Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (33 page)

Andrea looked down at her feet. The room grew
hush and Hunter turned back to his desk.

“You are wrong about that, Major,” she replied
at length. “My mistreatment occurred when I refused to talk, not because I
did.”

Hunter straightened back up. “Colonel Streight?
The escape?” His voice grew serious, the lightness of his mood gone.

“The warden wished me to share what I knew of
the plan.” Andrea took a deep breath and looked away. “I declined.”

“I see,” Hunter said. “And you were aware of the
consequences?”

Andrea chewed her cheek, but did not answer. She
had a question of her own. “You had the authority to gain my release once you
discovered my imprisonment?”

Hunter rested his hand on one of his pistols. “I
carry the authority to do as I please.”

Andrea’s gaze moved from his face, down to the
gun, and then to the window, trying to picture her liberation, to picture him
in that hellhole demanding her release.

“You may recall, I gave my word to my brother to
let no harm befall you. It’s a promise I feel bound to abide and intend to
keep.” Hunter looked her dead in the eye. “No matter how difficult you make
it.”

“But I told you that night … I told you to
forget the promise.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“Miss Evans, I did not agree to do one thing
while Daniel lived and expect to do another when he died.”

Andrea looked down and played with the ring on
her finger. “I fear I’m more trouble to you than I—”

“I don’t want to hear about or discuss this
topic ever again. Is that clear?”

Andrea looked up into his eyes and nodded. “Yes,
sir. It’s very clear.”

And though she never again mentioned the topic,
neither did she ever forget it.

Chapter
30

“Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well.”

– King John, Shakespeare

Hunter
entered his library a week later, his gaze focused on a newspaper in his hand.
At the sound of a loud clap of thunder, he glanced toward the window and
observed a silent figure standing with her face pressed close to the glass
watching the storm rage without.

Walking quietly behind her, Hunter observed the
trees outside bending and swaying as the storm hit with all its fury. “Amazing,
the power of the wind.”

Andrea jumped. “Oh. I beg your pardon. I didn’t
know you were here.  I-I just came to get a book.”

Along with surprise, Hunter thought he noted a
hint of welcome in her eyes, making him glad he had interrupted her musings.

“I can come back later,” she said.

A face that usually displayed open hostility,
today, appeared soft and reticent. Hunter hoped it was a sign that her
irritable behavior was a result of the pain she had endured, not her true
character.

“No need.” Hunter nodded his head toward the
bookshelf. “Help yourself.”

“It’s very kind of you to allow me this
indulgence.” 

Hunter smiled to himself. The servants must have
forewarned her that this room was his refuge, and that he tolerated no
interruptions when present within its walls.

Watching her silently as she browsed for books,
he studied the changes in her. She appeared to be in tolerably good spirits today—more
shy and reserved than angry and rebellious. And she spoke with an air of
well-bred elegance, making it difficult to conceive this was the same person
equally capable of spewing insults when riled.

Andrea ran her hand along the volumes as she
read the titles, and did not seem to notice his scrutiny. She had color in her
cheeks again, Hunter noted, and a little more meat on her bones. Tall for a
girl of her age, yet not overly so, she had the type of figure that gave the
appearance of delicacy. And though dressed in a plain cotton gown of a rather
drab hue, she looked somehow elegant and stylish.

Hunter turned
to walk back to his desk, but failed to conceal a heavy limp.

“You are injured?” Andrea turned around at the
sound of his unsteady tread.

Hunter eased himself down onto his desk. “I …
had a horse fall on my leg,” he said, making it clear it was nothing he cared
to discuss. “Just a little sore.”

Andrea swallowed hard, obviously understanding
he had a horse shot out from under him. “Dixie?” Her voice was barely above a
whisper.

“No,” Hunter cocked his head, surprised she knew
the names of his mounts. “Fleet.”

Andrea nodded in recognition. “Nice horse.”

“Yes, he was.”

Andrea gazed into his eyes for just a moment
with a look of sympathetic understanding. Then she turned back to the
bookshelf.

“You’re finding our Southern hospitality a
little more agreeable now, I hope,” Hunter said, making an effort to change the
subject.

“I’ve been quite comfortable, thank you.”

“And
your
leg?” Hunter cocked his head as
he gazed at her.

“It’s getting stronger each day.”

The smile on
Andrea’s face appeared to be forced, and the way she leaned on the cane, he saw
she placed very little weight on the limb. She was gaining steadily, but by no
means rapidly.

“Well, I hope you’re making yourself at home.
Don’t be bashful about asking for anything.”

“You think me timid, sir?”

Hunter’s lips turned upward. “Miss Evans, I
believe you to be about as timid as a cornered grizzly bear protecting a
week-old cub.”

She smiled but did not respond. 

Hunter rustled some papers around on his desk
and then cleared his throat. “Well, I hope you don’t find it overly difficult …
adjusting to our Southern traditions and culture here—”

Andrea gazed at him curiously. “I am familiar
with the customs of Southern aristocracy, I assure you.”

“Oh yes, I remember.” Hunter paused while
pretending the papers he held contained something of interest. “You mentioned
once you were born in … South Carolina, I believe it was?”

He pretended to be unsure, though the fact stuck
in his mind as soundly as a boot lodges in Virginia mud during the month of
March. Andrea remained silent, and he looked up to make sure she had heard.

“Your memory serves you correctly,” she said in
an unemotional voice.

“And … six hundred slaves, I believe you
mentioned.” He put the papers down and walked toward her with one hand on his
chin. “Must have been quite an estate. Certainly Hawthorne pales in comparison
to that which you are accustomed.”

Andrea sighed, her breath sounding like it was
being forced out by a great weight placed upon her shoulders. “Indeed,
Hawthorne has none of the characteristics to which I am accustomed, Major
Hunter,” she said, solemnly, looking into his eyes. “I hope you take great
satisfaction in that fact.”

She returned her attention back to the
bookshelf, and Hunter could see the conversation had come to an end. He walked
up behind her and attempted another change of subject. “By the way … I may have
forgotten to mention, I’ve received word about your friend, Colonel Jordan.”

Andrea jolted and faced him. In her eyes he saw
deep concern bordering on panic. He recalled the day she had approached him
with the newspaper article listing Colonel Jonathan Jordan as severely wounded.
She had literally trembled with alarm, causing him to wonder what type of
relationship she had with the officer.

“He’s expected to make a complete recovery and
has been promoted to brigadier.”

Andrea took a step forward and put her hand on
his arm. “Oh thank you, Major! Catherine must be so relieved. I was so worried
for her.”

“Catherine?”

“Yes.” Andrea took a step back, her cheeks
turning red at her emotional display. “His wife. My cousin, Catherine.”

“Ah,
that
Catherine. Then I’m happy for
her too.”

Andrea turned back to the row of books. “I see
you enjoy Shakespeare,” she said, fingering through the volumes. “What might be
your favorite?”

When Hunter did not answer at first, she looked
around to question his silence.

“I fear you won’t believe me. Or you will think
me a hopeless romantic,” he said.

Andrea’s eyes carried a hint of amusement when
she met his gaze. “If you’re thinking to tell me,
Romeo and Juliet
… No,
I wouldn’t believe that.”

“And why not? You do not believe me capable of
admiring selfless devotion?”

“I would have to admit it seems out of
character.” Andrea looked him up and down boldly. “From what I know of your
reputation.”

“Come now. You wouldn’t judge someone based on
their reputation.”

Andrea shrugged and turned back to the
bookshelf.

“I wouldn’t judge you on yours.”

“I have no reputati
on to speak of,” she said, whirling around to face him.

Hunter laughed at her reaction. “Now that
depends. Perhaps Miss Evans does not. But Sinclair does, I assure you.”

“Oh?” Andrea looked surprised and uncomfortable.

“Well, perhaps not by name. But my captain often
referred to you as the little kid with the big backbone.”

Andrea half-smiled at his words as if recalling
a distant memory, but the smile was pensive and heart wrenching to him, so
infinitely touching and reflective did it appear. She returned her gaze to the
books. “How well might you know it?”

“Know what?”

“
Romeo and Juliet
. You said it was your
favorite.”

“Test me,” he said.

“
My only love sprung from my only hate,
”
she began.

Hunter smiled and picked up the passage
instantly.
“Too early seen unknown and known too late
…
”

“
Prodigious birth of love it is to me
. .
.” she continued.

“That I must love a loathed enemy
,” he
finished the verse.

“So you enjoy Shakespeare as well,” Hunter said
after a moment of silence. “You appear to be well educated, Miss Evans. Were
you tutored at home or abroad?”

Andrea shrugged and dodged the question. “I
enjoy reading.”

“Come now, Miss Evans. You must admit your level
of female cultivation is entirely unusual.”

“Anything beyond the knowledge of the proper
performance of domestic duties is unusual within the Southern household, is it
not?”

Hunter tried to recover his blunder. “Be that as
it may, a solid education should be considered among one’s most valuable
possessions. And you seem to possess an abundance of it.”

Andrea looked back at him now with furrowed
brow. “I am of the belief that loyalty and personal honor should be more highly
revered.”

“Indeed,” Hunter said, crossing his arms. “Few
virtues are more courted. I suppose that goes without saying.”

 “Yes, of course, it goes without saying.”
Andrea gazed thoughtfully at the Confederate banner in the corner of the room.
“It is honor for which you fight, is it not?”

“Yes, the honor of Virginia. The honor of the
Confederacy.”

Andrea gazed up at him. “The honor of your own
principles and convictions.”

“Yes, as priceless a commodity as the blood
spilled to defend it.”

Andrea had a distant look in her eye when she
spoke again, and her tone seemed somewhat colder. “Then if you can accept the
premise that a woman can possess principles and convictions, surely you can
understand that my honor is more precious to me than my education.”

Hunter was about to ask why every conversation
seemed to place them on opposite shores, when a knock at the door interrupted
his thoughts.

“Rain’s stopped, Massa,” Mattie announced. “And
the wagon’s ready.”

Hunter turned to Andrea. “I’m going to check
some fence in the upper fields. Care to join me?”

Andrea’s eyes opened wide, and he thought for a
moment she might jump up and down with excitement. Instead, she fell back on
the education granted her and responded quite calmly.

“If you please, a little ride outdoors would not
be unwelcome.”

Chapter
31

“There would I find my settled rest, while others go and
come;

No more a stranger or a guest, but like a child … home.”

– Psalms 23:6

Andrea sat wide-eyed as the wagon rolled down
the lane. Turning around in her seat, she took in the view of the palatial
estate for the first time from a distance and gazed upon an enchanted world of
beauty and charm.

The mansion itself rested on a crown of rising
ground wreathed by elaborate gardens and trees. Along the back, hedges of
boxwood bushes fell in a series of terraces toward a large lake that swarmed
with geese and swans.

To the north, a grove of mighty oaks bordered
the home, their huge spreading branches shadowing a vast, velvet lawn that
seemed never ending. Andrea’s gaze drifted toward the barn, and then to the
rolling land beyond, where horses stood knee-deep in clover.

Even the birds seemed eager to join in on the
festive occasion, providing a riotous concert along the wagon’s path. Andrea
looked from right to left, taking in the sight of magnificent dogwoods already
robed in white and wildflowers saluting spring in rich profusion all around
her. Along the fringes of the drive, and especially along the stream they
approached, more colorful blooms flourished. Andrea clenched her hands together
in restrained delight when the wagon rolled across the stone, triple-arched
bridge. She glanced behind her once more at the imposing vista behind her.
Never had she seen such a mingling of beauty and elegance.

“We might have to move some horses up there,”
Hunter said, pointing to the next ridge and interrupting her thoughts. “I want
to make sure the fence is in good shape.”

The wagon suddenly veered off the road, and
Andrea held onto the seat with all her strength to avoid grabbing the driver.
Hunter did not seem to notice her struggle. His gaze was intent on the fence
now as they trotted beneath a tracery of bud-laden oak boughs. It did not take
long for him to find something amiss, and he pulled the wagon to a halt.