“Yes,” Hunter replied coldly. “And the riders on those horses all had torches, and the torches were being used to burn innocent civilians’ homes to the ground.”
Andrea blinked, puzzled at first. The confusion swiftly changed to disbelief, and then horror. “They were burning homes so you took no prisoners?”
“What’s wrong, Miss Evans? Are the cold realities of war suddenly too much for you?”
“You shot those men in cold blood?” Hunter’s lack of emotion shook Andrea no less than the ghastly scene she envisioned.
“My men came across the atrocity. The officer in charge reacted to deeds that are repugnant to humanity.” Hunter stared out over her shoulder into the distance as he spoke as if incapable of meeting her gaze.
“And slaying seven men in cold blood is not repugnant to humanity?” Andrea’s voice grew shrill. The anger in her tone did not convey the sadness in her heart at the thought that Hunter would allow his men to resort to such a despicable act of malice. She had grown to think of him as a man who would prevent brutality in his presence and strictly forbid it in his absence. She did not know this man.
“Does your code of honor come from a barbarous nation I’m not familiar with? Or has mercy and civilized behavior never been a part of your code?”
Hunter started to turn away.
“I know you have no heart, but have you no soul?”
“In case you are not aware, we’re in the middle of a war,” he said over his shoulder, obviously trying to put an end to the conversation.
“That does not excuse barbarism!” Andrea ran after him and grabbed his arm, too angry to be fearful of the consequences. “This act is a stain upon our nation’s honor! It’s revolting! It’s . . . unconscionable!”
Hunter swung back around. “You dare insult my men about honor?” He pulled his arm from her grasp and looked at her with burning fury. “Surely the hell your comrades are creating in Virginia is not too hot for the demonic Yankee villains who apply the torch!”
“You cannot tell me you condone these deaths,” Andrea said, her chest heaving. “You cannot make me believe that, on behalf of your men, you can overlook this carnage, this … this butchery because it was performed in the name of vengeance for a policy of devastation.”
She was so angry she waved her arms in the air. “War may excuse certain actions of cruel necessity, but it can never justify this! Even you, Colonel Hunter, cannot claim that this is legitimate warfare!”
Hunter remained silent, brooding, as if weighing the decision to defend himself. When he spoke, his words were distinct, his voice was low and his dust-stained face was just inches from hers. “You insist on justification, Miss Evans? I will give it to you. The reprisal was indeed revenge, taken by my officer in direct retaliation for the—” Hunter paused and drew a sharp breath. “For the cruel, deliberate, merciless hangings of seven of my men last month.”
Andrea did not speak. She blinked in complete bewilderment, deeming at first that he must be lying, but seeing by the look on his face that he was not. She took a step backward. “You cannot tell me a Union officer ordered such a thing.”
“Colonel Clayton Shepherd,” was the blunt reply. “And today his men got their payback—and mine divine revenge.”
Andrea swallowed hard. Seven had perished today, victims of a bloody code of retaliation. In her absence, this ghastly, revolting war had opened a new chapter in horror. It seemed that any and all sense of humanity had taken flight from this once-peaceful land.
“They were fairly warned,” Hunter continued when she did not speak. “For every Hunter man murdered, they were informed I would take ten-fold vengeance. My men were most humane in that regard, only killing those directly involved.”
Andrea closed her eyes and imagined the scene. Men inflamed with vengeance dealing out a sentence of death to those who had executed their comrades.
“So you see, Miss Evans, we were compelled, reluctantly, to adopt a line of policy as ruthless and revolting as your northern comrades. All the prisoners I have taken since that day have been treated with the respect due them.”
“You were not there?” Andrea’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know what difference that makes,” Hunter said coldly over his shoulder as he started to walk away. “The outcome would have been the same.”
Then he stopped and turned back. “You may know the officer who was in charge. His name is Pierce—promoted today to Captain—as you may have already been informed.” Hunter continued his journey to the house, his boots and spurs raising small clouds that enveloped him in a dusty mist.
Andrea looked over her shoulder when she heard Izzie yelling from the direction of the slaves’ quarters.
“Miz Andrea! Gabriella havin’ her baby!”
Andrea watched Hunter turn briefly with a look of concern on his face. Then he continued to the house, his long powerful strides and straight, rigid back in no way revealing the great weight he carried upon his shoulders.
* * *
Once mother and her new daughter were resting comfortably, Andrea walked toward the lake, guided by the magical hum of insects that convened there. Climbing down a small bank, she reposed herself on a fallen tree and tried to make sense of the day. Despite the miracle of birth, there seemed little to celebrate when she thought of Pierce’s crusade of vengeance and the reason for it.
Had the world gone mad since she left? Leaning forward, she put her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. What else had happened which she knew nothing of? She listened half-heartedly to a bullfrog bellowing on the far side of the pond, and jumped at the sound of a voice behind her.
“Beautiful evening.”
Andrea turned to see Hunter, illuminated by moonlight, standing on the bank behind her. She nodded in answer to his question, but did not speak.
“It’s peaceful down here.” Hunter hopped down the bank.
“I—” Andrea stood and looked up at him. “I’m sorry about—”
Hunter stopped her. “I don’t want to talk about it. How’s Gabriella doing?”
“She’s doing fine. A daughter. She calls her Angelina.” Even as she said the words, Andrea’s mind drifted away from the miracle of birth to the horrifying deaths of the month before. “You could have told me,” she blurted out. “You needn’t have kept such an atrocity a secret from me.”
“It was not my intention to keep it a secret, Miss Evans. I simply saw no point in concerning you with it.” Hunter stared vacantly out over the water.
“Concerning me with it? Seven of your men were murdered by men who claim to be soldiers!”
“Miss Evans, you have spared no effort to remind me we are your enemies,” he replied. “Considering your unhappy status at Camp Misery, I deemed the news would not be of interest to you.”
Andrea inhaled deeply, his statement and his rationale taking the breath from her. All of the unpleasant words she had spoken in the past rose with painful vividness before her, and a feeling of shame surged at the thought of her vengeful tongue.
“But you cannot believe I would take pleasure in the deaths of your men.” Andrea gazed up at him, her hand on his arm. “That I would defend the Union’s ruthlessness?”
Hunter looked out over her head into the distance and did not answer.
Andrea let her hand drop to her side. “You are wrong, Colonel Hunter.” Her voice trembled as she bowed her head. “I do not, nor could I ever, support such an indefensible act. And I have never, nor will I ever, rejoice in the deaths of any of your men.” She paused and looked up to meet his gaze. “And I deeply regret the loss your Command has suffered.”
Andrea took another deep breath, squared her shoulders, and started back toward the house. “I do deeply regret the loss,” she said again, this time to herself.
Chapter 45
“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies.
Though passion may have strained, it must not bre
ak our bonds of affection.”
– Abraham Lincoln
It was just about midnight and Hawthorne stood like an island in a thick sea of haze, the air so dark and pregnant with humidity, Andrea felt confined in a cave. Rising from her restless sleep, she lit a candle and sat on the edge of the bed opening and closing her swollen fingers.
Twisting off her ring, she sat and stared at the engraving as she had done hundreds of times before. What would it be like if Daniel still lived? She closed her eyes and rubbed the ring, gasping when she felt a slight movement of its face. Holding it to the candle, she opened a small, hinged compartment and withdrew a tiny, meticulously folded piece of paper.
Tenderly opening a note crisp with age, she read:
Dear Daniel,
I am in receipt of your last, and acknowledge your decision to serve in the Federal army. Yet, I too must do my duty as I conceive it to be. Never could I have envisioned an event that would lead me to stand in opposition to my dearest kin or against my cherished flag. But it is honor that I must now defend, and it is honor for which I will move forward. That you remain safe, my dear Daniel, until such time as harmony once again prevails, is the hope of your devoted brother … Alex
Andrea closed her eyes at the depth of emotion displayed in the words and what they must have meant to Daniel. “Oh, Alex,” she said without realizing it. How often had he attempted to tell her the intensity of his feelings for Virginia? Yet he had never mentioned how terribly difficult had been his decision to fight for the Confederacy.
Now wide awake, Andrea walked onto the balcony and felt the night air settle down around her, heavy and close like a wet blanket. Leaning over the railing, she tried to catch even a hint of a breeze to cool her clammy brow. All she caught was the smell of tobacco smoke coming from behind her. When she began to turn to find its source, he spoke.
“Too hot for yah, Mish Evans?” His voice was thick and rich, and uncharacteristically, had a pronounced Virginia drawl.
“Colonel. I had … I had n-n-o idea you were—” Andrea stuttered, suddenly aware of her deficiency of a robe.
“Jush got in.”
Andrea wondered why he slurred his words, but turned back toward the banister without inquiring. “It’s rather a … warm night.” She hoped that would end the conversation.
“Yesh, it is.”
“Are you quite all right, Colonel?” Andrea looked back over her shoulder. A bottle clanking hard against a glass in the shadows was the only reply.
“Have a seat and join me.” He patted the chair beside him.
Andrea’s face reddened. She had never seen Hunter so completely abandoned in his manners. She could make him out now. His coat lay haphazardly on a chair beside him. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up.
“That would be highly inappropriate, Colonel.”
Hunter put his head back and laughed. “Begging your pardon, Mish Evanssssh,” he said, evidently majestically drunk. “Since when have you been worried about pro-pri … pro-pre …”
“Propriety,” Andrea finished for him, wishing again that she had put on her wrapper. “Sir, I think that perhaps you should—”
“Come here a moment,” he commanded. He stood and killed his drink in one swallow before letting the glass hit the table with an unsteady hand.
Andrea obeyed, afraid to refuse. The tone he used to give the order was not one she wished to dispute, especially in his current state.
“Do you see this?” He swept his arm toward the fields and barns below, then took a step backward, the action knocking him off balance.
Andrea reached out for his arm to steady him and nodded, though she could see nothing in the haze and darkness.
“Thish is my life. Everything ish here.”
“Yes, I understand that, Alex.”
Hunter stopped his ramblings for a moment and stared down at her lips, as if hearing his name on them made him lose his train of thought. Andrea blushed, embarrassed that she had taken the liberty.
“Your beauty,” he said, softly now, “would create a pulsh in a marble statue. Do you know that?”
The air was perfectly motionless. Andrea felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked down. “You should not speak like this. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Hunter smiled, put his hand under her chin, and lifted her head. “It’s not my wishh to make you un-com … un-fort …” He exhaled in exasperation. “I was merely shtating a fact.”
He took another half-step forward, as if talking and keeping his balance were a bit too much to be attempted at the same time. “If I lost thish place—”
The desperation in his voice made Andrea’s heart swell with sympathy. She knew in a moment the source of his fears. She had heard at the ball that Union soldiers were sweeping through the valley burning homes and barns. The idea that this home could be destroyed in the firestorm had never occurred to her as a possibility. Now, from his tone, he thought it a probability.
Andrea stared into his eyes, at a loss for something to say to console him. No words could possibly bring him comfort, for he appeared sure his fear would be justified—and soon.
“I know nothing of that,” she said. “But I do know that alcohol is a destroyer of human reason. Things will look brighter in the morning.”
Andrea gave him no time to reorganize his thoughts. “Let me help you to bed.” She grabbed him around the waist and led him through the open door of his chamber. Hunter did not resist. He sat down hard on the mattress and watched her remove his boots.
“Get some rest.” Andrea gently pushed him into a lying position. When she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her back.
“Even if the war takes everything else—” He stopped and gazed earnestly into her eyes, as if she should understand his meaning.
“Even if it—” he began again, his voice so low and determined it sent a shiver down Andrea’s spine. “You won’t …don’t let it come between us … anymore.”
Andrea tried to pull away, not sure of the emotions that raged inside her.
“Promish?” He pulled her closer and this single word was a demand.
“I promise,” she whispered, taking in the sweet smell of liquor on his breath.
Hunter let go of her wrist and appeared to fall instantly asleep.
Andrea stared at his careworn countenance, surprised at herself for not running from the room. Instead, she pulled a blanket tenderly over him and watched his gentle breathing. “Sleep well, Alex.” She took a deep breath at the sudden tightening in her chest as she said the words. A strange feeling overcame her then, one of compassion and belonging, and it caused the rapid flight that had, for a moment, been delayed.
* * *
When Andrea opened the door to her room the next morning, she practically ran into Hunter on the other side preparing to knock. “I trust I did not offend you or create a disturbance last night,” he said with a grave expression. “If I did, I apologize.”
His bloodshot eyes looked tired. Andrea could tell he had no memory of his actions.
“You were a perfect gentleman, as always.” She turned away to bring an end to the conversation.
Hunter grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Now you have me worried because I know I could never be a perfect gentleman in the company of such a charming young lady in my … undesirable condition.”
Andrea turned and feigned a look of astonishment. “You think me charming, Colonel? I would never have guessed such a thing.”
“When I say charming, I mean it only in the most exasperating sort of way.”
“Sir, if that is your definition of the word, then you can believe with complete confidence that you were quite charming last night yourself.”
Andrea turned to walk away, but not before noticing that at least half of Hunter’s mouth had lifted into a lighthearted smile at her comeback.
Chapter 46
“Man is so made that whenever anything fires his soul, impos
sibilities vanish.”
– Jean de la Fontaine
Three days later, Andrea awoke to streaks of orange blazing across the eastern sky. Dressing hurriedly, fearing she had overslept, she took a moment to stand on the balcony and admire the view.
Taking a deep breath of the morning air, she almost choked when she inhaled the acrid smell of smoke rather than fresh morning air.
Running back into her chamber to check the clock on the mantle, she realized it was too early for dawn to be so far advanced. Back to the balcony she ran, and now amidst the copper-colored sky, she saw columns of black, rolling smoke in the distance. She even made out the glittering sparks and flying embers that created the ghastly glare.
The hills beyond Hawthorne looked a very mass of flame, and she realized the impact of the dreadful scene unfolding. She leaned over the railing and cupped her hands. “Zach!”
In an instant, his head appeared below her. “Take the stock to the woods,” she yelled pointing to the distance. Without waiting to see if he understood her command, she darted back inside, half-running, half-hopping to Victoria’s room where she pounded on the door. “Get up! Get up!”
Down the stairs she stumbled and out the door, where excitement already prevailed. Zach and others had tied horses together and were leading them by the dozen to a hideaway on the side of the hill. Andrea looked to the east and trembled at the great columns of smoke dotting the horizon.
She took a few steps more and a horrible groan escaped her. Just over the hill, rising over the trees, shot another column of black smoke, swirling and dancing in evil delight. It had to be the Talbert house. “They’re coming!”
Andrea had hoped the Union troops would somehow not discover Hawthorne, but it appeared the home was right in their path. She had no idea how much time they had. She only knew she could not face the look in Hunter’s eyes if he returned to a smoldering ruin.
Running to the barn, barely using her cane, Andrea bridled Justus. When Zach had a string of horses together, she climbed upon him bareback and led them to the hidden paddock behind the hill. By the time she returned, he had more ready to go. “Move the worst of the wounded horses into the front stalls,” she ordered. “We don’t have time to move them all.”
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 35