“Well Alex is determined to get his hands on that stallion of mine.”
Andrea felt a prickle go up her neck and a knot form in her stomach. Were they discussing Zeus, the gray stallion Hunter had once mentioned he wished to buy? Her heart lurched at the remembrance of how his eyes had lit up at the mere mention of the horse. Had she ruined Hunter’s chance of acquiring the stud he had been trying to purchase for years?
Victoria held her hands over her ears and spoke in an overly loud voice. “I don’t want to hear another word about horses, especially not while we’re eating. You did invite them to dinner did you not?” She threw a probing glance at Hunter.
“You’re, ah, welcome to—”
“We accept!” John Paul took Andrea’s arm again as if he had accomplished a great victory. “Come now, Miss Evans. Let’s have a look at that wonderful team of mine.”
* * *
Hunter had wearied of watching John Paul lean close to Andrea during the entire meal, and decided to put an end to the private conversation. “It’s been a long afternoon, gentlemen. Miss Evans, would you like to retire?” He rose from the table and offered his arm, giving her little chance to refuse.
Andrea gazed up at him with a forced smile. “I suppose it has been a long day.” She stood and turned to John Paul. “So very nice to meet you,” she said, offering him her hand. She nodded in the direction of John Paul’s father. “Mr. Clark, a pleasure,” she said, before reluctantly accepting Hunter’s arm.
As soon as the dining room door closed, Hunter leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Bravo my dear. Another marvelous performance.”
Andrea cocked her head innocently to one side. “Performance?”
“I dare say anyone who did not know you could not help but be impressed.” He felt anger swell within him when he thought of the looks John Paul had thrown her—and the ones she had skillfully returned.
“Does that include you, Major? I had no idea I was that impressive.”
“I believe I said anyone who does not know you.” He pretended to be completely unaffected by her loveliness, though it was only with great effort that he drew his eyes away from her when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Did I in some way displease you?”
“No, my dear. You simply play the part of a devoted Rebel so well that I’m beginning to wonder who the real Andrea Evans is. In fact, I wonder,” Hunter said, leaning down so his face was just inches from hers, “if you even know anymore.”
Andrea did not answer at first. But the redness in her cheeks and the expression on her face was sufficient to tell Hunter what she thought of him.
“Perhaps I find it pleasurable and refreshing to have a discussion with a gentleman. Your behavior today was abhorrent. You could have at least tried to be civil to your guests.”
“Believe me, Miss Evans, it is an act of civility that I allow John Paul to step foot in my house.”
Hunter turned away, marking the end of the conversation. “I’ll call Mattie to assist you up the stairs.”
Chapter 41
“Heaven hath a hand in these events.”
– Richard II, Shakespeare
Andrea stepped out of the house with a large smile on her face a few days later, gazing upon the brilliant sunlight beaming down in golden sparkles through the trees. Halfway down the steps, she noticed a carriage tied to the post in the turnaround she did not recognize.
She almost passed it by before noticing a young female slave tied to the back. Noticeably pregnant, the woman was on her knees, resting from apparently being made to walk a great distance.
Andrea hurried to the young woman’s aid, but the slave covered her head and lay in the dirt like a dog cowering from the boot of its master.
“Don’t hit me, missus. Please don’t hit me no more.”
“I’m not going to hit you. Let me help you up.”
The woman lifted her head, revealing a pair of brown, frightened, disbelieving eyes. Her look of pain and distrust revived memories of the revolting spectacles Andrea had witnessed in her childhood. The reflections lashed her into a fury for the injustices committed then and now.
Before she had time to react further, a shadow appeared from the front of the carriage. Andrea looked up to see a man of rotund stature, whose sweaty forehead and pallid skin reminded her of her father.
“I do not believe I’ve had the honor,” he said.
Andrea refused to accept the extended hand. “Have you no sense? No decency?”
“I beg your pardon.” He grabbed her arm. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”
“Remove your foul hands from me!” Andrea struggled free from his grasp. “Or I’ll—”
“Miss Evans!” Hunter strode out of the house seeking the cause of the commotion.
“Please control your wife,” the man said, brushing off his coat like he had touched something offensive. “I’ve half a mind to call off the deal.”
“She’s not my wife, and I wouldn’t attempt to control her if she were,” Hunter said with a hint of anger in his own voice now.
Andrea shot him a look of surprise. “What deal have you made?”
“Mr. Potts has offered to purchase the two blooded bays.” Hunter’s gaze shifted from Andrea to the slave girl behind the carriage, apparently seeing her for the first time.
“You cannot possibly sell horses to someone who treats property like this.” Andrea’s hand trembled as she pointed toward the man. “This is what is wrong with the South!”
The slave looked up curiously.
Hunter took a step toward Andrea and spoke in a gentle voice. “It’s none of our business.”
“None of our business?” Andrea hit her cane on the ground and turned to face the man. “I’ll not turn my back on evil! How much for her?”
“She’s not for sale,” Potts answered. “She’s leaving with me and staying where she is.”
Andrea took a step forward. “And you’ll walk over my prostrate form to accomplish it!”
“I said she’s not for sale. I just purchased her, and need to make sure she knows who is master before I get her home.” Potts brushed some imaginary dirt from his coat sleeve.
“Who is master?” Andrea spat the words. “You’re nothing but a—”
“How much?” Hunter quickly interrupted.
Potts rubbed his chin while making a grunting sound. “Well now, you can see she’s with child. I’d say the two of them are worth fifteen hundred dollars.”
“You told me earlier you’d bought a negress for eight hundred dollars. I’ll give you eight fifty, and the deal with the horses is off.”
The man scoffed at the offer. “You jest. You’re going to allow this . . .” his gaze swept over Andrea, “this slave lover to—”
Hunter rushed toward Potts, grabbed him by the throat, and threw him against the coach with such force that the man’s feet left the ground. “It’s for men like you that men like me are forced to shed their blood in defense of this country.” Hunter’s face was but inches away from that of the trembling slave owner. “If you’d like to leave this estate in one piece, I’d urge you to consider my proposal.”
Andrea saw the strength in Hunter’s one arm, and was both petrified and enthralled. When Potts responded with a nod, Hunter released his grip, causing the man to fall against the coach gasping for breath. Andrea gave Hunter no time to change his mind. She rushed to untie the slave.
“What’s your name?” Andrea asked bending over her.
The woman looked up with bewildered eyes. “Gabriella,” she finally said in a whispered voice.
“Miss Evans!” Hunter’s voice was stern. “Mattie will take care of her. I’d like to speak with you.” He turned and strode toward the house without a backward glance.
* * *
Andrea stormed into the library to find Hunter at the window, standing with his back to her. She could see from his stance he was agitated.
“When I started this day,” h
e said, turning and looking into her eyes, “I thought I had two horses sold—and at a very good price I might add.”
Andrea looked away from his piercing gaze.
“Now, I find my purse empty of eight hundred and fifty dollars. I am still in possession of two horses for which I have no use. And will soon have, not one, but two more mouths to feed!”
“I’m sorry if I displeased you.” Andrea sounded sincere, yet she revealed no remorse.
“This estate is not a sanctuary for your menagerie of injured horses and abused slaves. I have a responsibility to feed and clothe those already here. I have more than two hundred head of horses that need my attention—”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Hold your tongue, Miss Evans.” His voice grew noticeably louder. “That is not the point.”
Andrea stared at the floor, while twisting the ring on her finger. She could tell Hunter had reached his limit.
“I did not mean to interfere.”
“You did not mean to interfere?” Hunter bellowed. “Then what did you mean?”
“I … I was simply doing what I feel is right in my heart—”
“Your heart? Well, thanks to your heart, I lost more than two thousand dollars today!”
Andrea stared out the window.
“Have you nothing to say?”
“The cost of doing what is right cannot be measured.” Andrea gave Hunter a penetrating gaze. “Not in pain. Not in sacrifice. And certainly not in the loss of gold.”
She turned and walked out the door, leaving Hunter to mull over the fact that he knew she was right.
Chapter 42
“A faith that shines more bright and clear,
When tempests rage without
That, when in danger knows no fear,
In darkness knows no doubt.”
– Hymn from Nurse and Spy
Hunter heard a blood-curdling scream from the direction of the porch and flew through the house to discover its source. He found Andrea standing perfectly still, a look of complete panic on her face. “Miss Evans. What is wrong?”
She grasped his forearm in a powerful one-handed clutch. “Spider,” she whispered, as if fearing the creature would hear her.
Hunter thought she must be joking, because not even the sight of a hangman’s noose could equal the terror that radiated from her eyes as she shook her hair, then her hand, as if she had touched something vile.
“A spider, Miss Evans?”
“Yes, it dropped—” She gasped, barely able to finish the sentence. “In my h-hair.”
Despite her serious face, Hunter put his head back and laughed. “You, Andrea Evans, are afraid of a little spider?”
“It wasn’t little!”
Hunter suppressed another laugh because he felt her trembling, yet he hardly believed what he heard and saw. The daring, dauntless Andrea Evans had a weakness.
“You don’t understand!” Sighing with obvious exasperation at his mirth, she checked her hair one last time and picked up her skirts to depart. But before taking a step, she stared warily at the porch floor as if to make sure the creature was not about to attack her from the ground. Then she peered up to the beams in case it, or any of its many relatives, was preparing to launch an aerial assault.
“Well, I’ll be!”
Hunter turned to see a pony cart pulling into the turnaround at the porch. “No wonder I never see you any more, Alexander Hunter.”
“Mrs. Fox.” Hunter strode down the steps. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Pleasant indeed.” The woman looked at Andrea and winked. Heaving her robust figure out of the seat, she stood and waited for Hunter to help her down.
“I’m Emma Fox,” she said after she dusted off her skirt and offered her hand to Andrea. “The Widow Fox is what the boys tend to call me.”
“Mrs. Emma Fox, I’d like you to meet Andrea Evans. Miss Evans, my neighbor, Mrs. Fox of Hawk Shadow Farm.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Fox.”
“I had no idea you had a beautiful young woman hidden away up here,” Mrs. Fox said, turning her attention back to Hunter.
Victoria, who must have heard the sound of the earlier screaming, appeared in the doorway and cleared her throat. “Oh, and of course, you know Miss Hamilton,” Hunter said hurriedly.
The newcomer gave Victoria a sideways glance. “Yes, I do.” She offered no further comment.
“Well, what brings you to Hawthorne?” Hunter stepped forward. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, no. I just came to deliver a message from the Talberts.”
“The Talberts? Is something wrong?”
“My gads, boy, no.” Mrs. Fox laughed. “Quite the contrary. I’ve come to invite you to a celebration Saturday.”
“A celebration? For what? I was just at the Talberts yesterday and there was no mention of such an event.”
“Mrs. Talbert and I and some of the boys just decided today. It’s a celebration party in honor of your recent promotion—though the ladies are more interested in celebrating the fact that Colonel Hunter survived an intended ambush last week. Either one is certainly sufficient for celebration.
Hunter scoffed. Victoria squealed. And Andrea suppressed a gasp. She did not know Hunter had been promoted to a Colonel.
“Oh darling, a party! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve attended a party?” Victoria’s excitement apparently did not stem from news of the promotion. “It’s Saturday? Why that’s the day after tomorrow.,” she said to no one in particular. “How will I ever find something to wear by then?” She talked excitedly and hurriedly, as if the announcement was of far greater significance than the current state of the country at large.
Mrs. Fox frowned at the outburst and turned to Andrea. “You will attend won’t you, dear?”
“Miss Evans is recovering from an injury,” Hunter said before she had time to respond. “She’s in no condition to attend a party.”
“She looks fine to me,” Mrs. Fox insisted with relentless persistence. “I’ll stop by and pick her up myself. I can see you will have your hands full.” She gave an unflattering glance toward Victoria and turned back to the wagon, indicating the conversation was over.
“She has nothing appropriate to wear.” Hunter tried one more time to turn down the invitation, while helping her into the wagon.
“Oh, come now,” Mrs. Fox said. “She’s about the same size as Elizabeth. I’m sure she left a thing or two lying around here.”
Andrea’s eyes rose in obvious surprise at the mention of Hunter’s wife, but he successfully masked any emotion.
“You’ll inform the other men.” Mrs. Fox’s statement sounded like an order, not a question. Then she turned to Andrea at the exclusion of the other two. “He’s always been such a worrier. Wait and see, everything will go without a hitch.”
Yes, everything will go without a hitch as easily as a wagon goes uphill without a horse,” Hunter thought.
“I’ll be by about seven o’clock Saturday.” Without waiting for a reply, she slapped the horse and disappeared down the drive at a brisk trot.
* * *
The jostling of the carriage did nothing to ease the pain in Andrea’s leg once she and Mrs. Fox were on their way. Like Hunter, she had a bad feeling about tonight. Although she would never admit it, she knew he was right in trying to convince her not to attend.
But the conversation soon took her thoughts away from her nagging instincts and anxiety. The topics they discussed were light and impersonal—until Hunter became the focus of the banter.
Mrs. Fox leaned toward Andrea. “So how is it that you came to know the king of the land?”
“The king?” Andrea laughed.
“My dear, certainly you know the authority and influence the Colonel holds in this province.” She sighed deeply. “Such a warrior, yet such a gentleman. Commands the affection and respect of all who meet him.”
Andrea looked at her hands. “N
o, I was … not aware—“
“And handsome, of course. Certainly you are aware of that.” The widow turned and looked directly into her eyes.
Andrea felt herself blushing. “I suppose he is somewhat attractive.”
“Somewhat attractive?” Mrs. Fox bubbled over with laughter. “The Greeks have their gods, and we Virginians have Colonel Hunter. If there is a soul who can exceed him in manliness or grace of character, I’ve yet to meet him. Gracious me!”
The widow shook her head and babbled on. “He’d make a wonderful husband, yet he shows no sign of desiring to settle down. Who could blame him really, his mother deserting him the way she did, and then that business with Elizabeth. Certainly every eligible woman in Virginia and beyond has made him aware she’s available. And then, of course, there’s Victoria.”
The conversation began to make Andrea uncomfortable. She brushed some imaginary lint off her skirt and then repeated the unnecessary task.
“He’s changed much since then,” Mrs. Fox continued, talking in a low voice as if she feared being overheard. “Not that he was ever that sociable. But when Elizabeth was at Hawthorne there were visitors and entertaining all the time. He’s a regular recluse now, and seemingly perfectly content. Yet everyone’s convinced he’ll eventually marry someone with a pedigree. You know, take a Virginia bride.”
Mrs. Fox looked over at Andrea. “Oh, I really shouldn’t be gossiping like this. Anyway, you never answered my question. It’s such a rare privilege to be honored with his intimacy. How did you meet?”
Andrea took a deep breath. “We met … well . . . quite by accident.”
“Oh, the war, I suppose,” Mrs. Fox finished for her.
Andrea nodded, glad she did not have to go into more detail.
“If that is the case, then I’m glad to hear some good has come out of this terrible state of affairs,” Mrs. Fox said wistfully. “They say it’s all right to give your only son to the Cause—”
Andrea heard the woman’s voice tremble.
“But I wish I had mine back.”
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 32