Free An Acquaintance with Darkness by Ann Rinaldi Page A

Valentine sent for my mother's wake."
    "Yes. We often send some when a patient dies. It comforts him to do so."
    "Why do you plant only flowers that bloom at night?"
    "It intrigues me to know that certain things can only happen at night," she said. "It's a little sad, I think. Thoreau said that moonlight is a light we have had all day but have not appreciated, and proves how remarkable a lesser light can be when a greater light has departed."
    We walked back to the pond. She showed me the water flower, spider lily, the turtleheaded flower, the maiden grass at the pond's edge. "The people from the Smithsonian have tried to get in here and see my flowers," she said, "but I won't allow them in."
    "Why?"
    "I want to keep this private. Your uncle enjoys it. I want it to be my gift to him for saving my life. And taking care of it gives me an excuse to keep coming and seeing him."
    "If my uncle treated you so well, why did you move out?"
    "Because it was time to be on my own. And because then he could give the room to someone else who needed it."

    "Who's in there now? Someone else whose life he saved?"
    "Someone whose life he's trying to save," she said soberly. "Her name is Addie Bassett. She's an old Negro woman. Don't go near her, ever."
    "You needn't worry," I said. "I won't be coming back after today."
    She was peeling apples for the children. They had crowded around her. "You'll be back," she said. She had the graciousness to flush and lower her gaze. "Sometimes I just know things," she said. "I can't help it and I don't like it, but sometimes I just do."
    "And you think you know that I'm going to come and live here?"
    "Yes."
    "Well, you're wrong."
    She sighed. "You'd best go inside and clean up. You've got flour on your face.... He'll be here soon. He likes his guests to be on time. He's a good man. He gives money to the Ebenezer Free School. He cares for the health of my students free of charge. Christmas Day there is a constant stream of visitors here, people bringing him gifts because he helped them somehow. Here." She bent to cut a night-blooming cereus. "Wrap it in a wet cloth, then put it in water. Spanish servants in the sixteenth century dipped the branches in oil and burned them as torches at night."

    I turned and went back into the house. Maude was bustling around as if President Lincoln himself were coming for lunch. She wrapped the flower in wet paper for me.
    "Who is she?" I asked about Marietta.
    She wiped the flour off my face. "Someone very special."
    "I don't like her."
    "Your uncle does. Very much. So be careful what you say about her."

    It was just the two of us at the long, polished dining room table. Maude served. For the honor, she had changed into gray moiré with a white pinafore apron. The dress rustled as she moved about the room. She had made something called felet de beef. The windows were open and the mild April air ruffled the curtains. From outside could be heard the
pop-pop-popp
ing of some firecrackers a block or so away.
    When she left the room, I waited to speak. I did not know what the purpose of this luncheon was; I would find out before I went mouthing off about anything.
    "On the way here I saw a group of hoodlums attacking a Negro," he said. "I had to send for a policeman. I'm afraid that prejudice is becoming stronger against the Negro." He paused to take a sip of wine. His table manners were impeccable, I noticed, just like everything about his person. He was clean-shaven and his hands were long, the nails trimmed and clean. His shirt was the whitest, his cravat of good silk. And he gave off some spicy scent. Was it tobacco? Soap? I didn't know. But he fascinated me.

    "Washington has lived through all kinds of threats. That of a Confederate takeover. Betrayal, physical hardship, and loss of spirit. Now some of our best Southern families here and elsewhere will suffer dishonor and poverty. I wrote asking your aunt Susan to come and live with me. A widow. What will she do in