'To be truthful, General, I think if we wish to sit and talk a spell, we better go someplace else. I don't want to inconvenience your march or you."

"No, sir, no inconvenience at all, though I do agree we should move. Perhaps up to a creek I just crossed."

"Lead the way then."

Lincoln climbed back into the saddle, Grant easily mounting and coming to his side. They rode south for a few hundred yards, between the fence bordering the pike and a farmer's orchard, gradually angling away from the road. The trees closest to the road had nearly been stripped bare of fruit but once back a dozen rows the trees hung heavy, and on impulse Lincoln plucked one. Grant saw him do it and smiled.

"That's foraging in friendly territory, sir." Lincoln laughed softly.

"I'll tell the farmer he can call it a war tax if he should inquire about my indiscretion."

They reached the edge of the orchard, staff having opened a gate that led to a narrow path sloping down between elms to spreading willow trees.

Someone on Grant's staff had obviously been thinking, in spite of the surprise. A blanket was already spread under a willow, a small fire burning under a pot, two camp chairs set up.

The cavalcade reined in, eager hands reaching up to take the bridle of Lincoln's horse as he dismounted. Stretching, he looked around.

It was a charming spot. A narrow creek gurgled by not a dozen feet away, the bank grown high with rushes and cattails. The path was a shallow ford, perhaps tracing the original road, long since abandoned when the pike came through. All was shaded by willows, long branches hanging down in a canopy. It was all so peaceful, the air rich with the scent of moisture, cooling and relaxing. The shadows were already deepening, providing a diffused golden light to the setting.

Looking downstream, he could barely see the single-arch stone bridge which leapt the stream, men continuing to cross over it. But here under the shade of the trees the two of them were all but invisible.

"Some coffee, sirs?" the sergeant tending the fire asked.

"Yes, Sergeant McKinley, that would be fine," Grant replied.

Seconds later Lincoln had a battered tin cup in his hand, and he sat down on the camp chair, blowing on the rim before taking a sip.

"You keep fine accommodations, General," Lincoln said, pointing to the small fire, the blanket, and the two chairs.

He sighed and leaned back in the folding chair made of carpet and a few pieces of wood.

"This is actually a luxury, General," and he nodded to their surroundings. "I wish I had such a place on the grounds of the White House, a brook, some willows, and a bit of solitude."

"Well, sir, if you came to the army to seek solitude, I dare say you have come to the wrong place. We have over seventy thousand men on the march around us and a staff always in earshot."

Lincoln saw the dozens of staff that stood around expectantly. As he gazed at them, they stiffened, some saluting, some bowing, others just looking at him wide-eyed.

"Gentlemen, may I ask an indulgence," Lincoln said.

No one spoke.

"I'd like to talk with General Grant for a while. There'll be time enough later for us to chat a bit. So would you please excuse us?"

There were hurried excuses, and within seconds all had scrambled off, drawing back, moving away.

Lincoln leaned forward, staring down into his cup of coffee as if lost in thought.

"Your Parker is a good man," Lincoln said, breaking the silence. "I don't think he's had a wink of sleep in three days."

As he spoke he gestured across the stream, where Parker was sprawled out under a willow… fast asleep.

"One of the best. I'm glad he took it upon himself to report straight to you after being with Sickles."

"I assume he told you about Stanton."

"Yes, sir," Grant said noncommittally.

Again, there was a long silence, Lincoln sipping his coffee and then stretching his legs out.

Grant stirred, coughed a bit self-consciously, and Lincoln looked over at him.

"Well, sir, I guess I do have to ask you then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Grant asked.

"I could be flippant and say that it is nothing more than a courtesy stop, General Grant, but you and I know that is not the case."

"No, sir, I assumed not."

"I need to see certain things clearly, General Grant. It has been nearly a month since we last met, much has changed, and the portents of what is to come are profound. I thought that was worth the journey to discuss these issues with you."

"Whatever you wish to know, sir, just ask."

Lincoln drew his legs in and then leaned toward Grant, so close they could almost touch, the president looking straight into the eyes of the general.

"General Grant, I will cut to the core. No foolery, no mincing of words. Win or lose, the fate of the Union now rests with you and those men marching across that bridge."

He motioned toward the pike, where the troops continued to pass, flowing endlessly, the men oblivious of the meeting taking place less than a hundred yards away.

Grant leaned back in his camp chair, the front legs lifting from the ground. After a long sip of the scalding coffee, he set the cup on the ground. "Sir, I understand that, and so do my men."

Lincoln fixed his gaze upon Grant's eyes. This is what he had traveled so far to gauge. It was one thing to meet Grant a few days after his appointment. It was another thing to see him now, a month later, a month after he had had time to contemplate the responsibility placed on him.

He had decided upon this long journey for precisely this moment. The original plan that Grant had devised to destroy Lee-an overwhelming advance using the Army of the Potomac and at least ten thousand additional troops-had gone out the window. And Grant, without any prior notice, had jumped across the Susquehanna. He had come all this way to see why. To see if Grant was going off half-cocked. And to see if this was indeed a man he could trust with this winner-take-all move.

"What do you wish of me, sir?" Grant asked.

"First of all, I need a straight answer. No speaking in vague terms, no concern for self. I want you to consider the future of our republic, the debt in blood owed to all those who have already died.

"I want a straightforward answer, sir, without puffery or the bombast so many others have given me.

"General Grant, are you and your men up to this task?"

"Yes, sir," Grant said quietly. He did not look at Lincoln. His shoulders were hunched, his gaze fixed on his cup of coffee. But his words were strong, filled with conviction.

"I cannot afford another mistake, another defeat, or even half a victory. Lee must be crushed," Lincoln said urgently. "Congress is on the point of rebellion. I've held them off as long as possible but they will soon reconvene, and when they do, there will be a call to end the fighting and negotiate a settlement. There's renewed rioting in half a dozen cities. Secretary of State Seward is constantly at my doorstep with warnings that Europe might soon intervene. This war cannot drag out any longer.

"General Grant, I need to know that you fully realize that and can rise to the occasion."

The years in courtrooms, the years of watching others, of leaning against fences and talking, had taught him much, taught him about when men lied and when they spoke the truth, when men had strength or did not, when men thought far too much of themselves and not of others. The last two years of war had sharpened those insights with bitter lessons of military failure and bombastic generals unable to match their deeds to their self-esteem when it came to fighting Robert E. Lee.

Grant stirred then. He looked into Lincoln's eyes. "I can bring it to an end, sir. I can win this war."

At that the tension Lincoln had suppressed uncoiled. He had come to this encounter with a terrible intent he had voiced to no one. If in this meeting he had doubts, he would not have hesitated. Lord knows, he would have had difficulty in that decision, but if need be, he'd have removed Grant and found someone else. Was this the voice of the naysayers, those who had planted the thought? Of Halleck, of Stanton, even Seward, saying, "Replace this man." If forced to, he would have.