsala Wine

4 tbsp. Tabasco

Salt & Pepper to taste

1 tsp. Olive Oil

Méthode:

Heat a saute pan over medium high heat. Add oil, then add onions,
garlic and basil. Saute until onions are translucent. Add wine to pan
and allow to reduce by 3/4. Add heavy cream and reduce by 1/4. Pull
off of heat, add Tabasco, horseradish, salt, pepper and butter then
serve 2 oz. over prime rib portion.

Deborah's eyes opened wide. She glanced at the kitchen clock as Nancy
moved a slab of beef from the refrigerator to the counter. "Four
hours? Isn't it a little late to start…"

"The recipe scales down around fifteen, maybe twenty minutes per
pound. This is a ten pound rib roast. We have plenty of time."

"Are you sure?" Deborah asked, doubtfully.

"Positive. Now, we were having this anyway. With Bob coming, I think I
need something more substantial than salad and broccoli as sides. Any
ideas?"

Judging from eating habits in the wardroom… "Men like starches. Mashed
potatoes, corn, peas, that sort of thing." She sort-of remembered
something about men's tastes. "No asparagus." Then she remembered what
she'd heard, and blushed. Not men's tastes—men's taste. Fortunately,
Nancy didn't notice.

"Okay, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas, green beans, I think." Nancy
was looking in the freezer.

"I'm going to check our messages," Deborah said. I can't stop
blushing. I've got to get out of the kitchen before she notices, and
asks why. "I'll help you peel the spuds after." After I get control of
my mental images, that is.

The message light was blinking. She pushed rewind.

Navy Housing, 12:10

"Sir, you set a magnificent table."

Despite the grin, Alex's response was almost automatic. "Don't call me
'sir'; I work for a living." He enjoyed the compliment, though. And
lunch was really nothing much. Fruit-filled pita sandwiches with his
own special sauce, rumaki, vegetable sticks and dip, and dark beer. "I
realize you salute Chiefs in 'enrotsie,' but that's just for
practice." He paused. "In the real Navy, we salute you."

Young Mister Rosecranz glanced at his friend, the equally young Mister
Lafitte, and both seemed to relax a little.

"Brenda, Jean, help your mother with the dishes." The two had been as
nervous as their young men, hovering protectively the entire meal.
"Boys, join me on the patio. Bring your beer." They got up and went
through the sliding glass doors to the outside.

Once outside, the young men appeared nervous again. "Relax, boys,
relax. I'm not going to start an Inquisition. I don't need to know
your 'intentions toward my daughters'; they brought you home, that's
all I need to know."

The boys tried to relax, and Alex waved them to the patio furniture,
aluminum chairs with nylon webbing.

It seemed they weren't going to initiate the conversation, though.
"How's the beer?" Alex noticed that Beaufort's glass was nearly full.

Jaime sipped. Beaufort replied, "To tell the truth, sir, I'm not much
of a beer drinker."

Alex laughed. "You'll get over that, or turn tee-total in the Navy.
Unless you prefer rum?" Beaufort shook his head. "Only the really
large ships, battle cruisers or dreadnoughts, carry anything else, and
only for special occasions." He shrugged. "It's an acquired taste."

Beaufort sipped, and made a face. "Not one I'm likely to acquire soon,
I think."

Positioned as he was, Alex could see that one or the other of the
twins had hovered at the sliding glass door while he was chatting with
their beaus. He waved Jean out.

"Yes, Daddy?" she inquired, stepping through onto the patio.

"Take Beaufort's beer and bring him a glass of…" he raised an eyebrow
at Beaufort, who tried to sputter that nothing special was needed.

"I know what Boo likes. I'll take care of it," Jean said, taking away
his beer.

"Jaime?" Alex asked.

Jaimie raised his stein. "I'm good. I'll just finish this; I have to
drive, later."

Jean was back in just moments, with a glass of wine. Beaufort smiled
embarrassed thanks at her as he took it. Jean seemed inclined to stay.
"Perhaps your mother needs help with the leftovers…"

"What leftovers?" In truth, there weren't many. Jean came over to her
father, leaned down and placed a kiss on his bald spot. "Never mind, I
can take a hint." As she left she told the boys, "Don't let him fuss
you. He's just an old sweety."

Alex watched two pairs of eyes follow Jean back into the house. Eyes
filled with affection and maybe a touch of possessiveness? He cleared
his throat. "And she can cook, too."

"Sir?"

Alex ignored the honorific this time. "If you have no plans for next
Sunday, let me take you to a local fishing pier. One of DeeDee's
cousins runs it—I can get a discount. Can either of you fish?" Eyes
lit up and heads nodded. Excellent! "You catch a few Spanish Mackerel
or flounder, and we'll let the girls show you what they learned from
the old man. You won't be disappointed." And it'll be nice to be able
to spend time with… my future sons-in-law. I wonder if they know how
obvious their fate is?

Hubbard House, 13:00

Nancy entered the parlor still drying her hands with a dish towel. The
ribs are coated and in the oven. The sauces are ready to simmer. But
if Deb thinks she's getting out of peeling potatoes, she'd better
think again. "Deb?"

"Over here."

Deborah was on the sofa by the telephone, her face pale. She was
surrounded by scattered sections of the Sunday paper. Nancy suppressed
a flash of annoyance for the mess. The expression on Deborah's face
concerned her more. "What's wrong?"

Deborah didn't answer right away, and the look on her face was…
unfathomable. Finally, "Perhaps you'd better hear this yourself." She
rewound the answering machine. Nancy seated herself by Deborah,
gathering some of the newspaper into a neat pile; one section was
still clutched in Deborah's fist, wrinkled where she held it. She
pushed "play."

"Deborah, Nancy, hi. This is Samantha Stuart-Forrest"— "and
Caroline!"— "calling to congratulate you. We were thrilled to see the
announcement in today's paper!"

"If I were speaking as your XO, I'd have to warn you again about
favoritism, but this is a day for just us girls, so I'm glad you took
my advice there, too."

"If Sam told you to grab him, it was good advice. I should know, I
tried it myself. Now I know why I got shot down. Congratulations
again."

"If you-all can put off the wedding for at least a few days, the
ladies of the wardroom"— "and their wives and the men's wives"— "want
to throw you a shower. Anyway, congratulations.— "and good luck!"
"Call us!"

There was a click, and a beep, and then another message started.

"Nancy Virginia! We hardly ever hear from you as it is, but to have to
read something like this in the newspaper? You don't tell your own
mothers? I hardly think that's the way we…"

Nancy's finger was firmly on the stop button. She couldn't remember
reaching for it.

"There are seven more after that one. Here. Read." Deborah thrust the
newspaper section she was clutching at Nancy. Her voice was shaky, and
so was the hand. She seemed to have difficulty unclenching her fist.

But she managed. Nancy took the paper and scanned, as she half-
expected, the Engagement Announcements. She saw the picture first. She
and Deborah, shoulder to shoulder and holding hands; Bob leaning in
close behind, his hands on the backs of their chairs; all smiling, all
happy. She read the paragraph below:

Hubbard-Lee Engagement

Cmdr (SS) Robert Edward Yarbough Lee,
CSN, of Alexandria, Virginia takes
great pleasure and pride in announcing
that Lt(lg) (SS) Deborah Anne Hubbard,
CSN and Nancy Virginia [Cummings]
Hubbard of Portsmouth, Virginia, have
agreed to join him in the bonds of holy
matrimony. No wedding date has been set.

Nancy's head reeled. I told her I wasn't ready! How could she— her
thoughts broke off, looking at Deborah's ashen face. She couldn't. She
didn't. She had no idea… She set the paper aside. We might want that,
later. She held out her arms.

Deborah flowed in and hugged her tightly. "I didn't… I don't… I
thought he…" Deborah hiccuped. Then she hiccuped again.

When did I get to be the strong one? Nancy patted Deborah's back as
her clinging wife continued to hiccup. And I was the one who urged us
to say "we accept," so I can't even pass any blame. How were we to
know he was serious?

How do I feel about this? I honestly think Deb loves the big tease.
And I've been fairly mellow towards him since Thursday. She searched
her feelings. Mellow? I've been anticipating the wedding. Eager, even.
I should let her know that. She… they have been seducing me from the
first! She murmured, "I did ask if we were going to marry him, and you
said yes. I'm beginning to like the idea." Deborah just hiccuped.

Okay, enough. She tried to disengage from Deborah's embrace. "Come on,
come on, let's get you a glass of water before you hiccup to death."

Deborah reluctantly let go. Nancy stood, then knelt to gather and
stack the rest of the newspaper neatly.

"Oh, Nanchic Nancy, sometimes you're just so hic so anal."

Nancy shook her butt. "Honey, I'm anal all the time, and you know it."
They grinned at one another, Deborah's grin spoiled by another hiccup.
They went to the kitchen, where Nancy drew a glass of tap water for
her wife.

Deborah drank the entire glass before setting it down. She waited a
bit. Then she started to smile. hic!

I know just how to cure this. "Deb, have you given any thought at all
to, you know, if he likes anal sex, he might want your ass, too?"

Deborah looked stricken. "Don't you give him any ideas!"

Nancy just grinned. "How are your hiccups?"

Deborah now looked puzzled for a moment, then broke out in a grin. She
punched Nancy in the arm. "Oh, you!"

Still grinning, Nancy drew her wife to the counter. "You peel
potatoes, and we'll figure out whether we're going to let him in to
eat any. And what we'll do to him if we do."

Grundy House,Portsmouth, Virginia, 15:55

Salome Grundy rocked in her rocker by the window, as she often did of
a Sunday afternoon. The videotape machine played a family movie, one
of her favorites. Rocking back and forth, she smiled a distracted
smile. Had her hearing been more acute, she might have heard her
granddaughter and one of her wives in the kitchen starting dinner. But
it wasn't and she didn't. Salome was seventy-eight years old.

A flash at the window caught her attention. Sunlight glinting off the
windows or maybe the chrome of a taxi pulling to a halt across the
street. That was chance; the sky was darkening for an afternoon rain.
A young man got out and retrieved flowers and… a bag. From the shape,
it probably contained a bottle. Salome looked back at the screen with
a fond smile, but pushed the "pause" button on the remote in her
wrinkled hands. She turned back to the window as the cab pulled away.

Despite her advanced years, her failing hearing, there was nothing
wrong with her eyesight. She liked the handsome face she'd seen
briefly, before it turned to face away, and something of the confident
stride as he approached the porch across the street stirred pleasant
memories. She rocked a little faster.

Her neighbors both came out to greet their visitor, keeping him on the
porch. Such lovely little things. Too bad they had saddled a horse's
ass for their first ride, Mrs. Grundy thought, but things are looking
up, hey? She dipped into her crowded memories for their names. Harbor?
Hardboard? No matter, Nancy was the one holding the flowers. The
other… Debra?… took the bag inside. Her rocking was much faster. Am I
about to witness someone "getting lucky?"

I wish I could hear, Salome thought. She considered briefly turning
her hearing aid all the way up—she'd be able to hear a mouse fart—but
anything from across the street would be drowned out by the creaking
of the rocker, and she didn't want to stop rocking, now. Something's
going on over there. I wish I knew what. That girl's smile is… off,
somehow.

The other young woman returned, carrying a large vase with water. Oh,
I just know what happens next, Mrs. Grundy thought to herself, rocking
and rocking. I would bet on it!

Sure enough, the one she was pretty sure was called Debra upended the
vase over their young man's head. Salome cackled gleefully. The other
young woman thrust the flowers back at him, causing him to backstep.
Fists on hips, both young women took turns berating him. Even without
knowing the words, Mrs. Grundy could tell from their bodies that much.
Then they went inside and closed the door on their suitor.

The young man stood facing the door for a bit, then turned around and
sat on the step. He put his elbows on his knees and lowered his face
to his hands, remembering to set aside the flowers, but not before
getting a face full of roses. The afternoon shower chose that moment
to start, compounding the foolish young man's misery.

Foolish young man, what have you done? Salome grinned widely. You're
all so foolish at your age. Something brash, I bet. Something bold.
Too brash, too bold, I'm certain of that, too. She rocked, remembering
her own husbands at that age. You men are so alike. Salome Grundy was
fond of bold, brash young men. She glanced back at the television, but
returned to the window.

Are you bold enough? Will you give up, wandering over here to beg the
use of a phone to summon another cab? Or…

The door opened again. Salome watched the Nancy girl take her suitor's
ear and pull him up off the steps, and, stooped over, into the house.
The child named Debra came out and fetched the flowers

So delightful a scene! And we won't see him again tonight, will we?
Her rocking sped up. She stiffened suddenly, one hand grasping her
chest, the other a claw on the rocker's arm.

Salome Grundy slumped in her rocker, a gentle smile sketched on her
features. Perhaps a minute later, her granddaughter gently shook her
shoulder. "Gramma? It's time for dinner."

Salome smiled hazily at her granddaughter. "Do help me up, Gizelle, my
legs are a little shaky right now."

Gizelle looked at the paused image on the television screen. Younger
versions of her grandparents frozen in the acts of love in front of a
camera were displayed. Granda Joe's stout member half-in, half-out of
Grandma Salome as she rode, reverse-cowgirl style; Granda Bruce and
Gramma Rachael in a sixty-nine.

"Rocking with the Ben-Wa balls again, gramma? I only hope I'm so lusty
when I'm your age." She sounded distinctly envious.

Salome Grundy cackled again. "You will be, child, you will be. All it
takes is good memories and the right stimulation." She pushed the stop
button on the tape player's remote, and rose with a little help. Good
memories, stimulation, and a good imagination. She glanced out the
window. Good luck, young man.

Hubbard House, 16:15

I never noticed how tastefully manicured Nancy's fingernails were
until one of them was digging into my ear.

Oh, I'd noticed that she had lovely hands, don't get me wrong. Long,
slender fingers. Longer than Deborah's. I knew her fingernails were
longer than Deborah's, too. Women in the Navy tend to keep their
fingernails trimmed much shorter than civilians, for any number of
reasons, and I don't recall Deborah wearing any enamel except clear,
or perhaps a pale pink.

Inside the door, stooped over, I was directed to remove my jacket and
hang it on a peg to dry. When I tried to speak, I was told to shut
up—they didn't want to hear a thing from me just then except maybe
"Yes, Ma'am" or "No, Ma'am", and then only if asked a question.

Nancy started to relax her grip on my ear, but it was only to get a
better purchase. Next I was led down a hallway to a bathroom, where
Deborah met us with a blue terrycloth robe. I was directed to go into
the bathroom and strip, even my wet socks, and come out with the robe
on, clothes in my hands. I could leave my shoes on the hamper.

So I did. I took care of some basic needs, washed my hands, and put
the toilet seat back down. Deborah snatched my clothes away—I presume
they went to a dryer. I noticed that Nancy glanced past me to the
toilet seat, and chalked up a point in my favor.

My conditions for staying for dinner were these. They wanted my
parole. No talking, except as noted. No pleading looks or gestures. No
funny faces of any kind, that could be interpreted as an attempt to
communicate. The Mmes. Hubbard were Very Annoyed With Me Right Now,
and I would be here on their sufferance. Violation of my parole would
see me thrown out on the porch, and my clothes thrown out a window
afterward. Did I accept the terms of my parole?

"Yes, Ma'am."

I was seated at the head of the Dining Room table. The ladies busied
themselves briefly, ferrying platters and bowls from the kitchen.
Deborah half-filled three wine glasses from a carafe. At last both
women sat down. Nancy bowed her head while Deborah said a simple
grace; I bowed mine as well. I almost added an "amen" before I
remembered my parole.

Food was placed in my plate. I wasn't offered a choice, although there
was nothing there I would have turned down. I waited until the ladies
started to eat, and then I dug in. Ignoring me, for the most part, the
ladies held a light dinner conversation.

"What's the phone call tally up to?"

"Eighteen messages of congratulations; three calls from your mothers.
Six life insurance salesmen. Three realtors wondering if we'll be in
the market for a larger home. Five photographers, but one of the
congratulations was from Petty Officer Delvecchio—she shot the
'engagement' photo—and she said she'd shoot the wedding for free if
she could cover it for the Virginia Pilot.

"One crank call from some religious nut claiming polygamy was
blasphemy. Two caterers. Four bridal shops and one maternity shop;
that one was jumping to conclusions, weren't they? Seven hotels and
motels pitching honeymoon packages; one calling all the way from Baja
California."

"How in the world could they know?"

Deborah shrugged, prettily, I thought. "Robert Lee of Virginia gets
engaged? I imagine some national stringer picked up on it and put it
on the wire." Inwardly I groaned, while struggling to maintain my
composure. I hadn't thought of that angle. I wondered how many
messages were awaiting me at the BOQ desk?

"How in the world are we going to handle this?" Nancy asked. She was
barely touching her own dinner. Deborah was pecking, as well.

"I think…" She turned to stare at me. "I think we need to call in sick
tomorrow, and leave the answering machine on. We'll let someone else
handle this mess."

I took a deep breath; let it out slowly. Nodded to myself, since I was
forbidden to nod to them. Eyes down, looking only at the plate, I
began eating in earnest. I needed to finish and get out of there,
start damage control. Priscilla had been right, more right than she
knew.

I couldn't eat swiftly. The food was just too damn good. It screamed,
"Savor me!" and I had no choice but to listen to it, to taste it.

Deborah and Nancy continued in subdued tones, mostly trivia, with an
occasional dig about "the insensitivity of some males." Nancy did
allow, after one such, that at least some males knew proper toilet
seat courtesy, whatever their other failings.

Twice I was admonished to "wipe that silly smile off your face." After
the second such, Deborah defended me. "Nancy, he smiles like that
every time he chews a bite of the prime rib. I don't think he can help
it, he just loves your cooking."

If I hadn't given my parole, I'd have been nodding agreement and
grinning like an idiot. Fortunately, Nancy asked directly, "Is that
right, Bob?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" No more was said about my expressions as I enjoyed the
dinner, still with my head bowed.

Finally, I was done. Concurrently, a buzzer announced my dry clothes,
which were fetched. I changed again in the bathroom while Nancy called
a cab.

At the door, the ladies almost seemed tearful. My heart was breaking,
could I imagine theirs were, too? Deborah said, "Oh, Bob! If only you
could have asked properly, instead of tricking us…"

Thank you, Jesus!

Hubbard House, 16:51

God, I felt terrible, and Nancy didn't look like she felt any better.
While Bob was putting his clothes back on, we exchanged a hug and a
sniffle we didn't want him to see. We'd been so bubbly while
discussing how to get even with Bob at dinner—and then the phone rang
again. And again. And again.

Our mood turned angry. Yes, we agreed, we wanted to marry him. But it
couldn't start this way, not with what amounted to some schoolboy
prank. Who the hell did he think we were?

Watching him sitting on our step, we almost relented. Almost, until
one of us glanced at the answering machine, its little red light
blinking the number of messages we'd listened to as we made dinner.

"I did invite him for dinner," Nancy said. "And he needs to get out of
those wet clothes," I replied. "But that's it! No more than that," we
agreed.

So we brought him in, but on a short leash. We offered him a parole,
and he accepted. Then we began his punishment. We punished him with
details of our day, the things that had made us angry. The things we
found wrong with the entire male gender.

There were moments, like when Nancy mentioned the toilet seat, or I
pointed out his enjoyment of Nancy's cooking that our hearts might
have thawed a smidgen. But we were still Very Annoyed With Him Right
Now.

And then it was over. He was dressed, a cab was on the way, he put on
his coat and had a hand on the knob of the front door.

I felt like my heart couldn't take any more. "Oh, Bob!" I cried. "If
only you could have asked properly, instead of tricking us…"

He fell to his knees, fumbling in a pocket. Then he whipped up and
opened a small jewel box. Inside…

"Are those engagement rings?" Nancy asked, a small catch in her voice.

"Yes'm." Bob met her eyes, a pleading look on his face.

"Are those for us?" I asked. The damn rocks on the rings were… really
big!

"Yes'm" Now his eyes met mine, no less pleading.

Nancy and I looked at each other. I raised an eyebrow. What do you
think? She furrowed her forehead. I don't know. What do you think? I
winked the eye Bob couldn't see. Let's go for it! She pursed her lips
slightly, then smoothed them and cocked her head slightly, then
frowned. Well, okay I suppose, and it will solve the engagement
announcement problem, but let's not let him off too lightly.

Okay, I may have exaggerated a bit on just what got communicated. But
not much. We both nodded, and began speaking aloud.

"Maybe we should take him off parole, so he can speak."

"I don't know, I'm not in the mood to be teased right now."

"You don't think he's learned not to tease?"

"Him? Puh-lease! At best, we've taught him that when you tease a dog,
you get bitten."

"Ooh, Nancy, you can be such a bitch!"

She grimaced ever so slightly; Hey, don't get my motors started until
this is sorted out!

Damn it! My emotions had been charged for hours, and had just changed
polarities. I needed a kiss, at the very least! First things first,
though. "Bob, if you have something to say, you may say it now."

"DeborahAnneNancyVirginia, I'vefalleninlovewithyouboth." Deep breath;
he must have been afraid we'd interrupt. "I beg you to join me in
marriage. I can't promise that I will never tease you again; but I
will try to make the teasing as pleasant as possible. I… You…" he
trailed off, bowing his head. He ran out of words.

Nancy and I exchanged looks again. Smile That was a lot better. Grin
Yeah, so let's do it! Upper canine on corner of lower lip; weight
shifted to left leg, pelvis tilted out slightly…

Jaw dropped. mouth open, eyes wide, shifting to big grin and tongue
touching upper lip. Nancy, you slut you! Of course we can take him for
a test drive! Nod and inclination of head. You start and I'll back you
up.

Nancy said, "I'm inclined to say yes…" Bob's head came up like a shot,
his eyes wide, waiting for the inevitable "but" that her pause and
tone implied. Instead, she looked at me, passing off.

"Oh, I know what you mean," I took it and ran. "I'm hesitant to buy a
pig without a poke, too." Oops. I don't think that came out quite
right. Bob's head whipped over to me, as if he wasn't sure, either.

Nancy grabbed his other ear while I had his attention. "Oh, nicely
put, dear, nicely put!" She giggled. Bob winced. At least he'd have
the same mark on both ears. She made him levitate to his feet.

She was leading him toward the back of the house. I sighed, "I suppose
we'll have release him from parole." Nancy made an inquiring noise;
Bob followed docilely. "I, for one, will want his mouth open some of
the time."

Nancy laughed. Bob groaned theatrically. I turned off the parlor
lights.

Arlington, Virginia, 21:38

"Yes operator, I'll accept the charges… Bob!! What's wrong?"

"Then why are you… Okay, hold on a moment."

"Priscilla! Livvy! Come quickly! Bob, I'm putting you on speaker."

"…fine with me, I guess, Connie. What I have to say is to all three of
you."

"I'm here, Bob." "Me, too— what's the matter?"

"Hi, Priscilla; hi, Livvy. Like I was telling Connie, nothing is
wrong. I just had to call to make an apology and say thank you while I
was in the right frame of mind for both."

"Apology?" "Thanks?"

"Yes, both. It seems my 'engagement announcement' made it into this
Sunday's paper instead of next—"

"Oh no!" "Oh my God!"

"—with exactly the results you predicted, all of you."

"Bob, come back to bed!"

"Ummmm…" "Who was that?" "Where are you?"

"Be right there, Nancy honey! Anyway, I wanted to apologize for
doubting you, especially you, Priscilla. I never should have used
those 'Prissy' remarks."

"Darned right!"

"I never will again. In my defense, it felt like I was trapped between
Priscilla and Charybdis, and I wanted out of that. But the thanks
Priscilla, dear, is for the advice about the rings."

"Bob, you did it again! Priscilla's mouth is opening and closing, but
nothing is coming out."

"Bob! Nancy says the astroglide is warmed up, but if you don't get in
here, there's some question about who'll need it!

"Coming, Deb! LoveyouallGottagonowBye!" Click!

"If either of you ever use 'Priscilla and Charybdis' I'll… I'll…

"I thought it was hilarious!"

"Oh really, Connie? Or should I say, 'Charybdis'?"

"Hey! That's right! He got us both."

"Well I think it was funny."

"Yes? Take her left side, Connie. Now, Livvy, remind us: which wife is
the most ticklish? Keep in mind whom you're between…"

A Warehouse in Ocean View, Norfolk, 22:15

Richard didn't normally buy newspapers. His coworkers brought them to
work to read at lunch or on breaks and they were generally available
in still-readable condition when he arrived. He did usually wait until
the last of them had left the building before he gathered their cast-
offs. That wasn't very long; the second shift was eager to get home.

Richard had a precise reading order; headlines, to see if there was
anything interesting to read more of, then sports, then comics and
finally, the editorial page. The idiotic opinions (or so he labeled
them) in that last section usually left him properly primed to mutter
darkly and grumble angrily the rest of the shift, though he scarcely
needed the incentive. On nights where the entire front section was
missing, he managed to complain and grouse quite adequately after
finishing the comics alone.

The difference, of course, was the direction of his ire. Op-Ed pieces
left him angry with loons and imbeciles with moronic (different from
his own) positions on matters of local or sometimes regional, or more
rarely national or international importance. "Who gives a flyin' fig
about Bolivians or Krauts," he'd say before reading anyway, belittling
the correspondents.

Before he could begin his nightly routine, of course, he had to find
and assemble those parts of the paper he desired to read. The rest, he
could just toss.

It was in the act of tossing that he thought just for a moment that
he'd seen the likenesses of his former wives. He snatched at the
section as it sailed into the trash with various not-quite-empty
coffee cups, but didn't succeed in preventing their arrival in the can
together.

Richard looked in the can, but didn't dig. That was beneath him. He
calmly noticed the section—D, Lifestyles—and found another copy in the
lunchroom.

Hubbard-Lee Engagement

Cmdr (SS) Robert Edward Yarbough Lee,
CSN, of Alexandria, Virginia takes
great pleasure and pride in announcing
that Lt(lg) (SS) Deborah Anne Hubbard,
CSN and Nancy Virginia [Cummings]
Hubbard of Portsmouth, Virginia, have
agreed to join him in the bonds of holy
matrimony. No wedding date has been set.

The Dick uttered an inarticulate growl. He wanted to yell, "Who the
fuck does this prick think he is?" but the name answered that question
all too well. Not just an old Commonwealth name, but one of the
names—his mother was probably an executive of the Daughters of the
American Revolutions, his father on the Joint Chiefs or something.
Okay, Navy was odd, given the name, but another pampered rich kid
whatever branch, guaranteed promotions and power and money.

Another growl, almost a howl. He wanted to yell again, something like
"That fucker wants to steal my bitches! No way! They're mine and I'm
not done with them yet," but he knew that they thought they were done
with him. Divorce and a court order. Stay away.

No. He probably couldn't get to that son-of-a-bitch through his family
connections, but he could talk to his women, make them see that
divorce or no, they were still his. This job was just temporary, he
could do better, much better. They'd see. He'd show them.

He didn't notice that he'd just lit his third "cigarette" of the night
while slowly combusting over the Lifestyles section. He never even
made it to comics before morning.

Monday, May 7th, 2001

Clear
High—61°F
Low—51°F
Dew Point 49 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 16 mph (ENE) Gusting to 25 mph
Sunrise 5:04 AM Sunset 6:59 PM
Moonrise 7:14 PM, Full, 100% of the Moon is Illuminated

The Stuart-Forrest Home, 05:07

My eyes popped open and I listened to determine what had awakened me
from a sound sleep. On the other side of Nat, Caroline was sliding out
from underneath the covers.

"Momma!"

I lifted covers and rolled right. I had my feet on the floor first. I
hoped we didn't wake Nat up, too, but our baby needed her mommies.
Priorities.

Rounding the foot of the bed, Caroline held out my robe. We dressed on
the way to Tiffany's room, turning on the hallway's fifteen-watt bulb.
Even its dim glow, muted behind a hand-painted bowl, made us squint.

The night-light in Tiffany's room was much dimmer, and easier on the
eyes. We could see Tiffany sitting up, clutching Mr. Raggedycoon, her
other arm twisting a fist into one eye. Tiffy's expression wasn't so
much woebegone as annoyed, until Caroline lay down beside her. Her
free hand shot around Caroline's neck, her face butted itself in
Momma's robe.

"Bad dream, sweetheart?" A solemn headshake, up and down. "All gone
now?" Same headshake. "Want me to stay here until you fall asleep?" A
third rendition. "Okay, roll over." Tiffany let go Caroline's neck and
settled in. Caroline snuggled down beside her.

I whispered to Caroline, "You just sleep in with her. I'll get the
menfolk moving this morning." I leaned past her to kiss Tiffany's
cheek, which she promptly rubbed off—scamp—and kissed Caroline, too.
She turned her head enough to catch it nearly on the lips. We squeezed
hands and I left them, pulling the door loosely closed.

I noticed the light come on under the guest room door. John had to
leave early, to catch the ferry to the peninsula. His orders called
for him to report to CASA by noon. I figured I'd send the latest
family hero off with at least a decent breakfast, so I went to the
kitchen.

I'm not a bad cook, but I never get much practice, not with Caroline
around. Both our families had the tradition of one stay-at-home mom,
though her mothers had rotated that enormous responsibility; in my
family, Mama Celeste was eternal mistress of the hearth. But Mama
insisted that all her daughters and sons know how.

Scrambled eggs are a snap. Chop a small onion, a mushroom or two,
saute in butter and dump in a bowl of eggs, then keep it all moving
over low heat until it reached the right firmness. Slabs of bacon
under the broiler take no time at all. Slice up some of Caroline's
fresh bread from yesterday, butter it, and broil that for a minute or
two—voila!

John came into the kitchen as I was setting plates in the breakfast
nook. "You shouldn't have gone to all this bother," he said, but he
wore a happy grin. He glanced down the hallway. "Will Caroline be
getting up before I have to leave?" He seemed wistful, almost hopeful.

I shook my head, but he wasn't looking. "No. Tiffy had a nightmare.
Caroline is keeping her company; they'll both sleep in today."

John almost managed to hide his disappointment. I thought I
understood. Caroline had confided to me that she and her younger
brother had enjoyed some… youthful experimentation, as she put it. She
was concerned that John had come away from it with an unrealistic
infatuation. One she tried to discourage.

From my vantage, it was more a case of "tried not to encourage." I
don't think the feelings were entirely one-sided. It was just that
Caroline wasn't willing to violate marital taboo, whatever she might
have done as an adolescent. Society frowns on that sort of behavior.

For my part, I think John Carter is excellent husband material.
Handsome, trim but well muscled, polite, even-tempered. I could see
that if I'd met him before Caroline, a choice would have been
difficult. But for the fact of his brotherhood, Nat, Caroline and I
would by now have held a family council over whether or not to pop the
question.

I wonder… Caroline told me that she and John have different biological
mothers but the same father. How could they be certain? There are
tests, these days, but how did one go about arranging for them?
Paternity in a polygamous society isn't usually a matter for concern,
babies are the children of all the mothers and fathers.

But if it would make John and Caroline happy, I figured I would have
to find out. Quietly. I wouldn't want to raise any false hopes.

I began to consider John from a different perspective. Okay, I'd need
to find out quickly and quietly.

On the Road in Portsmouth, VA, 07:25

David hugged Marla goodbye while Arthur kissed Melody, then they
swapped. Their wives stayed in the open door, smiling and waving until
they were in the car and out of the driveway. Even with their hair
sleep-tousled, their figures hidden in bulky robes, David thought his
wives heartrendingly gorgeous.

"Dave," Art said, breaking into his pleasant thoughts, "do you feel
like going to work this morning is like taking a vacation?"

Dave laughed. "Feeling a little worn out, Art?"

Art nodded. "Getting pregnant is hard work!"

"Maybe," David agreed, still laughing, "but you have to admit the
wages are great."

"You think so?" Art groaned through a grin. "I guess maybe you're
right. I'm gonna miss all this overtime when they cut us back to
regular hours."

"Your problem is, you're putting it in terms of a job. Making a baby
isn't a job, it's an adventure!"

"Dave, ol' husband, ol' pal, you ought to go into advertising. That'd
make a great slogan for some company. Maybe even the military."

"Oh, sure, I can see it on the recruiting posters. 'The Army: It's not
a job, it's an adventure.'" They both laughed. "So, anyway, what's
your 'vacation' schedule this week? How's the Birmingham coming?"

"I'm done with Birmingham until trials. This week we're doing the same
mods on Chattanooga, upgrading launch systems and fire control. Piece
of cake. Then, if all goes well, I get a shot at the upgrades on that
new sub, the Areolee."

"The 'Areolee?' They named a sub after anatomy?"

"Nah. It's the Robert E. Lee. Areolee—R. E. Lee, get it?—is just a
very unofficial nickname." Arthur snickered. "I hear the skipper of
that boat has a conniption every time he hears it. Seems his name is
R. E. Lee, too." They laughed again.

Things were quiet for a few minutes as David negotiated his way into
the inbound shipyard traffic queue. David had been thinking. "Are you
going to ride that sub for recommissioning trials?"

"Probably, if I get to do the upgrades. Why?"

"Well, you know the tradition about tee-shirts?"

"Sure." At this shipyard, civilian riders on Navy vessels generally
had a clever message printed on tee-shirts worn for the ride. It was a
long-standing tradition. The leading contender for the next ship due
out of the yards was "There ain't no fat on a Birming Ham."

"How about, 'I love to go down on your Areolee'?"

Arthur burst into laughter. When he had it under control, he said,
"Like I said. Advertising. Make us a fortune."

David grinned.

Bachelor Officers' Quarters, 08:28

"Ouch! Damn it"

Some other day, I might have taken myself to task for muttering a
curse aloud over a little shaving cut. Strange, I suppose, given the
reputation for "swearing like a sailor" that all members of the Navy
have. But Mama Willow insisted that all her children learn to express
themselves without resort to mere profanity. "If you want to make your
strong emotions and intense feelings understood under stressful
conditions, learn to master the language arts. A well formed sarcastic
remark, or a timely rhetorical question, delivered in a quiet tone can
be far more effective than swearing."

She was wonderful.

She followed her own precept. Mama Willow could tan your hide with
words alone, and leave you stinging without ever raising her voice
once, or allowing a single obscenity to touch her lips. Except of
course when she said, "Follow these rules, and you will be known as a
person who can keep their head in a crisis, remain rational despite
severe provocation. And besides," she'd finished, "when you do say
'Shit!' the object of your anger will know they are well and truly
fucked."

"Ouch! Da… Bless me, I'm clumsy this morning." I moved the razor away
from my face and took a deep breath. Yes, I was keeping my future wife
waiting, but I'd be ready no faster by committing seppuku one tiny
nick at a time. Calmer, I finished removing my overnight stubble.

That was the wording I stumbled over: "Well and truly fucked." Last
night had been quite an eye opener. Coached by the demure, proper
fiancée waiting in the lounge downstairs, I had uttered phrases and
euphemisms I hadn't used since junior high school, sniggering with
other boys behind the gymnasium. With every obscenity that passed my
lips, my other fiancée became more aroused, more passionate. more
consumed with lust.

She was wonderful.

While Nancy recovered, Deborah demonstrated that grammar and rhetoric
were not the oral skills she most prized in the bedroom, either. When
Nancy regained her wits, she, too, became a coach. I discovered that a
skill I thought mastered could be honed and improved. The art of the
tongue-lashing without profanities; lessons that Mama Willow never
taught her children.

She was wonderful, too.

We still had a lot of things to work out, but all three of us were…
satisfied… that the bedroom would be the least of our problems.

The bathroom, on the other hand, would take some careful negotiation.
Being relegated to the guest bathroom this morning, after what we'd
shared the night before, was a bit of a surprise. Another surprise,
given what I'd explored, was the total lack of shaving equipment. None
at all.

Well, I hadn't been prepared to spend a night. I suspect that wasn't
in their original plans, either. Likely there were feminine beauty
secrets to which I'd be exposed slowly, in order to avoid destroying
my illusions.

Or maybe it was a pigsty. By their own estimation, I mean, not mine
nor anyone else's. There had been some preparation before the night's
festivities commenced. No doubt they'd been embarrassed.

I checked my own appearance, dressed now in freshly pressed dress
grays. The tiny bits of toilet paper stuck on my face did not enhance
my image of authority, but I was otherwise ready to perform my duties.
I glanced at my sink. I grimaced. Then I spent a few minutes rinsing
hair and shaving soap from the bowl. I wouldn't have wanted Deborah or
Nancy to see my mess, either.

Out the door and down the stairs to the lobby. Deborah stood when she
saw me, one hand clutching an impressive sheaf of messages. At a
guess, the engagement announcement had generated even more messages
for me than for them. After a chaste kiss, Deborah confirmed the
guess.

"I've organized your 'congratulations' messages as best I could.
Family first, then crew, then other military, mostly Ships' Captains.
After that, the advertisements for wedding services. There's one I'm
not sure which category to put in. Perhaps 'old girlfriends'?"

I winced. That certainly seemed unlikely. "Who does it say it's from?"

"I'm guessing they are female," she said. "Who are 'Cilla' and
'Charybdis'?" Was there a touch of jealousy in her tone?

If so, it didn't stop me from laughing. "Family, definitely family." A
raised eyebrow told me I'd better explain. "Priscilla and Constance
Lee, two out of three of my romance advisors."

That lovely eyebrow arched even higher. "Did they advise you to place
that engagement announcement?"

I barely stifled a snort. "Quite the opposite. They physically
assaulted me for having the temerity to even consider such a thing. At
the time, I'd thought to have a week before it would appear, and had
to promise to cancel it first thing this morning. Only that promise
saved my scalp."

Deborah considered a moment. "I think I'm going to like your family."

What could I do but smile?

Officer's Parking, 08:52

It had the potential to turn into a party. One of those outdoor "block
parties" you may have attended at one time or another. I kept trying
to herd the Captain and his fiancée into the building, but it was slow
going.

Every couple of steps, the skipper had to salute and shake hands with
another round of congratulations, as did the Assistant Weapons
Officer. Handshakes and hugs abounded for both. Crewmembers were being
very demonstrative, and so were many of their spouses. I don't think
the Captain realized just how much his crew liked him.

I noticed various faces at the windows of the Squadron Headquarters
building, including Rear Admiral Shingleton himself. Squadron HQ was
where the offices of Submarine Cadre Units were located. No telling
what impression this was having on the HQ Staff. I spied the COB in
the crowd, and waved him over.

He saluted. "Yes ma'am?"

I returned the salute. "COB, we've got to get this mob into the
offices and under control before our boss," I indicated with a thumb
over my shoulder in the direction of the Admiral's office, "takes a
notion to get involved."

The COB grinned. "Yes ma'am." He spun around, producing a shiny
whistle which he proceeded to blow, quite shrilly. "Cadre Unit, Atten-
HUT!" Quiet descended over the parking lot, even among the dependents.
"Three cheers for the Captain and his intended! Hip-hip-"

"Hurrah!"

"Hip-hip-"

"Hurrah!"

"Hip-hip-"

"Hurrah!"

"Now fall out and muster by divisions in the Cadre main office!" That
broke up the party atmosphere, at least enough to get things moving in
a more organized, proficient, military manner.

I clapped the Chief of the Boat on the shoulder. "Thanks, COB. You're
a lifesaver."

He grinned. "All part of the job, XO."

"Do you carry that whistle all the time?" I was curious.

He nodded. Then he leaned in closer, his voice much quieter. "Do you
think anyone missed the fact that the Skipper arrived in Lt. Hubbard's
car?"

"Just giving the Captain a ride, COB."

"Yes, ma'am. And then providing transportation the next morning." He
waggled his eyebrows.

When I stopped laughing, I gestured for the COB to lead the way
inside. "You're a dirty-minded old sea-dog, COB."

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned again, unrepentant.

"But you're probably right."

"Yes, ma'am."

Portsmouth Marine Terminal Offices, 10:15

Okay, so taking Friday off wasn't the smartest thing to do, Nancy told
herself. Still, if I had to do it over, I wouldn't change a thing. She
wasn't aware that she was humming to herself as she processed her
backlog of paperwork. She'd even smiled at Amy when she'd delivered
another stack. Smiles being contagious, Amy was now infecting everyone
who passed her desk.

I can't believe I've got a fiancé. It seems like only yesterday I was
a quivering blob of insecurity over even dating Bob. Now I'm ready to
go down the aisle on roller skates. She hummed a snatch of a wedding
march, and smiled even more.

She pressed her intercom. "Amy? I've got the first batch done, can you
pick them up and send them on their merry way?"

Amy entered, still smiling from her previous visit, to be greeted by
another incandescent smile. Emboldened by that smile, Amy asked, "Good
weekend, Mrs. Hubbard?"

You wouldn't believe how good! "Great weekend, Amy! And you can call
me Nancy when it's just us girls."

Amy beamed. "Really? Gosh, Mrs… Nancy, that must have been some hot
date." She retrieved the outgoing files.

Thinking about last night, Nancy blushed. "I guess you could say
that." She held up her left hand.

Amy's eyes grew huge. "Oh, wow!" She moved closer and leaned down to
look. "Who're the lucky guys? I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind. Remember that phone call on Thursday from Robert E.
Lee?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"That's him." Nancy's smile outshone the rock on her finger.

Amy squealed her congratulations and wished her and her wife
happiness, then retreated smiling again from the office to her own
desk. Nancy returned to her work with a smile and a song on the tip of
her tongue.

Their smiles persisted until nearly lunchtime. That's when Amy
informed Nancy that there was a Mrs. Cummings on line two.

Nancy's smile disappeared. No sense putting it off. It'll just get
worse. She picked up the phone and stabbed the blinking button.
"Hello, Mother."

"No, Mother, I—" No, Mother, you didn't raise a daughter to be rude to
her parents, and I would have called if I had known the announcement
was going to be in yesterday's paper. If I had known I was engaged,
even.

"No, Mother, I—" No, Mother, you didn't raise your daughters to not to
answer your every phone call promptly. We learned that on our own.

"Yes, Mother." Yes, I understand a daughter has a duty to her parents.
But what about the parents' duty to be supportive to their children?
I'd be happy to explain everything if you'd just give me a chance,
just listen for once!

"Yes, Mother, but—" Sure a young bride's prospective husband should
have the approval of the brides' parents. But I'm not a young bride,
I'm a grown women and a wife already. Why can't you see that?

"No, Mother, he—" No, Mother, he certainly isn't trying to marry into
the Cummings name. How can you even think such a ridiculous thing? For
God's sake, he's a Lee of Virginia!

Mother! How can you—" Pregnant? I wish! But nothing we've done so far
could make me pregnant, even if I wanted to be. So, no, I don't have
to marry Bob. I want to.

"Yes Mother." Why am I even listening to this? You made me the
compliant, obedient, dutiful wife that The Dick loved to vent his
spleen on, just like you're doing now. Bob likes me to be feisty—he
told me so. He said it was one of the things that attracted him to me.

"Yes Mother." Whatever. I'll certainly take precautions. I'll take the
precaution of not raising my own children to be doorstops or whipping
posts. God, enough is enough!

"Shut up, Mother!" Did you even hear what I said? Can't you stop
talking long enough for me to say anything? Ah, it's sinking in.

"Yes, Mother, I said shut up. Deborah is my wife. Bob will be our
husband. Deal with that any way you wish, but deal with it, or don't
call again. Goodbye, Mother." Trembling, Nancy disconnected and set
the phone in its receiver.

Nancy sat looking at the phone, her hands not quite steady. Damn, that
felt good. I think I really needed that. Feisty. I'll have to thank
Bob when I see him

Amy announced via the intercom that Mrs Cummings was on line two
again. She picked it up. "Hello?" She pulled the phone away from her
ear as a burst of invective screeched at her. She hung up again.

"Amy? I'm not taking any more calls from Mrs. Cummings today, thank
you." she released the intercom button. She looked at her ring finger
for perhaps the fiftieth time today, and began smiling again. She
returned to her work. Before too long she resumed humming.

Submarine Cadre Detachment, Norfolk, 13:45

"Submarine Cadre Detachment Five-Oh-Seven, Petty Officer Dorchester
speaking, may I help you?" Siobhan has spoken the standard telephone
greeting fifty times since the office opened at 08:00.

"No, sir, the Captain is in a meeting with SubRon Two until 14:00. May
I take a message?" She filled out a salmon-colored message blank with
the twenty-first message of congratulations so far today, smiling as
she did so. She repeated the message back to verify accuracy, and
promised that it would be delivered when the Captain returned. She
disconnected with the usual phone courtesies.

The Cadre Detachment Office was nothing more than a long room with two
small offices and a conference room at one end, and cubicle dividers
throughout the rest for the various departments. Only two of the
current occupants were actually on duty; herself as "Duty PO" (Phone
Watch) and Radioman Chief "Sparky" Schulz as "Duty Officer." Siobhan
walked to the cubicle in front of the two offices shared by the
Captain's Yeoman and Ship's Personnelman.

"Got another one for the Skipper," she said. The Captain's Yeoman
smiled and added the latest message to the stack before turning back
to his typing. Siobhan returned to her desk.

Between the liberal leave and liberty policy, taking advantage of
schools, and short workday (09:00 to 12:00) of the first two weeks,
the Cadre Office was nearly empty. Siobhan and the Duty Officer had
opened the office at 08:00 and would stay until 16:00, but the rest of
the crew not on leave or in school had come and gone for the day. The
Captain was still in the building, and the XO was in her office. The
Admin Department (that yeoman and personnelman) were actually busier
now than aboard ship, processing records. Even they would leave by
15:00, unless the Skipper or Exec stayed later.

Siobhan had volunteered for duty the first day. There were enough
Petty Officers in the crew so that none would have to stand duty more
than twice over the next nine weeks. She wanted to get hers out of the
way early. Besides, two of her spouses had gotten underway very early
this morning, and she was already up.

Her only concern with her duties was actually for her brief bouts of
"morning sickness." So far, the only episodes had been immediately
after waking, and mercifully short. But, as the oldest of nine, she
could remember her mothers' pregnancies. Cassiopeia, her youngest
mother, had suffered from nausea several times a day through eight
months. She'd actually lost weight during her term. Momma Cass never
had gotten fat.

"Urp." Damn. Shouldn't have conjured up those images. She stood and
looked around. She waved wildly at the Duty Officer, then dashed out
of the office and down the hall to the nearest ladies room.

She barely made it, but barely was good enough. She managed to call
for Ralph O'Rourke on the big porcelain phone.

She was still waiting for his answer when she heard the door open and
close. A hand squeezed her shoulder. "Feel better now?" She nodded,
spat once more and reached for the flush mechanism again. The hand
patted her shoulder and left.

Water ran. That helpful hand appeared in front of her, holding a paper
cup. "Here. Rinse and spit." She took the cup gratefully and did just
that, several times. She flushed again.

"Can you stand?" Siobhan nodded. The hands helped, lifting under her
armpits, and steered her to the sofa in the ladies room. She sat, eyes
closed, gathering herself. Water ran again. Then she felt a cool, damp
handkerchief pressed to her forehead. "Want to lay down a minute?" She
tried to shake her head "no" but realized that was a mistake. She
moaned instead.

She felt her legs being lifted and turned onto the sofa. Then her head
and shoulders were supported as she was eased into a horizontal
position.

Her angel of mercy sat on the edge of the sofa and held her hand.
Siobhan squeezed her gratitude. The hand squeezed back. "You just rest
here as long as you need to. I'll let the Duty Officer know you're
okay. Don't worry about the phones." The door opened and closed again.

After a while, Siobhan felt strong enough to rise. She did so, slowly,
then went to the sink. She brushed her teeth as best she could with a
finger, wishing for mouthwash or at least a breath mint. She checked
and straightened her uniform. At least she hadn't gotten any on
herself. Then, her legs still just the least bit wobbly, she returned
to the office.

She arrived just in time to hear, "Submarine Cadre Detachment Five-Oh-
Seven, Lieutenant Hubbard speaking, may I help you?" Oh, good grief,
the Captain's fiancée was filling in for her? Could this get more
embarrassing? She glanced at the handkerchief in her hand. The
monogram in the corner was "DH." Yes, apparently it could.

The Lieutenant was smiling and thanking someone while she stood and
waved Siobhan to the seat. Another call of congratulations, she
guessed. She watched as the call was transferred to the Captain, and
the Lieutenant hung up.

"Sit! Sit!" the Lieutenant urged her. She did. She looked at a clock;
14:45. She'd been out of it for nearly an hour. She started to express
her profuse thanks to Lt. Hubbard, but the officer waved it off.
"Shipmates look out for shipmates," she said. "And besides, I'm not
the only woman in the crew that deserves congratulations, am I? You
take good care of yourself and your baby, and that will be thanks
enough."

The Captain swept out of his office. "Ready?" The Lieutenant nodded,
and they left.

Siobhan decided she was going to miss this crew, a lot.

McDonald-Thomas-Sanders Wedding, 15:00

Hog heaven, Donna thought, might very aptly describe where I am right
now. She snapped off three quick pictures of the brides and groom
cutting the cake. She chose an entirely different angle than their
"professional" photographer, a much better one, she thought.

The reception was lavishly catered. I feel like I'm gaining weight
just being around the buffet. She saw an angle that emphasized the
opulence of the feast and snapped three more pictures. Capturing the
guests, the brides and groom, and their families had used up four
rolls of film. Of course, if I were shooting the wedding for the
brides, four rolls wouldn't even be a start. The paper was unlikely to
use more than a few photos, even for a feature. Donna was ready to
leave.

Unfortunately, the Society Reporter was not. She seemed to feel that
grazing rights at the post nuptial banquet were perks of the job. She
looks like she's covered an awful lot of weddings. Next time, I'll
take a cab. I can afford it, now.

In fact, "Do you need me for any other pictures?" She had to wait
until the reporter chewed and swallowed for her answer. It wasn't
long.

"What's the rush, deary? Got a date later? Need a fourth?"

As if! I certainly wouldn't ask— Donna shook her head. Let's not go
there. Despite first impressions, you might have a heart of gold and
the loyalty of a cocker spaniel. "No, I just wanted to see that new
exhibit at the Mariner's Museum, and they close early on Mondays."

The reporter waved her away with a "Suit yourself" and returned to her
grazing. Despite herself, Donna snatched up a piece of baklava and a
napkin on her way out. Better watch yourself, "deary," or you'll have
no room to talk, she thought to herself.

Catching a cab in front of the Princess Anne Hotel was no problem;
there were always a line of cabs waiting. Donna gave her destination
and settled back to savor the sweet treat she'd grabbed.

Shortly, she was wandering the hallways of the Mariner's Museum. The
theme of the new exhibit was Life on the Waters of the Chesapeake. It
featured the paintings of three artists, two in oils and one in oils,
watercolors, and charcoal.

The subjects of the various paintings varied wildly, from sailboats
and yachts to families of clammers in the tidal flats. One of the
artists specialized in people. The oil of the clammers was signed EKG.
Donna especially liked those. I'd have taken that picture, if I'd been
there. Exactly like that. Exactly.

There were signs in the museum discouraging photography, but Donna had
shown her press credentials, and the museum staff ignored her. She
used up several rolls, and found herself returning to the painting of
the clammers. Nibbling a corner of her lip, she stood on a bench to
snap several pictures of the painting, using varied settings and
filters.

When she moved to descend from the bench, a young man extended a hand
to assist. She smiled her gratitude and accepted the hand. "You like
that one?" he asked.

"Very much," she replied. "I think it's my favorite of the
exposition."

"Really?" He glanced at the picture and frowned. "It's just some
people digging clams," he said dismissively.

Donna almost bristled. Do you have no soul? "Look at it again. Look at
the faces of the people in the painting. Do you see how the artist
manages to capture both their weariness and a sense of satisfaction?
Can you see the little details, the wrinkles and the smile lines and
the patches on their clothes, the swirl of mud there, the…"

The young man wasn't looking at the painting. He was looking at Donna.
Smiling. Donna blushed. "You seem very passionate about art."

Blushing deeper, Donna held up her camera. "A kindred spirit."

The young man smiled. "That wasn't a criticism." He extended his hand
again. "Edgar Galloway. Call me Ed. And you are?"

Still feeling the heat on her face, Donna took his hand and shook it.
"Donna Delvecchio" Making a guess, she asked, "What's the 'K' stand
for?"

He laughed. "Kenton. Will you join me—and my wife—for dinner?"

"I'd love…" Donna broke off, and groaned. "I'm afraid I can't,
tonight. I need to spend the evening in a darkroom." Damn! Kindred
spirit, and cute, too. Damn.

"Oh, I'm sure my wife would love to join us in a dark room somewhere."
Donna giggled. "Perhaps another time?" He smiled as Donna nodded,
still giggling.

They exchanged cards and numbers.

Officer's Club, Naval Station Norfolk, 19:22

"Thank you, Bob. Dinner was excellent."

"It couldn't hold a candle to yours, Nancy, but you're welcome
anyway."

"Thanks again! You're too sweet." Nancy was smiling warmly. After-
dinner coffee was fresh in their cups, and Bob was being his sweet,
charming self.

Deborah couldn't help but smile. Nancy seemed to be blossoming around
Bob. Bubbling. Percolating, even.

There'd been no time since last night's unexpected ending for Deborah
to talk seriously with her wife, and they really needed to. Where did
they go from here? Dropping Nancy at work and taking Bob to the office
via the BOQ had left no time. Staying there until Bob could get away,
even though she herself was on leave; dropping him at the BOQ before
getting Nancy and returning for dinner; the only time for talk had
been in the car, and Nancy's reaction to her mothers' calls had
consumed most of that.

Where do we go from here? Deborah asked herself. What comes next? She
glanced at her ring finger. We're engaged, yes. Does he want a long
engagement? Do I? Does Nancy? We've had a big wedding. I don't think I
want another. But does he? The smile didn't entirely fade from her
lips, but it was tempered by her thoughts.

"So, anyway… Bob, I've been thinking, all day as a matter of fact…"
Nancy paused. She turned her head to Deborah. "Deb and I haven't had a
chance to talk since yesterday," she turned back to Bob, "but what I'm
thinking is that your staying in the BOQ is very inconvenient for all
of us and I'd like you to move out. Tonight," she hurriedly finished,
looking back and forth between Bob and Deborah.

There was a lot of three cornered glancing. Nancy looked at Bob with
embarrassed adoration, Deborah could see, and at her with hopeful
appeal. Bob looked back with some surprise and much affection, and at
Deborah with much the same, plus a tinge of worry. Deborah had no idea
what her own face showed beyond shock.

She forced herself to look only at Nancy. "What happened to my wife?
You know, the uncertain woman who barely tolerated the thought of
dating, much less marriage."

Nancy's face turned serious. "I know what you mean. But I had three
weeks to face myself alone. I think I'd already turned a corner. And
then there was Bob." She faced him, now. "I know you love Deborah. I
see it in your eyes. What shocks me is that I see some of that for me,
too."

"Never doubt that," Bob answered her softly. "I saw something in you
even on the first date. I love you both."

Nancy turned back to Deborah. "You see? And he gives me strength. I
never could have faced down my mothers, even over a phone, without
thinking about Bob."

By now, each had taken the hands of the other, and squeezes were
circulating. Deborah inhaled, and fixed her eyes on Bob. "How long
will it take you to pack?"

Bob's eyes gleamed and Nancy squeezed Deborah's hand hard enough to
hurt. But just as suddenly, Bob looked away. When he looked back, his
expression was guarded. "Before I answer, we need to discuss a few
things."

"Like what?" Nancy had lost a little of the bubbliness at Bob's
hesitation. Deborah just raised her eyebrows, and leaned a little
closer.

"Well, for one, just how long would we be cohabitating sans marriage?
Put another way," he added hastily, "how long an engagement were my
ladies anticipating?"

Nancy turned to Deborah. Her hand squeezed once, very briefly. Short,
Deborah interpreted. She nodded slightly. She squeezed back, twice.
Two days? Nancy frowned, then nodded. They turned to Bob as one and
said, together, "Wednesday."

Bob leaned back and laughed, loudly enough to draw the attention of
other diners. Realizing he'd done so, he announced loudly, "The
wedding is on Wednesday!" There was a smattering of applause and a few
cheers, and the other diners returned to their own affairs.

Bob lifted each of their hands to his lips in turn for a kiss. "Finish
your coffee, darlings. We've packing to do.

Nancy was beaming again. "You had other questions?"

Bob smiled wickedly at Deborah's wife and his fiancée. "Time enough
for the deep, probing questions when I've unpacked."

Nancy flushed prettily as she dropped her eyes to her coffee. Bob
raised a hand to signal their waitress. "Check, please."

Navy Housing, 22:30

The Lees and Hubbards did not have a monopoly on celebrating
betrothals. In fact, as engagement parties go, the Nunez family all
agreed this one was a success. The adult members of the family, led by
Alberto, had proposed to Kylia and been accepted—as expected. Then the
young ones had been allowed to come in and express their welcome. Many
tears were shed.

The party was finally over. Alberto and Juan read bedtime stories to
the youngest while the "womenfolk" cleaned up. Just now Kylia.
washing, and Maria, drying, were discussing a popular old ballad
called Danny Boy.

"I have heard many interpretations of the song," said Maria. "It seems
quite lovely."

"Oh, no! I think it is terrible as a love song," Kylia said.
Especially if you look at it a certain way. Some woman is laying a
horrible guilt trip on her lover. 'Okay, fine, you go ahead without
me,' she's saying. 'You have to go. I have to stay. I'll be here
whenever you get back, summer or winter. But I'll probably be dead
when you get home, having to live without you, all alone. Just say a
prayer over my rotting corpse. I'll be fine, don't worry about me.'"
She made shooing motions with the hand bearing her new engagement
ring.

Maria and Madonna both laughed. Madonna, pausing from containerizing
leftovers, said, "Many times I have listened to that song, and every
time I assumed that it was a young woman pledging her undying and
everlasting love to this young man, Danny."

"Si," Maria agreed. "Although I had heard that it might be a grand-
mama sending her grandson off to war, expecting to die before his
return. And yet, some of the words implied that might be a curious
relationship . . ." She snapped her dishtowel.

The ladies all laughed again.

"You seriously believe this woman is playing on the man's feelings of
guilt over leaving?" Madonna bent to slide a covered platter onto a
refrigerator shelf.

"Absolutely! No one knows guilt better than Irish Catholic women,
except maybe Jewish mothers. Listen!" She began to sing. "'And when ye
come, and all the flowers are dying, and I am dead, as dead I well may
be . . .' Nowhere in the song does she say whether he'll be gone for a
week or a month or a year, but here she is saying 'dead I well may
be'. Don't you think she is trying to make him feel as bad as she does
that he's not taking her with him?

"As bad as I'd have felt when you all returned to Cuba if you weren't
taking me with you?"

"Oh, Ky! Never think it!" said Maria.

"You accepted our proposal; you're one of us," agreed Madonna. "We are
very much a 'whither thou goest' family. We would never leave you
behind."

"I know, I know," said Kylia, crying. "It's just that awful song that
makes me cry." They let that reason stand, and comforted one another.

Tuesday, May 8th, 2001

Clear
High—71°F
Low—53°F
Dew Point 53 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 8 mph (E)
Sunrise 5:03 AM Sunset 6:59 PM
Moonrise 8:18 PM, Full, 99% of the Moon is Illuminated

Portsmouth Marine Terminal Offices, 07:55

Sometimes, Nancy thought, the last thing you want to see when you
arrived wherever it was you were going, was a flock of relatives. And
yet here I am, arriving at my office—at work, at my job, at my place
of business—and my poor secretary is surrounded by my mothers. All
four of them.

"Good morning, Penny. Good morning, Mothers. What brings you to the
Marine Terminal this morning?" As if she didn't know. "Arranging to
ship something overseas, are we?"

"Nancy Virginia! Aren't you going to invite us into your office?"
asked Mother Lois.

Nancy returned Mother Lois's stare with a considering look. One week
earlier, that question in that tone would have had me scurrying to
open the door, apologizing as I scurried. Now . . . . "I suppose, out
of consideration for Amy, that might be best." She turned to Amy,
smiling, as her mothers' jaws dropped, some of them at least. "I'm
sorry about this invasion, Amy. I'll have them out from underfoot as
quickly as I can so we can get back to work." She opened her door and
waved a casual hand to usher her mothers inside.

"Should I hold your calls?" asked Amy.

"No reason to—this won't take long at all." Behind her she heard a mew
from more than one of her mothers at that calm observation. She
entered her office, closing the door, and took her seat.

Folding her hands on her desk, she addressed herself to Mother Lois.
"I see no reason to go into this extremely personal matter while I am
at work." As her mothers tried to speak, she raised her voice a
little. "You made your disapproval quite clear on the phone. That's
fine—your approval is no longer my top priority, my future husband's
approval is, and he approves of me as I am, thank you very much.

"Now if there is nothing further . . . ." she started to rise.

There evidently was. Four middle aged women began speaking at once,
without regard to age or precedence. Nancy had never seen her mothers
at such a loss. Even if Nancy had wanted to listen carefully to their
"reasoned discourse" she could have never separated their words.
Without words, Nancy relied on facial expressions to "get the gist."

Mother Lois and Mother Kelsey were angry or at least very cross. She
moved her gaze to Mother Lena; passionately concerned? Shifted again
to Mother Marianna. Ouch! Momma Mar was not angry, or cross, or merely
concerned—she was about to burst into tears! Holding up a hand to the
others, Nancy rose from her desk to kneel in front of her most needy
mother.

"Momma Mar, are you alright?"

"No!" she said, followed by a sob. "My daughter is getting married,
and I want to be there." The sob was followed by others as Nancy took
her hands, which morphed into a full-fledged hug in seconds.

After that exchange of comfort against a background of murmuring,
Nancy leaned back and raised her mother's chin to look in her eyes.
"I'd love to have you there, Momma Mar, but would you feel comfortable
coming to my wedding without your wives? I wouldn't feel as
comfortable only inviting some of my—"

If the previous cacophony was indecipherable in four voices, the
protests raised now were equally so in but three. It was Mother Lena's
hand that stifled the angrier voices this time to allow her to say,
"Nancy, I want to be there, too! Forgive us this display of badly
expressed concern. After all, you gave us no warning, not a hint that
another marriage was in the offing."

"That's true and I'm sorry, but I was still fighting myself on this
until just this weekend."

Mother Lena still hand her hand up, and Mothers Lois and Kelsey were
nearly silent, if champing at the bit. Nancy recognized a long-
standing tradition of her parents that meant "I have the floor" and
realized that she had invoked it herself—and it had been honored—when
she went to Momma Mar. As Mother Lena dropped her hand, Nancy raised
hers again.

"Here it is, all laid out. Captain Robert E. Lee of Virginia will
marry my wife Deborah and me in the Norfolk Naval Base Chapel tomorrow
at noon." Strangled protests didn't quite violate the invoked rule,
and Nancy continued. "There will be no fancy wedding dresses, no fancy
flowers, no bridesmaids in taffeta, no groomsmen in tuxedos, no music
that I know of, no huge guest list and no reception afterwards. I'd
love to have you all and my fathers if they can take time off. There
will be no discussion of the agenda or the timing. This is simply the
way it will be."

Before she lowered her hand, she repeated, "No discussion. And now I
need to get to work. She untangled herself from Momma Mar's embrace,
thinking, If I had realized that I could have an uninterrupted say
just by raising a hand . . . But then she remembered doing so when
younger and being treated like a schoolgirl with a question. She
swelled with emotion realizing that somehow, sometime, her mothers had
begun to think of her as an adult, even if they'd never admit it.

Another proof of that status was Mother Lena shepherding Mothers Lois
and Kelsey out of her office. They still didn't look happy, but they
had actually accepted that there would be no more arguments. At least,
not here and now. Family dinners and reunions might be different.

Nancy would have followed them to the elevator had not Amy's voice on
the intercom said, "Mrs. Hubbard, Receiving on line one."

Hubbard House, 08:15

Sometimes, Deborah thought, the last thing you want to see when you
arrived wherever it was you were going, was an ex-husband. And yet
here he was, the Dick, sitting on her front porch, hers and Nancy's,
as though there wasn't a one-hundred yard restraining order to prevent
that very thing.

"Hello… Dick. What brings you to within a hundred meters of either me
or Nancy this morning?" As if she didn't know. "Arranging to spend
time at the county farm, are we?"

"You're not getting married tomorrow." The Dick delivered that
statement… command… threat in an absolutely dead-cold voice, like
nothing Deborah could remember hearing when they were married. Deborah
felt cold pricklies racing up and down her spine and she took a step
back away from her own porch. The Dick stood up. Deborah stepped back
again.

Then just as she always had, she stood her ground. Naval training,
natural stubbornness, whatever, Deborah faced her problem head on.
"Whether we marry tomorrow or not is no longer any concern of yours. A
judge has long since decreed your interest in our affairs at an end,
and more important, Nancy and I have decreed we don't want you in our
lives."

While she spoke her defiance, the Dick had closed the distance between
them to less than an arm's length—her arm's length. His arms were
longer and he reached out to grab her wrist with his left hand.
Deborah reacted as she'd been trained, and occasionally practiced.
There are simple maneuvers that turn the arm in such a way that
pressure is placed on the thumb, the weakest point of a simple grip,
allowing the hold to be broken. At the same time, Deborah made a grab
of her own then applied pressure to the Dick's elbow to make him
stumble past her and fall to his knees.

She released immediately and ran up the porch steps, intending to put
a stout oak door between herself and Richard. The door shook from his
shoulder, but not until she'd thrown the deadbolt. Deborah breathed a
sigh of relief.

Then the frame around the door split away from the wall and Deborah
realized that the Dick had become, since she last saw him, much more
violent than she'd ever seen him. The door wouldn't last more than
seconds against him. She looked at the telephone in the parlor and
thought, no time, and the bedroom doors won't last any longer than…
She ran to the kitchen and the door smashed open behind her.

She realized her keys were still in hand and thought, Back door!
Around the house, in the car, get away!

But the Dick caught her in the kitchen, struck her from behind on her
shoulder which spun her back-first into the refrigerator, her shoulder
striking it in agony. This time the Dick grabbed her left wrist in his
tightly squeezing right. Those moves for freeing one's self from a
hold don't work quite as well when a prepared individual is grating
one's radius and ulna against each other, when that person's fingers
and thumb circled one's wrist enough that fingers alone maintained a
grasp and the thumb was a lock on it.

The Dick was thundering about "listening" and "teaching" and "lessons"
but Deborah wasn't listening or learning whatever his lessons were.
She was all about "surviving" and "escaping" with no attention left
for anything else.

The Dick yanked her away from the refrigerator and she found herself
almost bent over the counter. As he used his, and Deborah must be
forgiven for thinking it, "vise-like grip" to spin her back around,
she managed to grab one of Nancy's most cherished kitchen tools and
swing with all her power and the momentum of the spin Dick had
started..

After the first contact, his grip was much looser and his thundering
had stopped, so Deborah applied it a second time, with nearly as much
force as the first, again to the side of the head. The Dick hadn't
fallen nor had he released her, though she was certain she could break
his grip now. Instead, she applied the tool a third time in a fine
overhand swing.

The Dick let go. The Dick fell down. The Dick was very, very quiet.
Deborah ran out of the house through the shattered front door into the
arms of a police officer, causing her to drop Nancy's marble rolling
pin. She hoped it wasn't chipped.

It took nearly two minutes to explain and absorb the explanation that
Mrs. Grundy across the street had called the police the moment that
Deborah had gotten out of her car instead of driving away. She'd given
the emergency dispatcher a running account of the assault in front of
the house and the breaking and entering that had expedited response.
Deborah added the details of the restraining order.

As a second unit pulled up, the officer's partner reported that there
was nobody, conscious or otherwise, in the kitchen. While the details
were radioed in, the second unit did a careful room-to-room search of
the house.

I've got to call Nancy and warn her. That son-of-a-bitch may go there,
next.

Submarine Cadre Detachment, Norfolk, 08:30

Sometimes, Bob thought, the last thing you want to see when you
arrived wherever it was you were going, was someone to whom you were
deeply in debt, the kind of debt that defies repayment. And yet here I
am, arriving at my ship's office, and there he is, he finished aloud,
"bigger than life and twice as ugly!"

"Like you're any great prize! Still, I hear conga-rats are in order.
Find a couple of blind women to walk the aisle with you, did you?"

"Blind women! Who was it that always said, 'there's someone for
everyone' and 'beauty's only skin deep' and "ain't no ugly folks, just
some's less beautiful than others' and so on?"

"That was me. But it'd take women with a particular appreciation for
the absurd to consider getting hitched to you!"

"I'll have you know that many women consider me a fine catch."

"Yeah, but they all 'catch-and-release.' Who'd want to keep a scaly
runt like you?"

Bob couldn't help it. He started laughing. "One of these days, you're
going to chase a posse of women until they catch you, and then we'll
see who laughs last."

"The only reason you'll ever laugh last is because it takes you longer
to catch the joke."

The Cadre Office was not particularly crowded. The crew had earlier
mustered, gotten their assignments, those who were here, and been
dispersed. The few who remained, however, were looking sorely
perplexed by this byplay. Bob placed a hand in front of his mouth and
said as an aside, "Old friend. Got me through the academy. Hoping
he'll stand up for me at the base chapel, tomorrow."

Frowns turning upside down, he faced his visitor again. "So, old
friend. Going to stand up for me at the wedding tomorrow?"

Bob watched as his "old friend's" face fell. "Lord, Bob, I'm sorry but
I can't. I'm on a flight out this morning for the west coast to join
my new command as Exec."

"Congratulations!" Bob replied. "Those conga-rats are flying every
which-way today." He punched his friend lightly on the arm. He kept a
smile on his face to hide the disappointment he felt.

"True, but rotten timing anyway. I wish I could stay the extra day,
but 'them's the breaks of Naval Air,' as they say."

"I remember—'air brakes'."

"Right. So, the base chapel… religious ceremony?"

"I think Nancy is Catholic, Deborah is Presbyterian, and I'm
Episcopalian. No, the Baptist Chaplain is just going to bless our
union after a civil ceremony, which he'll officiate. I don't think the
ladies were planning on bridesmaids or anything, so springing a
groom's man on them might not have been the way to go, anyway."

"You are getting brighter in your dotage, Bob."

"Not so's you'd notice, but thanks anyway."

"I've got to go, or I'd at least stick around to meet the brides. I'll
give you a call when I'm settled in."

"Wait a few minutes and I'll go with you. We haven't had a chance to
catch up, you blowing through like this, and I should think you'd like
to hear about my 'fy-yancies'."

"You don't have work to do?"

"I just arranged leave with my boss upstairs, and as of now I'm free
as a bird." He turned to the Duty Officer, Lt. Watkins. "Glen, I'll
see you in a week or ten days." He shook hands.

"Oh, you'll see me sooner than that, Skipper. I know where the chapel
is."

He made his good-byes to the crewmembers present and started to
accompany his good friend out the door, asking the name of his new
command.

Petty Officer Dorchester, standing duty again per her plan to get them
out of the way early, was answering the phone. "Excuse, me, Captain?
It's Lt. Hubbard, sir. She sounds upset."

Good, make that best friend or not, Bob abandoned him at the door to
take the phone, concern all over his face. An upset fiancé on the day
before the wedding commands one's full attention. Siobhan looked a
sheepish apology to the big officer leaning on the door frame, and he
grinned and shrugged back.

The Captain's face turned white. "I'll be right there."

En Route to Hubbard House, 08:46

Lena could always tell when the rest of the family regarded
transportation as an emergency. The key words were very simple: "Let
Lena drive." That was the only time she ever heard those words. A
paranoid person might infer that the rest of her family did not trust
her driving, but Lena chose to interpret it as good healthy fear and
self-preservation because high speeds and two-wheel cornering
frightened the bejeezus out of them.

Well, it should!

Besides, her maiden name was Foyt, and she learned to drive before she
learned to walk. All of her poppa's family learned to avoid revenuers
back in the day, running illegal moonshine north into the then "dry"
United States. They regarded it like any other skill, something you
learned and used.

A glance in the rear-view mirror over the top of Mariana's head
reminded her that her wives didn't need to be along for this drive,
though she was glad they were. Solidarity, showing Nancy that they
were all behind her a hundred percent even when it meant white
knuckles and mumbled prayers and "that lunatic's driving." Lena
giggled, which caused moans in the back seat and for Nancy in the
front to look across at her.

Did they think she was losing it? She giggled again and drew more
moans from behind. Now Nancy had a suspicious look on her face. Lena
looked a ways ahead and noted a jam forming, so she decided to switch
streets, leaving rubber behind as she braked, cut ninety degrees to
the right and accelerated. She didn't have to see the knuckles to know
how white they were. "Everyone lean left," she announced as the neared
the end of the block.

As she squealed through the left turn, back into the right direction
for Nancy's house, there was a squeak behind her as well as more
moans. That meant Lois had opened her eyes, the big sissy. The others
were afraid to close theirs, but Lois rode with her eyes shut.

Glancing left, she noted that Nancy had a hand on the overhead strap,
but her left was just loose in her lap, not braced or clutching
anything. Relaxed. Enjoying the ride. All Nancy's tension and
attention was focused forward, to the end of the trip.

They were halfway there when Nancy asked, "Did I say thank you, Mother
Lena?"

"Yes you did, sweetie, you surely did," Lena replied. "Don't worry,
we'll have you there in a few more minutes."

"I know, and I'm grateful, but I wish I could relax more and enjoy
this. It takes me back to when you used to drive carpool to school. Of
course, back then you used to caution us all to keep the details of
the carpool from all the other parents or we'd all have to ride with,"
she lowered her voice, "Momma Lois."

Not low enough. "I heard that!"

"Sorry, Mother Lois."

"Yes, well, we all knew Lena would be more exciting to ride with, but
we trusted she wouldn't do anything too wild."

Lena looked at her daughter. Nancy looked at her mother. Both giggled.
The back seat moaned as one, and Lena changed lanes three times in
rapid succession to keep the moan going. (She could have stayed in the
left lane after passing the first car.)

Wussies!

En Route to Hubbard House, 09:03

Wuss!

When Bob had begged a ride to his fianc?s' house, Rick had been only
too happy to oblige. He was certain he could deliver the Groom and
still make his flight with time to spare. Friends since the Naval
Academy, they so rarely got to visit, and anything that would prolong
the visit was fine by him.

But Bob had ridden with him on occasions too numerous to recall. He
knew the kind of driver Rick was—why this pale-faced cold-sweating
passenger now? Rick almost said it aloud—"Wuss!"—but held it in while
he thought about it.

Damn, this boy must be really gone about his wives-to-be. He wasn't
acting like he was scared about the road. He must be scared for his
ladies.

He turned onto a boulevard closing in on the home stretch per Bob's
navigating, when some maniac in an overpowered sedan fishtailed in
from the other direction. Figuring he'd be best to leave that fool
behind, he accelerated. The road was clear ahead.

To his surprise—no, surprise is much too mild—shock, that's the word,
the sedan pulled even then slightly ahead and looking to pass! He
glanced left and saw an attractive young woman sitting by the driver…
a "little old lady." A huge set of eyes in another face looked at him
from the back seat, almost even with him.

Bob was laughing in his seat, color returning to his face.

Rick tried to get a little more out of the rental car, but it didn't
have any more to give. He shook his head in disgust. Got his doors
blown off by a bunch of women in a damned sedan, for gosh sake.

And Bob, laughing his butt off, witness to this travesty! If only he'd
had his own car…

His navigator gave him a "two blocks" warning and he took his foot off
the accelerator. The other car began to slow as well, though not quite
as much. At one block, Bob pointed unnecessarily to a house on the
left with a pair of police cars in the driveway. Rick rested a foot on
the brake.

Ahead, the sedan did a panic-stop and reverse, pretty as you please,
and came to a complete stop near the curb in front of the house. A
couple of policemen were moved to grant the sedan lots of extra space,
dashing from the sidewalk onto the grass of the front yard.

He turned to Bob, who was unfastening his seatbelt. "Okay, chuckles,
what's so bleeding funny?"

"Did you see the woman in the passenger seat?"

"Yes, I did. You know her?"

"Oh yeah! That was my fiancé, Nancy. You're lucky she was a
passenger."

"Oh, really? Whoever was driving is a bigger maniac than I am."

"Yeah, but still. That was one of her mothers. They won't let Nancy
drive. They consider her too reckless, or not wreckless enough."

While Rick tried to decipher that, he got out of the coupe. Looking at
his watch, he figured he had just enough time to meet Bob's new family
if he turned responsibility for the rental over to Bob and got Nancy
or her mother to drop him at the airport.

Two young women met and hugged on the yard and Bob went to hug them
both, while three older women were insisting on custody of the car
keys from a fourth. That made the fourth the driver he wanted to ride
with. They looked like his kind of family.

Bob was waving him over. "Darlings, I want you to meet my best friend,
Rick Rudd. His tutoring got me through the Academy, and Nancy, he
drives just like you." Handshakes led to kisses on his cheek, to mild
blushing. He felt welcome, especially when Nancy ribbed him about his
second place finish to a "guurl."

He wished them all his best, sincerely, before he took his leave… with
Nancy's mother behind the wheel.

Princess Anne County Jail, 10:31

"Hubbard. Richard."

The Dick stood and said, "Here," like there was any doubt, himself
being the only occupant of the two by three meter cell. I wouldn't be
here, he thought to himself, if I hadn't tried to hide in that crazy
old broad's garage. The Dick was wrong. It wasn't Mrs. Grundy's
garage—she just happened to be the sharp-eyed busybody that had
watched him when he tried to evade the police.

The Dick didn't think they were calling him out to let him go, not
given how long it had taken them to list the charges when they
apprised him of his rights. Assault, battery, breaking and entering,
two counts of trespass, violation of a restraining order, attempted
kidnapping, attempted illegal restraint, resisting arrest and a few
others that mostly meant other ways of saying those same things.
Redundant, and piling on.

Naval Base Chapel, Norfolk, 12:00

At first, the threesome had intended to get married in the Sacristy,
or maybe the narthex of the base chapel. The presence of Nancy's
mothers, the entire Wardroom and their spouses, the chief's mess and
their spouses, and a fair fraction of the crew and their spouses, not
to mention all the children accompanying said attendees, required them
to move to the nave. Priscilla, Constance and Libby represented the
Lees for the groom's family.

"Dearly Beloved of God, we are gathered here today, in the presence of
the Almighty, for truly is it written, 'wherever two or more shall
gather in his name, there is love,'

As unobtrusively as possible, Petty Officer Delvecchio maneuvered
around the Nave, snapping picture after picture. She'd brought twenty
rolls of film and intended to use every frame. She liked these people.
She liked her future job. And she liked taking pictures.

"Marriage is ordained by God for the union between men and women. The
primary purpose of this union is to glorify God by demonstrating his
love to the world."

Deedee couldn't help it, tears flowed over her cheeks. She always
cried at weddings, and if Alex teased her, he was going to get a piece
of her mind. Of course, he'd say, "A piece of your mind? I must have
the whole thing by now."

"There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there
is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. Jesus,
the founder of Christianity, proclaimed, 'So, they are no longer two,
but one flesh'."

There were no dry eyes in the Stuart-Forrest pew, not even Nat's.
Tiffany was outside, being minded by Chief Ghirardelli's girls, or
hers would have been loudly weepy, too.

"Do you, Robert Edward Yarborough Lee, take these women, Deborah Anne
Hubbard and Nancy Virginia Cummings Hubbard, to be your lawfully
wedded wives; to have and to hold, for richer and for poorer, in
sickness and in health, for as long as you all shall live?"

"I do."

"Do you, Deborah Anne Hubbard, and you, Nancy Virginia Cummings
Hubbard, take this man, Robert Edward Yarborough Lee, to be your
lawfully wedded husband; to have and to hold, for richer and for
poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you all shall live?"

"We do."

The eyes of the Nunez wives and future wife were no dryer than the
Stuart-Forrests, though the husbands forebore to weep in manly self-
control. They handed out bags of flower seeds to throw when the brides
and groom exited the chapel. The flowers on either side of the walkway
from the church were diverse and amazing for just that reason.

And they all lived happily, for many years after.

Cast of Characters

All of the people in this story are in some way related, either
professionally or socially (or by blood - but that's social, too.) The
relationships may not be close, but they are there. I pondered whether
to list the characters alphabetically by name, or in order of
introduction, but settled loosely on family groupings.

"Maiden" names are shown in brackets as [Maiden].

Nicknames and diminutives are shown in parentheses as ("Nickname")

Robert Edward Yarborough ("Bobby") Lee
	Commander (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Captain of the CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	nth Cousin of James Lee
James Lee
	Husband of Priscilla, Constance, Olivia and Donald
	nth Cousin of Robert Lee
Priscilla Ludmilla ("Don't Call Me Prissy") [Kefler] Lee
	Wife of James, Donald, Constance, and Olivia
Constance ("Connie") Mercy [Whiting] Lee
	Wife of James, Donald, Pricilla, and Olivia
Olivia Yvette ("Livvy") [Morgan] Lee
	Wife of James, Donald, Pricilla, and Constance
Donald Joseph [Rumsford] Lee
	Husband of Priscilla, Constance, Olivia and James
Deborah Anne Hubbard
	Lieutenant (Lower Grade) (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Assistant Weapons Officer of the CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	ex-wife of Richard Yancy ("The Dick") Traylor, wife of Nancy Hubbard
Nancy Virginia [Cummings] Hubbard
	Shipping Manager, Portsmouth Marine Terminals
	ex-wife of Richard Yancy ("The Dick") Traylor, wife of Deborah
Hubbard
Samantha Louise Stuart-Forrest
	Lieutenant Commander (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Executive Officer of the CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Wife of Nathan Bedford Forrest IV and Caroline Stuart-Forrest
	Mother of Tiffany Stuart-Forrest
Caroline Alexia [Carter] Stuart-Forrest
	Wife of Nathan Bedford Forrest IV and Samantha Stuart-Forrest
	Mother of Tiffany Stuart-Forrest
	Sister of John Carter
Nathan Bedford Forrest IV
	Husband of Samantha Stuart-Forrest and Caroline Stuart-Forrest
	Father of Tiffany Stuart-Forrest
Tiffany Marie Stuart-Forrest
	Daughter of Nathan, Caroline, and Samantha
John Carter
	Captain, CSMC
	Astronaut Candidate, Confederate Air and Space Administration
	Brother of Caroline [Carter] Stuart-Forrest
	Uncle of Tiffany Stuart-Forrest
Alberto Jesus Nuñez
	Chief Electrician's Mate (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Leading Chief, Electrical Division, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Husband of Juan, Maria, and Madonna Nuñez
	Brother of Juan Nuñez
	Father of Jesus and 8 other children
Juan Domingo Nuñez
	Husband of Alberto, Maria, and Madonna Nuñez
	Brother of Alberto Nuñez
	Father of Jesus and 8 other children
Maria Juanita Carlotta [Baptiste] Nuñez
	Wife of Alberto, Juan, and Madonna Nuñez
	Mother of Jesus and 8 other children
Madonna Consuella Guadalupé [Salvatoré] Nuñez
	Wife of Alberto, Juan, and Maria Nuñez
	Mother of Jesus and 8 other children
Jesus Cristoforo Carmen Nuñez
	Eldest son of Alberto, Juan, Maria and Madonna
Alexander T.G. Ghirardelli
	Senior Chief Mess Specialist (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Leading Chief Cook, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Husband of DeeDee Ghirardelli
	Widower of Frank, Alice, Charles and Loretta Clamarre-Clapton-
Ghirardelli
	Father of Renée, William, Emíle, Michelle, Danielle, Douglas, Brenda
and Jean
Delilah Phyllis ("DeeDee") [Cornelson] Ghirardelli
	Wife of Alex Ghirardelli
	Widow of Frank, Alice, Charles and Loretta Clamarre-Clapton-
Ghirardelli
	Mother of Renée, William, Emíle, Michelle, Danielle, Douglas, Brenda
and Jean
Brenda Sue-Ellen Clamarre[-Clapton-Ghirardelli]
	Nursing Major, William and Mary University (PAC)
	Daughter of Frank, Alice, Charles, Loretta, Alex and Delilah
Clamarre-Clapton-Ghirardelli
	Sister of Renée, William, Emíle, Michelle, Danielle, Douglas and Jean
	girlfriend of Beaufort Rosenkrans and Jaime Lafitte
Jean Marie Clamarre[-Clapton-Ghirardelli]
	Nursing Major, William and Mary University (PAC)
	Daughter of Frank, Alice, Charles, Loretta, Alex and Delilah
Clamarre-Clapton-Ghirardelli
	Sister of Renée, William, Emíle, Michelle, Danielle, Douglas and Jean
	girlfriend of Beaufort Rosenkrans and Jaime Lafitte
Lucas Tanner
	Master Chief Mechanical Technician (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Chief of the Boat (COB), CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Husband of Custis Bloom, Winifred and Marguerite Tanner-Bloom
Winifred Margot ("Ironfist" aka "Winnie") [Scott] Tanner-Bloom
	COB's Wife, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507 and CSS Jefferson Davis
	Wife of Lucas Tanner, Custis Bloom, and Marguerite Tanner-Bloom
Siobhan Dorchester
	Reactor Operator (Submarine Qualified) Second Class, CSN
	Crewman, Reactor Controls Division, Engineering Department, CSS
Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Wife of Roy, Cassandra, Darren and Libby
Donna Delvechio
	Navigation Technician Second Class (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Navigation Division, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Ship's Photographer, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507 (collateral duty)
Jason LaPaz
	Editor, Virginian Pilot
	Husband of Leo and Belinda
	Brother of Leo
Leo Lapaz
	Husband of Jason and Belinda
	Brother of Jason
Belinda Lapaz
	Wife of Jason and Leo
Willard Schotz
	Society Editor, Virginian Pilot
Stamos ("Stay") Pufta
	Mess Specialist Second Class (SS), CSN
	Wardroom Mess Attendant, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Husband of Alicia, among others
Alicia Pufta
	Wife of Stamos, among others
Douglas Whalen
	Torpedoman First-Class (Submarine Qualified), CSN
	Crewman, Weapons Department, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
Roy Ingalls
	Mechanical Technician Second Class, CSN
	Crewman, Engineering Department, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
Amy Lynn [Frankel] McMurtree
	Nancy's secretary
Jaime ("Jaimie") Lafitte
	NROTC Engineering Major, William and Mary University (PAC)
	boyfriend of Brenda and Jean Clamarre and Beaufort Rosenkrans
Beaufort ("Boo") Rosenkrans
	NROTC Engineering Major, William and Mary University (PAC)
	boyfriend of Brenda and Jean Clamarre and Jaime Lafitte
Tommy Cornelson
	Owner/Operator Virginia Beach Fishing Pier, and Tommy's Bait&Tackle
Shop
	Husband of Lilith, Maribeth, and Vinnie
Lilith Cornelson
	Co-owner, LilMar Sandwich Shop, Virginia Beach Fishing Pier
	Wife of Vinnie, Maribeth, and Tommy
Maribeth Cornelson
	Co-owner, LilMar Sandwich Shop, Virginia Beach Fishing Pier
	Wife of Lilith, Vinnie, and Tommy
Vinnie Cornelson
	Husband of Lilith, Maribeth, and Tommy
Susan Sizeman
	Seaman (Submarine Unqualified), CSN
	Crewman, Deck Division, CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507
	Wife of one husband and several wives
Professor Warfield
	Doctor of Divinity; Master of Theology; Bachelor of Arts
	Instructor, Comparative Religion 101 University of Virginia (Norfolk)
	Instructor of: Mister Grace, Miss Cushman, Mister Schultz, Miss
Clamarre and others.


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