Chapter 5 Nightmare

In the ensuing days after Melanie had regained consciousness and met the officers, she slowly continued to heal. She was sleeping less and whenever awake, retained her coherency. She was not again overtaken by unconsciousness.

Miss Prescott's pain dissipated little by little with each passing day. She also regained her appetite, although sticking to a rather tame diet to ward off nausea.

Feeling more comfortable with her situation and foreign surroundings, Melanie Prescott tried hard to accept her temporary confinement with little fight. She was even able to remember the names of the different officers and servants and fit those names to the correct faces.

Lately, Melanie had been sitting up and standing, first with the help of a caretaker, then on her own. She eventually started to walk again, taking only a few steps at a time on the arm of someone. She had been anxious to wander about the fort and its main house to see more of her temporary home. Her walks were limited to the confines of Colonel Tavington's small room as she didn't have the strength yet to venture any further.

Walking was the most frustrating action to her. The motion of it caused her nagging pain still. The energy expended on the movement wore her down quickly.

Often, Melanie looked for the familiar face of a family member to appear at the door. She so hoped that upon waking, she might find her mother dutifully seated next to her bed, giving her that serene smile that Melanie loved so much. The girl also longed to have her father in the room, and to learn of his latest efforts to stop the fighting. Trying twice to pen a short letter to her parents, the effort was abandoned as the small act of writing exhausted her mentally and emotionally.

On one of those days, curiosity possessed Miss Prescott. With dread, she willed herself to look at her injured body for the first time.

Bridgett helped her to stand in front of the full length mirror in Tavington's room. There, Miss Kilpatrick pulled two chairs together, back to back, and positioned the still weak Melanie in between them to use for support. When Miss Prescott felt steady enough, Bridgett left her alone in the room.

For a moment, Melanie stood in the solitude, only looking at the floor. She sighed, knowing she may be upset at how she looked. She imagined the worst disfigurement according to the pain she had been in and the officer's accounts to her of how badly she had been hurt.

She slowly and stiffly slipped off her robe. Melanie then raised her eyes cautiously to peer at the reflection before her. And as she stood naked in front of the mirror, she drew in for the first time, the sight of her battered body.

Melanie's eyes moistened with tears as she saw her fragile, sliced up body for the first time. With a heavy heart, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

"Be brave, Melanie," she told herself. "You're alright. Everything will be fine. The wounds are still healing. You're alive, thank God!" She tried to convince herself of this as she kept her eyes tightly clamped shut another moment, willing away the tears.

After another minute, she opened her eyes and looked again at her reflection. Melanie sniffled, then sighed as she quietly studied her body in the mirror.

On her body many fresh scars and still healing wounds of the attack. She was amazed at just how many of them there were. Melanie wondered how many slices, stabs, and stitches her body bore but couldn't find the courage to count them.

The young woman lifted her arms weakly, wanting to touch each cicatrix, as if to confirm that it was real. She began to trace the wounds lightly with her fingers.

The stab and slash wounds and scars on her forearm, thigh, shoulders, and side of her neck tickled her fingertips ominously. But she winced aloud as she tried to touch the most severe of all her wounds; the one in her side, which had nearly killed her. It was still very tender, swollen, and shown an angry shade of red.

Melanie continued to gaze at her flawed body in the mirror, marveling still at the many wounds. Her emotions swirled within her head as she studied her marred skin. She was stunned, repulsed, amazed, and depressed all at once over the sight. But as she continued to touch the remnants of that awful day, she felt very lucky to be alive.

Within a few contemplative moments, she felt a strange acceptance of her damaged skin as the haze of the initial shock of the sight wore off. Melanie then raised her eyes to look beyond the wounds and stitches to the rest of her being.

Her color was no longer the youthful and peachy pink that it used to be, but was now a washed out alabaster. Her facial complexion was drained of its warm ivory and had been replaced with a lifeless beige. The usual rosy glow of her cheeks was gone. Those twin apples were now hollow. She bore dark circles under her eyes.

The mirror of her soul—her eyes—no longer shown with the porcelain blue and vitality they once possessed. Instead, they looked tired and were sunken back into her face enough to notice. Those eyes also reflected the trouble of recent times and looked absent.

The incident had robbed her cherry red lips of their hue as well. It was now just a dull mouth, no longer sensual, which seemed to lose itself amidst the new dullness of her face.

As she gazed at herself, it seemed that nothing had been spared. Even her long and thick head of hair had suffered. Her sunlight blonde hair, which seemed to always shine brightly and was full of sprightly curls, was now dull with limp waves.

The curvaceous and fit body she once boasted was now haggard and drawn. She wasn't sure how much weight she'd lost. Twenty pounds? Thirty pounds? Her beautiful shape, which would have been a cherished prize for a husband, was now frail and thin. Melanie once walked tall, her head and shoulders up and back, with a smile that beamed from her face; now, she struggled just to stand upright.

Her mind spun in a whirlwind with questions. Would she ever look as she once did? Would her wounds ever heal? Would a man ever fall in love with her scarred being again? Would a man be repulsed by the scars, or could he overlook them? Would a husband be willing to make love to a flawed body? Would she ever be a young beauty again? Would things ever be normal for her again?

Even though unsure of things and wrestling with bodily insecurity, she was grateful that her mind and body, albeit flawed, were still intact. Melanie was also very thankful that her family and home were still around, as well.

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This day was a particularly bad day for Melanie Prescott. She was exceptionally down. She hadn't slept well the night before due to pain. That discomfort lingered on into the morning hours. The ache of her injuries gnawed annoyingly at her.

She'd also missed her parents, family, and home terribly, longing to see them again. She knew she'd feel better if only they would come to her.

Along with pining for her family, other factors and emotions had taken a huge toll on her mind. Her body's physical weakness, inability to remember the incident, the ebb and flow of pain, and insomnia had splintered her mind for the moment. Melanie was not thinking straight at all, causing reason and ration to depart as well.

In the hazy shreds of her mind, Melanie had made the decision to try to find her parents. The irrationality of her thoughts convinced her that they were near—either in the confines of the fort, or just outside of it. The girl was sure she could find them.

As Melanie lay in her bed, she willed herself to move. First, she slowly and weakly pushed herself up to her elbows. Once supported on them, she took a breath and sat up painfully the rest of the way.

She sat up in the bed for another moment, breathing deeply and letting some of the ache wane. Then, she eased her legs, with some discomfort, over the side of the bed and onto the floor. As her toes touched the floor, she tried to summon enough power to stand up on her own, something she had only been able to do recently with assistance.

Putting her feet flat on the floor, her legs found a little power to push her weakened form up to stand. She rose slowly, and once straight, she nearly lost her balance.

When Melanie felt steady, she stepped cautiously at a snail's pace toward the door. She felt happy and satisfied to be walking without help.

Once at the door, she weakly grasped the knob and turned it. The girl was able to pull the door open just enough to let her thin figure slither through it and out of the room.

In the hallway, Melanie felt a little cold and shivered. She had not remembered that she was only wearing her nightgown. As she fought off the next shudder of cold, her head started to spin. She leaned against the wall outside the room for support.

When the dizziness passed, she pressed on. Melanie was determined to find them now. The moment of rest against the wall renewed her confidence to keep going.

Melanie Prescott walked on, touching the wall to help keep her equilibrium. She was careful to take slow and soft steps; she did not want to hurt herself with jerky movements.

After a few more steps, her vision started to blur. She told herself this was all just because she hadn't been out of bed recently and that it would pass soon. Melanie stopped and rested against the wall again. After blinking a couple of times, she thought some of the fog in her vision was starting to pass.

In another moment, Melanie grew impatient as she waited to regain full vision back. She pushed on anyway with the blurriness remaining. The girl could see enough of the outline of the hallway, and the light from the window to walk. And she could reach an arm in front of her and lead with the toes of her foot to guide herself around.

Another minute of the cautious, blind steps found her panting and exhausted. She felt as if she was going to fall and clung to the wall to stay up. Melanie rested there another moment, trying to slow her breathing down and find some strength to carry on.

Something made her carry on, though feeling worse again now. She took even smaller steps this time and leaned on the wall as she did.

Now, as she stepped, she felt nothing under her lead foot. She squinted into the haze of her vision and could barely discern a stairway. Still hanging on to the wall, she took a cautious step forward to descend the steps, her irrational mind not reminding her to think that she could fall and get hurt.

She hesitated again for a moment and pulled her foot back. Melanie became lightheaded. The young woman was no longer cold either. The struggle of the short walk had caused small beads of sweat on her face.

Impatience drove her on again. So feeling lightheaded, unable to see straight, and near exhaustion, she put her foot in front of her to step down.

"What are you doing?"

It was a deep male voice. Melanie turned her head weakly and looked toward the sound. She couldn't get her eyes to focus on the blurry figure.

Colonel Tavington had entered the hallway to retrieve some papers from his quarters. He was stunned to see Miss Prescott out of her room. He was even more alarmed when he realized she was standing at the top of the stairway. He thought her in no condition to walk alone and had a feeling she'd have a disastrous trip down them, falling fast all the way.

She was a sorry sight, clinging to the wall for support and looking lost and exhausted. Though, she looked pretty to him, helpless there in her nightgown, and somewhat disheveled and tired.

He leapt to where she stood and slipped his arm about her waist. The Colonel held onto her securely so she wouldn't stumble down the stairwell.

"Miss Prescott," he began, "what are you doing out here?"

"I'm going home," she declared hoarsely. She tried to take a step, but her body was turned at an odd angle, her legs still in the stairwell and her upper body turned slightly into the hallway. Her body was pressed tightly against the Colonel's, steadying it and preventing her from moving.

As William looked at her, she seemed confused. Her eyelids were heavy and her color as white as her nightdress. The officer could tell that she wasn't in a rational state of mind, yet her trip into the hallway told him she had been trying to think clearly.

"Oh, no you're not!" Tavington answered her declaration. He bent down and hooked his other arm under her knees and gently lifted her up, careful not to hurt her fragile and healing body further.

William started to walk softly back to her room, glad to get her away from that stairway and to the safety of her bed. "You're too weak to make the journey; you can't even walk!"

As he entered the room, he looked down at Melanie, who had tears in her eyes. As he neared the bed, she feebly protested.

"I want to see my parents!"

Tavington sighed as he placed her back in bed. He pulled the covers up around her neck, then sat on the side of the bed near her.

"Shhhhhhh. I know you do," he soothed. "Don't cry."

With that, he reached down and wiped her tears away with his fingers. "You need to conserve every wee bit of strength you have left to get well. Don't waste it on tears."

The Colonel felt her forehead as she whimpered. "I think you've a bit of a fever." He stretched over to the night table and wrung out a wet linen pulled from the wash basin. He folded it into a compress and placed it on her forehead, letting the bottom of it cover her eyes.

"There now," said Will.

"But Colonel," she protested through her tears.

"Shhhh. Just rest."

William sat quietly for a moment watching her settle down, her chest rising in a jerk every so often, drawing in a breath for lingering sobs. He hoped she would fall asleep. He figured she had probably worn herself out anyway.

Poor girl, he thought.

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A few more days had passed since Melanie's first trip out into the hallway. She felt a little bit better, regaining some of her strength. Her pain was diminishing little by little. And she could now walk about the small room on her own, though it still made her tired.

Even with her small bits of progress, she wasn't happy. She was restless and frustrated. Melanie still hadn't seen or heard anything from anyone in her family. Everyone taking care of her could not answer her questions. In fact, she felt like some of the officers were evading her queries about her home and parents.

Her mind wondered about the situation and she knew something wasn't right. Maybe, for some reason, they weren't allowing the family into the fort to see her? Or maybe they had been quarantined with some illness? Melanie also suspected that they may be imprisoned somewhere.

Miss Prescott grew tired of speculating and decided to get some answers. So, she thought she'd go to the highest source to get the answers about her family. She would go visit Lord General Cornwallis. After all, he had known her father, and surely he could answer her questions.

The young woman put her robe on and left her room, still moving slow and stiffly. She knew it wasn't altogether appropriate to visit the Lord General in her robe, but she knew he'd understand why his guest wasn't properly dressed.

Melanie walked slowly down the hall. Her steps were calculated and careful, wanting to make sure her footing and gate remained stable. She took her time, pacing herself so as not to tire before she could reach Cornwallis' office—even though she had no idea where it was. She leaned lightly against the wall as she stepped, afraid she may become lightheaded and fall. The girl held her head up and fixed her eyes straight ahead, trying to fight off dizziness.

Soon, Miss Prescott had reached the end of the hallway. As she turned the corner, she hesitated for a moment as she found herself at the top of a stairway. She was unsure about going down the steps. After drawing in a deep breath, she steadied herself, clutched the railing, and took a step down.

Melanie winced as the action shook her ever so slightly and made her wounds ache. But, the hurt passed as quickly as it came, so she continued on. She took her second step and drew in a sharp breath. Then, she reminded herself just to take her time moving down the steps. She hoped there wouldn't be another stairwell after this one.

Just after Melanie took her third step, she heard someone coming up the steps. She looked down and recognized the familiar red and green of a Dragoon. Her heart leapt, thinking he could assist her the rest of the way down and escort her to Lord Cornwallis.

The man lifted his head and looked up at her. At the same time, Melanie looked down and locked eyes with Major Bordon, the officer ascending the stairs. A stunned look crossed his face. His steps quickened as he moved up the steps to the girl.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed as her raced toward her. "What are you doing out here?"

In an instant he reached her. To him, she looked too tired and sick yet to be out on the stairway. He couldn't believe she had not fallen. After all, she had only just begun to move about her room on her own.

The Major gently took her elbow in his large hand, steadying her. Melanie answered his question.

"I'm going to see Lord Cornwallis," she replied. "I want to go home."

Bordon sighed and shook his head. He had figured that something like this might happen. He knew she missed her family and was getting restless. The officer wondered how much longer they could keep the truth of her family's horrible fate from her.

"Come on," said Alex as he turned her around to face up the stairs. "Let's get you back to your bed."

"But, Major," she protested, seeming confused as to his actions. "Would you please escort me to the General?"

"Not now, Miss Prescott," Major Bordon replied. He took her right arm over his shoulders and slipped his left arm around her waist. His right hand reached up and found her hand resting on his shoulder. He then clasped her hand securely as his other arm held her body tightly.

He spoke as he helped her back up the steps. "You need your rest. I'm sure he will speak with you later."

Before she knew it, they had reached the top of the landing again. The young woman realized he was taking her back to the room.

Melanie stopped, her body going rigid and holding Alex back from guiding her further. "Major Bordon, please! I need to find my parents." Her voice was weak and shaky.

"Come now, you're tired," he asserted, moving forward again, firmly guiding her back to her room.

Melanie's mind spun itself around. She was not going back to her room; she was determined to find either Cornwallis or her parents.

The girl stopped again. She tried to pull away from Major Bordon. His grip was firm, but not painful. He wouldn't let her go.

She tried to pull away from him yet another time. She winced as she did, the movement jarring her wounded body.

"I want to see my family!" Her voice had raised a little and was filled with panic.

The young woman tried a third time to get away from Bordon. Alex continued to hold her securely, but he was afraid she would hurt herself. And, although she was fighting him weakly, he feared she would run her energy down further.

Alexander quickly and gently as he could picked Miss Prescott up. He carried her back toward her room, holding her firmly against his chest.

"Put me down, Major!" Melanie cried. Her voice was slightly louder and strained. She struggled in his arms, trying to get back to the floor to stand.

The Major said nothing as he kept up his trek back to her quarters. Melanie wiggled in his grip, still, wanting to get away.

"I want to go home!" she pleaded, her voice breaking. She was near tears. "Put me down!"

At the other end of the hallway, Colonel Tavington was sitting at the small desk in Bordon's room when he heard the commotion. He recognized the hoarse voice and raced to the door. He looked into the hallway and saw his second in command carrying Miss Prescott into her room. William left his chambers to see what was going on.

Inside the room, Melanie was weakly fighting Bordon still. The Major could feel her starting to wear down as he approached her bed.

Tavington entered the room to find Bordon holding the struggling girl. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I found her on the stairway. She was lucky not to have fallen," answered Bordon.

"Colonel!" she begged, "I want to see my family!"

Tavington watched her as she weakly fought to free herself. He knew she was not going to stop until she found her parents. This was the second time she had left her room to find them. He could tell that this wouldn't be the last.

The Colonel looked on as Alex Bordon placed the girl carefully back into her bed. She was still limply fighting Bordon, trying to wriggle out of the bed. Bordon held her there securely as Tavington stepped through the doorway and joined them in the room.

William knew that Miss Prescott missed her family desperately. He closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Let me go," she cried weakly. "I want to go home!" Melanie was wearing down quickly, yet still struggling against Bordon.

William neared the bed. "Miss Prescott, I know you wish to see your family but I am afraid that is not possible."

She stopped trying to fight Bordon and looked at the Colonel. He had her full attention.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because your home and plantation are now in the hands of His Majesty King George," Tavington answered. "Our army is now ensconced there."

"But my family? Aren't they still there?" she queried.

"No, they're not," the commander replied.

"Where are they?" Melanie asked in a frustrated tone. "Are they in a prison camp somewhere?"

"No," William said. Then he paused for an instant to find gentle words. Tavington dreaded this moment. He began slowly. "Miss, the attack of the rebels on your family was very savage."

Will stopped for a moment and looked at Melanie. He saw that she looked at him squarely, desperately seeking an answer. He continued.

"I am sorry to have to tell you this, but your family is gone. Your parents, your two brothers and your sister perished in the assault. You are the only survivor, and we almost lost you."

Miss Prescott sat stock still and stared straight at the Colonel. Her eyes were full of confusion and accusation. The two officers stayed quiet, allowing the news of the deaths to sink in.

Melanie was filled with disbelief. She heard what Tavington just told her, but her mind didn't seem to understand it. She couldn't believe he had the nerve to say that to her. This didn't seem right; her family couldn't be dead.

After another moment of thinking, she became angry that he would say such a thing to her. She had no idea what he was trying to get at.

With narrowed eyes, she broke the silence. "You're lying," she accused in a small, contemptuous voice.

Will sighed and shook his head. He looked down at the floor, then back up at her.

"I wish I was, Miss Prescott. But, I am not." He took yet another step closer to the bed.

Melanie became frustrated. She thought he was playing a game with her. After all, she didn't know these British officers well at all.

Heaving a sigh of frustration, she looked about the room, trying to shake herself out of the spell of his words. Disbelief and confusion ruled her still.

"No," she replied firmly. "I don't believe it. There's something else to this, something you're not telling me."

"I'm afraid there's not, Miss," Bordon assured her, speaking up for the first time in a few moments.

Melanie was dumbfounded. She tried to talk, but nothing came out. She shook her head again and looked at Bordon, hoping he would say something to contradict what they had just said. The poor girl just wanted to hear something—anything that would give her hope.

"This can't be," she repeated in confusion to Bordon. "I was just with them. Matthew was home and—"

"That was months ago," Tavington spoke up in a sympathetic tone. "You were unconscious for so long and recovering—"

"This isn't true!" Melanie interrupted. Her voice was fraught with desperation. Miss Prescott hesitated an instant, waiting for the two officers to say that it wasn't true.

When neither spoke up to confirm this after another agonizing minute, dread and realization began to press in on her. Her head began to spin as her heart beat hard in her chest. With a constricted throat, she felt as if she had to work hard to take her next breath.

Alex and William could both tell that she was in the midst of a mixture of shock, disbelief, and realization. They both wanted to help her with this, but felt badly about having to break this news to her. It was simply awful.

Miss Prescott stared blankly ahead for an instant. She then closed her eyes and shook her head, then blinked once again, as if trying to clear the fog out of her mind.

"No...this...this isn't..." she stammered, looking at Bordon again, with desperation clouding her pretty face.

He placed his hand on her forearm in a gesture of comfort. "They would have come to the fort by now to be with you, or we would have taken you back to them," Bordon stated in his deep, baritone voice.

Tavington spoke again. "Those rebel zealots slaughtered your family the same way they tried to kill you."

Melanie went numb and could no longer talk. She looked mute upon the faces of both officers.

"Miss, they were fleeing as we arrived," Bordon declared in a voice laced with empathy. "You were barely alive. We didn't think you'd make the ride back here to the fort."

Shock filtered through Melanie's being. Fright possessed her as she realized she would be all alone now with no family to guide, protect, or love her. Sorrow gripped her, causing words she had to say and questions she had to ask to stick in her throat. Tears choked her and blurred her eyes.

"Be assured that they were given a proper Christian burial," said Colonel Tavington. He knew that she probably wondered what happened to their bodies. Assurance that her family members' remains were handled with dignity and caring could help her in the grieving and healing process.

With this, everything collapsed around Melanie. She felt as though time stood still. Barely able to breathe or think, a shriek tore from her throat. The girl then doubled over on to the bed, crying hysterically.

Major Bordon stood up from the bed and next to his commander looking at the pitiful sight. Both officers were speechless as the continued to stand there, wringing their hands, not knowing what to do, say, or how to comfort the poor girl.

Soon, Miss Bridgett Kilpatrick dashed into the room when she heard the commotion. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph!", she exclaimed in her thick Irish brogue. "What have you done to her!" She put her arms around Melanie and began to rock her in an attempt to comfort the poor girl. The servant stared scornfully up at the two dragoons.

"She knows of her family, now," Tavington informed the servant.

Forgetting that she was talking to officers, she let loose with a tirade toward them. "Get out, the both of you, now! See what you've done! You've upset her enough for one day! Go now, before you disrupt her recovery anymore! I shall speak to General O'Hara about this!"

Tavington and Bordon, both brave officers and proud men, would have normally not let a woman—let alone an indentured servant—get away with talking to them like this. But, considering the sad situation and their inability to comfort the young woman at the moment, the two men firmly tucked their tails between their legs and slipped out of the room. They could still hear Miss Prescott's sorrowful wails as they closed the door behind them.