Andrea began to fully grasp what was happening. The pain and grief that had consumed her in all her year’s past were nothing compared to the agony his news brought her now.
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again and spoke calmly with the same veil of detachment she had relied upon so many times before. “And you’ve told your men.” It was a statement. She saw everything clearly now.
“Yes. I’ve told the men.”
“And that is why the wedding was hurried.”
“It was selfish, I suppose.” He nodded sadly. “But I wanted you, desperately, to be my wife, to give you my name before I—”
Andrea’s gaze drifted away from his and rested on her wedding gown, her mind unable to accept that a mourning gown would soon take its place. She dismissed the thought and turned back toward him. “You are in much pain?” Her tone conveyed concern, though she stared intently at the bedpost now, suddenly unable to look into his eyes.
“Little, save the thought of parting from you.” His voice trembled as he squeezed her hand.
Andrea dared not move her lips nor try to speak lest she should give away her despair. This man was dearer to her than life. She could not live without him.
“It is all right to cry, Andrea.”
The room fell silent for a moment and then a strident wail of indescribable anguish arose that would smote the heart of anyone who heard it. “Please Lord! N-o-o-o-o!”
Andrea laid her head on his chest and sobbed, unable to comprehend that after four, long years of war, and all of the obstacles between them, a single, tiny piece of lead could be responsible for tearing his mortal soul from hers.
“Dear Andrea.” Alex stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I promised myself I would never be the cause of pain in your eyes again, and I have failed.”
Andrea took a deep breath then and raised her head, resigning herself to the fate in store for him. Her eyes cleared of their tears, though she stared into space replaying in her mind the events of that fateful day and the role she had played. “You have not failed,” she said, reassuringly, “but perhaps if I had—”
“There is nothing you could have done,” Alex interrupted her. “I am thankful my men—and you—were spared.”
“It is little to me that I am spared if you are not!”
“Stop it, Andrea!” He grabbed her hand. “What I did, I could do no less for Virginia… for my men. It was a matter of honor… and duty to God and country.”
Andrea looked down at him in agony. “Your duty to God and country is to stay alive! What amount of honor can account for a dead husband?” She pushed herself away, stood, and paced restlessly. “Oh, give them the blasted victory! Give them the blasted triumph!” She stopped in front of him. “Give me my husband!”
“Do not be sad, Andrea. I cannot bear it.”
“Do not be sad? You test too soon my resolve to obey,” she whimpered, recalling her wedding vows. “Alex, my love, you are my life!
“Promise me you will not allow this to inflict a deadlier wound in you,” he said somewhat sternly. “You must go on without me.”
Andrea sat down beside him, cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward, her eyes bedewed with tears. “But how can I, Alex?” she sobbed, feeling her own life draining from her. “How can I?”
“In death or in life, I am yours,” he said huskily, taking her in his arms and comforting her like a child. “Forever. Remember? Neither time nor distance can change our love.”
Andrea laid her head upon his breast and wept again.
He too shed a tear as he held his wife tightly to his bosom and allowed himself, for just a moment, to think about what could have been.
* * *
Carter, who had started up the stairs to check on the Colonel’s condition, heard the unearthly sound of Andrea’s cry and retreated, his own heart immersed in similar misery. He shivered at the thought of facing her, of trying to console one whose pain would be too profound for comfort of any kind. What will I say to one so young? One who is destined to be at once a bride and a widow?
After pacing restlessly, he heard the closing of the chamber door above and watched, with hat in hand, as she descended the stairs slowly and gracefully. Her eyes, swollen and red from grief, appeared dry now, and he sighed with relief. She seemed to have gotten over the initial shock, had accepted the news with a courage and strength typical of her nature. This was a young lady capable of handling her husband’s impending death with the deportment and distinguished character of one thrice her years.
“Mrs. Hunter,” Carter said when she reached the bottom stair. “I am sorry.”
When she did not answer or acknowledge his presence, he touched her arm, though he knew his words would be useless. “Andrea, I am here for you. I will help you bear it.”
Carter knew she heard him, because her head rose a little higher and her hand tightened somewhat frantically on the banister post. She still refused to meet his gaze, continued to look beyond him in an effort to hide her feelings of helplessness and suppress the agony in her heart.
The fight was an admirable one, but the battle raging within her to maintain her self-control caused her body to tremble violently. Carter watched her swallow forcefully, as if trying to conquer the feelings that threatened to overpower her. When she turned her eyes upon him, he beheld the lost-looking gaze of a distraught, frightened child.
“His loss will be death to me,” she whispered. “I do not care to bear it.” She barely uttered the final word when her body gave into the anguish. She crumpled to the floor like a soldier who had been suddenly struck down by an unseen bullet.
As Carter gathered the small, unmoving frame into his arms and yelled panic-stricken for the doctor in the next room, he knew his worst fear was coming true. A single bullet was going to come precariously close to extinguishing two lives: one of whom had devoted his all to his country, the other whom had devoted her all to him.
Chapter 70
“I honour’d him, I lov’d him;
And will weep my date of life out, for his sweet life’s loss.”
– King John, Shakespeare
Andrea watched the progressing shadows creep steadily and silently across the lawn with increasing dismay. Her husband was fading fast. She read it in the ashen coloring of his face and saw it reflected in his pain-filled eyes. The dread of what was to come felt like a weight increasing its burden upon her shoulders with every waking moment.
Yet Alex had rallied his strength and been strong this day—or at least pretended to be for Andrea’s sake. In the soft glow of the setting sun, they were even now wrapped together in a blanket on a couch on the balcony, drowsing in the peaceful shelter of each other’s arms. Andrea lay wishing in vain she could suspend time itself so the shadows of an unwelcome dusk would linger a little longer in their journey across the lawn.
But already the hasty sun was plunging behind the trees, taking with it the precious minutes and precious seconds of another precious day. The sands of time were running, and like the lengthening shadows on the lawn, Andrea was helpless to stop them. Every moment, the earthly ties that bound them grew stronger. Yet every moment, she knew he was fading further away.
Sighing heavily, Andrea listened to the slow, steady beating of his heart as he held her in the strong, possessive circle of his arms. Although the thumping meant precious life, the heartbeats also ticked off valuable time, making every one of them doubly precious now. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to remember every sacred feature of him—his smell, the feel of his arms, the warmth of his skin on hers.
“What are you thinking, darling?” he asked sleepily.
Andrea remained silent a moment. “I was thinking how very happy I am.”
Alex raised his head and gazed down at her. You don’t look happy,” he said, studying her eyes before lowering his head again and sighing. “You will remember what we shared, won’t you?”
Now it was A
ndrea who lifted her head. “Oh, Alex! Yes! Forever!
“But,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “I hope you do not allow my memory to darken your future peace.”
Andrea’s heart lurched. She could tell by the tone of his voice he was troubled. “These days, these moments—how few they may be—will sustain me for the rest of my life. Please don’t worry about my future peace.”
“You are but twenty, Andrea,” he countered, making an attempt to keep his voice indifferent, though it was clear he’d been thinking hard on the matter. “I understand, if you—”
“Never! Never!” Andrea placed her open hand on his cheek, tears spilling down her own. “I am yours now and through eternity! Oh, Alex, you do believe in God, do you not? You do know that I will see you again. That our love is too strong to die with its earthly bounds. That death and separation have no power over a love such as ours!”
He smiled weakly and brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “My dear, how can I not believe in God when he answered the only prayers ever I asked of Him?”
He took a deep breath and laid back, his eyes searching the sky. “And yes, I believe,” he finally said, a reticent look upon his face, “immortal love, whence it flows, can never die.”
Andrea laid her head back down upon his chest and he gently stroked her hair. “You know what else I believe?” he asked after a long silence.
“No, what?” she murmured, soaking in the feel of him.
“I believe heaven is a Virginia kind of place,” he said musingly. “And I shall be content there—to wait.” He stroked her cheek and gazed into her eyes. “Not patiently, not willingly mind you, but I will wait.”
“I wish I could go with you.” Andrea snuggled closer to him.
“Your duty is here.”
“Why can my duty not be with you?”
“You must stay and raise our son.”
Andrea lifted her head, thinking perhaps he was hallucinating with his pain. “You must have a sudden power of foresight unknown to me.” She gazed into eyes that appeared perfectly lucid.
Alex smiled and repeated words that were once spoken to him. “Some things are meant to be. And not even you in your folly can you keep them from happening. Remember?”
Andrea stared at him thoughtfully. “And this son,” she said, playing along since it brought a smile to his lips, “what shall be his name?”
“Daniel,” was the ready reply.
“Very well.” She kissed his cheek. “Daniel Alexander Hunter it shall be.”
Alex’s face radiated a look of magnificent trust, a look that implied he knew he had fulfilled his mission in life. He closed his eyes and sighed, a strangely peaceful expression upon his face as the lengthening shadows enveloped them.
“Oh, Alex, I wish we could stay like this forever,” Andrea whispered, snuggling against him again. “Our time is too short.”
“How much time would be enough, Andrea?”
She fell silent for a moment, her chest rising and falling in unison with his. “Never enough here,” she said quietly and with new resolve. “But what escapes us in this world, surely awaits us in the next.”
* * *
Andrea sat and watched the lamplight flicker in the night and then gazed at the gray morning crawling over the hills. Instinctively she knew the day she had dreaded had arrived.
Alex’s strength had vanished over the past few days, the effects of the infection noticeably consuming his vitality now. Most of the time he knew her and his dull eyes would follow her every move. But sometimes his gaze would lock in an unfocused stare and confused mutterings of orders and commands would ensue. The fire that love of liberty had lighted within him remained burning despite his deteriorating physical state.
“He grows restless without you,” Mattie said when Andrea entered the chamber after a brief absence.
“I am here, Alex.” Andrea stroked his brow to calm his murmuring. “I will not leave again.”
His cheeks were rosy with fever, but when he opened his lids and saw her, he seemed to rally and refuse more fervently to give in to the inevitable.
“Andrea.” He tried to smile. “I was dreaming, I think. I heard bells.”
Andrea looked up at Mattie who stood on the other side of the bed. “No, dear. You were not dreaming.”
“It is,” he paused and swallowed hard, “over then?” He turned his head slightly toward her and gave a dreary stare.
Andrea nodded and squeezed his hand.
“The Cause is lost?”
Andrea did not want to answer. She had left his bedside to receive word from Carter that Lee had surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia at Appomattox Courthouse. “The struggle was valiant,” was all she said.
Alex’s fingers closed around the blankets on the bed as if a surge of pain passed through him. “Then I shall die on a glorious day.” He took a deep breath. “I suppose.”
Andrea bowed her head, knowing he would have preferred to die on the battlefield than live to witness such an end to the war. She placed her hand on his shoulder and answered his next question before he asked it. “Major Carter disbanded the men. They did not choose to surrender.”
He gazed up at her and a peaceful look crossed his face. “No,” he said, closing his eyes, “my men would never surrender.”
“They wished you to have this.” She placed a small fragment of cloth in his hand and closed his fingers around it. “It’s a remnant of your battle flag. Each man of the Command has a piece.”
“They are good men,” he murmured. “Tell them—”
He never finished the sentence. Andrea watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, and could not resist pressing a kiss of love upon his feverish lips.
Slowly he opened his eyes. “A gloomy peace this morning with it brings,” he said weakly.
“The sun, for sorrow, will not show its head,” she responded, softly touching his cheek as a lone tear spilled down her own. She could feel his pulse weakening, knew his heart was wearying of its mission—while hers writhed in its cage, revolting against the hours and years that lay ahead.
Andrea stared at the shadows on the wall cast by the rising sun, and listened sullenly to a clock ticking with merciless persistence in her ears. She kept a vigil on his restless sleep in voiceless agony, suffering as he suffered, and waiting as he waited. Her eyes roamed the room as she forced her thoughts to the joyous and passionate moments of her short marriage, trying to ignore the smell of medicine and suffering and death.
When again Alex opened his eyes some hours later, they were no longer burning with the gray intensity Andrea remembered. They reflected a helpless look of acknowledgment that he knew his physical strength was giving out. Andrea knew she was gazing upon a life losing a valiant endeavor to combat death.
“I won’t… be far… Andrea,” he murmured, barely moving his lips. His face was calm as his gaze rested longingly upon her. Andrea leaned forward, her very life depending on hearing every word. She held her breath and waited for him speak, waited for him to take another breath. Waited for what seemed a lifetime before he did.
“You are all to me, Andrea.”
Despite his physical weakness, she could still hear the adoration in his voice. New tears welled in Andrea’s eyes, but she forced them away. Though she yearned to scream and hold him and beg him to stay, she nerved herself to endure these last painful moments bravely. She did not wish him to suffer any longer. She must let him go.
Alex took a deep, quivering breath and gazed directly into her eyes. “I will … wait … for you there.”
Andrea knew it was the last time she would hear him speak, knew it was the last time his knightly hand would clasp hers. His pulse began to stagger and fade. She felt him sliding away from her, though through it all he wore an expression of utter calm.
“As promised, Alex, I give you to Virginia and God,” she whispered, pushing a dampened curl from his forehead. “Until we meet again—”
Only
a few moments later she felt his life leave him. Although she held him tighter and tighter, trying to shield him from the Angel of Death, it was not to be.
In her arms, he yielded his life without a struggle, without fear, his precious gray eyes fixed on hers to the end.
* * *
Andrea sat motionless on her husband’s bed after the funeral, tearless now, yet sobbing in hopeless agony.
How could but the span of a week bring with it so much joy and so much pain? Be so phenomenally good and miraculously bad?
How could a woman be a blushing bride one moment and a grieving widow the next?
How could she be here and he not?
Already she missed him; missed his strong presence, his reassuring voice, his gentle hands and comforting strength.
Her eyes drifted to the gray coat that lay folded over a chair by the bed. Her empty stare lingered on it long before she leaned over and touched it. She picked it up then, and ran her hand across the battered cloth before bringing it to her face and inhaling deeply the manly scent that lingered there. She felt somehow closer to him holding the material under which his heroic heart had throbbed for four long years. Beneath this mere collection of fibers his blood had surged in victory and defeat, and clinging still to its gray threads was the very spirit of Him. He was a magnificent man in uniform; even more magnificent in soul. Courageous. Dauntless. Gallant. Bold. Surely too grand to be mortal. Yet he was gone.
Thrusting her arms into the coat, Andrea pulled it closely around her, and slumped down to the floor, crying again, though she had thought she had no more tears to shed. “Oh, Alex,” she whimpered, clutching it around her and burying herself in its folds. “Come back to me!”
As her hand passed over a pocket, she felt a small lump. Blinking through blinding tears, she withdrew an envelope and recognized his writing: To my wife. She trembled as she unfolded the paper and read:
My dearest Andrea,
How my pen trembles as I picture you in your pain and vainly seek the words that will console you now and in the journey that lies ahead.
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 53