Hunter, incapable of speaking, groaned as he paced the floor. Hobbs had only just met her, yet already recognized Andrea’s intolerance for idleness and repose.
“I am not a doctor,” Hunter said, “but I believe in some cases, and with some individuals, rest can be more hurtful than action.”
Hobbs grunted. “I am inclined to agree. However, it cannot be helped in this case. It must be done.” He gazed at Hunter over his spectacles. “Today.”
Hunter looked up at the urgency in the doctor’s voice and watched him pull a vial from his bag.
“Do not fear. She won’t know what hit her.”
* * *
Andrea wanted to go back to her room, but standing at the bottom of the stairs, she knew better than to make the attempt. After exchanging pleasantries with Gus, she made her way to a comfortable chair in the front foyer.
Perhaps after a little rest she would be able to find the strength to make the journey. For now, she needed to sit. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Andrea collapsed into the chair in a most unladylike fashion, and closed her eyes at the relief it brought.
When Mattie appeared about fifteen minutes later, she was thankful. “Oh, Mattie, look what I’ve done. Can you and Izzie help me back up the stairs?”
Mattie’s eyes appeared large and nervous, but she nodded. “S-shore, mistus. But don’t you want a drink while I go fetch Izzie?”
Andrea started to decline. She just wanted to lie down. But one look at the sparkling glass of lemonade Mattie held out and she could not refuse. Drinking none too sparingly, Andrea could almost feel the cool liquid enter her veins, easing beat by beat the throbbing in her leg.
But just as abruptly, she began to feel warm and shaky. Closing one eye, she stared at the glass, and watched it grow distinctly out of focus.
Why do I suddenly feel so horribly dizzy? So amazingly tired?
Andrea fought to keep her lids open, to keep her head from falling to her chest.
She looked up to see Hunter standing over her, talking in slow motion, not making sense. Mattie and the doctor appeared too, all floating in some sort of cloudy substance—or maybe it was smoke?
Something’s wrong. Andrea stared at her fingers and thought how peculiar they looked, seeming to wrap around the glass like a vine.
Alarmed, she looked up again at Hunter and tried desperately to read his lips. But the more she concentrated, the more his image began to distort and fade away. A great gushing roar began to vibrate in her ears, and the room began to careen. Andrea wrapped her free hand around the arm of the chair in a panic, just as the floor in front of her opened its mouth.
She felt the glass in her hand slipping from her grasp. Did someone catch it?
She never heard it shatter. She never heard another sound before the room swallowed her whole.
Chapter 16
To restrain her is to restrain the wind.
– Proverbs 27:16
Hunter mounted the staircase to his chamber for a welcome rest after two hellish days in the saddle. His head throbbed violently, and his injured shoulder ached with a pain so intense it nearly robbed him of breath. He hoped his houseguest was not in similar agony.
The sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs made him pause in mid-stride. His gaze came to rest on Mattie, and then on the tray she carried—still laden with food.
“The lioness is not hungry?”
“She won’t eat nor drink,” Mattie wailed. “Say she gonna leave Camp Miz’ry one way or anutter. Tol’ me if I enter her room again, she gonna—”
Mattie, whose stern disposition was usually feared by all who met her, sniffled like a child and did not finish.
Hunter growled, grabbed the tray from her hands, and sprinted up the steps two at a time. Having departed before the doctor’s procedure, he had hoped her anger would be gone upon his return. Yet it appeared the hopeless discord in the house had not abated, or even lessened, in his absence.
“Careful, Massa,” Mattie yelled when Hunter reached the landing. “She so mad, if you put water on huh, she’ll sizz.”
Hunter frowned at that announcement, but did not pause. “Miss Evans,” he said, striding through the door without knocking. “You are vexing my patience sorely. Must you constantly dig everyone with your spurs?”
Hunter could see with one sweeping glance he was in for another unpleasant brawl, and that going head-to-head with the girl’s irascible spirit was going to be even more demanding than the skirmish he had just fought with her Northern compatriots.
“I will not eat your poison again.” Andrea turned her head and talked to the wall. “I will become food for worms before I am twice deceived by your tricks.”
Hunter sat the tray down roughly on the table beside her bed and turned her face to look at him. “Look here. Were I the evil rebel you portray me as, Miss Evans, I would have wrung your neck with my bare hands long ago.”
“My injuries are considerable, sir, but I am not deaf!” Andrea shouted as though she were.
“I’m sorry.” Hunter lowered his voice a little. “But I am weary of enduring, and having my household endure, your volatile and vicious disposition. You are free to denounce me and my allegiance in any terms you wish, but I forbid you to take out your wrath upon my servants.”
“How dare you insult me after what you did,” Andrea spat. “Please excuse me if I refrain from expressing gratitude that the ailment has worsened with the treatment.”
Hunter could see she was hurting. Her fingers lay buried to the knuckle in her thigh as if to cut off a throbbing nerve, and her other foot was in constant motion, as if the movement helped keep the raging pain at bay. Even with her lids closed, he could see her eyes quivering beneath the thin skin. “I’m sorry if it pains you,” he said in a softer voice.
“Pains me?” Andrea opened her eyes wide.
“Hurts you,” Hunter said, trying to explain.
“I’m not altogether unfamiliar with the word. Yes, it pains me! Had you the decency to seek my opinion on the matter beforehand, I would have informed you that having my leg broken once by vicious rebels was quite enough for a lifetime.”
“Miss, what I did was for your own good,” Hunter said, defending himself. “It appears imperative that I use my good judgment since you seem to possess none of your own.”
Andrea did not respond, other than to stare again at the wall. But the look she allowed to flash across her face before she turned away made words quite unnecessary. In fact, Hunter decided there was nothing quite so eloquently unnerving as Andrea Evans’ eyes when she was angry—save perhaps a masked battery of cannon discovered at close range.
Hunter paced back and forth beside her bed in frustration. “I thought perhaps your injuries were to blame for your surly temper, but I’m beginning to believe it’s merely a part of your Yankee disposition.”
“Do not waste your time fretting about my disposition. I assure you any disagreeableness is only brought out in the presence of traitors to our flag.”
Hunter stopped and whirled around to face the bed. “Young lady, I did not come in here expecting to be eaten up with fondness, but neither did I intend to have my loyalty assaulted and my country insulted. If you would spend as much time trying to recover as you do feeling sorry for yourself, you would likely be up and running by now.”
Andrea drew a deep breath like she had been slapped. “Tell me, sir,” she said, narrowing her eyes to mere slits, “are you as adept at reading your own shortcomings as you are mine?”
Hunter lowered himself into a chair beside the bed and tried to cool his temper. His houseguest was, he decided, a natural born devil, possessing a temper that was volatile and unpredictable. “Do you never throw down your weapon? Let down your guard?”
“In the home of the enemy?” Andrea snorted with profound indignation. “What do you expect?”
“Come now.” Hunter faced her. “We’ve lived together far t
oo long to be considered enemies. Surely you can agree to a flag of truce.”
“You forget, sir, it is misfortune, certainly not desire, that places me here.”
“I assure you I do not forget,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Likewise, it was necessity, not desire, which compelled me to bring you here.”
“Then let us be clear. I am determined to endure my prison term. Please do not think that I am going to enjoy it.”
Hunter had hoped he could silence the batteries, that they could call a truce. He frowned at the prospect. Trying to reach a compromise with her would be like trying to stop a typhoon with his bare hands.
“Miss Evans, you are simply going to have to accept the fact that you are here under my care. And you could, despite our differences, extend me some gratitude, allowing you to stay here as I do while I am out defending my native soil.”
“Defending your native soil?” Andrea gave an enraged laugh. “Is that what you call the midnight mischief created by your mob of marauding miscreants?” Andrea squinted at Hunter with one eye in such a way, he was beginning to learn, meant things did not sit well with her.
“May I inform you, Miss Evans, that I practice a completely legitimate method of warfare. In fact, my men live by the Golden Rule at all times.” He paused for effect. “Do unto others as they would do unto you—but do it first.”
She snorted. “Your nomadic tribe of trigger-happy horse thieves knows nothing but pilfering and pillaging and plunder. The only thing your bloodthirsty gang of guerillas would not steal from Union troops is their valiant dead.”
“I can hardly be blamed if the fear of a hundred of my men in the Yankee’s rear is equal to the fire power of ten thousand in their front.”
Andrea stared at him for a few long moments, her cheeks turning an unusual shade of red at his quick-witted comeback. Hunter noticed her foot had begun to move even faster beneath the covers, a sure sign she was not at peace.
He made another attempt at peace. “Miss Evans, I regret that we had to resort to the measures we did to reset your leg, but it was for your own well-being. Surely my hospitality deserves some degree of respect.”
“You fight against the flag of your nation.” Andrea’s tone indicated that such an action demanded no respect.
Hunter blinked at her impudence. “I fight for my state. In case you did not know, Virginia followed her Southern sisters in secession after an invasion by your government.”
Andrea’s mouth dropped open in a most unladylike fashion, then snapped shut like a nutcracker.
“You have the audacity to place the blame on the North for this cruel and needless rebellion when it was the South that commenced hostilities?”
Hunter stared at her for a moment, weighing the benefit of continuing the argument. Even if he was right, he did not seem destined to win. “I believe you are failing to see the line of distinction between the Constitution, which it is the duty of citizens to obey, and the unconstitutional edicts of a military despotism we are, in fact, obligated to resist,” he continued as if explaining something to a child. “We severed our relationship with the Union peacefully through ordinances of secession, with no contemplation of war.”
“Yes, and now you show the solemn convictions of your deed through boundless expenditures of blood,” Andrea said, staring at the ceiling again. “You have successfully opened a vein that is bleeding a nation to death.”
Hunter shook his head. “Miss Evans, I came in here to see that you get some nourishment, and how I strayed from that endeavor, I don’t well see. However, I am beginning to see, more clearly every minute, the rationale and the necessity of the methods of discipline at Libby Prison.”
Andrea’s eyes opened wide, seeming to double in size. She made a deep guttural noise and possessed a wild, animal-like look that gave him the inclination to put his hand on her shoulder to quiet her. “Miss Evans, please do calm down,” he said with a touch of contrition in his voice. “I regret the remark.”
His words appeared to provide little comfort. When Andrea turned her full gaze upon him, Hunter actually took a step back, as if to evade a punch. But when she threw the bedcovers back and made an attempt to rise, he moved forward to stop her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” she said.
She attempted to lift her leg with her hands, but already he could see her entire body trembling—apparently from pain, because her expression was completely devoid of fear. Hunter knew her movements were from sheer force of will, causing him to feel a sense of frustration at her fierce desperation to leave.
He spoke in a gentle voice, making an attempt to calm and quiet her. “Miss Evans, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but in your current state, it is doubtful you could make it down the stairs. What makes you think you can make it to the barn? Or mount a horse? It isn’t possible.”
Andrea lifted her head, her eyes blazing with green fury, the pain apparently momentarily forgotten.
“Never underestimate the impossible, Major,” she said trembling with rage. “No doubt, you would consider it impossible for a mere woman to pull a drowning man from a stream.”
Hunter blinked, somewhat taken by surprise. Deep down of course he’d known the truth, but it was not something he’d ever quite acknowledged as fact. He stared again at the small form that carried within it so much strength and obstinacy.
“Miss Evans.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose we will have to agree to disagree on some matters, but you have my word, when you are well enough, I will sign a pass to get you safely through the Confederate lines.”
“You think I’m going to take your word?” She said the words so loudly that it caused a dog to bark in the distance. “You think I need a pass to get through your lines?”
Hunter remained calm, his features a mask of rigid self-control, but his eyes bore deeply into hers. “As for taking my word,” he said, leaning closer, “you have no choice in the matter. As for the pass, had you had one the night you were stopped by my pickets, you would not be here now.”
Hunter watched Andrea blink hard, but try as she did to conceal it, she could not hide the look of defeat on her face. He saw the change visibly, her ferocity transforming into a look of desperation—like a wild beast, trapped or captured.
She could not escape. She knew it. And she knew he knew it. Though her eyes continued to show no trace of fear, the resigned despair of a soul that has passed beyond its limit of endurance was now clearly evident. She collapsed against the pillows with a long sigh.
Hunter pulled the covers back over her. “Perhaps I have something that can improve your mood and make amends for your unfortunate circumstances. Stay here a minute.”
He winced at his words, realizing Andrea had no choice in the matter, and then retreated from the room. When he returned a few minutes later, her head was again turned to the wall.
“As you seem to manifest a great impatience toward confinement, and since I understand that crutches are rather cumbersome, I…retrieved this from the attic.”
Andrea turned her head and Hunter watched her eyes light up when she saw the cane he held out to her. “It was my grandmother’s. Made for her by my grandfather.”
Hunter stood by the bed awaiting her pleasure, secretly hoping she would not grab the instrument and use it as a weapon. He watched her scrutinize the elaborate walking stick, running her fingers over the ornately carved horse’s head and flying mane of the handle, and touching the smooth and polished cherry of the shaft.
“It is magnificent,” she said, still staring at the intricate carving of the handle.
Hunter worked hard to suppress a smile. Ah, perhaps I will be able to tame the lion after all.
But her eyes turned distrustful again, and then grew vacant, an apparent habit of hers when she feared her feelings were becoming visible. “You think to bribe me now?”
“I wish only to ease your transition.” Hunter’s voice grew businessl
ike. “Though I hope you won’t rush your recovery by putting it to use before the recommended time of recuperation.”
Andrea did not answer.
“You have no reason to distrust me.”
“Trust you?” She flung her gaze toward him. “Why, I’d as soon trust a dog with my dinner. But don’t take it personally, Major. Trust is not in my nature. I do not trust anyone.”
“Really? No one? Not even your family?”
“I have no family.”
“They’re all dead?” Hunter continued to probe.
“My mother is dead. My so-called father would be if I had any say in the matter.”
Stunned, Hunter looked at her, thinking he misunderstood. “You wish your father dead?”
“I believe I could survive anything if only I knew I could live long enough to see that.”
She said the words matter-of-factly, but the conviction in her voice and the cold fury in her eyes sent a shiver down Hunter’s spine.
Yet in just another instant, her tone changed and her countenance softened. “I’ll eat,” she said, as if it were a part of some ultimate plan. “But I don’t need your blasted help to do it.”
Andrea took the proffered cane and laid it beside her on the bed, placing a protective hand on it in case he should change his mind.
Hunter looked at her questioningly, suspecting some devious scheme. He had not expected the coon to come down from the tree quite so easily. “Very well. But there is one more thing.”
Andrea stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and distrust.
“I must urge you not to be reckless with your strength and health. The doctor says you must not put weight on that leg for—” Hunter paused and swallowed hard. “For four weeks at the very least, six to eight being desirable.”
“Surely you jest,” Andrea said, unblinking.
“No. I do not. You will do irreparable damage if you walk before it is mended.”
Andrea closed her eyes and turned her head away from him, her chest heaving. “You ask too much of me.”
“It is for your own good,” Hunter offered.
Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Page 7
