An Acquaintance with Darkness by Ann Rinaldi Read Free Book Online

blond curls, all dimples and girlish curves. She was disdainful of the pretty dresses her mother made her wear, dresses I would have killed for.
    She was disdainful of everything. I would have killed to be able to be like that, too. I envied her because she seemed fearless of things all young girls were taught to fear. Things I feared.
    When the family came to Washington last fall, she became my friend. She was sixteen to my fourteen. (She turned seventeen in January.) She was out of the hated convent school. Our paths crossed and we decided we were both fatherless, our mothers were impossible, and we both adored Johnny and hated being in Washington. It was enough for us to become fast friends.
    We went everywhere together, to Gautier's for confections, to the triangle below Pennsylvania Avenue where General Hooker had concentrated the fancy women in their own colony. We gaped at them in their outlandish gowns. We went to the Smithsonian to see the stuffed orangutan in a glass case, and to hops at Willard's.

    I was the first one she'd confided in about Alex, a young captain in the Northern army. The Surratts were Secesh. But Annie didn't care about politics. She cared about Alex Bailey. She and her mother fought constantly about Alex. There was something strange about the family. For instance, Annie's real name was Elizabeth Susanna. One day she just changed it to Annie. This was the kind of thing I loved about her. I knew that if her last name was Pigbush she'd change that, too.
    "Shoot you?" We looked at each other and laughed. And then I leaned against her and cried. I couldn't help it.
    She held me. "It's all right."
    "No, it isn't," I said. "I'm not crying for Mama. I'm crying for myself. Annie, only you can understand this. I feel no grief for Mama. All I feel is glad it's over."
    "Don't plague yourself with guilt. I can't stand guilt. It's what the nuns tried to put on me for years.
You've lost both parents and now you have to figure out how you're going to live. And you're angry, too, aren't you? At both of them for leaving you."

    "You're wonderful, Annie. You understand so much."
    "I'm not wonderful. I'm truthful, something most people aren't. Most people are hypocrites. I can't stand hypocrites. Look at my mother. She goes to mass, hides in the church. But do you know what she's about these days? She's in love with Booth."
    My eyes went wide. "She isn't."
    "It's true. She's smitten with him. He's near twenty years younger than she is, and my brother's friend. And she chides me because I love Alex and he's fighting for the Union."
    I did not know what to say.
    "Booth's here all the time. Mama pets him, fawns over him, makes him special things to eat. It's disgusting." She went back to the table and picked up some of the candles. "It's why I'm going to put all these candles in the windows. Tonight. It's illumination night. All over Washington, every home will be ablaze with candles. Booth will be by. He'll hate it. So will Mama. 'How can you celebrate the defeat of the South?' they'll say. Well, I can and I will. I don't care about this old war anymore. All I care about is that Alex will soon be home."
    She sat back down on the sofa next to me. "I know you can't take part in the illumination, what with your mama just dying. But would you like one candle to put in the window tonight? Your daddy died fighting."

    "Yes," I said. "I'll take two candles. One for each front window in the parlor. Now I have to go home and pack, Annie. And work on finishing Mrs. Lincoln's dress."
    She gave me two candles and walked me to the door. "I'll be by in a while and sit with you when people come. We'll have a grand time when you come here, Emily."
    "Yes, grand," I said.
    This house had its share of sadness, too. I was foolish to think there was any place that didn't....What with Mrs. Mary worrying about Johnny, the undercurrents between Annie and her mother, and now this thing with Booth, I was beginning to worry.
    Was I doing the