Wisdom is nothing more than healed pain.
– Robert E. Lee
A cold front had moved in overnight, sending Andrea deeper under the single blanket she had managed to scavenge from the trail. The action was futile, as she knew it would be. Yet shivering kept her from sleeping and not sleeping kept her from dreaming.
Andrea stared glassy-eyed with fatigue at the darkness above her. Although the first shards of light had not yet illuminated the eastern sky, an over-anxious bird had started its morning ritual overhead. She took a deep breath and listened to the music she had been anticipating for hours. Its chorus was blissful to her ears. She had made it through another night.
Soon the sun would spread its glorious rays over the land, and she would no longer have to fear the heart-wrenching scenes that caused her to wake in a feverish sweat. The same nightmare had replayed before her eyes every night since her departure from Hawthorne.
She’d tried vainly to extinguish it, going to far as to pass herself off as a wayward farm boy at a house full of Confederate officers. She’d been glad for the bottle that was passed around—and for the high-stakes card game—where she’d won enough money to take care of the one deed she thought would ease her conscience and set her free.
Yet still the dream continued.
Although she tried to push it from her mind, the nightmare unfolded, even now before her open eyes. She saw herself walking side by side with Alex through the meadow by the stream. At a steep incline that appeared out of nowhere, the landscape changed from colorful and distinct, to foggy and gray. Still, as happens in dreams, Andrea saw herself smiling and pulling her way up the rocky hill, even as the ground at her feet began to crumble.
Andrea squeezed her eyes closed in an effort to stop the vision, but it continued in vivid detail. She watched herself reach up through the fog in an attempt to grab Hunter’s strong hand, but what she found in her grasp was never his hand at all. It was always the cold, steel barrel of his gun, its muzzle staring her in the face.
What came next tore her heart apart in both sleep and waking hours.
“Let go, Andrea.” His voice was always pitiless in its tone.
“You deceived me. Let go.” He cocked the gun. “Or I will make you.”
As if watching the scene from a distance, Andrea saw herself look into the barrel of the gun, then at her hand wrapped around its steel shaft, then straight up into Hunter’s savage eyes.
And then she let go.
In her dream, she always fell endlessly through time and space, yet never hit bottom or die. She simply awoke, sweating and crying and gasping for breath—and praying fervently, and as never before, that today God would take mercy upon her and make it her last on earth.
Andrea shivered a final time, more from the memory of her dream than the chill, and rose when the faintest promise of a new day broke through the darkness. The frosty nights had been hard on her, the cold air finding little resistance in blasting its way through her empty heart. Having grown accustomed to a warm bed, she now found the hard ground acutely painful.
When it grew a little lighter, Andrea took an overgrown path up the side of a hill to get her bearings and the layout of the land. Dismounting and securing Justus to a tree, she crept along the ground, keeping to the shadows of a small ridge. She was not prepared for the great panorama that opened before her at its peak, and felt a surge of adrenalin pulse through her body.
Below lay the white tents of the enemy, thousands of campfires reflecting eerily off the glass-like waters of the river. Men and horses, mere shadows in the early morning light, appeared to be scurrying to and fro, preparing for a major action. A long gray blur, already in motion behind them, portended something of dreadful significance.
From her position, Andrea continued to study the scene. Why would the enemy leave their fires burning if they were moving out? She held her breath and listened. The distinct sound of a large army on the move assaulted her ears.
The war monster is hungry, she thought to herself. But they have decided to skip breakfast.
Running, sliding and tumbling down the incline, she mounted Justus, hoping beyond hope that she may be in time to stop the feast. Even with Justus at a gallop, she fancied she heard the rumble of the great army, and likened it in her mind to the growl of a mighty stomach. She knew this monster’s appetite and determination, could picture it in its tens of thousands of unwavering eyes. This was a monster insensible to fear and numb to death. And it was apparently intent on destruction.
From a distant place to the south Andrea began to hear gunfire, a light spattering at first, but growing more intense as daylight began spreading. She looked back in the direction of the Confederate army that was obviously making preparations for something big. She had to find a Union camp.
And she had to hurry.
* * *
“Pardon me, sirs, there’s a scout outside. Sinclair, I think he said his name was, to see you.”
In the midst of a conversation with another officer, General Jonathan Jordan stopped in mid-sentence and stared. “Did you say Sinclair?”
“Send him in,” General Bowden, said gruffly. “I need to hear what he has.”
When Andrea entered, a breathless moment passed as her eyes met J.J.’s from beneath the broad-rimmed hat. He took a step toward her in jubilant surprise, but she remained all business. “Sir, I have the honor to report—” She spoke nonchalantly as if returning after a lapse of three days, not more than a year.
“Well, go on with it,” General Bowden snapped.
“If that’s you I hear skirmishing to the south, it’s just a feint.” Andrea nodded toward the sound of gunfire. “The main body is on the move to flank you. And they’re preparing for business.”
The generals looked at each other. They had been discussing the enemy’s movements and this is exactly what they both suspected and feared. “Land’s sake,” Bowden said. “Take this to Colonel Scott. Do you know where he is?”
Andrea looked at him blankly and he pointed at the map. “He’s here!” His finger hit the table violently. “Tell him to move up to Colonel Smith’s right flank, holding Lawson in reserve. Do you understand? See that it is done forthwith. And tell him I said to proceed without delay and without counting the probable cost.”
“Yes, sir.” Andrea turned to leave.
“Wait!” J.J. held up his hand. “He’s not a regular scout, sir.” He looked from Andrea to General Bowden with a look of grave concern. “And Colonel Scott is directly in the enemy’s first line of fire.”
Andrea stopped and turned. “I understand, General Jordan, and I am willing.”
Her eyes seemed morose, remote, and fearless. The combination made J.J. cringe. She turned to go back outside and he followed her onto the porch. “Jupiter, Andrea, it’s good to see you! I received word you were safe with friends, but still I—”
Andrea’s gaze jerked up to meet his. “Received word?”
“Yes. I was wounded,” he said, regarding the look on her face intently, “and received a message while recovering. I assumed you knew.” J.J. watched her gaze shift to a place over his shoulder without commenting one way or the other. “You were safe with friends, weren’t you?”
Andrea came out of her trance and glanced up at him. “There’s a fine line between friends and enemies,” she murmured.
“Andrea.” He took a hesitant step toward her, then grabbed both her arms and shook her. “Haven’t you given enough?”
She looked back at him defiantly. He had her attention now. “Hasn’t everyone?”
J.J. sighed and shook his head. “Report to me upon your return.” He knew it was useless to argue and dangerous to delay. Nothing he could do or say would change her mind once it was set. That much, he saw, had obviously not changed.
Andrea turned to leave, an expression of grit and determination evident in her mournful eyes.
“Sinclair.”
“Yes, sir?” She turned back to face him.
Grabbing her arm, J.J. swept her to him in a manly bear hug. “It’s good to have you back.” He felt Andrea swallow hard against him, revealing the depth of emotion she was working hard to suppress. “We’ll talk when you return. Really talk.”
Andrea nodded against him, though he sensed that if they weren’t in the middle of a war, she would have laid her head on his shoulder and had a good cry.
He let her go and walked back into the house, listening to the sound of hoof beats fade in the distance. “Godspeed, Sinclair,” he muttered. “Godspeed.”