“Back to
Gettysburg. No one denies that this the decisive battle of the Civil War. Had
Robert E. Lee won the battle, the Confederacy almost certainly would have been
able to hold off the Union.”
“My Dearest Mary,”
Alex
blinked. For a moment she had been in a tent, lit by candles, staring down at a
piece of parchment. The line in her mind was written on the parchment.
“Sorry, the
lights are a bit much,” she recovered. “As I was saying, this is a decisive
battle. And it also stands out as Lee’s most famous defeat, which is unusual
after his many victories and his reputation as a competent general.
“My Dearest Mary,
“It is with heavy heart
that I write this. My conscience will not let me rest. I know I am doing the
right thing, yet it will cost the lives of so many good, young men.”
She had
been back in the tent, and the hands writing the letter had not been her own.
Instead, they were old and gnarled with thick callouses, and a faint tremor in
the left hand. Each hand poked out of grey sleeves embroidered with gold.