Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (35 page)

Hunter continued to his library to clear away
some mounting paperwork. He was astonished when he heard the clock in the hall
strike midnight some fleeting hours later—and even more surprised when the
chimes were followed by a hesitant knock on the door. “Yes, enter,” he said
somewhat sternly due to the lateness of the hour.

“Massa?”

Hunter glanced up to see who it was, and then
looked back at his work. “Yes, Izzie, what is it?” He could tell she was
nervous. Yet she always appeared like that to him.

“Massa, I, umm … prominist I wudn’t tell.”
Izzie’s voice faded as she played with the folds of her dress.

Hunter looked up again and his heart
unexpectedly quickened. “Tell me what?”

She cleared her throat. “U-m-m … Well ya-see …
it be that … I mean … Miz Andrea—”

“What about Miz Andrea?” Hunter stood and came
around the desk to stand in front of her, apparently intimidating her even
more.

Izzie cleared her throat again. “I can’t
prezactly say … since I prominist I’s wudn’t tell.”

No longer waiting for her to answer, Hunter ran
up the stairs and pushed open Andrea’s chamber door, startling Mattie who
leaned over the bed, and Zach, who stood at the footboard with his hat in his
hand.

As for the
form on the bed, she gave no response to his sudden entrance. Beads of
perspiration on her forehead showed she had a fever, and the raspy sound of her
breathing indicated she had been ill for quite some time.

“What have you done?” Hunter placed the back of
his hand against her clammy, hot cheek. Her damp hair lay plastered to her
skull.

Izzie stood at the door wringing her hands. “She
tol’ us not to tell anyone. She say she all right.”

“How long has she been like this?” Hunter looked
up at the servants who all stared at the floor. “Did everybody in this
household know of this but me?”

“She tol’ us not to tell,” Izzie said again
under her breath.

Hunter turned his attention back to the bed.
“Miss Evans, can you hear me?”

Andrea’s eyes were open, but they were glassy
and staring. Her face showed deep lines of exhaustion as she gazed fixedly up
at him. “The foal,” she said weakly, trying to sit up. “Is … all right?”

“The foal?” Hunter looked up with questioning
eyes.

“I try to tell you,” Zach said. “Dat mare
Lightning done go into labor during that storm the utter night. You know how
she hate storms. And the baby be breach. And Miz Andrea, she come down to help,
and it was pawhing down rain. I din’t mean for it to happen, Massa.”

Hunter let out his breath in helpless
exasperation. Lightning was one of his best mares. He knew if Andrea had set
her mind on saving the foal, no one alive could have stopped her.

“I understand, Zach. Go fetch Doc at the
Talberts.” Hunter looked at Andrea and then back at the servant worriedly. “And
tell him to hurry.”

Leaning over the bed again, Hunter put his hand
on her burning forehead while she mumbled in her sleep. A racking cough,
sounding like it might split her open, interrupted her meanderings. She faded
into semi-consciousness then, though her lips still moved as if in
conversation.

Hunter turned and left the room. He didn’t like
the way his legs felt weak, or the force with which his heart banged in his
chest … or his thoughts. She’d already survived one brush with death—but this
time she knew what she was coming back to. And it did not take a prophet to
predict that she may not think it worth the effort.

Chapter
33

“Blessed is the horse who bonds himself

to us in silence and does our will so freely.”

– Anonymous

Hunter paced in his library, once again awaiting
the doctor’s report. “Pneumonia?” he asked when the door opened.

“In the name of all that is holy, how could you
allow her to go out in the middle of a storm?” Hobbs sat down and dabbed his
brow with a handkerchief. “For heaven’s sake, Major, in her weakened
condition.”

“I wasn’t here. She was trying to save a foal of
mine. Actually, she
did
save a foal of—” Hunter followed the doctor to
the door. “But what do you think about her chances?”

“I’m not sure.” Hobbs shook his head. “She
surprised us all before. But I’m afraid she needs something I can’t give her
this time.”

“What’s that?”

“The will to live.”

Hunter closed his eyes. So Hobbs sensed it too,
that vague, indescribable feeling that she no longer had the wish to fight.
After showing Hobbs to the door, Hunter returned once again to her chamber.

“Tell Papa . . . all my fault,” she mumbled
while holding onto Mattie’s arm. When the servant did not answer, Andrea opened
her eyes. Spotting Hunter, she stared at him in a feverish daze. “Papa!” She
reached out and grabbed his shirtsleeve. “It’s my fault … please … don’t hurt
them!”

“It’s all right.” Hunter’s words seemed to relax
her. She released her grip and closed her eyes, but her stillness did not last
long. In a moment, she appeared wide awake, talking and rambling incoherently.
Her gaze was sometimes vacant, at other times roaming frantically around the
room as if seeking someone she wanted to find, or searching for someone before
they found her.

When Mattie returned with fresh, cold water to
sponge Andrea’s forehead, Hunter retired to the balcony hoping to clear his
mind of the images.

“What are you doing?” Andrea’s voice broke the
silence. It sounded cold and threatening.

Hunter turned to see her holding firmly onto
Mattie’s wrist. The servant stood frozen, her eyes big and white with terror at
the vengeful look on Andrea’s face. Hunter hurried to the bed and pried her
fingers from Mattie’s arm. “She’s trying to help.”

Andrea looked up at him, her eyes slanted and
disbelieving. “Papa sent you.”

“No. You’re safe here.”

“You speak not the truth,” she said, turning her
head away. “I am safe nowhere.”

How many times had this same haunted, troubled
look appeared in the depths of Andrea’s eyes? Now he knew some of the history
it masked. Hunter nodded for Mattie to resume her place by the bed and turned
to go. He feared leaving her now, but he could not stay. He would be departing
again within the hour.

When he stopped one last time to check on her
condition, she had apparently awakened from her dream. She did not speak, but
stared vacantly at the ceiling as if surrendering to the illness or
contemplating the alternative.

* * *

Constantly on the move for six days, Hunter had
received no word about Andrea’s condition. Fearing what he would find when he
finally returned to Hawthorne, he was relieved to see her sitting up in bed,
propped against a pillow. Izzie sat by her side, attempting to place a spoonful
of broth in her mouth.

“You gotta eat.” Izzie sat back in the chair,
exasperated. “Mama said mebe you’d eat for me. Jus a little?”

“Not hungry,” Andrea answered weakly, as if
uttering those two words was more than she could physically endure.

“If you’ll excuse us a moment, Izzie.” Hunter
walked to the bedside, removing his hat.

The door closed behind Izzie, but the room
remained silent for a few long minutes. Andrea’s head remained turned toward
the wall, though her stolid eyes were open and staring.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better. I guess Zach
told you that filly is a real handful.” Hunter took a deep breath when he
received no response. Accustomed to her sharp tongue and keen wit, her silence
disconcerted him. The image of her glowing, vivacious face on the day of their
wagon ride arose unbidden in his mind.

Hunter sat down beside the bed, and picked up the
bowl of broth. “You must eat, you know. You don’t want to die on enemy soil do
you?”

“It matters not to me where I die,” Andrea said,
staring at the ceiling.

The severe indifference of her expression caused
Hunter’s heart to pick up its pace. “Don’t talk like that,” he said, slamming
the bowl down and standing.

“I’m not afraid of dying.” Andrea’s gaze shifted
to him with a look so cold and detached that it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Then it must be living you fear.”

Andrea looked away quickly. “I do not fear it,”
she said emphatically, as if she’d given it much thought. “Nor do I care to
endure it.”

 “Come now. You’ve had a setback.” Hunter sat
down beside her again. “Nothing that can’t be overcome.”

“All is lost.” She blinked rapidly, as if that
admission of defeat was difficult for her.

Hunter knew she alluded to the strength in her
legs. Once again she would have to start over, one step at a time, to rebuild
the muscles. The task did seem daunting, even to him. Her physical endurance
and vigor before her stay in prison must have been incredible. To jump a
four-foot stonewall bareback would have taken nothing less than legs of steel.

“I’ve been here four months and still cannot
walk.” Her voice was weak, but Hunter detected a small spark of anger in her
eyes now. “I may well spend the rest of the war in this house.”

“Come now. Would that be so bad?”

Andrea turned her head and focused on Hunter
with such a contemptuous look that he worked hard to suppress a grin. He saw
within her eyes an agitated flicker that mimicked a candle just catching flame.

“Get out.”

Hunter smiled and picked up the bowl. “Not until
you eat a few bites.”

“You are trying to bribe me? If I eat, you will
leave?”

“That’s right,” he said, his spoon ready,
waiting for her to open her mouth.

“And if I do not?”

Hunter sat back in the chair and threw his long
legs in front of him, getting comfortable in anticipation of a long wait. “You
will learn the power of my patience—one of the few traits I possess that is
superior to yours.”

“What devil art thou, that dost torment me
thus?” Andrea said in a tone of morose rebellion, her defiant eyes still
shadowed with gloom.

Hunter ignored the look and instead laughed at
her Shakespearian quote. “Come now, Miss Evans. I’m not trying to torment you.
I’m trying to help you.”

Andrea opened her mouth, and he quickly filled
it with a spoonful of the broth. “I can feed myself,” she said, her eyelids
obviously getting heavy.

“One more,” Hunter said. “Then I’ll let you
rest. I’m leaving again in the morning, and I want to see make sure you’ve
eaten.”

Andrea complied, but Hunter knew it was only
because she was too weary to argue. She swallowed, and, half to his
disappointment and half to his relief, fell asleep.

* * *

With a sense
of impatience, Hunter finally returned to Hawthorne after three days. He probed
Mattie with an inquisitive eye when she met him at the door.

“She gettin’ her sass back,” Mattie said, before
he had time to ask a question. “That tongue got more sauce than a beehive got
honey.”

The sound of shouting from the direction of
Andrea’s bedchamber interrupted the conversation. Charging up the stairs,
Hunter noticed from a glance over his shoulder that Mattie hurried away in the
opposite direction.

He entered
the room to find Andrea waving her cane in the air like a mighty sword. “Pray
don’t feign more courage than you possess, Miss Hamilton. If you take another
step, your shoulders will be lonesome for your head!”

When Victoria
saw Hunter standing in the doorway she ran into his arms, sobbing. “Alex, she’s
trying to kill me. I only came to see how she was feeling.”

“Miss Evans, cease this instant! What is the
meaning of this?”

Andrea collapsed back against the pillows and
closed her eyes in apparent acknowledgment that she had been baited and bested
by Victoria.

During her silence, Hunter ushered Victoria from
the room and then conversed in a low voice on the other side of the door. When
he re-entered, he stared at Andrea before speaking.

“Do you mind explaining what was going on here?”
Her pale and wane appearance worried him, yet the familiar go-to-hell look she
shot in his direction encouraged him that health was returning.

“Ask your friend, the high priestess of
pomposity,” Andrea said with a flip of her head toward the wall.

Ah, her vocabulary is back too. Another good
sign
.

“I’m asking
you
.” Hunter tried to
suppress a grin. “But I’m profoundly pleased to see your pleasant disposition
has returned.”

Andrea glared at him, then closed her eyes. “Why
should I bother explaining anything to
you
, the one who sent your
misery-making mistress of malice to torment me while I lie helpless?”

“You? Helpless?” Hunter laughed. “Hell will
undoubtedly freeze to the core before that day comes.” He walked over to the
bed. “I’m not a doctor, Miss Evans. But were I to guess, I’d say your only
ailment now is a rampant infection of self-pity.”

Andrea snorted, looking at him with unfriendly
eyes. “Say what you will, Major. It is of no consequence to me.”

Hunter’s gaze fell upon the crutches leaning
idly by the door. He had hoped by now the fever of unrest would have overtaken
her illness and she would be attempting to climb the walls. Instead, she
appeared to have recovered in health, but not in spirit.

“Are your spurs so cold you can no longer dig me
with them?” Hunter tried to make a joke. “I fear I’ve missed our little
sparring matches.”

His attempt to provoke a response failed, but
the sound of a carriage caused her to turn toward the balcony door. “That would
be Victoria leaving for a few days to visit friends. Perhaps in her absence
you’d like to come down and sit on the front porch.”

Acting on instinct, he did not give her time to
refuse. He scooped her up in his arms, carried her down the stairs to the
porch, and deposited her in a chair splashed with sunlight. “I thought you
might like to see Storm Dancer, the filly you saved.”