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

by Jessica James

  Hunter turned away. He had a duty to perform. He did not look back. He could not.

  * * *

  The sound of a horse galloping at breakneck speed broke the silence in Andrea’s chamber. She sat on the bed with trembling hands and closed her eyes in anticipation of what was to come. Within moments she heard the loud clank of spurs, and then his voice outside her door.

  “Andrea, we need to talk.” The doorknob jiggled, and then Hunter pounded the wooden barrier with his fist. “Confound it, Andrea! I’m going to put my horse away, and when I return, this door had better be unlocked—or I’m coming through!”

  His fist—or his head—hit the door in exasperation one last time before his spurs retreated down the hall. Andrea heard him pause at the stairway, as if looking back, before his footsteps faded away.

  Even after the passage of two days, she was too ashamed to face him. Her only choice was to leave Hawthorne. For two days she’d been convincing herself of the necessity of that action; for two days she’d put it off.

  Gazing out the window, her eyes fell upon a group of superbly mounted Confederate officers riding up the drive at a brisk trot. Hunter walked toward the horsemen, a look of surprise and annoyance clearly visible upon his countenance.

  After greeting Hunter with formal stiffness, the entire entourage moved toward the house. Andrea sat down on the bed, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. She would have a slightly longer reprieve than expected.

  Rocking back and forth in nervous contemplation, Andrea found her thoughts interrupted by the sound of voices below. When she stood and walked toward the fireplace, the voices grew even louder. Realizing the visitors had been taken to the parlor beneath her, she knelt by the hearth.

  “We need that train, the gold, and the payroll, Colonel Hunter,” a loud voice said. Andrea matched it in her mind with a heavily bearded colonel she had seen outside.

  “Supplies are in dire shape,” another replied. “It’s imperative we get that shipment.”

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’ve received word of a wagon train of medical supplies expected to go through around the same time.” Hunter sounded none too polite. “Considering the scarcity of medicine and the suffering of our wounded, I find that a more reasonable prize.”

  The next words were unrecognizable because whoever spoke had moved away from the fireplace.

  “Perhaps you do not understand, Colonel Hunter,” the officer’s voice grew distinct. “This directive comes from General Lee. I am merely the messenger.”

  “The gold is coming straight from the U.S. paymaster,” another voice said. “You and your men will have easy pickings at Martin’s Crossing.”

  “Easy pickings? I do not believe you know the nature of the business. If the train is carrying payroll it will be heavily guarded. Already, there is not a quarter mile between pickets and a mile between camps!”

  It sounded like Hunter was pacing, for his voice grew strong and then so weak Andrea barely made out his words. “The wagon train of medical supplies is coming right through Madison. The success of its capture is almost guaranteed.”

  “We trust you can find a way to take the train, Colonel. You always do.”

  “Your trust will do nothing to protect the lives of my men!” Hunter’s reverberating voice caused Andrea to back out of the fireplace. “Taking that train will take all that I have and then some.”

  “We have orders to provide you with whatever you need.”

  Hunter’s words became muffled again, but she heard the final part. “. . . the medicine is worth its weight in gold to those who are suffering.”

  “You have your orders, Colonel. See that they are carried out.”

  Andrea stood and paced too, gnawing on a fingernail. Her heart raced so violently she could hear it pulsing in her ears. “I have the date and near location of a raid—”

  These thoughts, and many others, flew through her mind so fast and fleetingly she could scarcely keep up. Oh, why? Why did I have to hear this information?

  Andrea stopped and held her head in her hands. Her conscience drew her in one direction, duty in another. How had the lines of obligation suddenly become so blurred and allegiances so distorted?

  How could she do this?

  How could she not?

  Was it not divine providence that she overheard the conversation? Was it not divine providence she was leaving anyway? Yet Andrea yearned for a sign to guide her in determining what course to take. She no longer knew what was right or wrong; no longer knew who was right or wrong. Confronted with these two mighty, opposing convictions, she wondered what Hunter would do in her shoes.

  Then her decision was made.

  If all went as planned, he would never be the wiser. It was a calculated risk, but one she was willing to take. She must go. Succeed or fail, it was her duty to try. And succeed or fail, Hunter would never know of her involvement one way or the other.

  All she needed now was one quick glance at a map, the detailed, hand-drawn one of the area she had seen him studying once with Carter. With the slamming of the door downstairs and the sound of boots on the porch, her plan was launched. Hunter would no doubt be leaving tonight. And she would be right behind him.

  Running out the door and leaving it open, Andrea headed for the back stairs. She knew Hunter would not be long in coming, yet she never dreamed he would be up the main stairs and standing in her doorway before she was even halfway down the other.

  “Andrea!” She heard him enter the room. She stopped, pressed herself against the wall in the narrow stairwell, and held her breath.

  “Damn it!” Her door slammed shut with a resounding bang.

  “Alex, you’re home!” Victoria’s shrill voice filled the hallway.

  Andrea let go of her breath and smiled.

  “Where is Andrea?”

  Victoria snorted. “You think me in her confidence?”

  “Mattie!” Hunter bellowed, his voice like thunder. The servant’s footsteps sounded instantaneously. “Have Zach hang the red banner and saddle Dixie. Then report to me in my study. I have some dispatches I need you to give the courier when he arrives.”

  “Darling, you just got here,” Victoria moaned. “You’re not leaving already, are you?”

  Knowing Victoria would keep him occupied for the few minutes she needed, Andrea continued down the stairs and headed toward the library. Proceeding to Hunter’s desk, she pulled out the map and glanced at the landmarks she could use to guide her. Her hands shook as she hurriedly refolded the map, placing it back in the drawer.

  Without warning, she heard Victoria’s voice right outside the library door, then the sound of the doorknob turning. She slipped out the French door into the garden as the sound of Hunter’s spurs filled the room behind her. Not until she was safe from view did she remember she had neglected to close the desk drawer.

  Taking her time, Andrea walked through the garden and then around to the front of the house, pretending to be returning from the barn. As she made her way up the steps of the porch, Victoria and Alex appeared at the door.

  “I don’t understand why you have to leave—” Victoria stopped speaking when Hunter stopped walking. “Miss Evans.”

  “Colonel Hunter.” Andrea nodded as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired between them. She continued toward the door, but he caught her arm. “I’d like to have a word.”

  “Yes,” she said, her gaze settling on Victoria, “I can see that is a high priority for you.” Wrestling free from his grasp, Andrea resumed her journey into the house. She did not get far. Before making it up the stairs, he was beside her again.

  “You will allow me the honor of a word?” Hunter’s voice was anything but calm. He placed his hand on hers as it rested on the banister to emphasize his intent.

  Andrea did not answer, but did not refuse. With regret, she thought how soon she would be leaving, never to feel that strong hand again.

  “I am called to duty. I ask that you stay until I retur
n … until we talk.”

  Andrea looked up at him, wondering how he so easily read her thoughts. She turned away again and spoke to nothingness, though she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “If you wish it of me.”

  “I should not be gone long.” His tone was unusually low and strained. Andrea thought she heard a tremor in it. “Two days at the most.”

  “Two days,” she repeated, feigning that every minute at Hawthorne would be agony.

  “Andrea.” Hunter put his hand on her shoulder and spoke in a tone that made her heart thump violently. The tremor she suspected before was clearly evident now. “I regret deeply any pain I caused you.”

  Andrea pretended to be unaffected by his gentle and sincere manner—or his words.

  “Will that be all, sir?” She turned her head back toward him, but successfully masked all emotion.

  “Yes.” He sighed, his eyes revealing a hint of suffering. “That will be all.”

  Chapter 52

  “Make yourself ready for the mischance of the hour.”

  – The Tempest, Shakespeare

  Feeling more dismay than disappointment, Hunter loped up the drive to Hawthorne, his mind occupied with the events that had unfolded on the ill-fated train raid.

  As expected, the tracks had been heavily guarded. But he had not anticipated the arrival of two additional regiments of enemy cavalry on the night of the attack, a complication that resulted in the ultimate failure of the enterprise and the complete demoralization of his men. One killed, five wounded, three captured, and no gold or bounty of any kind. The raid was a catastrophe.

  But his mind was preoccupied with other thoughts as well. His heart ached at the image of Andrea ascending the stairs after their last brief conversation. She had refused to look him in the eye, had gone back to calling him “sir.” No action or word of hers disclosed they had ever shared intimacy, and it pierced him to know she regretted they had.

  He felt her drifting farther away every minute, sensed she was pulling the cloak of her isolation more firmly around her. The door was closing again between them, and he feared it would soon be locked and barred against further intrusion.

  Hunter inhaled deeply. He intended to do everything in his power to keep that from happening. By revealing all, he planned to put an end to the blessed uncertainty between them. Dismounting at the barn, he glanced up at her window. He would confess all that he no longer had the will to restrain, and then certainly she would not leave. How they would resolve their conflicting loyalties he did not know, but it did not matter. He loved her, and she loved Hawthorne, and somehow, some way, everything else would work out.

  His optimism brought a smile to his lips. It was so much more like her than him.

  Hunter handed his mare over to Zach, then noticed Justus had worked himself into a sweat. He paused in front of his stall. “What’s the matter, boy,” he said, tapping the stallion tentatively on the nose. “Those old girls teasing you again?”

  Staring at the horse through the bars of the stall, his slight smile faded as a deep feeling of foreboding closed in on him. The stallion did not seem agitated by the mares in the barn. Rather, he appeared somewhat subdued. Tired. And though he had obviously been groomed, the faint outline of a saddle could still be seen. Hunter recognized the horse had been ridden hard, and had not been back long.

  Standing spellbound, Hunter felt his hands tighten on the bars of the stall as his mind absorbed what his soul already knew. He blinked and blinked again, like a man trying to come to terms with his own mortal wound.

  Hunter closed his eyes and rested his head against his hand. No matter how he tried to alter the possibilities, the same conclusion stared him in the face. As the minutes ticked by, the pain of the revelation intensified, and the rage that blossomed from the pain grew proportionately extreme.

  The drum of blood in his temples almost blinded Hunter as he stormed out of the barn toward the house. Anger, disappointment, and disgust at her duplicity swept over him and became master of him. His theory on what had transpired took possession of his thoughts and obliterated every other possibility.

  This now was war. War with no quarter, no flag of truce, and no negotiations! She had laid the ground rules. Now she must live by them.

  * * *

  Andrea sat with a book on her lap, but she was not reading. She was thinking about the ride from which she had returned and wrestling with what she had done.

  Tossing the book aside, she stood and paced, then sat again and stared into space. Her mission, she believed, had been a success. Yet so deep was her guilt, she could not feel exultant. This constant blurring of lines between obligation and allegiance made her feel only remorse for her actions, edging toward frantic regret.

  Putting her face in her hands a moment, Andrea shook her head. She felt compelled to explain to Hunter what she had done and why. But how could she? She was not sure she knew herself.

  She sighed and leaned back in despair. Right or wrong, the deed was done. There was no way to take it back. She had done what she felt was right, with her heart as her guide.

  Why then did she feel so despicable?

  Andrea was so deeply absorbed in her thoughts, she never heard Hunter ride in. Only when the door slammed shut below, followed by his spurred boots clanking up the steps, did she realize he was home. The echo of his heavy tread in the hall sounded ominous, causing her to feel a foreshadowing of something dreadful to come.

  When her door flew open, Andrea jumped in surprise. When she saw the look on Hunter’s face, her surprise redoubled. He glared at her with a look of vengeance, his expression suggesting insensate passion and fury. Standing in the doorway, legs spread, fists clenched, he appeared desperate and violent, like a great warrior ready to do battle.

  Andrea gasped, but otherwise controlled her emotions as she swept her eyes over him. Had he been standing on a battlefield, surrounded by the enemy, he could not look more warlike or less human.

  The room grew gravely quiet. “Beautiful sunrise this morning, was it not, Miss Evans? Perhaps you had a chance to witness it before your return.”

  Andrea swallowed convulsively, yet she did not speak. Breathing seemed to be the only ability she possessed, and even that took great effort.

  When she did not answer, Hunter slammed the door behind him and strode across the room like an angry bull. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he picked her up out of the chair and shook her like a rag doll.

  “Does your bitterness, your hatred, your desire for revenge run so deep? Could you not allow me the opportunity to explain my actions before taking your treacherous retribution?”

  Andrea tried to answer, but he shook her so violently her teeth rattled. She stared into the black anger gleaming from his eyes. Though he had always appeared to her the image of massive power, today that power was frightening.

  “I do not understand,” she managed to say despite the sudden thickness in her throat.

  “Do not understand?” Hunter let her go, stepped back, and looked at her incredulously. “My men were ambushed on the way to a raid last night, Miss Evans, and I have a sneaking suspicion you are more knowledgeable about what transpired than I.”

  “Ambushed? But … I …” She stopped, not wishing to risk a long sentence until her voice was under control again.

  “But what, Andrea? You warned them of the raid and did not expect them to go on the offensive? I believe you know battle tactics better than that!”

  Andrea tried to remain calm so she could explain what she had done and why, but Hunter’s anger was so intense, his look one of such pitiless contempt, she feared what he might do.

  She remembered what his men had said about him in battle, and now she knew what they meant. The ferocity that possessed him when in the presence of the enemy had apparently overcome him now. His actions, his face, even his voice, were no longer familiar to her. “I-I-I—”

  “Are words suddenly stricken from your tongue, Miss Evans? It’s so very unlike
you to be speechless.” His voice, as cold as the steel of the two guns he still wore, was more effective at stripping Andrea of courage than if he had actually struck her. She could more easily pull the trigger of a gun aimed at her own breast than face him now.

  “Colonel, I—”

  He turned away, the action sufficient to stop her in mid-sentence. The room filled with silence, save his rapid, ragged breath.

  “Did you lose any men?” Andrea pushed the words from her throat.

  Hunter made a strange, angry noise that would be hard to conceive by anyone who has never heard the growl of a wounded bear. He whirled back around to face her, disdain shining from his liquid-gray eyes. “Of course I lost men! That was your intent was it not?”

  His voice had taken on the intensity of thunder. Trembling, caused by suppressed rage, shook his frame. Andrea began experiencing a strange choked feeling in which she could not talk or think, or even feel. If she had it all to do over again she would not go. To hell with sacred duty!

  “Your talent for deception is remarkable,” Hunter said, jarring her from her thoughts. “But how could I have envisioned what deceit Yankee ingenuity could devise when you stood before me with a palm branch in one hand and the sword of vengeance in the other?”

  It was not a question that required an answer. It was instead a statement that demanded an explanation. But Andrea could not speak. Instead, she listened to his insults with her eyes closed. I deserve this, she thought to herself. This is war. Yes, this is war, J.J. … And it is no game.

  “You came here with nothing but treachery in your heart!” Hunter pointed his finger in her face like a pistol. “You would use any means to get what you wanted, wouldn’t you?”

  His words penetrated Andrea’s heart. Even though his voice was no longer raised, the tone carried a cutting, painful edge. She felt her body wilting like a flower too long without water under a merciless sun.

  “Have you nothing to say?” Hunter bellowed as if shouting orders in the din of battle. Andrea’s lips parted, but failed again in speech. Her eyes dropped and beheld the sight of the clenched fists he held close to his side, both of them shaking.