“Blazes, why do you have to know me so well?” Andrea hobbled to the far side of the tent while biting one of her fingernails.
“You said the good news is he was on the other side of the creek and he fell off his horse,” J.J. started for her. “What, pray tell, is the bad news?”
“The bad news … ” Andrea bit her lip. “The bad news is, I … Well, he struck his head when he fell.”
“And?”
“And I thought he might drown.”
A long pause ensued before J.J. prompted her again. “And?”
“So I jumped into the water and dragged him out.”
Andrea mumbled the last part of the sentence, but J.J. heard her just the same. He threw back his head and laughed—until he saw the look on her face. Then his expression lost all hint of humor. “You are joking, right?”
“No, I’m not joking.” Andrea threw her hands up in exasperation. “He hit his head, and I thought I could at least get him out of the water. But by the time I did, his men were swarming around. They heard the gunshot I suppose—”
“Gunshot?” J.J.’s voice grew thunderous.
Andrea took an exasperated breath. “Well, yes. He fired a shot—”
“At you?”
She winced at the shrillness of his voice. “Yes, but no need for alarm. His aim was amiss.”
“It’s your logic that is amiss!” J.J. yelled. “There’s a war going on everywhere except between your ears! Do you think Captain Hunter would pull you out of the water?”
When she did not answer, J.J. took her by the arms and shook her. “War is not a game! How many times do I have to tell you that? War means fighting and fighting means killing.”
“There are better ways for a man to die than drowning in a blasted stream,” Andrea responded defiantly. “If he’d been bleeding to death on a battlefield, that would be different.”
“No, Andrea, it’s not different.” J.J. ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “This war cares not how men die, or where they die, but what they died for. Brave men are taken every day by disease, by infection, by malnutrition. Is that fair?”
“But I do not wish to be an instrument of death,” she responded, her chin starting to quiver.
“Then you may as well stop putting yourself and others in danger!”
When Andrea turned away, he could not resist placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m only telling you this because you’re like a sister to me,” he said tenderly, unable to stay angry. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Excuse me, sir.” An aide stuck his head inside. “Rider just came in.”
J.J. hurried outside to accept the dispatch. When he re-entered the tent a few moments later, concern lined his forehead. “I’m afraid I may need a favor.” He read the message again and frowned, hating what he was about to ask.
Andrea tested her ankle gingerly. “Of course. Anything.”
“This,” he said holding up an envelope, “needs to be in Harmony as soon as possible. Since you’re heading in that direction to visit Catherine, I thought perhaps you could take it.”
Andrea nodded. “I’m at your service.”
Walking over to his desk, J.J. began to write his orders. “I wouldn’t ask you, but there’s been some … complications.” He continued writing until he heard Andrea clear her throat. He paused and raised his eyes. “Yes?”
“I’m just curious as to what kind of contact you need in Richmond.” She stared vacantly at the floor while stroking brambles out of her hair with her fingertips.
J.J. started to answer, then stopped when he realized she was not curious at all. She only wanted to confirm what she thought she had heard take place outside the tent a few moments earlier. He leaned forward over the desk. “You were eavesdropping?”
“I could not help but overhear.” Andrea shrugged.
J.J. stared at her intently, rubbing his bearded chin. “No. Impossible.” He waved his hand in the air. “Forget you heard it.” He bent back down over his paperwork.
“What do they need?” Andrea gazed up at him with bright, curious eyes.
J.J. put down his pen and sat back in his chair. “They need someone in the city … someone who can keep their eyes open. A contact, nothing more.”
“I am perfect for the job.”
“No.” He stood and began pacing back and forth, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
“But I was schooled in Richmond. I know every inch of it.” Andrea put her hand on his arm. “I’m so grateful you and Catherine sent me there for a year. What better way to pay you back?”
J.J. frowned at her attempt to persuade him. “But you are reckless. And you would be by yourself behind enemy lines.”
“I can take care of myself. I always have.”
“Frankly, we had not thought of the possibility of using a woman.” He rubbed his chin again while looking her up and down. “You would have to act and look the part of a lady. You would have to be discreet. And frankly, I believe you are about as capable of either one as I would be at getting a camel through the eye of a needle.”
Andrea laughed. “Oh, I can act like a lady. Though I should hesitate, I suppose, to trade in this nice outfit for an impractical gown.”
J.J. gazed at her dirty, ripped clothing, and they both laughed. “And sweep every Confederate soldier who sees you off his feet, no doubt.” He watched her smile fade at the necessity of being in such close proximity to Rebels, but then her eyes began to glow again. J.J. regretted getting her hopes up. He was not sure it was a good idea to consider sending her into the very heart of the Confederacy, away from all Union defenses. But on the other hand, she would be under another officer’s eyes, not gallivanting through the countryside like she did now. And Richmond had one other promising feature—no Hunter.
“You can trust me with such an enterprise,” Andrea said with conviction.
J.J. stared at the disheveled being before him with a frown. Somewhere, perhaps, amid the tousled hair, muddy face, and messy clothes was a refined young lady, one with the upbringing to fit in among the Southern aristocrats. She had, after all, been raised as one of them, and possessed all the inherent poise and deportment that noble breeding creates.
Andrea limped over and put her hands on J.J.’s arms. “Don’t hold yesterday against me. I can do this.”
“Yes, well, all this does bear bringing up one more thing.”
Andrea looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“It’s time to let someone else … get involved.”
J.J. waited a moment for his words to sink in, and it was not long before the green eyes turned turbulent again. “No! You cannot let someone else know who I am … what I am!”
“Listen, Andrea. The colonel I have in mind is a great friend of mine. We went to West Point together. I’ve been debating telling him about you for a long time anyway—in case something should happen to me. And now I know it’s the right thing to do.”
When Andrea opened her mouth to argue, J.J. stopped her. “Listen, you can do it my way or you can go stay with Catherine for the rest of the war. I’ve had enough of this.”
He watched Andrea bite the side of her cheek and nod, accepting she was powerless to protest. “Good.” J.J. gave her shoulder a brotherly squeeze in an effort to relieve the tension. You’ll be delivering this dispatch to the officer I am talking about—Colonel Daniel Delaney. I’ll include a letter of introduction with this message.”
He sat back down and began writing again.
“What will I do with Justus?” Andrea stared into space as if already planning her trip.
“If you go, you can leave him with Catherine. He’ll be safe. Heaven knows no one in their right mind would try to ride him.” They both laughed. “It’s better you leave him behind, anyway,” J.J. said, thinking of how the enemy must be on the lookout for such an animal now. “That horse stands out like soot on a snowdrift.”
“It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” Andrea tested
her ankle again while holding onto the back of a chair.
“I’ve not made any decision yet.” J.J.’s voice grew stern. “I said I’ll consider it. I also need to discuss it with Colonel Delaney. He oversees any information coming out of Richmond.”
Andrea slipped on her jacket and appeared to ignore his last comment.
“I’ve explained everything here to Colonel Delaney.” He handed her the letter. “Give him my regards.”
“I will.” Andrea frowned, making it clear the thought of another officer knowing her identity was distasteful to her.
“And here,” he said, handing her another envelope. “This is for Catherine. Give her my regards as well.” J.J. was grateful Andrea ignored the way his voice cracked at the mere mention of his wife’s name.
“I won’t let you down, Colonel.”
“Good. Now give me a hug.” J.J. became all business again. “The boys will give you something to eat before you leave. I’ve got to ride out to the pickets, so I can’t see you off. Are you sure your ankle is all right and you got enough sleep?”
Andrea nodded. “Another cup of coffee and I’ll be wide awake. And thank you … for everything.”
J.J. nodded, uncomfortable with saying goodbye. “We’ll talk about the Richmond proposal when you return. That is, if you’re sure you want to go through with it.” Andrea did not bother to respond with anything more than a look of resolute determination.
“Be careful, Andrea.” J.J. felt suddenly apprehensive about letting her go. “For all we know, Hunter’s men are between here and Harmony.”
Andrea shrugged carelessly but, again, did not answer.
He reached out for her arm and stopped her when they stepped outside the tent. “Sinclair—”
“Yes?” She looked up questioningly.
“War is no game. Don’t test the depth of the river with both feet. All right?”
“I won’t, Colonel.” Andrea winked at him before turning and limping toward a group of his men standing around a fire. J.J. watched them greet each other with sound pats on the back.
“Sinclair, you crazy cuss,” he heard one of them say. “I dreamt I heard that beast of yours come thundering into camp, and land sakes, here you are. Just like a doggone bad omen!”
J.J. cringed at the none-to-delicate camp language she endured and shook his head. The men all adored her, protected her like she was their little brother—especially Private Boone. Yet they had no way of knowing anything about her. She kept her thoughts—or her past at least — to herself. Gracious sakes, she didn’t even share her pain with him. Yet, from what he knew about the atrocities she had witnessed as the daughter of a slave owner, she carried enough of it around for all of them.
Watching her limp away with the group of raucous men toward a cook fire, J.J. wondered what would happen if they knew her true identity. What would they think if they discovered the spirited, affable Sinclair was really a fragile young lady carrying so much hurt inside she could barely feel anymore? What would they do if they found out the brave courier who rode in and out of camp was really so afraid of feeling emotion that she pretended to feel nothing at all?
If only she would find someone to sweep her off her feet, penetrate that icy fortress she had built to shield her soul from everything and everyone. J.J. sighed at the thought. Highly unlikely she would find such a person in the middle of a war. Perfectly implausible dressed like that.
Staring at the group while they bantered back and forth, J.J. said another silent prayer for her safety. Heaven knows she needed someone to look out for her. With nothing to live for and her country to die for, she needed protection from her own worst enemy.
Herself.
Chapter 4
“Why do men fight who were born to be brothers?”
– General James Longstreet
Colonel Daniel Delaney leaned forward, arms crossed over the pommel of his saddle, waiting for his men to get into marching formation. Used to ride here, he thought, gazing out across the rolling hills. Used to hunt with the Denning brothers not twenty miles distant. Now we’re shooting at each other.
He jerked his head around at the sound of one of his men cursing and the shrill whinny of a nervous horse. On the heels of the audible disturbance came a blur of motion that whirled to a stop in front of him, causing his mount to take a hasty step backward.
“What is the meaning of this?” Delaney yelled to the intruder as he fought to bring his mare under control. “Who do you think you are?”
His gaze darted to the road, searching for the pickets who should have halted the rider. He realized they had been pulled and were already in formation, preparing for the march.
“I apologize, sir,” a soft, out-of-breath voice, answered. “Colonel Jordan sent me. I’m looking for Colonel Delaney.”
“You have found him,” he responded gruffly. “What is the communication?”
Delaney stared at the newcomer’s horse, unable to suppress his astonishment. It was a deep-chested brute with legs wide as tree trunks, and appeared to possess the power of a locomotive in its well-muscled body. With nostrils flaring and lathered top to bottom, the animal continued prancing, intent it seemed on preventing its hooves from coming in contact with Mother Earth. Delaney’s eyes drifted upward to the rider who sat casually astride the beast.
“My letter of introduction,” the youth said, handing over the document.
Delaney took the letter from the rider’s hand and scanned it, then lifted his gaze to watch the black horse occupy itself by doing pivots, first one way and then the other. He flicked his eyes up to the rider. “You—are—Sinclair?” Long and lean, the figure before him resembled a farm boy, the oversized clothes giving no sign of the femininity that, according to the letter, lay beneath.
“I am,” came the loud, somewhat defiant response.
Delaney blinked in obvious surprise but quickly erased all emotion from his face. “Pleased to meet you. You come highly recommended by a well-respected friend.”
“I bring some news.” The rider waited to get her horse under control before continuing. “I ran into some men I believe are Hunter’s.” She nodded in the direction of the nearby train depot. “They appear to be planning some mischief.”
Delaney motioned over her shoulder for his bugler to signal the men, then turned his attention back to her. “You think it was Hunter?” He frowned with concern when the rider nodded in affirmation.
“I dismounted in a glade of trees to tighten my girth, and overheard one of his scouts. They are planning to derail the train.”
“Then we must make haste.” Clucking to his horse to move forward, Delaney grasped the rider’s hand. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. Can I impose on you to deliver a communication for me?” He pulled a pad out of his coat and scribbled with a pencil. “I’ve spread myself rather thin.” He talked while writing. “I need to get word to General Mathis. He’s in Wheatland, not far from here.”
“That is south of here—”
“Yes,” Delaney said, glancing up at the tinge of fear he heard in her voice. “But not far. And he’s north of it.” He handed her the piece of paper.
“Sir, my pass … I’m afraid I—”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Delaney started scribbling again. “Sinclair, right? Perhaps we can meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”
The rider hesitantly met his gaze. “Yes, perhaps.” She glanced at the pass with an expression that resembled relief, then gave the massive horse a light jab with her spurs and galloped away.
* * *
Not far away sat Captain Hunter, holding his steel-gray mare in check with one hand while she pranced and strained at the bit like an over-anxious racehorse.
Hunter smiled out of the corner of his mouth as he surveyed the damage his men had wreaked. Even he could not have envisioned a more thorough job of devastation in such a short amount of time by so few. The ties had been removed from a twenty-foot stretch, and the rails, heated fr
om the wood, had been crossed and bent like huge bow ties around nearby trees. His gaze shifted to the curve in the tracks that would give the engineer little time to react when he noticed the destruction, and then to the downhill grade that would prevent the train from stopping even when he did. Hunter expected a bountiful yield from the harvest they were about to reap in rations, supplies—and greenbacks.
Hunter’s mare tossed her head and pawed the ground in obvious revolt at being restrained. Even without its daunting rider, the large-boned warhorse was an imposing animal. Appropriately named “Dixie,” she had a reputation for lunging and baring her teeth at the slightest provocation.
“Looks like we’re about ready, Captain,” a lieutenant with a cigar clasped between his teeth reported, keeping his distance from the unruly horse. “Nothing to do but wait for the train.”
Hunter nodded but did not reply. The jovial group he gazed upon appeared more like a band of gleeful schoolboys than a force of ruthless warriors. They milled around the burning ties, laughing and slapping each other on the back as if attending a celebratory bonfire. Yet Hunter knew, as did the enemy, they could fight as fearlessly as any set of men on earth. Though not one of them was a trained soldier, none had needed much schooling. A high sense of honor and love of country served as the driving principle for their service to the Confederacy, while the adventure and romance of serving with Hunter compelled them to fight like demons.
Hunter gave a silent signal and the group and their horses disappeared into a small grove of trees by the tracks. The men made themselves comfortable on the carpet of pine needles, though they remained ready for action with reins looped over their arms. Some laid down to grab a few minutes of sleep, while others sat around in groups talking in low tones. Hunter sank down under a tree at the edge of the gathering to nurse his aching head, but his eyes remained vigilant, scrutinizing everyone and everything.
What he saw before him was a gathering of some of his best, strange collection though it was. Ranging in maturity from boys of but fifteen summers to those well silvered over with the frost of age, the conglomeration proved he robbed proportionately from cradle to grave for his recruits—as well as from every segment of Virginia society and culture. Sprawled around him were store clerks and farmers, wealthy landowners and millers, a mingling of traits and lineage and social status that bore out equally on the battlefield. Dissimilar, yet united, Hunter mused, for all possess a common bond: the desire to defend their native soil.
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 3
