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

by Jessica James

  “Well, it gets even better. It was discovered that in order to throw off the hounds, this young lass tied a bundle of the escaped slaves’ clothing behind her horse, and dragged it all around the countryside—in the opposite direction, of course.”

  Hunter slapped the table to get Andrea’s attention. “Can you imagine? The hounds running around with a scent for hours in one direction, while those slaves were escaping with impunity in the other? Quite a bit of ingenuity that!”

  Hunter’s smile faded at the anguished look on Andrea’s face. “No doubt it was not accomplished without serious risk,” he said gently.

  Andrea swallowed hard. “I’m sure the child was aware of the risk and willing to face the consequences.” She stood and smoothed the front of her gown. “And now if you’re done telling your wonderful tale, Major, I’d really like to go lie down.”

  Hunter stood too, as all gentlemen do, and waited until she was almost to the door. “By all means, Miss Monroe. Get your rest.”

  She paused a moment and glared at him, then swung the door open with violent force before slamming it shut with a thunderous bang.

  Hunter sat down, took a sip of coffee, and grinned. “Well, well. Andrea Marie Monroe. The creature has a name.”

  Chapter 38

  “There is no animal more invincible than a woman,

  nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless.”

  – Lysistrata

  Andrea had successfully avoided Victoria for some weeks now, but she knew it was only a matter of time until the two collided once again. When a shadow crossed her path at the foot of the stairway one warm afternoon, Andrea knew the moment of calamity had arrived.

  “My darling,” Victoria said with icy sweetness, “you really should do something about your hair. Do you not know it’s unfashionable to wear it down?”

  Andrea took a deep breath to calm herself and smiled politely. “I have attempted to mind my own business, Miss Hamilton. I hoped you would do the same.”

  Victoria ignored the comment and looked Andrea up and down with amused contempt. “I do declarah, no hoops, no shoes half the time, your hair all … blowsy. I don’t understand why Alex—”

  “Miss Hamilton,” Andrea interrupted, her temper wearing thin, “pray do not waste your breath barking at me. I have no fear of dogs. Even distempered ones.”

  “How dare you insult me, you little Maryland magpie,” Victoria spat. “You have no idea how to speak to a lady, let alone be one!”

  With self-control she did not know she possessed, Andrea ignored the comment and tried to continue on her way.

  “I believe you are of the mongrel breed,” Victoria said, grabbing Andrea’s arm. “And deaf to boot.”

  “And I believe you are the misbegotten spawn of hell!” Andrea shot back in angry retort, pushing Victoria away.

  “Stop this instant!” Hunter strode across the floor to the rescue of Victoria, who gasped and flattened herself against him, sobbing convulsively in his arms as if she’d been struck.

  “Did you hear what she said to me?” she wailed.

  Hunter gave Andrea a stern look. “Don’t you think you owe Victoria an apology?”

  Andrea let out a small gasp of her own. She looked at Hunter, first with surprise that he should suggest such a thing, then with dismay that he could suggest such a thing, and then with anger that he would suggest such a thing. “Most assuredly not!”

  “Make her apologize.” Victoria sobbed, endeavoring to call up some tears. “She has the manners of a . . . b-b-billy goat.”

  “No, you make me apologize!” Andrea lunged at Victoria before Hunter had a chance to react.

  “Stop this minute!” Hunter tried to keep the two women separated.

  Even after being held at arm’s length by Hunter, Andrea made one last, strenuous attempt to reach Victoria’s throat, intent on manually removing the woman’s noisy windpipe.

  “A truce to this!” Hunter tried again to gain control.

  “She’s mad! She’s bloody mad! Keep her away from me,” Victoria screamed before swooning against his broad shoulders.

  “I give you fair warning, Victoria, do not provoke me again.” Andrea shook her finger at her antagonist who now lay moaning in Hunter’s arms as he carried her up the stairs.

  “Enough,” Hunter said over his shoulder. “I expect my command for a truce to be obeyed by God!”

  “Perhaps God shall obey your cursed truce, but I shall not,” Andrea hurled back.

  Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. Even Victoria ceased her sniveling for a moment to glare through imagined tears and hear what was going to happen next.

  Hunter swiveled on the stairs and gave her a stern look. “I will settle with you properly later.”

  Victoria grinned over Hunter’s shoulder with a look of sweet victory once he continued up the stairs. Andrea smiled back, pointed her cane like a shotgun, and mouthed the word pow while pulling an imaginary trigger.

  Victoria let out a blood-curdling shriek that caused Hunter to stop and turn around again. But by the time he did, Andrea was leaning nonchalantly on her supposed instrument of carnage and smiling innocently.

  * * *

  Hunter’s declaration of “settling” with her later gave Andrea an uneasy feeling about when and in what manner that threat would be carried out. She attempted therefore to avoid him, but he discovered her in the far reaches of the garden sitting on a crude bench under the bowers of an overgrown grape vine. He appeared without warning, his hands resting on top of the natural doorway, his body leaning forward as he talked.

  “You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?” He greeted her somewhat cheerfully.

  “Why would I do that?” Andrea averted her eyes from the muscles his stance produced.

  “Well, I’ve come here to ask”—Hunter cleared his throat—“demand the truce that was earlier mentioned.”

  Andrea’s eyes glazed over. “A truce?”

  “Yes. And the truce will begin tonight when the three of us dine together.

  Hunter removed his hands from above him and turned to leave.

  “I find the thought slightly less pleasant than being buried alive,” Andrea said just loud enough for Hunter to hear. Then louder, “Sir, permit me to thank you for your most courteous invitation, but I fear I have no appetite and therefore must regrettably decline the honor.”

  Hunter returned in an instant as if fully expecting her predetermined refusal. His look was now that of a warrior preparing for battle.

  “Dinner is at seven. I insist you attend, hungry or not.” He looked her in the eye and repeated his mandate. “Think of it as a privilege, and see that you are there.”

  Andrea coughed as if his words actually choked her. “I regret I must plead ignorance of the privilege of the invitation,” she said coldly, abandoning her feigned indifference to the idea. “It is my understanding that your houseguest is prouder than Lucifer of her family name, but frankly, I see no reason for the tribute.”

  “Be that as it may, it would be most advantageous to your personal well-being if you were to heed my wishes voluntarily.”

  Andrea blinked in surprise. “Would this be an order, Major?” She tried to keep her voice from shaking with agitation. “For if it is, I must earnestly beg you to reconsider.”

  “I do not order it, Miss Monroe. But I advise it. Strongly.”

  “Pray don’t call me Miss Monroe!”

  Hunter gazed at her, somewhat bemused. “That is your name is it not?”

  “My name is Evans. I shall answer to no other!”

  “As you wish,” he said curtly. “May I remind you that dinner is at seven?”

  Andrea cleared her throat. “I … believe I declined the invitation.”

  “I don’t recall offering you that option Miss Evans,” Hunter said, his voice growing strained. “The invitation is for an appearance at a dinner table, not an appointment with a hangman’s noose.”

  Hunter’s tone made it cle
ar he believed the latter a more appropriate response to her behavior, and Andrea did nothing to hide from her expression that it was one she found exceedingly more desirable to endure.

  “Heed my words, for they are not spoken in jest.”

  Andrea bit the side of her cheek, contemplating his ultimatum and the possible penalties. She decided she would rather cast her lot with the fate of his punishment than spend another minute of her life in the presence of Victoria Hamilton.

  “Then, Major, may I at least go on the record stating that if I had the choice of dining with your houseguest or riding a hundred yards through a hell storm of Confederate lead, I would, without hesitation, choose the latter?”

  Hunter blinked at her impudence and stared at her so intensely Andrea felt she was being burned alive by his eyes—yet this did not stop her. “Make that on a balky horse. A balky, three-legged horse. A blind, balky, three-legged horse.”

  “I am sorry I’m not in the position to offer you that opportunity at this time,” Hunter said interrupting her tirade in a perfectly calm voice. “But perhaps in the near future that arrangement can be made.”

  Andrea felt a stinging sense of defeat at his latest comeback. He was learning to spar with her a little too well.

  “Ah-h, Miss Evans.”

  “Yes, Major?” she snapped.

  “Let’s try not to have a battle of wits like this tonight.”

  “You mean with Victoria?”

  “Yes, I mean with Victoria.”

  “Trust, sir, that won’t happen,” she said in a reassuring voice.

  “Good.” Once again Hunter turned to leave.

  “I would never pick a battle of wits with an unarmed person!” Andrea yelled after him.

  She watched him stop for a moment, but he did not return. He shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then strode back to the house, his gait—and his tightly clenched fists—portraying an emotion he seemed unable to suppress.

  Chapter 39

  “Vengeance is mine, I will repay sayeth the Lord.”

  – Romans 12:19

  Hunter paced the dining room awaiting the arrival of his two houseguests. He tried to think optimistically, that anything other than a dismal failure would be a splendid success. And success would mean peace. And peace would mean his household would no longer be the scene of constant skirmishes and conflicts that he inevitably had to quell. Yet his heart pounded as if preparing to face a foe of unknown strength.

  Victoria arrived first, walking into the room with the arrogance and sophistication of an empress among her subjects. Hunter escorted her to the table, and then turned to see Andrea standing warily at the doorway, her gaze sweeping the room as if calculating the terrain of an unfamiliar battlefield.

  “Miss Evans, Miss Hamilton,” he said while the two women eyed each other from across the table. “I’m hoping we can enjoy a meal together and would be much obliged if you’d each cease and desist your … warfare.”

  Hunter’s eyes fell on Andrea at the end of his sentence, who made no effort to conceal her disdain.

  Still, as his gaze swept over her, he could not help but admire what he saw. Clothed in a rose-dotted muslin, severe in its simplicity, she looked unpretentious and charming.

  Victoria, on the other hand, was dressed in a shade of shimmering silk that would be hard to describe and even harder to admire. The differences in them were even more apparent tonight. One had elegant Virginian breeding and upbringing. The other, he mused, possessed the look, bearing, and character of such.

  “I’ll have no more of the disruptions such as I witnessed today. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Oh, but, Alex, that wasn’t my fault.” Victoria put her hand on Hunter’s arm and blinked flirtatiously. “You heard what she said to me.”

  Hunter glanced at Andrea and determined that the version of events running through her mind was on a collision course with Victoria’s. The room turned from chilly to stifling hot with the intensity of contrasting views. “I did not place the blame on anyone,” he quickly noted. “I only demand it not happen again.”

  Andrea sat down stiffly with the air of one being forced to watch a beheading, refusing to give him the benefit of even a simple nod. She made it clear she had gone so far as to submit to his demand, but it was obvious she had no intention of feigning fondness for the woman on the other side of the table.

  * * *

  Andrea took a deep breath while Hunter helped a rabidly mirthful Victoria into her chair. She stared at the food Mattie and Izzie served like it was steaming carrion, and prepared to face an evening that promised to be anything but enjoyable.

  As a defense to the babbling Victoria, Andrea focused her attention on the view out the window, letting her mind wander to happier times. She had no idea how much time had passed when a loud voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “Can you attempt to come back from your remote regions of thought and join us?”

  Andrea turned her gaze to Hunter, then to Victoria and back again with a feigned look of confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, are you speaking to me or Miss Hamilton?”

  Hunter’s hand tightened into a fist around a knife. “Is our conversation boring you, Miss Evans?”

  It was evident to Andrea that Hunter was somewhat perturbed. Since she did not wish to appear rude by answering in the affirmative, or lie by answering in the negative, she did not respond at all.

  “Our conversation,” Hunter repeated in a louder voice. “Do you not find it interesting? Or are you just disinclined to talk in our presence?”

  Andrea took his comment to mean she should feel disinclined to be in their presence and was instantly offended. “No, indeed, it’s quite”—she sighed like she was trying to suppress a yawn—“captivating.”

  Hunter leaned toward her and whispered in a lethal, threatening voice. “Miss Evans, if you are trying to conceal your displeasure, may I have the honor of informing you that you are failing miserably?”

  Andrea had no time to answer before Victoria interrupted in a shrill, excited voice. “Where did you get that? How came you to have it? And why?”

  Surprised, both Andrea and Hunter followed her gaze to the ring on Andrea’s finger. Victoria shifted her attention to the similar ring on Hunter’s hand, then fastened her eyes upon Andrea accusingly, drumming her fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for a reply.

  Andrea cleared her throat. “Daniel Delaney. Daniel . . . was a friend of mine.”

  “But he was a Yankee!”

  Andrea’s gaze went to Hunter’s and Hunter’s went to hers. Victoria’s flicked from face to face.

  Hunter recovered first and turned his attention to Victoria. “Daniel and Miss Evans were friends before the war, Victoria. Such a twist of fate cannot be helped.”

  “But that ring is priceless,” she gasped, as if that justified the immediate retrieval of the heirloom from Andrea’s finger.

  “Nonetheless, it was given to Miss Evans. And agree with them or not, Daniel’s wishes need to be respected.” He looked at Andrea severely, letting her know by his tone that his words applied to her current presence in his home as well.

  Victoria became absorbed in another glass of wine, taking her mind off the ring, but her attention soon returned to Andrea. “Since it is Alex’s wish that we get to know each other, perhaps you could enlighten me about your past. You hail from Maryland, do you not?” She spat the name of the state like it was some sort of incurable disease. “Why, I’m only surprised you don’t drink whiskey and chew tobacco.”

  Andrea responded coolly. “But I do drink whiskey, Victoria, preferably right out of the bottle. You should try it in preference to the wine that you drink by the—”

  “Miss Evans!” Hunter’s voice boomed.

  “Pray don’t tell me you believe that because I don’t know how to run barefoot and drink whiskey out of a bottle,” Victoria said, shivering and rolling her eyes, “that I am somehow deficient.”

&nbs
p; “It is not for me to determine in what you are lacking.” Andrea rested her gaze on Hunter as if that job belonged solely to him.

  Victoria looked at Alex with a mortified expression, then put her hand to her head. “Alex, I have tried to overlook her homespun ways and uncouth manner, but really, must we attempt to have a reasonable conversation with her? I do not believe she is capable.”

  “And you are?” Andrea raised her eyebrows.

  “La, my dear. I have been tutored in the delicate nature of being a lady, a concept obviously not familiar to you.” She paused and then added with her nose in the air, “Of course, it’s not your fault that you lack the breeding and cultivation of a Virginian.”

  Andrea looked at Hunter, expecting him to put an end to the dispute, but with all his warrior’s blood, he appeared bewildered at the catfight occurring before him and seemed equally unsure of just what should be done to stop it.

  Instead of getting angry, Andrea felt a sense of calm indignation. “You are right, Victoria,” she said in a conciliatory voice. “I admit, I don’t have your delicate nature or cultured breeding.” She paused and stared down at her hands folded on her lap. “I know that inherent within you are a distinction and superiority, which I, and others like me, can only aspire to.”

  Andrea thought she saw Hunter roll his eyes toward heaven—something uncharacteristic for him—but she did not stop . “Perhaps, if you’d be so kind, Victoria, you could answer a question about the refined Virginian culture that I … that I know so little about.”

  “Miss Evans—”

  “Oh, stop, darling,” Victoria hushed Hunter. “The poor girl wants some advice.” She lowered her eyelashes, obviously flattered by the request.

  “Isn’t it true,” Andrea said, leaning toward Victoria to ensure she caught every word, “that women of your refined, Virginian lineage are—”

  “Yes, dear?” Victoria leaned forward as well, intent on hearing the question.

  “… are usually married by the time they reach your age?”