Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (31 page)

Chapter
28

“You prepare a table for me in the presence of mine enemies.”

– Psalm 23

Andrea paced back and forth on the front porch
five days later, her cane clanking against the planks with each step. She
paused when she noticed Hunter walking up from the barn, sweaty and dusty from
helping the servants unload a wagon.

“Miss Evans,” he said, pushing his hat back from
his forehead and resting his arms on the porch railing. “Something wrong?”

“Yes, something is wrong! Andrea nodded toward
the pasture. “I sent word down to you a half hour ago about removing that roan
from the field. He’s been causing a commotion all morning.”

Hunter turned his head in the direction of a
horse viciously nipping at another, and then rested his gaze back on Andrea.
“Yes, I heard,” he said dryly, “but I had other duties to attend.”

Andrea snorted with indignation. “Then I’ll
remove him myself!” She drew up her skirt up with one hand and started limping
down the steps.

Hunter grabbed her by the arm. “Miss Evans,
there’s no need to alarm yourself. Zach will be moving him to another pasture
in a few minutes.”

“In a few
minutes?” Andrea yelled. “That horse needs to be moved now!”

“Major Hunter?”

Hunter and Andrea whirled around simultaneously,
neither understanding how they had missed the advance of the three horsemen in
front of them, for the corpulent rider who addressed Hunter wore a lavish saber
that clanged on the hardware of his saddle each time his horse moved.

“Yes, I am Major Hunter.”

Andrea eyed
the man in the saddle with suppressed amusement. He was a veritable mountain of
flesh, his vast proportions quivering with each movement of his mount. She saw
no evidence that the flamboyantly dressed soldier had ever seen combat, for the
simple reason that the target he made was unmissable.

Amid even more clanking and banging, the man
dismounted hastily, and none too gracefully, and presented his papers to
Hunter. “My letter of introduction from General Stuart, suh,” he said, bowing
as if to a king.

Andrea stood just behind Hunter’s right elbow
and, with a slight twist of her head, was able to read part of the contents. “
. . . Colonel Wellington, my wife’s cousin, is en route to Richmond on my
behalf. As one of my cherished friends Major Hunter, I ask you to please do
everything in your power to make him feel the importance he has not, nor will
ever achieve, during his short respite with you.”

Andrea watched Hunter’s face and saw the muscles
in his cheek twitch, though whether from mirth or anger she could not discern.
Taking a deep breath as if stepping into a torture chamber, Hunter extended his
hand. “Colonel Wellington, I presume?”

“Yes, suh.” Wellington saluted Hunter, then
grasped his hand in a cordial, though loose, grip. Andrea saw in a glance that
Hunter’s handshake was not nearly so lax, because Colonel Wellington grimaced, indicating
his fingers were being mashed to a pulp.

When Hunter released his hold, the stranger
turned his attention to Andrea, and all memory of the pain he had just endured
seemed to vanish. He stood gawking in unmasked wonder, rudely eyeing her while
licking his lips as if she were a leg of mutton hot from the oven.

“This is Miss Evans, my houseguest,” Hunter
said, noticing the man’s gaze.

“A pleasure, madam.” Wellington removed his hat
and bowed so low Andrea feared he might fall.

Andrea nodded but did not come out from behind
Hunter. She had not failed to notice the way the man stared at her, and almost
grabbed Hunter’s well-muscled arm for protection from his gaze.

One of the men behind Wellington cleared his
throat, and other introductions were made. Corporal Bailey, a strapping,
barrel-chested young man, grinned profusely at Andrea, while the other man,
Private Tate, stared at the ground.

 “Beautiful
home you have here, Major,” Wellington said, walking a short distance, his
saber jangling at his side. “Mind if we get a short rest before dinner?”

Andrea
looked up at Hunter for his reaction, and smiled when he successfully
suppressed the agitation she knew he felt. She understood now his friendship
with General Stuart was a strong one, because it would take a great camaraderie
to keep Hunter from throwing a man like this out on his ear.

“Indeed,” Hunter answered. “I will have a
servant show you to your rooms.”

Hunter turned
and headed into the house, expecting the entourage to follow, but Wellington
held back. “We will, of course, have the pleasure of your company at dinner,
Miss Evans,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm.

Andrea took an evasive step backward as if about
to be kicked by a horse and successfully avoided contact. Hunter turned around
and glared at her with a look that indicated he thought the situation entirely
her fault. Then his gaze lowered to her bare toes clearly visible beneath the
hem of her gown and his look turned to disgust.

Wellington cleared his throat and spoke in a
loud voice. “I would not think of dining without your presence, Miss Evans.”

Andrea’s eyes fell at the look Hunter fired at
her. “Of course,” Hunter answered, though his tone no longer conveyed warmth or
welcome. “She’ll be there.”

* * *

Andrea assumed Hunter had shown his guests to
their rooms and that all were napping before the dinner hour. She further
assumed that Izzie and Mattie were busy in the kitchen preparing a feast for
the visitors, because no one was anywhere to be found. Desperate for a drink of
water, she decided to risk a quick trip down the stairs. Plopping herself on
the polished rail, and using her cane for balance, she rode it to the bottom.

“Miss Evans!”

Hunter’s voice brought an instant reversal to
the smiling position of her lips. It was the voice, Andrea surmised, he used on
the field to order his troops to battle. “Sir?”

“That railing is for your hand, not your seat.”

“Yes, sir, but I—”

“I am trying to run a civilized household here.
What have I told you about wearing shoes?”

Andrea was just about to ask him if he’d been
born with his boots on, when he spoke again.

 “Don’t come down here again without shoes on,”
he ordered before turning away.

“Yes,
suh
!” Andrea held herself up to
full attention and saluted him, mimicking his order with exaggerated
gesticulations.

Hunter turned. “I saw that.”

Andrea looked at the mirror she had forgotten
was there and limped up the stairs, forgetting her thirst in her hurry to
escape. Sitting in her room, fuming over his discourteous behavior, Andrea
heard a curt knock on the door, followed by his entrance.

“Dinner is at seven.”

“You seem to insinuate that I am the cause of
this mess,” she said angrily, “but I find the aspects of dining at your table
about as enjoyable as being kicked by a horse.”

“You’ve made
yourself known to the Colonel, and he expects to see you. I only ask that you
have regard for certain topics that must be . . . embargoed.”

Andrea stared out the window, waiting for him to
finish.

 “I know you may feel uncomfortable . . .”

Andrea looked back in surprise, thinking for a
moment Hunter was going to express sympathy for forcing her to share a meal
with a bunch of Rebels.

“… having to act like a civilized young lady for
an evening.”

Andrea turned around. “You believe me incapable
of the feat?”

Hunter remained quiet for a moment. “How shall
you play a role for which you’ve had so little practice?”

Andrea’s cheeks blossomed. “I shall not essay to
enlighten you on the subject now, but I assure you, Major Hunter, I can behave
like a lady.”

He snorted.
“Really? Sometimes, my dear, I believe you possess a disposition that is no
less ferocious than that of a chained bulldog protecting a meaty bone.”

“That is not the impression I wish to convey,”
Andrea said, forcing a smile. “I shall make every effort to change it.”

Hunter fell silent for a moment, apparently
contemplating what she meant and what she might do. “Nevertheless, I find it
necessary to advise you, for your own sake, to be civil this evening.”

“Civil?”

“
Civ-il-ized
,” he said, pronouncing each syllable.

“I am familiar with the word,” Andrea snapped
with righteous indignation. “I do not know why you think you must school me in
its meaning.”

Hunter took a step into the room and closed the
door behind him. “Surely you understand the fine line I am treading with you in
my home. Or must I explain the complexities of sheltering a Yankee spy?

“You underestimate me, Major,” Andrea said,
regaining her composure. “I promise you that those men will believe me every
bit as cultured as one of your Virginia damsels.”

“Does that mean you’ll suppress your usual
temperament and try to gain some measure of control over your unguarded
tongue?”

“That means I’ll advance no opinion unless I
feel it is required or requested.”

Hunter sighed
and placed his fingers on his temples, as he so often did in her presence. “If
you’ve been dining on gunpowder again, Miss Evans, I sincerely hope you’ll keep
the ammunition of your thoughts to yourself, and that you’ll refrain from
discharging words of war at my table. Do I make myself clear?”

Andrea brushed a piece of lint from her skirt.
“Are you saying you wish me to remain voiceless in the presence of my enemies?”

Hunter laughed. “Since when have you been
voiceless under such conditions? Or under any conditions for that matter?” He
held up his hand to stop her from answering. “I am here to tell you that your
obstinate behavior will in no way be tolerated tonight.”

Andrea planted her cane in front of her and
stood her ground. “And so you simply expect me to submit to your demands?”

Hunter put his hat back on, and spoke with the
authority of one who is not to be ignored or refused. “I’ve said all I came to
say. I’ll appreciate your forbearance on all issues relating to the war. Pray
do not take it lightly.”

When he turned to leave, Andrea turned her back
on him. But a moment after the door closed, she heard it reopen. “Miss Evans,
this is somewhat of a formal affair. You will kindly wear shoes?”

Andrea whipped her head around and glared, but
the door had already closed. She stuck her tongue out in his direction anyway
before throwing herself face down onto the bed. As far as she was concerned, he
had thrown down a challenge. She was not one to refuse it.

* * *

 “Your guest will not be joining us?” Wellington
picked up a glass of wine and drank thirstily before turning his attention to
his host.

Hunter
glanced at the clock and almost hoped she would not. It took no power of
prophecy to know she would either come to the table miserable and moping like a
sulking child, or temperamental and explosive like a wounded lion.

But before Hunter could answer, the sound of a
cane tapping down the hall fell upon his ears, its leisurely pace confusing
him. Usually when Andrea approached, the movements were fast and furious, and
doors blew open when she entered a room like a storm moving through.

Hunter waited breathlessly and expectantly for
the gale to come rushing in, both fearing and anticipating her reaction when
she found there were not four, but seven Rebels to contend with. But to his
surprise the door opened slowly, allowing the light from the hall to enter
first, then surround, the vision of beauty that lingered there. The tempest he
had expected was nowhere to be seen or heard. The only sound was the soft,
pleasant rustle of feminine attire as it gracefully sashayed into the room.

“Gentlemen,” Andrea said, her eyes roaming the
room.

If she noticed—or cared—that the table was
filled to capacity with her enemy, she did not show it. On the contrary, she
smiled demurely at those gathered as if honored and humbled to be in their
presence.

It appeared to Hunter that somehow, somewhere in
his home, a bewitching transformation had taken place. The beast of a few hours
earlier had been exchanged for one of alluring majesty. The creature that had
the delicacy and sensitivity of an angry bull had apparently departed. In its
place was one whose deportment was ladylike, whose appearance was refined.

Smiling entrancingly, Andrea looked every man in
the eye, save Hunter, who she notably failed to pay the courtesy of a glance.
“Ah’m so very sorry for keeping y’all waitin’. Ah hope you gentlemen will
forgive me.”

She did not look sorry at all to Hunter. Rather,
she seemed to be enjoying the spotlight. She acted with such sophistication,
Hunter almost forgot this was the same barefooted she-devil that caused him so
much distress; the same Union-loving patriot that, if she had a gun in her
hand, would have every man in this room begging for his life.

Hunter’s eyes swept over the yellow silk of her
gown, which in the flames of the flickering candlelight appeared more like
shimmering gold. Indeed, the flowing of a great concourse of ruffles made her
radiate with something akin to the warm rays of the sun. She stood by her chair
with all the presence of royalty, her head held high as if there should be a
crown upon it. Hunter could see no flaw in her poise. A stranger, seeing her
for the first time, would swear she had the blue blood of a Virginian ancestry
running through her veins.

“It was well worth the wait,” Wellington said,
taking her extended hand from across the table and kissing it.

Hunter did not fail to notice that Andrea seemed
well practiced in having her hand kissed by someone she would rather shoot than
touch. “You are too kind, suh,” she replied, batting her lashes. “It’s such an
honah for you to permit me to dine with you.”