Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia

by Jessica James

  Carter’s mind flicked back to the present when one of the men rode up beside him.

  “Cap’n Hunter’s hanging back in case of pursuit, I reckon,” Gus Dorsey commented.

  Carter nodded and smiled. “Knowing the Captain, he’s back there trying to encourage one.”

  Chapter 7

  “The veil of night is no disguise,

  No screen from thy all-searching eyes;

  Thy hand can seize thy foes as soon

  Through midnight shades as blazing noon.”

  – Psalms 139:5

  Andrea rode forward, so bone weary and wet she could barely keep her eyes open. The storm had come fast, at first just a hot breath of wind stirring the leaves, then a rush of hot air, followed by torrential rain and lightning. The wind on the mountain path had rivaled the thunder with its roaring for a time, but all had quieted now. Only an occasional tree limb broke the silence, writhing and groaning against another as if in excruciating pain. The cold rain from the storm had passed too, replaced by a slight drizzle and thick mist that seemed to rise up from the ground to swallow everything in its path.

  Andrea tried desperately to make headway, hoping the fact that she had gone beyond the call of duty would somehow appease J.J.’s wrath when she returned late. This shortcut through Thoroughfare Gap, according to her crude map, would help her make better time. She knew Hunter had been heading in this direction, but assumed she was ahead of him. Surely he had been delayed, if not entirely cut off by the Union troops. As for the other Confederates that Hunter had alluded to, the storm and Justus’ dark color would make them easy to evade.

  But just thinking about the possibility that Hunter might be lying in wait made the woods unexpectedly frightening. Not helping matters was a rhyme often chanted by the children of Virginia that kept running through her head.

  “Beware! Hunter is lurking around,

  Beware! Hunter he makes not a sound.

  He strikes like lightning, yet no trace can be found

  All praise to our Hunter, he’s glory bound!”

  Andrea knew Hunter was in the general area. What if she had misjudged the time and distance it would take him to reach this gap? Suddenly every drop of rain falling from a leaf, every whisper of wind, every snapping twig became her feared predator.

  She tried to penetrate the gloom and mist that reached out endlessly in front of her, but could see nothing. And what she could not see, Andrea imagined. Strange figures glided among the shadows, and suspicious noises emanated from behind the cloak of darkness. Muted moonbeams transformed trees into armed sentries, creating a haunting trail of fright. Even Justus seemed nervous, shying at ordinary limbs that, in the darkness, appeared as ghostly arms reaching out to seize them both with long ghoulish fingers.

  A sudden, death-filled scream in the woods from some small animal accosted by an owl or fox nearly threw Andrea out of the saddle in fright. The scream grew louder, then died away. Andrea pulled Justus to a halt and listened over the sound of her own beating heart. Only hushed and oppressive silence remained, yet she could not shake the presentiment of impending danger. Andrea comforted herself with the thought that it would soon be dawn. She could get her bearings and head north toward the mill where she was supposed to have met J.J. Her head began nodding in her weariness, and she thought once again of sleep. Lord, my Savior, get me through this and I promise I’ll—

  The click of a trigger hammer from out of the heavy stillness resounded like a thunderclap. Andrea sat up straight, jarred wide-awake.

  “What is your business?” A low, sinister voice spoke from the darkness, not fifty paces in front of her. The voice rang with the resonance of one accustomed to giving orders, a familiar, deep voice that carried an air of authority.

  At first Andrea saw nothing, though she searched frantically the dark path before her. Then, as if by command, the mist swirled and parted, revealing a horse and rider from within its protective folds. Hunter held bridle reins in one hand, revolver in the other.

  Andrea did not answer at first, but searched for a way to escape. To her right appeared a steep, rocky bank; to her left a yawning void that dropped off abruptly. Dare I take the chance and run? Despite the darkness and the mist, she feared Hunter’s legendary trigger finger would be quicker than her ability to disappear. From what she knew of the man, it seemed reasonable to assume he would shoot first and find out if it was justified later.

  Andrea swallowed hard in an effort to drown the hive of bees that buzzed in her chest, the vibration and tremors of which were causing her to choke. Her voice, hoarse with weariness and cold, finally responded, “A courier with the …Virginia.” Andrea hoped he did not notice her deliberate attempt to mumble the name of a regiment. She prayed that with the fog, he had not yet seen the color of her horse, that he merely hailed the sound of an approaching rider.

  “Where is your escort?” he asked after a long silence.

  Andrea’s heart fluttered. “M-my horse is fresh. They could not keep up.”

  “Proceed with your hands in the air.”

  Hunter sounded utterly calm, but Andrea was not sure that meant he believed her. Filled with dread, she had no choice but to obey. He stood in picturesque silence, one firm hand on his unruly mount, the other aiming his gun with deadly precision. Distorted in form by the swirling mist, the horse and rider appeared supernatural, forcing Andrea to remind herself they were but flesh and blood like her.

  Behold my hands and my feet, for a spirit hath not flesh and bone. Andrea strove to drive the Bible verse from her mind and concentrate instead on extricating herself from her blunder. “I’m looking for my unit, suh,” she said, still twenty paces out. She strained to keep her voice calm, to mask her impulse to run.

  “You can ride forward with me,” he responded. “This mountain is crawling with Yanks.”

  Ah, there is help nearby. Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer. Preserve me, dear Lord, for in you I take refuge.

  “I believe there is Union cavalry behind me,” she said then, trying to put some urgency in her voice. “I passed a scouting party on patrol.”

  “No fear. My men are dug in ahead.”

  Now just fifteen paces away now, Andrea’s heart beat wildly. Hunter would soon be able to distinguish the color and size of her horse. Perhaps he already had. Fourteen-thirteen-twelve … Andrea closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.

  “Sir, behind you!” Andrea pointed over his shoulder, pretending to save him from an unseen foe.

  She did not wait to see if the ploy was successful or not. Wheeling Justus off the path, she plunged down the bank and crashed into the woods with the sound of gunfire echoing behind her.

  “Forward the Fifth! Forward the Fifth New York!” she yelled, choosing a regiment she knew Hunter would not want to meet. This ruse seemed to work. She heard a muffled curse and the sound of the large horse’s hoof beats fading away to the west.

  Andrea dismounted and leaned against a tree to catch her breath, then sank to the ground as the night returned to nerve-racking stillness. She watched and waited and listened, but her own heart thumping in her ears was the only sound she heard.

  Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head into her arms in utter exhaustion. Just as she got her heartbeat back to normal, the distinct sloshing of approaching horses and the sound of muffled voices came to her ears. Instinctively, she held her breath and waited.

  Has he come back with reinforcements? She listened for a few more moments, then stood and carefully slid her gun from its holster on the saddle. Her nerves twitched with fear as she sank noiselessly to the wet ground, her fingers grasping the handle of the gun for the comfort it gave her. Listening intently, she heard at least two horses moving back and forth over the trail she had left. The riders appeared to be trying to discern from where the gunshots had come. They began talking, revealing distinctly northern accents.

  In fact, she r
ecognized one of the voices.

  Chapter 8

  “My religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as in bed.

  God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself about that…”

  – General Thomas Jackson

  Pacing on a rocky eminence near Thoroughfare Gap at dawn, J.J. searched for signs of a lone rider. If Andrea had gone through Hopewell Gap like he had told her, she should have ridden in behind him by now. Even with a few hours rest at the mill where he was supposed to have met her—and where he’d left a man to advise her of the change of plans—she should have been here by now. He had expected her yesterday afternoon for heaven sakes!

  An aide rode up and saluted. “Anything?” J.J. asked, mounting his horse.

  “No sign of Sinclair, sir. No sign of him at Monroe’s Mill yet.”

  J.J. rubbed his beard and looked up to heaven. Where in the hell could she be? He had a report that Hunter had crossed the mountains last night. Who knew where he was now?

  “There was that storm sir,” the private offered.

  J.J. nodded, but he knew that Andrea feared neither darkness nor storm. Mother Nature may have slowed her travels, but it would never have stopped her. She would have ridden right through no matter the conditions. No, it was not the storm that concerned him. It was her rash and irrational nature that worried him.

  Perhaps she took this pass, by mistake or otherwise, and collided with Hunter. The thought alarmed him, as did the following reflection: he had given her an order—the type of thing she reverently listened to while he was present and instantly forgot when he was not.

  J.J. heard one of his men yelling and turned to see him pointing in the opposite direction he’d been looking. The gazes of a half-dozen men followed his, riveted on the movements of a lone horse and rider galloping through the pass less than a hundred yards away—straight through Thoroughfare Gap. J.J. closed his eyes in prayer. Thank you, Lord. Disobeyed orders—again—but at least she’s safe.

  His feeling of relief turned to despair in a split second. The angry bark of a fieldpiece filled the air, and in a moment, the woods across the gap were in full song, spewing forth a steady stream of fire. J.J. watched the explosion of smoke and flame in disbelief at first, as if it were a dream—and then in complete horror when reality set in. Every man with him instinctively leaned forward with squinting eyes, each one realizing that the gunpowder blasting from those weapons was focused on one lone figure.

  “Land sakes!” J.J. cried, urging his horse forward and standing high in his stirrups. He looked at the stricken faces around him and realized they were thinking the same hopeless thought: what chance had flesh and blood to survive that hellfire?

  “To horse, men!” He turned to a courier by his side. “Alert the sharpshooters in the mill. Tell them to pick off as many as they can!” There was no need for the order. Guns already barked a challenge, and spurts of fire erupted from the mill in reply to the voluminous display of weaponry on the opposite ridge. To add to the spectacle, the sun now poured down a crimson light, tinting the smoke so that it appeared almost bloody.

  J.J. waited, somehow expecting the horse and rider to reappear from the haze. Much as he tried to conjure up the image, he saw nothing but the continuous belching and spattering of guns. The peaceful valley of a few moments ago smoldered in a sea of smoke as seconds ticked slowly by.

  Suddenly there appeared from within the smoke, some movement—hard for him to discern at first, but yes, it was a horse. The men around him gave a collective, involuntary moan at the sight of the riderless animal until someone with a spyglass gasped and pointed. “By Jupiter, there he is!”

  J.J. saw Andrea appear as if by magic, leaning low over Justus’ back. He cursed and applauded her foolishness all at once. He had often seen her perform the same trick, throwing one leg over the side of her mount and bunching into a ball with all her weight in one stirrup. How many times had she fooled him with that game, laughing when he thought she’d been thrown from her mount? J.J. continued to hold his breath, fearing any moment the horse would go tumbling, especially after she turned her head toward the enemy and gave them a mocking salute.

  “Fletcher, ride down to Broad Run and intercept Sinclair before he heads to Hopewell Gap. Looks like he might finally be following my orders.”

  J.J. still heard the popping of sporadic gunfire as the Confederates realized their mistake, but Andrea was well out of range by now.

  The sound of firing suddenly increased again, and his gaze shifted further up the hill. With the aid of his spyglass, he watched men in blue descending on the Confederates from behind. J.J. forgot about Andrea for a moment and ordered his men forward. They now had the Rebels pinned in on three sides, with only one direction for escape.

  * * *

  Captain Hunter put his hand in the air to signal a cease-fire. “Confound that scoundrel!”

  The horse and rider were well out of range now, no sense in wasting ammunition. They’d lost their chance once again, despite the fact they’d waited on this ridge all night for just such an opportunity.

  Hunter stared in disbelief and wondrous admiration, as did the rest of his men, at the feat just pulled off before their very eyes. It seemed impossible that a mere boy could rush with such mad recklessness through the very gates of hell with only his fortitude as a shield. A prettier piece of daring and audacity even Hunter had not yet achieved.

  “Hell of a rider there,” Lieutenant Carter said, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “Got no fear or no sense.”

  Hunter did not answer at first. He continued to stare at the familiar horse tearing through the valley with long strides, the rider sitting effortlessly, as if the gauntlet through which he had just ridden was a sporting event. “I rather believe the latter,” he said with disgust, turning to his horse and motioning for his men to follow. “They’ll be coming soon. Let’s go, men.”

  No sooner did he utter the words than heavy fire rained down from behind him. He realized then that the rider had been a decoy, giving the Union troops time to move in behind him and determine the location of his guns. His firing at the rider had done nothing but show the Yankees their exact position.

  “The devil with you! You are mine!” Hunter waved his fist at the figure, now only a dot in the distance. The trick inspired him with a doubled rage for revenge, but he knew he must concentrate on getting his men to safety. He had a score to settle, but that could wait. He had only a small piece of real estate to use for his escape—and come hell or high water, he had every intention of making his withdraw a costly one for the enemy.

  * * *

  When Andrea finally cantered into the Union encampment behind the guide, she tried to act as though nothing of importance had transpired. “Nice and clear up here, boys,” she said to a group of men standing around Justus. “Strangest thing. A bit of a fog suddenly rolled in down below.”

  Some of the men gazed with a sense of admiring awe as their eyes traced the path of her recent flight. “Sinclair, you crazy fool,” one of them yelled. “By gravy, you must be the luckiest sonbitch I ever seen!”

  “I thought you was food for powder, sure,” another said incredulously.

  “Kicked up a little dust is all,” Andrea joked. It was well known that Virginia roads were either dust or mud, depending on the season, and the dry version was not what clung to her at the moment. She was covered in a spattered layer of juicy earth, accumulated from the bed of fathomless mire through which she had galloped.

  Andrea looked up to see J.J. stomping toward her, and gave him an exaggerated salute despite clear signs he was not in a joking mood.

  “Follow me, Sinclair.” J.J. turned and tramped away without the waste of any more words. Andrea heard the men behind her talking in hushed tones as she limped after him. Now that she was out of danger, her ankle throbbed and her legs trembled. She was dizzy with pain by the time she reached the stone mill that J.J. occupied, and opened the door.

&nbs
p; “Damnation! Are you trying to get yourself killed, or does it just appear that way?” J.J.’s breath came in gasps as he patted the perspiration off his head with a handkerchief. The pop, pop, pop of gunfire from the upper floors of the mill echoed through the room as sharpshooters continued to find targets.

  “For the love of liberty, if you wish to commit suicide, I will supply the gun,” he roared. “You needn’t provide target practice for the enemy!”

  “Obviously they are in need of practice,” Andrea replied matter-of-factly. She loosened a drying clod of dirt from her arm and watched it explode into little pellets as it hit the floor.

  “Where have you been?” J.J. bellowed over the din. “From what I witnessed, your tardiness isn’t due to your horse being lame or your spurs being broke.”

  Andrea almost smiled at the use of the two most familiar excuses used by cavalrymen, but decided by his expression that humor was not his intent. “I was … detained.”

  “Did you forget my orders?”

  This question stumped Andrea for a moment because she rarely ever committed his orders to memory—therefore she could not have forgotten one. “No,” she replied honestly. “I did not forget your orders.”

  “Did I not tell you to come through the other pass?”

  “Oh-h yes . . . but this one was faster—”

  “Faster? For what? Dispatching you to your heavenly creator?”

  J.J. paced up and down, stopping only long enough to pour himself a drink, which he emptied with a shaking hand.

  “A little early for that isn’t it?” Andrea stared at the empty glass, thinking she would not mind having one herself.

  “You did not answer my question.” J.J. slammed the glass down. “Do you believe yourself immune to death or are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  Andrea shrugged. She had never seen J.J. quite like this. Although it was common practice for her to seek forgiveness rather than permission, J.J. did not seem predisposed to either one today.