Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (58 page)

Hunter held his breath and waited for him to
speak again.

“He’s a strong one, no doubt, but having his
horse shot out from under him …  he hasn’t really recovered.”

“Justus? Is dead?” Hunter turned toward the
direction of the voice in the darkness, forgetting entirely about staying noncommittal.
He knew the enormity of that loss.

“Yea. She was lucky to get out alive.”

Hunter winced, not even noticing the general’s
change of gender.

“She lost one of her best friends there too,” he
said sullenly. “I don’t believe she’s quite made it back to us yet.”

Hunter closed his eyes, knowing by
us
, he
meant the living. What scenes of suffering and death had she witnessed? And
what he wouldn’t give to have protected her from them—yet if not for him, she
might have been spared the experience.

“We had a bit
of an argument after the interrogation today,” General Jordan said, his voice
quivering ever so slightly. “Due to the state of her health, I felt compelled
to inform her that her services were no longer needed

Hunter let out his breath.

“I should not have, I realize. But I was trying
to protect her.”

Hunter slid down the tree he was leaning on to a
sitting a position with his head in his hands. He knew her duty to country
meant everything to her—was all she lived for.

“Too bad it’s so dark, tonight. You can almost
see the river from here,” Jordan said softly.

Hunter blinked hard, understanding immediately
his intent.

“It’s a bit steep and rocky on the way down, but
a couple hundred yards, there it is. Darn Rebels are right on the other side.”

“Is that so?”

“Yea, they’re close. I should probably have camp
guards on this side, but we’re shorthanded and the men are tired.”

Both men were silent for what seemed an
eternity. Then Jordan spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “I fear for her
safety. She’s gone.”

“Gone where?” Hunter knew his tone was far too
full of concern to deceive the general.

“I wish I knew.”

Hunter
closed his eyes, and for the first time in his life, said a quick prayer. By
the time he opened them, he knew the general was no longer there.

He glanced over at the group playing cards and
began to form a plan of escape. He did not care if it was a trick. Did not care
if a firing squad of twelve or the whole bloody Union army was waiting for him
at the river. General Jordan would be looking for her on this side. By Jupiter
he would be looking for her on the other!

Chapter
57

“Noble is the courage that performs without hope or without
reward.”

– Anonymous

It was that time of year when leaves on the
trees change from gold to gone, seemingly overnight, leaving no doubt in the
minds of those who gaze upon them that winter will soon descend.

Three weeks had passed since Hunter’s escape
from the enemy camp, yet no trace of Andrea had yet been found. If General
Jordan’s search yielded better results, Hunter had received no word of it. It
pained him to know that he probably never would.

“A courier is here with a dispatch for you,
Colonel.”

Hunter lifted his gaze from the plate of
untouched food before him to the smiling face of his hostess.

“At the door, sir.”

Excusing himself, Hunter went outside to accept
the communication. Before he opened the envelope, a strange, sinking feeling
overtook him, as if a part of him knew that somewhere, something had gone
terribly wrong. He broke the seal and hurriedly devoured the contents.

November 15, 1864

Col. Hunter,

It is my undesirable duty to inform you that
a deserter from my command has been recaptured. It appears he relayed
information to the Federal forces concerning the intended raid on a train by
your men in September, having heard of your intentions through careless members
of my staff. It can be presumed this was the reason for the fateful events that
followed.

I will supply additional information as it
becomes available.

Your most obedient servant,

Colonel Wade Burton

Hunter read the dispatch again, his hands
trembling as his mind absorbed the words. A deserter was responsible? Could
Andrea be innocent of the charges of which he had accused her?

He dropped the note to his side and stared into
the darkness. No. Justus was proof enough that she had ridden out that night.
And that the horse had been ridden she had not bothered to deny. Even the
servants had corroborated that she had been absent from Hawthorne. Hunter went
quietly back into the house, trying to make sense of the dispatch.

“That was the same night as the train raid.”
Captain Pierce held a newspaper and scanned its contents. “You can be sure that
it was no one from this Command. We had our hands full as it was.”

“Well, I was just curious,” their hostess said.
“The article does, after all, give you men credit.”

 “We get a lot of credit for things we don’t
do,” Gus Dorsey said jokingly. “But usually it’s not for good things.”

 “What have we gotten credit for now?” When
Pierce handed him the paper, Hunter’s gaze fell upon the article they
discussed. As he began to read, a dark haze descended, enveloping him and
threatening to snuff him out.

By the grace of God, a Union medical supply
train bound from Washington, was confiscated by Confederate troops south of
Chantilly Saturday last.

The wagons reportedly were lost when a new guide
led them straight into a Confederate infantry unit. No lives were lost, but the
Confederacy gained twenty prisoners, nine wagons, fifteen horses, eighteen
mules, and all of the supplies therein. The guide, apparently on a swift, black
horse, was the only one to escape.

Though this correspondent can find no official
report filed, it is widely speculated it was a member of Hunter’s command—or
perhaps the gallant Hunter himself.

Hunter’s hands visibly shook. He looked back to
the story, then to the date on the paper, and then stared into space. His heart
did not doubt the truth, even while his head balked at accepting it. Never
could he have envisioned any news that would have brought more of a shock to
his mind or hopeless anguish to his soul.

It couldn’t be! She couldn’t have! Surely, she
wouldn’t have!

But the pieces fit. With her knowledge and her
cleverness, she could have passed herself off as a guide. It would have been
difficult, but not impossible for one daring enough and reckless enough to make
the attempt.

Her plan must have been hurriedly conceived, yet
zealously and methodically thought out. Only she among the multitudes possessed
enough mad resolve to have endeavored it—and only she among all others,
manifested the bold cunning to have pulled it off. She, who had always
possessed an abiding faith in achieving the impossible, had succeeded, yet
failed.

Hunter looked up again at his men staring at
him, muttered an excuse, and strode to the door. Once on the porch he put his
hands on the railing and leaned forward. His breath came fast and hard, so
heavy and strained that a puff of steam escaped with every gasp. He became so
overwhelmed by his remorse that for once his iron will failed him. He sank to
the porch, his limbs refusing to support his weight.

 “I do not ask, ‘Can it be done’ … but rather,
‘Is it worth doing?’” She had laughed when she had spoken these words, as if it
explained completely her reckless disregard for danger. She lived by her
principles and believed in her logic that anything worth the doing was worth
the risk of trying.

Hunter put his head in hands as the memory of
that night came back to him with searing clarity. She had not cowered or sobbed
or wavered, but her look of utter anguish, her quiet, pathetic despair at his
distrust was now far more eloquent than any words. She had endured the insults
he had hurled at her like one endures a physical torture, standing her ground
like a soldier.

Sweat rolled down his face despite the chill
when he remembered her parting words: “I trusted you to trust me.” How ironic
that all along she had manifested more trust in him than he had in her … when
all along she had thought it too much to give. She had accepted her banishment,
allowed him to believe the worst without a fight, and he understood why. He had
broken her trust. And that was not something she would seek to repair, nor
something she would ever attempt to gain again.

“Colonel?” Hunter jolted and turned to face the
voice.

“Colonel, you all right?” Major Carter looked
down at him with concern in his eyes.

Hunter shook his head, and then stood slowly,
awkwardly, like one who has imbibed overly much in alcohol, and started to walk
away.

Carter followed and grabbed him by the sleeve.
“It was her, wasn’t it?”

Hunter didn’t bother to answer, knowing the pain
in his eyes made words unnecessary.

“There was a misunderstanding?”

“I was a fool!”

Carter sighed. “It’s the war, sir. It has a way
of hurting the ones we care for the most the worst. We judge unjustly in
proportion as we feel strongly.”

“I thought she—” Hunter choked. “She never told
me—”

“I understand, sir. But truth, like water, finds
a way to seep through.”

A deep groan shook Hunter’s frame.

“You can make amends, Colonel,” Carter said,
sounding fearful for Hunter’s well-being. “Surely there is naught that cannot
be fixed.”

“It’s too late, Carter,” Hunter said, looking
straight into the darkness with such despair in his voice it made the elder officer
cringe.

“She is lost to me.”

Chapter
58

“Fields, roads, trees, and shrubs were alike clothed in the
white robes of winter,

and it seemed almost a sacrilege against the beauty and holy
stillness of the scene

to stain those pure garments with the life blood of man, be
he friend or foe.”

– Mosby’s Rangers, James Williamson

Winter hit northern Virginia with no warning and
little mercy. Snow and sleet fell all day, putting down a cold blanket of
discomfort that slowed the horses and froze in the beards of Hunter’s men.
Although the enemy was in winter quarters, Hunter did not lessen his attacks.
Nothing—not sleep, not exhaustion and not the weather—stopped him or even
slowed him down.

Hunter walked up and down the tracks in silence
inspecting his men’s work while Dixie followed diligently behind. His Command
had now assumed the size of a full brigade, and his activities had become even
more widespread as a result. Many in his ranks were no longer boys, but
officers who had resigned their commissions in the regular army for the honor
of serving under him.

Satisfied with the job his men had done, Hunter
became absorbed for a moment by the shrubs and bushes that glistened like
rolling waves of whitecaps under the starlight. He thought how Andrea would
enjoy the incredible scenery, then swore under his breath and continued into
the pines.

Retreating a small distance from his men, Hunter
pulled his buffalo robe from behind his saddle and laid down. The train would
be another hour at least in coming. Despite the numbing fatigue that weighed
upon his body, he feared he would not be able to rest. Ignoring the strange
feeling of dread that had hung over him all day, he put his saddle blanket
under his head, closed his eyes, and was asleep before taking another breath.

But sleep did not seem to last long. Hunter
heard what sounded like a single horse coming at a trot, its hoofbeats muted on
the frozen snow-covered ground. Crawling to the edge of the pines, he listened
as the sound grew closer to the bend in the road. He felt the anticipation of
his men around him as they too hugged the ground and strained breathlessly.
Seconds ticked by slowly, painfully. Sweat trickled down his face, and his
heart raced with anticipation. When a nearby branch gave way to the weight of
its burden, his nerves reacted with a painful jolt.

Steadying his breathing once again, Hunter
watched the shadowy image of a horse and rider appear from around the curve. A
full moon shifted in the sky just then, casting a beam of light in front of
them like an ethereal pathway. Hunter’s pulse quickened at the sight. Somehow
he had known, had hoped at least, it would be her. She rode perfectly relaxed,
one hand on loose reins, the other on her thigh, seemingly oblivious to any
danger.

Hunter watched mesmerized as she glanced up at
the moon in all its glory, then reached down and patted the skittish horse on
the neck as it shied at the strange shadows created on the crystalline snow.
They were nearly in front of him now, so close he could see every detail—the
frozen whiskers on her horse’s muzzle, the frost-steamed breath pouring forth
from its nostrils. He stepped out onto the road to greet her, and thought how
beautiful the night star looked shining its light down upon her.

Yet now the scene before him began to blur and
move in slow motion.

The sharp crack of a revolver startled him. He
saw her lurch to one side, then scramble to right herself. She looked down at
her chest, her brow wrinkled in confusion at the redness blossoming there. Then
slowly, in disbelief, she raised her head and met his gaze. She appeared
bewildered, surprised for a moment. Then her eyes glazed over with the pain of
recognition.

 Hunter tried to go to her, but his legs
remained planted where he stood. He wanted to tell her it was not him, it was
not his shot, but he was left voiceless by the utter madness of the scene.

She continued to stare at him as she put her
hand to her chest, and he stared back in utter confusion when it seemed to
disappear inside her. She sighed heavily then, and the pain in her quivering
eyes turned to sadness, betrayal, disappointment. But even as she fell forward,
she never removed her pitiful eyes from him. She held his gaze with a
questioning stare, never blinking, yet seeming to accept the fate that had befallen
her.