Chapter 4 Recovery

For the next several weeks, Melanie Prescott lingered in and out of consciousness. She laid weakly in Tavington's bed in his quarters, feverish, incoherent, delirious, in pain, and near death. She was unaware of what went on around her both in her new abode and outside of it.

During this time of convalescence, the world went on around her. Fort Carolina ran as usual, and the war kept on relentlessly. The British had taken over and moved into Melanie's family home and plantation, turning it into a hospital and recovery camp. The commanders in charge there had been warned sternly by General Cornwallis and His Majesty King George to have respect and honor for the home and objects within and out, land, outbuildings, wagons, and crops out of high regard for the late Mr. Prescott. There was to be no looting or vandalism of any kind. They had also kept the crops and livestock in with the slaves and indentured servants there to help supply the army. Last of all, Lord Cornwallis remembering how kindly Hayden Prescott had treated his servants and slaves, the Lord General ordered that all of them be treated with the same kindness and that he had better not hear of any harshness or abuse.

News and rumors spread of the deaths of Hayden Prescott and his family. Many on both sides of the war were saddened by his loss. It was widely reported in error that the whole family was dead. Not many knew that there had actually been a survivor.

All this time, while the war and life raged on, Bridgett Kilpatrick, Melanie's Irish caretaker stayed by her side. And, just after the beginning of January 1779, Bridgett and the officers of the fort received a pleasant surprise.

In the darkness that was her life as of late, Melanie could hear odd noises. Occasionally, she'd hear a voice, but could not bring herself out of her pained paralysis to discern what was said. The young lady tried hard to open her eyes. She felt she had slept long enough and now wanted to wake up, but found it difficult to do so.

Bridgett had spent so much time with the ailing girl that she had learned to interpret the different sounds such as groans and sighs and the tone of them as well as the minimal movements of her body, face and arms as to gauge the girl's pain level and difficulty sleeping. She could even see the injured girl's state by just her breathing patterns. This was the only signs Miss Kilpatrick had to work from considering Melanie's mute and unconscious state.

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Early one morning,Miss Prescott sighed audibly a couple of times as she tried to force her heavy eyelids open. Her airy groans got the attention of Bridgett, who noted that these sighs and groans were different from her usual sounds. The servant padded over to her bedside and seated herself, watching her patient closely. She had high hopes that the girl might come out of her weeks of stupor.

Bridgett touched the girl's wrist gently, wondering if this was the day she would regain consciousness. The servant watched her patient attentively as she struggled to open her eyes.

Miss Prescott turned her head slowly from side to side slowly upon her pillow. She moaned airily again as if waking up was a hard task. Her eyelids fluttered, then finally opened and stayed that way. Melanie blinked as her eyes adjusted to the soft light within the room. Her vision was blurry, and her eyes hurt already from exposing them to the light and working them to open. After another moment, her vision finally cleared and she could see the room around her.

She laid there quietly, as one often does upon waking. Her breathing was even and she felt a strange combination of incredibly rested, yet still extremely tired. Melanie could not feel her body but knew it was there in a bed. She felt a queer sort of numbness, as if anesthetized by it or her sleep. And mercifully, all this kept her from feeling any pain from her many wounds.

Melanie fought to keep her eyes open. She tried to look about the room, but it was starting to hurt to move her head from side to side. She could see the face of a young woman over her bedside looking down at her. Was this the voice that I heard in my sleep, she wondered, her thoughts still a bit foggy.

Bridgett leaned over the ailing girl and spoke softly. "Aye, Miss. You're awake! It's about time you made your way back to the world."

Melanie said nothing. She focused on her caretaker, watching her closely and trying to listen to her. She was still in so much of a haze that she only seemed to comprehend every second or third word that was said.

"My name is Bridgett," said the servant. "I've been taking care of you for awhile. How do you feel, Miss Melanie?"

She could only answer with a sigh and a slow, pained blink of her eyes. She groaned lightly again.

"Are you in pain," asked the nurse. She laid her hand upon the girl's forehead, then stroked back her hair from her face.

Melanie felt tired again and let her eyelids fall gently shut. Once again, she heard her caretaker's Irish brogue, trying to rouse her.

"No, no, girl," Bridgett coaxed, running her index finger over her patient's eyelids, trying to tickle them into opening, "don't go back to sleep. Open your eyes."

Miss Prescott once again opened her eyes and gazed at her caretaker. She did so want to go back to sleep.

"Are you hungry," asked Bridgett.

The young lady could barely shake her head to indicate no blinking slowly. The thought of food was making her sick to her stomach.

"Are you thirsty?"

Melanie nodded her head, again, only slightly. She felt Bridgett hook her hand underneath her neck and lift her slightly, which made her wince as a slight pulse of heat seemed to move through her body, which she was starting to feel again.

Miss Prescott took a couple of sips of the cool water and coughed lightly. Miss Kilpatrick laid her head back gently on her pillow, then wiped the young lady's mouth with a soft cloth.

"Oh, Missy, 'tis good to see you awake," Bridgett remarked with a warm smile. "We thought we may have lost you."

Lost? What? Melanie wondered, trying to will her mind to focus on words and thought .

Even the task of the thinking process seemed to wear her out.

As Bridgett continued to fuss over Melanie, the girl forced her eyes to look around the small area. She finally realized that she was not in her own room; she was someplace different. And, she had no idea who this kind Irishwoman was.

She searched the room for a familiar face, but saw none. Melanie looked about especially for her father or mother. She was confused. She couldn't understand why they weren't at her bedside taking care of her. Melanie also wondered what had happened; why was she there in this bed?

"Can you speak, miss?" asked Bridgett.

Melanie just lay there in confusion, saying nothing. She knew she could speak, yet her mind couldn't seem to form the phrases or what she needed to say. Her mouth and lips were unable to utter the words that needed to be said. Trying to think of the word and move her lips and tongue to talk exhausted her. Just as well, the ethereal state of numbness had worn off and she now felt some pain and heat within her body.

With all this, she let out a tiny whimper as tears welled up in her eyes. Soon, large tears were rolling down her cheeks as she began to weep. She cried out of the sheer confusion she felt, but was too worn down to sob and heave.

Melanie longed for her parents to be there with her. She felt afraid as she didn't know where she was or why she was there. And, she could now feel fully the extent of her painful body.

Bridgett cocked her head to the side and felt pity for the poor girl. "Ah, Miss, don't cry. I know it hurts, but we will take good care of you. You are getting better little by little."

Bridgett dipped a cloth into a bowl of water by the bedside, wrung it out, and began to wipe away Miss Prescott's tears. She also dabbed at her forehead and neck with the rag. She dropped the linen back into the bowl and took Melanie's hand.

The nurse looked at the silent and fearful figure upon the bed, eyes full of tears, confusion, and fear. She squeezed Melanie's hand to reassure her. "Don't worry, girl. You are in good hands here." Bridgett smiled warmly down at her.

The door to the room was open and Bridgett heard voices in the hallway. She identified one of them and called out.

"Colonel Tarleton, come quickly!" she exclaimed. She heard him stop talking and his booted feet scampering up the hall toward the room.

Melanie was fighting exhaustion again. She just wanted to fall back to sleep and could not understand why this Irish lady would not let her.

"Yes," Tarleton acknowledged as he stuck his head into the door.

"Your pacifist's daughter has awakened," she cried with excitement.

"Oh," Banastre said curiously. He walked into the room looking weary. His uniform was in disarray, having just come off of an overnight patrol. He was unshaven and his auburn hair, now out of its regulation plait queue, hung wildly about his shoulders. The officer was still dressed in his boots and crème color breeches. His uniform jacket and cravat were gone. His waistcoat remained over his shirt, unbuttoned and hanging loose and carefree at his neck.

The Colonel approached the bed quietly and stared at the sight before him. He saw her eyes open for the first time ever. They were full of hurt and fear.

"How is she?" he queried, smiling at Bridgett.

"It is good. She is responsive and coherent," replied Miss Kilpatrick.

"Ah, good!" he answered. "You must tell the Lord General quickly! He'll want to see her!"

With that, Miss Kilpatrick left the room in search of Cornwallis, trusting Tarleton to stay with the Miss Prescott until she returned.

Banastre sat for a moment by her bedside and looked at the poor girl. And she just looked back at him.

Melanie's mind still wasn't understanding at all. Now she wondered who the man was sitting at her side and where the nice Irish lady went. She also felt another wave or pain and heat settle over her body. And still she wondered where her mother and father were.

Confusion and pain once again got the best of Melanie Prescott. Her eyes soon filled with tears again. She felt too tired to sob, so she did not fight the tears that she surrendered to. They streamed down her cheeks once again.

Banastre looked at the young lady and sighed. He had been injured in battle before, sliced and stabbed, so he knew quite well the pain she was feeling. But, he could also read the confusion of the situation in her eyes. Ban could also see that unmistakable look of fear, much like that seen in the eyes of a frightened wild animal.

Feeling for the girl, he wished to ease her fear. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. Then, he gently brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Don't be afraid, Miss Prescott. You are well protected here," he reaffirmed. He gently stroked her cheek and forehead with his fingers. He could tell that she was weak and exhausted. So when he watched her eyelids drop closed, he didn't try to revive her; he let her rest as he waited for the others to join him in the room.

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After a few hours more had passed, Melanie Prescott once again opened her eyes and rejoined the world of the living. As her eyelids fluttered slowly open, Colonels Tavington and Tarleton and Major Bordon watched her. The three had stepped into the room briefly to spread a map out over Tavington's desk and view it when they heard the girl stirring.

The three commanders walked softly over to the bed of Miss Prescott. They could tell that she was working hard to revive again.

As the three stood over her watching her efforts, Major Bordon had an idea.

"I think Captain Wilkins should join us," he opined in a soft voice. "Maybe recognizing a familiar face and voice might help her coherency?"

"And keep her from being frightened when she sees Redcoats standing over her bed," Tarleton pointed out with a light snicker.

With that, Tavington walked out of the room and to the stairway. He shouted down into the open common area to anyone listening, summoning Jim Wilkins immediately.

Captain Wilkins happened to be at the dining table eating lunch. He left his plate and bounded up the stairs toward his commander's voice.

He traipsed into the room to find the dragoon leaders standing near Melanie's bed, watching her intently. The captain joined them there.

"Ah, I heard she was waking more," he said with a pleased smile.

"Yes," Tavington confirmed. "We'd like you to talk to her. It should do her well to see a familiar face."

"If she recognizes me," Jim said, frowning. "She's been through a lot. Who knows what she remembers."

Melanie again had to work at opening her heavy eyelids. As she blinked, the blur of her vision dissipated. She lay there quietly disoriented and looking about the room. She gazed thoughtfully at the faces of the men near her bed, desperately trying to recognize them, or to pull the names from her memory.

Then something clicked in her mind. She didn't know where she was, couldn't recall how she got there, and had never seen the men at her bedside before.

A look of fear clouded her face and eyes. She panicked inside when she realized the men might be Redcoats. Suddenly, she let out a frightened gasp and flinched. Melanie quickly rose up on her elbows and tried to scoot back away from them.

She winced aloud in pain as the jerking movement hurt her body. Her eyes then filled with tears of hurt as she collapsed back into her pillow. "Oh...Oh..." she whimpered in pain. The faces of the men above her were blurred by the tears in her eyes.

Slowly, she tried to prop herself up again on her elbows to get a good look at the three officers. Melanie yelped aloud again and fell back onto the bed.

Alex Bordon reached forward and gently grabbed her shoulders. "Easy, easy," he comforted. "We're not going to hurt you." The Major wanted to keep her back on the bed until she calmed a bit.

Even though Melanie was a pacifist, she felt an inexplicable fear that accompanied her disorientation. She once again tried to move away from them. The attempt was futile, however, under Bordon's strong grip.

"Don't be afraid," he soothed as the two Colonels looked on, "We won't hurt you."

She was breathing hard and wincing as her eyes darted from one officer to the next. She tried to settle down and contain her fear.

After another moment of confusion, Melanie was able to relax a bit and was still. She moved her eyes again silently about the room looking for a familiar face. She continued to rest and stay quiet because her struggle, small as it was, had worn her out.

The officers stared at her in concern. They wondered if she might have amnesia, or been struck dumb.

Captain Wilkins took her hand gently and bent his tall frame down a little closer to her.

"Hello again, Miss Prescott. It's been awhile since we seen each other last." His voice was soft with a warm smile on his face.

Melanie looked up at him, still mute, her face instantly showing a recognition of him. A faint smile lifted slightly the corners of her lips. The girl knew in her mind that she knew this man and was glad to see someone she recognized. She felt relieved and a bit safer now.

The three commanders looked at each other with raised eyebrows, glad that she had some sort of memory left, giving them hope that her mind was still intact.

"You do know me, don't you," Jim coaxed, trying to get her to speak a word or two.

She smiled more now at him. Her mind worked frantically trying to remember his name.

The girl couldn't quite remember. Melanie wanted to ask him his name, but she still couldn't seem to put the motion of moving her mouth to talk with her thoughts inside.

The officers all watched, seeing her moving her lips as if trying to talk, then frowning in frustration. The men worried for a moment. They knew her capable of rudimentary sounds such as sobbing, pained moans, and occasional words in delirium. They wondered if all the trauma she went through somehow affected her speaking voice, leaving her mute.

Melanie finally let out a sigh, shaking her head slightly with apologetic eyes. Her frustration was now even more apparent. Her face clearly displayed that she knew him, but just couldn't get the name out.

"It's quite alright," replied Jim to her mute apology. "I'm Jim Wilkins."

Miss Prescott's face instantly lit up with even more of a smile and some excitement. The officers again observing all this looked at each other with raised eyebrows, glad she was making some progress.

Wilkins squeezed her hand. She barely and weakly squeezed his back. The she dropped her hand from his, raising it slowly, enough to touch the green cuff of Wilkins' uniform jacket. Then she moved her finger just over the cuff onto the red material of his sleeve. As she did this, she gave Jim a quizzical look, still unable to get the words in sync with the question in her mind.

He could tell right away what she wanted to know. "Oh, I'm now Captain Wilkins, of His Majesty's Cavalry. Tavington's Legion; green dragoons."

The girl reacted to his announcement with an incredulous look upon her silent face. She sighed again, still trying to talk. Finding that she still couldn't she looked at Jim and gave him another look of question, her eyes and slight shake of her head mutely asking why.

"This gentleman over here," began Jim, motioning toward Bordon, "met with our Loyalist Militia one day, and recruited me."

Melanie smiled but felt overwhelmed. The officers could tell this and let her take things slowly.

Melanie studied the men about her again. She recalled that when the one with the strawberry blonde hair spoke moments ago, that he had an English accent. She wasn't sure if they were from England, or Loyalists residing in the colonies fighting for His Majesty.

Inside she finally felt that the thoughts were coming easier, and felt the words starting to form. She thought she could match the words and sounds up now.

The officers' patient was rewarded when she spoke her first coherent words in weeks. "Are you English?" she asked weakly, almost in a whisper.

"Yes," answered Bordon.

The four men towered over her, staying mute. They had agreed it best not to impart too much information to her. They would let her ask the questions, also to see how intact her mind was. The commanders had also decided it best not to tell her of the death of her family until she was stronger. They knew that her grieving would greatly hamper any recovery left that she had to make.

"What is this place?" Melanie asked meekly.

William Tavington moved a little closer to the bed to speak to Miss Prescott. "You're at Fort Carolina."

"Why?"

Alex and Ban looked at William, the three of them trying to determine who would answer her questions. Tavington nodded to Bordon, giving him silent permission to go ahead and question the injured girl. Even though she was a pacifist, Bordon, the fort's interrogator, would glean shards of information from her words, hoping to sift through it and find something of use to them.

"Do you remember anything?" Alex queried.

Melanie's head started to spin. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Of what?" she asked.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Bordon asked. "Stay quiet for a moment and think." There was quiet as she closed her eyes again and thought.

She kept her eyes closed as she began to speak, then opened them a few words into her statement.

"I think...I went with Father to pick my brother up from the coach...in the village...when he came home last."

The officers exchanged glances once again. They all assumed immediately that she remembered none of the massacre. While disappointed that she could not provide immediate information of the incident, they thought it merciful that she could not recall the horrific attack.

She spoke again in a soft voice. "Where are my parents?"

Bordon deflected the question right away. "So, you recall nothing?"

It was enough to do it. Melanie answered his question. "No. Why am I here?"

"Miss Prescott," the Major began, "you were hurt very badly. We found you and brought you here to the fort where our surgeons are."

Melanie had felt her pain upon this last waking and her subsequent movement, but had no idea how she was injured or why she was ill. "How was I hurt?"

Bordon steadied his voice and kept it disaffected, yet gentle. "Your family and home were attacked by rebel extremists. We arrived in the middle of the skirmish. That's where we found you."

"My family," she asked emphatically, "where are they now?"

Again, Bordon skillfully avoided the question. "We were able to apprehend some of your attackers."

Apprehend? She was confused and had so many questions. Who were these men? Had they truly saved the lives of she and her family? How did they know about the attack? What was the outcome of their battle with her attackers. All this made her head throb and served to create more confusion. Her mind was formulating questions faster than the time it took her to think them over and try to logic them out herself.

"Who are you?" she asked innocently.

William, once again moved close to the bed to answer her question. Bordon was happy to let him do so.

"I am Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington of His Majesty's Green Dragoons. This is a fellow commander of the cavalry, Colonel Banastre Tarleton. And this is my Aide De Camp, Major Alexander Bordon. And of course you know Captain Wilkins from years ago, I understand."

The Major looked back down at Miss Prescott. "Colonel Tavington here was most generous to give up his room and bed for your recovery; that is where you are now. We did not want you in the hospital tents with the men."

With this, Ban excused himself to inform Cornwallis and O'Hara that Melanie Prescott was awake and speaking. Earlier when he had been called into the room by Miss Kilpatrick, she has left to seek the General with the news, but had returned having not found him. Now Banaster was off to try to find him again.

Jim Wilkins excused himself as well, wanting to get back to his lunch. He took Melanie's hand again, put it to his lips and kissed it softly, just as a gentleman would do. The young woman smiled up at him.

"Miss Prescott, I'll be back later to check in on you," he assured. "And when you feel better, we'll catch up on our family's businesses, then we'll laugh and reminisce about when we were kids running wild in your orchard."

With that comment, the two old friends shared a laugh. Melanie still speaking softly, replied, "I'd like that. Please come back soon."

He bowed his head slightly to her and left the room leaving Will and Alex to stay with the young woman.

"Are my parents here at the Fort?" asked Melanie.

"No," replied William. He was careful to keep his answer short and flat; not to convey any emotion to her. He knew the day would come when she would have to be told the truth, but she was just not well enough to take the terrible news of the slaughter. The generals wanted nothing to jeopardize her recovery.

Still, Melanie pressed on. The need to have someone from her family there beside her was overwhelming.

"Are they in a prison camp?" She was grasping at straws, hoping someone could tell her where they were and why they weren't with her.

"No," Tavington repeated in the same tone. He could tell she was getting agitated and might hurt herself again.

"Calm down now, Miss Prescott. You've been very ill—near death—the last two months. Don't drain what little strength you have with worry."

"Colonel, could you please get word to them at home that I am better now and want to see them," she urged, her voice awash in desperation.

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"Colonel Tarleton, this is splendid news," Lord Cornwallis gushed.

"Indeed it is, Sir," General O'Hara agreed.

The two Generals flanked Banastre as they accompanied him through the hallway and back to Tavington's quarters. Cornwallis was very anxious to see and speak with Melanie Prescott.

Tarleton looked at General Cornwallis. "Yes! She is speaking, alert and coherent," Ban stated. "But it seems she remembers nothing of the incident. She does have some fight left in her, though."

"Well, at least she can think and speak," Cornwallis remarked. "And the fight she is giving you can only mean she's getting better!" He was optimistic that the young lady would be able to remember some things that the English could use to their advantage.

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In the room, Melanie was still calling for her parents and was on the verge of tears again.

"But why can't I return home to recover?" She protested. "My family can take care of me."

"It's not a matter of who is tending you," Tavington pointed out, "it's a matter of adequate protection."

Melanie was frustrated and in pain as she lay there getting no answers to her questions.

She looked up at the ceiling and tried to resign herself to the fact that she could not go home.

She sighed. "Then could someone please fetch a member of my family to at least come and stay with me?" she pleaded.

Right after she'd asked that, in walked the generals with Colonel Tarleton. Major Bordon and Colonel Tavington both stood up and bowed their heads slightly to their superior officers.

"My Lord," Tavington acknowledged as a silent Bordon stood next to him.

O'Hara and Cornwallis slid past the two subordinates and stood opposite Tavington and Bordon on the other side of the bed. They studied the frightened and ailing figure that lay on the bed.

"Ah, welcome back, Miss Prescott," O'Hara greeted.

"Yes! Nice to see you awake," Cornwallis exclaimed.

Oh no, Melanie thought. More officers! She felt flustered at all the men in red, gathered at her bedside and staring at her as if she was on display. She still wanted one of her parents there to shelter her.

Cornwallis took a small step forward. Bordon stepped back close again to Miss Prescott's bedside and looked at the commander.

"Miss, this is-"

General Cornwallis put his hand up to motion for the Major to cease his introduction. Then Cornwallis took yet another step closer and leaned down over the bed. He laid his hand gently on the lady's forehead and smoothed back her blonde hair.

He peered down at her, then spoke. "Do you remember me?"

Melanie blinked her eyes a couple of times before closing them completely. Then, she opened them up again and looked hard at the man. She knew she had seen him before, but where she could not remember. Then, after another moment, something came into her memory.

"Yes," she answered softly and tentatively. "I have seen you before. But, I am sorry, I cannot recall your name."

"I am Charles Cornwallis," he replied with a gentle smile.

"Yes!," she recollected. "Now I remember. You have worked with my father before, haven't you?" Her mind pictured him sitting at a dinner table with her father. However, her memory was still hazy as to when and where this had taken place.

"Yes, bef-", he stopped himself short, not wanting to divulge the bad news of her family and hurt her recuperation. He corrected himself in a nonchalant manner. "Yes, I have worked with him before."

Lord Cornwallis patted her hand and smiled. "Well, Miss, we must let you get your rest. You still have the way ahead of you to get better. I am very pleased that your memory was not destroyed."

Generals O'Hara and Cornwallis nodded to the three subordinate officers, turned, then stepped toward the door.

As they did, Melanie spoke up. "Am I a prisoner?" she asked, taking them all by surprise.

All the officers turned back to look at the young woman. Cornwallis answered her.

"No. You are our guest," he assured her. "You will be well cared for here and adequately protected. You will remain here until further notice. Rest well, Miss Prescott."

"Gentleman," Cornwallis said to the two Colonels and the Major as he turned to leave again.

Alex Bordon moved back toward the bed. There, he helped Melanie take a drink of water and sponged her head again with a cool cloth. Then the Major pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked them in tightly around her to keep her warm.

"Rest now," he suggested. "Miss Kilpatrick will be in to tend to you."

"Miss Prescott," Tavington said in parting as he nodded to her. Tarleton nodded as well. The three officers then left the room, leaving Melanie alone with her thoughts.

She lay still on her back looking up at the ceiling, feeling terribly lonely and afraid. Melanie swallowed back the feeling and turned her head toward the window.

As she looked outside, her thoughts ran circles inside her head. Why would Father and Mother leave me here? There must be a good reason. Maybe they needed help to take care of me. Could be they couldn't move me after the surgeon had worked on me? Still, why don' t they come visit me? Father must be away trying to stop this war and mother must have her hands full with Josie and Jon. Matthew must be back at the seminary by now. I am sure my family will come and visit me soon. I can't wait to see them-I miss them so much! I want to go home!

Her eyelids grew heavy as she continued to dwell on her family and going home. Then her thoughts blended with a grey mist within her mind, and she fell asleep, secure within the haven of the fort in the care of the British.