Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (4 page)

“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.