Fall of Giants

“But the war has been going on for more than two years. We must have borrowed… nearly four thousand million pounds!”

“Something like that. Twenty-five years’ normal expenditure.”

“How will we ever pay it back?”

“We can never pay it back. A government that tried to bring in taxes sufficient to repay the loan would cause a revolution.”

“So what will happen?”

“If we lose the war, our creditors-mainly Americans-will go bankrupt. And if we win, we’ll make the Germans pay. ‘Reparations’ is the word they use.”

“How will they manage it?”

“They will starve. But nobody cares what happens to the losers. Anyway, the Germans did the same to the French in 1871.” He stood up and put his cup in the kitchen sink. “So you see why we can’t make peace with Germany. Who then would pay the bill?”

Ethel was aghast. “And so we have to keep sending boys to die in the trenches. Because we can’t pay the bill. Poor Billy. What a wicked world we live in.”

“But we’re going to change it.”

I hope so, Ethel thought. Bernie believed it would take a revolution. She had read about the French Revolution and knew that such things did not always turn out the way people intended. All the same, she was determined that Lloyd would have a better life.

They sat in silence for a while, then Bernie stood up. He went to the door, as if to leave, then changed his mind. “That speaker last night was interesting.”

“Aye,” she said.

“Clever, too.”

“Yes, he was clever.”

Bernie sat down again. “Ethel… two years ago you told me you wanted friendship, not romance.”

“I was very sorry to hurt your feelings.”

“Don’t be sorry. Our friendship is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I like it too.”

“You said I’d soon forget all that lovey-dovey stuff, and we would just be pals. But you were wrong.” He leaned forward in his chair. “As I’ve got to know you better, I’ve just come to love you more than ever.”

Ethel could see the yearning in his eyes, and she felt desperately sorry that she could not return his feelings. “I’m very fond of you, too,” she said. “But not in that way.”

“What’s the point of being alone? We like each other. We’re such a good team! We have the same ideals, the same aims in life, similar opinions-we belong together.”

“There’s more to marriage than that.”

“I know. And I long to take you in my arms.” He moved his arm, as if about to reach out and touch her, but she crossed her legs and turned aside in her chair. He withdrew his hand, and a bitter smile twisted his usually amiable expression. “I’m not the handsomest man you’ve ever met. But I believe no one has ever loved you as I do.”

He was right about that, she reflected sadly. Many men had fancied her, and one had seduced her, but none had shown the patient devotion of Bernie. If she married him she could be sure it would be forever. And somewhere in her soul she longed for that.

Sensing her hesitation, Bernie said: “Marry me, Ethel. I love you. I’ll spend my life making you happy. It’s all I want.”

Did she need a man at all? She was not unhappy. Lloyd was a constant joy, with his stumbling walk, his attempts at speech, and his boundless curiosity. He was enough for her.

Bernie said: “Little Lloyd needs a father.”

That gave her a pang of guilt. Bernie was already playing that role part-time. Should she marry Bernie for Lloyd’s sake? It was not too late for him to start calling Bernie “Daddy.”

It would mean giving up what little hope she had left of finding again the overwhelming passion she had felt with Fitz. She still suffered a spasm of longing when she thought about it. But, she asked herself, trying to think objectively despite her feelings, what did I get out of that love affair? I was disappointed by Fitz, rejected by my family, and exiled to another country. Why would I want that again?

Hard as she struggled, she could not bring herself to accept Bernie’s proposal. “Let me think,” she said.

He beamed. Clearly that was a more positive answer than he had dared to hope for. “Think as long as you want,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

She opened the front door. “Good night, Bernie.”

“Good night, Ethel.” He leaned forward and she gave him her cheek to kiss. His lips lingered a moment on her skin. She drew back immediately. He caught her wrist. “Ethel… ”

“Sleep well, Bernie,” she said.

He hesitated, then nodded. “You, too,” he said, and he went out.

{II}

On election night in November 1916, Gus Dewar thought his career in politics had come to an end.

He was in the White House, fielding phone calls and passing messages to President Wilson, who was at Shadow Lawn, the new summer White House in New Jersey, with his second wife, Edith. Papers were sent from Washington to Shadow Lawn every day by the U.S. Postal Service, but sometimes the president needed to get the news faster.

By nine o’clock that evening it was clear that the Republican, a Supreme Court justice called Charles Evans Hughes, had won four swing states: New York, Indiana, Connecticut, and New Jersey.