* * *
“Your guest will not be joining us?” Wellington picked up a glass of wine and drank thirstily before turning his attention to his host.
Hunter glanced at the clock and almost hoped she would not. It took no power of prophecy to know she would either come to the table miserable and moping like a sulking child, or temperamental and explosive like a wounded lion.
But before Hunter could answer, the sound of a cane tapping down the hall fell upon his ears, its leisurely pace confusing him. Usually when Andrea approached, the movements were fast and furious, and doors blew open when she entered a room like a storm moving through.
Hunter waited breathlessly and expectantly for the gale to come rushing in, both fearing and anticipating her reaction when she found there were not four, but seven Rebels to contend with. But to his surprise the door opened slowly, allowing the light from the hall to enter first, then surround, the vision of beauty that lingered there. The tempest he had expected was nowhere to be seen or heard. The only sound was the soft, pleasant rustle of feminine attire as it gracefully sashayed into the room.
“Gentlemen,” Andrea said, her eyes roaming the room.
If she noticed—or cared—that the table was filled to capacity with her enemy, she did not show it. On the contrary, she smiled demurely at those gathered as if honored and humbled to be in their presence.
It appeared to Hunter that somehow, somewhere in his home, a bewitching transformation had taken place. The beast of a few hours earlier had been exchanged for one of alluring majesty. The creature that had the delicacy and sensitivity of an angry bull had apparently departed. In its place was one whose deportment was ladylike, whose appearance was refined.
Smiling entrancingly, Andrea looked every man in the eye, save Hunter, who she notably failed to pay the courtesy of a glance. “Ah’m so very sorry for keeping y’all waitin’. Ah hope you gentlemen will forgive me.”
She did not look sorry at all to Hunter. Rather, she seemed to be enjoying the spotlight. She acted with such sophistication, Hunter almost forgot this was the same barefooted she-devil that caused him so much distress; the same Union-loving patriot that, if she had a gun in her hand, would have every man in this room begging for his life.
Hunter’s eyes swept over the yellow silk of her gown, which in the flames of the flickering candlelight appeared more like shimmering gold. Indeed, the flowing of a great concourse of ruffles made her radiate with something akin to the warm rays of the sun. She stood by her chair with all the presence of royalty, her head held high as if there should be a crown upon it. Hunter could see no flaw in her poise. A stranger, seeing her for the first time, would swear she had the blue blood of a Virginian ancestry running through her veins.
“It was well worth the wait,” Wellington said, taking her extended hand from across the table and kissing it.
Hunter did not fail to notice that Andrea seemed well practiced in having her hand kissed by someone she would rather shoot than touch. “You are too kind, suh,” she replied, batting her lashes. “It’s such an honah for you to permit me to dine with you.”
“Ah, but my dear, it’s your presence that makes the food taste better and the company so much more enjoyable,” Wellington said, still holding her hand.
Andrea smiled with her fingers locked in his mushy grasp. “Oh la, suh. Now you are paying me a compliment and ah was only stating the truth.”
Hunter stood dumbfounded during the exchange. Even her accent was deceptive, sounding musical in manner, soft and alluring in tone. Just like she had warned him, every motion radiated the attitude and presence of the well-bred Southern lady. Clearing his throat, he found his voice. “Gentlemen, may I have the pleasure of introducing Miss Evans. Miss Andrea Evans.”
Andrea curtsied at the sound of her name and hid the wince of pain the movement caused from all but Hunter. “It’s such a pleasure to meet such honorable membahs of the Confederate ahmy. Please do be seated, gentlemen.”
Hunter pulled out her chair, and took advantage of the moment to lean forward and whisper in her ear a line from Hamlet. “The devil hath the power to assume a pleasing shape.”
Andrea turned her head away with offended majesty, her countenance revealing a moment of surprise, and then a hint of anger, before returning to stone-faced indifference as she lowered herself into her chair like a queen.
“Miss Evans, I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced to my second–in-command, Captain Carter.”
Andrea glanced at Hunter at his choice of words, then nodded demurely toward Carter. The officer did not bother to smile, but took the time to nod in her direction. Hunter could tell by Carter’s expression that he’d already made his assessment of the young beauty—that anyone who mistook those brilliant green eyes and seductive smile for anything but a sharp mind and quick wit was making a big mistake.
“And one of my scouts, Gus Dorsey.”
Andrea smiled at the handsome young scout, and the wink he gave her in return did not go unnoticed by Hunter. He wondered how well the two had become acquainted during his convalescence, and then wondered why he cared.
“And my aide, Johnny,” he continued. “And I believe you’ve met Corporal Kroger and Private Tate.”
Hunter felt like he was watching an actress on the stage as Andrea smiled and nodded at each introduction. She exuded nothing but wisdom, grace, and charm tonight, yet this was the same woman who possessed the added skill of being able to rattle epitaphs with the ease and fluency of Vesuvius casting lava.
“How long might we have the privilege of your company Colonel?”
“Only one night, I’m afraid.” Wellington leaned forward across the table. “I’m on very important business for General Stuart. I thought it advantageous to make Major Hunter’s acquaintance in the event we find ourselves working together in the future.”
Hunter saw Andrea’s lips twitch with amusement, but she successfully suppressed any outright laughter.
“So you and Major Hunter are old friends?” Wellington asked. “I’ve not heard General Stuart speak of you.”
“I do not enjoy the honah or distinction. We met—”
“She’s here to recover from an injury,” Hunter interrupted. “A fall from a horse.”
“Well, might you be related to an Olivia Evans of Virginia?” Wellington continued. “She married a fellow, a horse breeder I believe, from South Carolina.”
Hunter watched the smile vanish from Andrea’s flushed face as a haunted, hunted look replaced it. “No, suh, I don’t believe ah’ve heard the name.” Her voice did not waver, but she swallowed hard and stared intently at her plate.
“I see. Well, she’s dead now, but she had a daughter about your age.”
“Is that so?” Hunter leaned forward.
“Yes,” Wellington continued between mouthfuls of food. “However, she ran away at a young age. There was some sort of trouble over escaped slaves, if my memory serves.”
Andrea had no response, but picked up her glass and appeared to be forcing herself to drink slowly.
“Yes, though from what I understand, the slaves were very much abused by Olivia’s husband.” Wellington barely paused before launching into a new conversation. “So you are recovering from an accident on a horse?”
Hunter saw Andrea sigh, relieved at the change of course. “Silly of me, is it not?”
“Ain’t nothing to riding but keeping a horse between yourself and the ground,” Carter mumbled under his breath.
“Ah’m still a little fearful of the beasts, ah’m afraid,” Andrea said, shivering in such a believable way, Hunter was almost convinced she was telling the truth.
The table fell silent for a moment, but then the chatter began anew. Hunter saw Andrea pretending to listen with only remote interest as Gus and Carter discussed a recent foray into enemy territory. Her manner conveyed she did not understand the military topics discussed and that she had no interest in learning more about them. Yet he knew
she could probably repeat the conversation verbatim if she was ever asked to do so.
“How was that now?” Wellington asked. “You caught seventy prisoners without firing a shot?”
Hunter demanded with his eyes that Gus desist in the telling of the story. Unfortunately for him, Gus was not looking his way.
“Well, it was pourin’ down rain and dark as could be. Major Hunter went galloping into a Union outpost, yellin’ at the top of his lungs for the men to mount up and follow him—he’d found Hunter’s hideout in the pines.” Gus paused for a moment to take a bite of food. “Course, he didn’t lie. We were in the pines.” He looked over at Andrea and winked. “Waitin’ with open arms ya might say.”
Wellington looked from Hunter to Gus and back again in utter amazement, then put his head back and laughed, his jowls flapping together like two large pancakes.
The rest of the room also exploded in laughter, all except Andrea, who stared into space, her gaze fixed and intent like she was replaying the scene in her head. Hunter almost interpreted it as a deferential gaze, one that appreciated the daring and boldness the feat required, even when attributed to one of her most loathed enemies.
“I only wish I’d have the same opportunity,” Wellington said, rising unsteadily to his feet with wine glass in hand. “I’d like to propose a toast to Majah Hunter and all he’s done for the Confederate cause. Here’s to honah.”
Andrea’s hesitation at being forced to link her host’s name with the word did not go unnoticed. “Do you have something against honah, my dear?” Wellington asked.
“Not at all, suh,” she said with a forced smile. “I believe there is nothing worse than dishonah. However, I would prefer a toast to—” She looked at Hunter defiantly. “Freedom.”
The table grew silent until Hunter cleared his throat. “She means, I believe, freedom of the Southern states from the oppressive powers of the North. If I may—” Hunter stood and gazed at Andrea, whose brows had narrowed, as they always did when forced to listen to views that were at variance with her own. “Here’s to the Confederacy. May she always maintain her honor, her rights, and most of all, her freedom.”
Hunter made an extra effort to wink and toast his proud houseguest, who sat with a straight back, looking acutely annoyed but nonetheless regal. He smiled, for he could tell she was cursing violently enough to educate all the sailors at sea—even if, for once, the words were not spoken aloud. She had apparently taken his warning before dinner to heart, a surprising turn of events considering she generally didn’t listen to him, let alone obey.
Chapter 29
“What a plague to thee is this mistrust!”
– Polyeucte by Pierre Corneille
Andrea entered the gray shadows of the kitchen, feeling her way through the darkness with the tip of her cane. This was her favorite time of day, the quiet, peaceful moments before dawn when all the world lay wrapped in peaceful slumber. Humming softly to herself, she began to rekindle the large fire for coffee, anxious to surprise Izzie and Mattie whom she knew would be along soon.
“Ah-ha, I see I’ve caught the fox in the henhouse.”
Andrea jumped at the sound of the voice behind her and whirled around to face it.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” Hunter’s tone made it obvious he was not sorry in the least.
“Major, you’re … back.” Andrea tried to keep her voice from shaking. She felt uncomfortable beside his looming form, her mind flashing back to their last unpleasant encounter. The urge to run seized her, but when she looked into his laughing, gray eyes, she had a strange desire to stay.
“Just got here,” he said holding up a large sack. “Mattie said we are getting low on coffee, and now I understand why.”
Hunter’s voice was rich and deep, making it difficult for Andrea to keep her hands, and her voice, from trembling. Usually he treated her with cold politeness when he noticed her, ignoring her altogether when opportunity allowed. His behavior today was unexpected and confusing.
“I admit I have an affection for coffee,” Andrea said, trying to avoid his eyes.
“And you have no problem drinking this coffee?” He held up the sack marked U.S. PROPERTY.
Andrea realized it was captured coffee, spoils of war—plunder taken by his men on a raid. “I do not believe my comrades will suffer if I drink a few cups of their coffee.”
Hunter grinned. “Good. Then I shall keep the Union provisions coming.”
Andrea frowned at the way he twisted everything to suit him. “Major,” she said, trying to squeeze past him on the way out the door, “you’ll no doubt do as you please. But don’t place blame on me for your thievery and propensity for plunder.”
Although she attempted to make a hasty retreat, Hunter took a step backward, barring her path. “Thievery? My dear, this is war, and I’m regrettably forced to share the same quartermaster and supplies as the U.S. army.”
“Well, I hope you used your manners and asked for it nicely.” Andrea tried to breathe normally, though his closeness made that well nigh impossible.
“Armed men do not ask permission. But if you must know, it was furnished gratis.”
“I see,” Andrea quipped, deciding to play along. “And did you compel the quartermaster to offer it gratis while you were stealing horses with the U.S. brand?”
Hunter cocked his head to one side. “Yes. But those horses all had riders. And those riders all had guns. This, my dear, is legally acquired spoils of war, by right of discovery, capture, and possession.” He paused for a moment and smiled. “And by the fact that when the Yanks saw my men, they did not care to fight for it.”
Andrea was at a loss for something to say—a strange state of affairs that did not go unnoticed by Hunter. He laughed loudly, a deep, rolling laugh that almost made her smile. Instead, she shook her head in exasperation, sidestepped him, and headed toward his library. She wanted to get a book to read before he settled in there.
In a hurry, Andrea did not bother to light a candle, relying instead on the few rays of early morning light shining through the windows. Giving a hurried glance and little thought to the layout of the room, she failed to notice a chair out of place until it was too late. Tripping over it, she tumbled onto the desk, knocking papers, documents, and books to the floor.
“Miss Evans, what are you doing?” The room filled with light when Hunter entered carrying a lamp.
Andrea regained her balance and bent down to pick up the articles she’d disturbed. “Major, I’m sorry. I-I couldn’t see in the dark—”
“That’s what the lamps are for,” he said, not unkindly, bending to help pick up some of the scattered items.
Andrea barely heard him. She stood scanning a piece of paper she had recovered, which read in part:
I forward Andrew Sinclair, a young man arrested on suspicion of having communicated with the enemy. I have agreed that he shall be placed over the lines by the first flag of truce, which is in accordance with his wishes. No specific charges or information has been lodged against him.
Capt. Alexander H. Hunter
“I-I-I thought—” She looked back to the date at the top of the order. Her brow wrinkled in perplexity.
“Miss Evans, that is none of your business.” Hunter ripped the paper from her hands, a deep breath escaping him when he saw what she had discovered. “I told you before,” he said, continuing to tidy his desk. “I had nothing to do with your imprisonment. This order was changed without my knowledge.”
Andrea stared at the paper, and then up at Hunter, blinking in bewilderment. She reached out and grasped the back of the chair for balance. “I didn’t believe you.”
“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Hunter replied, his eyes masked with apparent indifference. “Now if you are looking for a book, please select one and retire. I have work to do.”
Andrea stared at the floor now, going over the events in her head. “But it’s not … I didn’t have to sign …”
“Miss Evans, I
only brought up the issue of taking the oath the night of your capture to watch your reaction. And it was all that I thought it would be.”
Andrea looked up at him, through him, her brow drawn in confusion.
“I understood that sending you to prison would do more harm than good, as your tendency to provoke would only cause immeasurable suffering to you and those around you,” Hunter said. “It appears I was correct since you apparently decided, either through lack of judgment or lack of control, not to restrain your tongue, predictably at your own peril.”
Andrea looked down at her feet. The room grew hush and Hunter turned back to his desk.
“You are wrong about that, Major,” she replied at length. “My mistreatment occurred when I refused to talk, not because I did.”
Hunter straightened back up. “Colonel Streight? The escape?” His voice grew serious, the lightness of his mood gone.
“The warden wished me to share what I knew of the plan.” Andrea took a deep breath and looked away. “I declined.”
“I see,” Hunter said. “And you were aware of the consequences?”
Andrea chewed her cheek, but did not answer. She had a question of her own. “You had the authority to gain my release once you discovered my imprisonment?”
Hunter rested his hand on one of his pistols. “I carry the authority to do as I please.”
Andrea’s gaze moved from his face, down to the gun, and then to the window, trying to picture her liberation, to picture him in that hellhole demanding her release.
“You may recall, I gave my word to my brother to let no harm befall you. It’s a promise I feel bound to abide and intend to keep.” Hunter looked her dead in the eye. “No matter how difficult you make it.”
“But I told you that night … I told you to forget the promise.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“Miss Evans, I did not agree to do one thing while Daniel lived and expect to do another when he died.”
Andrea looked down and played with the ring on her finger. “I fear I’m more trouble to you than I—”
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 24
