herself, reassure him with a different
reading, before she could even touch him.
"JW isnтt satisfied with acting," her
brother had told her once. "He yearns for
greatness on the stage of history," and if
her mother hadnтt interrupted, if Anna had
had two seconds to herself with him, this
is the reading she would have done. She
would have promised him greatness.
"Mr. Booth was on his way to Fordтs
Theatre to pick up his mail," Wiechman
said with a wink. It was an ambiguous
wink. It might have meant only that
Wiechman remembered what a first love was
like. It might have suggested he knew the
use she would make of such information.
Two regiments were returning to Washington
from Virginia. They were out of step and
out of breath, covered with dust. Anna
drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and
waved it at them. Other women were doing
the same. A crowd gathered. A vendor came
through the crowd, selling oysters. A man
in a tight-fitting coat stopped him. He
had a disreputable lookЎa bad haircut with
long sideburns. He pulled a handful of
coins from one pocket and stared at them
stupidly. He was drunk. The vendor had to
reach into his hand and pick out what he
was owed.
"Filthy place!" the man next to the drunk
man said. "I really canтt bear the smell.
I canтt eat. Donтt expect me to sleep in
that flea-infested hotel another night."
He left abruptly, colliding with Annaтs
arm, forcing her to take a step or two.
"Excuse me," he said without stopping, and
there was nothing penitent or apologetic
in his tone. He didnтt even seem to see
her.
Since he had forced her to start, Anna
continued to walk. She didnтt even know
she was going to Fordтs Theatre until she
turned onto Eleventh Street. It was a bad
idea, but she couldnтt seem to help
