that I had to shade my eyes.
‘It’s got a good heater,’ Joe said, anxious to please me. ‘Let’s go inside.’
The houseboat’s metal sheathing blocked the wind, so inside the temperature was bearable.
‘See,’ Joe said, gesturing toward a miniature pot-bellied stove with one burner. ‘You stoke the stove with coal and wood – Lev said it takes just a few minutes to get toasty – and you can make coffee or scramble eggs on the burner.’
I imagined the inside of the houseboat when it was cozy and warm. There was a dinette, a settee that opened into a double bed, a lavatory, an icebox, a couple of storage cabinets, and even a shower. The fabric on the curtains and upholstery was a gay red and white check splashed with blue anchors. The wood cabinets and drawers gleamed.
‘So what do you think?’ Joe asked again.
‘I love it!’ I said.
‘So you’ll come?’ he asked, his voice breaking just a bit.
‘Of course,’ I said, and my voice showed my emotions too, squeaking a little.
‘Maybe next weekend,’ Joe said, taking both my hands. ‘At the latest, the weekend after that.’
My stomach clenched, whether from nerves or anticipation I couldn’t really tell. We locked eyes, our cold breath fogging around us, while Joe’s grip on my hands tightened.
‘I can’t believe it,’ I said.
‘Truthfully,’ Joe said, ‘I’ll believe it when we are actually here together. Otherwise I don’t think I could get through the next week in one piece.’
Just Joe and me alone together. For two entire days. No Phoebe. No Ada. No Henry. No Dellaphine or Madeleine. I was fond of them all – well, all except Henry – but I didn’t want them to know about our love affair, and neither did Joe. Love affair! Was I really going to go ahead with this?
Joe pulled me into his arms. I felt his soft beard on my cheek, then his mouth on mine, and then his tongue, and suddenly I was warmer than I had been in a very long time.
Joe was the first to pull away. ‘We can’t,’ he said. ‘Lev could be back at any moment.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘He said there’s a good café across the street,’ Joe said. ‘That’s where he eats most of his meals. Let’s go get some coffee.’
The wharf where the
Miriam
was docked jutted out from Maine Street, which ran along the shore of the Washington Channel of the Potomac River. It was roughly halfway between the Washington Yacht Club and the steamship berths of the Potomac River Line. Maine Street dead-ended a couple of miles west, at the Army War College near the mouth of the Anacostia River, which in turn sheltered the Navy Shipyard.
So
Miriam
was quite secure. And so were her many neighbors. Every berth on every dock on the Potomac was taken. The housing situation in Washington was so critical that people lived on houseboats, converted tugs, sailboats, basically anything with a cabin that floated, and even some quite grand yachts.
In the summer, laundry floated from rigging and people relaxed on deck chairs drinking beer with records playing in the background. Dock-mates cooked hamburgers on barbeques on the dock on the weekends. Bathing beauties decorated the sun decks.
But in this weather the boat decks and the docks were deserted. Icicles hung from sailboats’ rigging, and the motorboats were imprisoned in the ice. I saw few people. They must either be inside their cabins or out looking for someplace warm, like a library or movie theatre, to spend part of the day.
Dinghies, used to get from a deep anchorage to the shore, floated behind the big sailboats too clumsy to dock. Frank Knox, the Secretary of the Navy, lived on the Presidential yacht, the
Sequoia
, which was berthed at the Yacht Club. The Potomac itself was thick with navy warships and transport vessels. Patrol boats cruised the river, concentrating at the mouth of the river during the day when the submarine-net gates were open.
Clutching our hats to our heads and bent into the wind, Joe and I
‘It’s got a good heater,’ Joe said, anxious to please me. ‘Let’s go inside.’
The houseboat’s metal sheathing blocked the wind, so inside the temperature was bearable.
‘See,’ Joe said, gesturing toward a miniature pot-bellied stove with one burner. ‘You stoke the stove with coal and wood – Lev said it takes just a few minutes to get toasty – and you can make coffee or scramble eggs on the burner.’
I imagined the inside of the houseboat when it was cozy and warm. There was a dinette, a settee that opened into a double bed, a lavatory, an icebox, a couple of storage cabinets, and even a shower. The fabric on the curtains and upholstery was a gay red and white check splashed with blue anchors. The wood cabinets and drawers gleamed.
‘So what do you think?’ Joe asked again.
‘I love it!’ I said.
‘So you’ll come?’ he asked, his voice breaking just a bit.
‘Of course,’ I said, and my voice showed my emotions too, squeaking a little.
‘Maybe next weekend,’ Joe said, taking both my hands. ‘At the latest, the weekend after that.’
My stomach clenched, whether from nerves or anticipation I couldn’t really tell. We locked eyes, our cold breath fogging around us, while Joe’s grip on my hands tightened.
‘I can’t believe it,’ I said.
‘Truthfully,’ Joe said, ‘I’ll believe it when we are actually here together. Otherwise I don’t think I could get through the next week in one piece.’
Just Joe and me alone together. For two entire days. No Phoebe. No Ada. No Henry. No Dellaphine or Madeleine. I was fond of them all – well, all except Henry – but I didn’t want them to know about our love affair, and neither did Joe. Love affair! Was I really going to go ahead with this?
Joe pulled me into his arms. I felt his soft beard on my cheek, then his mouth on mine, and then his tongue, and suddenly I was warmer than I had been in a very long time.
Joe was the first to pull away. ‘We can’t,’ he said. ‘Lev could be back at any moment.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘He said there’s a good café across the street,’ Joe said. ‘That’s where he eats most of his meals. Let’s go get some coffee.’
The wharf where the
Miriam
was docked jutted out from Maine Street, which ran along the shore of the Washington Channel of the Potomac River. It was roughly halfway between the Washington Yacht Club and the steamship berths of the Potomac River Line. Maine Street dead-ended a couple of miles west, at the Army War College near the mouth of the Anacostia River, which in turn sheltered the Navy Shipyard.
So
Miriam
was quite secure. And so were her many neighbors. Every berth on every dock on the Potomac was taken. The housing situation in Washington was so critical that people lived on houseboats, converted tugs, sailboats, basically anything with a cabin that floated, and even some quite grand yachts.
In the summer, laundry floated from rigging and people relaxed on deck chairs drinking beer with records playing in the background. Dock-mates cooked hamburgers on barbeques on the dock on the weekends. Bathing beauties decorated the sun decks.
But in this weather the boat decks and the docks were deserted. Icicles hung from sailboats’ rigging, and the motorboats were imprisoned in the ice. I saw few people. They must either be inside their cabins or out looking for someplace warm, like a library or movie theatre, to spend part of the day.
Dinghies, used to get from a deep anchorage to the shore, floated behind the big sailboats too clumsy to dock. Frank Knox, the Secretary of the Navy, lived on the Presidential yacht, the
Sequoia
, which was berthed at the Yacht Club. The Potomac itself was thick with navy warships and transport vessels. Patrol boats cruised the river, concentrating at the mouth of the river during the day when the submarine-net gates were open.
Clutching our hats to our heads and bent into the wind, Joe and I
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