The torture did not end. Days extended into weeks. May arrived, the rain continued, and Duff again heard Stanton coughing.
“The news is not good from Chancellorsville,” Stanton said, wiping spit from his chin.
“What is it?”
“Grant has engaged Lee in a forest called the Wilderness.”
“That’s what we wanted, isn’t it?”
“Heavy losses.” Stanton coughed again.
“So you’re going to replace Grant?”
“I don’t know.” He leaned back in the chair and moaned. “I haven’t seen Lincoln yet.”
“What?”
Stanton sat up and coughed. “I haven’t given it much thought yet.”
“You talk to…” Duff paused to look at the door behind Stanton. “You go to the basement?”
“It’s not your concern.” Stanton straightened his shoulders. “You will be informed of our—my decision eventually.”
“Oh.” Duff tried not to smile.
The next morning Stanton announced to him that he had decided to stay the course with General Grant.
“Grant’s determination will prevail in the end, like the little dog hanging on to the traveling salesman’s trouser leg,” Stanton said, acting a little delirious. “We’ll stay out of Grant’s way.”
“Very astute,” Duff replied.
In another few days, Stanton relayed news of a devastating defeat at Spotsylvania.
“Perhaps I should write a letter of encouragement to General Grant,” Duff said.
“Yes,” Stanton replied, pursing his Cupid’s bow lips.
On the last day of May 1864, the rain finally stopped, and Duff walked out of the Executive Mansion to the turnstile on his way to the War Department, wanting to find out details on the battle at Cold Harbor. Stanton was suffering from another hacking asthma attack in Duff’s office. Deep in his heart, Duff wished Stanton would stop coughing and just die. Looking up, Duff found Lamon blocking the turnstile.
“Mr. President.”
“I was on my way to the War Department telegraph office.”
“Yes. It doesn’t look good.”
“We’re staying the course.” Duff’s eyes went to the ground. “With Grant.”
“I can see you’re staying the course.” Lamon paused. “Where’s Stanton?”
“In my office. Wrestling with his asthma.”
“He’s still sick?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he’ll die.”
“Maybe.” Duff looked up.
Lamon laughed as he stepped out of the way to let Duff go through the turnstile.
“I’m here when you need me, Mr. President.”
“Thank you.”
Lamon stopped the turnstile, blocking Duff in the gate. He looked deep into Duff’s eyes for a long moment and then leaned in close.
“I can’t help if you lie to me.”