“Tell Papa....it’s all my fault.” She was holding onto Mattie’s arm and mumbling in a feverish daze.
“It’s all right. Go to sleep.” Hunter’s words seemed to relax her. She released her grip and closed her eyes, but her stillness did not last long. In a moment, she appeared wide awake, talking and rambling incoherently. Her gaze was sometimes vacant, at other times roaming frantically around the room as if seeking someone she wanted to find, or searching for someone before they found her.
When Mattie returned with fresh, cold water to sponge Andrea’s forehead, Hunter retired to the balcony hoping to clear his mind of the images.
“What are you doing?” Andrea’s voice broke the silence. It sounded cold and threatening.
Hunter turned to see her holding firmly onto Mattie’s wrist. The servant stood frozen, her eyes big and white with terror at the vengeful look on Andrea’s face. Hunter hurried to the bed and pried her fingers from Mattie’s arm. “She’s trying to help.”
Andrea looked up at him, her eyes slanted and disbelieving. “Papa sent you?”
“No. You’re safe here.”
“You are lying,” she said, turning her head away. “I am safe nowhere.”
How many times had this same haunted, troubled look appeared in the depths of Andrea’s eyes? Now he knew some of the history it masked.
The figure in the bed grew restless again, moaning and mumbling in her sleep, seemingly in a sort of limbo, hovering between the conscious and unconscious. Mattie took a hesitant step forward and moved her hand in front of the half-open eyes. They remained glazed, empty, staring. She was not asleep anymore—yet seemed beyond all awareness. Her troubled expression reflected the look of a soul half-loosed from its earthly bounds…and one that possessed little desire to return.
Hunter stared thoughtfully at the painful scene before him, silently pondering the future of his lion-hearted houseguest. He had to accept the fact that nothing but liberty would console her now, and nothing but death would assuage her fierce desire to be gone from Virginia. And in giving her neither, Hunter recognized, he was condemning her to a torturous fate—and no doubt, himself…and his entire household, to the same.
He turned to go. A part of him feared leaving her now, but he could not stay. He would be departing again within the hour.
When he stopped one last time to check on her condition, she had apparently awakened from her dream. She did not speak, but stared vacantly at the ceiling as if in the process of surrendering to the illness—or in the midst of contemplating the alternative.
* * *
Constantly on the move for six days, Hunter had received no word about Andrea’s condition. He tried to convince himself that was a good thing as he made his way to the house and wearily climbed the stairs. If she’d gotten worse, surely they would have sent for him.
Cautiously pushing her chamber door open, he was relieved to see her sitting up in bed, propped against a nest of pillows. Izzie sat by her side, attempting to place a spoonful of broth in her mouth.
“You gotta eat.” Izzie sat back in the chair, exasperated. “Mama said maybe you’d eat for me. Just a little?”
“Not hungry,” Andrea answered weakly, as if uttering those two words was more than she could physically endure.
Hunter walked to the bedside, removing his hat. “If you’ll excuse us a moment, Izzie.”
He heard the door close behind Izzie as she dashed out, but the room remained silent for a few long minutes. Andrea’s head was turned toward the wall, though he could see that her stolid eyes were open and staring.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better. I guess Zach told you that filly is a real handful.” Hunter took a deep breath when he still received no response. Accustomed to her sharp tongue and keen wit, this long stretch of silence disconcerted him…especially when the image of her glowing, vivacious face on the day of their wagon ride arose unbidden in his mind.
Hunter sat down beside the bed, and picked up the bowl of broth. “You must eat. You don’t want to die on enemy soil do you?”
“It doesn’t matter to me where I die,” Andrea said, staring at the ceiling now.
The severe indifference of her expression caused Hunter’s heart to pick up its pace. “Don’t talk like that.” He sat the bowl down with a bang and stood.
“I’m not afraid of dying.” Andrea’s gaze shifted to him with a look so cold and detached that it sent a shiver down his spine.
“Then it must be living you fear.”
Andrea looked away quickly. “I don’t fear it,” she said emphatically, as if she’d given it much thought. “Nor do I care to endure it.”
“Come now. You’ve had a setback.” Hunter sat down beside her again. “Nothing that can’t be overcome.”
“All is lost.” She blinked rapidly, as if that admission of defeat was difficult for her.
Hunter knew she alluded to the strength in her legs. Once again she would have to start over, one step at a time, to rebuild the muscles. The task did seem daunting, even to him. Her physical endurance and vigor before her stay in prison must have been incredible. To jump a four-foot stonewall bareback would have taken nothing less than legs of steel.
“I’ve been here four months and still cannot walk.” Her voice was weak, but Hunter detected a small spark of anger in her eyes now. “I may well spend the rest of the war in this house.”
“Come now. Would that be so bad?”
Andrea turned her head and focused on Hunter with a look so contemptuous, he had to work hard to suppress a grin. He saw within her eyes an agitated flicker that mimicked a candle just catching flame.
“Get out.”
Hunter smiled and picked up the bowl. “Not until you eat a few bites.”
“You are trying to bribe me? If I eat, you will leave?”
“That’s right,” he said, his spoon ready and waiting.
“And if I do not?”
Hunter sat back in the chair and threw his long legs in front of him, getting comfortable in anticipation of a long wait. “You will learn the power of my patience—one of the few traits I possess that is superior to yours.”
“What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?” Andrea’s tone was one of morose rebellion, her defiant eyes still shadowed with gloom.
Hunter ignored the look and instead laughed at her Shakespearian quote. “Come now, Miss Evans. I’m not trying to torment you. I’m trying to help you.”
Andrea opened her mouth, and he quickly filled it with a spoonful of the broth. “I can feed myself,” she said, her eyelids obviously getting heavy.
“One more,” Hunter replied. “Then I’ll let you rest. I’m leaving again in the morning, and I want to make sure you’ve eaten.”
Andrea complied, but Hunter knew it was only because she was too weary to argue. She swallowed, and, half to his disappointment and half to his relief, fell asleep.
Chapter 25
Blessed is the horse who bonds himself to us in silence and does our will so freely.
– Anonymous
With a sense of impatience, Hunter finally returned to Hawthorne after three long days. He probed Mattie with an inquisitive eye when she met him at the door.
“She gettin’ her sass back,” Mattie said, before he had time to ask a question. “That tongue got more sauce than a beehive got honey.”
The sound of shouting from the direction of Andrea’s bedchamber interrupted the conversation. Charging up the stairs, Hunter noticed from a glance over his shoulder that Mattie was hurrying away in the opposite direction.
He entered the room to find Andrea waving her cane in the air like a mighty sword. “I’m warning you, Miss Hamilton. If you take another step, you are accepting the risk!”
“Miss Evans, cease this instant! What is the meaning of this?”
When Victoria saw Hunter, she ran into his arms, sobbing. “Alex, she’s trying to kill me. I only came to see how s
he was feeling.”
Hunter watched Andrea collapse back against the pillows and close her eyes in apparent acknowledgment that she had been baited and bested by Victoria. He took the opportunity to usher Victoria from the room, while enacting a plan he had formulated on his long ride home. Though he conversed in a low tone so as not to be overheard, he nonetheless made it clear to Victoria that his proposition was not something in her power to refuse.
Luckily, she had tired of the isolation of Hawthorne and accepted the suggestion without dispute.
When he re-entered the bedchamber, he studied Andrea’s sullen features. “Do you mind explaining what was going on here?”
Her pale and wane appearance worried him, yet the familiar go-to-hell look she shot in his direction encouraged him that health was returning.
“Ask your friend, the high priestess of pomposity,” Andrea said with a flip of her head toward the wall.
Ah, her vocabulary is back too. Another good sign.
“I’m asking you.” Hunter tried to suppress a grin. “But I’m profoundly pleased to see your pleasant disposition has returned.”
Andrea glared at him, then closed her eyes. “Why should I bother explaining anything to you, the one who sent your misery-making mistress of malice to torment me while I lie helpless?”
“You? Helpless?” Hunter laughed. “Hell will undoubtedly freeze to the core before that day comes.” He walked over to the bed. “I’m not a doctor, Miss Evans. But were I to guess, I’d say your only ailment now is a rampant infection of self-pity.”
Andrea snorted, and glared at him with unfriendly eyes before turning her head to the wall without responding.
Hunter’s gaze drifted over to the crutches leaning idly by the door. He had assumed that the fever of unrest would have her attempting to climb the walls by now. Instead, she appeared to have recovered in health, but not in spirit.
“Are your spurs so cold you can no longer dig me with them?” Hunter tried to make a joke. “Strangely enough, I’ve come to miss our little sparring matches.”
His attempt to provoke a response failed, but the sound of a carriage caused her to turn her attention toward the balcony door.
“That is probably Zach bringing up the carriage for Victoria. She will be leaving for a few days to visit friends.”
“How very disappointing,” Andrea replied. “I had so looked forward to continuing our conversation.”
Hunter cleared his throat somewhat nervously as he heard the front door close. The loud bang was soon followed by the sound of squeaking wheels as the carriage made its departure down the long drive.
“Perhaps in her absence you’d like to come down and sit on the front porch. Get some fresh air.”
He did not give her time to refuse. Acting on instinct, he scooped her up in his arms, and carried her light form down the stairs to the porch. “I thought you might like to see Storm Dancer, the filly you saved.” He nodded toward the foal contentedly snoozing by its mother before depositing her in a cushioned rocker. Then he moved her, chair and all, to a part of the porch splashed with sunlight.
“Comfortable?”
She did not speak, but the smile she flashed him made words unnecessary. The silent communication between them gave him the distinct impression that he’d just been hugged.
Just as he was about to sit down beside her, a tumultuous racket of banging and shouts arose from out of the barn. Hunter strode to the edge of the porch as one of the servants ran up.
“Dat big hoss, Massa. He kickin’ down the stall.”
“Did Zach try turning him out with the other horses?”
“Yes, Massa. He done attacked the other hosses.”
“Excuse me a moment,” Hunter said to Andrea, before he hopped off the porch and strode toward the barn. “Move those two horses,” he yelled to one of the servants. “I’ll turn him out up here where he has no one to pick on.”
As Hunter led the horse out of the barn toward the paddock by the house, it reared and whinnied at every step. Covered with dust and dirt, the animal looked emaciated, yet its strength was not diminished.
After being dragged a few steps by the rearing horse, Hunter noticed for the first time amid the flurry of hooves that Andrea had somehow made it to the porch railing. “Miss Evans, what are you doing?”
“Justus?” Her voice sounded weak and shaky.
The horse snorted and reared high in the air, lashing out with its front legs and pulling the rope completely out of Hunter’s hand. Trotting a few steps toward Andrea, it stopped, put its head down, and snorted again, like a bull getting ready to charge. Andrea took a step down, still holding onto the railing, her legs visibly shaking.
“Miss Evans. Don’t move,” Hunter warned in a low voice, afraid the stallion was going to strike out at her. He saw Zach and another servant coming up to encircle the animal, but he feared they would only add to its terror.
Andrea put out her hand. “Here, boy.” The horse took another step toward her, breathing heavily, snorting, its eyes wild with terror.
Hunter held his breath, afraid of what might happen next. The horse was only steps from her now. It looked unsure of itself, like it may bolt—or charge.
“Miss Evans, get back!”
Clearly it was hard for her to remain upright. Even though she still leaned on the railing, her entire body quivered from the effort of standing after her extended period of illness.
The horse took another cautious step and Hunter’s heart stopped beating. Andrea let go of the railing and fell into the horse’s shoulder, burying her head in his neck. “Justus. Oh, Justus.” The horse raised and lowered its head, nickering all the while as if holding a private conversation with his mistress.
Hunter let out his breath, both from relief and exasperation. His heart had come to new life, pounding as if he’d just been in hand-to-hand combat, and sweat rolled down his temples. “This beast is yours?”
Andrea nodded with her head still buried against the horse. “Thank you.”
Hunter realized she was under the impression he’d deliberately brought the horse to her. In his relief at seeing her upright once again, he took no pains to remove the notion.
“Ever think of teaching him some manners?” Hunter reached for the rope.
“He doesn’t like men,” Andrea responded in his defense.
“I can’t imagine where he inherited that trait,” Hunter said dryly, giving the animal a tentative pat on the shoulder. The beast had settled down now, seemed almost docile.
“I’m going to turn him out right here.” Hunter nodded toward the paddock. “You’ll be able to keep your eye on him.”
Andrea nodded, but could not let go of her pet’s neck without falling. Hunter put one arm around her waist and gently sat her on the porch step. “Rest here a minute. I’ll be right back.”
The horse took another step forward and nuzzled Andrea, then he obediently followed Hunter to the paddock.
“Where? How?” Andrea asked when he returned.
“We’ll talk later.” Hunter scooped her up again. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Andrea was asleep in his arms before he even reached her bedchamber.
As far as Hunter was concerned, the horse was precisely what had been needed to revive her shattered spirit. Although he could take no credit for his arrival, he was thankful for whatever circumstances had occurred to place her beloved mount at Hawthorne. It was the closest thing to Divine intervention he’d ever had occasion to witness.
Chapter 26
In great contests, each party claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, and one must be, wrong. God cannot be for and against the same thing at the same time.
– Abraham Lincoln
Dark, ominous clouds had devoured the last remnants of a beautiful sunset by the time Major Hunter galloped up the lane to Hawthorne once again.
“Looks like you outrunned
the storm, Massa.” Zach took the reins and quickly led the prancing horse toward the barn to escape the approaching downpour. By the time Hunter dashed up the porch steps, the first great drops began to fall, followed closely by a deafening assault as the full tempest hit.
Hunter entered the house, grateful to have missed a soaking, and headed straight for his library. Already rain was lashing at the windows, and he could hear the tree limbs outside thrashing against the house.
But the sound of approaching footsteps caused him to press his back against the wall in the shadowy hallway and hold his breath.
“Mattie! Mattie! You impertinent slave,” Victoria muttered. “Hello? Anyone? Is Alex home? Did I hear his horse coming up the lane?”
Not bothering to stop at his library door, Hunter continued through the darkened corridors and escaped out the back. Just as he stepped onto the porch, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the silhouette of a lone figure already there. Andrea glanced at him and nodded when he took a seat in the darkness beside her, but otherwise seemed too lost in her own thoughts to care.
Hunter sat back in his chair with a sigh and lit his pipe, delighted to have found a place of refuge to escape Victoria and her wagging tongue. The storm continued to intensify, convulsing in the sky with brilliant displays of lightning, followed closely by deafening claps of thunder.
With nothing but silence coming from the house now, he had little doubt that the storm’s magnitude had sent Victoria running for the safety of her chamber. The one beside him, on the other hand, appeared to take immense pleasure in the celestial display. With each dazzling bolt that lit the darkness, her smiled broadened.
Glad for the opportunity to sit and relax after two days almost constantly in the saddle, Hunter sank deeper into his chair. When at last the wind diminished its ferocity and the thunder retreated a bit, he spoke. “Quite a storm that was. Looks to be another one coming.”
Andrea’s gaze remained locked on the sky. “Yes. Let’s hope so.”
Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Page 12
