“No bright ray of hope in all of this night of misery?”

“Yes, some, of course. I have been diverting funds from the Freedmen’s Bureau to the Negro churches and mutual benefit societies. They are our salvation. They are already respected among the Negro community and able to funnel aid and monies to individuals in need. Yet with all the organizations working on our side — I see a darker force being assembled. We must never forget that slavery has always been a central institution in Southern life. It has been simultaneously a system of labor, a form of race relations, and the foundation of a distinctive regional ruling class. Men who see themselves as the pinnacles of society feel that their position is threatened. They feel themselves marginalized in the new South — which is true. As money moves from the land to the factories a different elite is being born. And the planters do not like it. Therefore it is not surprising that there are men of violence who wish no change in the South. As well as others who accuse us of putting the black man before the white. I am possessed of a great fear.”

“You must be strong, Judah. All of us must. But you most of all because you have picked up this immense burden. Nothing of this sort has ever been done before, no society has labored so to change the way things are done. Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the government, nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.”

“I pray I have that strength, Mr. President, for at times I am terribly tired. It is the hatred of my fellow Southerners that wounds the most. Men I have known for years, who behind my back call me traitor.”

There was little that Lincoln could answer to that. He went through the records that Benjamin passed over to him, and on paper there seemed to be progress. Slaves freed, payments made — to former slave holders and demobilized soldiers.

“You are doing well, very well indeed,” Lincoln said, arranging the reports into a smooth pile. There was a light tap on the door before Nicolay came in.

“Mr. President — you wanted to know when Mr. Mill arrived. He is here now, and his daughter is with him as well.”

“Even better. He has talked much of her. Show them in.” He turned to Benjamin. “I’m most glad that you were here when he arrived. When spirits lag Mill can be of great support.”

They both rose when John Stuart Mill entered with his daughter.

“President Lincoln, and Mr. Benjamin, may I present my daughter Helen.”

Helen was a plain girl, wearing simple clothing. Yet she had the same sparkle of curiosity in her eyes as her father. A warm smile touched her lips as she gave a slight curtsy.

“Your father has spoken of you in most glowing terms,” Lincoln said. “Both as an inspiration and an aide in his works.”

“Father is too kind, Mr. President. He is the genius in the family.”

“Who would be that less of a genius,” Mill protested, “had it not been for the tireless support of you and your dear mother.”

“I must thank you both,” Benjamin said, “for your aid and advice when this country was in dire need. If your plans are followed we will have a new country — and particularly a new South that will be born out of the wreckage of the old.”

“Not my plans, Mr. Benjamin. I have just pointed out and explained some economic truths. Science evolves as man evolves. We must build on the past. Ricardo was a great man and his economic theories led philosophers, including myself, onto the path to greater knowledge.”

“My father is being too modest,” Helen said. “The followers of Ricardo had rigidified his objective findings into a straitjacket for society. When he wrote his famous book, The Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, he formulated certain rules that his followers have treated with almost holy respect. They believed without questioning his laws which he said regulate the distribution, between the different classes of landowners, capitalists and labor, of the produce of industry. My father was one of the very few who did not take Ricardo’s laws as holy writ. What my father said was transparently obvious — once it had been said. He said that it doesn’t matter if what they called the natural action of society was to depress wages, equalize profits or even raise rents. It was only natural if people believed that it was natural.”

Mill smiled and nodded agreement. “I’m afraid that, as always, my daughter has cut to the core of the problem. Though I am a bit more humble as I stand in the shadow of a great man. Without Ricardo to build upon I could never have seen the correct path that we must follow. If society does not like the “natural” results of its activities it has only to change. Society can really do anything that it desires. Society can tax and subsidize, it could give all of its wealth to the President to spend as he willed. Or it can run a gigantic charity ward. But whatever it does there is no correct distribution, or at least none that economics has any claim to fathom. And that process is what is happening in the South. An almost completely agrarian society is being turned into a modern industrial society. Railroads need factories which need coal and iron — and all of them need workers. These workers receive wages which they in turn pay for products, so the economy thrives. There is nothing natural or inevitable about how a society develops. Changing moral values can drive a society to new heights of success.”

Judah P. Benjamin smiled wryly and shook his head. “And there, as the bard said, is the rub. Too many in the South do not want to change their moral values and they yearn for the old and simplistic values, with the few governing the many and the Negro at the very bottom, enslaved and helpless.”

Mill nodded, then sighed. “You are indeed correct, sir. But as physical values are changed, you will find that moral values change with them. A man freed from slavery will fight to keep that freedom. A man receiving a decent wage will not go back to penury without a battle. You are going through the period of transition now and I do not envy you your labors — or those of the Freedmen’s Bureau. Your reformation will be a painful one for some. But as the majority who enjoys its benefits grows larger you will find that the minority will be forced to join the others.”

“I pray that you are right, sir. Pray to God that this country will survive the strife and change and emerge triumphant, strong and united.”

“A prayer we all share,” Lincoln said, the strength of conviction in his voice.

Shortly thereafter Mill made his apologies and he and his daughter left. Benjamin stood then as well and gathered up his papers. “I have taken up too much of your time,” he said.

“Quite the opposite,” Lincoln said. “We are in this battle together and must stand united. But tell me — what of Jefferson Davis?”

“His bullet wound has almost healed, and the doctor says that the worst is past. Of course he has lost a good deal of weight and is very weak. But the doctor tells me that he improves daily. He now walks from the bedroom to the parlor where he sits up part of the day. And his morale seems much better. When the weather improves he hopes to be fit enough to ride again. He was always the great one for riding and misses it sorely.”

“That is the very best news. When you see him next give him my very fondest regards and my sincere hopes for a speedy recovery.”

“I shall do that, sir, I certainly shall.”

“Tell him also how well your work is going. That you are creating the new South — and all of us are cheered by the expansion and advances made in this new United States that he worked so hard to found.”

Cheered somewhat by the President’s encouragement, Judah P. Benjamin walked the few blocks to the house he was renting while he was in Washington City. It was growing dark and the first lamps were being lit. When he turned the corner into his street he saw a small crowd ahead. They appeared to be in front of his house, of all things. One of them seemed to be holding a flickering torch, or at least it looked that way. Benjamin pushed through the crowd of onlookers and stopped. No torch this.