The Dixie Widow (8 page)

“ ‘There was a man I knew who kept a kennel full of hunting dogs—young and old. He’d sell the young ones every now and then, smart as they were and slick as they could be. But the one dog he’d never sell or lend was an old half-deaf foolish looking hound you wouldn’t think was worth five dollars. That old hound would just lie around and scratch fleas, and I used to plague the man, ask him why he kept such a dog. “Well,” the man said, “he ain’t much on looks or speed. A young dog can outrun him anytime. But, Abe, that dog’s hell-bent on a cold scent, and once he gets his teeth into what he’s after, he don’t let go until he knows it’s dead.” ’ ”

The captain thought for a moment before going on. “You know what he said then, Belle? ‘I’m that old dog, Winslow. There are lots of smarter and faster dogs, but I won’t quit!’

“I guess that’s why I love him, Belle.” The captain seemed sad, and they made the rest of the trip in silence.

Belle wished she’d never met the man she’d been taught to hate—for she knew she could never hate him again.

CHAPTER SIX

“SHE’S PAID TOO MUCH!”

Monday morning Belle received a letter from her mother, and the captain saw that it depressed her. He never asked about Richmond, but was always interested in the family. When Belle came in that evening dressed for the opera, she sat down beside him and began to talk. “The family is well, but the boys are all gone, and Mama worries about them a great deal—especially Dan.”

“He’s in the army, too? How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

“So young—all of them seem so young!” the captain said softly. “But I was only eighteen the first time I saw action. Seems like a millennium ago! How about young Novak and your sister? They married yet?”

“Oh no. Pet wants to but Thad says they’ve got to wait. I’m glad.” A sudden spasm of grief swept over Belle’s face, and she whispered, “I wouldn’t want her to go through this!”

Whitfield looked at her searchingly. “Remember what the preacher said? ‘Thou God seest me.’ I reckon that’s what all of us have got to hang on to.”

Belle looked at him, her eyes filled with doubt, even fear. “You’re so sure of that, Captain—and so are my parents and Pet. All of you must have something I don’t.”

“Aren’t you a Christian, my dear?”

“Why, I’ve thought so for a long time. I was converted when I was twelve, and baptized. But . . . sometimes I wonder if
there’s not something more!” A knock at the door interrupted any further words, and she rose. “I’ll let the colonel in.”

When Colonel Wilder stepped inside, he exclaimed, “You look beautiful, Belle!”

“Same old dress, Henry,” she smiled. “Come and speak to Captain Winslow.”

The old man stood up as the two entered the room. “Better stay and play a game of chess with me, Colonel,” he suggested. “Be more fun than taking this woman to hear a bunch of screeching I-talians!”

“Duty first, Captain Winslow,” Wilder grinned. “Besides, I hear you’re unbeatable at chess.”

“So I am,” Winslow nodded without modesty. “But you need to lose at something. Be good for your humility.”

“I’ll come another time, Captain, but I paid too much for the tickets to this performance to waste them. Are you ready, Belle?”

“I’ll get my coat.”

While the colonel helped her on with her wrap, she said to the captain, “You’d better get to bed early, and if you want something to eat, I put some cookies on the table.”

“Humph!” he grunted and went back to his easy chair.

When they were outside, Wilder commented, “Wonderful old man! Wish we had his kind around today.”

“He
is
wonderful, isn’t he? He’s been so good to me.”

“I don’t think he deserves any credit for
that!
From what I hear, you’ve waited on him as if you were his slave. Besides, he’s just like the rest of us.”

“In what way?”

“For a beautiful woman, the world will not only wait, it will roll over and play dead if that’s what she wants.” His white teeth gleamed as he smiled. “Even Mrs. Lincoln admires you—which is a miracle!”

As they made their way to the performance, Wilder related happenings around the War Office. The news didn’t seem
important, but even from this, Belle found herself gleaning things that might be of interest to Richmond.

The opera was held at Ford’s Theatre, and when they were seated, Wilder pointed out Lincoln’s box to their left. “He comes here a lot—mostly to light comedies, though.” He let his arm drop on Belle’s shoulder and added, “He’s a brooding man—but he likes Joe Miller’s jokes and the comedies. Guess they take his mind off his problems.”

Belle was acutely aware of the pressure of his arm, but could do nothing but endure it. He had tried to kiss her once, but she had deftly avoided the caress, thinking he might be put off. But she realized now that love was a game to Henry Wilder. If he lost, he didn’t brood, but planned other means to capture his prey. He had been successful with women, she knew, and was sure he would never be satisfied until he had conquered her.

She thought,
Why, I’m no better than he is! He’s trying anything he can to get what he wants from me—and I’m doing the same to him!

Finally the curtain rang down, and they left.

“It’s early yet, Belle. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Well . . .”

“Or we could stop by my place,” he offered without looking at her. “I’ve got some of that caviar the Russian ambassador gave Stanton. Edwin can’t stand the taste of it.”

“I’m not sure I should, Henry.”

“Because you’re a widow? Nonsense! We’ll pop in, have some of the fish eggs and a glass of wine; then I’ll rush you home.”

He suited his actions to his words, and soon was showing her inside his house—a Cape Cod made of red brick. “This is my little castle,” he said. “Let me take your coat and I’ll show you around before we eat.”

The first floor held the parlor, a large study with a huge desk, the dining room, and the master bedroom. Upstairs were two small bedrooms. As the colonel brought her down,
he waved his hand, saying proudly, “It’s too much for a single man, of course, but a soldier’s life is so insecure that I don’t feel guilty about indulging myself. Now, let’s see about that caviar.”

She ate some of the strange food, grimaced and said, “I rather agree with Mr. Stanton!”

He laughed. “Well, there’s plenty of cold chicken and potato salad—and I think there’s some cake.”

He made the coffee and while they ate the pastry, he rattled on about improvements he planned on the house. As he talked, she was thinking of the desk in the study. How she longed to have access to it for half an hour! He was, she understood, a careful man in all things, and it would be strange if he didn’t keep written records. He had mentioned several times that he did more work in his study than he ever did at the War Office. It was in that desk, she decided, that she would find any worthwhile information for Richmond.

She rose to go, but he guided her smoothly into the parlor, insisting that she had to see the latest photographs from the war zone. She allowed herself to be led into the room, and he pulled a large box from a shelf, and soon she was staring with fascination at an incredible array of pictures.

“Matthew Brady made all these, Belle,” he said. “Those photographers go right to the battlefield with their closed wagons—some of them have actually been killed because they got so close to the action.”

Belle stared at a picture so clear in detail that she could see individual blades of grass. A young soldier was lying dead on his back. His musket lay over his head and one arm was flung up in a strange position. His coat was unbuttoned and his mouth gaped in a voiceless cry.

“Pretty grim, isn’t it?” Henry remarked, and took the picture from her. “This is a Rebel, but you can’t hate them when they’re like this, can you?”

“No.” Belle was sickened by the picture and said faintly, “I—I don’t want to see any more, Henry.”

“Of course not!” He tossed the pictures to one side, then suddenly put his arms around her, saying, “Belle, I’ve been trying to get you alone for weeks—and then I act the fool and show you ugly pictures.”

Belle felt his arms drawing her closer, and was terrified. If she turned him away coldly, she knew there was no chance for her to exploit the contents of his desk. Yet she hated the touch of his arm, and as he lowered his head to kiss her, she felt nauseated. There was no time to think, however, for he bent his head and his lips met hers. He was an accomplished lover, but that did not concern her. She endured his kiss, then pulled back and said quickly, “Henry—I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, you should,” he answered swiftly, and did not release her. Instead, he pulled her tighter, the hard buttons of his uniform pressing against her. He slowly kissed her again, and when he raised his head, she saw the hunger in his eyes.

“Henry—no!” she said weakly and pushed him away.

Wilder grabbed her again, his eyes boring into hers. “Belle—I’ve
got
to have you! You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!”

She twisted around, but his arms pinned her to him. He kissed the side of her neck and murmured, “Belle,” his arms growing ever tighter. Then, just as she was about to struggle free, there was a loud knock at the door.

“Blast!” he snapped. “I’ll be right back, Belle.”

He left the parlor and she went to the window and peered out. By the light of the lantern over the door, she saw the outline of a soldier. The door opened, and the man began talking urgently. She could not see Henry, but she heard the sound of his voice. He was angry. Finally the door slammed, and he came in, saying, “Belle, I’ve got to go to the office. I’ll drop you off on the way.”

“Of course, Henry,” she responded, relieved that the personal crisis had been averted.

“I have to get a few papers from the study before we go,”
he said. He was gone for a short time and returned with a brown leather briefcase in his hand. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

They drove rapidly through the dark streets. She remained quiet but felt he would speak of the emergency, which he did. “I spend all day long at the office,” he complained, “but that’s not enough for Stanton! He can’t keep track of any-thing himself, and every time he wants to know something, he sends for me.”

“You must get awfully tired, Henry,” Belle replied, placing a hand on his arm. “I don’t see how you ever keep up with all the things you have to know. I’d forget half of them.”

“Well, I do have a good memory,” he admitted with satisfaction, “but I have to keep things on paper, too.” He nodded at the briefcase beside them. “I could tell Stanton what’s happening down at Vicksburg, but that wouldn’t be good enough. He wants it written down, or he won’t believe it.”

Belle picked up on the name, and said innocently, “I was in Vicksburg with my family three years ago. It was the best summer I ever had, Henry—such a nice town!”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t be a good spot for a vacation now, Belle. When U.S. Grant and Sherman move into a place, it sort of brings the real estate value down.” He stopped abruptly as if he had said too much, but she gave no sign of interest.

When he took her to the door, she turned and said, “I had a wonderful evening, Henry. Thank you so much.”

She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her as though he were famished. She forced herself to respond, then pulled back and whispered, “You—you frighten me, Henry!” Then she slipped inside and closed the door gently.

He walked back to the buggy, leaped into the seat, and slapped the lines, grinning from ear to ear. “Henry, old boy—you’ll get her the next time!”

****

The next day Belle gave a humorous account of the opera
to the captain and Lowell, who came to spend the afternoon with his grandfather. They both laughed at her account, and Lowell said, “I’m taking Grandfather down to the dock to see the newest warship, Belle. Would you like to join us?”

“No, thank you, Lowell. I have some shopping to do. But you can tell me about it when you come back.”

As soon as the two men left for the harbor, Belle went to her room and opened the blue case. She read the slip of paper retrieved from the compartment: “In case of emergency, you can contact Lillian at 405 Birch Street.” She replaced the note, closed the case, and left the house.

Her next meeting with her contact was not for four days, but she felt someone should be told about Vicksburg and about Colonel Wilder’s brown briefcase. She had no idea where Birch Street was, so she asked a cabbie if he could take her.

“Birch Street?” He seemed to be taken aback by the address, and said rather grudgingly, “Why, yes, ma’am, I can take ‘e there. Wot’s the number?”

“405.”

He peered at her, puzzled, asking again, “That’s 405 Birch Street, is it now?”

“Yes. And hurry please.”

She stepped into the cab, and he slapped the reins across the horse. Soon she was quite lost, for he had turned into a section of town she had never seen, mostly comprised of decaying old mansions and a smattering of small shops, none looking very prosperous. There seemed to be a great many idle people, and more saloons than one would expect.

“This is it, ma’am.” The driver did not get down at once, but twisted his head and asked, “Is this where you be wantin’ to go?”

Belle stared at the dilapidated brownstone house and almost told the cabbie to drive on. The house sat next to a saloon, with several men in rough dress lounging along the front, obviously already started on their day’s drinking.
In one of the windows of the brownstone house, a woman with a brightly colored face leaned out and called loudly, “Bill—you there—Bill! Bring up a quart of beer for me and me gentleman friend!”

One of the loafers grinned, said something to the other men that brought forth a coarse laugh, then disappeared into the saloon.

Belle took a deep breath. “This is the place. How much?”

After taking the money he asked, “Want me to wait, ma’am?”

“No.”

Belle got down, feeling a sudden wave of fear at being so vulnerable. As she walked up the steps, one of the men called out, “Hey, sweetie, let’s you and me have a drink, okay?”