Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (70 page)

“I do not envy you the job,” Hobbs said, leaning
over her husband. “But it must be done tonight.”

It was his grave tone that gave Andrea the first
tremor of warning and evoked the first faint stir of fear. “What must be done
tonight?” she asked, forcing a smile.

Her smile faded when she took in the somber
expression of the one and the sad countenance of the other. She found no
answers in their eyes, but each face conveyed obvious shock and grave concern.

“Mrs. Hunter,” Hobbs said, bowing, his gaze
never meeting hers. “I . . . I was just leaving.”

Andrea began to feel terror climb up her spine.
“What is wrong?” she asked with forced calmness, looking from one to the other,
trying to control her inner panic.

Alex lay propped on the pillows with closed
eyes. He appeared to have aged since she had last seen him, grown older by
years in the past hour. He opened his eyes and motioned for her.

“Come, talk to me.” He patted the empty space on
the bed.

Andrea watched Hobbs retreat from the room, and
she sat down beside him.

“We’ve been married less than two days,” he said
taking her hand, “and already I’ve made my first mistake as a husband.”

Andrea could tell he was trying overly hard to
sound unconcerned. “Whatever you’ve done, dear husband, I shall forgive you.”
She leaned down and kissed his cheek. The thought flashed through her mind that
he felt  warm, but she dismissed it.

Alex drew a deep breath and Andrea waited for
him to speak. “I… haven’t been entirely honest with you.” His voice was low and
weak, and it frightened her. “I did not want to concern you, at first, but
now—”

One look at his face told Andrea this was not
something she wished to hear. She closed her eyes, wishing that would make
everything go back to the way it was before they started having this
conversation. “Whatever it is, it matters not,” she said, waving her hand in
the air. “You can tell me when we’re old and sitting on the front porch on our
rocking chairs with our grandchildren.”

Alex closed his eyes and seemed to grow even
sadder at her pronouncement. He cleared his throat and spoke with apparent
difficulty. “I’m afraid the matter will not wait that long.”

Andrea let out her breath. With little warning,
the anxiety within in her gave way to a helpless, unreasoning panic that
fluttered and struggled and strained in her heart like the beating wings of a
caged bird. Trying to hide her alarm, she squeezed his hand. “Proceed.” She
closed her eyes again as if that would somehow help.

“My wound is a little more serious than what
first we thought.” Alex spoke in a hushed tone like he was in church.

Andrea’s eyes flew open to meet his. “What are
you saying?”

“Doc believes,” he paused, took a breath, and
began again. “Doc believes I have an infection.”

Andrea sat and stared at his mouth, unblinking.
She knew very well what he meant, had seen it over and over at the hospital.
Soldiers would linger in agony for days, weeks, longer. But they rarely
survived. Although her heart refused to believe what he was telling her, a part
of her knew the truth.

Her husband was dying.

The tall, stalwart, uncompromising officer, who
was aggressive and relentless and unyielding, was to be snatched from her by
something she could not even see. Like a mighty warrior, the infection would
stalk him, overtaking him no matter how hard he fought. Andrea moved her hand
to the bandage under the covers. She felt the warmth of his fever pulsing
against her fingers. Her eyes grew moist as she consumed the information. Then
the defiance began to mount. “We will fight it,” she said, looking into his
eyes boldly.

“I am fighting, but Doc does not believe—” His
voice lowered to a whisper. “He does not believe I can win.”

Andrea began to fully grasp what was happening.
The pain and grief that had consumed her in all her year’s past were nothing
compared to the agony his news brought her now.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it,
then opened it again and spoke calmly with the same veil of detachment she had
relied upon so many times before. “And you’ve told your men.” It was a
statement. She saw everything clearly now.

“Yes. I’ve told the men.”

“And that is why the wedding was hurried.”

“It was selfish, I suppose.” He nodded sadly.
“But I wanted you, desperately, to be my wife, to give you my name before I—”

Andrea’s gaze drifted away from his and rested
on her wedding gown, her mind unable to accept that a mourning gown would soon
take its place. She dismissed the thought and turned back toward him. “You are
in much pain?” Her tone conveyed concern, though she stared intently at the
bedpost now, suddenly unable to look into his eyes.

“Little, save the thought of parting from you.”
His voice trembled as he squeezed her hand.

Andrea dared not move her lips nor try to speak
lest she should give away her despair. This man was dearer to her than life.
She could not live without him.

“It is all right to cry, Andrea.”

The room fell silent for a moment and then a
strident wail of indescribable anguish arose that would smote the heart of
anyone who heard it. “Please Lord! N-o-o-o-o!”

Andrea laid her head on his chest and sobbed,
unable to comprehend that after four, long years of war, and all of the
obstacles between them, a single, tiny piece of lead could be responsible for
tearing his mortal soul from hers.

 “Dear Andrea.” Alex stroked her hair and kissed
the top of her head. “I promised myself I would never be the cause of pain in
your eyes again, and I have failed.”

Andrea took a deep breath then and raised her
head, resigning herself to the fate in store for him. Her eyes cleared of their
tears, though she stared into space replaying in her mind the events of that
fateful day and the role she had played. “You have not failed,” she said,
reassuringly, “but perhaps if I had—”

“There is nothing you could have done,” Alex
interrupted her. “I am thankful my men—and you—were spared.”

“It is little to me that I am spared if you are
not!”

“Stop it, Andrea!” He grabbed her hand. “What I
did, I could do no less for Virginia… for my men. It was a matter of honor… and
duty to God and country.”

Andrea looked down at him in agony. “Your duty
to God and country is to stay alive! What amount of honor can account for a
dead husband?” She pushed herself away, stood, and paced restlessly. “Oh, give
them the blasted victory! Give them the blasted triumph!” She stopped in front
of him. “Give me my husband!”

“Do not be sad, Andrea. I cannot bear it.”

“Do not be sad? You test too soon my resolve to
obey,” she whimpered, recalling her wedding vows.  “Alex, my love, you are my
life!

“Promise me you will not allow this to inflict a
deadlier wound in you,” he said somewhat sternly. “You must go on without me.”

Andrea sat down beside him, cupped his face in
her hands and leaned forward, her eyes bedewed with tears. “But how can I,
Alex?” she sobbed, feeling her own life draining from her. “How can I?”

“In death or in life, I am yours,” he said
huskily, taking her in his arms and comforting her like a child. “Forever.
Remember? Neither time nor distance can change our love.”

Andrea laid her head upon his breast and wept
again.

He too shed a tear as he held his wife tightly
to his bosom and allowed himself, for just a moment, to think about what could
have been.

* * *

Carter, who had started up the stairs to check
on the Colonel’s condition, heard the unearthly sound of Andrea’s cry and
retreated, his own heart immersed in similar misery. He shivered at the thought
of facing her, of trying to console one whose pain would be too profound for
comfort of any kind. What will I say to one so young? One who is destined to be
at once a bride and a widow?

After pacing restlessly, he heard the closing of
the chamber door above and watched, with hat in hand, as she descended the
stairs slowly and gracefully. Her eyes, swollen and red from grief, appeared
dry now, and he sighed with relief. She seemed to have gotten over the initial
shock, had accepted the news with a courage and strength typical of her nature.
This was a young lady capable of handling her husband’s impending death with
the deportment and distinguished character of one thrice her years.

“Mrs. Hunter,” Carter said when she reached the
bottom stair. “I am sorry.”

When she did not answer or acknowledge his
presence, he touched her arm, though he knew his words would be useless.
“Andrea, I am here for you. I will help you bear it.”

Carter knew she heard him, because her head rose
a little higher and her hand tightened somewhat frantically on the banister
post. She still refused to meet his gaze, continued to look beyond him in an
effort to hide her feelings of helplessness and suppress the agony in her
heart.

The fight was an admirable one, but the battle
raging within her to maintain her self-control caused her body to tremble
violently. Carter watched her swallow forcefully, as if trying to conquer the
feelings that threatened to overpower her. When she turned her eyes upon him,
he beheld the lost-looking gaze of a distraught, frightened child.

 “His loss will be death to me,” she whispered.
“I do not care to bear it.” She barely uttered the final word when her body
gave into the anguish. She crumpled to the floor like a soldier who had been
suddenly struck down by an unseen bullet.

As Carter gathered the small, unmoving frame
into his arms and yelled panic-stricken for the doctor in the next room, he
knew his worst fear was coming true. A single bullet was going to come
precariously close to extinguishing two lives: one of whom had devoted his all
to his country, the other whom had devoted her all to him.

Chapter
70

“I honour’d him, I lov’d him;

And will weep my date of life out, for his sweet life’s
loss.”

– King John, Shakespeare

Andrea watched the progressing shadows creep
steadily and silently across the lawn with increasing dismay. Her husband was
fading fast. She read it in the ashen coloring of his face and saw it reflected
in his pain-filled eyes. The dread of what was to come felt like a weight
increasing its burden upon her shoulders with every waking moment.

Yet Alex had rallied his strength and been
strong this day—or at least pretended to be for Andrea’s sake. In the soft glow
of the setting sun, they were even now wrapped together in a blanket on a couch
on the balcony, drowsing in the peaceful shelter of each other’s arms. Andrea
lay wishing in vain she could suspend time itself so the shadows of an
unwelcome dusk would linger a little longer in their journey across the lawn.

But already the hasty sun was plunging behind
the trees, taking with it the precious minutes and precious seconds of another
precious day. The sands of time were running, and like the lengthening shadows
on the lawn, Andrea was helpless to stop them. Every moment, the earthly ties
that bound them grew stronger. Yet every moment, she knew he was fading further
away.

Sighing heavily, Andrea listened to the slow,
steady beating of his heart as he held her in the strong, possessive circle of
his arms. Although the thumping meant precious life, the heartbeats also ticked
off valuable time, making every one of them doubly precious now. Inhaling
deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to remember every sacred feature of
him—his smell, the feel of his arms, the warmth of his skin on hers.

“What are you thinking, darling?” he asked
sleepily.

Andrea remained silent a moment. “I was thinking
how very happy I am.”

Alex raised his head and gazed down at her. You don’t
look happy,” he said, studying her eyes before lowering his head again and
sighing. “You will remember what we shared, won’t you?”

Now it was Andrea who lifted her head. “Oh,
Alex! Yes! Forever!

“But,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “I
hope you do not allow my memory to darken your future peace.”

Andrea’s heart lurched. She could tell by the
tone of his voice he was troubled. “These days, these moments—how few they may
be—will sustain me for the rest of my life. Please don’t worry about my future
peace.”

“You are but twenty, Andrea,” he countered,
making an attempt to keep his voice indifferent, though it was clear he’d been
thinking hard on the matter. “I understand, if you—”

“Never! Never!” Andrea placed her open hand on
his cheek, tears spilling down her own. “I am yours now and through eternity!
Oh, Alex, you do believe in God, do you not? You do know that I will see you
again. That our love is too strong to die with its earthly bounds. That death
and separation have no power over a love such as ours!”

He smiled weakly and brushed a tendril of hair
from her cheek. “My dear, how can I not believe in God when he answered the
only prayers ever I asked of Him?”

He took a deep breath and laid back, his eyes
searching the sky. “And yes, I believe,” he finally said, a reticent look upon
his face, “immortal love, whence it flows, can never die.”

Andrea laid her head back down upon his chest
and he gently stroked her hair. “You know what else I believe?” he asked after
a long silence.

“No, what?” she murmured, soaking in the feel of
him.

“I believe heaven is a Virginia kind of place,”
he said musingly. “And I shall be content there—to wait.” He stroked her cheek
and gazed into her eyes. “Not patiently, not willingly mind you, but I will
wait.”

“I wish I could go with you.” Andrea snuggled
closer to him.

“Your duty is here.”

“Why can my duty not be with you?”