Chapter Ten: Changes

For a long time, Colonel Tavington and I simply stared at one another. I could not believe what he had just told me. I tried to picture Nathan. He did not know that John was dead. He did not know that our house had been burnt down. He did no know that I had been captured. He did not know where our mother and sister's were. He was a deserter. Many men did it, but somehow I could not imagine my own brother abandoning the Patriot cause that he had believed in and supported so strongly.

I looked at Colonel Tavington. He was looking at me with an expectant look on his face, as though he were waiting for me to say something in response to his announcement. But what could I say? My brother, my only hope, was not coming.

"Perhaps you would like to be alone," said Colonel Tavington. I jumped at the sound of his voice. Even though he was standing right in front of me, I felt as though I was all alone in the vast fields behind the mansion.

I nodded with some effort, and the colonel took my arm. We walked back into the mansion and he lead me upstairs and to my room. He held the door open for me and as I walked in, he put a hand on my shoulder.

I turned and stared at him. My vision was blurred by tears, and I prayed that he could not tell how upset I was. I wondered for a moment why I was so upset. I was not being treated badly at the mansion. In fact, Colonel Tavington seemed to be quite caring behind his rough exterior. Then I rethought that and felt horrible. The reason that I was upset was the frightening thought that was constantly in the back of my head. The thought that I would never see my mother and sisters again. I now knew that I would never see my brother again. If the war ended he would have to return to the colonies in shame, and Nathan simply would not do that.

I felt the colonel's hand on my shoulder again, and I looked up into his glowing blue eyes.

"Charlotte," he said, as though he had something more he had to tell me.

I stared up at him. "Yes, Colonel?" I asked him.

He squeezed my shoulder softly. "Nothing," he said, removing his hand. He stared at it as though it had changed somehow by touching me. "Goodnight."

He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. I grabbed the key that Abigail had given me and locked the door. I did not want to see anyone. I went to my bed. Abigail had laid out my nightgown and robe for me. They were clean now, and once again, I made a mental note to thank her. I set them aside and fell on my back on the soft mattress. I breathed deeply, sighing. I could still feel a dull pain in my chest, the final remnants of my bought with bronchitis.

My tears stopped and I thought about my situation. There was no way that I could escape now, not with winter approaching. Harsh cold air blew in from the coast and it was impossible to survive without shelter.

And then I wondered once again, if I was really that upset about staying at the mansion. In some ways, I was better off there than I was at home. I was well provided for, and I had Abigail. And even though it was too difficult for me to admit it to myself, I definitely felt something for Colonel Tavington. However, that would never change the fact that I had a family out there somewhere, and I knew that at least my mother and sisters had to be concerned about me.

I head a knock at the door.

"Go away!" I called, not even caring who it was.

"It's Dr. Stanton!" came the reply.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, confused. I grabbed my key and opened the door for him.

"A small party of men went out on raids tonight," he said. "They met up with some of your colonial friends." He sneered at this, trying as hard as he could to show me that he had no respect for the Patriot cause. "I need your medical assistance for some of the more minor injuries.

I returned to my room some time around midnight. My hair was in disarray. I was wearing a white apron, which was stained with blood. I was exhausted.

After Dr. Stanton had come to my room, we had gone downstairs and outside into the large medical tent behind the mansion, where all of the injured men were. Most of the beds were filled. I had treated several muscle injuries, a couple of head injuries, and a few cuts. There had been worse though. One man had taken a bullet to the leg and it had been my job to hold him down while Dr. Stanton performed an amputation just below the man's knee.

I had never seen such a thing before, and I nearly sickened right there. I simply kept muttering to myself more than the patient, "It's going to be alright," over and over again. I would never forget the man's screams.

I changed into my nightgown and laid down on my bed. Just a few hours ago, I had been in the same position, and now I found myself thinking of the same things. I shoved all thoughts of my brother, of escape, and of my family aside, for my own sake. I pulled the covers up over my body, still shaking at the mere thought of what I had seen in the medical tent. Somehow, sleep took me. Thankfully, I had no dreams that night.