Chapter 18 Taking a Stand

Early the next evening, Miss Prescott's confidant, the house servant Bridgett, had finally returned from her journey to Charles Towne with two of the General's wives. Melanie, still distraught from her latest humiliation by Major Bordon, feigned a happy face at her friend's return. She could barely muster the slightest twinkle in her eye or a smile at the beautiful things the General's wives brought back with them while all the other ladies of the house marveled aloud over them.

Early the next afternoon following the evening of Miss Kilpatrick's return, Melanie sat alone in her room staring blankly at the walls. The girl kept to her quarters as much as possible, afraid to encounter Major Bordon.

A playful knock at the door startled her. She looked up to see Bridget rushing through the door, her arms full.

The Irish servant and friend dropped four bolts of fine material onto Miss Prescott's bed.

"Where were you this morning? You were missed at breakfast," Bridget commented as she arranged the material neatly at the edge of the bed.

"Um…I didn't sleep well last night," Melanie answered flatly. "I slept late this morning."

Bridget bubbled with excitement. "Hurry over here, Melanie," she called, "and help me choose some dress patterns!"

Melanie Prescott pushed herself up out of the chair with much effort. She dragged her feet as she crossed the room to her bed. There, she looked down at the pretty cloth, reaching out to finger the material. Looking down at her friend who was already pouring over dress patterns she'd quickly spread about the floor, Melanie simply walked dully over to the window. The girl plopped down on the window seat, and glanced forlornly out the window. She felt badly that she wasn't as thrilled over the fabric as her friend was. Her mind was elsewhere, occupied with distress.

The cloth was a gift from General Cornwallis. He'd given Miss Kilpatrick money to buy material for two new dresses and a ball gown for Miss Prescott. The Lord General had even been so generous as to tell Bridget to use any money left over to buy a bolt of material for a dress for herself. She'd had enough left to do so, and she was thrilled to have fabric for a fine casual dress.

Bridget called again to her friend. "Melanie, look at this!" she said standing up. The Irish girl stretched the material across the front of her body, draping the light blue cloth over her shoulder as if to model it. "Isn't this lovely? Can you imagine it? It will be the finest dress I've ever had!"

"It's pretty," Melanie replied in a soft voice with no enthusiasm. The young lady forced a quick smile at her happy friend. Then she sighed, and looked down at the floor.

The Irish servant girl dropped the imaginary dress she modeled, folding it haphazardly in a pile on the bed. "What's wrong, girl?" she asked, clearly disappointed that her Carolinian friend wasn't as excited about the prospect of new dresses as she was.

"Nothing," Melanie lied. "I just…..I…I….haven't felt well lately."

Bridget walked over to the window seat and sat down next to her friend. "You don't look sick," she said, reaching out to touch Miss Prescott's forehead, checking for a fever. "You're not feverish. Your cheeks aren't flushed."

Melanie gently pushed Bridget's hand away, and shook her head, brushing her confidant's worry away. "No…no…..not too sick."

"You're not pale," Bridget observed. "You look haggard. Maybe more tired than you do sickly."

Melanie said nothing and looked away. She felt Bridget take her hand as she stood up. Miss Prescott stayed seated, not wishing to leave her room.

"Come on, Miss," urged Bridget. "No wonder you feel poorly—you missed breakfast this morning. You must be famished. Let's go get some lunch. We can take it outside and eat. It's a nice day. You'll feel better after you've eaten. Then we can work on these dresses this afternoon!"

"No….no," Melanie refused pulling her hand out of Bridget's. "I'm not hungry."

"But you hardly ate a thing at dinner last night," Miss Kilpatrick pointed out. "And you were so quiet at supper. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," Melanie stammered, "I…..I just…..don't feel like leaving my room today."

Bridget stood looking down at her friend, slightly irritated. She knew Melanie well enough to know that something wasn't right. The Irish lady put her hands on her hips, sighed, and cocked her head to the side.

"Melanie," she cajoled, "I can tell that something's not right."

Miss Prescott swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She wanted desperately to confide in her friend, but was afraid and embarrassed. The young lady looked out the window, as if trying to hide her expression from her friend.

In the hesitant quiet of the room, Bridget sat down again on the bench. She decided not to speak, waiting patiently for Miss Prescott to answer. After another moment of silence, Melanie spoke.

"Something happened," the young lady confessed. She looked away from the servant, not wanting to reveal the painful secret.

"While I was away," asked the Irish girl.

Melanie nodded 'yes'.

"What," Bridget asked with concern. "You can tell me."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Melanie covered her mouth with her hand. Confused, she couldn't decide if she should tell Bridget or not. She was still very frightened of retribution at the hands of the Major.

"I can't," Melanie answered, her voice breaking. "I'll get into trouble."

"You know I won't tell anyone," Bridget coaxed.

Torn between emotions and fright, Melanie was ready to explode inside. After another moment of the torture in her mind, she could no longer hold back. She took a deep breath, and her shoulders and head slumped forward, as if conceding defeat.

Bridget could see that Melanie was ready to surrender something very private—a deeply painful secret. She took her friend's hand in hers, holding it softly as if to reassure the young Colonial woman.

"I was raped," Melanie revealed in a whisper.

"What," Bridget gasped in disbelief. She squeezed Melanie's hand. "By who?"

"I can't say."

"Melanie, you have to tell me," urged Miss Kilpatrick. "You can't let the rogue get away with it."

"He'll hurt me," Melanie whined.

"No he won't," Bridget coaxed. "Not if you tell the Lord General. This man should be punished for what he did to you."

Melanie fought back sobs. "He'll know it was me. No one witnessed it. It is his word against mine, so he'll know that I told."

Bridget pulled Melanie to her and held her. She let her friend cry as she comforted her.

Still clinging to Bridget, Melanie cried helplessly. "Oh, Bridget, please promise me you won't tell anyone."

"I won't," she vowed.

Weeping, Melanie revealed her fears to her confessor. "Bridget, oh God….he stole my virtue. Now no man will ever want to marry me."

"Oh, Melanie, that's not true," comforted Bridget. "Men marry women that aren't virgins every day."

"But don't they prefer unspoiled ladies?"

"No, of course not," Bridget consoled. "Most men are just happy to have a good wife. Especially if a man falls in love with you, then that will matter little to him."

After another moment, Melanie pulled back from her friend. She wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks with her fingers. Still sniffling, Miss Prescott composed herself and looked out the window like a lost child.

"Well, if you can't tell me who ravished you," asked the servant, "then at least tell me when and where it happened."

The Colonial girl took a deep breath, then exhaled, steadying herself to reveal the details. "It happened in camp one night after returning from being shown off to one of our Generals."

Bridget said nothing, picturing a British camp and seeing Melanie being dragged away into the woods. She stayed quiet pondering her friend's revelation. The Irish girl opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted .

"And also here in the fort," Melanie blurted out.

"Twice?" asked an astonished Bridget. For a moment, she could not speak, too shocked at her friend's words. She could only watch mutely as Melanie shook her head to confirm what she'd said."By the same man?"

"Yes," Melanie confirmed.

Silent again, Bridget thought about all that her friend just told her. She came to the assumption that it was one of the Redcoats here at the fort. Her suspicions settled on His Majesty's Legion, since Melanie was taken often by them on General Cornwallis' little exploitation jaunts. They were almost always charged with her care and protection.

Speaking cautiously, Bridget wanted this confirmed just for her own satisfaction. She wanted to see if she could come up with a suspect on her own. Certainly the man would have boasted of his conquest. Maybe she would be lucky and hear some of the fort's gossip, and could then talk with Melanie. Hopefully, if she could confront her Carolinian friend with the name, then maybe the girl would consent to going with her to the Generals to expose this horrific crime.

"Melanie," Bridget began slowly, "it was a Dragoon, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Miss Prescott whispered in defeat, knowing she could not lie to her friend, especially after having surmised it.

Bridget probed carefully. "Was it one of the men, or one of the officers?"

Melanie nodded her head in silent refusal.

"Which unit was it," Bridget again queried, attempting to reveal just a tad more information from her friend. "Was it Colonel Tavington's? What about Tarleton's or—"

"I can't say," Melanie interrupted. "Please, Bridget, just don't try to make me tell you. I'm afraid of him. He'll hurt me!" Looking into her confidant's eyes, her own revealed that she was truly frightened of her assailant.

"Alright," assured Bridget. "Do you think he'll come after you yet again?"

"I don't know," Melanie said as she laid her head on Bridget's shoulder, "I hope not. I have been trying to avoid him. I just keep close to my room here so that I don't find myself alone with him and try to avoid anything awkward. I am praying that his twisted fancy for me will pass."

Bridget was quiet, feeling quite helpless as she put her arm around her friend's shoulder to comfort her. She wished she could do something to help Miss Prescott.

"Oh Bridget," Melanie said softly, "what if I'm carrying his child?"

"It's alright, Melanie," Bridget soothed, "Hopefully, it didn't happen either of those first two times. Watch your flux carefully over the next two or three months to make sure it happens. And pray that it didn't. Surely the Lord Almighty wouldn't curse you with your rapist's child. He is a just and forgiving God. Be strong girl, and pray."

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A few days after Miss Kilpatrick had returned from Charles Towne, Melanie began to overcome her fear and started leaving her room again, usually in Bridget's presence. The servant knew her friend was still very afraid to venture out of her room, considering what had happened to her recently at the hands of a Dragoon.

One particular afternoon, Melanie had been allowed to leave the fort with Miss Kilpatrick and a few of the other servants. Miss Prescott had heard Bridget lamenting over how behind the servants had become with laundry and other chores, so she volunteered to help the servants with some of their duties, just to have a bit of time beyond the confines of the fort's walls—though the group would be accompanied by guards from the fort.

Outside the fort in a patch of nearby woods, some of the servants, including Miss Kilpatrick, knelt next to the stream, trying to get caught up on the mountains of laundry they had to wash. Melanie was busy out of Bridget's sight behind some bushes picking raspberries and blackberries for the cooks. Her basket was half full of each, one side for each of the berries, separated by a divider.

As she continued to collect the fruit, Melanie heard the footfalls of boots behind her. Now keenly aware of and distrustful every time a Redcoat approached her, she whirled around quickly, apprehensive. A young private, one of the regular sentries, passed by her and nodded his head at her.

"Good day, Miss," he said with a smile.

Relieved that it wasn't a dragoon, she breathed a small sigh and smiled back. "And the same to you, Sir," she replied. Then she turned back to the task at hand.

After a few moments, Miss Prescott gasped as she heard the sound of horses thundering into the glade. Not many of them, she judged by the sound, but she suspected who was on the horses. She leaned backwards, peering around a bush and looked toward the stream. She saw the tell tale red and green of the dragoons. Not wanting to be seen by any of them, but not looking closely to see if Major Bordon was with them, she pushed herself back into a nearby thicket, hiding herself from them. Even if Bordon wasn't with them, she was afraid they would send her back to the fort, not being able to trust her.

She stayed discreetly amidst the wild shrubs, hoping her presence there with the servants would not be discovered. In the next few seconds she heard the familiar voice of Colonel Tarleton commanding the guards to carry on. When she soon heard the horses ride off, she wedged herself out of the thicket and began gathering the berries again.

Nearly as soon as she had begun, the scent of raspberry was soon covered by the strong fragrance of magnolias, a flower that Melanie loved. She looked up, trying to spot the tree.

In an instant, Miss Prescott set her gathering basket down on the ground beside the berry bushes, and followed the breeze toward the strong scent. The young lady soon found the tree, which was covered with many fresh blooms. The girl wanted some of them for her room.

The lowest branches of the tree were within her reach, so Melanie had only to stretch a short way to pick one of the flowers. She began to hum absently as she looked the tree over, as if a judge looking for prize blooms. Miss Prescott was studying the tree so intently that she didn't hear the footsteps creep up behind her. The girl was oblivious to the fact that she was no longer alone.

"Found your way out of the fort again," asked a man's deep voice.

Melanie gasped at the voice, instantly recognizing it as belonging to Major Bordon. She spun instantly around to face him, pressing her back against the tree trunk to steady herself. The flowers dropped to the ground landing limply at her feet.

Suddenly and without warning, the Major bent down and stole a kiss from the young woman. Aghast, but reacting instantly to the officer's rude advance, slapping him hard him across the face.

A stunned Bordon stared down at her. He narrowed his eyes and proclaimed, "That was not wise."

"Do not think you can make advances to me whenever you please," she declared bravely, her stare mirroring that of the officer's.

"I will do as I please," Bordon asserted in a firm voice.

"Leave me alone," she defied.

The Major leaned down to try to kiss her again. Melanie could hardly believe the officer was pressing his luck by advancing himself on her yet again. Miss Prescott swung again yet to slap the man, but he caught her wrist instead. He squeezed it tightly within his grip and pushed her back against the tree hard. The young woman struggled to pull her wrist out of his grasp.

"You are in no position to tell me anything," he laughed as he leaned into her yet a third time for another kiss.

Melanie struggled still and turned her head away from the man. "You've stolen my virtue—isn't that enough?"

"May I remind you that you are a prisoner here and as such, you will do what you are asked to do."

"I am never asked to do anything!" she retorted.

The Major glared at her.

Melanie continued to stand up for herself to the officer. " I won't let you take advantage of me anymore. Do not order me around!".

There was an ominous silence as Bordon studied the woman. "Your tongue has become sharp. Perhaps a little discipline will dull that razor edge." With that, Bordon reached behind him and pulled his riding crop out of the back of his belt. Melanie's mouth dropped open.

Alex Bordon slapped the crop against his gloved palm in a threatening gesture, then suddenly struck the tree trunk just to the side of her head with it. The blow came very close to where Miss Prescott stood, causing her to jump.

Melanie was too stunned and afraid to say anything. She trembled when he put the tip of the crop against her face.

"Do not force me to use brutality, Miss Prescott," he warned.

Melanie became aware of her labored breathing. As the officer towered over her, memories of what the man had done to her flashed across her mind. She remembered how he forced himself on her in his tent while out on patrol. The girl recalled how she was made to bare her breasts in front of him and how humiliating that was. This stewed inside her a moment, conquering the fear of the instrument held to her face.

Bravely, the young lady brought her hand up and pushed the crop away from her. She then said defiantly, " I am not afraid of you. If you want to break me, then have at it! I've got nothing to live for, anyway! I've lost my family, my home, my virtue, and now my dignity. I hate living as a prisoner. But sir, I warn you, do not ever approach me again with those intentions. I will no longer submit to being your whore."

Instantly infuriated, Alex slapped her with his gloved hand. Melanie gasped in surprise and pain, bringing her hand up to her stinging cheek.

Tears welled up in Melanie's eyes, which she fought desperately to hold back. Her cheek was hot from his strike, and her face flushed in embarrassment. She then put her hand down and looked away from the Major.

Bordon reached out to touch her face, red with a fresh swelling. She flinched as he touched her sore cheek.

"Let me remind you who you are speaking with," Bordon warned "Prisoners do not address officers in that manner."

There was an awkward silence as the girl stared pitifully up at the Major.

Alex pursed his lips, then raised his eyebrows. "Have you no more words of defiance for me, Miss?", he taunted. Then he smiled evilly down at her. "I like you best when you are this way," teased Bordon. He then lowered his head and brought his face close to hers and continued in a whisper, "quiet and submissive."

Major Bordon nudged his breeches down slightly, enough to free his rigid manhood. He then threw the young woman's skirts up to her waist and moved his body against hers. Still holding his riding crop, he put his hands under the girl's bottom and lifted her up slightly, bent his own knees, then impaled the girl upon his erection.

"Wrap your legs around me," he said as he began to take her against the tree. "It will be easier on you."

Melanie was appalled at his request, crying as it was happening again.

"No, I won't," she resisted through sobs.

With that, the officer brought his riding crop down hard against the side of her exposed left thigh.

Feeling the pain of the sting, Miss Prescott whimpered, surprised at just how badly it hurt.

"Do it now," he ordered through clinched teeth. "Or I'll hit you harder the next time."

Melanie immediately complied, bringing both her legs up and locking them around the officer's waist.

Her back scraped against the tree every time he thrust into her. Gravity seemed to force her down upon his erection. Never having had a man in this position before, he seemed to bore so deeply into her that it hurt.

"Oh, stop," she cried, "it hurts."

The major transferred the crop from his right hand to his left behind his back.

Suddenly, Melanie felt the riding crop meet the underside of her exposed right thigh in a hard snap. The burn and the sting of it made her cry out again.

"Don't make me use the crop again," he said through groans and pants.

She closed her eyes and bore his invasion as best he could, crying quietly. In another moment, he was spent and the girl found herself pushing her skirts back down as Major Bordon tugged his breeches back up.

Right after that, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the glade. "Private," he called to one of the dragoon privates that had stayed behind with Bordon. "Bind her and take her back to the fort. She is to remain confined the rest of the day. I will deal with her later when I return to the fort", Alex said as he handed her over to the private. He then whispered more directions to another dragoon that stood nearby. The private pulled a bound Melanie up onto his horse and rode toward the fort. Melanie said nothing, sitting quietly on the horse, humiliated again.

Bordon laughed as he watched the pair ride away. He then picked up her basket of berries and carried them toward the creek to give it to one of the other servants. Alex sampled a couple of the ripe berries as he sauntered toward the others.