Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (12 page)

“Was Sinclair on the black horse?” J.J.’s voice
did not mask the concern he felt at the fact that she had once again thrown
caution, and all else, aside.

“No. He ran into some of my men on patrol and
borrowed one of theirs.”

J.J. glanced at Daniel again and knew they were
both thinking the same thing: Justus would still have been fresh. That she had
used some foresight in anticipating the Rebel cavalry would be on the lookout
for a big, black horse, did little to ease their anxiety.

After the general excused himself, Daniel and
J.J. remained in his office, one gazing out the window, the other pacing
restlessly back and forth. “I fear she will do something foolish,” Daniel said.

“In all likelihood she already has.” His friend
did not try to hide his apprehension.

“Why does she do it, John? What possesses her?”

J.J. stopped pacing for a moment. “I’ve tried,
with little success, to find that out myself. All I can determine is she has a
recollection of wrongs suffered and a desire to set them right.”

“It must end,” Daniel said. “She’s not eaten and
hardly slept for two days.”

J.J. turned to face him. “Land’s sakes, man! You
should know by now she doesn’t have to eat or sleep. She feeds on danger and
thrives on risk. And I swear to you,” he added through gritted teeth, “if she
makes it back alive, I’ll kill her with my own two hands.”

“Not if I get to her first,” Daniel said,
watching raindrops gathering in intensity on the glass.

By the time the full report came up from the
scouts, the officers discovered they had even more to worry about. The column
Sinclair had fallen in with was Stuart’s. But the report said Hunter and his
men were expected to join up with them by nightfall. Whether Sinclair knew that
detail, they had no way of knowing. But it was clear if she did not get out by
dark, she may not get out at all, because she would be in the midst of two of
the most dangerous, ruthless, quick-striking forces in the entire Confederate
army.

* * *

Andrea sat huddled by a smoky fire in the
pouring rain with her tired and soaked new comrades. The storm, which moved in
quickly, had been a blessing. Riding with their heads down against the
onslaught, the Confederates took no notice of the new rider in their ranks, and
the rain slicker she now wore helped her blend in.

Andrea’s gaze shifted from the fire to the men
around her. There were some in their prime; some well past. All looked like
they had not eaten for quite some time and that sleep had been scarcer than
food. They obviously suffered from the wet and cold, yet all looked ready to fight.
Andrea remembered she also had not eaten for quite some time and concluded that
the prospects of getting a meal here looked slim. Furthermore, she was
exhausted from the lack of sleep of the past two days and scolded herself for
not resting when she had the chance last night.

So far, no one appeared to suspect her. Most,
she surmised, were too miserable to even notice her. But her walk through the
encampment had done little to uncover any intelligence of where this cavalry
unit might be heading next.

Sitting on a log turned on its end, Andrea
faintly heard the door of the farmhouse behind her slam shut. She was unaware
of anyone approaching until she felt a strong hand squeezing her shoulder with
the strength of a bear. It was apparently a friendly gesture, but she knew she
would not forget the power in that hand as long as she lived.

“At ease, men,” a deep, ringing voice said, as
the men around her began to struggle to their feet. “Just came down to invite
you up to the porch if you’d like. Get out of the rain for a spell.”

Andrea felt a tingle of fear run the length of
her spine. She knew by the devoted looks on the faces around her that the man
behind her was General J.E.B. Stuart. She tried to keep from breathing in short
gasps as Stuart continued making small talk with the men, his hand still
resting on her shoulder.

“Might take you up on that, Gen’ral,” one said.

“There’s a barn down the road a piece too, if
any of you boys want to hunker down there for the night. We’ll be moving out at
dawn.”

A courier appeared with a dispatch, and Stuart
went down on one knee by the smoky fire to read it. As he stood, Andrea turned
her head away to avoid meeting his gaze. Seeming not to notice, he nodded to
the group of men, patted her on the shoulder again as though she were an old
friend, and headed back toward the house.

Andrea
followed the others, and after a little nudging, found a small space to sit
down at the edge of the porch. The spot was barely shielded from the rain, but
she appreciated being out of the mud. Just as she settled in, the sound of
heavy footsteps and jingling spurs jolted her like a lightning bolt.

She knew without looking that it was him, sensed
his presence even before his indomitable figure came into view. Perhaps the
current that ran through the others on the porch caused the reaction. Or
perhaps it was the way he walked into her view, his form imposing and
commanding as he followed one of Stuart’s aides to the house. Striding toward
the porch with the bearing of a warrior, he removed his gloves while tramping
up the steps with neither a look to the left or the right. Men instantly
clamored out of his way, making a path that appeared to move before him like
the parting sea. Although he had said not a word, everyone seemed to know he
meant business.

Andrea herself was spellbound, only turning away
when she unintentionally made direct eye contact with the cigar-smoking
lieutenant who followed close behind. A sudden apprehension of death stirred in
Andrea’s soul when she glanced into those fighting eyes.

“Captain Hunter!” Stuart’s voice boomed from
within as the door opened. “You’re late. Out looking for that elusive fox of
yours?” The gallant Stuart laughed loudly as if he thought his friend’s
misfortunes a rather good joke.

“He’s got more holes than a prairie dog,” Hunter
answered, not sounding amused.

“I’ve no doubt you’ll sniff him out, my boy.
Don’t you worry; he’ll come out of his den into the jaws of Hunter yet.”

Andrea heard Hunter remove his rain slicker, and
soon after, the sound of rustling papers. There ensued a short silence as
Stuart apparently read an intercepted dispatch, followed by a deep, booming
laugh. “Captain Hunter, your name has become well known to the Union ranks, you
devil. They don’t seem to know which way to turn.”

“Your name is
mentioned as well. I can’t take all the credit for their panic.”

“Ha!”
Stuart’s voice boomed. “This Yankee officer says here, ‘I’d rather face a full
division of Jackson in my front than a dozen of Hunter’s men in my rear.’
The
Yankees have gotten a good deal of education at your hands—and paid high
tuition fees to boot!”

Andrea heard Stuart’s spurs clanking across the
room and the sound of a deep chuckle. “You’ve made quite a name for
yourself—highly deserved I might add.”

 “I don’t feel deserving. Not after yesterday.”

Andrea cringed and hoped no one noticed.

Stuart’s voice grew grave. “I heard you lost a
lieutenant.”

For a few minutes the conversation was spoken in
low tones, making it unintelligible to Andrea. Not long after, a rider galloped
up on a lathered horse and slid to a stop in front of the steps. Sweat began to
drip down Andrea’s shirt despite the growing cold.

“Cap’n Hunter in here?” The young man did not
wait for an answer. He proceeded up the steps two at a time, knocked once on the
door, and entered. The group on the porch grew quiet in anticipation of what
was to come. They did not have to listen hard. The voices inside carried well.

“What have you, Gus?” Hunter asked.

“Sir, I have reason to believe there is a Yankee
in our midst.”

Andrea stopped breathing altogether. She
listened and waited in silent suspense

“Go on, boy!” Stuart boomed.

“I watched a rider following the column earlier.
He didn’t reappear. This is the only place he could be.”

“You’re sure?” Captain Hunter’s voice carried as
he walked to the door. The sound of his approaching spurs caused convulsive
chills down Andrea’s spine.

“I’m sure, sir. I stayed out to make certain.”

The men stomped out the door and onto the porch.
“Inform all the pickets, no one in or out of this camp without our expressed
consent,” Hunter said to one of his men. Then Stuart yelled to one of his.
“Secure this camp! Make it so tight the ghost of Caesar cannot escape us!”

Stuart and Hunter walked off the porch still
talking and gesturing, each warrior looking formidable and impressive in his
own way, together creating an image that made Andrea’s blood run cold.

Dropping off the side of the porch, Andrea
leaned against the house in a deep shadow created by the chimney. Perhaps
Stuart was right, she thought, the hunted fox may be forced into the vengeful
jaws of Hunter yet. She shivered with inexplicable dread, then took a few deep
breaths and willed herself to calmness.
Think. Think
. She forced her
weary brain not to panic as she paced back and forth in the shadows.

First, she would need a horse, a fast one, a
mount that could be depended upon to be fresh. She could not risk her escape on
a steed already fatigued from hard riding. She scanned the yard where horses
were tied hither and yon. None looked especially fleet; most appeared wet and
miserable.

The realization of which horse she needed to
find—and take—brought a smile to her face. The comprehension of the difficulty
of getting her hands on it made the edges of her lips tremble.

And the smile disappeared.

Chapter
12

“When the mouse laughs at the cat, there is a hole nearby.”

– Chinese Proverb

Trying to move without raising any suspicion,
Andrea walked toward the barn, sticking her hands in her pockets and whistling
under her breath when soldiers were near. When she got close to the building,
she picked up her step to indicate urgency.

A camp guard stopped her, sounding more tired
than commanding. “What’s your business?”

“Get out of the way, man,” she said, her voice
full of impatience.  “Captain Hunter ordered me to get his horse.”

“Cap’n Hunter? He’s already on his haws.”

“I know that. He needs his second. The other
tripped in the dark and is lame. Hurry, man! He said he needs a fresh horse!”

The picket walked over to a sleeping soldier and
nudged him with his gun. “Dodge, git up and fetch the Cap’n a haws.”

The man sat up sleepily. “He’s got Fleetson.”

“Well, saddle up Stump. It’ll take but five
minutes.”

“No,” Andrea
yelled a little louder than she intended. “I haven’t that many seconds to
spare. Just show me the horse. The captain’s already got his saddle.”

“He’s that bay on the end of the picket line,”
the man who had been sleeping said. “Two white socks and a blaze. You one of
Stuart’s boys?”

“Yea,” Andrea said over her shoulder as she untied
the horse and headed away from the barn.

Andrea paid no heed to the pain in her ankle.
She walked fast, practically dragging the animal called Stump behind her.
“Stump,” she whispered to him. “What kind of lowlife name is that for the horse
of a cavalryman? Sounds like you should be pulling a hay wagon.”

Scrutinizing the horse in the shadows, Andrea
saw he was nearly the size and build of Justus, but he moved lethargically, and
with a name like Stump … well, she would soon find out.

The men guarding the rear entrance stared at
Andrea suspiciously so she continued walking, deciding to try her luck at the
farm’s main entrance. With both sides of the lane bordered by four-foot stone
walls, she would have only two directions to worry about a confrontation.
“Stump” would have to be relied upon to outrun anything she in her way.

“Why couldn’t your name be Lightning or Blitz,
for heaven sakes,” she mumbled while attaching the thick, hemp lead rope to the
horse’s halter for reins. She mounted by hopping on him from the bed of an
empty hay wagon. “Or Dazzle even, or—”

The moment Andrea touched his back, Stump became
a different horse. Perhaps he did not like her comment about pulling hay
wagons. Possibly he thought humans should not ride without saddles. Or maybe he
was simply taking on the characteristics of an ornery Rebel. In any event, he
hopped and skipped and pranced, first in one direction and then another, with a
sudden rebellious temper. Andrea used every ounce of her strength and skill to
move him toward the gate.

“Halt.” A sentinel stepped out in front of her
and grabbed the makeshift reins. “Where you think yer going?”

“Egads, man! Captain Hunter is clamoring for
this horse, and I’ve got to get it to him!” Andrea tried to sound
authoritative, but she was already out of breath.

“No one can pass through this gate without the
expressed consent of Cap’n Hunter or Gen’ral Stuart,” the whiskered old man
barked, repeating the commander’s order word for word.

“Captain Hunter gave his consent when he ordered
me to get this horse,” Andrea yelled. “He’s down that lane right now, sitting
on a dead lame horse, probably watching that spy get away while you’re holding
me up. Why are you carrying your gun that way anyhow? That’s no way for a
soldier to stand duty. What’s your name?”

“Pass on.” The man stepped aside.

Andrea kicked the horse, her spurs gouging into
his sides, urging him in a southward direction. But even with the aid of spurs,
the ornery animal did not seem to know in what direction to travel. He continued
instead to prance and spin within the confines of the stone walls.

After what seemed like miles, but was certainly
much less, the horse settled into a reasonably straight path. Reaching down to
pat his neck, Andrea took a deep sigh of relief—just before all of the blood
rushed out of her heart and pooled into a large coagulated glob in the pit of
her stomach.