Authors: Gilbert Morris
Jewel looked up to see Davis enter the double doors, pushing Captain Winslow in his wheelchair—but it was Belle Wick-ham, Jewel noted with displeasure, who had seized Colonel Wilder’s attention, along with that of every other man in the room.
Belle was wearing a black dress as usual, but it was no ordinary widow’s garment. The gown was made of black silk and shimmered with shifting radiance, reflecting the thousands of lights from the candles. It was not low cut, as were many of the dresses in the room, but it clung to her so snugly that the curves of her body were apparent. A single pearl hung from a golden chain around her neck—and the simplicity of that one piece of jewelry made every other woman in the room look over-adorned. Her glossy black hair fell down her back like a shining waterfall, enhancing the queenly air she bore as she walked lightly across the room with one hand on Davis’s arm.
Davis wheeled his grandfather’s chair to the left, and the men at the table most distant from where Robert and Jewel sat rose at once. As Davis assisted his grandfather to a chair,
three officers moved quickly, almost falling over one another to help him.
Edwin Stanton had been watching the entrance, and now echoed Colonel Wilder’s question, “Who is that with your family, Jewel?”
For once Mrs. Winslow was speechless, and Robert was forced to explain. “That young lady, Mr. Stanton, is Mrs. Belle Wickham, a relative of mine. She’s—come to help my father since my son is leaving for England.”
It was the best he could do, and both he and Jewel fervently hoped the trio would be forgotten, but Stanton persisted. “Where is she from, Winslow?”
Robert gave up all hope of anonymity for Belle, and plunged in boldly. “Why, sir, she’s from Richmond.” He got the hum of surprise he expected, and went on smoothly, “You’ll be interested in her story, I think. You don’t have many opportunities to meet converted Rebels—especially one as beautiful as Mrs. Wickham.”
His words startled everyone, and Stanton exclaimed, “What in the world do you mean—’converted Rebel’?”
“The lady is a daughter of one of my family, Mr. Sky Winslow, who is a special advisor to Jefferson Davis,” Robert said. “She was married to Captain Vance Wickham, of the Third Virginia Infantry.” It had grown very quiet at the table, for everyone was hanging on Robert’s words and staring across the room at Belle, who sat between the captain and Davis.
“She’s a widow, then?” Colonel Wilder asked.
“Yes. Her husband was killed at Antietam.”
Stanton was intrigued. “You’ve got courage, Winslow, bringing the enemy to this ball. I’d like to speak with her; come along and introduce me.”
He rose and Colonel Wilder promptly joined him as Robert led the way across the room. “Mrs. Wickham, may I present Mr. Stanton, the secretary of war—and his aide, Colonel Wilder?”
Belle nodded. “How do you do, Mr. Stanton—Colonel Wilder.”
“May we join you?” Stanton asked, which was a broad hint to the three officers seated at the table to leave. They rose hurriedly and scurried away with disappointment on their faces. Stanton took a seat directly across from Belle, leaving the places beside him for Robert and Wilder.
Belle asked immediately, “Have you come to arrest a poor Rebel, Mr. Stanton?”
Stanton was taken off guard by her piquant smile, and her beauty rendered him speechless for an instant. She had the most enormous eyes he had ever seen, almond-shaped, violet in color, and shaded by long, thick eyelashes. Stanton was no ladies’ man, but the creamy complexion, the curving red lips, and the smooth white neck formed a combination he had never observed in any woman.
Besides this, her direct teasing question pleased him. He was not a man anyone ever joked with, and he realized she was doing exactly that. He well knew that he was the most feared man in Washington—indeed, he had sought to be exactly that—and now this beautiful young woman sat there, smiling at him, daring him to answer.
When he said, “Why, certainly not, Mrs. Wickham!” Robert breathed a sigh of relief, for he knew an arrest could have been possible.
“Captain Winslow,” Stanton continued, “you are fortunate to have such help.”
The captain nodded. “You are correct, sir. I met Belle when I was in Richmond some time ago—working on our family tree.”
Stanton gazed at Belle searchingly, desiring to know more about her, yet cautious. Finally he said, “I understand you lost your husband at Antietam, Mrs. Wickham. My condolences.” When she nodded, he added with a casual air that fooled nobody at the table, “It must be very difficult for you to be here—among your enemies.”
Belle recognized her opportunity and responded quietly, “I would have thought that not so long ago, Mr. Secretary. If you had asked me to come to this place right after my husband’s death—I would have died first, I think.” She paused, her face serene but marked with pain. Then she continued. “I was filled with hatred for the North—especially Abraham Lincoln and his Cabinet.”
Stanton blinked at the unexpected statement. “I suppose such hatred is widespread in the South.”
Belle nodded. “Yes, and it will destroy her—as it almost destroyed me. I found myself consumed with hate. I lived for nothing but revenge, and found myself gloating over every Union soldier who died.”
She dropped her head and sat silently. After a moment she lifted her eyes and went on. “One day I was at the hospital caring for our men, and for some reason they brought in several captured Union soldiers. I was bathing the face of one of them—not knowing he was a Yankee. Then someone whispered that he was a Union soldier—and I . . .” She brushed her hand across her eyes and murmured, “I spit in his face!”
A shock of revulsion swept over the table. “That sickens you, doesn’t it?” Belle said. “It should! I stood looking at him, and for the first time I saw that the poor Northerner was no different from the Southern boy in the next bed. I . . . wiped his face and begged him to forgive me. And he did. But I couldn’t get away from it—what the war had done to me. That was the turning point, Mr. Stanton.”
“The turning point?” Stanton asked, moved by her story.
“Yes. I began to see that every soldier who died or was wounded was the result of one thing.” She lifted her eyes to meet those of the secretary and said quietly, “The South’s mindless refusal to get rid of slavery. You must understand that this was not the first time I’d thought of it. My father is one of many who hates slavery—as Captain Winslow will tell you. But those of us who felt that way were weak, and went along with secession, losing our sons and husbands in
the process. It took the death of my husband, and almost losing my mind with hate, to bring me to the realization that all of it was wrong.”
“Did you tell anyone how you felt?” Colonel Wilder asked.
She gave him a sad look, her lips trembling as she replied, “Why else would I be here, Colonel? Yes, I told them—and they turned on me. My family loves me, but they think I’ve gone crazy. The rest of Richmond who so loved me when I was faithful to the Cause rejected me as if I were a leper.”
“And that’s why you came to Washington?” Stanton prodded.
“I’m a woman without a country, Mr. Secretary,” Belle sighed. “I’ve been cast out by my own people—and I can expect little from you, since I have been your enemy and hated you so bitterly.”
Stanton had come to the table merely curious, but Belle Wickham was not just an object of curiosity. Though he was not swayed by her beauty, there was something in her youthful tragedy that moved him. He found his compassion reaching out to the girl, seeing her dilemma clearly. This woman was different from the large number of Southerners who came North, proclaiming they had seen the error of their ways.
He spoke to her gently. “I am sorry for your troubles, Mrs. Wickham—and I welcome you to Washington. If I can help you, please let me know.”
He rose, bowed, then returned to his table, with Robert and the colonel following.
Davis gave Belle an astonished look. “I don’t think you know what a conquest you’ve just made, Belle.”
The captain agreed. “Never saw the old lion so tamed!” He looked across the room at Jewel, who was listening intently to Stanton. “You’ve just been given the key to the city, my dear. Even my daughter-in-law won’t be able to turn her nose up at you now.”
He was correct, for as soon as the music began, Colonel Wilder was across the room immediately. “Mr. Stanton
commands me to ask you for the first dance, Mrs. Wickham, as a welcome to our society.” He smiled broadly, adding, “And I must say, it was the most welcome command he ever gave this poor soldier!”
Belle rose and as they moved across the floor she said, “You are a brave man, sir, to dance with one so lately under the banner of your enemy.”
He answered her in the same light vein, and she studied him as the dance went on. He was a good-looking man, tall and on the slender side. Not over thirty, she guessed, and carefully groomed. His large brown eyes were bold, and she would have known, had she not already been informed, that he was fond of women. His thin face was highly intelligent, and she was well aware that he was not only pursuing her as a woman, but was studying her as a political being.
At the end of the dance, Davis was waiting, and she deftly changed partners. He was not as good a dancer as Wilder, nor as good looking. Belle’s first recollection of him in Richmond had been:
He’d be nice looking if he weren’t so fat.
But she brushed the thought aside and commented, “I hope this isn’t too much for the captain.”
“I can’t think of anything that would be too much for him,” he grinned. Then he remarked, “You’re a smashing success, Belle. Edwin Stanton is the weather vane of society in Washington, and he’s given you his approval.”
“I expect he’s not quite sure of me, Davis,” she replied. “Nor is Colonel Wilder.”
“Better watch him, Belle,” he returned quickly, adding with some hesitation, “He’s known to be quite a womanizer.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“In a way, I guess. I’ll be leaving next week, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you—for Grandfather’s sake, I mean.”
“I see.” She let her eyes rest on him a moment, considering his comment. “Don’t worry about me, Davis. I’ll not succumb to the colonel’s charm.”
But as the evening wore on, Davis noticed that Belle danced with the tall soldier several times, and from what he could tell there was more than casual interest in her face as she laughed in response to her partner.
“Better watch out for Belle after I leave,” he said to his grandfather. “I think Wilder’s got his eye on her.”
“So does every other man in the room,” the captain grunted. “They’re already calling her ‘The Dixie Widow,’ did you know? I think my foolish son let it slip—but Pinkerton will find that out anyway.”
“You think Stanton will have her investigated?”
“That fox? You can bet on it!”
The dance ended, and as Stanton left, he said to his aide, “I see you’re quite taken by the Dixie Widow.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Wilder responded. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Have Allan check on her, Henry. Her story sounds good—maybe too good. I don’t trust anybody from Richmond these days.”
****
When Belle undressed that night, her nerves still tingled from the excitement of the evening. But before retiring she removed the false bottom of the blue case and began to write a report:
There is much talk that General Hooker will replace Burnside as commander . . . and a possibility that Grant will begin an assault on Vicksburg. . . .
She wrote rapidly, put the sheet in the false compartment, turned off the light and crawled into bed.
The next morning, she went for a short walk down the snowy streets, entered a cafe and sat on a bench just inside the door. After a time she left, leaving the case behind. Twenty minutes later, she returned and picked up the bag.
When she was in her room, she opened the compartment and eagerly read the note inside:
Fine work! Your information will reach Richmond in two days. Next meeting at railroad
station. Leave case beside front door. In emergency, contact Lillian at 405 Birch St. Do not use this contact except in extreme emergency!
She lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep, for the previous evening had been nerve-racking. It had been a struggle to keep up the facade, but she knew now that she could do it. She knew also that Colonel Wilder would be pursuing her as well as watching for any hint of disloyalty. As she drifted off, she thought,
Oh, Vance, I miss you so much!
CHAPTER FIVE
AN ENCOUNTER AT CHURCH
By the middle of March, the bitter cold of winter retreated from Washington, leaving dirty patches of snow in the corners of fences. The war had grown stale, and although it was only a month away from the end of the second year, the old days of peace seemed lost in a blurred past. The armies had fought themselves into a stalemate, and after the massacre at Fredericksburg, the morale of the Army of the Potomac was shattered. Lincoln chose Major General Hooker, nicknamed “Fighting Joe,” the former commander of Burnside’s Center Grand Division, as the new commander. While Hooker rebuilt his army, the Confederate General Bragg met General Rose-crans and his army at Murfreesboro in the battle of Stone’s River, in the North. The Confederates almost crushed the Union troops in the first stage, but then faltered. The two armies fell back, neither side claiming a victory.
Davis had left for England a week after the Christmas party, so Belle had spent many hours with the captain. His kindness was a constant reminder of her deceit, and she subconsciously attempted to make up for it by giving him special care. He was off his crutches now, limping heavily; but with the use of a cane, he was able to make short trips around town, usually to a restaurant, so the pair became well known.
The first warm Sunday morning Whitfield took Belle to church. Though the service did not begin until ten, they left early and drove to the outskirts of town. As they passed
beneath the spreading oaks sprouting with tiny emerald leaves, he took a deep breath of the fresh air and exclaimed, “What a wonderful change! This feels good, Belle! I’m sick of the house.”