The war will be won by the blood of its citizens. And though the North may have more, who is to say the South will not be willing to shed more?
– Andrea Evans
The men had already begun to move out by the time Andrea and Hunter galloped back. Andrea moved her horse away from the others, while Hunter and Carter disappeared behind a clump of trees to confer in low, whispered tones. When they re-appeared, Carter finished stuffing something into his saddlebag, nodded his head and rode away. Hunter scanned the yard a moment, and then urged his horse toward Andrea.
“You ready?” He grasped her hand in a final testament of warm regard, his eyes remaining locked on hers during the brief moment they touched.
Andrea met his gaze, and then lowered her eyes to the greatcoat he now wore. Lined in scarlet, it seemed out of place among the other dusty and tattered uniforms, but she had no time to question his reasons.
“Stay safe, Andrea,” he said,
She nodded and forced a smile. “I’ll see you in Virginia, Alex.”
There were no more words spoken. She watched him wheel away, spur his horse into a gallop, and disappear into the midst of the Confederacy’s most illustrious band of heroes.
Andrea heard only scattered gunfire until she was almost to the river—then all hell broke loose. It seemed the Yankees had been taken by surprise at the sudden departure of the enemy and were now intent on pulverizing them for their own carelessness.
She at once recognized Pierce, riding back and forth like a madman through a shower of lead, directing and strategically deploying his men to meet the coming foe while defending the battalion’s crossing. Because of the difficult terrain in reaching the ford, only a few dozen had yet safely reached the southern shore, and it was obvious the enemy was intent on stopping the rest.
“Keep them moving!” Pierce yelled. “Keep that ford open!”
Andrea had every intention of doing just that, but Buck decided he preferred the shore he was on and went madly out of control, sideswiping her leg against a tree.
Unfortunately, he was not the only beast of burden with unenthusiastic thoughts about the crossing. Already horses were plunging into the water, some without riders, many out of control. Andrea rushed into the river as well, slapping horses on their rumps to keep them moving, and holding injured men on their saddles until they could get across.
The fighting soon came so close to the ford that bullets from both sides whizzed by Andrea’s head.
Still, she continued riding back and forth across the swollen river, pulling, prodding and poking to keep both injured man and beast from stopping or falling. Once across, the wounded handed her their extra weapons and ammunition to take back to their comrades on the other side. Time after time she crossed, loaded down with carbines, pistols, and powder to be distributed among Pierce’s men, who were facing the brunt of the attack.
Andrea had no time to think, no time to process the passage of time. Only once, when sitting on her knees helping reload fresh weapons, did she catch a glimpse of Alex shouting words of encouragement to Pierce’s men.
Through the smoke he appeared more spectral than real, raging through the storm of lead like a lion, the lust of battle flashing from his eyes. He did not stop other than to reload or confer with Pierce, then he rode back into battle, appearing to rejoice in the storm.
After losing sight of him, Andrea continued her duties, her body numb with exhaustion and her head aching from the incessant gunfire. The crescendo of war reached a feverish pitch, the lead hurling toward the ford seeming never ending.
She was halfway back across the river when a man within an arm’s length of her blinked with a look of surprise and fell backward into the muddy water. Andrea dove off her mount, pulling him out of the way and onto the bank to keep him from being trampled by a score of frenzied horses.
Standing ankle deep in mud and knee deep in water, she saw the man had been hit in the upper leg, and was bleeding profusely from the gaping wound. Springing to his assistance, she took off her coat and bound his injury, speaking words of encouragement to rally him.
When she was all but through, Andrea felt a tingling sensation on the back of her neck. She turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of Alex through the smoke and confusion on the other side of the river.
It did not take her long to find him sitting on his frothing steed, silently watching her with a resolute stare. Enshrouded by the light from above and backlit with the smoke of battle, he appeared to be something other than mortal.
The world stopped for Andrea. Slowly, deliberately he raised his hand in a poignant, heartfelt salute. Andrea rose to her feet and returned the gesture, her eyes searching his from across the wide expanse as something tangible spanned the distance between them.
She was afraid to blink, afraid he would disappear—and all too soon he did, wheeling his horse back toward the field and the fury, vanishing like a dream upon awakening.
Andrea felt a strange, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew he had sought her out and that the salute was meant as a sign. And she feared to the very depths of her soul she had just witnessed a final goodbye.