Free An Acquaintance with Darkness by Ann Rinaldi Page B
Authors: Ann Rinaldi
Richmond? It's all but destroyed. But no, she's as stubborn as your mother. This is my home,' she 'Here I will stay. Richmond will rebuild.'" He shook his head. "I just never will understand women."
Aunt Susie was the youngest in their family. Before I could reply, he gave the conversation a new turn. "Have you ever heard of Alexander Shepherd?"
"No, sir."
"In 1861 he was a gas fitter's assistant. He is now one of four owners of the
Evening Star
newspaper.
Family and heritage no longer matter. The war has made instant millionaires. People for whom money is the only reward." He shook his head and spooned his felet de beef into his mouth.
"Mrs. McQuade, my teacher, says the next thirty years will make many millionaires," I told him.
"She's a good woman. Very smart. I have been to visit her at the school. She says you are getting the highest marks in French, English literature, composition, and drama."
"You visited my school?"
"I wanted Mrs. McQuade to know you are not without family. She asked when you are coming back."
I was dumbstruck. In all the time we'd lived in Washington, Mama had never set foot in my school.
"All the girls there have family paying close mind to their progress," he said.
I thought of Myra Mott, Stephanie Wilson, Melanie Hawkes. Family? They had more than family. They had kinfolk that went back to the original settlers of Maryland and Virginia. The girls lived in houses that would make this look like a shack on Murder Bay. Before the war they had summered in Saratoga and their mothers had taken shopping trips to New York. Their fathers had business dealings in Lexington, New Orleans, connections in Boston.
They banked in London, were on familiar terms with Du Ponts in Delaware.
"Mrs. McQuade knows your mother did not have time to attend theatricals you were in. Or your piano recitals. Because she had to work for a living. I would be most happy to attend. If my presence does not offend you."
He was being so kind. It made me ashamed for giving him an uneven time of it.
"There are no strings attached. I assure you. By the way, did you know that Mrs. McQuade's maiden name is Desrayaux? That her parents were guillotined in the French Revolution?"
"No."
"Yes. She was brought to this country as an infant in 1794. To French Azilum, in the Pennsylvania farmland. It was a log-cabin community built for emigres fleeing the terror of the Revolution. They built a great-house for Marie-Antoinette. And settled in to await her arrival. And that of Louis-Charles, her son, the dauphin."
I was stunned. "She never told us."
He shrugged. "People confide in me. Did you meet Marietta?"
"Yes."
"A fine girl. A wonderful girl."
"She's got powers," I told him.
"We all have powers, if we choose to recognize them. Hers are exceptional. And that garden of hers is really beautiful, isn't it?"
"Did you save her life?"
"Others found her and brought me to her ... I was hoping you two could be friends."
He talked some more about Louis-Charles. "Over a dozen men came forth over the years claiming to be the dauphin, but their claims were never proven. Imagine that he may be in this country somewhere, perhaps living as a backwoodsman."
"The girls at school say he is the owner of Gautier's, the sweetshop."
He raised his wineglass to me. "Then the next time you go for ice cream, think of who made it. We never know who people really are, Emily. Remember that, always."
It seemed to be the point of the story, the whole point he was trying to make.
When the meal was over I made a pretty little speech. "I appreciate your having this luncheon for me, Uncle Valentine," I said. "I'm beholden to you for what you did at the cemetery and for posting a guard at Mama's grave. And for going to my school. And I'm sure we can be friends."
He walked me out to the hack in front. "You are welcome here, Emily," he said. "Anytime." He kissed me. "I hate to think of you going back to that empty house tonight."
"I'll be fine. It's
Aunt Susie was the youngest in their family. Before I could reply, he gave the conversation a new turn. "Have you ever heard of Alexander Shepherd?"
"No, sir."
"In 1861 he was a gas fitter's assistant. He is now one of four owners of the
Evening Star
newspaper.
Family and heritage no longer matter. The war has made instant millionaires. People for whom money is the only reward." He shook his head and spooned his felet de beef into his mouth.
"Mrs. McQuade, my teacher, says the next thirty years will make many millionaires," I told him.
"She's a good woman. Very smart. I have been to visit her at the school. She says you are getting the highest marks in French, English literature, composition, and drama."
"You visited my school?"
"I wanted Mrs. McQuade to know you are not without family. She asked when you are coming back."
I was dumbstruck. In all the time we'd lived in Washington, Mama had never set foot in my school.
"All the girls there have family paying close mind to their progress," he said.
I thought of Myra Mott, Stephanie Wilson, Melanie Hawkes. Family? They had more than family. They had kinfolk that went back to the original settlers of Maryland and Virginia. The girls lived in houses that would make this look like a shack on Murder Bay. Before the war they had summered in Saratoga and their mothers had taken shopping trips to New York. Their fathers had business dealings in Lexington, New Orleans, connections in Boston.
They banked in London, were on familiar terms with Du Ponts in Delaware.
"Mrs. McQuade knows your mother did not have time to attend theatricals you were in. Or your piano recitals. Because she had to work for a living. I would be most happy to attend. If my presence does not offend you."
He was being so kind. It made me ashamed for giving him an uneven time of it.
"There are no strings attached. I assure you. By the way, did you know that Mrs. McQuade's maiden name is Desrayaux? That her parents were guillotined in the French Revolution?"
"No."
"Yes. She was brought to this country as an infant in 1794. To French Azilum, in the Pennsylvania farmland. It was a log-cabin community built for emigres fleeing the terror of the Revolution. They built a great-house for Marie-Antoinette. And settled in to await her arrival. And that of Louis-Charles, her son, the dauphin."
I was stunned. "She never told us."
He shrugged. "People confide in me. Did you meet Marietta?"
"Yes."
"A fine girl. A wonderful girl."
"She's got powers," I told him.
"We all have powers, if we choose to recognize them. Hers are exceptional. And that garden of hers is really beautiful, isn't it?"
"Did you save her life?"
"Others found her and brought me to her ... I was hoping you two could be friends."
He talked some more about Louis-Charles. "Over a dozen men came forth over the years claiming to be the dauphin, but their claims were never proven. Imagine that he may be in this country somewhere, perhaps living as a backwoodsman."
"The girls at school say he is the owner of Gautier's, the sweetshop."
He raised his wineglass to me. "Then the next time you go for ice cream, think of who made it. We never know who people really are, Emily. Remember that, always."
It seemed to be the point of the story, the whole point he was trying to make.
When the meal was over I made a pretty little speech. "I appreciate your having this luncheon for me, Uncle Valentine," I said. "I'm beholden to you for what you did at the cemetery and for posting a guard at Mama's grave. And for going to my school. And I'm sure we can be friends."
He walked me out to the hack in front. "You are welcome here, Emily," he said. "Anytime." He kissed me. "I hate to think of you going back to that empty house tonight."
"I'll be fine. It's
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