Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (39 page)

The pain in her voice startled him. “You can’t
allow your past to dictate your future.”

“You speak from sympathy?” Andrea looked as if
she yearned for him to impart some magical insight upon her.

“I believe I speak from experience.”

He watched her gaze slowly drift away to
somewhere over his shoulder, then her eyes grew wide with amazement.

“Major,” she said, pointing behind him, “I fear
the sun is rising.”

As if on cue, a cock crowed. Hunter turned so
see the first pearly glimmers of light slicing through the darkness. In the
far, far distance, the jagged shapes of trees emerged against the slightest
patch of pink.

They had talked all night.

“I apologize for keeping you up.” Andrea’s eyes
remained focused on the sunrise. “It wasn’t my intention, truly. The hours fled
so swiftly …” She drew her attention away from the spectacle for a moment to
meet his gaze. “But I thank you for the discussion. It was quite …
stimulating.”

Hunter knew she meant the remark sincerely and
smiled, then wondered why her words had elicited such a response. He generally
found conversations with women nothing less than tedious, yet he had just
conversed the night away with one. He sighed at his own confusion.

When he looked back around, the sky had taken on
the impression of an artist’s masterpiece, with swirls of deep pink and
lavender floating in stratified layers of lacy wonder. He felt he was
witnessing a miracle, and knew he had never seen the dawning of a new day
arrive with such splendor.

But as magical as the vista in front of him
appeared, the beauty that stood beside him was also not without effect. She
stood so near he felt her dressing gown touch his leg, and he tensed at the
contact.

“I believe I shall never see its equal.”
Andrea’s voice was soft as they stood in the lingering glow of dawn, sharing
the spectacle before them.

Hunter studied her, thinking he should perhaps
admit aloud that the glorious beauty of the sun in the painted heavens was
nothing compared to the one who stood beside him watching its appearance.

“I’m sure you wish to get some sleep,
Commander.” Andrea casually reached for the support of his arm. When she looked
up, her eyes met his and lingered for the breadth of a heartbeat—long enough
for Hunter to get the impression he had just witnessed a miracle that had
nothing to do with the dawning of a new day.

He smiled again, dazed, remembering his
weariness of a few hours ago that had vanished at the sight of her. Dismissing
his confused thoughts, he helped her back to her room.

“Good night, Miss Evans,” he said, bowing.

“You mean, good morning, Major.” She smiled
broadly.

He smiled too, but the smile quickly faded. “I
stand corrected. Good morning, Miss Evans.” 

After closing the French doors behind him,
Hunter could not resist one more contemplative glance to the East. Something
had awakened in him with the dawning of this new day. Something vague—yet
something so distinct, he knew he would never look at sunrises or full moons
the same again.

Chapter
37

“Even God cannot change the past.”

– Aristotle

Andrea lifted her eyes from a book to gaze at
the rays of soft sunlight drenching the lawn in a rich golden blanket. She
heard the front door close, then the familiar sound of Hunter’s spurs clanking
across the porch. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he leaned one shoulder
against the ionic column and gazed meditatively over the gorgeous panorama of
the valley he owned.

Andrea could not draw her eyes away from the
indomitable figure. With one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, the other
stuffed indifferently in his pocket, his image suggested little of the intrepid
character she knew so well. Dressed casually, without his Confederate coat, he
seemed tranquil and relaxed. Yet his large muscular frame, with his strong, tan
forearms and powerfully built legs, showed evidence of his ability to put up a
fight.

She lowered her eyes to her book, then lifted
them once again. He was striking, she mused, irresistibly masculine and, she
had to admit, very appealing. Tall, broad-shouldered, and vigorous, he was the
incarnation of force and strength. A fearless soldier, he was likewise
respected by others as a gracious and gallant gentleman, creating a puzzling
veil of mystery that made him all the more captivating.

Andrea cocked her head and scrutinized him. Most
officers dressed flamboyantly. Hunter, on the other hand, always wore a uniform
that displayed nothing but hard usage. She could not help yielding him the
tribute of admiration, for he was almost impossible to dislike.

Almost.

Andrea looked away as her thoughts began to
disturb her, and a sigh involuntarily escaped her lips.

“Oh, there you are.” Hunter turned around.

He moved toward her with a brilliant smile, revealing
a hidden handsomeness all the more enchanting. Placing his cup down on the
table opposite her, he took a seat. Andrea detected an uncharacteristic twinkle
in his eye and tried to decipher its cause.

* * *

 “I forgot to mention that I had a chat with
some fellows from South Carolina last week,” Hunter said as if simply making
conversation.

Andrea lifted her gaze and then lowered it
again, but otherwise did not respond.

“Yes, the Charleston area to be exact.”
Hunter noticed that his houseguest stared at the
book in her hands, but her eyes did not move, a hint to him that her thoughts
were not on the words. “Maybe you know the area? Something-Crossroads, I think
they said.”

Andrea closed her book and looked up at him with
questioning eyes.

 “Anyway, they can’t recall any Evans from the
area,” he continued, “but they do know about this chap Charles
Monroe
”—Hunter
emphasized the last name—“who, oddly enough, was married to an Evans—of
Virginia.”

Andrea swallowed hard, but for the most part,
her impassive face revealed nothing.

“Anyway, this Charles Monroe owns half of South
Carolina.” He swept his arms to show the magnitude. “A place called MontRose.”

Hunter knew with certainty he had struck a chord
now. Despite her best efforts to maintain an appearance of indifference, his
young houseguest appeared troubled.

“I’d be somewhat surprised if you hadn’t heard
of it with your knowledge of horseflesh. It’s quite a reputable breeding
establishment. In fact,” he laughed, “can you believe Fleetson’s dam was bred at
MontRose? You remember Fleet, don’t you?”

Andrea stared straight ahead, but the color
blossoming in her cheeks revealed that she recalled, not only Fleet, but most
likely his dam Lady Fleet, one of the plantation’s most blooded broodmares.

“Yes,” he continued, not giving her time to
answer, “my grandfather dealt with Charles Monroe quite extensively
apparently.”

“This is really a very nice story, Major.”
Andrea stood. “But I fear I do not see what it has to do with me.”

“Oh, wait.” Hunter took her by the hand. “I
haven’t gotten to the best part. I do insist.” He plopped her down in the chair
next to him and stared at her musingly as he took a leisurely sip of coffee.
“Anyway, according to these men, this Charles had a daughter, an only child, an
heiress to all his wealth and power.” Again, he spread his hands to show the
magnitude.

“How nice.” Andrea sounded bored, but she stared
mournfully out over the pastures while her fingers fumbled nervously with the
pages of her book.

 “But instead of being content with all that
fortune, do you know what she did?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“She ran away,” he said bluntly. “At a very
young age, I’m told.”

Andrea stood to leave again. “Heavens, I was so
hoping your story would have a happy ending. Now I really must go talk to
Izzie.”

Hunter took her arm and guided her back to her
seat with compelling force. Leaning forward with brows drawn together, he
whispered, “That’s not the worst of it.”

“You don’t say?” Andrea settled in the chair as
if annoyed, but her quick glance toward heaven did not escape Hunter’s
searching eyes.

“Oh, yes, I
do
say. She disappeared the
same day that all the outbuildings and warehouses on the estate burned to the
ground. Of course, everyone believes she set the fires. Cost her father a
fortune.”

Andrea put her hand to her mouth as if dismayed.
“Why the little demon. How dare she?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Hunter nodded in
agreement. “They told me other stories that I scarcely know if I should
believe.”

“Truly? I hope you don’t care to share them.”

He chuckled. “Oh, yes, there is one I must tell
you.”

He leaned back to get comfortable and gazed at
Andrea. Her eyes were upon him, but their shaded depths revealed nothing except
a sort of melancholy detachment.

“It seems this Mr. Monroe was losing slaves,
almost regularly, for a year or so before the daughter left. It was suspected
at the time, and later confirmed, that the child was giving them clothes, food,
what have you, and sending them on their way.”

“That’s not much of a story,” Andrea said,
looking him in the eye. “That sounds like the mindless tongue-wagging of
neighbors and the abstract speculation of gossips.”

“Well, it gets even better. It was discovered
that in order to throw off the hounds, this young lass tied a bundle of the
escaped slaves’ clothing behind her horse, and dragged it all around the
countryside—in the opposite direction, of course.”

Hunter slapped the table to get Andrea’s
attention. “Can you imagine? The hounds running around with a scent for hours
in one direction, while those slaves were escaping with impunity in the other?
Quite a bit of ingenuity that!”

Hunter’s smile faded at the anguished look on
Andrea’s face. “No doubt it was not accomplished without serious risk,” he said
gently.

Andrea swallowed hard. “I’m sure the child was
aware of the risk and willing to face the consequences.” She stood and smoothed
the front of her gown. “And now if you’re done telling your wonderful tale,
Major, I’d really like to go lie down.”

Hunter stood too, as all gentlemen do, and
waited until she was almost to the door. “By all means, Miss
Monroe
. Get
your rest.”

She paused a moment and glared at him, then
swung the door open with violent force before slamming it shut with a
thunderous bang.

Hunter sat down, took a sip of coffee, and
grinned. “Well, well. Andrea Marie Monroe. The creature has a name.”

Chapter
38

“There is no animal more invincible than a woman,

nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless.”

– Lysistrata

Andrea had successfully avoided Victoria for
some weeks now, but she knew it was only a matter of time until the two
collided once again. When a shadow crossed her path at the foot of the stairway
one warm afternoon, Andrea knew the moment of calamity had arrived.

“My darling,”
Victoria said with icy sweetness, “you really should do something about your
hair. Do you not know it’s unfashionable to wear it down?”

Andrea took a deep breath to calm herself and
smiled politely. “I have attempted to mind my own business, Miss Hamilton. I
hoped you would do the same.”

Victoria ignored the comment and looked Andrea
up and down with amused contempt. “I do declarah, no hoops, no shoes half the
time, your hair all … blowsy. I don’t understand why Alex—”

“Miss Hamilton,” Andrea interrupted, her temper
wearing thin, “pray do not waste your breath barking at me. I have no fear of
dogs. Even
distempered
ones.”

“How dare you insult me, you little Maryland
magpie,” Victoria spat. “You have no idea how to speak to a lady, let alone
be
one!”

With self-control she did not know she
possessed, Andrea ignored the comment and tried to continue on her way.

“I believe you are of the mongrel breed,”
Victoria said, grabbing Andrea’s arm. “And deaf to boot.”

“And I believe you are the misbegotten spawn of
hell!” Andrea shot back in angry retort, pushing Victoria away.

“Stop this instant!” Hunter strode across the
floor to the rescue of Victoria, who gasped and flattened herself against him,
sobbing convulsively in his arms as if she’d been struck.

“Did you hear what she said to me?” she wailed.

Hunter gave Andrea a stern look. “Don’t you
think you owe Victoria an apology?”

Andrea let out a small gasp of her own. She
looked at Hunter, first with surprise that he should suggest such a thing, then
with dismay that he
could
suggest such a thing, and then with anger that
he
would
suggest such a thing. “Most assuredly not!”

“Make her apologize.” Victoria sobbed,
endeavoring to call up some tears. “She has the manners of a . . . b-b-billy
goat.”

“No,
you
make me apologize!” Andrea lunged
at Victoria before Hunter had a chance to react.

“Stop this minute!” Hunter tried to keep the two
women separated.

Even after being held at arm’s length by Hunter,
Andrea made one last, strenuous attempt to reach Victoria’s throat, intent on
manually removing the woman’s noisy windpipe.

“A truce to this!” Hunter tried again to gain
control.

“She’s mad! She’s bloody mad! Keep her away from
me,” Victoria screamed before swooning against his broad shoulders.

“I give you fair warning, Victoria, do not provoke
me again.” Andrea shook her finger at her antagonist who now lay moaning in
Hunter’s arms as he carried her up the stairs.

“Enough,” Hunter said over his shoulder. “I
expect my command for a truce to be obeyed by God!”