the last hours; she now doubted it ever
would. She cut the roast into slices. It
bled beneath her knife and she thought of
Henrietta Irvingтs white skin and the red
heart beating underneath. She could
understand Henrietta Irving perfectly. All
I crave is affection, she said to herself,
and the honest truth of the sentiment
softened her into tears. Perhaps she could
survive the rest of her life, if she
played it this way, scene by scene. She
held the knife up, watching the blood
slide down the blade, and this was
dramatic and fit her Shakespearean mood.
She felt a chill and when she turned
around one of the new boarders was leaning
against the doorjamb, watching her mother.
"Weтre not ready yet," she told him
crossly. Heтd given her a start. He
vanished back into the parlor.
Once again, the new guests hardly ate.
Louis Wiechman finished his food with many
elegant compliments. His testimony in
court would damage Mary Surratt almost as
much as Lloydтs. He would say that she
seemed uneasy that night, unsettled,
although none of the other boarders saw
this. After dinner, Mary Surratt went
through the house, turning off the
kerosene lights one by one.
Anna took a glass of wine and went to
sleep immediately. She dreamed deeply, but
her heartbreak woke her again only an hour
or so later. It stabbed at her lightly
from the inside when she breathed. She
could see John Wilkes Booth as clearly as
if he were in the room with her. "I am the
most famous man in America," he said. He
held out his hand, beckoned to her.
Downstairs she heard the front door open
and close. She rose and looked out the
window, just as she had done that
afternoon. Many people, far too many
people were on the street. They were all
walking in the same direction. One of them
was George Atzerodt. Hours before he had
