Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (74 page)

“Believe me when I tell you—” Andrea leaned
forward and made eye contact with as many of the battle- and time-scarred
veterans as she could. “Believe me when I tell you, the Colonel felt it his
splendid privilege to serve beside you. To the end he thought of you, for you
were as dear to his heart as the liberty and soil he defended. Please accept my
deepest appreciation for your affectionate regard and devotion to him, and
please know that he left this earth profoundly pleased, truly proud and
sincerely grateful to have had the good fortune, and indeed the supreme honor,
to call you
his men
.”

Never did the old hills reverberate with
heartier cheers, as it seemed an electric current surged through the crowd. Not
a dry eye remained on the field, save perhaps a few dozen Virginian women who
felt it their sacred duty to despise anything remotely Yankee, and believed it
a horrible desecration of the gallant Colonel’s sacred memory to be honored by
one—especially one who had trapped him into marriage when he was on his
deathbed.

Sure the war was over, but Colonel Hunter
deserved better. It would be unnatural in the name of the Confederacy to honor
one of its destroyers. It might be the Christian thing to do to forgive wrong,
but it was not the Christian thing to honor wrong.

* * *

Pierce saw Andrea standing alone beneath the
towering monument, staring at the polished marble as dappled shadows from the
lowering sun flickered across the inscription.

“It appears you approve.”

Andrea did not turn around, as if she knew he
was there or expected that he would be. “I do not need a monument to be
reminded of the worth of my husband, Mr. Pierce.” She turned around then, as if
sorry she had spoken so abruptly. “I mean, I would rather have the man than a
piece of stone honoring his courage.”

“But now future generations can know of the
honorable services he rendered,” Pierce said in a soft, deep voice, “and know
that Virginia has given her best and noblest blood.”

Andrea nodded. “A pity the country demanded the
noblest for her altars.  Would that I could have taken that bullet and left him
to Virginia.”

Pierce put his hands on her arms and looked into
her eyes. “Do you not think every man here does not wish that? That every man
there that day regrets not following him on his errand of mercy?” His voice
cracked. “A thousand lives could not be worth as much!”

Andrea nodded with a wistful smile planted on
her face, and then turned away. “I’ve been wishing to take a walk by the stream
before we depart. Would you care to accompany me, Mr. Pierce?”

“You are welcome to call me Will,” he said,
frowning at her attempt to change the subject. “And I would be most honored to
escort you.”

They walked down the hill toward the sound of
running water, neither speaking. Andrea turned around once to gaze at the
memorial as the light of early sunset cast it in a red fiery blaze of glory.
Pierce stopped and looked at her as she beheld the spectacle, and saw despair
and grief in her eyes rather than a reflection of the magnificent statue. He
felt like he was watching the pain of the passage of time in her expression. He
could almost see what she was thinking: what were memories and a slab of stone
compared to the mortal man?

Andrea turned then and sighed as she stared out
over the great fields of battle. She looked over at Pierce as if just
remembering he was there, and then proceeded down the hill. She had taken only
a few steps when she stumbled slightly. Pierce reached out for her arm to
steady her.

“Damn this leg,” Andrea said under her breath.
“Oh, sorry for my language. Please pardon me.”

Pierce smiled and let her go. “No harm done. The
old riding injury acting up, I suppose.”

Andrea had continued walking again and looked
back over her shoulder, her brow drawn in confusion. “
Riding
injury?”
Then she laughed softly as if remembering a joke, and continued walking. “Oh,
yes, the riding injury.”

Pierce touched her arm. “It was not?”

Andrea stopped and turned, then smiled
awkwardly. “Yes, of course it was.”

“I don’t believe you now,” he said, studying her
face. “You wouldn’t lie to an old friend.”

“Very well. If you insist on knowing, I was a
guest at Libby,” she said indifferently, as if speaking of a prestigious hotel.
“And was not one of the warden’s most desired inmates, I dare say.” She grasped
his arm for support and started walking again. “But I did not ask for your
company to speak of the war.”

Pierce followed and reluctantly pressed her no
more. But in his mind he  tried to put together pieces of the impenetrable
mystery of her past, the details of which she would never reveal and whose
secrets were most likely known only by her husband, whose lips were sealed in
death.

“Look at all these beautiful flowers!” Andrea
pointed toward a small patch of wildflowers. “Let’s pick a bouquet for Charlene
and Alex … for the memorial, I mean.” Andrea did not wait for an answer but
began plucking the colorful blooms.

“You have such a lovely family,” Andrea said,
not noticing Pierce as he watched her intently. “I must tell you Captain, it seems
ironic that you always had a way with women—and now you have a house full of
them.” She laughed and then looked up at his unsmiling face. “I’m sorry,” she
said, straightening back up. “I meant, Mr. Pierce. I mean, Will.”

Pierce continued gazing at her with a thoughtful
stare as she went back to picking wildflowers. “You made quite a sensation
today,” he said at last. “Doubtless, captured the attention and admiration of
more than one heart.”

Andrea did not seem to understand, or chose to
ignore, his meaning. Yet she seemed to sense Pierce staring at her and
straightened back up. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Well, um, you consider me a friend do you
not?

“’Of course,” she said. “There are no greater
friends than foes who have served honorably.”

“Then may I ask you something?”

Andrea shrugged. “Certainly.”

“I have been asked,” Pierce began, taking a step
toward her, “that is to say, I’ve had some inquiries.” He cleared his throat.
“From some of the unwed men in the Command, good men all, wishing to know your
status. Well, not status exactly—perhaps your position… Yes, your position on
suitors, on whether you would receive them. And knowing that I know you as I
do, they asked me to, um, ask as to whether or not, well, I guess, that is,
they would like to know if you would be, you know, open to such a… possibility.”

Andrea appeared to think he was joking at first,
but then by the tone of his voice and his stammering, determined he was not.
She cocked her head and looked up into his eyes, her brow creased in obvious
confusion. “But why? They know I am married.”

Pierce studied her face, unblinking. “He’s dead,
Andrea.” His eyes never left hers.

Andrea did not respond other than to push past
him and try to get away. He caught her by the hand and whirled her back around
to face him, holding her by the arms firmly so she could not get away.

“How dare they send you to me!” she spat. “How
dare you think I would betray my husband! Take another man’s name! You are
deluded, or you are insane, or you are bloody well drunk!”

Pierce shook her gently and said it again. “He’s
dead, Andrea! Fifteen years for heavens sake! There are other men out there …
good men who would take care of you, cherish you.”

“I need no one to take care of me!” Andrea began
to struggle. When she found she could not possibly free herself from his
powerful grasp she pounded on his chest with her fists, the flowers falling in
a crushed clump from her hands. “I want no one else! Let me go!”

Pierce held on, closing his eyes against her
relentless fury as she pummeled and kicked and struggled against him like a
wild animal caught in a trap. Finally, out of pure exhaustion, she sank against
his chest, sobbing and trembling, years of grief spilling from her soul. “My
love is not dead,” she cried into his chest, pouring out her sorrow for the
first time. “Our love did not die!”

“Dear Andrea,” Pierce said, wrapping her in his
arms and gently stroking her hair. “Would that I could take your grief away and
make it my own.”

Andrea sobbed some more and he could feel her
warm tears soaking through his shirt, could feel that she was tormented beyond
the power of words with the anguish of years of loneliness and heart-breaking
sorrow. “I miss him,” she said softly between sobs. “He was my life!”

“Of course you miss him,” Pierce said
soothingly. “But you are too young to bury your heart in a grave. He would not
ask it of you. He did not expect you to be cloistered away at Hawthorne for the
rest of your life.”

“He’s waiting for me. You do not understand!”

The despair in her voice made his bones ache.
“Andrea, please reconsider. You have mourned long enough. It is time to rejoin
the living. They know you will never love them as you loved him. They accept
that.”

Andrea uttered not a sound other than to
continue to weep softly, but Pierce felt her arms wrap more tightly around him,
as if she needed his strength to overcome the misery that had been locked in
her heart for the past fifteen years. He tightened his embrace, hoping to
relieve her suffering and the terrible anguish of her yearning. “Andrea, have
you forgotten what it is like to have a man’s arms around you?” he whispered
trying to console her, knowing within the circle of his arms was a young,
vibrant woman who had not been held by a man for a decade and a half.

Again she did not answer, but she did not
resist. Pierce continued talking, knowing her depth of pain was too deep for
words. He ran his hand down the length of golden hair that had fallen in her
struggle and blinked at its softness.

“You are but a woman, Andrea. You deserve to be
taken care of, to be treated like a woman.” Pierce’s voice cracked and he
closed his eyes, slightly unnerved by his own reaction to the words. This is
not what he had planned when he told the men he would ask her if she would
receive them. He felt her fingers dig into his back as she clenched a fistful
of his shirt.

“But, Will, you do not understand,” she murmured
into his chest. “No one understands.”

Pierce suppressed a shiver at the sound of his
name on her lips and took another deep breath, wondering why it seemed like he
could not get enough air into his lungs and where the heat was coming from that
was beginning to surge through his veins. His cheek rested on the top of her
head and the smell of lavender in her hair caused his knees to suddenly feel
weak. Perhaps he had indeed drunk too much ale earlier, for the feeling of her
breath coming fast and hard against his chest, her soft body pressed firmly
against his, was beginning to blur his senses.

“The spark that was within you,” he said in an
unsteady voice, “is still there. It can flame again at the hands of the right
man.” Now both her hands were fisted tightly within the folds of his shirt as
she clung to him in desperate anguish. He could feel her heart fluttering
against his chest, could feel each beat, and it possessed an intensity and a
tempo that almost exceeded his own.

“After all these years,” he whispered
soothingly, “you must long for affection, yearn for strong arms to hold you.
You cannot help but crave a man’s touch.”

Pierce felt her swallow hard against him, thought
he even heard a whimper—but he could have imagined it, or expected it … or
wished it. He allowed one hand to slide down to the small of her back, and
wondered at the slightness of the form that carried within it so much vitality
and strength. Suddenly there was a passionate temptation within him, the likes
of which had not crossed his mind since he had taken his own vows. “Dear
Andrea. I understand why you fight it so.” He lowered his head to speak softly
into her ear. “You fear you will enjoy it.”

Pierce felt her take a deep tremulous breath and
shiver, and she wrapped her arms more completely around him. Her hands seemed
to reflexively open then, fingers spread, lying flat upon his back, the way a
woman holds a man. The searing heat within them caused his skin to tingle
through the shirt she had been clutching. He wondered if she knew who she was
holding anymore, or if she was merely clutching a memory, for her embrace felt
suddenly more passionate than it had before.

Pierce shut his eyes when the hands closed again
in seeming desperation, this time her fingers digging into flesh, in an
apparent effort to feel the man rather than the shirt. He took a deep sucking
breath, realized he must have been holding it for quite some time, and let it
out slowly as he tried to control the sensations that overpowered him. She too
was having trouble breathing, for he could feel her chest rising and falling
more rapidly against his own, her warm breath feeling more like a
flame-throwing torch against his skin than the exhalation of air. Every nerve
in his body strained to its limit as wild images flashed through his mind. For
so great was the heat between them, he feared if one of them moved, a spark
would ignite and surely they would both go up in flames.

For a few more moments Pierce remained
breathlessly quiet—in fact breathless—as he acknowledged that he was intimately
wrapped in another woman’s arms. He could recall no act in four years of war
that required more strength or stamina than the battle in which he found
himself engaged, fighting with every ounce of his manhood not to yield to his
impulses.

Finally, he felt her start to relax into him,
succumbing to her emotions he surmised, surrendering to his touch, at last
realizing how desperately she needed a man. Her hands slid down his back and
she released her tight hold around him. Pierce winced, for his skin flamed
where her fingers created a trail of heat down his spine. He exhaled long and
deep, a sigh of extreme satisfaction and contentment, pleased with himself for
the restraint he had shown—and delighted that her unconquerable spirit had
bowed to his. Even after fourteen years of marriage he had not lost his touch.
He loosened his grip around her. The men would be pleased with what he had
accomplished on their behalf. He had done his duty well!