Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (8 page)

But just thinking about the possibility that
Hunter might be lying in wait made the woods unexpectedly frightening. Not
helping matters was a rhyme often chanted by the children of Virginia that kept
running through her head.

“
Beware! Hunter is lurking around,

Beware! Hunter he makes not a sound.

He strikes like lightning, yet no trace can
be found

All praise to our Hunter, he’s glory bound!”

Andrea knew Hunter was in the general area. What
if she had misjudged the time and distance it would take him to reach this gap?
Suddenly every drop of rain falling from a leaf, every whisper of wind, every
snapping twig became her feared predator.

She tried to penetrate the gloom and mist that
reached out endlessly in front of her, but could see nothing. And what she
could not see, Andrea imagined. Strange figures glided among the shadows, and
suspicious noises emanated from behind the cloak of darkness. Muted moonbeams
transformed trees into armed sentries, creating a haunting trail of fright.
Even Justus seemed nervous, shying at ordinary limbs that, in the darkness,
appeared as ghostly arms reaching out to seize them both with long ghoulish
fingers.

A sudden, death-filled scream in the woods from
some small animal accosted by an owl or fox nearly threw Andrea out of the
saddle in fright. The scream grew louder, then died away. Andrea pulled Justus
to a halt and listened over the sound of her own beating heart. Only hushed and
oppressive silence remained, yet she could not shake the presentiment of
impending danger. Andrea comforted herself with the thought that it would soon
be dawn. She could get her bearings and head north toward the mill where she
was supposed to have met J.J. Her head began nodding in her weariness, and she
thought once again of sleep. Lord, my Savior, get me through this and I promise
I’ll—

The click of a trigger hammer from out of the
heavy stillness resounded like a thunderclap. Andrea sat up straight, jarred
wide-awake.

“What is your business?” A low, sinister voice
spoke from the darkness, not fifty paces in front of her. The voice rang with
the resonance of one accustomed to giving orders, a familiar, deep voice that
carried an air of authority.

At first Andrea saw nothing, though she searched
frantically the dark path before her. Then, as if by command, the mist swirled
and parted, revealing a horse and rider from within its protective folds.
Hunter held bridle reins in one hand, revolver in the other.

Andrea did not answer at first, but searched for
a way to escape. To her right appeared a steep, rocky bank; to her left a
yawning void that dropped off abruptly. Dare I take the chance and run? Despite
the darkness and the mist, she feared Hunter’s legendary trigger finger would
be quicker than her ability to disappear. From what she knew of the man, it
seemed reasonable to assume he would shoot first and find out if it was
justified later.

Andrea swallowed hard in an effort to drown the
hive of bees that buzzed in her chest, the vibration and tremors of which were
causing her to choke. Her voice, hoarse with weariness and cold, finally
responded, “A courier with the …Virginia.” Andrea hoped he did not notice her
deliberate attempt to mumble the name of a regiment. She prayed that with the
fog, he had not yet seen the color of her horse, that he merely hailed the
sound of an approaching rider.

“Where is your escort?” he asked after a long
silence.

Andrea’s heart fluttered. “M-my horse is fresh.
They could not keep up.”

“Proceed with your hands in the air.”

Hunter sounded utterly calm, but Andrea was not
sure that meant he believed her. Filled with dread, she had no choice but to
obey. He stood in picturesque silence, one firm hand on his unruly mount, the
other aiming his gun with deadly precision. Distorted in form by the swirling
mist, the horse and rider appeared supernatural, forcing Andrea to remind
herself they were but flesh and blood like her.

Behold my hands and my feet, for a spirit
hath not flesh and bone
. Andrea strove to drive the Bible verse from her
mind and concentrate instead on extricating herself from her blunder. “I’m
looking for my unit, suh,” she said, still twenty paces out. She strained to
keep her voice calm, to mask her impulse to run.

“You can ride forward with me,” he responded.
“This mountain is crawling with Yanks.”

Ah, there is help nearby. Closing her eyes, she
said a quick prayer
. Preserve me, dear Lord, for in you I take refuge.

“I believe there is Union cavalry behind me,”
she said then, trying to put some urgency in her voice. “I passed a scouting
party on patrol.”

“No fear. My men are dug in ahead.”

Now just fifteen paces away now, Andrea’s heart
beat wildly. Hunter would soon be able to distinguish the color and size of her
horse. Perhaps he already had. Fourteen-thirteen-twelve … Andrea closed her
eyes momentarily and took a deep breath.
For whosoever shall call upon the
name of the Lord shall be saved.

“Sir, behind you!” Andrea pointed over his
shoulder, pretending to save him from an unseen foe.

She did not wait to see if the ploy was
successful or not. Wheeling Justus off the path, she plunged down the bank and
crashed into the woods with the sound of gunfire echoing behind her.

“Forward the Fifth! Forward the Fifth New York!”
she yelled, choosing a regiment she knew Hunter would not want to meet. This
ruse seemed to work. She heard a muffled curse and the sound of the large
horse’s hoof beats fading away to the west.

Andrea dismounted and leaned against a tree to
catch her breath, then sank to the ground as the night returned to
nerve-racking stillness. She watched and waited and listened, but her own heart
thumping in her ears was the only sound she heard.

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head into
her arms in utter exhaustion. Just as she got her heartbeat back to normal, the
distinct sloshing of approaching horses and the sound of muffled voices came to
her ears. Instinctively, she held her breath and waited.

Has he come back with reinforcements? She listened
for a few more moments, then stood and carefully slid her gun from its holster
on the saddle. Her nerves twitched with fear as she sank noiselessly to the wet
ground, her fingers grasping the handle of the gun for the comfort it gave her.
Listening intently, she heard at least two horses moving back and forth over
the trail she had left. The riders appeared to be trying to discern from where
the gunshots had come. They began talking, revealing distinctly northern
accents.

In fact, she recognized one of the voices.

Chapter
8

“My religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as
in bed.

God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself
about that…”

– General Thomas Jackson

Pacing on a rocky eminence near Thoroughfare Gap
at dawn, J.J. searched for signs of a lone rider. If Andrea had gone through
Hopewell Gap like he had told her, she should have ridden in behind him by now.
Even with a few hours rest at the mill where he was supposed to have met
her—and where he’d left a man to advise her of the change of plans—she should
have been here by now. He had expected her yesterday afternoon for heaven sakes!

An aide rode up and saluted. “Anything?” J.J.
asked, mounting his horse.

“No sign of Sinclair, sir. No sign of him at
Monroe’s Mill yet.”

J.J. rubbed his beard and looked up to heaven.
Where in the hell could she be? He had a report that Hunter had crossed the
mountains last night. Who knew where he was now?

“There was that storm sir,” the private offered.

J.J. nodded, but he knew that Andrea feared
neither darkness nor storm. Mother Nature may have slowed her travels, but it
would never have stopped her. She would have ridden right through no matter the
conditions. No, it was not the storm that concerned him. It was her rash and
irrational nature that worried him.

Perhaps she took this pass, by mistake or
otherwise, and collided with Hunter. The thought alarmed him, as did the
following reflection: he had given her an order—the type of thing she
reverently listened to while he was present and instantly forgot when he was
not.

J.J. heard one of his men yelling and turned to
see him pointing in the opposite direction he’d been looking. The gazes of a
half-dozen men followed his, riveted on the movements of a lone horse and rider
galloping through the pass less than a hundred yards away—straight through
Thoroughfare Gap. J.J. closed his eyes in prayer.
Thank you, Lord. Disobeyed
orders—again—but at least she’s safe.

His feeling of relief turned to despair in a
split second. The angry bark of a fieldpiece filled the air, and in a moment,
the woods across the gap were in full song, spewing forth a steady stream of
fire. J.J. watched the explosion of smoke and flame in disbelief at first, as
if it were a dream—and then in complete horror when reality set in. Every man
with him instinctively leaned forward with squinting eyes, each one realizing
that the gunpowder blasting from those weapons was focused on one lone figure.

“Land sakes!” J.J. cried, urging his horse
forward and standing high in his stirrups. He looked at the stricken faces
around him and realized they were thinking the same hopeless thought: what
chance had flesh and blood to survive that hellfire?

“To horse, men!” He turned to a courier by his
side. “Alert the sharpshooters in the mill. Tell them to pick off as many as
they can!” There was no need for the order. Guns already barked a challenge,
and spurts of fire erupted from the mill in reply to the voluminous display of
weaponry on the opposite ridge. To add to the spectacle, the sun now poured
down a crimson light, tinting the smoke so that it appeared almost bloody.

J.J. waited, somehow expecting the horse and
rider to reappear from the haze. Much as he tried to conjure up the image, he
saw nothing but the continuous belching and spattering of guns. The peaceful
valley of a few moments ago smoldered in a sea of smoke as seconds ticked
slowly by.

Suddenly there appeared from within the smoke,
some movement—hard for him to discern at first, but yes, it was a horse. The
men around him gave a collective, involuntary moan at the sight of the
riderless animal until someone with a spyglass gasped and pointed. “By Jupiter,
there he is!”

J.J. saw Andrea appear as if by magic, leaning
low over Justus’ back. He cursed and applauded her foolishness all at once. He
had often seen her perform the same trick, throwing one leg over the side of
her mount and bunching into a ball with all her weight in one stirrup. How many
times had she fooled him with that game, laughing when he thought she’d been thrown
from her mount? J.J. continued to hold his breath, fearing any moment the horse
would go tumbling, especially after she turned her head toward the enemy and
gave them a mocking salute.

“Fletcher, ride down to Broad Run and intercept
Sinclair before he heads to Hopewell Gap. Looks like he might finally be
following my orders.”

J.J. still heard the popping of sporadic gunfire
as the Confederates realized their mistake, but Andrea was well out of range by
now.

The sound of firing suddenly increased again, and
his gaze shifted further up the hill. With the aid of his spyglass, he watched
men in blue descending on the Confederates from behind. J.J. forgot about
Andrea for a moment and ordered his men forward. They now had the Rebels pinned
in on three sides, with only one direction for escape.

* * *

Captain Hunter put his hand in the air to signal
a cease-fire. “Confound that scoundrel!”

The horse and rider were well out of range now,
no sense in wasting ammunition. They’d lost their chance once again, despite the
fact they’d waited on this ridge all night for just such an opportunity.

Hunter stared in disbelief and wondrous
admiration, as did the rest of his men, at the feat just pulled off before
their very eyes. It seemed impossible that a mere boy could rush with such mad
recklessness through the very gates of hell with only his fortitude as a
shield. A prettier piece of daring and audacity even Hunter had not yet
achieved.

“Hell of a rider there,” Lieutenant Carter said,
chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “Got no fear or no sense.”

Hunter did not answer at first. He continued to
stare at the familiar horse tearing through the valley with long strides, the
rider sitting effortlessly, as if the gauntlet through which he had just ridden
was a sporting event. “I rather believe the latter,” he said with disgust,
turning to his horse and motioning for his men to follow. “They’ll be coming
soon. Let’s go, men.”

No sooner did he utter the words than heavy fire
rained down from behind him. He realized then that the rider had been a decoy,
giving the Union troops time to move in behind him and determine the location
of his guns. His firing at the rider had done nothing but show the Yankees
their exact position.

“The devil with you! You are
mine
!”
Hunter waved his fist at the figure, now only a dot in the distance. The trick
inspired him with a doubled rage for revenge, but he knew he must concentrate
on getting his men to safety. He had a score to settle, but that could wait. He
had only a small piece of real estate to use for his escape—and come hell or
high water, he had every intention of making his withdraw a costly one for the enemy.

* * *

When Andrea finally cantered into the Union
encampment behind the guide, she tried to act as though nothing of importance
had transpired. “Nice and clear up here, boys,” she said to a group of men
standing around Justus. “Strangest thing. A bit of a fog suddenly rolled in
down below.”