* * *
Hunter was not in a hurry to see Victoria, but he knew better than to keep her waiting. He followed the heavy scent of perfume to the parlor in the front of the house, where he found her powdering her face.
“Oh, Alex!” She rushed over to him. “I’m so glad you’re here at last. Your insolent servants wouldn’t tell me where you were or when you’d return.” Victoria sniffled and laid her head on his chest. “You just wouldn’t believe what this awful war is doing to Richmond. I thought perhaps Cassie and I could stay with you for a while, until things settle down there.” She looked up with a flutter of eyelashes.
Hunter glanced over at the young maid standing apprehensively in the corner. “Of course, Victoria,” he heard himself saying, though every nerve in his body told him it was a mistake. “I’ll have the guest room made up for you.”
When he glanced out through the open parlor door, he saw Andrea in the hall making slow, painful progress toward the stairs. Her hair ran riot from the swift pace they’d taken, but when he cleared his throat to make introductions, she turned with the mien and beauty of a queen.
“Miss Hamilton, I would like you to meet my . . . other houseguest, Andrea Evans. She’s staying here while she … recuperates from an injury. Miss Evans, Miss Hamilton.”
Silence hung in the elegant home, interrupted only by a palpable sensation of instant dislike on both sides of the parties being introduced. Victoria boldly examined Andrea from head to toe with a slow, unbelieving swoop of the eyes. “How very lovely to meet you,” she said, making it clear by her tone that it was not. Then she grabbed Hunter’s arm. “I’m sure Alex has told you all about us.” She looked at him with a knowing and intimate smile, then shifted her gaze to Andrea.
Andrea looked blankly at Hunter. “I fear he has not had the time. But if you’ll pardon me, I’ll retire and allow you to get … reacquainted.” Nodding toward each but looking at neither, she turned and began her slow and tedious ascent up the stairs.
Victoria fell back into Alex’s arms again. “Oh, it’s so-o-o good to see you’re all right. I was afraid you’d be out fighting. We have so much catching up to do.”
“Actually, Victoria, I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“Oh, no, Alex. You simply can’t leave me here alone with that … that stranger,” she whined. “Please stay.”
Victoria cried and held onto him as if he intended to depart for many years and to a distant country, but Alex eased her away. “I’m sorry the war doesn’t run according to your schedule, Victoria.”
“But is this an important mission? Can’t it be put off for one day?”
Hunter looked at her coldly. “They’re all important, Victoria. And no it cannot.”
“Oh, have you no other thought but the service of your country?” she moaned with her face in her hands. Looking out between two fingers and apparently seeing her pouting had no effect on him, Victoria raised her head and smiled.
“Well, we have tonight. We can do some catching up tonight.” She wore an open invitation on her face as she took one of his hands in both of hers and pressed it against her cheek.
Chapter 32
“When woman once to evil turns,
All hell within her bosom burns.”
– English poet
A bright sun spurted its rays through a thin shaft of clouds as Hunter cantered across the bridge to Hawthorne. The warmth of the beams felt good on his back, like tender hands after a hard day’s work. Considering the violent storms he’d ridden through over the past week, the sun felt even more welcoming.
But Hunter’s thoughts were not on the sunbeams. They were on the morning he’d left Hawthorne and the two houseguests he’d left behind.
“Welcome home, Massa.” Zach grabbed Hunter’s bridle rein and waited for him to dismount.
“Thanks, Zach,” he said wearily, dismounting and untying a saddlebag. “It’s good to be back.”
Hunter didn’t hear the front door open, but he couldn’t miss the unearthly squeal that followed. “Oh, Alex, you’re ho-o-me!” He barely had time to brace himself for the assault that followed. Victoria ran down the steps , none too ladylike, and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, I missed you so!”
“A man could get used to such a greeting, I suppose,” Hunter said, his tone sounding more annoyed than pleased.
“Oh, darling,” Victoria whimpered, “it has been perfectly dreadful here without you. Why don’t you go change into some fresh clothes and then we can dine together, and then—”
Hunter pried her arms away from his neck. “I’m afraid that is impossible, Victoria.” He turned his attention back to Zach. “See that he’s rubbed down and fed well. He covered a lot of ground this week.”
Yes, suh. But, uh Massa … I has something to tell you.”
Hunter held up his hand. “Not now, Zach. I’ll come down to the barn later. I’m sure it can wait.”
“Yes, suh,” the slave answered dejectedly, leading the horse away. But he continued looking over his shoulder, indicating that perhaps it could not.
“Victoria,” Hunter said, springing lightly up the steps. “Will you kindly find Mattie and tell her to draw a bath?”
“Well, I can try, I suppose,” Victoria said from behind him, obviously perturbed at being put off so abruptly. “Likely she is still waiting on your other houseguest hand and foot. Why, that girl stays abed all day. One would think she invented sleep by the way she loves to practice it.”
Hunter half-laughed at the absurdity of the statement, but then stopped just outside the door and looked at her closely. “Miss Evans? In bed at this hour? Surely you jest.”
“Laugh all you like,” Victoria snapped. “She closets herself away like a queen. And your servants seem to feel it necessary to treat her as such.”
Hunter just shook his head as he made his way toward his library. He knew Victoria well enough to know that Andrea was likely trying to stay out of her way. But then again, that Miss Evans would attempt to avoid a fight did seem a little peculiar.
“You condescendin’ to take a bath, Massa?” Mattie asked from behind him.
“Yes,” he said wearily, putting his saddlebag on his desk. “Right away.”
He looked to the open door when he heard Victoria’s squealing voice upstairs. “Mattie! Mattie! Show yourself this instant!”
“Why she yelling that?” Mattie asked irritably. “She gonna wake up—” She stopped herself and looked at Hunter. “The dead.”
Hunter sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands when Mattie departed. Hawthorne was once a place where he retired to escape the turmoil of war. Now he was not sure which was more chaotic—his home or the battlefield. To help answer the query, the door flew open and a flurry of skirts bustled in. “I found your insolent servant and she’s heating your water,” Victoria reported.
* * *
After a bath and a few hours uninterrupted sleep—his first of both in days—Hunter crept back down the stairs toward his library, hoping to avoid Victoria. He therefore spoke in hushed tones to Mattie when he encountered her on the staircase carrying an armful of wood. “You’re building a fire on a beautiful evening like this?”
“Miz Andrea has a chill,” Mattie said hesitantly, “from dat lazy ole wind the storm brought.”
“Lazy wind?” Hunter stopped and looked at her.
“Yezzah,” she said, continuing up the stairs as if she did not have time to stop. “Miz Andrea say it too lazy to go around, so it go drekly through.”
Hunter watched the woman disappear and shook his head. His own household was becoming more remote and mysterious to him by the minute. Where was Miss Evans anyway?
The remorse at having left so suddenly had weighed constantly on his mind during his absence. He hoped he could have a word with her in private before he departed again. Did she regret his leaving? Or did anger and resentment keep her locked in her room? He sighed heavily. He did
not have the time or the inclination to ponder the inner workings of a woman’s mind—especially one as erratic and unpredictable as Andrea Evans’.
Hunter continued to his library to clear away some mounting paperwork. He was astonished when he heard the clock in the hall strike midnight some fleeting hours later—and even more surprised when the chimes were followed by a hesitant knock on the door. “Yes, enter,” he said somewhat sternly due to the lateness of the hour.
“Massa?”
Hunter glanced up to see who it was, and then looked back at his work. “Yes, Izzie, what is it?” He could tell she was nervous. Yet she always appeared like that to him.
“Massa, I, umm … prominist I wudn’t tell.” Izzie’s voice faded as she played with the folds of her dress.
Hunter looked up again and his heart unexpectedly quickened. “Tell me what?”
She cleared her throat. “U-m-m … Well ya-see … it be that … I mean … Miz Andrea—”
“What about Miz Andrea?” Hunter stood and came around the desk to stand in front of her, apparently intimidating her even more.
Izzie cleared her throat again. “I can’t prezactly say … since I prominist I’s wudn’t tell.”
No longer waiting for her to answer, Hunter ran up the stairs and pushed open Andrea’s chamber door, startling Mattie who leaned over the bed, and Zach, who stood at the footboard with his hat in his hand.
As for the form on the bed, she gave no response to his sudden entrance. Beads of perspiration on her forehead showed she had a fever, and the raspy sound of her breathing indicated she had been ill for quite some time.
“What have you done?” Hunter placed the back of his hand against her clammy, hot cheek. Her damp hair lay plastered to her skull.
Izzie stood at the door wringing her hands. “She tol’ us not to tell anyone. She say she all right.”
“How long has she been like this?” Hunter looked up at the servants who all stared at the floor. “Did everybody in this household know of this but me?”
“She tol’ us not to tell,” Izzie said again under her breath.
Hunter turned his attention back to the bed. “Miss Evans, can you hear me?”
Andrea’s eyes were open, but they were glassy and staring. Her face showed deep lines of exhaustion as she gazed fixedly up at him. “The foal,” she said weakly, trying to sit up. “Is … all right?”
“The foal?” Hunter looked up with questioning eyes.
“I try to tell you,” Zach said. “Dat mare Lightning done go into labor during that storm the utter night. You know how she hate storms. And the baby be breach. And Miz Andrea, she come down to help, and it was pawhing down rain. I din’t mean for it to happen, Massa.”
Hunter let out his breath in helpless exasperation. Lightning was one of his best mares. He knew if Andrea had set her mind on saving the foal, no one alive could have stopped her.
“I understand, Zach. Go fetch Doc at the Talberts.” Hunter looked at Andrea and then back at the servant worriedly. “And tell him to hurry.”
Leaning over the bed again, Hunter put his hand on her burning forehead while she mumbled in her sleep. A racking cough, sounding like it might split her open, interrupted her meanderings. She faded into semi-consciousness then, though her lips still moved as if in conversation.
Hunter turned and left the room. He didn’t like the way his legs felt weak, or the force with which his heart banged in his chest … or his thoughts. She’d already survived one brush with death—but this time she knew what she was coming back to. And it did not take a prophet to predict that she may not think it worth the effort.
Chapter 33
“Blessed is the horse who bonds himself
to us in silence and does our will so freely.”
– Anonymous
Hunter paced in his library, once again awaiting the doctor’s report. “Pneumonia?” he asked when the door opened.
“In the name of all that is holy, how could you allow her to go out in the middle of a storm?” Hobbs sat down and dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. “For heaven’s sake, Major, in her weakened condition.”
“I wasn’t here. She was trying to save a foal of mine. Actually, she did save a foal of—” Hunter followed the doctor to the door. “But what do you think about her chances?”
“I’m not sure.” Hobbs shook his head. “She surprised us all before. But I’m afraid she needs something I can’t give her this time.”
“What’s that?”
“The will to live.”
Hunter closed his eyes. So Hobbs sensed it too, that vague, indescribable feeling that she no longer had the wish to fight. After showing Hobbs to the door, Hunter returned once again to her chamber.
“Tell Papa . . . all my fault,” she mumbled while holding onto Mattie’s arm. When the servant did not answer, Andrea opened her eyes. Spotting Hunter, she stared at him in a feverish daze. “Papa!” She reached out and grabbed his shirtsleeve. “It’s my fault … please … don’t hurt them!”
“It’s all right.” Hunter’s words seemed to relax her. She released her grip and closed her eyes, but her stillness did not last long. In a moment, she appeared wide awake, talking and rambling incoherently. Her gaze was sometimes vacant, at other times roaming frantically around the room as if seeking someone she wanted to find, or searching for someone before they found her.
When Mattie returned with fresh, cold water to sponge Andrea’s forehead, Hunter retired to the balcony hoping to clear his mind of the images.
“What are you doing?” Andrea’s voice broke the silence. It sounded cold and threatening.
Hunter turned to see her holding firmly onto Mattie’s wrist. The servant stood frozen, her eyes big and white with terror at the vengeful look on Andrea’s face. Hunter hurried to the bed and pried her fingers from Mattie’s arm. “She’s trying to help.”
Andrea looked up at him, her eyes slanted and disbelieving. “Papa sent you.”
“No. You’re safe here.”
“You speak not the truth,” she said, turning her head away. “I am safe nowhere.”
How many times had this same haunted, troubled look appeared in the depths of Andrea’s eyes? Now he knew some of the history it masked. Hunter nodded for Mattie to resume her place by the bed and turned to go. He feared leaving her now, but he could not stay. He would be departing again within the hour.
When he stopped one last time to check on her condition, she had apparently awakened from her dream. She did not speak, but stared vacantly at the ceiling as if surrendering to the illness or contemplating the alternative.
* * *
Constantly on the move for six days, Hunter had received no word about Andrea’s condition. Fearing what he would find when he finally returned to Hawthorne, he was relieved to see her sitting up in bed, propped against a pillow. Izzie sat by her side, attempting to place a spoonful of broth in her mouth.
“You gotta eat.” Izzie sat back in the chair, exasperated. “Mama said mebe you’d eat for me. Jus a little?”
“Not hungry,” Andrea answered weakly, as if uttering those two words was more than she could physically endure.
“If you’ll excuse us a moment, Izzie.” Hunter walked to the bedside, removing his hat.
The door closed behind Izzie, but the room remained silent for a few long minutes. Andrea’s head remained turned toward the wall, though her stolid eyes were open and staring.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better. I guess Zach told you that filly is a real handful.” Hunter took a deep breath when he received no response. Accustomed to her sharp tongue and keen wit, her silence disconcerted him. The image of her glowing, vivacious face on the day of their wagon ride arose unbidden in his mind.
Hunter sat down beside the bed, and picked up the bowl of broth. “You must eat, you know. You don’t want to die on enemy soil do you?”
“It matters not to me where I die,” Andrea said, staring at the ceiling.
The
severe indifference of her expression caused Hunter’s heart to pick up its pace. “Don’t talk like that,” he said, slamming the bowl down and standing.
“I’m not afraid of dying.” Andrea’s gaze shifted to him with a look so cold and detached that it sent a shiver down his spine.
“Then it must be living you fear.”
Andrea looked away quickly. “I do not fear it,” she said emphatically, as if she’d given it much thought. “Nor do I care to endure it.”
“Come now. You’ve had a setback.” Hunter sat down beside her again. “Nothing that can’t be overcome.”
“All is lost.” She blinked rapidly, as if that admission of defeat was difficult for her.
Hunter knew she alluded to the strength in her legs. Once again she would have to start over, one step at a time, to rebuild the muscles. The task did seem daunting, even to him. Her physical endurance and vigor before her stay in prison must have been incredible. To jump a four-foot stonewall bareback would have taken nothing less than legs of steel.
“I’ve been here four months and still cannot walk.” Her voice was weak, but Hunter detected a small spark of anger in her eyes now. “I may well spend the rest of the war in this house.”
“Come now. Would that be so bad?”
Andrea turned her head and focused on Hunter with such a contemptuous look that he worked hard to suppress a grin. He saw within her eyes an agitated flicker that mimicked a candle just catching flame.
“Get out.”
Hunter smiled and picked up the bowl. “Not until you eat a few bites.”
“You are trying to bribe me? If I eat, you will leave?”
“That’s right,” he said, his spoon ready, waiting for her to open her mouth.
“And if I do not?”
Hunter sat back in the chair and threw his long legs in front of him, getting comfortable in anticipation of a long wait. “You will learn the power of my patience—one of the few traits I possess that is superior to yours.”
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 26