Free The Dixie Widow by Gilbert Morris Page B

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.
    He walked back to the buggy, leaped into the seat, and slapped the lines, grinning from ear to ear. “Henry, old boy—you’ll get her the next time!”
    ****
    The next day Belle gave a humorous account of the operato the captain and Lowell, who came to spend the afternoon with his grandfather. They both laughed at her account, and Lowell said, “I’m taking Grandfather down to the dock to see the newest warship, Belle. Would you like to join us?”
    “No, thank you, Lowell. I have some shopping to do. But you can tell me about it when you come back.”
    As soon as the two men left for the harbor, Belle went to her room and opened the blue case. She read the slip of paper retrieved from the compartment: “In case of emergency, you can contact Lillian at 405 Birch Street.” She replaced the note, closed the case, and left the house.
    Her next meeting with her contact was not for four days, but she felt someone should be told about Vicksburg and about Colonel Wilder’s brown briefcase. She had no idea where Birch Street was, so she asked a cabbie if he could take her.
    “Birch Street?” He seemed to be taken aback by the address, and said rather grudgingly, “Why, yes, ma’am, I can take ‘e there. Wot’s the number?”
    “405.”
    He peered at her, puzzled, asking again, “That’s 405 Birch Street, is it now?”
    “Yes. And hurry please.”
    She stepped into the cab, and he slapped the reins across the horse. Soon she was quite lost, for he had turned into a section of town she had never seen, mostly comprised of decaying old mansions and a smattering of small shops, none looking very prosperous. There seemed to be a great many idle people, and more saloons than one would expect.
    “This is it, ma’am.” The driver did not get down at once, but twisted his head and asked, “Is this where you be wantin’ to go?”
    Belle stared at the dilapidated brownstone house and almost told the cabbie to drive on. The house sat next to a saloon, with several men in rough dress lounging along the front, obviously already started on their day’s drinking.In one of the windows of the brownstone house, a woman with a brightly colored face leaned out and called loudly, “Bill—you there—Bill! Bring up a quart of beer for me and me gentleman friend!”
    One of the loafers grinned, said something to the other men that brought forth a coarse laugh, then disappeared into the saloon.
    Belle took a deep