The Dixie Widow (7 page)

“It
is
nice,” she smiled. “But you’d better keep covered up,” she admonished, adjusting the blanket over his knees. “I thought you’d never get over that last cold.”

“You treat me like a baby!” he complained, “but I like it!”

“You’re due for a little spoiling,” she answered, then asked, “You miss Davis, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. He’s a pest with all his literary talk, but he’s got sense.” Then he added defensively, “I’m enjoying Lowell, of course, but he’s too busy fighting off these Washington gals to pay any attention to me.”

Lowell had been in the city on leave for a week and had paid two visits to his grandfather. He loved the old man, but the officer was caught up, as Whitfield said, in parties and balls hungry mothers arranged almost daily for their maiden daughters. Lowell had been very kind to Belle, but she was aware that his older brother had a special place in the captain’s heart.

“I wish his parents wouldn’t show such partiality for Lowell,” Belle said hesitantly. She would not have dared make such a remark when she first arrived, but she had become at ease with Whitfield, knowing that he never broke a confidence. “I’m sure they’re disappointed in Davis’s decision to become a writer, but they make him feel rejected.”

“That’s true, though the boy never complains.” The captain looked at her, then shrugged. “Can’t do anything about it, Belle. Robert and Jewel have always favored Lowell—even before the war. Just like I’ve always favored Davis. I don’t know what it would do to them if Lowell were killed.”

“They’d have nothing at all, would they? They haven’t tried to build any kind of loving relationship with Davis.”

He nodded, then dropped the subject, saying, “Let’s have no gloom on a day like this! Tell me about the list of officers
who are ready to marry you, Belle!” He laughed at her expression. “It’s become quite a feather in their cap to take the Dixie Widow out for an evening.”

“Now, Captain,” she countered crossly, “you’re exaggerating. I’ve been out only four or five times since I’ve been here—that is, alone with an officer.”

“I think they’re scared off by Colonel Wilder,” he said. “You know what happened to Lieutenant Hicks.” He referred to a young officer whom Belle had liked, and whom the captain always insisted had been abruptly transferred to the front by Colonel Wilder out of jealousy.

“That is just a fanciful idea of yours.”

“Think so? You don’t know the colonel.” He gave her a sharp look. “Or do you? You’ve been seeing him quite often.”

“Why, I can’t help it!” Belle protested. “He’s at every gathering in Washington. I wonder when he has time to do his job. And just to keep you from saying ‘I told you so,’ I’ll tell you now that I am going out with him tomorrow tonight.” She stared defiantly at the old man, adding, “He’s got two tickets to that Italian opera everyone’s dying to see.”

“Never been to one—nor want to,” Winslow snorted. “Bad enough to pretend there’s some kind of world where everyone sings everything they say—even
pass the butter
—but to sing it in Italian, why it’s against nature, woman!”

He slapped the reins across the horses, and the team broke into a brisk trot. “We better get to church.”

The Presbyterian church he attended was a white structure with an imposing steeple, located not far from the Capitol. As they pulled up, he stepped out of the buggy, moving very carefully, and handed the lines to a young black man. Belle stayed where she was, allowing him to come around and help her step down. Then she took his arm and matched her pace to his as they walked down the brick sidewalk. He had some difficulty ascending the steps, but with the aid of his cane and her arm he made it.

“Service started yet?” he asked the one-armed attendant who met them in the foyer.

“No, Captain, you’re just in time,” he smiled. “I have two seats in the section you like best.”

Belle felt uncomfortable as she walked down the hardwood aisle, sensing she was the target of many eyes. She kept her head high, but was relieved when she took her seat beside the captain in a pew close to the front. Fortunately she was seated at the end of the bench and wouldn’t have to converse with anyone. She glanced across the aisle and saw Mr. and Mrs. Seward. Both of them nodded, and she smiled back.

She let her eyes sweep over the audience, looking for someone else she might recognize when the captain nudged her. “There he is!” he whispered.

She turned her head, and a shock ran through her as she saw Abraham Lincoln, the President! His wife held his arm, and a young boy walked by his side.

So this is the man the people in Richmond call “The Gorilla”—and much worse.
She had, of course, seen pictures of him, but mostly caricatures in the newspapers. He moved slowly past her, and turned to let his wife and son enter the pew two rows down and across the aisle.

Belle studied him closely. He seemed even taller than his actual height, which she had read was six feet four. The black suit he wore emphasized his lanky body, his narrow shoulders and lean chest. In spite of that, there was an air of strength about him, Belle thought. Much had been made in the Southern press and in the London
Times
of his awkward height, his too prominent ears, his shambling gait, his huge feet and hands, his too large mouth and too heavy lower lip.

Some of those characteristics seem true,
Belle thought,
but I’m sure there is more to the man than that.
Despite her preconceived notion to hate him, she saw that his gray eyes were full, deep, penetrating and ineffably tender. Instantly she knew he was not the monster portrayed in the press. He had such infinite wisdom in his face that it would be impossible
for the most indifferent observer to pass him on the street unnoticed.

“He’s got a mighty heavy load to carry,” the captain whispered, interrupting her thoughts. “And not much help at home, if truth be told.”

Mary Lincoln’s reputation as a shrew in Washington was often documented by her public display of jealousy, but in appearance, she did not seem so. Belle had noticed in the quick glance she had that Mrs. Lincoln was less than medium height, and inclined to plumpness. She had fair skin and masses of brown hair braided about her well-shaped head. When she turned to whisper something to her husband, Belle noted that the lady’s forehead was full and high, her eyes large, and her mouth somewhat thin.

When the service began it was not what Belle expected. She had grown up in the Methodist church in the fires of revival. The religion of the slaves was embodied in an emotional release, and some of their spirited singing and loud “exhorting” had crept into the white church. Belle may also have been influenced by George Whitfield and John Wesley, who were better suited to the warm country than to the North.

In any case, Belle had a typical Methodist disdain for Presbyterian churches, having heard others dismiss them as “high church.” She joined in the singing, which, to her, seemed dull and listless after the lively worship she was used to at camp meetings. And when the pastor got up to preach, dressed in a robe and speaking in well-modulated tones, she felt that the reputation of the Presbyterians was well earned.

The pastor was not a large man, and he spoke quietly at first. He welcomed the guests to the services, not mentioning the President at all, then began his sermon by announcing his text.

“This morning, we will consider the words of Hagar in Genesis sixteen and focus on the thirteenth verse, which says, ‘Thou God seest me.’ ”

Belle followed the story in the Bible the captain shared
with her, remembering more of the story as the preacher gave a brief summary. “You will recall,” he continued, “that Abraham and Sarah had been promised a child, though they were both old. Somehow they lost sight of God’s promise and Sarah proposed that Abraham have a child by Hagar, her handmaid. Abraham consented, and the child was born. But as we have read, Sarah grew to hate the young girl Hagar, and Abraham finally told her, ‘Behold, thy maid is in thy hand; do to her as it pleaseth thee. And when Sarai dealt hardly with her, she fled from her face. And the angel of the Lord found her by a fountain of water . . . in the way to Shur.’ ”

Belle lifted her eyes to the preacher, wondering what sort of a sermon he could get from that. He seemed to look directly at her as he said, “God gave Hagar a promise, and when He did, she gave God a name, a very strange name—Thou God seest me. It is this name and this truth that I would like us to receive today. For each of us has this God that Hagar saw, and we may all say with her in fear and in love, ‘Thou God seest me.’ ”

He began to speak of the omnipresence of God, and although it was a truth that Belle had rarely considered, she began to grow restive as the pastor drew illustrations both from the Bible and from life. “When Adam and Eve were in the garden, God saw them . . . When Moses struck the Egyptian, God was watching . . . Though Daniel may have felt alone when he prayed at the risk of his life, God’s eye was on him.”

Then he began to speak of evil-doers in this same manner. “When Cain slew his brother, did he not realize that God saw him? Did David think the Lord God of Israel was asleep when the act of adultery was committed with Bathsheba? Why did Peter not cry out ‘thou God seest me’ when he denied the Lord Jesus Christ?”

The minister paused from time to time, solemnly quoting the text: “Thou God seest me.” As the sermon went on, Belle began to dread that quote, for she had begun to feel very uncomfortable. For three months she had been in the
home of Captain Whitfield Winslow, and had passed only five messages to her unseen contact, none that seemed very important. Many times she had despaired, asking herself,
What am I doing here?
and more than once determined to return home.

But always she had stayed, justifying herself by saying that she was a soldier and must stand whatever hardship came, even as her people in Richmond and the soldiers in the field. But she had lost the keen pangs of guilt, for though she knew it was a breach of confidence and a violation of hospitality to carry on such activities while a guest in Captain Winslow’s home, still—it seemed that what little she did had no serious consequence.

Now as the words “thou God seest me” reverberated against her mind, the guilt rose like a specter, and she realized the enormity of her deeds. She tried to shut out the words, but they seeped into her spirit.

When the pastor began his final point, Belle squirmed, knowing she must endure it, but wishing she could escape.

“So Hagar discovered there was a God, that He was a God who
cared.
But in chapter twenty-one of Genesis, she learned even more about this God who watches us. Isaac was born, and Sarah once again drove the girl out, this time with her son who was only a youngster. We read the sad story beginning in verse fourteen: ‘And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and took bread, and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, and the child, and sent her away: and she departed, and wandered in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. And the water was spent in the bottle, and she cast the child under one of the shrubs. And she went, and sat her down over against him, as it were a bowshot: for she said, Let me not see the death of the child. And she sat over against him and lifted up her voice, and wept.’ ”

He looked over the congregation and asked pointedly, “Are there any here in Hagar’s condition? Have you been put in a desert of some sort and left to die of thirst?” He raised his
voice and for the first time cried, “God knows your thirst! He knows your need! And if you will look to Him and to His power, you will not die!”

He lifted his Bible high. “In verse nineteen we read: ‘And God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water; and she went, and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad drink.’ “ Then he lowered his voice, and swept the congregation with his eyes, now damp with tears, asking, “Where did that well of water come from? It was there all the time—but Hagar couldn’t see it! God had to open her eyes to the provision she needed so desperately. And that is my message—to all of us. God sees us, and there is a fountain He has prepared for our thirst. We may not have seen it, but it is there. Jesus Christ is that fountain, and though men may pass by, ignoring Him in their lust for other things, still, we long for the day when God will open their eyes—and we may all see that blessed spring that flows from His only begotten Son!”

As he finished, Belle sat transfixed, then somehow got to her feet and blindly turned to go.

“Well, this must be our friend from Richmond!”

Startled, Belle looked up into the kind eyes of Abraham Lincoln. He extended his hand, and when she did the same, he enveloped it, holding it gently, saying, “My friend Stanton has told me about you, Mrs. Wickham,” he said softly. “I grieve over your loss.”

“Thank you, Mr. President!” Belle gasped. The guilt that had built up during the sermon now caught in her throat, and she could only stare at him as the tears welled up in her eyes.

“Mary, this is the young lady from Richmond that Edwin was telling you about. I think it would be fitting if you had her in to one of your teas someday.”

Mary Lincoln was neurotically jealous of her husband, having been known to physically pull at least one woman away while screaming at her. But she apparently saw no threat in the young woman who stood beside the captain. She noted the quivering lips, the tears ready to spill over, and impulsively
stepped forward and touched Belle’s arm. “Why, I was talking with the captain’s daughter-in-law yesterday,” she said. “She’ll be bringing you to our home next Wednesday.”

“Now, that’s fine!” Lincoln nodded, breaking into a smile, making his homely face almost beautiful. “Be sure she feeds you well, Mrs. Wickham,” he said, moving down the aisle.

The drive home was somber. Not until they were halfway to their destination did Belle speak. “He’s not at all as they say—the newspapers.”

“No, he’s not,” Captain Winslow agreed. “He’s not like
anybody
else, Belle, and that’s God’s truth.”

He considered her quietly. “He’s the only thing that’s held the Union together, Belle. He’s been insulted by everyone, but if he goes down, so does the country. I went to a party once with Robert, and Lincoln was there. Somehow we got left alone, and I told the President how much I appreciated him. He grinned at me in the way he has, and he told me this story: