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Chapter quote: "I have killed my share of yer countrymen too and yet ye dunna hate me. Does that make us even?"


Chapter 27: Saving More Than One

"Ow! Bloody hell," I muttered, sticking my index finger into my mouth, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue since I poked myself with the needle, yet again! "I really need a thimble or something."

I had been in the Dragoon camp for sometime now, doing nothing but mend ripped, cut or otherwise damaged apparel for the Dragoons. How much time had passed? I couldn't be sure. Time seemed to have an infinite quality to it, making me forget what day was when.

I sighed and leaned against the back of the chair, looking dismally at the pile of clothes yet to be mended versus the meager pile of clothes already done.

"Bloody hell," I grumbled and picked another shirt up, one that had a large cut along the sleeve. I was half-way through that shirt when I poked myself again, a bright red dot of blood forming on my finger. "That's it, time for lunch."

Again sucking my finger, I stood up, stretching my aching back and left the large tent where the dirty and soiled clothes were kept. Ian stood right by the doorway, vigilant as ever.

"Is there a problem, Miss Hawkins?" he asked, stepping up to my side.

"Just hungry . . . and I've stabbed myself too many times this morning," I added with a small laugh.

He smiled and nodded his head. "Then let us get something to eat. Truth be told, I was a bit hungry meself."

"Well we shouldn't tarry then."

I started toward the kitchen part of camp where many of the wives and daughters of the soldiers were working. I had never known this until I came to the Dragoon camp, but not only were the soldiers staying in the camp, but many had their wives and children with them. Some soldiers found it was easier to keep them here and protect them while many of the women had come to help their men in anyway they could. There were also a few who were here for . . . more private matters.

As we walked and Ian chattering amiably, I heard a little cry come from behind a bush to the right of us. I stopped and listened, waiting to hear if it were my imagination or if I really had heard something.

"Miss Hawkins?"

"Shhhhh!" I waved my hand for Ian to be quiet.

There was another little cry and, curious, I cautiously approached the bush, lowering my body into a crouch the closer I got. Finally when I was right next to it, I heard a soft sniffle and what sounded like crying. Stepping around the bush, I spotted a little girl, no older than two or three with white blond hair and big, sky blue eyes sitting there crying, holding onto a blanket for dear life.

A snapped twig made her gasp and scoot away from me, fear laced in her eyes.

"Hey, woah, it's ok," I cooed, kneeling onto the dry dirt. "I'm not going to hurt you." She just snuffled, her eyes flickering over my frame. I smiled kindly, not moving for fear of scaring her more. "It's alright. My name's Stephanie, what's yours?"

Two big tears fell from her eyes and she sniffled even more. "Am not tuppose to talk to you," she mumbled scooting away.

I frowned. "Why not?"

"My mommy says you're a webel and a bad girl."

I could feel the beginning of my anger growing, but I swallowed it. There was no reason for me to take it out on this innocent girl. I smiled, "No, I'm nothing but a girl, like you. Now, do you want to tell me your name?"

She mumbled something, her thumb having come up and popped into her mouth.

"Pardon, I couldn't hear you." I scooted closer.

"Ma name's Annabelle," she said quickly.

I smiled wider. "Annabelle? Well that's a pretty name. How old are you, Annabelle?"

She held up four fingers on her free hand while the other was occupied by her mouth. "Phree," she said.

"Three? Wow." I scooted even closer, but this time she didn't move. "Why are you crying, Annabelle? You're too pretty to cry."

She sniffled again. Digging into my pocket, I handed her a handkerchief. "I can't f-find my mommy a-and I fell and wuined my dress and hut my knee." She pointed to her soiled little frock and knee with a little scrap on it.

"Oh, dear! Do you want me to help you find your mommy?" I asked kindly. She nodded her head and took my outstretched hand. Pulling her up, we walked back around the bush where Ian was waiting, a smile breaking out on his lips when he caught sight of the girl holding my hand. "Looks like we have a search and rescue mission on our hands," I joked.

Just then I heard a scream and turned my head to watch as a pretty woman with the same blonde hair run forward toward us. Annabelle had barely screamed "Mommy!" before she was snatched up away from me.

"Don't you dare touch my child!" the woman screamed, holding her daughter to her chest. "You're nothing but rebel filth!" With that the woman turned and hurried away, a crying Annabelle holding desperately on.

"How about you tell me how you really feel?" I mumbled at the woman's retreating back. I looked to Ian and continued walking. "I guess I'm not going to be voted Class President, huh?"

"Pardon?" he asked confused.

"It's an expression. Pretty much means I'm not exactly popular." I glanced around me, noticing for the first time the glares, scowls and frowns directed at me. Each one I saw raised my temper more and more. What right did these people have to judge me? What right did they have to scowl, to point, to whisper about me behind me back? What right did they have to shun me?

"Ian, answer me this." I hurried away from the accusing stares and glances of hatred at me to the river, a place I had found that gave me tranquility. I turned to him, angling my head up to look him in the eye as the river trickled and sloshed behind us. "Why don't you hate me? Why don't you scorn me and curse me like everyone else?"

"Am I suppose to?" he joked, his mouth raised in a crooked grin.

I frowned. "I'm serious. You've been nothing but kind to me since I was brought here. Why?"

He lost his smile and sighed, looking upward at the rocking tree branches from the swift wind that came up. "I told ye when I was first assigned to ye. I dunna wanna be yer guard." He sighed again, adjusting the red jacket that donned his shoulders and looked me in the eye. "The truth of the matter is, my heart's naught in this war."

I quirked an eyebrow and asked, "What do you mean?" Some stray hairs blew in front of my face and I brushed them behind my ear impatiently.

"I'm the youngest of five boys. Three went into the clergy, which is where I wanna go, but me mum wouldna hear of it. She said she wanna son who was a soldier, like my Da." He shrugged. "She wanna me to be that son. And truth be told, I canna hate ye, now that I know ye."

"Really?" I barked. "How many mothers will never see their sons again? How many wives will never hold their husbands? How many daughters, nieces, and cousins will never laugh or talk with the men they love because of me? I look around here and see the families of the men I had sworn to kill and yet you say you can't hate me?"

Ian shrugged again, a look of seriousness entering his eyes. "I have killed my share of yer countrymen too and yet ye dunna hate me. Does that make us even?"

I opened my mouth to argue and then realized . . . I didn't have an argument.


After that, the relationship between Ian and I changed. He was still my guard and I his ward, but there wasn't that strange barrier erected between us. I could now talk to him freely, without fear of what I was saying getting back to the Colonel, for most of the time it was me complaining about him. He had become my best, and only, friend in the camp.

But it was strange. Since that first interrogation, I hadn't been summoned or questioned about my role in the militia or for information about Benjamin. In fact, the Colonel hadn't said one word to me since giving me my job in the camp. Not that I was complaining, the less time around him, the happier I was, but it was just . . . weird, for lack of a better word. I mean, this is the Butcher we're talking about. He never struck me as a man to leave something unfinished.

The Colonel was gone on more patrols, now that the raids from the militia had increased expedientially. He would leave camp for three or four days at a time, returning in a fouler mood than when he left. I made sure, with Ian's help, to stay away from him at these times. I may have been under Cornwallis's protection, but since when does Tavington listen to Cornwallis?

I sighed, throwing pebbles into the rushing waters of the river. One of the many good things brought of Tavington on assignment is the free time I have. When he's in camp, I stick to either my tent or the tent with all the linens and avoid him as much as possible, but when he's gone . . . blessed freedom!

For the next few minutes I continued to throw pebbles and pieces of earth into the river, killing time. The sun was setting and I just wanted to indulge myself of a few minutes on my own, the first time in over a week. As I threw, a strange sound reached my ears, like a cry, but it wasn't from any animal I had ever heard. I stopped to listen. Wait . . . there it is again! I strained to hear the unfamiliar noise, when a splash upriver caught my attention. Squinting, I stepped in the river, the icy coldness soaking my boots and socks instantly. Another splash, closer this time and a cry had me running further into the river like a Baywatch model when they went to save an extra. I heard a shout behind me, but I kept going, ignoring the pleas of Ian to come back.

Soon the water was up to my mid-thigh, the frigid temperature sucking all the warmth from my limbs as the layers of my skirt became tangled in my legs. I slipped on a smooth rock and my head fell below the water. Quickly I jumped back up, water spraying it every direction, as I desperately pushed my body further and further into the river, fighting against the current and the temperature, trying to get to the creature.

The water was up to my waist by the time I reached the middle. The cries had become more desperate, pleas for a second chance at life that seemed to be gradually slipping away. I leapt forward and grabbed the paw of the animal I had seen up river, pulling it to me and wrapping my arms around its shaking form as I ripped it out of the water. I turned and began my slow trek out of the river, noticing now how frozen my limbs were, but the shaking and exhausted form of the animal in my arms gave me more strength to continue.

The water was dripping off me, sucking more and more of my body heat by the time I reached the bank and had Ian grabbing my arms, pulling me from the waters.

"Jesu, woman! What were ye thinkin'?!" He admonished, tearing himself out of his jacket and draping it over my shaking shoulders.

"I saw s-something," I stuttered.

Ian pulled me along toward the main area of camp. "And just what was that?"

"This." I relaxed my arms and uncovered the shaking, wet form of a little black kitten. It was so drenched I could see the pale skin under the midnight fur. It turned its little yellows eye to mine and let out a mournful meow, the bones of its ribcage poking unhealthily under the skin as it panted from fear and exertion.

Ian features become gentler as he stared at the little thing in my arms. "A cat isna worth dying over."

"No, but it is worth saving," I countered. He smiled and said no more.

My legs were still numb and a bit shaky as I walked on them back to camp, but they threatened to give out when I heard the familiar call of "Miss Hawkins!" issue from the mouth of the Colonel. Both Ian and mine heads snapped up at the call and I could feel the blood drain from my face. Oh boy, here we go.

I held the kitten tighter to my chest, both to give it my body heat and to keep it protected, as I saw Tavington come racing over, practically shoving people out of the way to get to me. Right before he reached me did I realize the state I was in, drenched skirts that clung to my legs, an overlarge Redcoat jacket over my shaking, thin form and my hair, a mass of dark ringlets dripping water around my face. And my make up was probably running as well.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" he practically screamed as he stopped in front of me. He had a look in his eye that was something I had never seen. Fear?

"Actually, there was no thought process," I shrugged.

"Yes, that is painfully obvious," he spat at me. "What do you think were you doing, jumping into the river like that?"

"The problem is not what I think I'm doing, Colonel. I know what I'm doing. It's what you think I'm doing," I smiled at him, but he glared coldly at me, his nostrils flaring out like a bulls.

"A direct answer, if you please."

I rolled my eyes. "I was saving a life."

"Who's life?"

"This life," I held the kitten up like Rafiki did for Simba, but quickly covered the cat, for fear of it getting colder than it actually was.

Tavington stared at the cat dumbfounded. "You risked your life . . . for a cat's?! Are you daft?"

"No, merely a conservationist."

"A what?"

"Never mind," I breathed, brushing past Tavington on my way to my tent. A grip on my arm spun me back around.

"Never turn your back to me," Tavington growled, pulling me toward him as his grip on my arm sent waves of pain along my flesh.

"Colonel, I don't have time for your little tantrum at being dissed, ok? Both this cat and I are freezing and standing out here in the cold air is not helping matters."

"Maybe I should chain you outside for all your insolence," he hissed back.

Count to ten, Steph. Come on. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . CRACK!

"Insolence?!" I screamed, jerking my arm out of his grasp. "Don't you get it?!" Come on, Steph, calm down— "It's because of you that my anger reaches the boiling point!" Here she goes. "It's because of you that I'm stuck in this camp. It's because of you I'm a prisoner and will never see those I love again, so why should I treat you with any kind of respect? Especially when it seems you always come running up to me, screaming about something I did."

"I do not scream at you," he countered. I noticed out of the corner of my eye a crowd beginning to form.

"Really? So what was that before, a friendly hello?"

"Well maybe I would be more civil if you weren't so blasted sarcastic! Every order I give, every statement I make you have some kind of retort for!"

"Because it's so easy annoy you! My God, you take everything so goddamn seriously!"

He was clenching and unclenching his fists as he shot daggers at me from his eyes. "And you take nothing seriously at all—"

"Believe me, I take plenty of things seriously," I shot back. I had to relax my arms, there was a feeling of tension was running through the length of me and I didn't want to crush the kitten that had nestled into my arms and was hiding her head in the crook of my elbow.

"Sir, maybe I should—"

"Silence, Corporal!" Tavington turned his look of distain back to me. "Like what? What have you ever taken seriously?" he asked.

My blood began to boil and all I could see was red as I shouted, "Like the fact that I'm here in this godforsaken colony, that's one! Like being ripped away from everything I have ever loved and thrown into a place that is completely and totally alien to anything I have ever known. That's two. To know I will never see my family, or my friends, or anyone I know ever again because there is absolutely no way to get home. You try living on that and let me know if adding a bit of humor to one's life doesn't stop them from going insane."

Spinning on my heel, I marched away, shoving through the crowd and practically running to my tent as I felt tears of frustration and sadness coat my cheeks in salty trails. For once Tavington did not follow me or order me to come back. He let me run and for that, I was grateful.


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