Free The Dixie Widow by Gilbert Morris Page A

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.”
    “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