fringe of her shawl. Around the Treasury
Building she stopped to watch a carriage
sunk in the mud all the way up to the
axle. The horses, a matched pair of
blacks, were rescued first. Then planks
were laid across the top of the mud for
the occupants. They debarked, a man and a
woman, the woman unfashionably thin and
laughing giddily as with every unsteady
step her hoop swung and unbalanced her,
first this way and then that. She clutched
the manтs arm and screamed when a pig
burrowed past her, then laughed again at
even higher pitch. The man stumbled into
the mire when she grabbed him, and this
made her laugh, too. The manтs clothing
was very fine, although now quite speckled
with mud. A crowd gathered to watch the
womanЎthe attention made her helpless with
laughter.
The war had ended, Anna thought, and
everyone had gone simultaneously mad. She
was not the only one to think so. It was
the subject of newspaper editorials, of
barroom speeches. "The city is disorderly
with men who are celebrating too
hilariously," the presidentтs day guard,
William Crook, had written just yesterday.
The sun came out, but only in a
perfunctory, pale fashion.
Her visit to Miss Ward was spoiled by the
fact that John had sent a letter there as
well. Miss Ward obviously enjoyed telling
Anna so. She was very near-sighted and she
held the letter right up to her eyes to
read it. John had recently fled to Canada.
With the war over, there was every reason
to expect he would come home, even if
neither letter said so.
There was more news, and Miss Ward preened
while she delivered it. "Bessie Hale is
being taken to Spain. Much against her
will," Miss Ward said. Bessie was the
daughter of ex-senator John P. Hale. Her
father hoped that a change of scenery
would help pretty Miss Bessie conquer her
infatuation for John Wilkes Booth. Miss
