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

by Jessica James

  “Your memory is short, Captain. I believe I told you before, I am not like most women.”

  “As to the former, unfortunately for you, it is not,” he answered. “And as for the latter, yes, I believe we are quite in agreement on that point.”

  Despair, disappointment, and even a little humiliation, showed clearly on her face. Hunter swept his eyes over the image of her ragged and well-worn clothes. His mind drifted back to the ball in Richmond, then to Fredericksburg and his brother’s final devotional words to her.

  “Would you care to extend me the courtesy of telling me your real name?”

  “I have no desire to extend that courtesy, nor is it my duty or obligation to do so.” She turned her back on him and began to rudely tap her toe.

  “Well, I guess I can call you Maryann. You are accustomed to that name, are you not?” The room filled with silence. “Or do you prefer Miss Marlow?”

  She turned back toward him. “My name is Andrew Sinclair.”

  Hunter noticed her voice did not betray that her legs trembled beneath her, but her next statement confirmed that she felt them. “Do you mind if I sit?” She did not wait for an answer, but found the composure to lower herself into the chair in front of his desk as elegantly as a queen takes her place on the throne.

  Hunter muttered under his breath, and proceeded to sit down as well. “I suppose you are proud of your deceit, Miss Marlow. You almost got away with it.”

  She gazed over his head into the space beyond, refusing to look into his eyes. “Like I told you, it’s Sinclair, so I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She sat arrow straight, her hands folded gracefully on her lap as if she were a lady of distinction attending a tea party, not a spy being questioned by a Confederate officer.

  “Oh, stop this game. You know what I mean.” Hunter banged his fist on the desk. When he failed to get a reaction, he took a deep breath to get his emotions back under control. “Are you a citizen or soldier spy? To whom do you report?”

  She leaned forward in her chair. “I’m afraid I decline to answer, and I can’t believe an officer would insult me by asking it.” She stood and turned her back to him.

  “You evidently don’t have the good sense to realize how much trouble you are in,” Hunter said as he walked around his desk to stand in front of her. “Nor how much trouble you have caused the Confederacy.”

  “You flatter me once again, sir,” she responded. “A compliment from a foe is worth a dozen from a friend.”

  Hunter frowned and paced the room, his hands clenched behind his back. “Miss, you may be under the illusion that this is a game, but you are being interrogated by an officer. And if your friends have not advised you of the necessity of discretion, then perhaps, out of consideration for your youth and inexperience, I should. I would not even have requested this interview had you not given my pickets trouble with your impudence.”

  Hunter paused for a moment, regarding the girl’s calm, proud features in silent amazement before proceeding. “You’re a little young for this type of service, are you not? Since when is it the habit of the Yanks to use young ladies for special service details?”

  “I’m old enough to see the state of affairs,” she said defiantly. “As for the Federals, it’s their duty to employ every resource for the suppression, the overthrow, and the punishment of Rebels in arms. And as for citizens of the United States, of which I am one, it is my duty to do all that I can in the achievement of those objectives.”

  Hunter sat down and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Your story about your cousin can be corroborated?” He asked the question casually as he drummed his fingers on the desk, but he watched her face closely.

  She bit her cheek and continued to stare at the floor. “I had no time to send a telegram. I received word in Richmond that my horse was stolen and I’m returning to—”

  Hunter stood. “Your horse? Curious. I seem to recall you telling me in Richmond that you don’t ride well. Yet you own a horse, one that is apparently very near and dear to your heart. Very interesting.”

  “How very admirable of you to commit every word of our conversation to memory,” she said weakly. “I had no idea I was such a noteworthy acquaintance.”

  Hunter laughed. “My dear, did I not tell you that I believed our meeting would be an unforgettable one? Surely it is not one you have forgotten.”

  She looked up at him and then away into space, in what appeared to be a custom of hers when the topic was not pleasing. “No I do not forget, but I remember with regret. As I told you in Richmond, any encounter with you is inexorably branded in my mind.”

  “Anyway, what might he look like?”

  “Who?” she asked, bringing her attention, and her gaze, back to him.

  “Your horse that was stolen!”

  “That is not important.”

  “I believe I will decide what is and is not important if you don’t mind!”

  “Then can we not confine ourselves to the discussion at hand? Let me see, I believe you were asking me—”

  “This is the discussion at hand,” Hunter roared. “Is he a bay? A gray? Chestnut? Dun?” He stood in front of her now, but she did not answer. “Perhaps a sorrel? A roan? By your silence, I shall assume none of the above. Hmm, I can think of naught another color—save black. Might your horse be a large-boned black?”

  “If you have stolen him, it would do you well to return him.” She made no effort to control the anger in her voice now. “No one else will sit him! Least of all a man!”

  “Then I’m to assume we are agreed, your horse is black,” Hunter said. “And if that is the case, and if indeed he’s been appropriated by my men, he is now the legal property of the Confederacy and will no doubt serve our cause splendidly.”

  “No Rebel will ever ride him!”

  “Miss Marlow,” Hunter said, losing his patience. “Are you aware of the penalties of spying in the Confederate states? And once again may I suggest the prudence in being more guarded with your speech?”

  She looked straight into his eyes, unblinking, defying his attempts to shake her. “Is the interview over, Captain?” She turned, as if his silence was a signal for her to leave. “I believe you have detained me quite long enough.”

  “Over? Are you questioning my authority to hold you here?” Hunter stood and banged his fist on the desk again. “By whose authority do you operate?”

  “I believe I shall pass on the question.” The girl’s voice indicated that she had no more interest in the conversation than if they were discussing the weather on the third day of rain.

  “What are your orders?”

  “Still less can I answer that question definitely.”

  “Miss, you are being charged with a serious crime. Have you no defense? I don’t believe you realize the character and extent of my power to deal with such conduct.”

  “I would trust my explanation has been sufficient. I don’t know what other information I can provide you.”

  “You have provided me no reasonable explanation—not for your presence here in my territory nor for your impudent behavior!” Hunter shouted, losing his temper again. “I must warn you, I’m finding your manner excessively insolent.”

  “And insolence is a crime in the Confederacy? Or is it just an offense in your jurisdiction?”

  Hunter ran his hand through his hair in agitation and stared at her, trying to understand how a mere girl could show such courage under the current circumstances. “Every word you speak illustrates more clearly to me your character,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes in indignation. “I fail to see the correlation. I have a solemn duty which I will not betray.”

  “And I have a solemn duty to see that you pay for the crimes in which you have been engaged!”

  She sighed then, like a child tiring of a game, and began removing her gloves in an exasperated sort of way. “May I remind you, sir, that you have found no treasonable correspondence on me and that I wear no insignia of the C
onfederacy. According to the Articles of War, I cannot be charged as a spy, at most a courier.” Her eyes never wavered nor changed expression. “I presume you have some acquaintance with the existence of that code, Captain Hunter?”

  She then turned her gaze to her fingernails, as if contemplating whether they needed a cleaning, indicating by her actions that she felt the subject had garnered more than enough of her time and attention.

  Hunter raised his eyebrows in surprise, both at her revelation and the sudden recollection of where he’d the heard the name Sinclair before. “Your knowledge concerning the usual handling of such affairs is correct, Miss Marlow. Unfortunately, your prediction of how I shall handle yours is not equally reliable.”

  He watched her grow alert, like someone who senses the presence of an unseen gun.

  “It is indeed unfortunate,” he continued, crossing his arms in satisfaction, “but I can prove you are, or have been, within our lines for the purpose of securing information. You can indeed be arrested as a spy on my word.”

  She stood quietly as if weighing his words, then with her green eyes glaring, leaned forward and placed both hands on his desk. “I don’t believe you. Where is your warrant for doing so?”

  Hunter reached down and pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his desk drawer that had been found along the stream the night he had been rendered unconscious. “Does this look familiar?” He threw it onto the desk in front of her.

  As her gaze dropped from his face to the piece of paper, Hunter thought he saw her flinch. In any event, she swallowed hard before she spoke. “It is unknown to me how attempting to save the Union from destruction is committing a grave offense.”

  “Then you are admitting you are a spy.”

  “It appears to me, I have responded neither affirmatively nor negatively to any of your statements or insinuations by expression, words, conduct, or deeds.”

  Hunter stared at her incredulously. “I ask you again. Do you understand how much trouble you are in?”

  Her eyes did not waver. She crossed her arms and sighed deeply. “I suppose I’ll have to be content knowing there are worse fates than being suspected of providing service in defense of country.”

  “If you believe that you must be unaware of the conditions in Confederate prisons.” For the first time Hunter saw fear flash in her eyes, thought he even saw a shudder.

  “You would send me to prison?” She looked straight up at him, as if it was the first time the thought had occurred to her.

  Hunter noticed she had a little more trouble keeping the fear out her voice now too. “What do you think the penalty is for the crimes you’ve perpetrated? A blasted picnic?

  “But how can I be faulted if your superiors indulge themselves with wine and then divulge all manner of things to me?”

  She fluttered her eyelashes innocently, yet now it was clear to Hunter she only pretended a calmness she did not feel. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and a nerve twitched near her eye.

  “You can be faulted for seeing that the information they so graciously bestowed upon you made it across enemy lines.”

  “You have no proof of such a thing. You rely on nothing but your memory to link Maryann Marlow with Andrew Sinclair, and nothing but suspicion to connect me with information crossing the lines.”

  “Unfortunately again you are wrong, Miss Marlow.” He walked around his desk to stand in front of her. “The evidence against you is ponderous.”

  Hunter pulled her hand out of her pocket and held it in front of her face. “For instance, this,” he said, pointing to Daniel’s ring. “I believe I misinterpreted its significance and owe you an apology. You are undeniably linked to a Federal officer.”

  Hunter’s last comment brought prolonged silence. In fact, once he released her hand, his prisoner did not move. She stared at the wall behind him so intensely she seemed unaware of his presence.

  “Surely you understand that the Union that once existed may be lost forever, and the Union you seek to repair may never be restored,” he said to see if she was listening.

  She blinked twice in rapid succession at his words, but otherwise appeared to be deep in thought. Something about her rigid stance told of a heart beating wildly.

  A completely uncharacteristic feeling of pity welled up inside Hunter, and he offered her another chance. “Do you understand what you are doing?”

  “It appears my fate lies in your hands,” she said softly. “Therefore I have a request.”

  Hunter laughed aloud as he forgot instantly his thoughts of compassion. “A request? I hardly believe you are in the position to make a request.” He crossed his arms and spread his legs. “What is it you would like? Breakfast in bed? A new pair of shoes?”

  “No.” Her eyebrows came together in a look of unyielding resolve. “I would favor, that is to say, I would like to make it clear that I prefer losing my life to losing my liberty.”

  Hunter noticed the slightest falter to her voice now, as if one part of her mind was convinced of the fact and another was not quite sure. She still appeared defiant. Yet, she was unable to meet his eyes and her breathing was labored.

  “You prefer death to prison,” he repeated, certain she must be jesting. “You value your life so little that you will not plead for it?”

  Her head went up and her eyes sparked with anger. “Beg? Beg for my life from you?” She forced a laugh. “I am quite willing to accept death. To do otherwise would be to die in another way.”

  “Surely you have loved ones that would wish you to reconsider.”

  “I have no love but that of country.” She glanced down at the ring on her hand. “And I would value the honor of dying for it.”

  Hunter swallowed hard at the thought of his brother’s sacrifice, but he suppressed any feelings of pity. “And which would you prefer? A rope or a firing squad?” He sat down on the edge of his desk, his tone indifferent, as if giving her the choice between red or white wine at dinner.

  “It is not for me to decide my fate,” she said solemnly. “That is for you and God.”

  “I know nothing of God except that He did not commit treason against the Confederacy.” Hunter pointed his finger at her. “You did!”

  “And since you are my legal captor, you are at liberty to shoot, hang, or quarter me,” she quipped with equal verve. “Whether you like it or not, the responsibility of choice shall be bestowed on you.”

  “Do you believe me of the character that would send a woman to a hanging tree?” Hunter asked curiously.

  “I can assure you I have no thoughts on which I wish to expound relative to your character.” Her voice was full of disdain as her determined green eyes met his resolute gray ones. For a few long moments neither one blinked.

  “Perhaps the sacrifice of your life will not be necessary.” Hunter went back to his chair and sat down. “I have the authority to offer you a parole.” He began digging through some papers in a drawer. “You have only to sign an oath that you will not give information, countenance, aid, or support to the enemy . . .”

  Hunter saw out of the corner of his eye that she took a step back as if being hit quite squarely by a block of wood. Her heels hit the floor in quick succession, making a distinctive kerplunk. He had never seen a face so indignant.

  “How dare you insult me!” She held her hands over her ears as if to block out the sound of his voice. “I shall die a thousand deaths before I forfeit my soul and declare allegiance to your country of traitors. God in heaven strike me down should I give my word not to do something my conscience says is right. I’ll not make any such humiliating concession to you or any power on this earth!”

  Hunter’s lips curled into sardonic smile at her outburst. “I beg your pardon,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I had no idea I was dealing with such a prodigy of patriotic devotion. I was simply attempting to give you an opportunity to preserve your life.”

  “I will choose to preserve my honor if you do not mind!” The color in her c
heeks made her practically glow. “I would rather meet death at the end of a blunt bayonet doing my duty for country than be saved by abandoning it.”

  Hunter stood blinking in frustration, staring at her in silent wonder. Walking over to the door, he signaled with a commanding gesture for Private Malone to enter. “Hold this one separate from the others.”

  As they began to exit, Hunter obeyed an impulse to give her another chance. “Have you nothing else you wish to say? You must know you’ve placed me in a most regrettable position.”

  When she turned around, her expression seemed one of sympathy and concern. “If it helps, you are at liberty to disregard any promises made in the past,” she said, at last referring to his vow to Daniel. “I did not request, nor do I wish to be, anyone’s sacred obligation.”

  When the door clicked shut, Hunter sank down with a groan. What a cruel joke! The fate of his most coveted prize had been placed in his grasp, yet he could not celebrate the triumph, nor even feel the smallest sense of satisfaction.

  Daniel’s obscure request on his deathbed was now strikingly clear. He had known she was a spy, and had feared—and suspected—this day would come. “You will let no harm befall her.” The words rang in Hunter’s ears, followed by, “I do not wish to be anyone’s sacred obligation.”

  Hunter stood and paced again. What in the hell is this confounded war coming to? If she had just taken the parole, his path, and hers, would be clear. She would be unable to return as a menace to the South, and he would have a clear conscience.

  But now he was forced to make a decision that would cost him dearly. Betray his men, Virginia, the Confederacy—or betray his brother.

  Hunter despised her for the position she had placed him in, and was so angry he feared he could carry out her preferred sentence with his bare hands. Yet how could he punish one who had done her work, served her country, and had no fear to die?

  The memory of the first time he met the infamous Sinclair emerged in his mind. If she was he, then Maryann Marlow, or whoever she was, had pulled him from the water and saved his life.