The Dixie Widow by Gilbert Morris Read Free Book Online Page B

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 inthe 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,