Previously in book: Private Adam Christy escorts President and Mrs. Lincoln to the billiards room in the White House basement where they will stay until Secretary of War Stanton can win the war.

Opening the door, Adam deferentially stepped aside to allow President Lincoln, his wife, and Secretary of War Stanton to enter the room. Lincoln stopped by the billiards table and placed his hands on the edge, his head hanging. Mrs. Lincoln ran a finger across the table and looked at it with disdain. “What a filthy mess,” she announced. “If I’d known matters had come to this, heads would’ve rolled.”
“Dust is the least of our problems, Mother.” Lincoln turned to Stanton. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Secretary?”
“Shut the door.” Stanton nodded to Adam.
He obeyed and stood guard in front of the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his thoughts going to the revolver in his tunic: whether he might use it, and what circumstances would warrant using it against the president of the United States.
“Mr. Stanton, will you finally explain this ultimate insult to my husband?” Mrs. Lincoln’s eyes glistened with anger.
“Certainly.” Stanton removed his small pebble glasses, placed them in an inside pocket of his gray suit, and looked directly at the president. “Simply put, your lack of understanding of military strategy has imperiled the lives of thousands of soldiers and has threatened to lengthen, unnecessarily, this war.”
“Imperiled lives?” Mrs. Lincoln’s plump jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Why, sir, that’s the most—”
“Mother, please.” Lincoln raised a large hand and returned his attention to Stanton. “I assume, Mr. Secretary, you’re referring to my reinstatement of General McClellan to command the Army of the Potomac.”
“I thought after your visit with the general in July outside Richmond after the Seven-Day Battle you’d come to grips with this problem with McClellan. He will not fight.”
“You’re not telling me anything I haven’t told you,” Lincoln replied. “As I recall, you were one of the original supporters of Little Mac. In fact, I had quite a task convincing you of the general’s shortcomings.”
Stanton stiffened. “That was last year. This is 1862. A year of slaughter, lost opportunities, endless drills, gourmet dining on the field, waste of—”
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Lincoln’s voice was shrill.
Adam shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with the display of emotions erupting before him. After all, in his small Ohio community, such outbursts were unpardonable, as evidenced by the reproach given a boy’s comment of the favorite breakfast of his deceased mother.
“Not to mention the fate of the slaves,” Stanton continued. “You’ve created the Emancipation Proclamation, but you can’t release it until a military victory, which is impossible with General McClellan in command.”
“And I agree,” Lincoln said. “I’m a slow walker, but I never walk backwards. That’s why I ordered McClellan’s troops to reinforce the troops of General John Pope.”
“An admirable choice,” Stanton asserted.
“General Pope is a liar and a braggart,” Mrs. Lincoln interjected. “I knew the family in Illinois. The father was a judge known to take bribes, and his mother put on such airs as to make her insufferable.”
“A mother’s lack of social skills shouldn’t disqualify the son from being a proper general,” Stanton replied.
“Losing two major battles in less than two months would disqualify him, however,” Lincoln said, putting his arm around his wife.
“Cedar Mountain and a second debacle at Manassas,” she said, trying to maintain her dignity.
Adam felt sorry for them. Lincoln may be incompetent, but he was still president, and as such deserved respect.
“Anyone deserves more time than was accorded General Pope,” Stanton said.
“Perhaps some would,” Lincoln replied, “but General Pope didn’t. You may not want to believe it, Mr. Stanton, but I too want to end the carnage. It’s just that at this moment, I’m afraid that General McClellan is our best hope.” He smiled. “General Pope is a fool. Even I, with just the friendly Black Hawk War as my only experience, knew Stonewall Jackson wouldn’t retreat. Jackson advances, always advances, but Pope recklessly followed Jackson’s retreat, only to be attacked by reinforcements by Lee and Longstreet. I couldn’t allow Pope to commit another costly mistake.”
“Well, there are other generals than McClellan,” Stanton blustered.
“And I’m sure each one will have his chance before this mess ends,” Lincoln said.
“We don’t have time,” Stanton replied. “That’s why I must insist you and Mrs. Lincoln stay in the basement until I’m able to end the war.”
“Stay in the basement! You must be insane!” Mrs. Lincoln turned to her husband. “This man is insane! They’re expecting us at Anderson Cottage tonight!”
“A message is being delivered now saying you’re spending the night in town.”
She stormed toward Adam, furiously wagging a finger. “And you, young man, how dare you betray your country!”
“I’m trying to save my country, not betray it.” Adam’s eyes fluttered as he looked to Stanton for assurance.
“Any man who can’t control his wife can’t control a war,” Stanton said in a pious tone, his eyebrows raised.
“Please, Molly, don’t do this to yourself,” Lincoln whispered, reaching out and holding her.
“I’m not doing this,” she said, spittle flying. She twisted to escape his grip and, when she realized she was completely restrained, her face went bright red and her eyes filled with tears. “He’s the one doing this to us—not just to us, but to the entire nation!” Looking from face to face, she finally dissolved into sobs, her head buried in Lincoln’s shoulder.