She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes that she might see more clearly.
Please do not weep, my darling, for I smile as I write these words! Every precious moment with you is one I treasure fondly and remember only with the greatest pleasure. Can you not do the same? Can you not remember me with a smile and not a tear, knowing that my spirit will ever be entwined with yours?
Even now, though my strength is quickly draining, sweet memories of our times together stir my heart with their vividness and bring a smile to my lips. Do you know how much you taught me dear wife? Of strength? Of devotion? Of honor? Of love?
Think back, Mrs. Hunter, to when first you graced the halls of Hawthorne, (Camp Misery I believe it was called then). Did you guess one day you would become her mistress?
Andrea paused a moment and realized that her lips had curled into a smile at the thought, and that that was his intention, and then her heart broke all over again. Was there ever a man more noble?
And what a wonderful mistress you shall be! Andrea, darling, you must be strong—that is my desire (and did you not vow to obey me?) I gave you my name, and know you will bear it honorably, and carry on my legacy, and Hawthorne’s legacy, with the strength and courage that is distinctly yours.
The next lines seemed to be written at a later date, appearing to be in a more scrawling hand, making the writing more difficult to read.
I fear my time has come. Wife of my heart, my soul, my strength, never forget how much I love you! And know that I honored and respected your spirit with a depth of affection that cannot die. Andrea, whatever else you do or feel or believe, never for one moment lose your abiding faith in my love for you! And know as I know, that two hearts, so joined as ours, never part, even if separated through time and space.
Dear wife, I have done what I can for my country, and now I turn to my God—and wait for my love.
Alex
Andrea opened a second envelope and removed a beautiful gold locket engraved with the letter H. With trembling hands, she opened the clasp and gasped at the image of Alex in uniform, his skin bronzed, his eyes penetrating hers from beneath the glass, just as she had remembered them. On the opposite side was a lock of one of his brown curls. She turned the locket over and ran her finger across the engraved words:
To Andrea from her husband
You are all to me
1865
Although Andrea had thought they had said all they could say to one another, Alex’s words from beyond the grave moved her. Now, when her grief turned inconsolable, as she knew it would, there would forever be his words on paper to comfort her, and his loving keepsake to soothe her.
Mattie knocked on the door and entered. “Is you all right, Mistis?” She knelt down beside Andrea.
“Yes, Mattie.” Andrea held the letter and locket close to her heart and whispered a thank you to her husband. “I think I’m going to be all right.”
Epilogue
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.
Love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
– From a headstone in Ireland
Andrea Hunter stared at the back of the boy—young man really—as he leaned against the white column on the porch, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands in his pockets, left leg crossed over right, so much like his father it was uncanny.
“Angelina’s coming,” he said to no one in particular.
Andrea watched the small blur in the distance turn into a horse and rider. They approached from the east, through the pastures, jumping any obstacle in their path before sliding to a stop in front of the house.
Andrea stood from her rocking chair on the porch and eyed the heaving horse and rider. “You shouldn’t ride like that young lady.”
“You did.” Angelina exchanged a mischievous smile with the young man.
“Who told you that?” Andrea turned to her son. “Daniel Hunter. What nonsense are you telling Angelina?”
“It weren’t him, Mistis Hunter,” Angelina answered, dismounting and tying the horse. “Mamma tol’ me. She tol’ me back during the war that you—”
“Well, it was different back then.” Andrea watched the two smile like they shared a secret joke. “Remind me to tell Gabriella to mind her own business.”
The topic of war caused Andrea’s thoughts to wander back through the mist of time. In many ways the scenes she recalled seemed more like a dream to her now, vague and shadowy—like the stuff of fantasy or myth. But sometimes the vividness of the memories would come rushing back—names, faces, scenes of war. Things she would always remember. Things she could never forget.
Her gaze drifted to the hill, to the two tombstones standing as monuments to the manly forms that once walked the earth. She thought of their noble lives, and their heroic deaths, and then looked back at her son and Angelina together. It seemed a hundred years ago that Angelina was born a slave child here, perhaps a thousand years ago, so distant did that time seem to be.
Now, Angelina and Gabriella were free, living on twenty acres on the other side of the hill. And Angelina and Daniel were like brother and sister, the existence of the institution of slavery existing only as stories from their elders—not as memories.
“Mamma ran out of sugar.” Angelina came striding up the steps, still out of breath.
“You know where it is. Help yourself,” Andrea said absently to the girl, who was already through the door and in the house. Her thoughts drifted again to the past, to a time when the rolling, emerald fields of Hawthorne had been new to her.
“Mother.” Daniel knelt down by the chair and placed his hand on hers, jolting Andrea from her memories. “There’s a wagon coming up the drive. Can’t tell who it is.”
Andrea stood and watched the two-horse team pull up to the house and stop. The wagon’s lone occupant, a gray-bearded man, stared for a moment without speaking, looking first at Andrea standing on the steps, then over her shoulder at Daniel, blinking all the while as if shedding away the years.
“Mr. Carter! What a nice surprise.”
“Surprise?” He jumped lightly off the wagon and gave her a hug. “You received the invitation did you not?”
Andrea’s smile faded. “Yes I received the invitation, but I did not respond. I-I do not wish to attend.” She nodded toward her son, putting an end to the conversation. “I suppose Daniel has grown since last you saw him.”
Carter grasped Daniel’s outstretched hand, his eyes sweeping over the youth who stood a full foot taller than his mother. “Spittin image,” he said, acknowledging that the boy, born from the union of some of the noblest—and possibly most stubborn—blood of Virginia, had inherited the physical characteristics of his father. “Too bad if I drove all this way for nothing.” Carter turned his attention back on Andrea. “Fannie was looking forward to having you spend the night and then going to the picnic bright and early tomorrow.”
“What picnic, Mother?” Daniel interrupted.
“It’s a reunion, son. The men from your father’s Command get together every year. Your mother has never attended and the men are anxious to see her.”
“Oh, Mother, can we go? You … we … never go anywhere!” Daniel turned to Carter. “She never goes anywhere,” he repeated, as if telling the man something he didn’t already know.
“I am sure no one is anxious to see me.” Andrea lifted her skirt and began making her way back up the steps.
“War’s over, ma’am.”
Andrea turned and stared hard at Carter. “For some it is. As you well know, in Virginia, the Rebellion dies hard.”
“And you are a Virginian are you not?”
“What I am and what people say are two different things,” Andrea replied, knowing stories that had begun as gossip and rumor during the war had, over the years, turned to legend and fact. “And what I was and what people think are equally diverse.”
“As you wish.” Carter sighed. “I didn’t think you were the type to surrender to hostilities without a fight, but I under
stand.”
“I am surrendering to nothing. I do not care to go.”
“It’s been fifteen years, Mrs. Hunter. Surely you can attend just this once.”
“Mother, can we?”
Andrea looked at her son sternly. “Go inside a moment, Daniel, and see what is keeping Angelina.” Andrea watched him glance at Carter, then back at her, and knew she had gotten her message across: Keep Angelina in the house until I say it is all right to come out.
Andrea waited until she heard the door close behind her. “I care not how they should treat me at this gathering of well-meaning friends and designing enemies. I have stood friendless in the midst of enemies before. But I’ll not have my son abused and devoured as food for gossip because of the allegiance or supposed heritage of his mother.”
“No one will dare mistreat that boy as long as I draw breath,” Carter said calmly.
“You misunderstand, Mr. Carter.” Andrea took a step toward him, her voice low and distinct. “I say it not for his protection, I say it for theirs. For I can and shall take care of my own!”
Carter swallowed hard.
“The punishment will be as certain as the crime,” she continued, not noticing his uneasiness. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite madam.” Carter took out a handkerchief and dabbed his brow.
Andrea took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She revealed lashes now misty with tears. “I suppose I cannot always protect him from …” She drew another deep breath. “Against my better judgment, I will accept your invitation. You will allow me the honor of a few minutes to prepare?”
“Of course, ma’am,” Carter said, shaking his head and trying to conceal his smile of satisfaction. “Fannie will be most delighted.”
* * *
Andrea and Fannie were chattering away when Carter pulled the horses into a great expanse of field that served as picnic grounds. Though it was early enough that dew still blanketed the grass, the meadow was already packed with horses and wagons and people of every age and description. Andrea gazed in wonderment at the assemblage of veterans and their offspring, and then looked at Carter with an amused smile. She had never seen so many children in one place in her life!
But as Carter took her hand to help her down from the wagon, Andrea’s gaze drifted over his shoulder to rest on the hills that lay beyond. For a moment she imagined she heard a voice rising above the roar of guns in the midst of a hard-fought battle. And when her eyes met Carter’s briefly, he nodded in understanding of a time when they had both heard those hills ring with the clarion voice of her husband leading a charge.
“Mother, may I go look around?” Daniel asked excitedly.
Andrea gave a nervous glance to Carter and he nodded his head. “He’ll be fine.”
“I suppose so,” she said reluctantly. “Don’t go far.”
Andrea’s gaze drifted back to the picnic grounds. Everywhere she looked there were children running, playing, laughing and talking. The war veterans stood around in groups, patting each other on the backs, apparently recounting heroic incidents of the past, while their wives huddled around huge picnic tables piled high with food.
When Fannie became engaged in greeting an old friend, Andrea stood idly by watching the rush of activity with an amused smile.
“Mamma.” Andrea looked around to see if anyone was going to claim the blonde-haired girl who stared up at her with large, expressive eyes. When no one stepped forward, she bent down and picked her up. “I’m afraid I’m not your mamma.”
“Hey, Will! You lose one of your flock?” a man walking by yelled to someone behind her.
Andrea turned around, smiling now, with the child clinging to her neck. The gentleman referred to was likewise engaged in a conversation and had his back to her. But at the sound of his name he turned. “Oh, I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, holding his arms out for the child.
Andrea was midway through the exchange with the man when their eyes met—and the past collided with the present. “Captain Pierce.” His name escaped Andrea’s lips before she could stop it.
“It’s Will, ma’am,” he said, staring into her eyes, and bowing politely with the child in his arms. “William Benjamin Pierce, at your service.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Andrea looked down. “Mr. Pierce.”
“No need to apologize. You may call me Captain Pierce if you wish. Old habits are hard to break.”
He smiled graciously, revealing two small dimples Andrea could not recall ever having seen. Otherwise, she noticed, he had the same striking appearance as when he wore a Confederate uniform—except he was perhaps more handsome, for his face and his eyes were softer, no longer carrying the bitterness and anger he displayed so constantly during the war.
“I can’t believe ol’ Carter was successful,” he said in an amused voice before quickly changing the subject. “I’d give you a hug, but my hands are full.” The child began to struggle in his powerfully built arms. “Want down!”
“Father, may I go over by the brook?”
Andrea watched another young girl, perhaps fourteen, tug on Pierce’s shirt from behind.
“Yes Ellie, but where is Esther? And Alexander? And here, can you take Lillian to your mother first?”
Andrea’s smiled widened. “Four children?”
Pierce grinned and sat the youngest on the ground. ‘Yes, and another on the way. Ellie, I would like you to meet the Colonel’s wife. May I present my eldest daughter, Ellie.”
“The Colonel’s wife?” She looked at her father in disbelief.
“Yes, the one and only.” He turned back to Andrea. “Please come and meet my wife.” He took her by the arm, not giving her the option of declining. “We have a picnic table in the shade where we keep the flock.”
Charlene!” he yelled, dragging Andrea the last couple of yards. “I’d like you to meet Mrs. Hunter.”
A woman who had been bending over peeling a banana for a young girl straightened slowly, her stomach swollen with impending birth. “The Colonel’s wife?”
“Yes, the Colonel’s wife.” Pierce sounded exasperated. “I apologize,” he said, apparently noticing Andrea’s look of confusion. “I fear your name is a bit of a legend in my household. They do not believe you are a mere mortal of flesh and blood.”
“Me? You mean because I am married to Alex?”
“No … you because you are… you.”
Charlene came forward and grabbed Andrea’s hand. “I have always wanted to meet you,” she said shyly, continuing to stare at Andrea.
“You’ve got a beautiful family. Those I’ve met so far anyway.” Andrea gazed around at the smiling faces.
“She met Ellie and Lillian,” Pierce explained to his wife. “Well, this is Esther,” Charlene said, pointing to a girl of about ten, eating a banana, “and that is Alex.” She nodded toward a youngster who now had a tight grip on his father’s leg.
Pierce bent down and picked him up, his eyes meeting Andrea’s over the significance of the name. “My only son. We have to stick together against all these women, don’t we, son?”
Andrea smiled at the compassion shown, then turned her attention over his shoulder to search the crowd for signs of Daniel.
“You look like you’ve lost someone,” Pierce said.
“Yes, my son. He wanted to explore a little.”
Pierce cocked his head to one side as if surprised. “Oh yes. I remember Carter telling me now. I don’t know where the years went.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch.”
Andrea smiled. “I see you’ve been quite busy. No need to apologize.”
“I went out West right after the war. Didn’t really keep in touch with anyone for awhile.” He gazed over her shoulder. “Well, what is your son wearing, maybe I can— Well I’ll be damned!”
“William Benjamin Pierce!” Charlene exclaimed as Andrea followed his gaze.
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Pierce’s eyes were wide and disbelieving. “It
appears my daughter has found him. He’s not hard to recognize.”
Andrea smiled when she saw the young lady leading Daniel by the arm toward her family. “Father, I would like you to meet Daniel. Can you believe this is his first reunion? He says his father fought with this Command.”
Pierce looked in amazement from Andrea, to her son, to his daughter, and back, while Ellie turned to make other introductions. “And this is my mother. And this is Mrs. Hunter, the Colonel’s wife,” she said proudly. “My father knows her.”
Daniel looked at his mother. “So do I,” he said. “That’s my mother.”
Ellie’s face turned pale, then bright red. “You did not tell me—” She looked at Daniel in astonishment. “You didn’t tell me. Oh my, then your father—”
The boy shrugged and sat down on the edge of the picnic table. “You never asked it of me.” He turned to Pierce. “I believe I’ve heard your name in stories about my father.”
“I hope in a good light.” Pierce looked at Andrea and chuckled. “Your father and I did not always see eye to eye.”
“Yet your father respected him and relied on him immensely,” Andrea said.
“So you fought with my father?” Daniel’s eyes glowed with interest.
“I was a captain.” Pierce’s gaze fell on Andrea again. “I fought under your father. I fought with your mother.”
“In more ways than one!” Another voice joined the conversation. Andrea turned around at the presence of a hand on her shoulder. “Boz!”
“It’s Nelson, ma’am. Nelson Boswell. And you remember Gus Dorsey.” He nodded toward the man beside him. “Mr. Boswell. Mr. Dorsey.” Andrea gave both an enthusiastic hug. “This is my son, Daniel Hunter. I suppose you know everyone else.”
Boswell looked at Andrea. “I think I could have figured that one out too. Looks just like his sire.”
“You were saying,” Daniel said, his head cocked to one side. “My mother fought with Mr. Pierce?”
Pierce looked from the boy to Andrea. “Surely he’s knows all about— You’ve told him about—”
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 54
