The look—and the words—made him reckless. The smile faded from his face. “My dear,” he said, his strong voice low and husky, “trust, I always do that.”
Andrea’s brows drew together as she tried to read the look in his eyes, but he did not give her time. Bounding up the remaining stairs, he took her hand once again and turned her toward the pastures with boyish enthusiasm. “Have you ever seen anything more splendid?” In the field before them a dozen horses raced their shadows along the paddock fence.
“I believe I’ve told you before, Colonel, you reside in a place no less perfect than paradise.”
Hunter felt a surge of warmth from the small bit of pressure she placed on his hand as she spoke. “And so Virginia is heaven in your eyes, after all?”
Andrea turned to him, her eyes swimming with mirth. “Oh, Colonel, you do have a way of putting words in my mouth. I’ll give you that Hawthorne is heaven—but I must still reserve my opinion on all of Virginia.”
Hunter laughed at her stubbornness, and she laughed at his laughter. They stood like two children in the sunshine, thoughts of war and enemies and fighting as far from either mind as the thought of any friendship between them had once been.
Tell her, Hunter thought again. Tell her now.
Why his lips remained silent he could not fathom. The sparkle of acceptance in her eyes seemed to be a signal, but secretly he feared her heart would not go so far as to accept the affections of a Rebel.
“You are smiling as if you have a secret you wish to share,” Andrea said, interrupting his thoughts with imploring eyes.
Hunter could not speak. He was trying to catch the breath she took away. Biting his cheek, as he had so often seen her doing, he thought about confessing what he felt. He took a deep breath as if to try, then exhaled slowly when he could not make his tongue give utterance to the words. Of all the women he had been with in his lifetime—and there had been many—not one had the power to interrupt sensible thoughts like this one. He swallowed all the things he wanted to say and said something else.
“You’ve been content here the last few weeks?” He lifted the hat a little to reveal her eyes.
“Content?” Andrea drew her brows together and cocked her head.
“I beg your pardon.” Hunter leaned one shoulder against a pillar, his face turning rigid. “I realize you do not know the meaning of the word.”
He tried to appear calm, but inside his heart plummeted. He knew with certainty now that her impatience to leave had only been subdued, not extinguished. She still thought of Hawthorne as a prison, one she would break away from when circumstances allowed. The time would come for her to go. And that time, he feared, was not far remote.
“Oh, I understand the word, Colonel. But how could I be content when the one with whom I have enjoyed so many battles of wit is forever absent?”
Hunter sucked his breath in and strained to let it out slowly. Her words and her tone indicated an attempt to make light of the situation in a polite and courteous fashion. Yet he felt sure her eyes indicated something much more complex.
“My absence is not of my own desire,” he said in a low, serious tone. “There are many times I wish for nothing more than to be home. Here.”
“Then it would appear your wishes have been very much in accord with mine.” Andrea looked straight up into his eyes, and then out over his shoulder as if she too had trouble putting words to her thoughts. “I once believed it an unkind fate that placed me here … but it’s a kind one that occasionally permits me the privilege of your company.”
Had a hidden battery suddenly opened fire at close range, Hunter could not have been more stunned. He reached instantly for her hand and drew it instinctively to his heart.
Miss Evans … Andrea. It is time that I tell you that I … that I—”
The door opened and Victoria burst out, driving his speech back into the depths of his soul.
“Alex, I didn’t know you were home!” She dove into him with her usual rapture, knocking Andrea out of the way. Hunter watched Andrea’s eyes flicker with a hint of disappointment before they became consumed with resentment and fury.
Within the blink of an eye the door into her soul—the one that had taken so fearfully long to open—slammed shut. And he had no way of knowing how long it would take to crack open again.
“Victoria. I believe you owe Miss Evans an apology.”
It was too late. Andrea turned around and retreated into the house without a backward glance. One moment she was there, and the next she was gone, vanishing as swiftly and silently as a shadow when a cloud covers the sun. Her quick movement knocked the flower from her hair and it was soon trampled beneath Victoria’s foot.
“Miss Evans!’ His response was a resounding slamming of a door. Whatever intimacy had flowed between them was gone. Her emotions were mail-clad. She was, yet again, unreachable.
Chapter 49
“Love that well which thou must leave ere long.”
– Sonnet 73, Shakespeare
Hunter sought Andrea in every room in the house once he had detached himself from Victoria. She was nowhere to be found.
Buttoning his coat against a cool, westerly wind that had risen, he headed toward the barn.
“You seen Andrea?” he asked Zach when he met him leading a horse in from the paddock.
The servant stopped. “Well, yessuh, Massa. She up and took the team.”
“Took them where?” Hunter looked over Zach’s shoulder, thinking she may have led the two horses down to the next field for fresh grass.
“I’s not sure.” The servant scratched his head. “She didn’t ’zactly say.”
“Where’s the wagon?” Hunter looked around the barnyard, his anxiety increasing.
“Well, suh, ya see, it were hooked to the team.”
Hunter growled, more a sound of pain than anger, and headed at a brisk pace into the barn. She would not be running way. She could not be. Not now, Andrea. Please not now!
He glanced at the darkening sky and tried to think objectively. She would not try to leave until she was completely healed. Surely she would not take a risk that would cause her to extend or prolong her stay.
Within mere minutes, Hunter had mounted and was spurring Dixie down the lane. Meanwhile the storm continued to descend, bringing with it a heavy cloak of black. A low, rolling rumble to the west gave further indication of its severity.
Hunter followed the fresh tracks easily to the place they had watched the sun setting on the hill. When he reined his horse in beside the wagon, he saw her standing near a large boulder, the wind whipping at her skirt. She stared absently at the sky as angry clouds advanced toward the sun like a hungry animal preparing to engulf its prey. Hunter tied his horse to the wagon and stepped carefully among the rocks in his path. If she knew he was there, she did not let on.
“We’d better go,” Hunter said gruffly, taking her hand. “This is going to be a bad storm.”
Not waiting for her to answer, he dragged Andrea over the rocks so fast her feet barely touched the ground. Within moments, the elements of nature finished lining up for battle and the major engagement commenced. By the time they boarded the wagon, lightning flashed in the sky and the heavens thundered like great volleys of musketry. Hunter gripped the reins as rain pelted them in horizontal sheets. Ducking his head against flying leaves and branches, he guided the horses as best he could, then jerked them to a stop.
“Get inside!” He pulled Andrea across the seat and lifted her down.
“Inside?” Andrea blinked her eyes against the rain.
Hunter pushed her forward and moved his hand across the solid wall in front of them. Finding the latch, he opened the door, shoved her through, and then fought against the brutal wind to secure it behind them. Once closed, they both stood breathing heavily, staring at each other in the dim light.
“You look like a half-drowned kitten.” Hunter stared at the dripping hair on her shoulders.
Andrea shivered.
“Half-drowned?”
Hunter strode over to a large stone fireplace and, after getting a small flame started, turned back to Andrea. “Keep your eye on that. I’m going to put the horses in the barn.”
Andrea still stood dripping and shivering when Hunter pushed his way back into the one-room cabin. He closed and bolted the door against the wind, then proceeded back to the fire without saying a word.
“W-w-hat is this p-p-lace?”
Hunter continued to poke at the fire and then turned his head toward her. “It’s mine. I built it. Kind of a getaway you might say.”
He watched Andrea look around the room, her gaze taking in the bed to the right, then the stone fireplace and the large bearskin rug sprawled before it, and finally the hand-hewn table and cupboards to his left. “I n-never heard anyone s-speak of it.”
“Nobody knows about it except me. And now you.”
He turned back to the fire and poked at it more forcefully than before, his resentment at the intrusion showing clearly. When it began to blaze, he leaned toward the bed. “Here.” He grabbed the patchwork quilt that covered it. “Take off those wet clothes.”
Andrea stood motionless, not blinking, not speaking.
“Come on, Miss Evans. This is no time for modesty. You need to get out of those clothes. I’ll not have you lying on your deathbed again and blaming me for prolonging your stay.”
Andrea opened her mouth to argue when another chill apparently ripped through her. She shivered, then turned and offered no resistance when he unhooked the back of her gown. Hunter quickly wrapped the blanket around her as she stepped out of the wet dress.
By the time Andrea removed her soaked undergarments and readjusted the quilt, Hunter had shed his shirt and was busy once again stirring the fire.
“Comfortable?” Hunter asked over his shoulder after she sat on the rug. Andrea nodded with chattering teeth but kept her gaze averted.
“Here, get a little closer.” He pulled her and the rug nearer the fire, keenly aware now of the effort she made not to look at him. Deciding to ignore it, he stood and turned toward the cupboards. “I might have something to warm you up.”
After much banging and clattering, he returned to the fireplace carrying a bottle of whiskey and two tin cups. “It’s not much, but it will take off the chill.” He poured a small amount in a cup and handed it to her as if she were a guest at a tea party.
Andrea lifted the cup, and with shaking hands, emptied its contents. Hunter waited for her to grimace or choke. But when she did neither, he poured another.
“You come here often?” She looked up at him through wet clumps of hair.
Hunter shrugged and turned back to the fire. “I used to come up a lot before the war. When I was married.”
“You needed a place to get away from your wife?”
Watching her empty the cup again, he sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“You didn’t love her?”
He threw another piece of wood on the fire, trying to decide whether to answer or not. “It was an arrangement of sorts. A match planned by my grandfather. I was young and naive and wanted to respect his wishes.”
“Even though you didn’t love her?”
He glanced back at Andrea, wondering if the whiskey impelled her to ask so many questions. “I would have made it work, could have looked past all of her faults … save one.” He began stabbing roughly at the fire.
“She was unfaithful.” Andrea whispered the words as if it was an act impossible to comprehend.
Hunter sighed and stared into the flames. “John Paul.” He tried to sound indifferent, though it hurt to think about it even now. “As it turned out, she was everything I despise in women.”
Andrea remained quiet as if pondering in her mind the type of woman that would choose John Paul over Hunter. “That makes it sound like you despise all women,” she finally said.
He did not answer. Instead he poked again at the wood, sending a cascade of sparks up the chimney.
“U-m-m, the fire feels good.”
Appreciating her attempt to change the subject, Hunter turned around and gave her a smile. “Getting warm?”
“On the inshide and the outshide.”
“Looks like you’ve had enough to drink.”
Andrea returned his smile and stretched out on the rug, causing Hunter’s heart to involuntarily thump against his chest. Reaching toward the bed, he threw a pillow in her direction.
“You comfortable?” He propped himself on one elbow beside her and concentrated on the fire flickering in front of him.
“I wish I could feel like this forever.” She lay on her back staring at the ceiling with the blanket wrapped tightly around her.
“Like what?”
“Warm. Safe. Secure.”
Hunter laughed and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling as well. “You’re the only woman I know that could feel safe and secure locked away in the middle of nowhere in a violent storm with the enemy.”
Andrea opened her eyes and turned her head toward him. “The enemy?”
“Last time I checked there was a war going on.” He lifted himself up on one arm and downed a cup of the amber liquid. “You’ve not been unclear about telling me that I’m the—”
Andrea put her fingers to his lips. “Not here. I don’t want there to be any war tonight.” Then she lay back and stared upward again.
“You can’t make it go away by wishing it away.” Hunter laughed. “I’m at a loss to know which is greater, your will or your imagination. You are determined not to see the world as it really is.”
Andrea smiled. “You should try it, Colonel. Because imagination or not, I fear we are stuck here tonight and as good as a million miles from the savage world of war. So what is the harm in pretending it does not exist?”
He gazed at her angelic face, contemplating her rationale.
“You see? Can you believe it, Colonel?”
Hunter quickly shifted his eyes to stare indifferently at the fire. “Believe what?”
“That we can have a civil conversation with one another. Talk without one or the other giving or taking offense.”
“Actually, it’s long been among my wishes,” he said wistfully, “but realistically not one of my expectations.”
“I know.” She sighed deeply. “I have incurred your displeasure countless times.”
He smiled. “And I, yours.”
“Perhaps less often than you think, sir.”
“Well to tell you the truth, you are displeasing me right now.”
Andrea turned her head toward him. “I am?”
“Yes. If you insist there is no war, then I must insist you call me by my given name. Which, in case you did not know, is not Colonel. Nor is it Commander. And it is not sir.”
Andrea looked at him questioningly and then smiled. “Fair enough … Alex.”
Hunter swallowed hard in response to the surge of warmth his name on her lips produced. Was it the alcohol that caused this confusing sensation? Or had he seen something in her eyes before she turned away?
“And this does not frighten you?” He shifted his gaze from the fire to the serene look on her face as she lay with closed eyes. “Being alone with me?”
There was no pause before she answered. “Of course not. I trust you.”
Hunter watched her eyes fly open the instant the words left her mouth, seeming to be as startled to have said them aloud as he was to hear them.
“You trust me?” With his face just inches from hers, he probed her green eyes for answers.
She remained silent a moment as if searching for the right words as her eyes flicked across his face. “The only fault I can find is the color of your uniform, but you wear it with honor.” She paused and swallowed hard as if admitting this fact to herself for the first time. “I have no reason not to trust an honorable man.”
Hunter’s chest rose with a deep, shaky breath. “Your trust may be ill advised. An honorable man would not think wh
at I am thinking.”
He meant the statement to diffuse a precarious situation, but it did not work. Instead, he found it necessary to avert his gaze from Andrea, because she appeared to be wearing the expression he’d wished to see all day. Hunter tried to concentrate on the flickering flames of the fire rather than those two green eyes that suddenly held so much acceptance.
“We are from two worlds,” he finally said, reminding himself of their loyalties and obligations. He swallowed hard again, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. From the very core of his soul, he strove to resist the temptation to touch her, or even look at her again—afraid if he did, sparks would fly.
“You speak as Hunter the soldier,” Andrea said, her voice strangely soft. “Not as Hunter the man.” She lifted her hand to his face, touched the rough stubble on his chin with her fingertips, then moved her hand to his hair, as if it was something she had long desired to feel.
Hunter blinked at the contact and gave an involuntary shudder. His breathing came faster now, his chest rising and falling with the effort. He grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Andrea, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Their eyes locked. “Teach me.”
A flash of lightning lit up the room at that moment, and for an instant Hunter saw her face clearly in the brilliant light. Her eyes were no longer big and innocent. They were seductive and enchanting and intoxicating, made even more so under the influence of the fire’s soft glow.
“We are at peace?” Hunter’s pulse throbbed as he waited for an answer. Blood tingled and burned in every vein. He struggled to breathe without gasping.
Andrea did not bother to answer with words. She placed her trembling fingers upon his shoulders, touching the soft skin stretched taut across hard muscles. Hunter flinched and moaned softly, the contact almost more than he could endure. With a reverent movement of his hand, the quilt fell away, and there was suddenly flesh on flesh, pounding heart upon pounding heart. With the barrier of war lifted, the long-restrained powder keg ignited into flame.
* * *
Hunter awoke to a sense of deep, inexplicable peace. He lay in silent contemplation, staring at the flickering glow of the dying fire, intensely aware of the beat of another heart against his own.
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 38