Battle for Atlantis

EPILOGUE

As President Lincoln helped Mary into the carriage, she cried out in anguish. He gripped her wrists, keeping her from falling out.

“What is it?”

As he put her on the seat next to him, she put her hands to her head. It had been a long day, perhaps the best and worst week of his life. Just five days ago General Grant had accepted lee’s surrender at Appomattox. Lincoln had traveled to Richmond where he had been wildly cheered by troops and freed slaves. He’d been asked by the ranking Union officer how to treat the people of the former Southern capital. He’d told the general to “let them up easy,” in I accordance with his policy of integrating the South back into the Union as smoothly and quickly as possible.

General Grant and his wife were supposed to be joining them for the trip to Ford Theater this evening, but at the last minute, the general had begged off, citing other responsibilities.

Then Mary had had two visions during the day: one of which showed Sherman’s army winning a final victory; the other showing her husband’s body laid out in the East Room of the White House and a voice saying “Lincoln is dead.”

The president had been uncertain how to interpret these two visions. Perhaps she had had another vision. He leaned close. “What is it?” he repeated.

Mary lifted her head and surprisingly there was a wide smile on her face. “They’re gone.”

“What’s gone?”

“The voice. The visions. They’re gone. I’m free.”

Lincoln wrapped his long arm around his wife. Her body felt loose, the tenseness that had always been present was gone. She lifted her face toward his, and he kissed her.

“Let’s skip the play,” she whispered.