The Dixie Widow

by Gilbert, Morris

  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:

  “ ‘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.”
r />   “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.