He watched her sit back and survey her work, before her gaze drifted up to meet his. “You have a funny look on your face, Major.”
“I do?” He choked the words.
“Probably from the pain of your injury.” She smiled, and, in a motherly way, placed her hand on his forehead to see if he had a fever. Stroking the hair from his brow, she looked with a mixture of sympathy and concern at the spot where his head had made violent contact with the ground.
Something about that look reached down to his soul and made him struggle to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, lest she read any secrets there.
“Bullets have a way of humbling one, I suppose,” she said as if to herself.
“It’s not the first time I’ve been humbled.” Hunter meant to say it was not the first time he’d taken a bullet, but he was so tired and confused, he could not think straight. So tired. Yet his heart banged against his rib cage like it wanted out.
Andrea did not respond to that. She gently lifted his arm and began wrapping his wound with fresh bandages.
Hunter forced his eyes open again. “You seem experienced in the practice of medicine, Miss Evans,” he said weakly. “Have you done this before?”
“Oh, yes. I used to help Mammy with the sla—”
She looked straight into his eyes, her brows drawn together, her face just inches from his. Apparently realizing it was too late to stop, she finished matter-of-factly, “…with the slaves.” Turning back to the basin, she busied herself wringing out the washcloth.
“But,” Hunter said, genuinely confused, “Does that mean you are Southern by birth?”
“It should not be hard to believe that I was born and lived among the misguided,” Andrea snapped. “When one is reared in the presence of some six hundred slaves, a proclivity against, and an intolerance for, the institution can hardly be considered unjustifiable.”
She turned back to the bowl of water, but the tone, the words, the savagery, were more like the person to whom he was accustomed. Even her eyes had taken on that all-too-familiar look that meant the mule was back.
“I-I didn’t mean. . .” Hunter stuttered. Please don’t go, he thought.
“My heritage is Southern. My devotion is, and shall always be, Union.”
Thus ended the conversation. And thus ended the appearance of the gentler side of his houseguest. Hunter closed his eyes again. Six hundred slaves? She must have been born into one of the wealthiest families in the South, entitled to all the luxuries and comforts that such breeding grants. She had never boasted of wealth or influence, yet apparently possessed both. What in the world was she doing here?
“Cans I help, Miz Andrea?” Mattie stood heaving for breath in the doorway while holding another kettle of water.
“No, I’ve just got to clean up the rest of him.”
Andrea leaned toward him with the wet cloth, but Hunter grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to touch him. “Mattie, can do it,” he said, not wanting to risk his reaction to her touch. “You’ve done enough.”
Andrea looked surprised, but shrugged her shoulders and dried her hands.
“Get some rest when Mattie’s done,” she ordered as she departed the room on her crutches.
She need not have given the command. Hunter’s exhausted condition had already brought merciful oblivion.
Chapter 14
He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.
– King Lear, Shakespeare
Hunter heard a light knock on the door the next morning, just before Andrea blew into the room like a fast-moving tornado. He watched in amazement as she flew across the room in long—albeit ungraceful—strides on her new crutches.
“What do you think you are doing?” She grabbed the boot he had been trying to put on with one hand.
“I need to get back to my men.”
“You’ll provide no more target practice until a doctor looks at your arm.” She dropped the boot on the floor. “I’ve already sent Gus with a message informing Captain Carter you’re in bed for repairs.”
Hunter blinked in confusion, trying to figure out how she knew the names of his men, before fully realizing what she had just said. “You can’t send messages through my men about me without my knowledge or consent!”
“I can’t? Or I shouldn’t?” Andrea asked innocently. “Because I did, and it is done.”
She waved her hand in the air and laughed as if her philosophy of seeking forgiveness rather than permission was a sound one. “Come now, Major, you are no more fit to face the enemy than you are to fly to the moon. Gus was waiting for a message to convey, and Captain Carter is perfectly capable of overseeing things for a few days. What would you have done differently?”
“That is not the point,” Hunter growled, before mumbling something uncomplimentary under his breath.
He reached down angrily to pick up his boot, but Andrea slid the tip of her crutch forward and pinned the leather shaft firmly to the floor. Hunter looked up at her and then over to the chest where his guns lay, as if they would somehow be of use.
“Did you sleep well?” Andrea’s voice softened just the slightest bit.
“Yes,” Hunter lied. Between the pain and the dreams of her, he doubted he had slept at all. He had even been awake the times she had slipped into his room to check on him. Or had he dreamed that she had knelt over him, beautiful and smiling throughout the night, touching his brow to check for signs of fever? And was he dreaming still? Had something vague and enthralling been absorbed into him so that even now it pulsed through his veins?
“Well, you don’t look like it to me.” Andrea cocked her head and scrutinized him. “How do you feel?”
“Like a piece of Yankee lead ripped through my shoulder.” Hunter stared intently at his boot as he spoke, as if by doing so it would dislodge itself from beneath her crutch.
“Well, I see it did nothing to improve your mood or disposition.”
He looked up sharply. “If that was its intention, Miss Evans, then I assure you it missed its mark.”
Andrea laughed, humor mingled with concern lurking in her eyes. “Oh yes, Major, I know it missed its mark.”
He watched her scan the distance from his shoulder to his heart.
“But not by much,” she said, lifting her mischievous eyes to meet his.
Hunter snorted in contempt. “Then I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”
“Do not raise your hackles,” Andrea said, placing her hand on his arm. “I did not mean to imply that I would relish the thought of a direct hit.”
Their eyes met again, and for just the slightest moment, Hunter thought he saw compassion rekindled there. But he did not have time to analyze the glance.
“It will not hurt you to lie low until a doctor looks at your arm.” Andrea turned away a moment to open the curtains. “I know your blood is the highest pledge you can give to show your devotion to the Cause, but surely you’re not required to give all of it.”
“Doc is in Richmond getting supplies, and it may be days until he returns,” Hunter said, as if that explained everything.
“Splendid!” Andrea turned back with a smile. “Then you will have a few days of rest. Highly deserved by the looks of you.” She seemed to take great delight in the fact that their roles were now reversed. “It’s easy enough to preach patience. Now you will have to learn to practice it.”
“I see it’s a trait you’ve acquired.” Hunter glanced at her before collapsing back on the bed, holding his pounding head.
“Well I hardly believe a few days rest will cause you fatal injury,” she retorted, mimicking again the words that had been spoken to her. “You are a mere mortal, Commander, much as you may hate to admit it. Hence, your flesh will heal at the same rate as the rest of the human race.”
Hunter put his hand to his head and squeezed his temples hard, then took a deep breath. Too exhausted and physically drained to argue, he decided to give in. Closi
ng his eyes again, he made one last attempt to bring back the image that lingered in his memory. Had he really caught a glimpse of a woman that could be as compassionate as she was bold, and gentle as she was stubborn? Or did such a being exist only in his mind? Had she been real or an angel of the dreamy subconscious?
As if to answer his question, Andrea bent down and picked up his boots. When she reached the door, she smiled deviously, her green eyes sparkling with a light that appeared to be of frank good humor as she held them up for him to see. “I regret the necessity.”
“Where are you going with those?” Hunter attempted to stand and groaned at the ensuing pain.
“I’m making sure my orders are followed, Major.”
“Come back here this instant,” he yelled, holding his head and sitting back down, hard. “I do not take orders from you!”
“Nor I from you,” Andrea said over her shoulder before the door slammed closed.
Chapter 15
Peace won by compromise is usually a short-lived achievement.
– Winfield Scott
Three days later
Andrea did one trip around her room with only one crutch and smiled. Although she gasped for breath and leaned heavily on the support, she had made progress. Her triumphant gaze turned toward the chamber door, and her thoughts turned to the one task that remained untried—the stairs.
With a new determination to achieve her goal, Andrea began her descent, holding onto the crutch on one side and the railing on the other. But it didn’t take long to discover that it was too soon to have made the attempt. When only halfway down, she began to grow dizzy with pain and her legs trembled with the effort. She stopped and leaned on the banister, staring back at the eight steps she had already traversed. She knew she would never be able to induce her aching limbs to climb back up. She had no choice but to continue the easier direction of down.
Turning back to the task at hand, Andrea swept her gaze over the room before her. Like the upstairs, the first floor appeared beautifully decorated, yet pleasantly unostentatious. A huge open foyer and elegant sitting room appeared neat and orderly, with beautiful dark-hued floors covered with elaborate and stylish rugs. Her eyes rested on a large, overstuffed chair, and she renewed her journey with gritted teeth.
After making it to the final step and catching her breath, Andrea went out of her way to touch the large oaken door to her right. Although she knew it would not be today or even this week, someday soon this would be her gateway to freedom.
Just as she reached down to touch the large brass latch, a loud, impatient knock echoed from the other side. Instinctively she pulled open the massive door and beheld a stern-looking man with disapproving eyes, blinking in obvious confusion at the sight of her.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Would the Major be about by chance?”
Before she could answer, Hunter strode across the foyer with his good arm extended, the other still bound in the sling she had made. “Doc. Come in. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
“I leave for a few days and you go get shot I hear,” the doctor said, shaking hands with Hunter. “Thought I should stop in and check on you and the patient.” The doctor cleared his throat at Hunter’s silence. “That is, if she’s still with us.”
“Oh, she’s still with us,” Hunter said. “You just saw her.”
Hobbs turned a slightly red color and looked back toward Andrea. His eyes went from her face to the crutch she leaned upon, then back to her face. “Impossible,” he muttered under his breath.
Andrea meanwhile, looked from the man, who was a stranger to her, to Hunter, and back again, waiting for someone to speak.
“My dear, I apologize,” Hobbs finally said, “but I’m the surgeon from Hunter’s command, the doctor that treated you, and I had no idea you would make such a … ah, swift recovery.”
“It has not seemed swift to me in the least.” Andrea closed the door and turned toward him.
“Well…while I’m here, do you mind if I take a look at your leg?” The doctor sounded anxious.
“Not at all,” Hunter answered for her, patting Hobbs on the back as they turned. “This way.”
Andrea glared at Hunter for answering on her behalf, but since he did not seem to take notice, she followed his sweeping gesture toward an open doorway at the back of the house.
The two men were so engaged in talking behind her that they almost ran into Andrea when she stopped abruptly in the doorway, awed by the magnificence of the room she entered.
Twelve-foot windows adorned each side of a French door that opened onto a portico. To her left and right stood ceiling-to-floor bookshelves filled to the brim with handsome leather-bound volumes. A massive stone fireplace that looked like it would consume wood by the cord graced the remaining wall, with Hunter’s desk close to its yawning mouth. No room Andrea had ever seen compared in grandeur. Yet it was not pretentious in the least. It was a room filled with warmth and inviting, manly charm.
“Come in. Come in.” Hunter gave Andrea a nudge. “Have a seat.”
Hunter sat at his desk, and Andrea sat with her back to him in a plush chair he pointed to. The doctor pulled a stool up in front of her, and picked up her leg, resting her foot on his lap. Andrea grabbed the side of the chair at the throbbing pain the movement caused.
“How much laudanum are you on a day?” the doctor inquired
Andrea blinked and looked somewhat surprised. “I take no laudanum.”
The doctor looked up to see if she was joking, and then gazed over her head to Hunter. “My lady, you must be in excruciating pain.”
Andrea heard Hunter’s pen stop moving behind her and imagined him leaning forward to better hear the conversation. She loosened her grip on the arms of the chair and tried to conjure a smile. “It’s tolerable.”
“How does it look, Doc?” Hunter’s voice now came from directly over her shoulder.
Hobbs looked from Andrea to Hunter and back, as if he did not know what to say. “I’d like to prescribe some laudanum.” He kept his eyes averted while he lowered Andrea’s leg to the floor.
“You may prescribe all you like, but it won’t be used by me,” Andrea said in a low, distinct voice. “I have recovered from worse.”
“Miss Evans, the doctor knows what is best,” Hunter said. “I think perhaps you should obey—”
“I think perhaps I know what is best for me,” Andrea said, her voice trembling with emotion. “And I believe, sir, that you are exceeding your authority by giving me orders.”
Hunter sighed. “It’s not an order, Miss Evans. It is merely for your own good.”
Hobbs, who had been standing by speechless, interrupted. “Miss, your leg is not fit to be walking on. It’s broken and out of line.”
Andrea turned her head and her inscrutable gaze to him. “I had my suspicions about the first, and never entertained a doubt about the second. Thank you for your expert opinion, Doctor.”
Hobbs blinked in astonishment at her words and looked with dismay toward Hunter for support.
A knock on the door interrupted the tirade, and Gus Dorsey burst in.
“’Scuse me, sirs, ah … miss.” He nodded and smiled at Andrea like she was an old friend, then turned toward Hunter and handed him a dispatch. “Sir, the men are meeting at Locust Hollow. Something’s cooking near headquarters. They’re moving the horses from the Talberts’ now.”
Hunter put up his hand to stop his scout and gave a worried glance toward his houseguest. Andrea stared at the wall as if she were not listening, but it was not hard to guess that she had not missed a word.
“Give me a minute, Gus,” he said, running his gaze over the dispatch. “Have Zach saddle Dixie and I’ll meet you out front.”
“Please,” Andrea said, rising with an alacrity that surprised even her, considering the depth of her pain. “Do not end your interview on my account.”
Leaning heavily on the crutch, she headed t
oward the door, followed by Gus, who took the time to exchange a few words of greeting before rushing to follow orders.
* * *
The two remaining men were silent until the sound of the crutch faded.
“What do you think, Doc?” Hunter handed the doctor his customary glass of brandy.
Continuing to stare at the open door, Hobbs took a moment to answer. “I think that is one remarkable woman,” he said before downing the contents and plopping the glass on the desk.
“Do you believe she is in much pain?” Hunter thought back to her kind treatment of him and worried that the return of her hostility might be a manifestation of her injury.
The doctor did not pause. “Excruciating. Beyond the capability of mortal endurance I would think.”
Hunter frowned. She had never complained of pain, though he had often witnessed her sitting with closed eyes and gritted teeth, as if concentrating on some unknown purpose.
The doctor cleared his throat. “I … never expected her to be walking on that leg.”
Hunter looked at him with probing eyes. “What are you trying to say?”
“It needs to be reset.”
Hunter blinked with surprise. “Reset? Now?”
Hobbs walked over to the decanter and poured himself another drink, which again he downed in one gulp. He nodded. “She was too weak, too fragile. I did not want to attempt it before.”
“Damnation, man!” Hunter ran his hand through his hair. “She’ll never stand for it.”
“She is a bit of a lioness, isn’t she? I’m afraid it will require further bed rest.”
Hunter groaned in response, knowing she would never consent to such a thing without a fight.
“How long will she be down?”
“She should not rise for four to six weeks.”
“Four to six?” Hunter sounded incredulous.
“Eight would be preferable.” Hobbs took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I fear her recovery will be slow and her impatience will be great. I don’t envy you the trouble it will cause.”
Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Page 6
