Richmond, Virginia
December 1863
Jefferson and Varina Davis sat in their chairs before the fire, Varina knitting socks for soldiers, as always, and her husband uncharacteristically reading the Richmond newspapers.
“Do you recall two years ago we thought the war would be over by that first Christmas? And yet here we are.”
Davis looked up from the Dispatch. “It’s a happier Christmas than it might have been. A month ago, I thought all was lost.”
“You never told me that.”
“Longstreet bogged down in front of Washington, and by all appearances happily so.”
Varina smiled.
“And Custer having his way with Burgoyne in New York. I admit I did not see a path to independence.”
“Are you worried about General Grant? The papers say that he will come east and march on Richmond.”
Davis saw Grant in his mind. A bad reputation. A poor student at West Point. The drinking. Didn’t look the part of an officer and a gentleman. But in Mexico, he’d shone. Pickett, Longstreet, Grant. Poor students, bottom of their class, and all heroes now in their own way.
“Sam Grant will come east, and he’ll come to fight. He’ll be relentless. He’ll use all the resources that the North can provide him with. He’ll use up his men and he’ll keep coming. So yes, I’m worried about General Grant.”
“Will you defend Washington City?”
“No. Ours is a war of survival, not conquest. If the British want to attack and burn it, again, so be it. There’s hardly a building worth saving anyway. Half-built buildings and monuments and dirt avenues. In due course, once we know what Grant plans, I’ll pull Pete back to defend Richmond. And hope that Burgoyne can deal with McClellan once and for all.”
“Are you surprised that Lincoln has kept McClellan?”
Davis smiled. He was long used to the game. Varina already knew the answers to the questions. She knew that it helped Davis process his thoughts. What might she have accomplished under other circumstances?
“No. And yes. The well is about dry for Lincoln. McDowell, Pope, Burnside, Hooker, Meade. He’s out of options. George is a fine organizer and drillmaster. He’s a superior engineer. But that’s why Lincoln is bringing Grant east. Those western generals, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, they’re tigers. He needs some of that fight in the east.”
“And how about our fight?”
Davis did a quick analysis. “We still have the advantage in leadership, especially with Jackson back. Pete is steady and dependable. Stuart is a tactical genius and fearless. Fitz Lee shows all the signs of being a capable cavalry commander. And Jackson does seem to benefit from his Divine Providence. Our problem isn’t fight. It’s things. Like rifles, boots, cannon, food. It’s not just your Richmond shops that are empty this Christmas.”
“I see you’ve taken to reading the Richmond papers again. I find that you are a fair-weather reader of the news.”
“I find that I am as well. It turns out that Mr. Cowardin now believes I am a wartime leader on the plane of Caesar and Alexander. A latter-day Washington. To be lionized. So yes, I currently read the Dispatch.”
Varina smiled. “Yes, Mr. Cowardin’s paper has indeed changed its tune. I advise you not to grow accustomed to it. He will print what he can sell. The weather changes with the season.”
“Have you seen Mary Lee?”
“Yes, the general is poorly. His heart, she says. The two of them must keep all the doctors of Richmond employed.”
“Mmm. I was thinking of paying a call on the general.”