Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (6 page)

It was late before the other men retired, but
despite her weariness, Andrea waited until the last one had departed. “I
understand you are looking for a contact in Richmond,” she said casually, as
though she’d not been burning to ask the question all night.

Daniel stared at her, showing surprise at first,
but then he acquired the same thoughtful gaze J.J. had. He cocked his head to
the side. “Colonel Jordan told you about Richmond?”

Andrea grinned. “N-not exactly. I … overheard a
conversation.”

Daniel put his head back and laughed. “Ah-ha. I
see.” He winked at her, but gave Andrea little time to analyze the look.
Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he became all business. With his blue
eyes assessing her, he asked in a hushed tone, “You would be interested in such
a position?”

Andrea nodded earnestly. “I was born in South
Carolina and schooled in Richmond.”

“I did not detect your accent.”

“I was tutored in speech and diction befoe the
wah, suh. But I declayah, talking like this comes natchral enough.”

Daniel laughed and leaned back. “It would be extremely
dangerous nonetheless.”

“I understand.”

“Colonel Jordan is comfortable with you
accepting the assignment?”

Andrea began to answer yes, but stopped
mid-breath when she looked into Daniel’s honest eyes. “N-not exactly. I believe
he wished to confer with you first.”

“Well, I’ll have to think about it.” He stood up
and brushed off his coat. “Colonel Jordan implied he had something to discuss
with me, but it will have to wait. At any rate, it’s late. You must be
exhausted.”

Andrea sighed and nodded.

“Next time you’ll have to tell me about
yourself. I fear I bored you with talk about me and my men all night,” he said,
helping her to her feet.

“I was not bored in the least.” Andrea looked up
and met his gaze. “As for me—it’s a long story.”

Daniel placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s
funny,” he said in a soft, serious tone, “but I feel like I’ve known you all my
life, Sinclair. Yet I know nothing at all about you, not even your real name.”

His words caught Andrea off guard. A part of her
felt bewildered, ready to run. Yet another part found comfort in his eyes, a
feeling she could tell this man anything—and perhaps everything. She cleared
her throat and tried to suppress the emotions raging within her. “I think I’d
better say good night, Colonel.”

“Yes, of course.” Daniel led her toward a row of
tents. “I apologize for keeping you up so late. I know you’ve had a long day.”

“Actually, there is one more thing I’d like to
ask you.”

“Of course.” Daniel stepped closer. “What would
you like to know?”

“When I, when
we
, were being attacked,
you called the Confederate officer by his given name, Alex. Are you
acquainted?” Even in the dim light from the campfires she saw a shadow fall
across his face.

“Yes, I know
him very well.” His voice was almost a whisper, and he averted his gaze. When
he looked back, a somberness that had not been there before filled his eyes.
“But that’s the way of this war, is it not?” He said nothing more, just tipped
his hat respectfully and disappeared into the darkness.

Andrea wrapped herself in her blanket and laid
down, but instead of falling instantly to dreamland as she had anticipated, she
lay awake thinking about the gallant Colonel Delaney. She recalled how he made
her laugh and how comfortable she felt in his company. Although she lived, ate,
and slept around men every day, they were simply friends and comrades, nothing
more. But this one’s indescribable charm made him somehow different. He seemed
so gentle, kind, tenderhearted—the complete opposite of the infamous Captain
Hunter. Andrea shuddered at the thought. Yet when she did finally drift off to
sleep, it was Captain Hunter’s piercing gray eyes she saw in her dreams, not
Colonel Delaney’s sparking blue ones.

Chapter
5

“For if destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author.

… We must live through all time, or die of suicide.”

– Abraham Lincoln

Andrea’s visit with her cousin was a pleasant
one, though it did not last long. Anxious to get back in the saddle after only
one day, she rode well into the night to return to J.J.’s camp. It seemed she
had no sooner laid her head down before Boonie was shaking her awake. She
stared drowsily at the rose-colored sky that revealed a new day had already
begun.

“You gonna sleep all day, boy?”

Andrea groaned. “Darn it, Boonie, I ain’t slept
but a few hours in the last week.”

“Tell yer problems to Jordan. He wants to see
you.”

Andrea closed her eyes and tried to remember
what she may have done to aggravate J.J. Unable to think of anything, she sat
up. “What for?”

“Dunno and didn’t ask. I’m a soldier, not yer
mother.”

Andrea hurried and dusted off her pants as best
she could. Maybe he had something to tell her about Richmond. Or maybe he had
changed his mind. She quickened her limping pace toward headquarters without a
backward glance.

* * *

 “Sinclair.” J.J. frowned with anxiety when he
saw her. “This is Captain Warren. He’s here under orders to request you for
special service detail.”

Andrea nodded in the direction of the officer
and then turned her attention back to J.J.

“And I have told him I cannot allow it. You are
too valuable here.”

J.J. knew if given the opportunity, Andrea would
seize it, and he would never be able to rein her in. There would always be
another assignment, each more dangerous than the last. When Andrea looked at
him with evident surprise at his response, he took satisfaction in the fact he
had avoided lighting her volatile temper. Had he just said “no,” he would have
had a fight on his hands.

“General Whittington is asking a favor, not
giving an order,” the captain said to Andrea. “But he did say he wants you.”

“He is not available.” J.J. sat down at a table
and began writing a dispatch, making it appear time was of the essence. “He
will be on his way forthwith to Centreville. For me.”

The captain
stood for a moment and then, apparently realizing any further attempts would be
futile without a direct order, turned to leave. “As you wish, sir.”

Andrea flopped down on the cot. “What do you
suppose
that
was all about?”

J.J. did not bother to answer other than to
grunt something under his breath that suggested extreme annoyance.

“I think I’m getting old, J.J.,” Andrea groaned.
She put her hand on her head and stretched out her legs. “Everything hurts.”

J.J. stopped writing and looked up. “Does that
mean you’re ready to stop this foolish game?”

Andrea sat straight up. “No.”

“I thought not. I need you take a dispatch to
General Lawson.” J.J. tried not to appear nervous as he put the finishing
touches on the communication. “He’s in Centreville. Report directly back to me
with his response.”

Andrea stood up and grabbed for the dispatch,
but he held onto it.

“After you deliver the message, head back
through Hopewell Gap. I’ll be in the vicinity of Monroe’s Mill. Do you
understand?”

Andrea nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s dangerous out there, Andrea. This area is
not all behind our lines.”

Andrea gazed at him as if he had told her
nothing more significant than that it might rain, then stood and saluted him.
“Yes, sir!”

J.J. frowned
at her theatrics. “Come here. Give me a hug. How’s the ankle?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Andrea said. “And don’t worry,
I’ll be careful.”

J.J. sighed
loudly at her futile attempt to hide her limp and the offhand way she spoke.
She made the pledge to use caution with little reflection, and knowing Andrea,
she would violate it with as little hesitation.

“I’ll see you
at Monroe’s Mill.” He followed her outside and watched her saddle and mount.
“Remember—”

“I’ve got it, Colonel.” Andrea sounded more than
a little exasperated as she hauled on the reins to keep Justus under control.
“Centreville and hence to Hopewell Gap.”

J.J. shook his head as she rode away, feeling
guilty he had to lie. He knew what the general wanted her for, and he knew he
would not be at Hopewell Gap when she returned. No one would be. His regiment
was heading down to Thoroughfare Gap—so was the general, and so were a lot of
Rebels.

He wanted to keep her as far away from that
dangerous part of the country as he could.

Chapter
6

 “Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

 – Goethe

They moved through the darkness without making a
sound. So stealthy were their movements and so ominous their silent shadows,
Hunter knew a legion of specters rising from their graves could not look more
menacing. Even the horses appeared of another world tonight, seeming to float
upon the swirling mist among trees that stood like sentinels guarding a
numinous world.

Dressed inconspicuously and mounted on his
favorite steed, Hunter rode in front of his band, seeking some game to flush.
His men, as was their habit, were hungry for battle. And as their leader, he
felt it his manifest duty to feed them.

Halting the group about fifty feet from a
country farmhouse, Hunter listened to the strains of music coming from within
while silently studying the scene. The sight of four horses tied out front,
Union officers’ mounts most likely from the accoutrements they carried, brought
a smile to his face. Riding forward with one other man, Hunter dismounted and
banged on the door with the butt of his revolver. When a young lady answered, he
positioned himself in the shadows so she could not identify the color of his
uniform.

“Pardon the interruption, miss,” he said in a
smooth, low voice, tipping his hat courteously. “Any officers in the house are
requested back at camp immediately.”

Within a heartbeat of his last word, four men
dressed in Union splendor pushed their way past the lady. “What do you say?
What is the meaning of this?”

By this time, Hunter had pressed himself against
the wall, out of sight of the four standing in the doorway. Their focus was
therefore intent on Lieutenant Carter, who leaned nonchalantly against the
porch post with a well-chewed cigar hanging from his mouth.

“Who sent you?” asked a high-ranking officer,
stepping through the door with the others following close at his heels. “What
is the meaning of this? Is there trouble?”

When they were all on the porch, Carter nodded
his head toward the doorway.  “Ask
him
.”

Hunter appeared from the shadows behind them,
blocking any retreat back into the house. “Indeed there is trouble. Do you know
of Hunter?”

“Yes,” one proclaimed. “Have we caught the
infernal plundering pirate?”

“No,” Hunter replied, a satirical smile
spreading across his lips, “but he has caught you.”

He raised his gun to eye level and cocked it to
reinforce his statement. The four men stood dumbstruck before raising their
hands in surrender.

“You cannot be Hunter,” one of the men finally
spoke. “We heard he was in our front, being pursued by our advance guard.”

“I believe that was this morning,” Hunter said,
relieving the man of his gun and saber. “While the hounds were sleeping—or
socializing—the fox was on the move.”

“This is outrageous,” another shouted. “Why if I
had known I would have—”

Hunter did not give him the opportunity to
finish. “Yes, I have discovered the world is full of Yanks with mighty
hindsight.”

“But this is an insult,” he roared. “You Rebels
do not fight fair!”

Carter cocked his gun and put it to the man’s
head. “If I were in your boots, I’d be more humiliated than insulted.” He
snarled the words with the cigar still clenched firmly between his teeth.

Hunter ignored the conversation, intent instead
in pulling documents from one of the officer’s pockets. “How far to your camp?”
he asked without raising his eyes from the communication he held.

No one answered until Carter’s gun flashed up
again. “’Bout two miles outside Chantilly, there’s a schoolhouse.” The man’s
voice was solemn and low.

“How many?” Hunter raised his eyes from the
dispatch and then lowered them again.

“I’ll wager we outnumber you. You don’t stand a
chance.” The officer speaking squinted into the darkness, trying to count the
shadows that remained concealed in the cloak of night.

“You may indeed outnumber us,” Hunter said in a
low, distinct voice, “but I do not intend to give your men time to count noses
in the dark.” He gave the officer a cold smile as he glanced over the letter he
held:
“Our picket post was attacked by Hunter’s men this morning. The
confounded raiders appeared out of nowhere and disappeared in the same direction.”

Hunter
stuffed the dispatch into his coat, and spoke into the darkness.
“Anyone
need to make any trades?” Four or five of his men bounded up to the porch and
promptly swapped boots, hats, and even coats with the officers, while others
grabbed saddles, bridles, and horses.

“I hope you are proud of this thievery,” one of
the Federal officers said.

Hunter leaned against the porch post watching
the procedure. “It’s called trading,” he said in a voice full of indifference.

“Trading?” the man bellowed, looking down at the
tattered boots he now wore. “What are we trading?”

“In your case,” Hunter said, staring at the
pompous Federal colonel, “your boots for your life.”

Turning away from the prisoners, Hunter yelled
into the yard. “Max and Larson, escort these gentlemen to Richmond, please.”
Then he tipped his hat respectfully toward the prisoners, mounted his horse,
and melted into the darkness with the remaining dauntless souls of his command.