Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (49 page)

“You were aware, I suppose, that your chance of
success was hardly favorable. May I ask what you would have done if your first
plan had failed?”

Andrea surprised him by laughing, as if he had
intended his statement as a joke. “Sir, I had no
plan
. I mean I did not
take the time to ask myself, ‘Can this thing be done?’ I merely asked myself,
‘Is this worth doing?’”

Hunter was
unable to speak for a moment. With or without a plan, it had been a feat of
unprecedented daring, one that required wisdom as well as nerve. It had always
been within her character to act, rather than meditate on possibilities and
outcomes. Still, her courage awed him. She had within her a faith that made
indisputable opportunities out of absolute impossibilities.

Hunter cleared his throat, yet his voice was
still hoarse when he spoke. “I wish for you to accept the assurance of my
gratitude.”

Andrea blushed and looked down. “I believe it is
your servants that deserve praise. They did much to protect your stock and
property.”

Hunter knew of no other woman who would, or
could, have confronted such peril. And yet, she acted as if she had done
nothing out of the ordinary to save his grandfather’s dream—and his future—from
destruction.

“May I speak without restraint?” Hunter’s voice
was barely above a whisper as he suddenly reached for her hand.

Andrea answered with a nod and stared with
furrowed brow at her hand resting in his.

“I know, that is, I-I accept, that considering
our circumstances, you may never consider me a friend. But your respect, Miss
Evans, I desire deeply.”

Andrea’s face was calm and thoughtful as she
looked up at him. “That desire has already been secured, Colonel. Whatever our
association is or comes to be, you can be assured of my high regard.”

The reverent and respectful look reflected in
the depths of her brilliant eyes caused Hunter’s blood to pulse more uncontrollably
than from any open invitation he had ever received from a woman. “I hope, as I
have never hoped, that I do nothing to forfeit that sentiment.”

Andrea stood with her hand still in his, gazing
straight ahead. “It is a Virginian trait, I believe, to follow the dictates of
conscience regardless of consequence. And I am honored that as a Virginian … I
had the opportunity to defend Virginia soil.”

Hunter blinked at the acknowledgment of her
birthright and the emotion expressed. “May I have the honor of saying,” he
whispered, “that Virginia has been made more worthy by your belonging to her.”

The room grew quiet. The sound of a clock
ticking in the hallway through the closed door sounded like thunder. Something
passed between them, something vague and indistinguishable, yet tangible and
real.

Hunter took a deep breath. Andrea lifted her
eyes in expectation and met his.

“Andrea …” He said her name with a tinge of
tentative uncertainty in his strong voice. “I think that … I mean, there is
something that I—”

* * *

Carter burst into Hunter’s library with a swift
knock. Seeing Hunter was not alone, he hurriedly removed his hat from his head
and then the cigar from his mouth.

“Miss,” he said, giving a quick nod to Andrea.
“’Scuse me, Colonel. Didn’t mean to barge in. Just got a dispatch from Gus.”

“Major Carter.” Andrea smiled and greeted him
like an old friend. “How nice to see you again.”

He smiled politely and then looked at Hunter.
“Glad to see Hawthorne made it through. From what I seen, looks to be the only
place spared.”

Carter watched Andrea glance up at Hunter, who
still gazed intently down at her. To Carter, they looked like two children who
had been discovered sharing a secret. Both wore expressions of deep affection
that exposed their emotions more plainly than spoken words could reveal, yet
neither seemed to be aware of the display.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Andrea finally said.
Her attention returned to Hunter and lingered there before she started toward
the door.

It appeared to Carter there was almost physical
contact in the shared looks. He was accustomed to seeing sparks fly when they
were in the same room, but tonight the sparks were different—more like a
smoldering fire about to burst into flame.

Carter waited for Hunter’s attention once Andrea
left the room, but his commander continued to stare into the hallway, following
her every movement. It was surprising to watch the renowned officer so
engrossed, with such longing in his eyes, as he listened until her footsteps
could no longer be heard. 

For quite some time Carter had known that Hunter
admired Andrea with almost reverential affection and that she returned the
sentiment in no small way. But from what he knew of the Colonel and had learned
of the girl, he doubted either of them had yet come to the same conclusion. In
fact, they appeared more inclined to behave like two mules at the same hitch,
each pulling in opposite directions and getting nowhere.

“That’s a noble woman there,” Carter said to
break the silence. “She has few equals.”

Hunter looked up as if noticing Carter for the
first time and stared through him. “She has
none
.”

Chapter
48

“O, beauty, till now I never knew thee!”

– Midnight Summer’s Dream, Shakespeare

Scouting with a half dozen of his men in enemy
territory, Colonel Hunter pulled his horse to a stop without signaling,
resulting in a general collision behind him as the group bunched up. A number
of horses kicked and snorted at the contact as the men tried to rein them in.

“Colonel, you see something?” Carter whispered,
knowing Hunter’s intuitiveness at finding the enemy.

Hunter stared off into the distance while the
entire squad followed his gaze.

“No. Just admiring the sunrise,” he answered
with a vacant, but pleasant, look upon his face.

Carter studied him to see if he was serious,
then followed his gaze toward the east. “It does that every morning, sir.”
Carter rolled his eyes and glanced over at Gus Dorsey who had ridden up beside
him.

The men had all noticed a change in their
commander. The differences in his character, though minor, were profound to
those who knew him well. When lounging around the men he appeared a bit more
relaxed, smiled a little more. Often they would see him staring in deep reverie
at the moon, perfectly unconscious of his surroundings, as if picturing or
remembering images that no one else could see. One of the men even swore he had
heard Hunter whistling when returning from a scouting expedition
,
though
that was not widely accepted as fact.

* * *

After
returning to friendly territory, Hunter dismissed his men and rode all night to
get back to Hawthorne. It was now dawn again, and with his home in sight, he
pulled his horse to a stop to soak in the beauty before him.

Down below,
beneath the rising sun, he caught glimpses of the sparkling waters of the
stream that cut through Hawthorne. Through the early morning mist rising from
the water, he barely made out the peaks of the house, and farther beyond, the
hills that stood like silent sentinels guarding the prominent estate. He sat
and scanned the scene, contemplating why the sight of Hawthorne caused his
heart to rush after so many hours in the saddle.

Urging his horse forward, he began his descent
and the last leg of a long journey home. Why try to analyze a feeling of
exhilaration? It was simply a beautiful morning.
Ga-lorious
as Andrea
would say.

Hunter smiled, and then tried to discount any
connection between his eagerness to return to Hawthorne with any thoughts of
her
.
But slowly, just like the sun eating away at the mist, the haziness of his thoughts
became clear.

He caught sight of Andrea almost instantly after
galloping across the bridge, and his eyes remained riveted upon her until she
came into sharp focus.

Standing on the bottom of a paddock fence with
her arms draped over the top rail, she seemed to be concentrating on a horse.
When Hunter was nearly upon her, she gave only a half-hearted glance over her
shoulder at the sound of his approach. When she saw it was him, she did a
double-take. “Oh, howdy, Kuh-nel,” she drawled jokingly as he drew rein behind
her.

Her eyes
seemed lit with a luminous welcome before she returned her attention to the
horse. The glance created a rush of warmth in Hunter’s heart and caused his
blood to race.

For an
instant, a divine dizziness possessed him. He sat motionless, feasting his
eyes, his senses, his soul on the woman before him.
The vague feeling he
had strived to conceal was suddenly no longer vague. The notion that his
sentiment was merely a manifestation of gratitude for her defense of Hawthorne
could no longer be justified.

“Spoken like a true Virginian,” he said as he
dismounted.

Andrea’s smile flickered again and so did his
heart. “Well ah cain’t help my speech, suh.”

“Miss Evans, your comrades shall accuse me of
trying to convert you.” Hunter eased himself up to the fence beside her and
stood in silence while the gold light of September bathed them both in its
warmth.

“That for Victoria?” Andrea nodded toward his
hand.

“Oh, ah-h-h, no … here.” He thrust the
wildflower he had picked on the hill overlooking Hawthorne toward her
awkwardly, then stood and stared at her in an uncomfortable sort of way,
knowing he should say something else but having absolutely no idea what it was.
“It reminded me of … I mean, I thought you might like it.”

Up flashed her radiant smile and dazzled him
again. “For me? For me?” Andrea took the flower and stuck it in her hair,
making no effort to hide her delight. The outburst reflected a girlish
exuberance that defied all she had passed through.

Hunter responded by shrugging, pretending that
picking flowers was nothing out of the ordinary for him. Yet it did not require
much knowledge of his character to know he would have had no more thought of
picking a wildflower than plucking a pinecone but a few days earlier. Clumsily
and nervously trying to find something to do with his hands, Hunter took off
his hat and slapped it against his leg.

“It appears you are returning from a forced
march,” Andrea said, watching the dust rise.

Hunter just nodded, not wishing to admit that
she
was the forcing power.

Andrea turned, and, hanging on the fence with
one hand, used the other to pat his shoulder, sending another cloud of powdery
dust into the air. “Turn around.” She tried to remove the worst of the grime
from his shoulders and back by brushing and patting with her hand.  “Looks like
you’re carrying around half the sacred soil of Virginia.”

“And you no doubt enjoy beating
that
out
of me, don’t you?” Hunter said good-naturedly.

That
rippling laugh returned at his words. It was a laugh that was hers alone, a
laugh that made the desolate silence that used to reign over Hawthorne echo
with happiness. And it was a laugh that brought with it a woozy, wobbly feeling
that made Hunter place his hand on the fence to steady himself.

“Trust I could never remove it all, Commander,”
Andrea replied, making an attempt at seriousness, “for I dare say you have it
running through your veins.”

Hunter looked into her smiling, glowing eyes and
felt a raw ache of happiness in his heart—so acute as to be almost painful. She
appeared so radiant on this beautiful, sunny day that he had to look away for
fear his eyes would betray what he was thinking.
Good heavens, I am losing
my mind
!

Standing
quietly for a few moments as she turned back to the paddock, Hunter tried to
calm his rushing pulse. Speech had become dangerous, but that did not stop him
from gazing at her while she concentrated on the horses.

“You know,”
he said, studying the side of her honey-tanned face, “if you are determined to
spend so much time outdoors, you really should wear a hat.”

Andrea shrugged, her gaze locked on the horse.
“But I don’t have one.”

Hunter removed his and placed it on her head.
“If you’re not averse to wearing this one, it’s yours.”

The hat sank low on her head, and she pushed it
up off her brow. “I suppose I should be honored to wear the hat of the gallant
Hunter.”

“But you are not sure?” He smiled at her
uneasiness, knowing she wrestled with the idea of wearing a Rebel hat and did
not wish to offend him. “Think of it as legally captured property of war. To
the victor go the spoils.”

She chuckled at that. “But I fear I did not
legally capture it.”

“My dear, just because there was no bloodshed
does not mean you did not legally capture it. It is yours. And your smile is
ample reward.”

Andrea looked at him quizzically as if trying to
see if he intended some deeper meaning from his words. Hunter quickly leaned
over the fence with his arms crossed on the top rail. “I see you have your eye
on the roan.”

His elbow now touched hers in relaxed abandon.
Although she seemed not to notice the contact, he could barely control his
thoughts. He wondered what it would feel like to stand there with his arm
resting possessively over her shoulders on this brilliantly sunny day while
they watched horses in the paddock side by side—as if there were no, and never
had been, a war.

Hunter took a deep breath at the disheartening
chance of such an event occurring, and her reaction to it, then cleared his
throat. “Nice looking piece of Yankee horseflesh,” he said, trying to make
conversation. “Not that he’s comparable in speed or endurance to a
Virginia-bred.”

Andrea remained silent, cocking her head and
examining the horse. Then she gazed confidingly up at him, almost as if a deep
and comfortable affection existed between them. “Maybe not. But I know a horse
that is.”