"I don't think so," Nellie said in a flat voice. "If you knew what I've been through-if you knew what I've put myself through for her…"

"They are not the same thing," Hal said.

"Huh!" was the only answer Nellie gave to that. After a while, she went on, "Merle's going to find out about Nicholas Kincaid. You wait and see. That kind of thing won't stay under the rug."

Her husband shrugged. "You are probably right. I cannot blame Edna for not wanting to talk about it, though."

"Not fair to tell lies," Nellie said. Then she remembered Bill Reach, almost five years dead now. She remembered how the knife had felt going into him. And she remembered Hal could not, must not, find out how he'd died. The only difference between her case and her daughter's was that she had a better chance of keeping her secret.

"It is not a lie that intends to hurt," Hal said, and Nellie had to nod, for that was true. She let him win the argument, which she didn't always do by any means.

The next morning, the past rose up and bit her. She should have expected such a thing, but somehow she hadn't. A ruddy, handsome fellow in an expensive suit came in, looked around, and said, "Well, you've done the place up right nice, Widow Semphroch. Likely looked like a tornado went through it at the end of the war, but you've done it up right nice." His Confederate accent was thick enough to slice-she guessed he hailed from Alabama, or maybe Mississippi.

"Should I know you, sir?" she asked, her voice cool but resolutely polite: business wasn't so good that she could afford to anger any customer, even a Rebel.

"Name's Alderford, ma'am-Camp Hill Alderford, major, CSA, retired," he answered. "You might not recognize me out of uniform, and I used to wear a little chin beard I've shaved off on account of I've gotten a lot grayer since the war. But I had some of my best times in Washington right here in this coffeehouse, and that's a fact. Now that I'm in town again, I figured I'd stop by and see if you and the place made it through in one piece. Right glad you did."

"Thank you." Nellie didn't remember him at all. A lot of Confederate officers had spent a lot of time in the coffeehouse. She wondered if more of them would start paying visits. If they do, they'd better have U.S. money, she thought. Since she didn't want this one to go without spending some cash, she said, "Now that you're back in town, Mr. Alderford, what can I get you?"

"Cup of coffee and a ham sandwich," he answered. He must have been thinking along with her, for he added, "I won't pay in scrip, and I won't pay with Confederate banknotes, either."

"All right." She got him what he'd ordered. While she was serving him, she asked, "What are you doing in Washington now?"

"Selling cottonseed oil, ma'am, cottonseed oil and cottonseed cake," Alderford said. "Cottonseed oil brings a dollar a gallon, near enough-a U.S. dollar, I mean, and a U.S. dollar brings enough Confederate dollars to choke a mule. Two mules, even." He bit into his sandwich. "That's good. That's mighty good. You always had good grub here, even when things were lean."

That was to keep you Rebs coming in so I could spy on you. Nellie almost said it aloud, to see the look on his face. Reluctantly, she kept quiet. Word would get around, down in the CSA. If more ex-officers stopped by, she wanted them in a mood to spend money, not to burn down the coffeehouse.

Clara had been amusing herself in what had been a storeroom before Nellie filled it with toys and a cot to keep the toddler either busy or resting. Camp Hill Alderford smiled to see her. "That your granddaughter, ma'am?" he asked. "Reckon your pretty daughter found somebody else after what happened to poor Nick. That was a hard day, a powerful hard day."

"Mama," Clara said, and ran to Nellie. She was shy of strangers, especially men with their deep voices.

Alderford's eyebrows rose. Nellie nodded. "She's my daughter, too," she said. "I got married again after the war." And I got a surprise not so long after I did. "And yes, Edna finally did get married, just a few months ago." She started to add that Merle Grimes was a veteran, too, but didn't bother. Men of the proper age who weren't veterans were few and far between.

"Well, I'm happy for you," Alderford said. He beckoned to Clara with a crooked index finger. "Come here, sweetheart. I've got a present for you."

"You can go to him, Clara," Nellie said. But Clara didn't want to go anywhere. She clung to Nellie's skirt with one hand. The thumb of the other was in her mouth.

"Here, I'll give it to your mama," Camp Hill Alderford told her. She watched with round eyes as he reached into his hip pocket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a brown Confederate banknote. "Here y'are, ma'am."

It was beautifully printed: more handsome than U.S. paper money. That wasn't what made Nellie gape. She'd never seen, never imagined, a $50,000,000 bill. Gasping a little, she asked, "What's this worth in real money?"

"About a dime." Alderford shrugged. "Five cents next week, a penny the week after that." He paused. "Maybe we'll be able to start setting our house in order again if we get to stop sending you-all reparations. If we don't, Lord knows what we'll do "

"I haven't got anything to do with that," Nellie said. She hoped Congress wouldn't let President Sinclair cut off Confederate reparations. As far as she was concerned, the weaker the Rebs stayed, the better. What was the first thing they were likely to do if they ever got strong again? As far as she could see, head straight for Washington was the best bet.

"I know you don't," Camp Hill Alderford answered. He held out his cup. "If you'd fill that up for me, I'd be obliged."

"I sure will," Nellie said, and did, after detaching Clara from her skirt. Alderford was the only customer in the place; of course she'd get another nickel out of him. She kept looking at all the zeros on the bill he'd given her for Clara. A sigh escaped her. If only it were U.S. green instead of C.S. brown!

The bell above the door chimed. Nellie looked that way with a smile of greeting on her face-someone else to spend money. But it wasn't: it was her son-in-law. Alarm ran through her. "Merle!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here this time of day? Why aren't you at work?" Why did you have to come in when this goddamn Reb amp; here?

"Edna just telephoned me from the doctor's office," Merle Grimes answered. "Since you don't have a telephone, I figured I'd come over and tell you the news-you're going to be a grandmother."

"Oh," Nellie said, and then, "Oh," again. She would have been more excited about the news if she hadn't been afraid Camp Hill Alderford would start running his mouth. "Won't you get in trouble for leaving your job in the middle of the morning?" she asked, hoping to get Grimes out of the coffeehouse as fast as she could.

But he shook his head. "My boss said it was all right. We're pals-we were in the same company during the war. Small world, isn't it?"

"Isn't it just?" Nellie said tonelessly.

"Congratulations, ma'am," Alderford said. He turned to Merle Grimes. "And to you, too, sir. Children make everything worthwhile."

"Er-thank you," Grimes said. He couldn't help realizing Alderford was a Confederate-and probably couldn't help wondering why a Confederate spoke as if he knew Nellie so well.

Nellie decided to take that bull by the horns: "Mr. Alderford was Major Alderford during the war, and used to stop by here a good deal."

"Oh," Grimes said, not in surprise, as Nellie had, but more for the sake of saying something. He had a way of holding his cards close to his chest. Nellie had trouble telling what he was thinking.

"That's right," Alderford said. Nellie sent him a look of appeal to keep him from saying any more. She hated that; she hated asking any man for anything. And she feared the ex-Rebel officer wouldn't even notice, or would notice and decide to pay back some damnyankees for winning the war.