Washington City, November 1864
I don"t believe in ghosts, Wilkes assured himself as he listened to the high keening of the medium. He shivered as a draft wafted over him. Smoky incense intensified the gloom. He wasn"t at this séance to seek omens or cryptic guidance from beyond the grave. He was attending this charade to learn of Abraham Lincoln"s actions in this world.
He still ached with grief over his boyhood friend"s death. A part of his soul had died along with John Beall, who was everything the South stood for. Rage seized his heart and boiled his blood. How could Lincoln do this to another human being? How could the president look him in the eye and promise he"d let John live, then murder him?
Wilkes fought to subdue these emotions. No phantom held the answers he sought on this b
