In Richmond, Abraham Lincoln entered the former Confederate White House and home of the now-exiled President Jefferson Davis. He observed the flocked wallpaper and carved busts fitted into niches in the marble-floored foyer. A crystal chandelier tinkled as it brushed the top of his head. “Where"s the office?” he asked a soldier, who led him down a hallway.
Lincoln opened the door to Davis"s office and inhaled the faint aroma of cigar smoke. He opened a closet door and peeked inside to be greeted by cobwebs and some empty whiskey bottles. Bookshelves lining the walls were empty, their doors agape, evidence of a hasty retreat.
He strode over to the scarred desk, bare except for a half-eaten sandwich. “You could"ve finished your lunch, Jeff.” Shaking his head, he fought back a pang of sorro
