Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (53 page)

His fist—or his head—hit the door in
exasperation one last time before his spurs retreated down the hall. Andrea
heard him pause at the stairway, as if looking back, before his footsteps faded
away.

Even after the passage of two days, she was too
ashamed to face him. Her only choice was to leave Hawthorne. For two days she’d
been convincing herself of the necessity of that action; for two days she’d put
it off.

Gazing out the
window, her eyes fell upon a group of superbly mounted Confederate officers
riding up the drive at a brisk trot. Hunter walked toward the horsemen, a look
of surprise and annoyance clearly visible upon his countenance.

After greeting Hunter with formal stiffness, the
entire entourage moved toward the house. Andrea sat down on the bed, a sigh of
relief escaping her lips. She would have a slightly longer reprieve than
expected.

Rocking back and forth in nervous contemplation,
Andrea found her thoughts interrupted by the sound of voices below. When she
stood and walked toward the fireplace, the voices grew even louder. Realizing
the visitors had been taken to the parlor beneath her, she knelt by the hearth.

“We need that train, the gold, and the payroll,
Colonel Hunter,” a loud voice said. Andrea matched it in her mind with a
heavily bearded colonel she had seen outside.

“Supplies are in dire shape,” another replied.
“It’s imperative we get that shipment.”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’ve received word of
a wagon train of medical supplies expected to go through around the same time.”
Hunter sounded none too polite. “Considering the scarcity of medicine and the
suffering of our wounded, I find that a more reasonable prize.”

The next words were unrecognizable because
whoever spoke had moved away from the fireplace.

“Perhaps you
do not understand, Colonel Hunter,” the officer’s voice grew distinct. “This
directive comes from General Lee. I am merely the messenger.”

“The gold is coming straight from the U.S.
paymaster,” another voice said. “You and your men will have easy pickings at
Martin’s Crossing.”

“Easy pickings? I do not believe you know the
nature of the business. If the train is carrying payroll it will be heavily
guarded. Already, there is not a quarter mile between pickets and a mile
between camps!”

It sounded like Hunter was pacing, for his voice
grew strong and then so weak Andrea barely made out his words. “The wagon train
of medical supplies is coming right through Madison. The success of its capture
is almost guaranteed.”

“We trust you can find a way to take the train,
Colonel. You always do.”

 “Your trust will do nothing to protect the
lives of my men!” Hunter’s reverberating voice caused Andrea to back out of the
fireplace. “Taking that train will take all that I have and then some.”

“We have orders to provide you with whatever you
need.”

Hunter’s words became muffled again, but she
heard the final part. “. . . the medicine is worth its weight in gold to those
who are suffering.”

 “You have your orders, Colonel. See that they
are carried out.”

Andrea stood and paced too, gnawing on a
fingernail. Her heart raced so violently she could hear it pulsing in her ears.
“I have the date and near location of a raid—”

These thoughts, and many others, flew through
her mind so fast and fleetingly she could scarcely keep up.
Oh, why? Why did
I have to hear this information?

Andrea stopped and held her head in her hands.
Her conscience drew her in one direction, duty in another. How had the lines of
obligation suddenly become so blurred and allegiances so distorted?

How could she do this?

How could she not?

Was it not divine providence that she overheard
the conversation? Was it not divine providence she was leaving anyway? Yet
Andrea yearned for a sign to guide her in determining what course to take. She
no longer knew what was right or wrong; no longer knew
who
was right or
wrong. Confronted with these two mighty, opposing convictions, she wondered
what Hunter would do in her shoes.

Then her decision was made.

If all went as planned, he would never be the
wiser. It was a calculated risk, but one she was willing to take. She must go.
Succeed or fail, it was her duty to try. And succeed or fail, Hunter would
never know of her involvement one way or the other.

All she needed now was one quick glance at a
map, the detailed, hand-drawn one of the area she had seen him studying once
with Carter. With the slamming of the door downstairs and the sound of boots on
the porch, her plan was launched. Hunter would no doubt be leaving tonight. And
she would be right behind him.

Running out the door and leaving it open, Andrea
headed for the back stairs. She knew Hunter would not be long in coming, yet
she never dreamed he would be up the main stairs and standing in her doorway
before she was even halfway down the other.

“Andrea!” She heard him enter the room. She
stopped, pressed herself against the wall in the narrow stairwell, and held her
breath.

“Damn it!” Her door slammed shut with a
resounding bang.

“Alex, you’re home!” Victoria’s shrill voice
filled the hallway.

Andrea let go of her breath and smiled.

“Where is Andrea?”

Victoria snorted. “You think
me
in her
confidence?”

“Mattie!” Hunter bellowed, his voice like
thunder. The servant’s footsteps sounded instantaneously. “Have Zach hang the
red banner and saddle Dixie. Then report to me in my study. I have some
dispatches I need you to give the courier when he arrives.”

“Darling, you just got here,” Victoria moaned.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?”

Knowing Victoria would keep him occupied for the
few minutes she needed, Andrea continued down the stairs and headed toward the
library. Proceeding to Hunter’s desk, she pulled out the map and glanced at the
landmarks she could use to guide her. Her hands shook as she hurriedly refolded
the map, placing it back in the drawer.

Without warning, she heard Victoria’s voice
right outside the library door, then the sound of the doorknob turning.  She
slipped out the French door into the garden as the sound of Hunter’s spurs
filled the room behind her. Not until she was safe from view did she remember
she had neglected to close the desk drawer.

Taking her time, Andrea walked through the
garden and then around to the front of the house, pretending to be returning
from the barn. As she made her way up the steps of the porch, Victoria and Alex
appeared at the door.

“I don’t understand why you have to leave—”
Victoria stopped speaking when Hunter stopped walking. “Miss Evans.”

“Colonel Hunter.” Andrea nodded as if nothing
out of the ordinary had transpired between them. She continued toward the door,
but he caught her arm. “I’d like to have a word.”

“Yes,” she said, her gaze settling on Victoria,
“I can see that is a high priority for you.” Wrestling free from his grasp,
Andrea resumed her journey into the house. She did not get far. Before making
it up the stairs, he was beside her again.

“You will allow me the honor of a word?”
Hunter’s voice was anything but calm. He placed his hand on hers as it rested
on the banister to emphasize his intent.

Andrea did not answer, but did not refuse. With
regret, she thought how soon she would be leaving, never to feel that strong
hand again.

“I am called to duty. I ask that you stay until
I return … until we talk.”

Andrea looked up at him, wondering how he so easily
read her thoughts. She turned away again and spoke to nothingness, though she
suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “If you wish it of me.”

“I should not be gone long.” His tone was
unusually low and strained. Andrea thought she heard a tremor in it. “Two days
at the most.”

 “Two days,” she repeated, feigning that every
minute at Hawthorne would be agony.

 “Andrea.” Hunter put his hand on her shoulder
and spoke in a tone that made her heart thump violently. The tremor she
suspected before was clearly evident now. “I regret deeply any pain I caused
you.”

Andrea pretended to be unaffected by his gentle
and sincere manner—or his words.

“Will that be all, sir?” She turned her head
back toward him, but successfully masked all emotion.

“Yes.” He sighed, his eyes revealing a hint of
suffering. “That will be all.”

Chapter
52

“Make yourself ready for the mischance of the hour.”

– The Tempest, Shakespeare

Feeling more dismay than disappointment, Hunter
loped up the drive to Hawthorne, his mind occupied with the events that had
unfolded on the ill-fated train raid.

As expected, the tracks had been heavily
guarded. But he had not anticipated the arrival of two additional regiments of
enemy cavalry on the night of the attack, a complication that resulted in the ultimate
failure of the enterprise and the complete demoralization of his men. One
killed, five wounded, three captured, and no gold or bounty of any kind. The
raid was a catastrophe.

But his mind was preoccupied with other thoughts
as well. His heart ached at the image of Andrea ascending the stairs after
their last brief conversation. She had refused to look him in the eye, had gone
back to calling him “sir.” No action or word of hers disclosed they had ever
shared intimacy, and it pierced him to know she regretted they had.

He felt her drifting farther away every minute,
sensed she was pulling the cloak of her isolation more firmly around her. The
door was closing again between them, and he feared it would soon be locked and
barred against further intrusion.

Hunter inhaled deeply. He intended to do
everything in his power to keep that from happening. By revealing all, he
planned to put an end to the blessed uncertainty between them. Dismounting at
the barn, he glanced up at her window. He would confess all that he no longer
had the will to restrain, and then certainly she would not leave. How they
would resolve their conflicting loyalties he did not know, but it did not
matter. He loved her, and she loved Hawthorne, and somehow, some way,
everything else would work out.

His optimism brought a smile to his lips. It was
so much more like her than him.

Hunter handed his mare over to Zach, then
noticed Justus had worked himself into a sweat. He paused in front of his
stall. “What’s the matter, boy,” he said, tapping the stallion tentatively on
the nose. “Those old girls teasing you again?”

Staring at the horse through the bars of the
stall, his slight smile faded as a deep feeling of foreboding closed in on him.
The stallion did not seem agitated by the mares in the barn. Rather, he
appeared somewhat subdued. Tired. And though he had obviously been groomed, the
faint outline of a saddle could still be seen. Hunter recognized the horse had
been ridden hard, and had not been back long.

Standing spellbound, Hunter felt his hands
tighten on the bars of the stall as his mind absorbed what his soul already
knew. He blinked and blinked again, like a man trying to come to terms with his
own mortal wound.

Hunter closed his eyes and rested his head
against his hand. No matter how he tried to alter the possibilities, the same
conclusion stared him in the face. As the minutes ticked by, the pain of the
revelation intensified, and the rage that blossomed from the pain grew
proportionately extreme.

The drum of blood in his temples almost blinded
Hunter as he stormed out of the barn toward the house. Anger, disappointment,
and disgust at her duplicity swept over him and became master of him. His
theory on what had transpired took possession of his thoughts and obliterated
every other possibility.

This now was war. War with no quarter, no flag
of truce, and no negotiations! She had laid the ground rules. Now she must live
by them.

* * *

Andrea sat with a book on her lap, but she was
not reading. She was thinking about the ride from which she had returned and
wrestling with what she had done.

Tossing the book aside, she stood and paced,
then sat again and stared into space. Her mission, she believed, had been a
success. Yet so deep was her guilt, she could not feel exultant. This constant
blurring of lines between obligation and allegiance made her feel only remorse
for her actions, edging toward frantic regret.

Putting her face in her hands a moment, Andrea
shook her head. She felt compelled to explain to Hunter what she had done and
why. But how could she? She was not sure she knew herself.

She sighed and leaned back in despair. Right or
wrong, the deed was done. There was no way to take it back. She had done what
she felt was right, with her heart as her guide.

Why then did she feel so despicable?

Andrea was so deeply absorbed in her thoughts,
she never heard Hunter ride in. Only when the door slammed shut below, followed
by his spurred boots clanking up the steps, did she realize he was home. The
echo of his heavy tread in the hall sounded ominous, causing her to feel a
foreshadowing of something dreadful to come.

When her door flew open, Andrea jumped in
surprise. When she saw the look on Hunter’s face, her surprise redoubled. He
glared at her with a look of vengeance, his expression suggesting insensate
passion and fury. Standing in the doorway, legs spread, fists clenched, he
appeared desperate and violent, like a great warrior ready to do battle.

Andrea gasped, but otherwise controlled her
emotions as she swept her eyes over him. Had he been standing on a battlefield,
surrounded by the enemy, he could not look more warlike or less human.

The room grew gravely quiet. “Beautiful sunrise
this morning, was it not, Miss Evans? Perhaps you had a chance to witness it
before your return.”