Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (46 page)

* * *

Hunter turned at the sound of Pierce’s spurs in
the doorway of the library. “The order still stands, Captain Pierce. I did not
withdraw it.”

“The order, sir?”

“The order to leave Miss Evans alone.”

“You jest.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened, making it clear he was
not joking. “Miss Evans is a guest in my home. I have a duty to protect her.”

“Protect her from what? Anyone else courting
her?”

Hunter stomped out from behind his desk to the
door, slammed it shut, and turned back to Pierce. “I have never liked you,
Pierce, as you well know.  Yet, I have promoted you because you are deserving.
For the good of the Command, I demand you stay away from her. It stems from no
personal interest on my part, I assure you.”

Pierce snorted. “The good of the Command? How
so? If you have no desire for her, why should you have no desire for anyone
else to have her?” He looked Hunter straight in the eye, taunting him. “It
appears to me she is of an age capable of making her own decisions. And I dare
say that age is closer to mine than yours.”

“She will not become one of your conquests,
Captain Pierce. Not while she’s residing under my roof. Let me make that
perfectly clear.”

“But she will become one of yours?”

Pierce took a
step backward at the look in Hunter’s eyes. “Colonel, it is clear to me she is
a lady of integrity. Are you telling me I may not call on her?”

“Not so long as you are a member of this
Command.”

This silenced Pierce, but only for a moment.
“May I go on the record as stating that I do not believe it is fair of you to
use your military status in this regard?”

The two men stood glaring at each other, both
pulled up to their full heights. “You may go on the record,” Hunter replied,
his voice perfectly composed, “but the order still stands.”

He turned away and went back to his desk. “You
are dismissed.”

Pierce remained glowering at him as if
contemplating some action, then saluted and turned for the door.

“Ah, Captain.”

Pierce stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll need a report on your other activities
today as soon as possible. I’m sure to hear from Richmond about it—and
Washington—when word gets out.”

Pierce did not turn around. He nodded, placed
his hat on his head, and opened the door.

“And Pierce, report the reasons and results, not
the details.”

His response was the slamming of the door.

* * *

Andrea was standing by the paddock gate when she
saw Pierce come out of the house. He appeared to be somewhat angry, if the dust
rising from his boots was any indication. Seeing Andrea, he nodded stiffly in
her direction, mounted his horse in one fluid movement, and spurred it down the
lane.

“What’s wrong with him?” Johnny asked from over
her shoulder.

“Don’t know.” Andrea watched Pierce
thoughtfully. “Colonel Hunter didn’t seem too happy about something.”

“Yea, I got the same feeling,” Johnny said.
“Something happened today. Haven’t figured out what.”

“What do you mean?” Andrea turned to face him.

“See this?” Johnny pointed to some blood matted
in the mane of one of the horses.

Andrea nodded and Johnny’s voice got low.
“Didn’t bring any prisoners in with these horses today.”

Andrea swept her eyes over the animals, all of
which were still wearing saddles. “Seven equipped horses and no prisoners at
all?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, walking into the herd to
begin removing the tack.

Andrea watched him, absorbed in trying to come
up with a suitable explanation for what had become of these horses’ riders. She
was still leaning on the fence when she caught sight of Hunter out the corner
of her eye making his way to the barn. She hurried to catch up with him. “I
heard you brought back no prisoners today.”

Hunter stopped in his tracks and stared at her
with distant, gray eyes. “That is correct.” His manner, his icy stare, and his
expression sent a chill up her spine.

“But those horses all had riders, did they not?”
She nodded toward the paddock.

“Yes,” Hunter replied coldly. “And the riders on
those horses all had torches, and the torches were being used to burn innocent
civilians’ homes to the ground.”

Andrea
blinked, puzzled at first. The confusion swiftly changed to disbelief, and then
horror. “They were burning homes so you took no prisoners?”

“What’s wrong, Miss Evans? Are the cold
realities of war suddenly too much for you?”

“You shot those men in cold blood?” Hunter’s
lack of emotion shook Andrea no less than the ghastly scene she envisioned.

“My men came across the atrocity. The officer in
charge reacted to deeds that are repugnant to humanity.” Hunter stared out over
her shoulder into the distance as he spoke as if incapable of meeting her gaze.

“And slaying
seven men in cold blood is not repugnant to humanity?” Andrea’s voice grew
shrill. The anger in her tone did not convey the sadness in her heart at the
thought that Hunter would allow his men to resort to such a despicable act of
malice. She had grown to think of him as a man who would prevent brutality in
his presence and strictly forbid it in his absence. She did not know
this
man.

“Does your code of honor come from a barbarous
nation I’m not familiar with? Or has mercy and civilized behavior never been a
part of your code?”

Hunter started to turn away.

“I know you have no heart, but have you no
soul?”

“In case you are not aware, we’re in the middle
of a war,” he said over his shoulder, obviously trying to put an end to the
conversation.

“That does not excuse barbarism!” Andrea ran
after him and grabbed his arm, too angry to be fearful of the consequences.
“This act is a stain upon our nation’s honor! It’s revolting! It’s . . .
unconscionable!”

Hunter swung back around. “You dare insult my
men about honor?” He pulled his arm from her grasp and looked at her with
burning fury. “Surely the hell your comrades are creating in Virginia is not
too hot for the demonic Yankee villains who apply the torch!”

“You cannot tell me you condone these deaths,”
Andrea said, her chest heaving. “You cannot make me believe that, on behalf of
your men, you can overlook this carnage, this … this butchery because it was
performed in the name of vengeance for a policy of devastation.”

She was so angry she waved her arms in the air.
“War may excuse certain actions of cruel necessity, but it can never justify
this! Even
you
, Colonel Hunter, cannot claim that this is legitimate
warfare!”

Hunter
remained silent, brooding, as if weighing the decision to defend himself. When
he spoke, his words were distinct, his voice was low and his dust-stained face
was just inches from hers. “You insist on justification, Miss Evans? I will
give it to you. The reprisal was indeed revenge, taken by my officer in direct
retaliation for the—” Hunter paused and drew a sharp breath. “For the cruel,
deliberate, merciless hangings of seven of my men last month.”

Andrea did not speak. She blinked in complete
bewilderment, deeming at first that he must be lying, but seeing by the look on
his face that he was not. She took a step backward.  “You cannot tell me a
Union officer ordered such a thing.”

“Colonel Clayton Shepherd,” was the blunt reply.
“And today his men got their payback—and mine divine revenge.”

Andrea swallowed hard. Seven had perished today,
victims of a bloody code of retaliation. In her absence, this ghastly,
revolting war had opened a new chapter in horror. It seemed that any and all
sense of humanity had taken flight from this once-peaceful land.

“They were fairly warned,” Hunter continued when
she did not speak. “For every Hunter man murdered, they were informed I would
take ten-fold vengeance. My men were most humane in that regard, only killing
those directly involved.”

Andrea closed her eyes and imagined the scene.
Men inflamed with vengeance dealing out a sentence of death to those who had
executed their comrades.

“So you see,
Miss Evans, we were compelled, reluctantly, to adopt a line of policy as
ruthless and revolting as your northern comrades. All the prisoners I have
taken since that day have been treated with the respect due them.”

“You were not there?” Andrea’s voice was barely
above a whisper.

“I don’t know
what difference that makes,” Hunter said coldly over his shoulder as he started
to walk away. “The outcome would have been the same.”

Then he stopped and turned back. “You may know
the officer who was in charge. His name is Pierce—promoted today to Captain—as
you may have already been informed.” Hunter continued his journey to the house,
his boots and spurs raising small clouds that enveloped him in a dusty mist.

Andrea looked over her shoulder when she heard
Izzie yelling from the direction of the slaves’ quarters.

“Miz Andrea! Gabriella havin’ her baby!”

Andrea watched Hunter turn briefly with a look
of concern on his face. Then he continued to the house, his long powerful
strides and straight, rigid back in no way revealing the great weight he
carried upon his shoulders.

* * *

Once mother and her new daughter were resting
comfortably, Andrea walked toward the lake, guided by the magical hum of insects
that convened there. Climbing down a small bank, she reposed herself on a
fallen tree and tried to make sense of the day. Despite the miracle of birth,
there seemed little to celebrate when she thought of Pierce’s crusade of
vengeance and the reason for it.

Had the world gone mad since she left? Leaning
forward, she put her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her knees.
What else had happened which she knew nothing of? She listened half-heartedly
to a bullfrog bellowing on the far side of the pond, and jumped at the sound of
a voice behind her.

“Beautiful evening.”

Andrea turned to see Hunter, illuminated by
moonlight, standing on the bank behind her. She nodded in answer to his
question, but did not speak.

“It’s peaceful down here.” Hunter hopped down
the bank.

“I—” Andrea stood and looked up at him. “I’m
sorry about—”

Hunter stopped her. “I don’t want to talk about
it. How’s Gabriella doing?”

“She’s doing fine. A daughter. She calls her
Angelina.” Even as she said the words, Andrea’s mind drifted away from the
miracle of birth to the horrifying deaths of the month before. “You could have
told me,” she blurted out. “You needn’t have kept such an atrocity a secret
from me.”

“It was not my intention to keep it a secret,
Miss Evans. I simply saw no point in concerning you with it.” Hunter stared
vacantly out over the water.

“Concerning me with it? Seven of your men were
murdered by men who claim to be soldiers!”

“Miss Evans, you have spared no effort to remind
me we are your enemies,” he replied. “Considering your unhappy status at Camp
Misery, I deemed the news would not be of interest to you.”

Andrea inhaled deeply, his statement and his
rationale taking the breath from her. All of the unpleasant words she had
spoken in the past rose with painful vividness before her, and a feeling of
shame surged at the thought of her vengeful tongue.

“But you cannot believe I would take pleasure in
the deaths of your men.” Andrea gazed up at him, her hand on his arm. “That I
would defend the Union’s ruthlessness?”

Hunter looked out over her head into the
distance and did not answer.

Andrea let her hand drop to her side. “You are
wrong, Colonel Hunter.” Her voice trembled as she bowed her head. “I do not,
nor could I ever, support such an indefensible act. And I have never, nor will
I ever, rejoice in the deaths of any of your men.” She paused and looked up to
meet his gaze. “And I deeply regret the loss your Command has suffered.”

Andrea took another deep breath, squared her
shoulders, and started back toward the house. “I do deeply regret the loss,”
she said again, this time to herself.

Chapter
45

“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies.

Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds
of affection.”

– Abraham Lincoln

It was just about midnight and Hawthorne stood
like an island in a thick sea of haze, the air so dark and pregnant with
humidity, Andrea felt confined in a cave. Rising from her restless sleep, she
lit a candle and sat on the edge of the bed opening and closing her swollen
fingers.

Twisting off her ring, she sat and stared at the
engraving as she had done hundreds of times before. What would it be like if
Daniel still lived? She closed her eyes and rubbed the ring, gasping when she
felt a slight movement of its face. Holding it to the candle, she opened a
small, hinged compartment and withdrew a tiny, meticulously folded piece of
paper.

Tenderly opening a note crisp with age, she
read:

Dear Daniel,

I am in receipt of your last, and acknowledge
your decision to serve in the Federal army. Yet, I too must do my duty as I
conceive it to be. Never could I have envisioned an event that would lead me to
stand in opposition to my dearest kin or against my cherished flag. But it is
honor that I must now defend, and it is honor for which I will move forward.
That you remain safe, my dear Daniel, until such time as harmony once again
prevails, is the hope of your devoted brother … Alex

Andrea closed her eyes at the depth of emotion
displayed in the words and what they must have meant to Daniel. “Oh, Alex,” she
said without realizing it. How often had he attempted to tell her the intensity
of his feelings for Virginia? Yet he had never mentioned how terribly difficult
had been his decision to fight for the Confederacy.