“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.