Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (65 page)

Hunter, who so rarely showed emotion, became
clearly overwhelmed by it now. His eyes misted at her commitment and devout
loyalty to him. “You have done me and my men a great service today,” he said,
bringing his horse next to hers. “One that I can never hope to repay.”

Andrea grabbed his gauntleted hand, his earlier
stinging words apparently forgotten. “But you can.” She looked earnestly into
his eyes. “I will let you pay it back, slowly, for the rest of your life.”

Hunter’s mouth curled into a smile, relieved
that she was not angry, and now, somehow elated at the prospect of having such
an overwhelming debt to pay. “Do not fear, Private Evans, I fully intend to
honor my obligations.”

Leaning forward then, he gave her a long,
adoring kiss.

* * *

Andrea wrapped her arms around Hunter’s neck in
obvious desperation and felt herself being lifted with strong arms across his
saddle. “Oh, Alex,” she said, burying her head in his chest and clutching his
manly form. Hunter responded by tightening his embrace, leaving her to wonder
how a mortal man could possess such boundless tenderness in such iron muscles.

“Andrea, you will go back to Hawthorne,” he
said, his voice strangely low. “No matter what.”

She lifted her head, not sure if he was stating
a fact or asking a question. “No matter what?”

“If anything should happen to me … I would like
to know that you would still go back. That it would be in good hands.”

Andrea blinked, trying to hold back the tears
that threatened. “If that is your wish.”

 “It is my most desperate desire.”

 She looked up in anguish at the businesslike
tone of his voice. “There is no need to seal your devotion to the Confederacy
with your life, Alex,” she said, clutching his coat. “Please, not now.”

He did not answer at first, and when he did, his
gaze was locked on something over her shoulder. “What I do, I do for my
country. You understand, do you not?”

He shifted his attention back to her and
remained there in a spellbinding gaze of devotion.

“We’d better get back,” he finally said, his
tone carrying a calmness and determination that terrified Andrea. She pulled
her horse close and swung her leg over its back.

“Wait, Andrea.” She drew her horse to a halt and
looked up at him, a tear breaking loose from where she had willed it to stay.
“My love for country, my duty to state, does not mean I love you less. Do you
understand?”

Neither spoke for a moment. Even the horses
stood perfectly still. “I shall not obstruct the path of your duty, Alex,” she
said, her chin trembling. “I give you to Virginia and God—if that is what you
wish of me.”

Andrea caught only a glimpse of his eyes filling
with fluid, and then he nodded, turned his head from her, and nudged his horse
forward. After riding a short distance, Andrea reached out for his sleeve and
stopped him again. Her heart beat tumultuously at the thought that sand was
slipping through the hourglass at a speed beyond her control.

“I know it is your right, your privilege to die
for the Cause. But Alex, you will be careful?”

Alex turned his attention back to her, but it
appeared to Andrea his mind was already elsewhere. “I will see you on the other
side of the river, Andrea,” he said without concern, his eyes full of a strange
brilliancy. “The Virginia side.”

Chapter
65

“Having chosen our course, with guile and with pure purpose,
let us

renew our trust in God and go forth without fear and with
manly hearts.”

– Abraham Lincoln

The men had already begun to move out by the
time Andrea and Hunter galloped back. Andrea pulled her horse into the shadow
of some trees while Hunter conferred with Carter in low, whispered tones. When
they were finished, Hunter looked up and urged his horse toward her.

“You ready?” He grasped her hand in a final
testament of warm regard, his eyes remaining locked on hers during the brief
moment they touched, as if absorbing her through the contact. “Stay safe,
Andrea.”

Andrea nodded and forced a smile. “I’ll see you
in Virginia, Alex.” Then she turned, spurred her horse into a gallop, and
disappeared into the midst of the Confederacy’s most illustrious band of
heroes.

Andrea heard only scattered gunfire until she
was almost to the river—then all hell broke loose. It seemed the Yankees had
been taken by surprise at the sudden departure of the enemy and were now intent
on pulverizing them for their own carelessness.

She at once recognized Pierce, riding back and
forth like a madman through a shower of lead, directing and strategically
deploying his men to meet the coming foe while defending the battalion’s
crossing. Because of the difficult terrain in reaching the ford, only a few
dozen had yet safely reached the southern shore, and it was obvious the enemy
was intent on stopping the rest.

“Keep them moving!” Pierce yelled. “Keep that
ford open!”

Andrea had
every intention of doing just that, but Buck decided he preferred the shore he
was on and went madly out of control, sideswiping her leg against a tree.

Unfortunately,
he was not the only beast of burden with unenthusiastic thoughts about the
crossing. Already horses were plunging into the water, some without riders,
many out of control. Andrea rushed into the river as well, slapping horses on
their rumps to keep them moving, and holding injured men on their saddles until
they could get across.

The fighting soon came so close to the ford that
bullets from both sides whizzed by Andrea’s head. Still, she continued riding
back and forth across the swollen river, pulling, prodding and poking to keep
both injured man and beast from stopping or falling. Once across, the wounded
handed her their extra weapons and ammunition to take back to their comrades on
the other side. Time after time she crossed, loaded down with carbines,
pistols, and powder to be distributed among Pierce’s men, who were facing the
brunt of the attack.

Andrea had no time to think, no time to process
the passage of time. Only once, when sitting on her knees helping reload fresh
weapons, did she catch a glimpse of Alex shouting words of encouragement to
Pierce’s men. Through the smoke, he appeared more spectral than real, raging
through the storm of lead like a lion, the lust of battle flashing from his
eyes. He did not stop other than to reload or confer with Pierce, then he rode
back into battle, appearing to rejoice in the storm.

After losing
sight of Alex, Andrea continued her duties, her body numb with exhaustion and
her head aching from the incessant gunfire. The crescendo of war reached a
feverish pitch, the lead hurling toward the ford seeming never ending. She was
halfway back across the river when a man within an arm’s length of her blinked
with a look of surprise and fell backward into the muddy water. Andrea dove off
her mount, pulling him out of the way and onto the bank before he was trampled
by a score of frenzied horses.

Standing ankle deep in mud and knee deep in
water, she saw the man had been hit in the upper leg and was bleeding profusely
from the gaping wound. Springing to his assistance, she took off her coat and
bound his injury, speaking words of encouragement to rally him.

When she was all but through, Andrea felt a
tingling sensation on the back of her neck. She turned, seeking Alex through
the smoke and confusion on the other side of the river. It did not take her
long to find him sitting on his frothing steed, silently watching her with a
resolute stare. Enshrouded by the light from above and backlit with the smoke
of battle, he appeared to be something other than mortal.

The world stopped for Andrea. Slowly,
deliberately he raised his hand in a poignant, heartfelt salute. Andrea rose to
her feet and returned the gesture, her eyes searching his from across the wide
expanse. She was afraid to blink, afraid he would disappear—and all too soon he
did, wheeling his horse back toward the field and the fury, vanishing like a
dream upon awakening.

Andrea felt a strange, sinking feeling in the
pit of her stomach. She knew he had sought her out, and feared to the very
depths of her soul she had just witnessed a final goodbye.

Within a few moments, the firing on the other
side of the river diminished in its intensity indicating the enemy was
maneuvering for some new assault.

The men around her began maneuvering as well,
most preparing to make a stand at the ford while others, like Pierce’s company,
rushed forward to check the advancing forces before a new attack could be made.
Andrea glanced around at the picture of vigorous martial splendor surrounding her.
She knew she would remember those grimy faces lit with battle fire for the rest
of her life.

On both sides of the river, exhausted and
desperate men summoned all their strength for a final convulsive effort to
repel the enemy long enough to get the remainder of the battalion through the
perilous passage. To Andrea, the hazardous situation seemed only to render the
men more fearless. It appeared their commander had instilled in them the idea
that they were unconquerable, and they therefore did not know they were not.

All too soon the onslaught began again, the guns
of the enemy pouring death and destruction in a storm of lead. The barrage was
of a character more desperate and determined than Andrea had ever seen, but the
ranks held, and the stream of gray kept moving to safety, despite the shelling
that seemed to come from every direction.

“What’s your name?” Andrea kneeled by an older
man she knew was one of Hunter’s officers.

“Boz,” he said grumpily. “Got me in my darn
shooting arm.”

Andrea began tying a large handkerchief around
his arm to help stem the flow of blood, when he struggled to his feet, almost
pushing her down.

“Captain!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
“To your right!”

Captain Pierce, sitting on his horse on the
opposite bank, wheeled his mount around and shot a man in blue who had
apparently crawled to the riverbank to pick off those who were crossing.

The Yankee, shot in the stomach or lower chest,
went down, but Andrea and the man beside her watched in horror when the gun
rose again. What only took a few seconds seemed to play in slow motion to
Andrea. The sharpshooter, struggling for his life, propped his back against a
tree for support. Slowly and deliberately, he lifted the gun to his eye and
again took aim at Pierce, who by now was too far away to hear any shouts of
warning from Andrea or Boz. They looked around to see who could help, but
everything was in a state of chaos with horses whinnying, water splashing, and
guns firing in rapid succession.

Andrea did not remember thinking or reacting or
planning a response. Without warning there appeared on the side of the Yankee’s
head a horrid red fountain, and at the same instant, he fell a corpse. She
looked at Boz in relief, for the danger, it seemed, had been averted.

Boz’s eyes were not on the fallen Yankee. They
were on her.

Andrea followed the line of his gaze to her
outstretched hand, to the barrel of the still-smoking gun pointed toward the
opposite bank.

She blinked, as if by doing so the gun would
vanish. Then she glanced behind her, thinking surely someone else had taken the
shot. But as for the former, the gun did not disappear, and as for the latter,
there was no one in sight to assume the blame or accept the honor.

The cold
reality of the situation rushed over her. With a shiver of revulsion that shook
her, Andrea threw the dreadful instrument of death into the river. “It was just
a Yankee,” Boz said, watching a perfectly good weapon disappear. “And he was
dead before you shot him. You just hurried him up a little.”

Andrea took no comfort in his words. She
continued to stare at her hand as though it belonged to someone else, then
turned away, unable to endure the sight of the opposite bank.

Stumbling into some bushes, she bent over, and
with her hands on her knees, gagged and heaved. She turned back toward Boz, but
took only a few steps before sinking to the ground at the thought she had sent
a human soul, fighting for his country, into eternity.

“Don’t see why you’re so upset, but look at it
this way, kid,” Boz said, walking to her and patting her on her shoulder. “You
saved
a life today. One man was already on his way out. If you hadn’t shot, there
woulda been two.”

Andrea nodded, but it was plain to see his words
did not ease her anguish nor console her mental torture. Boz had no way of
knowing that she had not just killed a Yank, she had killed a comrade—in order
to save a Rebel, no less.

Andrea’s
mind whirled with pain and confusion, but she had little time to lament.
Hearing heavier gunfire, she caught a horse and rode to a small eminence a
short distance away. What she saw filled her with dismay and horror. Union
troops attacking the rearguard with furious determination had almost surrounded
those remaining, cutting them off from the river and safety. Although holding
their ground tenaciously, there was only a small force to meet the shock of the
advancing hosts. And Alex was likely among them.

Andrea watched the two forces move closer and
closer to hand-to-hand combat. Her soul froze at the sight of the Confederate
banner waving defiantly within the chaos. This was not war, it was slaughter. A
useless sacrifice. She spurred her horse up to Carter.

“Major, you must do something,” Andrea yelled
above the din. “They are almost surrounded!”

“My orders are to move forward, not to look
back.” He continued to wave on the men.

“But they shall all perish!” Andrea tried to
remain calm, but it was useless. Pure and complete panic prevailed, to the
extent that she was unable to think rationally. She looked Carter dead in the
eye when he refused to budge or respond.