Previously: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby Zook captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. Ashamed and distraught, Adam gets drunk and kills the butler who stops him from molesting the cook. Six months later Richmond falls to the Union
Riotous celebration over the end of the war lasted until the late afternoon, leaving Duff depleted and nervous. His office was filled with revelers opening bottles of wine and drinking with elation. Duff was trying to slip from the room when Brooks caught up with him.
“Where are you going, sir? Everyone wants to toast your return.”
“War Department,” Duff replied.
“You look drained, Mr. Lincoln. Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll go for you.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Brooks.” Retreating hastily, Duff replied, “I’d rather go myself.”
Walking swiftly through the turnstile gate onto the War Department grounds, Duff went to the office of statistics and approached the front desk.
“Do you have fatality lists for Michigan from 1863?”
While he waited for the clerk to return, Duff breathed deeply, feeling his stomach tighten. On the U.S.S. Malvern returning from Richmond, a Union sailor had sneaked into his room as Duff slept, crouched by his bed and awakened him with a thump on the head.
“What are you doing pretending to be president, Duff Read?”
Duff’s mouth had gone dry, his heart pounding.
“Who are you?”
“Grover Kenton.”
Grover Kenton, Grover—then Duff had placed him; a boy from a neighboring farm who always liked to torment him.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. You’re already dead.”
“What?” Duff sat up. “What do you mean?”
“You’re dead.” Kenton rose, turning away. “It was in the local newspaper. You died in some battle. I don’t know which one.”
“My family, how did they take it?”
“I don’t know.”
Duff’s thoughts went to his elderly mother and father, and how they must have felt when they read his obituary. Perhaps his family was proud he had died a hero.
“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”
“Why? You’re dead.” With that, Kenton left.
The clerk plopped the fatality file for Michigan on the front desk, rousing Duff from his thoughts. He quickly flipped through the pages until he found his hometown. Sliding down the page, his hand stopped at his own name: killed in action at the Second Battle of Manassas, August 1862.
“Did you find what you wanted, Mr. President?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Duff forced himself to smile, and then a thought crossed his mind. “Will you bring me the file for Ohio fatalities, please?”
As the clerk walked away, Duff wondered if from the beginning Stanton had planned to have him killed, and if Stanton also planted Adam’s obituary early on; if so, all of them were to die, including Alethia.
“Here it is, sir.” The clerk put the file in front of Duff.
Where was Adam from? Steubenville, he remembered. Duff thumbed through the pages until he came to Adam’s hometown, then stopped abruptly. Adam Christy had been killed in action, Second Battle of Manassas, August 1862.