The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.
– Gilbert K. Chesterton
The misty, damp night adequately reflected Hunter’s mood. Most of the other prisoners sat around a smoky campfire playing cards with the guards, but Hunter stood apart, gazing into the darkness. Although successful in hiding his true identity, he knew he was still destined for a Union prison. But the thought of losing his freedom did not weigh as heavily on his mind as the image of a spiritless Andrea.
He stared absently at the scarlet tendrils of poison ivy wrapped around a nearby tree and lit by the flickering illumination of a nearby fire. Nature, unconscious of war, had dressed herself in vivid and vibrant hues, erupting in a carnival of color that resembled great tongues of flame crawling up the bark.
The scent of pipe smoke on the breeze reached Hunter at about the same time as a voice spoke from the darkness behind him. He recognized it as General Jordan’s, but could not make out his form in the deep shadows and inky blackness.
“That Sinclair is really something, isn’t he?”
Hunter hesitated to answer, fearing a trick. “I suppose so,” he said noncommittally.
“A little headstrong sometimes,” the officer continued.
Hunter failed to suppress a snort of agreement but said nothing more.
He heard the general take a few puffs on the pipe and smelled the sweetness of the effect. “We’ve known each other a long time, Sinclair and me,” he began again, seeming to choose his words carefully. “And I know that if he ever protected a Confederate officer over all that he believes in, and fights for, and protects so passionately—then he has a darn good reason.”
Hunter held his breath and waited for him to speak again.
“He’s a strong one, no doubt, but having his horse shot out from under him…he hasn’t really recovered.”
“Justus? Is dead?” Hunter turned toward the direction of the voice in the darkness, forgetting entirely about staying noncommittal. He knew the enormity of that loss.
“Yes. She was lucky to get out alive herself.”
Hunter winced at the news, barely even noticing the general’s change of gender.
“She lost one of her best friends there too,” he said sullenly. “I don’t believe she’s quite made it back to us yet.”
Hunter closed his eyes, knowing by us, he meant the living. What scenes of suffering and death had she witnessed? And what he wouldn’t give to have protected her from them—yet if not for him, she might have been spared the experience.
“We had a bit of an argument after the interrogation today.” General Jordan’s voice quivered ever so slightly now. “Due to the state of her health, I felt compelled to inform her that her services were no longer needed
Hunter let out his breath.
“I should not have, I realize. But I was trying to protect her.”
Hunter slid down the tree he was leaning on to a sitting a position with his head in his hands. He knew her duty to country meant everything to her—was all she lived for.
“Too bad it’s so dark, tonight,” Jordan commented casually. “You can almost see the river from here.”
Hunter blinked hard, understanding immediately his intent.
“It’s a bit steep and rocky on the way down, but a couple hundred yards, there it is. Darn rebels are right on the other side.”
“Is that so?”
“Yea, they’re close. I should probably have camp guards on this side, but we’re shorthanded and the men are tired.”
Both men were silent for what seemed an eternity. Then Jordan spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “I fear for her safety. She’s gone.”
“Gone where?” Hunter knew his tone was far too full of concern to deceive the general.
“I wish I knew.”
Hunter closed his eyes, and for the first time in his life, said a prayer. By the time he opened them, he knew the general was no longer there.
Glancing toward the group playing cards, he began to form a plan of escape. He did not care if it was a trick. Did not care if a firing squad of twelve or the whole bloody Union army was waiting for him at the river. General Jordan would be looking for her on this side. By Jupiter he would be looking for her on the other.