Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (23 page)

Hunter did
not repeat the question, but stared at her countenance reflected in the warm
buttery light. She appeared tired, her eyes heavy with fatigue. Yet still they
glowed with the untamable spirit he knew lay hidden within. He wondered which
was worse, the battered being he had brought into his home or the caged animal
that now resided in the room adjoining to his.

She turned back toward the meadow that now
blushed in the soft glow of morning light. “It heals my soul,” she said of the
sun that shimmered like gold through the window. Then she glanced over her
shoulder shyly, as if embarrassed at having spoken aloud.

“I appreciate the new accommodations.”

Hunter found
himself speechless that she actually expressed words of appreciation. It
appeared that simple sunshine and the bountiful gifts of nature could nourish
her health in ways bed rest alone could not. If watching the sun come up each
morning was going to help warm the cold spirit that dominated her being, Hunter
was doubly glad the change in chambers had been made.

She interrupted
his thoughts in a tone that once again hinted at approbation.
“So this
is Hawthorne.”

“Yes.” Hunter followed her gaze to the fields
beyond. “I hope you approve.”

“How could I not? It seems I closed my eyes in
hell and woke up in paradise.”

Fearing the consequence of changing her mood
again, Hunter decided against asking her if she needed anything. He began
backing out the door to allow her to revel in the dawn of a new day.

“Who in the blazes decorated this room?”
Andrea’s gaze darted around for the first time in full light.

Hunter looked around too, as if seeing the red
rugs, lavish wall-hangings, and ornate full-length mirrors for the first time
himself. In fact, he had kept the room locked and not laid his eyes upon its
interior for at least three years now. “My former wife,” he said without
feeling. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to call for Mattie. I will not
be around today to provide company.”

“How very disappointing,” Andrea replied,
turning back to the window.

For once, Hunter could not tell if she was being
sincere or sarcastic, but decided on the latter before exiting the room.

* * *

Izzie arrived a short time later with food, and
Andrea ate voraciously of everything she brought. When finished, she thought
about her conversation with Hunter and tried to picture him married. Captain
Hunter? A wife? It did not seem possible.

“What happened to Mrs. Hunter?” Andrea asked
innocently as Izzie gathered up the dishes. For a moment, Andrea thought the
servant was going to drop the tray.

“Don’t ever mention Mistis ‘Lizabeth again!”
Izzie warned in a loud whisper, her eyes as big as the saucers she carried.

“I didn’t mention her name, you did,” Andrea
replied. “Where’d she go? Did he kill her and bury the body in one of the
fields?”

 “Mistis Andrea, you stop speakin’ like that!”
Dishes clattered on the tray with her shaking hands. “She just gone. Dat’s all.
Now don’t ever ask agin!”

Andrea shrugged her shoulders and looked around
a second time at her new surroundings. French doors, sided by two large windows
with deep sills opened onto a warm balcony that faced the rising sun. Oaks, at
least a century old, stood right outside her window, though they did not block
a spectacular view of the fenced pastures, fields, and valleys that rose gently
to reach the hills farther east.

In the dim light of dawn, Andrea had failed to
see the true majesty of the estate. Now bathed in full light, she could see
stone walls running in rectangular patterns across the field, marking the
boundaries of paddocks and pastures. A carriage turnaround sat directly in
front of the house, its center filled with the promise of future blooms of
every description.

Farther beyond sat a large stone barn, bordered
on three sides by rolling pastures, each filled with horses of every size and
color. Still farther she saw the glistening sparkles of a wide stream that
offered a natural barrier to anyone approaching from the east. If ever there
were a more beautiful vista or more perfectly situated property for natural
defense, Andrea had never beheld it.

As she sat in dreamy indulgence, Andrea noticed
the temperature outside had risen with the awakening sun. The remnants of snow
remaining from the previous night’s storm were melting and creating a beautiful
mist through which everything looked like a dream.

Andrea
opened her eyes wider as a large black man appeared from out of that mist,
leading the big, gray horse that Hunter often rode. “Who’s that?”

Izzie leaned forward to see. “That Zach, my
papa, and Dixie.”

“And Mattie is your mother?”

The girl nodded proudly. “They been here since
befo’ Massa was bawn.”

“And you like it here?” Andrea scrutinized the
girl.

The slave’s gaze fell at the inspection and then
rose with honest resolve. “Ole Him a good man.” She turned with her tray and
disappeared through the door.

* * *

Andrea’s head
nodded, and she soon drifted off to sleep again. Upon awakening, she saw that
the room had been cleansed of all signs of the mysterious former wife during
her deep slumber. The garish furniture had vanished, replaced by pieces from
her previous room. Only two original items remained—a trunk and a wardrobe,
both of which seemed to be overflowing with women’s clothes.

“Ole Him say you can find a dressing gown in
here,” Izzie said.

Andrea looked down at the man’s shirt she wore
and, for once, agreed with Hunter. She allowed Izzie to help her change into a
simple nightgown, then watched the servant disappear at the sound of an
approaching storm.

Lightning soon lit the room with brilliant
flashes and the wind began to beat its fist against the glass. After a struggle
and much pain, Andrea opened one of the large windows. She was instantly
rewarded with a cool blast as the wind and rain rushed in and surrounded her.

Fresh, clean, delicious air greeted her,
smelling so good and feeling so cold that it made her chest ache. Never did she
think she would feel and taste and smell clean air again!

“What are you doing?” Hunter strode to her in a
single stride and reached out to close the window.

“Oh no, wait.” Andrea wrapped her fingers weakly
around his wrist. “Please, it’s been so long … let me feel it.”

Hunter paused, but only for a moment. “You are
soaked!” He slammed the window closed.

Andrea sat silently for a moment, staring
straight ahead. “You take for granted the offerings of Mother Nature,” she said
solemnly. “Perhaps if you had to go without them you would look at the world
differently.”

Before he had time to answer, Mattie appeared in
the doorway. “Gal, you gonna ketch you death of cold!” She rushed over to the
trunk and pulled out a dry gown. “Put this on. I don wanna hear no
argumentations.”

Andrea heard Hunter retire to his chamber to do
the same, and determined from his heavy tread that he found her newfound
strength a nuisance rather than a blessing.

Chapter
22

“In a minute there are many days.”

– Shakespeare

Andrea lost count of the days she spent staring
out the window, listening to rain pelting the house and watching the
picturesque meadows of Hawthorne reduced to fields of muck and mud.

She wondered how Hunter and his men continued
their raids, but apparently the weather did not slow them. The Captain returned
only to bring in captured horses, catch up on the affairs of Hawthorne, and,
every so often, sleep a few hours. After only a brief rest he would be back in
the saddle and, presumably, causing chaos again.

For the most part when Hunter was home, he did
not seem conscious of Andrea’s presence. Or rather, he made it a point not to
be
in her presence. She rarely saw him and never spoke to him, so despite living
under the same roof they remained as divided as two enemies could be.

Andrea appreciated the separation. The
inevitable response of rage that crept into her body when she saw him, or even
thought about him, fueled the throbbing pain she faced daily. Dark thoughts of
vengeance controlled her, and became what motivated her to make it through
another day.

The sound of a rider galloping hard through
hock-deep slop disturbed Andrea’s thoughts of retribution. Before she could ask
Izzie who it was, the hoof beats charged back out the lane.

Minutes later, Mattie entered with a package in
her hand. “Ole Him sended something for you.”

“Really” Andrea stared at Mattie, stunned that
Hunter would think of her, let alone send a courier with a package. He had not
been back to Hawthorne for more than a week by her estimates, and she had begun
to think he was no longer in the land of the living.

But what she held in her hand gave her second
thoughts about her unchristian wishes for Hunter’s demise. Newspapers, almost a
week’s worth, lay neatly bound with string. Most of them were out of Richmond,
but one, a dated one, was from the North. How thoughtful of him to think of
her—and how she hated him for it. Desperate for war news, Andrea glanced
through the stack. A headline from one of them instantly caught her eye.

Appreciating the public interest in the
recital of everything connected with the recent exploits of Captain Alexander
Hunter’s activities behind the enemy’s lines, we have gathered, from reliable
participants in the affair, these additional particulars, when with but
fourteen of his men he captured thirty Yankees with no shots fired
. . .

Andrea read the story with disgust and then
wondered if Hunter had seen it. The papers did not appear to have been opened. She
spent the rest of the day and most of the next catching up on the world, and
forgot, for a while, about her throbbing leg and the unfortunate circumstances
into which she had been thrust.

When Andrea awoke later from an afternoon nap,
she listened with closed eyes to a melodic sound coming from outside. Sitting
straight up in bed, she looked to the window and smiled at the joyous strains
of birds welcoming the arrival of the sun. Golden rays dappled the floor, their
warmth melting away the shadows of gloom that had darkened the room for so
long.

“Izzie, I want to sit outside today,” Andrea
said, her gaze sweeping the landscape. “Oh, please! Get your father to carry
me, won’t you?”

The pounding of hoofbeats and the jangling of
spurs and bits interrupted the discussion. Andrea pulled herself to the
windowsill and watched a group of ten riders, each leading at least two extra
horses, draw rein in front of one of the paddocks.

Hunter was
easy to spot in the group of disheveled men. Although mud-spattered and
careworn, he looked vibrantly strong and lethal. Even from the window, he
appeared to her the incarnation of knighthood. But Andrea’s mind was not on the
muscular physique of her captor. Her pulse raced at the opportunity to be
within earshot of Hunter’s feared band of Rebels.

At that moment Hunter looked toward the window,
his eyes meeting and penetrating hers. Andrea shivered and turned away from his
piercing glare. When she looked back, he had returned his attention to the
horses. Leaning his bronzed arms on the fence, he appeared to be commenting on
each one turned loose in the paddock. When all had been released, Hunter
removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and headed toward the barn with
long, powerful strides.

His men followed, but Andrea’s gaze now lingered
on the martial figure in the lead. “What are they doing here?” Andrea asked,
turning to Izzie.

“Dunno. His mens don’t mostly come heah.”

Andrea turned back to the window, but by now
they had all disappeared. When she looked back for Izzie, she too had
disappeared. There was nothing to do but wait for her return.

* * *

Hunter stood unnoticed outside his houseguest’s
door and waited for Izzie to complete her chore. He heard the sound of the
drapes being closed and then the shrill ring of Andrea’s voice.

“What are you doing?”

 “Him ax that you stay away from the windows.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ole Him ax that you stay away from the
windows,” Izzie said again, just a little louder.

“And his Majesty the King is too cowardly to
come and tell me himself?”

Hunter took a deep breath and strode into the
room. “No, Miss Evans, I am not too cowardly to come and tell you myself. I was
simply trying to avoid a—” He stopped and searched for the right word.
“Confrontation.” Looking into her angry eyes, he paused. “But I can see I was
not very successful in that endeavor.”

“You expected no confrontation?”

Although Hunter had found Andrea’s thoughts
difficult to read in Richmond, he found interpreting her mood no difficult
thing now. All signs indicated a swiftly falling barometer, and the clouds upon
her countenance thickened and darkened by the moment.

“You will not
allow me to avail myself of the only liberty of these four walls?” Her entire
body heaved with hostility against the alleged violation of her freedom. “You
call me a houseguest, yet lock me away like a common prisoner? I could well die
from the roar of silence in this room!”

Hunter had never met anyone quite so intolerant
of confinement. “As for the courtesies I’ve extended you,” he said in a calm
voice, “your door has not been locked nor is there a guard standing outside.
Both, I might add, against my better judgment.”

He paused, for indeed it had crossed his mind
that not confining her to this room could be unwise. But as he kept little in
the house of military importance, he had decided to be lenient. Truth be told,
he valued his men too much to place one of them within spitting range of this
defiant, Rebel-hating houseguest.