Chapter quote: ". . .I'm afraid her father was . . . well . . . hacked to bits, as the soldiers say."

Chapter 35: Learning

As the air began to cool, and the day began to fade into night, I headed back to camp. For the first time since my imprisonment, I felt content. I didn't feel as if I was completely alone, but that I actually had someone to lean on. Strangely enough, that someone was Colonel Tavington. Now that I had seen the softer side; the side that showed him to be merely a young man, I knew that there was the ability in him to care. No longer was he a block of impenetrable stone, but a living human being, and that gave me reason to hope.

Lost in the recess in my mind, it was no surprise that suddenly I found myself back with in the camp limits. Shaking my head to relive myself of my wayward and slightly delirious thoughts, I noticed Caroline slaving away inside one of the tents, her dark hair clinging to her forehead in damp strands. Curious, I headed over in that direction, never noticing that Tavington had seen me return and was watching me intently as I hurried away.

"Hey Caroline," I said, entering the stifling hot tent. She glanced up from her work station, having been intently cutting up vegetables for the evening meal. She gave me a tired smile, brushing her wrist along her forehead.

"Oh, hello, Stephanie," she replied. "I'm afraid I can't talk right now. I'm trying to get all these vegetables cut up before Amelia comes sweeping down like a plague again." She went back to savagely hacking up the vegetables, apparently irritated about something.

Wordlessly I grabbed my own knife, snatching up a carrot and started cutting it into bite size pieces next to her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, stopping for a moment.

"I'm helping you," I answered, glancing up to smile at her before I turned back to my task.

"Oh. You don't have to do that."

"Yea, but what are friends for? Besides, I'm bored and I need something to do."

She smiled. "Thank you."

I nodded and we continued with our work for a few more moments, many of the other women working in the tent gave me a strange, and something of a hatful look, but allowed me to help with the meal. They were no doubt appreciative at having the extra hand.

"And what do you think you're doing?!" a familiar voice screamed. Snapping my head up, and slicing my finger slightly from being startled, I caught the angry blue eyes of Annabelle's mother.

Sticking my newly damaged finger in my mouth, I replied, "Well, I was cutting up vegetables for dinner, but now I think I'm the new medic case." I pulled my finger back out where blood began to pool again on the tip. It was a shallow cut, one that I've made millions of times before.

She scoffed, snatching my hand and sending a disgusted look at the blood. "You'll be fine," she snapped, throwing my hand back at me. Placing her hands on her petite hips, she glared at me with such ferocity that she could have given Tavington a run for his money. If she wasn't scowling, I would have thought she was pretty, but a persistent bad mood seemed to have given the young mother more wrinkles than she was due. "Now what are you doing?"—I think she hates me. Ya think?!—"You with your rebel disease do not belong here," she growled.

I raised one eyebrow, noticing many of the other women had stopped whatever they were doing, and some pausing in mid-step to watch the exchange between the two of us. Only Caroline appeared to continue working, her head bent low as she tried to ignore the growing tension.

Smiling sweetly, I replied, "Funny, I don't recall ever saying that I wanted to be here. Besides, my rebel disease seems to have been pretty successful over the last couple months, wouldn't you say?"

Her already flustered cheeks heightened in color, a feat I was slightly impressed with. "How dare you!" she screeched beginning to sound more like a banshee than a human being. "How dare you come in here and pretend that you have the right to saunter about! How dare you attack my daughter and then run away making the men chase after someone who doesn't even deserve to be on this earth—"

"Eeerrrrt!!!" I screeched, making the sound of a car hitting the breaks and holding my hand up to stop her little tantrum. She was startled enough to stop and I went ahead. "Aiight, back the train up." I stared her down, my brown eyes hardening. "Well first off, I don't saunter about. It's called walking, maybe you've heard of it? Second, I didn't attack your daughter. She was lost and I was going to try and find you for her. Thirdly, yea I ran away, and in case you don't know I faced one hell of a time in those woods, so don't you dare get all up in my face, and tell me I don't even deserve to be on this earth. You don't even know half the things I've been through, and to insinuate such shows us all how ignorant and supercilious you really are." Oooh, I forgot how good it felt to let out my pent up emotions.

She opened her mouth and then shut it quickly, angry tears coming to her eyes. "At least I'm not the Colonel's whore," she gritted out through clenched teeth.

You know, I never actually thought that really . . . anything could make me speechless. Well apparently I was wrong. I couldn't even come up with any kind of retort for her last little shot at the knees, and boy had she keelhauled me. I just had my mouth opened like a cod fish, sucking air into my lungs as I stared disbelievingly at the woman. One loud gasp around the tent informed me that her comeback had the same effect on the resident populace as it did with me.

Regaining my voice, I stepped forward and practically growled, "Oh hell no, you did not just say that."

I was just about to go all Jerry Springer on the woman's ass when a shout of, "Ladies, that's enough!" sounded in the tent.

Both the woman and I jumped in surprise, so focused were we on shooting each other down with our eyes. Snapping my head around, I saw a plump woman with flaming-red hair and a dirty, white apron, shove her way through the gathering crowd.

The woman's blue eyes widened in surprise. "Mrs. Cunningham!" she exclaimed.

The older woman shoved her way in-between us, her eyes like green fire shooting glares at both of us. With her hands on her hip, Mrs. Cunningham focused her attention on the other woman. "Amelia Bowne! You should be ashamed of yourself! I expected so much better of you, seeing as who your father was. He would not have approved of this kind of behavior, now I want you to leave and go help the laundry maids." Amelia opened her mouth to argue, but Mrs. Cunningham cut her off. "No! I don't want to hear it. Now shoo, before I assign you to the Nursing tent!"

That seemed to have done the trick, for Amelia spun on her heel and stomped out, but not before she sent a glare at me over her shoulder. "Back to work everyone," Cunningham shouted. Immediately work resumed, as if someone had hit the 'play' button.

Smiling, I turned to start working again, when Mrs. Cunningham's voice brought me back. "Hold it right there, Young Lady."

I paused in mid-step and slowly turned back to her. Her tone of voice reminded me of when my mother was angry at me, and I knew I was in trouble. "Yes, Ma'am?" I asked hesitantly. I bit my lip and felt myself shrinking under her accosting stare.

Giving me a slightly toned down version of her first glare, she said, "Miss Hawkins, I understand your desire to be in this camp isn't exactly high, but I cannot have you starting fights with my cooking managers. Now, I do appreciate the extra help, but if you start another confrontation, I'm afraid I will have you banned from coming in here. Is that understood?"

I nodded, the feeling of being scolded not sitting very well. "Yes, Ma'am, but in my defense, I didn't start it. It was Amelia. Apparently she has some kind of vendetta against me," I shrugged.

Mrs. Cunningham sighed, rubbing the back of her hand under her red hair. "Aye, she does." Jerking her head toward her work station, Mrs. Cunningham directed me over. Curious, I followed. "Now, as surprising at it may seem, I am not one for gossip," she began, kneading the bread that would sit overnight so it would rise properly. "However, I feel as if you should know why Mrs. Bowne is so hell bent against you.

"You were part of the Ghost's Militia, were you not?"

I sat down on a near by stool. Mrs. Cunningham shoved a round piece of dough at me and nodded to follow her lead. Squeezing the squishy substance between my fingers I replied with a sigh, "Yes, I was."

She nodded. "To put it bluntly, Mrs. Bowne's father was an officer on one of the caravans the Ghost attacked. They were ambushed in a swamp woodland area. I'm afraid her father was . . . well . . . hacked to bits, as the soldiers say."

My eyes widened and my fingers stilled as I recalled that very caravan. It was the caravan that was the 'secret' I had wheedled from Private Clifford all those months ago. I dropped my gaze, feeling shame creep into me. Fate had an interesting way of tying the most in-sequential things together. "Well, that explains everything," I muttered darkly, attacking the dough with pent up anger.

"There now, deary," the older woman cooed, taking a hold of one of my flour-covered hands. I glanced up into her cool green eyes. This woman was amazing. First she made feel like an insolent child, then like a horrible monster, finally giving me a sympathetic look that made me want to cry. "We all do things we regret, there's no harm in admitting our mistakes. The best we can do is learn from them."

"Yes, but did your mistakes ever get someone killed?" I snapped, feeling tears enter my eyes, which I brushed away angrily. Mrs. Cunningham smirked slightly, and withdrew her hand, working the bread again.

"Does it matter the level of our mistakes? Would you ever do what you did before again?"

My answer was simple and came to my head in an instant. "No."

She smiled. "You came across that faster than expected. Not everyone is so ready to accept they were wrong."

I snorted. "Yea, I can think of a few people like that."

"Like the Colonel?"

"Yea, like the . . ." I paused, my eyes widening slightly. "Wait a minute. What'd are you getting at here?" I eyed the woman suspiciously, and much to my surprised she laughed.

"Honey, if you can't see the way he looks at you, you're not as smart as I thought."

Shaking my head, I tried to hide the blush staining my cheeks. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," I stuttered, glancing away from the woman.

"Please, Stephanie," Caroline interjected, walking past Mrs. Cunningham's station. "The way you two stare at each other. I'm surprised you haven't killed one another or confessed your love, gotten married, and had about six babies by now."

First, my mouth dropped open in shock as Mrs. Cunningham let out a very un-lady like snort. Next was something I couldn't help. I laughed; one of those stomach clenching, eyes watering, out of breath laughs that brought me to my knees as my arms wrapped around myself. "Hardly," I choked out, wiping the tears from my eyes. "I doubt the Colonel has it in him to even care for me."

"I wouldn't be so judgmental of him," Mrs. Cunningham warned. "You'd be surprised how much of a passionate and caring man he can be."

"Other than saving me, what has he ever done that's kind?" I asked with curiosity, although my head kept replYing various scenes by the river and in his tent.

Mrs. Cunningham stilled the motion of her hands, her eyes flashing with sadness before her face was wiped clean, free of any emotions. "There are many things the Colonel has done for the benefit of others, Miss Hawkins.

"When my husband was killed at the Battle of Camden, he easily could have sent me away from camp as a burden to the soldiers. Any other commander would have done so. However, he kept me here, understanding that I have no where else to go. He has provided lodging, board, and above all, protection for me.

"You see Miss Hawkins, you shouldn't judge so harshly or so irrationally." Her green eyes were hard and full of sadness, but admiration and motherly affection were seen just below the depths. I pierced my lips together and sighed, realizing that I was wrong. The old saying never judge a book by its cover echoed in my ears.

"You're probably right, but given my experience with Mr. Knight-In-Shinning-Armor, you can't blame me for a little hostility, right?" I said jokingly.

She smiled then. "Of course. After all, how are we women supposed to keep the men in check?"

I laughed, "You sound like my mother."

Mrs. Cunningham nodded, a kind smile gracing her visage. "If you are anything like your mother, she must have been an extraordinary woman."

Worrying my bottom lip I replied, "Yes, she was. The fact that she was able to handle three boys and me, while holding the house up and keeping my dad from killing himself."

Caroline gasped. "Your father tried to kill himself?"

My eyes widened and then I grinned. "No, no that's not what I mean. My dad was always getting hurt. He kept trying to be Mr. Handyman and fix the things that really, someone else should do and then he would get hurt."

Mrs. Cunningham snorted. "My husband was like that. He insisted he knew what was best, and God forbid anyone tell him different."

"That's my dad. My mom used to say that I got the brains from her and my stubbornness from my father. My brothers just said I was adopted."

Some women looked scandalized, but most heard the humor in my voice and laughed along with me. I smiled then, feeling a sense of satisfaction, and went back to work helping Caroline and many of the other ladies. It seemed that Mrs. Cunningham was the matriarch of the camp followers, and now that she deemed me no longer a threat, the other women were soon no longer hostile in their stares and remarks. Some were even forthright in asking me for help, and speaking to me as if we were sitting down for tea on a normal day.

I smiled as I observed the tent around me, fully of happy women chatting with one another.