O! you gods, why do you make us love your goodly gifts, and snatch them straight away?
– Pericles, Shakespeare
Andrea continued to stand on the balcony and breathe in the cool evening air, even after hearing Alex talking in hushed tones in the room behind her. Shrugging away the shadow of apprehension that continued to pursue her, she concluded the men were just tired. Now that she thought about it, so was she.
Opening the door quietly in case Alex was already resting, she overheard him talking to Doc—not Carter—his voice solemn and low. “Yes, I will tell her.”
“I do not envy you the job,” Hobbs said, leaning over her husband. “But it must be done…tonight.”
It was his grave tone that gave Andrea the first tremor of warning and evoked the first faint stir of fear. “What must be done tonight?” she asked, forcing a smile.
Her smile faded when she took in the somber expression of the one and the sad countenance of the other. She found no answers in their eyes, but each face conveyed obvious shock and grave concern that she had overheard part of their conversation.
“Mrs. Hunter,” Hobbs said, bowing, his gaze never meeting hers. “I…I was just leaving.”
A sense of terror began crawling up Andrea’s spine. “What is wrong?” She tried to sound calm, but a wave of dread and alarm left her close to losing control.
Alex lay propped on the pillows with closed eyes. He appeared to have aged since she had last seen him, grown older by years in the past hour. He opened his eyes and motioned for her.
“Come.” He patted the empty space on the bed. “Sit with me.”
Andrea watched Hobbs retreat from the room as she took a seat beside him.
“We’ve been married only a short time,” he said taking her hand, “and already I’ve made my first mistake as a husband.”
Andrea could tell he was trying overly hard to sound unconcerned. “Whatever you’ve done, I forgive you.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. The thought flashed through her mind that he felt overly warm, but she dismissed it.
Alex drew a deep breath and Andrea waited for him to speak. “I…haven’t been entirely honest with you.” His voice was low and weak, and it frightened her. “I did not want to concern you, at first, but now—”
One look at his face told Andrea this was not something she wished to hear. She closed her eyes, wishing that by doing so, everything would go back to the way it was before they started having this conversation. “Whatever it is, I don’t care.” She waved her hand in the air. “You can tell me when we’re old and sitting on the front porch on our rocking chairs with our grandchildren.”
Alex closed his eyes and seemed to grow even sadder at her pronouncement. He cleared his throat and spoke with apparent difficulty. “I’m afraid the matter will not wait that long.”
Andrea let out her breath as the vague anxiety within her gave way to a helpless, unreasoning panic. Her heart began to flutter and struggle like the beating wings of a caged bird, stealing the air from her lungs. Trying to hide her alarm, she squeezed his hand. “Proceed.” She closed her eyes again as if that would somehow help.
“My wound is a little more serious than—”
Andrea’s eyes flew open to meet his. “What are you saying?”
“Doc believes,” he paused, took a breath, and began again. “Well…I have fever.”
Andrea sat and stared at him, unblinking. He didn’t need to say anything more. She knew very well what he meant. She’d watched soldiers at the hospital linger in agony for days, weeks, longer. But they rarely survived. Although her heart refused to believe what he was telling her, a part of her knew the truth.
Her husband was dying.
The tall, stalwart, uncompromising officer, who was aggressive, and relentless, and unyielding, was to be snatched from her by something she could not even see. Like a mighty warrior, the infection would stalk him, overtaking him no matter how hard he fought.
Andrea moved her hand to the bandage under the covers. She felt the warmth of his fever pulsing against her fingers. Her eyes grew moist as she consumed the information.
Then the defiance began to mount. “We will fight it,” she said, looking into his eyes boldly.
“I am fighting, but Doc does not believe—” His voice lowered to a whisper. “He wants us to be prepared for a different outcome.”
Andrea began to fully grasp what was happening. The pain and grief that had consumed her in all her year’s past were nothing compared to the agony his news brought her now.
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again and spoke calmly with the same veil of detachment she had relied upon so many times before. “And you’ve told your men.” It was a statement. She saw everything clearly now…how he had waited until the night’s festivities were complete before breaking the news—even to them.
“Yes. I’ve told the men.”
“And that is why the wedding was hurried.”
“It was selfish, I suppose.” He nodded sadly. “But I wanted you, desperately, to be my wife, to give you my name before I—”
Andrea’s gaze drifted away from his and rested on her wedding gown, unable to accept that a mourning gown would soon take its place. She dismissed the thought and turned back toward him. “You are in much pain?” Her tone conveyed concern, though she stared intently at the bedpost now, suddenly unable to look into his eyes.
“Little, save the thought of parting from you.” His voice trembled as he squeezed her hand.
Andrea dared not move her lips nor try to speak lest she should give away her despair. This man was dearer to her than life. She could not live without him.
“I know you want to be strong, but it is all right to cry, Andrea.”
The room fell silent for a moment and then a strident wail of indescribable anguish arose that would smote the heart of anyone who heard it. “Please, Lord! N-o-o-o-o!”
Andrea laid her head on his chest and sobbed, unable to comprehend that after four, long years of war, and all of the obstacles between them, a single, tiny piece of lead could be responsible for tearing his mortal soul from hers.
“Dear Andrea.” Alex stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I promised myself I would never be the cause of pain in your eyes again, and I have failed.”
Andrea took a deep breath then and raised her head, resigning herself to the fate in store for him. Her eyes cleared of their tears, though she stared into space replaying in her mind the events of that fateful day and the role she had played. “You have not failed,” she said, reassuringly, “but perhaps if I had—”
“There is nothing you could have done,” Alex interrupted her. “I am thankful my men—and you—were spared.”
“It is little to me that I am spared if you are not!”
“Stop, Andrea.” He grabbed her hand. “What I did, I could do no less for Virginia…for my men. It was a matter of honor…and duty to God and country.”
Andrea looked down at him in agony. “Your duty to God and country is to stay alive! What amount of honor can account for a dead husband?” She pushed herself away, stood, and paced restlessly. “Oh, give them the blasted victory.” She stopped in front of him. “Give me my husband!”
“Don’t be sad, Andrea. I cannot bear it.”
“Don’t be sad? You test too soon my resolve to obey,” she whimpered, recalling her wedding vows. “You are my life!
“Promise me you will not allow this to inflict a deadlier wound in you,” he said somewhat sternly. “You must go on without me.”
Andrea sat down beside him, cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward, her eyes bedewed with tears. “But how can I, Alex?” she sobbed, feeling her own life draining from her. “How can I?”
“In death or in life, I am yours,” he said huskily, taking her in his arms and comforting her like a child. “Forever. Remember? Neither time nor distance can change our love.”
Andrea laid her head upon his breast and wept again.
He too shed a tear as he held his wife tightly to his bosom and allowed himself, for just a moment, to think about what could have been.
* * *
Carter, who had started up the stairs to check on the Colonel’s condition, heard the unearthly sound of Andrea’s cry and retreated, his own heart immersed in similar misery. He shivered at the thought of facing her, of trying to console one whose pain would be too profound for comfort of any kind.
What will I say to one so young? One who is destined to be at once a bride and a widow?
After pacing restlessly, he heard the closing of the chamber door above and watched, with hat in hand, as she descended the stairs slowly and gracefully. Her eyes, swollen and red from grief, appeared dry now, and he sighed with relief.
She seemed to have gotten over the initial shock, had accepted the news with the courage and strength typical of her nature. This was a young lady capable of handling her husband’s impending death with the deportment and distinguished character of one thrice her years.
“Mrs. Hunter,” Carter said when she reached the bottom stair. “I am sorry.”
When she did not answer or acknowledge his presence, he touched her arm, though he knew his words would be useless. “Andrea, I am here for you. I will help you bear it.”
Carter knew she heard him, because her head rose a little higher and her hand tightened somewhat frantically on the banister post. She still refused to meet his gaze, continued to look beyond him in an effort to hide her feelings of helplessness.
The fight was an admirable one, but the battle raging within her to maintain her self-control caused her body to tremble violently. Carter watched her swallow forcefully, as if trying to conquer the agony that threatened to overpower her. When she turned her eyes upon him, he beheld the lost-looking gaze of a distraught, frightened child.
“His loss will be death to me,” she whispered. “I do not care to bear it.”
She barely uttered the final word when her body gave into the anguish. She crumpled to the floor like a soldier who had been suddenly struck down by an unseen bullet.
As Carter gathered the small, unmoving frame into his arms and yelled panic-stricken for the doctor in the next room, he knew his worst fear was coming true. A single bullet was going to come precariously close to extinguishing two lives: one of them had devoted his all to his country; the other, had devoted her all to him.