Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (38 page)

“You speak like you believe bravery is
exclusively restricted to the men of the Old Dominion. Do you think because I
am a woman my loyalty to the Union is less than yours for Virginia? That honor
means less to me?”

“No.” Hunter stood and stretched, then sat on
the railing where his feet had been. “I suppose your convictions are
commendable, if not your loyalties.” He watched her stare musingly into the
sky, seemingly trying to figure out how to end the conflict herself. “It’s too
beautiful a night to be talking about war,” he said to get her attention.

Andrea looked over at him and smiled. “On that
point, I can agree.” Her eyes drifted back to the moon.

“Yet still you are thinking of it. I can tell by
your expression.”

Andrea shrugged. “What else is there to talk
about?”

Hunter stared up at the heavens and then lowered
his gaze to her. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You puzzle me. You are a complete
contradiction.”

“The contradiction is only seeming. My
convictions are firm.”

“The latter is accepted, the former is not.” He
laughed. “Let me assure you, young lady, you are a paradox in every sense of
the word.”

Andrea laughed half-heartedly at his words, as
if to end his scrutiny, but he noticed the smile never quite reached her eyes.
They held in their depths, as they always did, a solemn sadness that seemed
reluctant to depart.

He leaned closer. “Which tell the truth? Your
lips or your eyes?”

Andrea turned her head away. “I don’t know what
you mean.”

“Your lips are smiling, but your eyes are not.”
He chewed on the end of his pipe for a moment. “And I’m trying to decide who
might be the real Andrea Evans.”

“Do not waste
your time,” she snapped, her gaze intent on the field below.

“Why not? She may be someone I wish to know.”

“I can assure you
that
is not the case.
I’m not the type that makes good company. You of all people should know that by
now, Major.”

Hunter continued looking at her, trying to read
down to the depths of her soul. “I do not presume to know you well, Miss Evans.
But I believe …” He paused, unsure he should continue. “I believe that perhaps
pain and despair have been a substantial part of your life, and to fight the
world seems more practical to you now than to tolerate or endure.”

He watched an unmistakable grief steal into her
eyes. “There you have it, Major. My life in a sentence. Well done.”

Hunter’s heart thudded at the look. He leaned
forward to touch her shoulder. “I didn’t wish to upset you, Miss Evans. Pray
forgive me if I did.”

Andrea continued staring skyward. “There is
nothing in the truth to forgive. Suffice to say, I do what I do willingly. The
reward is equal to the sacrifice.”

“It seems an unreasonable sacrifice to me.”

“Is it so unreasonable to believe in a cause,
defend it, attempt to protect it, endeavor to preserve it, and—if necessary—die
for it?”

“As I said before, those are hardly choices
required of a woman, nor sacrifices for which many yearn to make.”

“I’m not the first to submit to the mysterious
law of pain and sacrifice for deliverance from evil. Pray don’t give me the
honor.”

“But I know you’ve undergone great hardships,”
Hunter said, knowing it was too late to stop now. “Great risks that were
perhaps unnecessary.”

Andrea stared over his shoulder with a faraway
look as she absently rubbed her leg. “Be content to know I am justified in my
actions.”

“Frankly, I can see no justification for
fighting against your birth land.”

Hunter said the words without thinking, and
wished he could take them back.

Andrea cocked her head to one side. “Agreed. I
was born in the United States.”

Hunter frowned, hesitating to oppose her will.
“You were born in the South.”

“I don’t believe that geographic birthplace is
reason to defend organized barbarism.” Andrea’s voice sounded a little unsteady
now. “Until the South rebelled we were all one and the same, as we will be
again. Our duty is to Union and flag, preserve the one and uphold the other.”

“But surely you can agree that the right to use
military force for the purpose of coercing a state to remain in the Union
against its will finds no warrant in the Constitution.” Hunter inhaled deeply
from his pipe, somewhat enjoying the way she dug in and defended her beliefs.
“Secession involved no war.”

“But you fired the first shot!”

Hunter laughed. “That’s like saying I fired the
first shot at an intruder who broke into my home.”

Andrea
crossed her arms and shook her head in disgust. “Those who deny freedom to
others deserve it not for themselves. Such is the price of sin.”

Hunter did not respond and his face lost all
signs of playfulness. All was quiet, save the gentle rustling of the wind in
the newborn leaves of the trees. Then he spoke softly, but not gently. “We will
not allow the destiny of our state to be placed in the hands of an
irresponsible Republic who knows nothing of our Southern culture.”

“Southern culture? By that I suppose you mean
the continuation of a system that promotes free labor.”

A heavy silence ensued, as thick and perceptible
as the scent of honeysuckle in the air. Never before had their bantering
touched on the sensitive matter of slavery. But the ugly topic hung between
them now like an indefinable barrier.

 “The South did not make war in defense of
slavery.” Hunter’s voice grew strained. “Less than one man in a thousand in the
army has any property interest in the institution.”

Andrea seemed to come to the conclusion that
arguing would do little good. “I know you are convinced of the righteousness of
your Cause, Major, but I believe your convictions are misguided. Can you not
see the soil of Virginia is soaking in the blood of your misplaced patriotic
devotion?”

Hunter leaned back and crossed his arms,
pondering the fact that he admired her spirit despite the fact that she
remained determined to be his enemy. He sighed with exasperation. “Someday,
Miss Evans, I hope I can get you to see my point of view.”

“Major, I already
see
your point of view.
I simply don’t
agree
with it.”

Hunter shook his head in feigned dismay. He knew
she could not be induced to yield a point when she thought she was right … and
she pretty much always thought she was right.

“Miss Evans, in the end we believe in the same
things, preservation of constitutional liberties and the right of
self-government. I desire peace as much as you do. But we won’t purchase it at
the price of the honor and the interests of Virginia.”

They were both quiet: she staring at the sky, he
gazing at her. “I suppose we’ve solved one thing tonight. “We both follow the
dictates of our conscience.”

Andrea looked up at him sharply, as if she
understood where he was taking the conversation. “As for the dictates of my
conscience, do not fear, I have my reasons.”

“Your father?” Hunter saw her wince before her
gaze locked in on his.

 Eyes that were sometimes the color of emeralds
turned dark as a thunderhead. “What know you of my father?”

“You … spoke of him in your fever.”

Andrea blinked repeatedly, then looked away. “It
is ancient history.”

“But the scars cannot be so easily forgotten.”
Her eyes darted up to meet his again. “Doc told me,” he explained.

Andrea stood and turned away, leaning heavily on
the chair, obviously shaken at the thought that he was peeling away the layers
of her past. Hunter could see her chest heaving as she appeared to reflect on
the pain and horror of her childhood. It was hard for him to imagine a child
living through the trials and anguish she must have endured; harder still to
conceive the strength and resilience that grew from it.

“You needn’t talk about it. I don’t wish to
revive unwelcome memories.”

Andrea took a deep breath and gazed up at the
stars. “It was a long time ago.” She shrugged as if it meant nothing to her
now. “I placed myself between my father’s whip and a slave thinking it would
stop him.” Her voice trembled at the memory. “But clearly, it did not.”

Hunter closed his eyes, imagining the scene.
“The sacrifice was worth the cost I hope.”

“It did no good.” Andrea turned back to him. “He
sold the slave, a boy of eight, the next day. And his mother . . .” She
swallowed hard as if the words would choke her. “His mother hung herself that
night.”

She said it matter-of-factly, but the pain in
her voice was unmistakable. When Hunter looked into her dry, staring eyes, he
saw more sadness than a thousand tears could hold. He understood now why
hostility and vengeance were a part of her soul, recognized that her impervious
nature was a veil to cover the inner turmoil. All this, because she carried on
her narrow shoulders the burden of two lives for which she could in no way be
responsible.

Gone was the rebellious, defiant spirit to which
he was so accustomed. Before him stood an innocent, fragile child, whose only
companions had been anguish and torment.

Hunter watched her head rise another notch, as
if rejecting the memories that consumed her. For a brief moment, he had
glimpsed the pain behind the mask, but the curtain descended again as she
stared out at the night. At least he had learned another slice of truth from
her past. She had apparently inherited her beautiful eyes from her mother; the
grief and anger in them from her father.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath and
looking down. “No one knows about that. I don’t know why I told you.”

“Those people … like your father,” Hunter said,
his brow creased at her distress. “They are not the ones fighting this war.”

“But they are the ones it’s being fought
for
!”
Her cheeks turned red with passion.

Hunter sighed, knowing it would be useless to
argue. His words of conciliation were not going to change her emotional
animosity toward the South. He stood beside her in silence, his shadow touching
hers as the moon continued its dazzling slide across the horizon.

“Hawthorne looks beautiful in the moonlight,”
Andrea said at length. “Did you command the heavens to produce such a display
tonight, Major?”

Hunter looked
skyward at the moon behind her head, and shrugged. “I’m home now. My control
over the celestial bodies was completed hours ago.”

“I think I shall always remember this night when
I see a full moon.” Closing her eyes, she opened her hand to the night air and
brought it toward her, closing it as her fingers touched her heart.

“What are you doing?”

She looked up at his gaze of confusion. “Saving
the moment.” She closed her eyes again and smiled. “I close my eyes, feel the
breeze on my face.” She paused and inhaled deeply. “I smell that honeysuckle
right below us, envision the horses grazing in a pasture flooded by moonlight …
Then I catch it all in my hand and save it forever in my heart.” She brought
her closed hand once again to her heart.

The sound of thundering hooves interrupted the
conversation. A group of horses came into view, galloping in the path of a
moonbeam before disappearing over a hill. Hunter watched Andrea stare out into
the darkness, her face taking on a wistful, radiant look at the scene before
her.

“You are so blessed to have a home in paradise,”
she whispered.

“It gives me great pleasure to know you enjoy
Hawthorne. Where do you call home?”

Andrea looked genuinely surprised at the
question and fell silent for a moment. “I … well …before the war, I lived with
my cousin Catherine.”

“Well, what about after the war? You have to
have someplace to call home. Certainly you’ve thought about marriage, a home of
your own.”

Andrea laughed that soft, infectious laugh he
loved to hear. “I have no intention of bowing to a man’s authority, Major. Why
should I expect one to bow to mine?”

“You may have a point there.” He winked to show
her he was joking.

“And what of you?” She gazed skyward again. “You
will marry again? Or have you given up on love?”

He gazed at her, contemplating the question.
“I’ve not thought about it in quite those terms. Let’s just say I’ve given up
on the thought of perpetual and everlasting companionship.”

She smiled at his attempt to evade the question.
“I suppose I’m lucky to have never known companionship. I don’t know what it
is, so I cannot miss it.”

Hunter frowned at her rationale. “You’re much
too young to think of going through life alone.”

“I’m nineteen. Almost anyway. Old enough to know
that trusting a man enough to marry him would require more courage than is
within me.

Hunter blinked. “
Almost
? You told me a
year ago you were nineteen!”

“I did not wish you to think me a child,” she
said, shrugging.

He stared at
her as he thought back. Then she was only seventeen while eluding him. Just a
youth … yet possessing the cunning, courage and commitment of someone much
advanced in age. Woman or child? She could scarcely be considered one or the
other, yet possessed distinctive elements of both.

He reflected on her earlier statement.  “It does
not require courage to love someone and marry.”

 “I didn’t say I could not love a man, nor do I
doubt the divinity of the institution. I said I could not
trust
one. I
told you before, Major, it is not in my nature.” Her gaze turned skyward.
“Trust is an ability that I have lost or has died or was left out of me at
birth.”

“You can’t go through life without trusting.”

“Trusting. Needing. They are one and the same. I
prefer to rely on myself, depend on no one, and expect nothing in return.”