Honor Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Volume II) Page 28

  “No.” He moved his head back and forth on the pillow though his eyes were closed again. “That night…In the fog. On picket duty, I stopped you.” He took a deep shaky breath and his chest rattled with the effort. “You called me Johnny Reb.”

  Andrea sucked in her breath. She had called him Johnny Reb that night. She’d been so aggravated at being delayed by this young man on her way to Catherine’s that she’d asked him his name. When he’d told her it was Johnny, she’d called him Johnny Reb. She’d recognized the young man instantly when she’d first seen him at Hawthorne, but never imagined he’d done the same.

  “I know’d it was you,” he said weakly. “But I never told no one.”

  Without warning he opened his eyes, and gazed at her steadily. “I didn’t tell no one,” he mumbled again.

  Andrea leaned close and stroked his hair. “Thank you for not telling, Johnny,” she whispered. “That must have been hard…for a soldier like you.”

  He shook his head. “Weren’t no one’s business. But you and the Kulnel’s.”

  Andrea swallowed hard. He knew who she was. And he knew Hunter knew.

  Andrea shook her head. “You’re a lot wiser than your years should allow, Johnny Reb.”

  Johnny opened his eyes briefly and attempted a smile. “I reckin I am.”

  His eyes closed again in sleep.

  “Don’t die on me, Johnny,” Andrea whispered softly. “I swear. I cannot bear it.”

  But there was nothing to do but bear it.

  Chapter 58

  Tearless grief bleeds inwardly.

  – Christian Nevell Bovee

  If the storm that hit the next day was any indication, Mother Nature had once again joined in the lament of premature death. But the following morning broke fresh and clear, as if nature was attempting to wipe away the shadow of gloom that had fallen upon Hawthorne.

  Hunter had returned in the height of the storm to find that Johnny had passed just that morning. Despite the poor weather and conditions, a grave had been prepared and the boy’s remains placed in the family cemetery with most of his Command in attendance.

  All this Hunter pondered as he leaned against the front door jam and stared vacantly across the fields. Sunlight splashed across the pastures now and a cool breeze brushed his cheek. It was indeed like some higher force was trying to make amends for the pain and death of the day previous.

  Turning to go back inside, Hunter caught sight of Andrea sitting on the porch with Gabriella’s infant in her arms. Her hair appeared in wild disarray; her eyes sunken. She looked as if she had not eaten or slept for weeks.

  Yet she appeared strangely wistful and reflective as she sat in the shadows staring at the baby in her arms, her long lashes swept down across her cheekbones. Hunter got a vague feeling of painful wonder at her motionless figure in its motherly pose. The melancholy compassion in her deep eyes stirred his heart as never before.

  His gaze drifted over to the vase of flowers that sat beside her and then to the one on the table in the hall. She frequently brought in every nature of bloom she could find, but the house was full of them today, as if she’d seen the need to brighten each room with their bountiful colors and fragrance.

  Hunter cleared his throat as he walked toward her, causing Grizz to raise his head from where he lay at her feet. The dog relaxed again without getting up, as if he too felt the presence of grief in the air. It occurred to Hunter that the timing to return Grizz to his neighbor’s house couldn’t be worse. He was scheduled to leave in two days time.

  “Gabriella says you spoil her,” Hunter said, to make conversation.

  Andrea looked up at him without surprise and without welcome, and remained silent for a long moment. “She likes to be held,” she answered solemnly, defending herself, yet making no effort to assume a cheerfulness she did not feel. “And Gabriella is busy.”

  Hunter could see her grief was deep as she shifted her gaze to the view over the hills. Her voice was hollow, formal. And her eyes were still heavy from lack of sleep.

  Sitting down in the chair next to her, Hunter leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Before I leave, I wanted to make sure you are…all right. I didn’t see you much after the…burial.”

  Andrea did not answer, though her chin trembled slightly. She shifted the infant in her arms as if to concentrate on something else.

  Hunter cleared his throat nervously, and leaned even closer. “You know, it would not be a sign of weakness to cry for your loss.”

  Andrea shrugged and moved the baby to her shoulder. “I have no tears.”

  “You do not cry?”

  “Not since I was this age, I suppose,” she said, looking at the child. “My parents did not like tears. They serve no purpose.”

  Hunter reached over and tentatively placed his hand on her knee. “I saw you with Justus this morning,” he said softly. “Are you sure you are all right?”

  The thought of what he had seen as she stood there in the mist, clinging to her horse in sorrowful desperation, was almost enough to wring a drop of moisture from Hunter’s own eye.

  Andrea looked up at him, and then through him with lifeless eyes. “I just needed a shoulder to lean on,” she said unemotionally. “I am fine.”

  “There are others here…willing to lend you a shoulder,” Hunter replied concernedly.

  Andrea shrugged. “His has sufficed for the past eight years.”

  Hunter winced at the reply, as if he was suddenly coming to the realization of how terribly alone she was…how alone she had always been. He understood now her fierce independence as he had never understood it before.

  She didn’t know how to be anything else.

  Suddenly his heart ached for her, for the anguish and sorrow and misery she had been forced to endure alone. For all her grace and beauty and family wealth, she had never had anyone to lean on, no one who really cared. She had merged into womanhood alone, unprotected and defenseless. And she shunned any such attention or consideration now.

  Shunned it, avoided it, rejected it…as if it was something to be despised.

  Even now she sat right in front of him, close enough to touch—yet so isolated she may as well have been a thousand miles away. Hunter could tell that the impenetrable wall she had been building each year of her life had just become another width thicker and another block higher to protect herself from any more pain or loss.

  And any thought he had of trying to break it down remained unuttered.

  Chapter 59

  We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.

  – Abraham Lincoln

  It was just about midnight and Hawthorne stood like an island in a thick sea of haze, the air so dark and pregnant with humidity, Andrea felt like she was in a cave. Rising from her restless sleep, she lit a candle and sat on the edge of the bed opening and closing her swollen fingers.

  Daniel’s ring, which was usually quite loose, felt tight upon her hand. Twisting it off, she sat and stared at the engraving as she had done hundreds of times before.

  What would it be like if Daniel still lived? She closed her eyes and rubbed the ring. If only she could talk to him again. She had so much she wished to say. So many questions to ask. Perhaps it was the death of Johnny that left her so melancholy, so meditative about life and death. It all seemed so random—and so needless. And it left her feeling abandoned and helpless.

  When she felt something under the face of the ring move slightly, Andrea opened her eyes with a jolt. Holding it close to the candle, she pried open a small, hinged compartment and withdrew a tiny, meticulously folded piece of paper.

  Though yellowed and stiff with age, she was able to make out the writing.

  Dear Daniel,

  I regret that circumstances do not afford us the opportunity to speak face-to-face, but such is the current situation. Rest assured, I will not ques
tion your motives or your decision, though you are well aware of where I stand on the issue: I am ready to sacrifice anything but honor for the preservation of the Union. Do not worry about me, but discharge your duty—for I can assure you I will strive to discharge mine to Virginia. Remember all that I have taught you, dear brother, and never forget that honor is more precious than the blood spilled to earn it. Until we meet again…Alex

  Andrea closed her eyes at the depth of emotion displayed in the words and what they must have meant to Daniel. “Oh, Alex,” she said without realizing it. How often had he attempted to tell her the intensity of his feelings for Virginia? Yet the pain of fighting against his own brother was even more tormenting.

  What sweet solace these words must have given to Daniel that he would keep them close.

  Now wide awake, Andrea walked onto the balcony and felt the night settle down around her, heavy and close as a wet blanket. She took a deep breath of the clammy air, hoping for some relief from the heat. But instead of a cool draught of air, all she caught was the familiar scent of smoke from a pipe. The aroma was faint, so obscure that she thought she might be imagining it.

  But then a voice spoke from the balcony behind her.

  “Too hot for yah, Mish Evans?” His voice was thick and rich, and uncharacteristically, had a pronounced Virginia drawl.

  Andrea whirled around. “Colonel. I had…I had n-n-o idea you were—” Andrea stuttered, suddenly aware of her deficiency of a robe.

  “Jush got in.”

  Andrea wondered why he slurred his words, but turned back toward the banister without inquiring. “It’s rather a…warm night.” She hoped that would end the conversation.

  “Yesh, it is.”

  “Are you all right, Colonel?” Andrea looked back over her shoulder. A bottle clanking hard against a glass in the shadows was the only reply.

  “Have a seat and join me.” He patted the chair beside him.

  Andrea’s face reddened. She had never seen Hunter so completely abandoned in his manners. She could make him out now. His coat lay haphazardly on a chair beside him. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up. She had never before seen him in such a state of undress.

  “That would be highly inappropriate, Colonel.”

  Hunter put his head back and laughed. “Begging your pardon, Mish Evanssssh,” he said. “Since when have you been worried about pro-pri … pro-pre …”

  “Propriety,” Andrea finished for him, wishing again that she had put on her wrap. “Sir, I think that perhaps you should—”

  “Come here a moment,” he commanded. He stood and killed his drink in one swallow before letting the glass hit the table with an unsteady hand.

  Andrea obeyed, afraid to refuse. The tone he used to give the order was not one she wished to dispute, especially in his current state.

  “Do you see this?” He swept his arm toward the fields and barns below, then took a step backward, the action knocking him off balance.

  Andrea reached out for his arm to steady him and nodded, though she could see nothing in the haze and darkness.

  “Thish is my life. Everything ish here.”

  “Yes, I understand that, Alex.”

  Hunter stopped his ramblings for a moment and stared down at her lips, as if hearing his name on them made him lose his train of thought. Andrea blushed, embarrassed that she had taken the liberty.

  “Your beauty,” he said, softly now, “would create a pulsh in a marble statue. Do you know that?”

  The air was perfectly motionless. Andrea felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked down. “You should not speak like this. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Hunter smiled, put his hand under her chin, and lifted her head. “It’s not my wish to make you un-com…un-fort…” He exhaled in exasperation. “I was merely stating a fact.”

  He took another half-step forward, as if talking and keeping his balance were a bit too much to be attempted at the same time. “If I lost thish place—”

  The desperation in his voice made Andrea’s heart swell with sympathy. She knew in a moment the source of his fears. She had heard at the ball that Union soldiers were sweeping through the valley burning houses and barns. The idea that this home could be destroyed in the firestorm had never occurred to her as a possibility. Now, from his tone, he thought it a probability.

  Andrea stared into his eyes, at a loss for something to say to console him. No words could possibly bring him comfort, for he appeared sure his fear would be justified—and soon.

  “I know nothing of that,” she said. “But I do know that alcohol is a destroyer of human reason. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

  Andrea gave him no time to reorganize his thoughts. “Let me help you to bed.” She grabbed him around the waist and led him through the open door of his chamber. Hunter did not resist. He sat down hard on the mattress and watched her as she removed his boots.

  “Get some rest.” Andrea gently pushed him into a lying position. When she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her back.

  “Even if the war takes everything else—” He stopped and gazed earnestly into her eyes, as if she should understand his meaning.

  “Even if it—” he began again, his voice so low and determined it sent a shiver down Andrea’s spine. “You won’t…don’t let it come between us…anymore.”

  Andrea tried to pull away, not sure of the emotions that raged inside her.

  “Promish?” He pulled her closer and this single word was a demand.

  “I promise,” she whispered, taking in the sweet smell of liquor on his breath.

  Hunter let go of her wrist and appeared to fall instantly asleep. In the dim light of the room, she beheld his careworn countenance. His tranquil face appeared so vulnerable in repose that she pulled a blanket tenderly over him and watched his gentle breathing. She couldn’t say when her feelings had warmed to such dangerous familiarity, but whether she wished it or not, she felt connected to him.

  “Sleep well, Alex.” The words caused a confusing and bewildering sensation to sweep over her, a warm and comforting—yet foreign—feeling that felt like belonging…and trust.

  And it caused the rapid flight that had, for a moment, been delayed.

  * * *

  When Andrea opened the door to her room the next morning, she practically ran into Hunter on the other side preparing to knock.

  “I hope I did not offend you or create a disturbance last night,” he said with a grave expression. “If I did, I apologize.”

  His bloodshot eyes looked tired. Andrea could tell he had no memory of his actions.

  “You were a perfect gentleman, as always.” She started to walk down the hall, to bring an end to the conversation.

  Hunter lightly took hold of her arm and stopped her. “Now you have me worried because I know I could never be a perfect gentleman in the company of such a charming young lady in my…undesirable condition.”

  Andrea turned and feigned a look of astonishment. “You think me charming, Colonel? I would never have guessed such a thing.”

  “Allow me to correct myself,” he said, acknowledging his mistake. “When I say charming, I mean it only in the most exasperating sort of way.”

  “Sir, if that is your definition of the word, then you can believe with complete confidence that you were quite charming last night yourself.”

  Andrea turned to walk away, but not before noticing that at least half of Hunter’s mouth had lifted into a lighthearted smile at her comeback.

  Chapter 60

  Man is so made that whenever anything fires his soul, impossibilities vanish.

  – Jean de la Fontaine

  Three days later, Andrea awoke to streaks of orange blazing across the eastern sky. Fearing she had overslept, she dressed hurriedly, but then took a moment to stand on the balcony and admire the view.

  Taking a deep breath of the morning air, she
almost choked when she inhaled the acrid smell of smoke rather than fresh morning air.

  Running back into her chamber to check the clock on the mantle, she realized it was too early for dawn to be so far advanced. Back to the balcony she ran, and could now make out columns of black smoke roiling above the landscape against the copper colored sky. She could even distinguish the glittering sparks and flying embers that created the ghastly glare.

  The hills beyond Hawthorne looked like a mass of flame, a nightmarish sight too shocking to dwell upon. The dreadful scene that Hunter had worried about was unfolding right before her eyes, and total calamity was approaching fast. Without stopping to think, she leaned over the railing and cupped her hands. “Zach!”

  In an instant, his head appeared below her. “Take the stock to the woods,” she yelled pointing to the distance. Without waiting to see if he understood her command, she darted back inside, half-running, half-hopping down the hallway to the other side of the house. When she got to Victoria’s room, she pounded on the door. “Get up! Get up!”

  Down the stairs she stumbled and out the door, where excitement already prevailed. Zach and others had tied horses together and were leading them by the dozen to a hideaway on the side of the hill. Andrea looked to the east and trembled at the great columns of smoke dotting the horizon.

  She took a few steps more and a horrible groan escaped her. Just over the hill, rising over the trees, shot another column of black smoke, swirling and dancing in evil delight. From its location, Andrea knew it had to be the Talbert house. “They’re coming this way!”

  Andrea had hoped the Union troops would somehow not discover Hawthorne, but it appeared the home was right in their path. She had no idea how much time they had. She only knew she could not face the look in Hunter’s eyes if he returned to a smoldering ruin.

  Running to the barn, barely using her cane, Andrea bridled Justus. When Zach had a string of horses together, she climbed upon him bareback and led them to the hidden paddock behind the hill. By the time she returned, he had more ready to go. “Move the worst of the wounded horses into the front stalls,” she ordered. “We don’t have time to move them all.”