Authors: Gilbert Morris
His blunt words had done exactly as he hoped—shocked Belle Wickham out of her self-assurance. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in an involuntary expression of surprise.
“Ah, you’re not bored now, are you, Belle?” he said. “I had intended to give you a long speech, with patriotic references to our glorious Cause and a reverent tribute to your late
husband, Captain Vance Wickham, the hero of Antietam. But with a woman like you, I think it’s best to get right to the matter.”
Belle was angry at her obvious reaction. She had always been able to control men, delighting at her ability to maneuver them. An impulse to whirl around and leave Huger rose in her. Instead, she squelched it and determined to drive that irritating gleam of self-confidence out of his eyes.
“That’s a most interesting proposal, Huger.” Belle half-smiled and commented, “I suppose we’re on a first-name basis now?” She walked over to the chair and sat down. “How did you happen to choose me for this position?”
“You’re a cool one!” Huger shook his head in admiration, then began to talk, at times pacing the floor, but coming several times to stand before her. “I know it sounds like something out of a bad French novel, but I’m being watched so closely that I had to come to you as I did tonight. If you do as I hope, you’ll be marked immediately if you’re ever seen with me.” He gave her a direct look and added, “It could mean your life.”
Belle stared at him. “Who’s watching you?”
“Sloan—Jeremy Sloan. The top agent of Allan Pinkerton, head of Union Intelligence.”
“I’ve heard of Pinkerton.”
“He has a large organization. We’ve caught up with three double agents already.”
“What’s a double agent?”
“A spy who comes over from their side and makes his way into our intelligence system. They’re deadly, of course, because we have to trust them with secret information.” He paused, his face intent. “That’s where
you’d
be most valuable.”
“You’re really serious about this thing?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“I’m serious about winning the war,” Huger replied, “and if you’re as smart as I think, you’ll realize we don’t have much
hope. The Yankees have all the cards—an unending supply of men, munitions factories, food supplies.”
“But we’re beating them!”
“No, we’re only winning battles.” He shook his head sadly. “But their strategy is to wear us out. Every time we lose a man, he leaves a gap in our ranks that can’t be filled because we don’t have the manpower. When a Yankee soldier dies, all the Union has to do is reach into the big cities for a replacement.”
“I don’t believe that!”
“No? Your father does.”
“You’re lying! You already said you didn’t know him.”
“I don’t—but I know others who
do.
He’s one of the most sensible men in the government—but there are so many fools that your father can’t be heard.”
She thought about the past months. Her father had said some of the same things. For two years the war had been played out, and only a fool could ignore the decline that was slowly drawing the South down. Intuitively Belle knew this man was telling the truth.
“I’m not a spy.”
“Neither am I,” Huger shrugged. “Not by profession. I’m a lawyer. But I want to help my country.” He slapped his hands together angrily, adding, “Believe it or not, I’d rather be in the army! I get so sick of people staring at me with contempt because I’m not fighting!”
She was moved with compassion for him and said quietly, “It must be very difficult.” She felt an urge to reach out to him. Instead, she curbed the impulse and asked, “Is this
your
idea—my being a spy for the Confederacy?”
“Yes. Other women have done the same thing. You’ve heard of Mrs. Greenhow and Belle Boyd?”
“Of course!” Belle responded. Both women had been apprehended as spies and were in Federal prisons. “I admire them, but—”
“But you don’t believe you could do what they’ve done? Let me tell you what I think. Then you can make up your
mind.” She nodded, and he continued. “Everyone in Richmond knows two things about you. First, they know how hard you’ve taken your husband’s death, and that you’ve sworn a vow to remain a widow until the Yankees are whipped.”
“It’s horrible to be on everyone’s lips,” Belle said bitterly. “They call me ‘The Dixie Widow.’ ”
Huger nodded. “So they do. They say you claim the South as your husband now, and that you never think of anything but seeing the Yankees ejected from our country.”
“That’s true,” Belle nodded. “When my husband was killed, I think I lost my mind for a little while.”
“You had so little time together. I—I am sorry,” he murmured kindly.
Belle looked up, tears in her eyes. She dashed them away and said quickly, “I usually save my tears until I’m alone. Now, what’s the other thing everyone knows about me?”
“That you have relatives in the North who are strongly for the Union.” He paused. “I think the court-martial of young Novak caught everybody’s attention. It was very dramatic, wasn’t it?”
Thad Novak had come from New York at the end of 1860 and had worked at Belle Maison, Belle’s home. He had become a favorite with them all—especially Patience Winslow, Belle’s sister. Belle thought of the young man and nodded. “He shocked us all when he joined the Confederate Army as a paid substitute—and used the money to buy a slave’s freedom.”
“That didn’t do him any good, I suppose,” Huger replied. “What did you think when he was charged with desertion and treason?”
Belle shook her head firmly. “We knew he didn’t do it—but the evidence was so strong.” A smile lit up her face. “My sister Pet rode into the Union lines to bring back the witness who saved Thad’s life.”
“I heard about that. A relative of yours—Captain Lowell Winslow. His grandfather is a retired naval officer, Captain
Whitfield Winslow—who is now a frequent advisor for Gideon Welles, the Union Secretary of the Navy.”
“And you want—”
“Whitfield Winslow has a son, Robert, in the House of Representatives—whose wife is very close to many key political figures—including Mrs. Lincoln.”
He stopped, catching the guarded look in Belle’s eyes.
“And you want me to—to
use
these people?”
“Yes,” Huger admitted, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Belle, think of it! You could do something for your country that
nobody
else could. You’d be able to pick up information that gets batted around at parties where important people attend. Then, when you gained their confidence, you could give them information that would help us. You could say, ‘Oh, I’ve just heard from my cousin that General Lee’s army has built up to a hundred thousand men!’ When McClellan hears
that,
he’ll stop dead in his tracks!”
“But everyone in Richmond
knows
how I hate the Yankees. Surely that agent—what’s his name, Sloan?—he’ll know it as well. He’d report it, wouldn’t he?”
“He certainly would,” Huger nodded. “So you must change your story.”
“What?”
“You’d have to make an about-face,” he said evenly. “You’d have to convince everyone that you’ve changed your mind. You’re angry at the South for starting this war that killed your husband. You’d say that we’re doomed to lose, and the quicker we give up, the better off we’ll be.”
“But—nobody would believe me!” Belle exclaimed.
She expected Huger to argue, but he didn’t. He stood there staring at her carefully. Finally he said, “Then it’s a washout.” He studied her a moment and added, “Belle, it’s asking a lot. I think you could do it—convince everyone that you’ve changed. But if you did,” he warned her, “your own people would hate you.”
Belle nodded slowly. “Yes. I know how we all talk about traitors, people who turn from the Cause.”
“I couldn’t help you with that,” he said quietly. “Nobody could. You’d have to bear it alone. I can’t even urge you to do it—because I’m not sure
I
could go through with it. It’s a thing you’ll have to decide.”
Ramsey Huger was a good lawyer. He knew the danger of saying too much. He’d seen juries ready to vote
not guilty,
but when he’d said just a little too much, they’d been talked out of doing just what he wanted. So he stood quietly, admiring her face, but convinced she would refuse the proposition.
Belle sat silently, confused and afraid. One moment she was ready to rise and leave the room—for she knew what anger and bitterness would fall upon her if she agreed to Huger’s plan. But she was also forced to think of her duty.
I’ve been nothing but a party girl all my life,
she mused.
How can I do this thing?
She thought of Vance, her husband, and of the few precious days they’d had before he marched off to die at Antietam. Thad Novak had been with him when he drew his final breath, and she recalled his last words as Thad reported them:
You’re the best thing that ever happened to me!
She rose and walked to the window.
Staring into the murky night, Belle
knew
what she must do. She turned slowly and came to stand in front of Ramsey Huger, her eyes large and a tremor on her lips.
“My husband died for the Confederacy. If it comes to that, I can do the same. Tell me what I have to do!”
CHAPTER TWO
JUST ANOTHER SOLDIER
The three officers dismounted in front of the large white two-story mansion, handing their horses over to a tall, massively built black man who grinned broadly, saying, “Sho’ is good to see you gentlemen back to Belle Maison! Miz Winslow done say she gonna stuff you lak Thanksgiving turkeys!”
He spoke to all three, but his eyes were on the youngest, Third Lieutenant Thad Novak—for the young man had bought the black man’s freedom by joining the Confederate Army as a substitute for a rich man’s son. “Miss Pet—she say fo’ you to come ovah to de barn, Mistuh Thad. Dat new sow is havin’ her fust litter of pigs—and she say you gotta help.”
Mark Winslow, first lieutenant of the Richmond Blades, laughed at the look on Thad’s face. “Now, there’s romance for you, Beau! No moonlight and roses for this lover!” At twenty-two, Mark was the oldest of the Winslow boys, and the darkest.
Captain Beau Beauchamp was by far the largest of the three. He was a handsome twenty-one, six feet tall, and powerfully built. He gave young Novak a smile, his light mustache twitching. “I guess nobody will call you a Yankee now, Thad. No real Yankee would do his courting in a barnyard over a pregnant sow.”
Thad glared at the two out of an angular wedge-shaped face. His black eyes were set between high slavic cheekbones. “You gentlemen treat your women in your own way,” he said
with a flare of humor. “Pet and I will take care of our own courtin’!”
He turned and walked away, and Beauchamp laughed. “I never thought I’d grow fond of that young fellow—but I have.” He thought of the early days of the war when he had been highly suspicious of Thad Novak, and had done all he could to get Sky Winslow to put the Northern boy off Belle Maison. He added as they went up the steps to the house, “He’s going to be a good officer, Mark—after he gets over the shock of his promotion.”
“Not many men are breveted from a corporal to third lieutenant by Robert E. Lee,” Mark remarked thoughtfully. “He earned it though, the way he saved the major at Antietam.” Thad had gone in under heavy fire and pulled Major Shelby Lee, a nephew of General Lee, to safety. That terrible day more men died than on any other single day of battle in American history.
As they entered the house, Beauchamp commented, “Too bad we couldn’t have saved Vance as well.”
The still form of Captain Vance Wickham as Mark had last seen him, slain by a sharpshooter’s ball at Antietam Creek, was ever in Mark’s thoughts. Not only had Wickham been his sister Belle’s husband, but he was much more than that. “I still can’t accept it, Beau,” he said as they took off their cloaks and handed them to Lucy, the housemaid. “I keep looking around expecting to see him.”
“And I’m supposed to take his place as captain,” Beauchamp frowned, and shook his head as a gloomy look swept across his face. “It just about wiped me out when Belle chose Vance instead of me,” he murmured. “But I never hated him—as I would have just about anybody—”
“Mark! Beau!” Rebekah Winslow ran excitedly down the stairway. She hugged Mark, and smiled at Beau. “Come now, Captain, don’t you have a kiss for an old woman?” At forty-four, Mark’s mother was an attractive woman. Her figure
was still shapely, and her auburn hair had lost none of its curl over the years.
“No—but I’ve got one for you,” Beau grinned, and kissed her on the cheek and stepped back. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time—but that jealous husband of yours is always around.”
“I still am!”
Sky Winslow had entered unnoticed, and grinned broadly at the two men. “With all the other jealous men in the county, I’d have to get in line, Captain Beauchamp.” At sixty-one, Sky Winslow’s hair showed only a sprinkle of silver at the temples. His blue eyes still held that electrifying quality in his dark face. Being a quarter Sioux, he had been named for the unusual color of his eyes. He shook hands with both men and asked, “Where’s Thad?”
“Oh, he and Pet are having pigs in the barn,” Mark grinned. They all laughed. “It’s a good thing someone in this family has a little practical knowledge,” Sky commented. “Come sit down. I want to hear how you’ve been winning the war.”
They filed into the parlor and for the next hour, Rebekah scurried in and out, preparing supper while listening to the news from the front.
“We got cut up so bad at Sharpsburg,” Mark said sadly, “that we’ve been hard put to fill the gaps. It’s not as easy to recruit as it was in the beginning.”
“But we’re almost up to full strength, sir,” Beau added enthusiastically. “We’ll be ready to meet whoever Lincoln gives the army to.”
Sky Winslow listened intently, his face in repose, but he knew much more than the young officers were aware of. As a special assistant to President Davis, he was privileged to sit in many high-level meetings, often with General Lee and others. “I don’t want to be a prophet of gloom,” he said slowly. “But we’re going to be hit harder than ever in the next few months.”