“I don’t want to hear about or discuss this topic ever again. Is that clear?”
Andrea looked up into his eyes and nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s very clear.”
And though she never again mentioned the topic, neither did she ever forget it.
Chapter 30
“Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well.”
– King John, Shakespeare
Hunter entered his library a week later, his gaze focused on a newspaper in his hand. At the sound of a loud clap of thunder, he glanced toward the window and observed a silent figure standing with her face pressed close to the glass watching the storm rage without.
Walking quietly behind her, Hunter observed the trees outside bending and swaying as the storm hit with all its fury. “Amazing, the power of the wind.”
Andrea jumped. “Oh. I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you were here. I-I just came to get a book.”
Along with surprise, Hunter thought he noted a hint of welcome in her eyes, making him glad he had interrupted her musings.
“I can come back later,” she said.
A face that usually displayed open hostility, today, appeared soft and reticent. Hunter hoped it was a sign that her irritable behavior was a result of the pain she had endured, not her true character.
“No need.” Hunter nodded his head toward the bookshelf. “Help yourself.”
“It’s very kind of you to allow me this indulgence.”
Hunter smiled to himself. The servants must have forewarned her that this room was his refuge, and that he tolerated no interruptions when present within its walls.
Watching her silently as she browsed for books, he studied the changes in her. She appeared to be in tolerably good spirits today—more shy and reserved than angry and rebellious. And she spoke with an air of well-bred elegance, making it difficult to conceive this was the same person equally capable of spewing insults when riled.
Andrea ran her hand along the volumes as she read the titles, and did not seem to notice his scrutiny. She had color in her cheeks again, Hunter noted, and a little more meat on her bones. Tall for a girl of her age, yet not overly so, she had the type of figure that gave the appearance of delicacy. And though dressed in a plain cotton gown of a rather drab hue, she looked somehow elegant and stylish.
Hunter turned to walk back to his desk, but failed to conceal a heavy limp.
“You are injured?” Andrea turned around at the sound of his unsteady tread.
Hunter eased himself down onto his desk. “I … had a horse fall on my leg,” he said, making it clear it was nothing he cared to discuss. “Just a little sore.”
Andrea swallowed hard, obviously understanding he had a horse shot out from under him. “Dixie?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“No,” Hunter cocked his head, surprised she knew the names of his mounts. “Fleet.”
Andrea nodded in recognition. “Nice horse.”
“Yes, he was.”
Andrea gazed into his eyes for just a moment with a look of sympathetic understanding. Then she turned back to the bookshelf.
“You’re finding our Southern hospitality a little more agreeable now, I hope,” Hunter said, making an effort to change the subject.
“I’ve been quite comfortable, thank you.”
“And your leg?” Hunter cocked his head as he gazed at her.
“It’s getting stronger each day.”
The smile on Andrea’s face appeared to be forced, and the way she leaned on the cane, he saw she placed very little weight on the limb. She was gaining steadily, but by no means rapidly.
“Well, I hope you’re making yourself at home. Don’t be bashful about asking for anything.”
“You think me timid, sir?”
Hunter’s lips turned upward. “Miss Evans, I believe you to be about as timid as a cornered grizzly bear protecting a week-old cub.”
She smiled but did not respond.
Hunter rustled some papers around on his desk and then cleared his throat. “Well, I hope you don’t find it overly difficult … adjusting to our Southern traditions and culture here—”
Andrea gazed at him curiously. “I am familiar with the customs of Southern aristocracy, I assure you.”
“Oh yes, I remember.” Hunter paused while pretending the papers he held contained something of interest. “You mentioned once you were born in … South Carolina, I believe it was?”
He pretended to be unsure, though the fact stuck in his mind as soundly as a boot lodges in Virginia mud during the month of March. Andrea remained silent, and he looked up to make sure she had heard.
“Your memory serves you correctly,” she said in an unemotional voice.
“And … six hundred slaves, I believe you mentioned.” He put the papers down and walked toward her with one hand on his chin. “Must have been quite an estate. Certainly Hawthorne pales in comparison to that which you are accustomed.”
Andrea sighed, her breath sounding like it was being forced out by a great weight placed upon her shoulders. “Indeed, Hawthorne has none of the characteristics to which I am accustomed, Major Hunter,” she said, solemnly, looking into his eyes. “I hope you take great satisfaction in that fact.”
She returned her attention back to the bookshelf, and Hunter could see the conversation had come to an end. He walked up behind her and attempted another change of subject. “By the way … I may have forgotten to mention, I’ve received word about your friend, Colonel Jordan.”
Andrea jolted and faced him. In her eyes he saw deep concern bordering on panic. He recalled the day she had approached him with the newspaper article listing Colonel Jonathan Jordan as severely wounded. She had literally trembled with alarm, causing him to wonder what type of relationship she had with the officer.
“He’s expected to make a complete recovery and has been promoted to brigadier.”
Andrea took a step forward and put her hand on his arm. “Oh thank you, Major! Catherine must be so relieved. I was so worried for her.”
“Catherine?”
“Yes.” Andrea took a step back, her cheeks turning red at her emotional display. “His wife. My cousin, Catherine.”
“Ah, that Catherine. Then I’m happy for her too.”
Andrea turned back to the row of books. “I see you enjoy Shakespeare,” she said, fingering through the volumes. “What might be your favorite?”
When Hunter did not answer at first, she looked around to question his silence.
“I fear you won’t believe me. Or you will think me a hopeless romantic,” he said.
Andrea’s eyes carried a hint of amusement when she met his gaze. “If you’re thinking to tell me, Romeo and Juliet … No, I wouldn’t believe that.”
“And why not? You do not believe me capable of admiring selfless devotion?”
“I would have to admit it seems out of character.” Andrea looked him up and down boldly. “From what I know of your reputation.”
“Come now. You wouldn’t judge someone based on their reputation.”
Andrea shrugged and turned back to the bookshelf.
“I wouldn’t judge you on yours.”
“I have no reputation to speak of,” she said, whirling around to face him.
Hunter laughed at her reaction. “Now that depends. Perhaps Miss Evans does not. But Sinclair does, I assure you.”
“Oh?” Andrea looked surprised and uncomfortable.
“Well, perhaps not by name. But my captain often referred to you as the little kid with the big backbone.”
Andrea half-smiled at his words as if recalling a distant memory, but the smile was pensive and heart wrenching to him, so infinitely touching and reflective did it appear. She returned her gaze to the books. “How well might you know it?”
“Know what?”
“Romeo and Juliet. You said it was your favorite.”
“Test me,” he said.
“My only love sprung from my only hate,” she began.
&n
bsp; Hunter smiled and picked up the passage instantly. “Too early seen unknown and known too late …”
“Prodigious birth of love it is to me . . .” she continued.
“That I must love a loathed enemy,” he finished the verse.
“So you enjoy Shakespeare as well,” Hunter said after a moment of silence. “You appear to be well educated, Miss Evans. Were you tutored at home or abroad?”
Andrea shrugged and dodged the question. “I enjoy reading.”
“Come now, Miss Evans. You must admit your level of female cultivation is entirely unusual.”
“Anything beyond the knowledge of the proper performance of domestic duties is unusual within the Southern household, is it not?”
Hunter tried to recover his blunder. “Be that as it may, a solid education should be considered among one’s most valuable possessions. And you seem to possess an abundance of it.”
Andrea looked back at him now with furrowed brow. “I am of the belief that loyalty and personal honor should be more highly revered.”
“Indeed,” Hunter said, crossing his arms. “Few virtues are more courted. I suppose that goes without saying.”
“Yes, of course, it goes without saying.” Andrea gazed thoughtfully at the Confederate banner in the corner of the room. “It is honor for which you fight, is it not?”
“Yes, the honor of Virginia. The honor of the Confederacy.”
Andrea gazed up at him. “The honor of your own principles and convictions.”
“Yes, as priceless a commodity as the blood spilled to defend it.”
Andrea had a distant look in her eye when she spoke again, and her tone seemed somewhat colder. “Then if you can accept the premise that a woman can possess principles and convictions, surely you can understand that my honor is more precious to me than my education.”
Hunter was about to ask why every conversation seemed to place them on opposite shores, when a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Rain’s stopped, Massa,” Mattie announced. “And the wagon’s ready.”
Hunter turned to Andrea. “I’m going to check some fence in the upper fields. Care to join me?”
Andrea’s eyes opened wide, and he thought for a moment she might jump up and down with excitement. Instead, she fell back on the education granted her and responded quite calmly.
“If you please, a little ride outdoors would not be unwelcome.”
Chapter 31
“There would I find my settled rest, while others go and come;
No more a stranger or a guest, but like a child … home.”
– Psalms 23:6
Andrea sat wide-eyed as the wagon rolled down the lane. Turning around in her seat, she took in the view of the palatial estate for the first time from a distance and gazed upon an enchanted world of beauty and charm.
The mansion itself rested on a crown of rising ground wreathed by elaborate gardens and trees. Along the back, hedges of boxwood bushes fell in a series of terraces toward a large lake that swarmed with geese and swans.
To the north, a grove of mighty oaks bordered the home, their huge spreading branches shadowing a vast, velvet lawn that seemed never ending. Andrea’s gaze drifted toward the barn, and then to the rolling land beyond, where horses stood knee-deep in clover.
Even the birds seemed eager to join in on the festive occasion, providing a riotous concert along the wagon’s path. Andrea looked from right to left, taking in the sight of magnificent dogwoods already robed in white and wildflowers saluting spring in rich profusion all around her. Along the fringes of the drive, and especially along the stream they approached, more colorful blooms flourished. Andrea clenched her hands together in restrained delight when the wagon rolled across the stone, triple-arched bridge. She glanced behind her once more at the imposing vista behind her. Never had she seen such a mingling of beauty and elegance.
“We might have to move some horses up there,” Hunter said, pointing to the next ridge and interrupting her thoughts. “I want to make sure the fence is in good shape.”
The wagon suddenly veered off the road, and Andrea held onto the seat with all her strength to avoid grabbing the driver. Hunter did not seem to notice her struggle. His gaze was intent on the fence now as they trotted beneath a tracery of bud-laden oak boughs. It did not take long for him to find something amiss, and he pulled the wagon to a halt.
Andrea watched him drag a large tree limb off the fence and begin to restack the rocks. “I wish I could be of some help.”
“That’s quite all right,” he said turning around, breathing heavily. “Just enjoy the view.”
Andrea lowered her eyes, feeling her cheeks grow warm at the view before her now. The cotton shirt Hunter wore stuck to his form, revealing the power of his broad shoulders and the strength of every swelling muscle. Glistening with sweat, his bulging forearms looked like they could bend steel. Both frightened and fascinated, Andrea quickly turned away to the safer vista in the opposite direction. The effect of the breeze as it danced with the sunlight through the leaves above soon captured her attention.
“That should do it.” Hunter wiped his hands on his trousers and jumped into the wagon. “There’s a creek up a little ways. I think I’d better wash off.”
Andrea nodded, keeping her eyes averted. She dared not look at him. It confused her that a mere glance from those gray eyes suddenly caused her heart to pound and her cheeks to blush.
But Andrea forgot her apprehension when the wagon broke out of the forest that sheltered them. Not even the surroundings through which they had just passed could compete with the majestic splendor spread before her. A sparkling creek, the same, she surmised, that separated Hawthorne from the rest of the world, trickled through a meadow where nature had spread a blanket of floral glory. Here and there, large oak and birch trees seemed to stand guard to any unnatural intrusion, and above it all, the sun poured out bountiful rays that turned everything they touched to golden splendor. The scene surely rivaled Eden in its indescribable beauty.
“Are you going to get down?” Hunter sounded impatient as he stood beside the wagon waiting to help her, but the pleased smile he wore showed his satisfaction with her reaction.
Andrea smiled and stood, but continued to cast her gaze across the teeming hills in utter amazement. Sighing, Hunter reached up and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her out of the conveyance.
“This is part of Hawthorne?” she asked, clasping his arm for support.
He nodded. “One of my favorite places.”
Andrea sat on a large rock, touching and smelling the flowers that surrounded her while Hunter washed his face and splashed water over his head. When he finished, he flung himself lazily upon the bank. “The water’s cold and clean if you want some.”
Andrea removed her uncomfortable shoes and stockings and hopped over to the side of the stream. “Ah, this is truly heaven.” She lifted her skirts to her knees as she stood near the bank, letting the mud rise between her toes.
“Indeed,” Hunter answered, looking up from her ankles to meet her gaze. “Actually it is the next best thing—it’s Virginia.”
Andrea grinned at his intended jibe and hopped over to the crevice of a fallen tree. Sitting down and leaning back, she stared at the sky, watching a hawk circle above them.
“Daniel and I used to come here to fish, and always ended up doing just what you’re doing.”
Andrea raised her eyes and studied him, trying to form the image of a daydreaming youth staring at the sky. She discarded the attempt almost immediately, but wondered how there could be a man with such dual and different natures—leading his men against inconceivable odds one day, discussing his childhood or quoting Shakespeare the next. What kind of person, she asked herself, could be occupied in the deliberate destruction of one’s country, while lounging before her like a courteous and considerate gentleman?
“You ready to go?” Hunter stood abruptly and spit out the blade of grass he’d been chewin
g. “There’s one more stop I want to make before we head back. It’s getting late.”
Andrea found herself talking quite freely once the wagon began rolling, as she tried to identify the different varieties of birds and butterflies that flitted across their path. But when they crested another hill, she grew instantly silent.
Directly in front of them hung the sun in an outrageous flaming sky of violent red and orange. This was apparently what Hunter had been in a hurry to show her—and his timing was perfect.
“It appears close enough to touch,” Andrea whispered.
When the horses stopped, she departed the wagon, and limped to the very crown of the hill. Leaning on her cane, she stared mesmerized at the fiery eye in the sky.
“We better get a move on,” Hunter said after a few minutes of awed silence. “It’ll be dark soon.”
Andrea discovered that Hunter was right about the darkness. Within minutes the view changed from sun and sky to moon and stars. Fireflies danced in the meadows on each side, adding to nature’s light display.
“Are we close to home?” she asked when the shades of night drew completely around them.
Hunter tightened his grip on the reins as if surprised to hear the word on her lips.
Before she could analyze his response, the horses picked up their pace quite drastically and she had her answer. Hunter steered the careening wagon to the back of the house, and pulled the horses to a sudden and abrupt halt, causing Andrea to grab his arm to keep from being thrown.
She looked up, bubbling over with amusement that he’d allowed the horses to dash at such a pace. But her smile froze when she met the look in the steel-gray eyes staring down at her.
“Truce?” Hunter’s voice was barely audible, though his face was only inches from hers.
A long, breathless moment with no words ensued.
“Massa?”
They both jumped.
“Sorry, Massa,” Zach said, “but Miz Victoria is waitin’ for you in de house.”
Hunter cursed under his breath and hopped out of the wagon like it was on fire. “How long has she been here?” His voice was full of impatience as he took three steps at a time up the veranda without a backward glance toward Andrea.
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 25