An Acquaintance with Darkness - Ann Rinaldi [11]
On Sunday the ninth, General Lee surrendered to General Grant and the long war that had worn us all down, turned us against each other, and taken away every bit of graciousness from our lives, ended. Outside our windows Washington City went wild.
Inside, Mama was dying. She seemed to dip in and out of consciousness. Yet she held on. It was eerie, as if she were holding on for a reason, waiting for something to happen before she would die.
"What's all the shouting in the streets?" she asked early on Sunday morning.
"People are saying Lee is likely to surrender today," I told her.
"Oh, good," she said. "I'll just wait a bit and find out. Then I can tell your father."
The woman who always wanted to be a Southern belle was waiting to hear that the rebels were whipped, that her husband hadn't died for nothing, before she went to join him.
Around dusk the shouting got louder. Firecrackers started going off. They lit up the distant sky. People were coming out of their houses and gathering in the street, hugging each other, jumping up and down, screaming.
"Why don't you go out and see?" Maude suggested. "Maybe buy a paper."
"The papers won't have it yet."
"We have telegraphs."
I went. I didn't want to, because I knew that once Mama found out Lee surrendered, she would up and die. But I couldn't tell Maude that. She would think I was nervous or hysterical. Nervous and hysterical were the worst things a young girl could be. You had to be careful. Once they accused you of such, they watched you like hawks.... Maude would have told Uncle Valentine. She was devoted to him. And even though she was married, I thought she lived for him alone. Then Uncle Valentine would have had a claim on me, and I'd never have gotten to live with the Surratts. He did have a certain amount of power, after all. He was my blood uncle. I had no doubt that he could make me come and live with him if he had sufficient reason.
It was strange to be out on the street and not worried about attending Mama. It was dusk and mild. The air smelled of spring. Palm Sunday.
People were screaming, yelling, dancing in the streets now, setting off firecrackers on every corner. They were stringing bunting and colored lights from lamppost to lamppost. Young children ran unattended, rattling sticks on iron fences, throwing stones. One group of boys had a herd of goats they were pushing along. Goats, pigs, even cows were not unusual on Washington's streets, but these goats had red, white, and blue streamers around their necks. I remembered Mama telling me once that President Lincoln's little boys had had goats as pets in the White House. Before Willie died.
Groups of college boys were jostling each other and blowing paper horns. Some militiamen were shooting off muskets a block away. A man was hawking American flags. In the distance I heard cannon boom. Then church bells started. The college boys had put down their paper horns and were pulling up the plank sidewalks and starting bonfires. A horse-drawn carriage came along; the horse shied at the sight of the fire, then bolted, dragging the carriage. A policeman came along and started shouting.
At the corner of H Street I found a newsboy. "Read all about the meetings with Grant and Lee!" he was yelling.
I purchased a paper. "Is it over?" I asked him.
"Yes, miss. Word came to the White House coupla hours ago. Lee surrendered earlier today. The Intelligencer will have it all tomorrow."
I saw a crowd of revelers coming from around a corner and ran home.
Upstairs I gave the paper to Maude and told her the news. Mama was sleeping. But with the rattling of the newspaper, her eyes flew open.
"Tell me," she said.
"The surrender happened earlier today," I said. "At Appomattox."
"Good," Mama said.
Then she closed her eyes