Chapter 30 Help For The Weary

Melanie awoke, moaning in pain. She wasn't sure where she was as she looked up at the tent canvas. Once the fog of sleep began to clear out of her mind, she remembered vividly being lashed. The pain then seemed to hit her full force and she began to weep.

The poor girl was frightened, not sure what other kind of torture was planned for her and wanted to leave. Through somewhat hazy vision, she noticed two people with her in the tent, gazing over her. Afraid now, thinking they were there to carry her off to more punishment, she began to flail. The movements of her body exacerbated the pain in her feet and legs.

She felt a hand touch her shoulder and she panicked. "Oh….Oh …no! No please!" she fought her arms cutting through the air, sobbing all the while.

Miss Prescott continued to fight. As she did, she felt two strong hands push her firmly, yet gently back down onto her bedroll. Exhaustion overcame her instantly making her give up, leaving her in a mess of tears.

"Calm down. Calm down. It's alright, girl," a gentle male voice said. "We're not going to hurt you. Rest back."

The young woman continued sobbing in her pain and confusion. As she did, she lifted her head enough to catch a glimpse of her feet. They were swollen and red, with the discoloration of bruising across the top of them. This made the pain seem worse, and caused her to cry hard again.

"Oh…no," she sobbed as she let her head drop back onto the pillow. She shook her head back and forth in disbelief at what she saw, still weeping. "Oh…no…no."

"The blows were hard, we could tell," the gentle man commented.

Melanie wondered who this kind man was in her tent trying to comfort her. Her voice was weak and breaking as she spoke. "Who……who are….."

"I'm Reverend Oliver from Pembroke," he introduced, "And this is Mrs. Nelson, one of the women in camp here. She's been helping me to take care of you."

"How long has it been since the……" Melanie questioned, her voice trailing off, not even wanting to state what she'd been through. "How long have I been out?"

"Nearly three days now," the minister answered. "You blacked out right after they flogged you. Since then you've been in and out, crying pitifully."

The preacher shifted positions a little as he reached forward to touch the young woman's forehead, wanting to discern if she had a fever or not. He continued speaking as he did. "We've kept you drugged with Valerian in your tea to help with your pain and keep you asleep so we could work on your feet."

"The damage?," asked Melanie as bravely as she could. She tried to prepare herself to hear the worst of news.

Mrs. Nelson joined the conversation as she put some dressings back into a leather bag. "Nothing permanent. The lashing split the skin, cut it deep, but not into the muscle. No broken bones. We cleaned the wounds with vinegar. They bled much. We've had poultices on to stop the bleeding, then arrest infection. We weren't able to close the wounds with stitches, so we brought the edges as close as we could then put adhesive plaster on there to protect it and coax the wound to close up as much as possible. I'm afraid it's going to leave some scars."

"How is the pain?," Reverend Oliver queried.

"Very great still," Melanie replied through tears and sniffles, "But not as bad as the first night. Mostly throbbing and searing heat."

"That will pass in a couple of days," the clergyman assured. "The ache will be more tolerable then. But about that time, we'll have to get you up walking a few steps to keep your feet from stiffening up and making things worse."

The girl groaned at the thought of walking, or even standing. She closed her eyes and sobbed again for a moment. When Melanie opened her eyes again, she saw Mrs. Nelson packing things up. The young woman panicked again, afraid to be left alone.

"Oh…no…no please don't go," she cried. "Don't leave me by myself. What if they come back for me?" Melanie tried to push herself up with her arms, but sank back down, feeling as if her own body weighed a ton. She had weakness from recovery to thank for that.

"Miss Prescott, they are not going to do anything else to you," the pastor reassured. "They punished your actions to teach a lesson, which they did sufficiently so. No, they are through with you, I'm confident."

Although she thought the man to be kindly, she wasn't very reassured, feeling that the rebel commanders weren't through with her yet. She heaved a sigh, hoping the minister was correct.

"I'll be back later with fresh dressings," said Mrs. Nelson rising to leave.

The injured girl lifted her head slightly, sniffled, and thanked Mrs. Nelson weakly.

Melanie put her head back down on the pillow, only now realizing that she had a splitting headache coupled with the pain of her lashing. The girl lifted her arm gingerly and rubbed her forehead.

"Here, take a drink," directed Oliver as he hooked his hand beneath her neck. He lifted her head gently, helping her to take a few sips of some hot tea.

"More medicine for you," he commented as she took another drink of the liquid. "The tea has Valerian and Chamomile in it, so you'll fall back to sleep here again soon."

Melanie watched the minister as he put the tea cup down. She reached for him, gripping his wrist weakly. "Why are you helping me? Don't you know who I am?," she asked. "I'm Brutal Bordon's mistress! A fallen woman taken up with a married officer."

Reverend Oliver looked down at her with a serious expression. "My daughter, when Jesus was here, He came for all, but in particular for the sinners. As a minister for Him now, who more should I take care of?"

His words, along with his actions of taking care of her, touched her heart, making her give in to tears again. She smiled up at the man. "I can give you no excuse."

"Miss Prescott, you don't owe me any explanation for I pass no judgment," he stated gently. " I've seen good Christians acting horribly amidst this war; My own flock doing things they would never do at home in a time of Peace. I believe the strain of war leads people to act extraordinarily—not always in the best sense of that word, either. I pray that it ends soon so that everyone can get back to the business of leading good Christian lives."

Melanie appreciated his comforting words. "Thank you, Reverend."

"Rest now and I'll be back later," he bid. "Good night, my child."

The girl watched him exit her tent, settling into her blankets as she did. A merciful sleep soon over took Melanie, making her world go black for yet another few hours.

*********************

Rex Culver brought his delivery wagon to a stop outside the kitchen building of Fort Carolina. He quickly dismounted and sought out a servant. Knocking on the door frame of the kitchen, he got the attention of Mrs. Nichols.

"Oh. Hello Mr. Culver," she called.

"Good day, Mrs. Nichols. I have a delivery."

"I'll get someone to help you unload," she said as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"Thanks," he bid, "But first I have a package for Major Bordon that he must sign for."

"Try the main house," the older woman advised.

As the deliveryman Culver turned the corner, he ran into the officer he was looking for. "Delivery for you, Major" he stated.

Alex smiled slyly, fairly sure there was no 'real' package for him, but only the delivery of information. Rex Culver was one of his informants.

Mr. Culver handed the box, wrapped to look like an ordinary package, to Bordon, giving him a blank piece of paper to sign so it would look to passersby as if he was accepting a delivery.

"Inside the box is a name and address of a pacifist family that has information," said the deliveryman in a low voice.

"Details," Alexander Bordon asked in a voice equally as low.

"In the pub last night," began Culver, "I overheard a conversation. This man's daughter saw something odd three days ago: a group of horseman with a blindfolded woman. I didn't hear much more than that."

"How old is the daughter," the officer asked.

"Eight or nine, I believe."

"Thank you," the major said. "I'll pay them a visit." He pressed a couple of Crowns into the deliveryman's hand.

Within thirty minutes, Alexander Bordon had gathered a small detachment of cavalry and departed the fort for Cascadia, a village an easy ride away. Once there they found the small home and meager farm of the Willis family.

Mr. and Mrs. Willis were shocked and alarmed to find uniformed dragoons on their doorstep. "What is it," the husband asked, immediately on defense. "We've done nothing wrong. We're pacifists."

"Yes, I know," Alex said cordially, wanting to allay their fears. He gave a quick look out to the fence line, not far from the house, at his men who were waiting there as directed by Bordon. He knew from past intelligence interrogations that the less uniformed men beating down a door, the more willing the occupant was to open it and speak freely.

"I need to speak with your daughter, please," he requested in a professional but friendly manner. "I understand she saw something quite unusual three days ago."

"Yes. That would be Elizabeth."

The mother disappeared quickly and returned just as fast after fetching the girl. She led her little daughter out to the porch. Bordon motioned for his men to remain there at the fence.

The small girl of seven stayed behind her mother, frightened somewhat by the uniformed officer. The mother gently pulled the girl by the hand out from behind her.

"It's alright, Lizzie," she coaxed. "The officer wants to ask you some questions. He won't hurt you. We'll be right here with you."

Elizabeth Willis stepped before Major Bordon timidly. He bowed deeply to her, as if to a woman before a dance, and she curtsied to him.

He then knelt down in front of her, a technique he favored when interrogating young children. Making himself smaller or lower in height to the child made him less threatening.

"Hello, Miss Willis," he greeted in a soft voice and smile. "I'm Major Bordon. It's nice to meet you."

"Thank you," the little girl said in a dainty voice. "Everyone calls me Lizzie."

"What a fine name," Bordon complimented. "How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Miss Lizzie, I'm told you saw something strange the other day."

"Yes," she answered simply with a nod of her head.

"A very nice lady's life may be in danger," he stated with a slight frown, wanting to convey some urgency to the little girl. "You could help her if you answer some questions about what you saw. You'd like to help her, wouldn't you?"

"Yes!"

"Pray, tell me what you remember," pleaded Bordon.

"I was in the field behind the house," little Lizzie began, "I saw some men on horses cut across the corner of it from one forest to the next. They had a woman on one of their horses. She was blindfolded. When I see horsemen, they're always on the road or a path. These men just galloped across the field and smashed Papa's crops."

"I see," the major acknowledged. He now knew that the group took backwoods and little used paths instead of the main roads. The officer moved on to his next question.

"Were they wearing uniforms?"

"No," replied the girl.

"How many were there," he continued on with his interrogation.

"Six or seven."

"You're doing very well, Miss Lizzie," he assured. "You said the woman was blindfolded. Was she yelling for help?"

"No," young Miss Willis answered. "Something was around her mouth."

"What color dress was she wearing?"

"Green. Light green."

"How about her hair," the officer continued. "What color was it? Did she wear it up or down?"

"It was blonde," the girl replied. "She wore it long and curly."

Bordon nodded his head, affirming the girl was answering well. Her description was that of Melanie Prescott. Alexander was relieved, yet worried at this confirmation.

The officer continued on. "Did the men say anything?"

"No."

"Did they see you?"

"I don't think so," little Miss Willis answered.

"How fast were they going," asked Major Bordon.

"At a run."

"Would you please show me where you saw them at?" the officer requested.

Lizzie nodded 'yes'. With that, she took her mother's hand and led her parents, with the officer in tow behind them, out to the back of the field. Once there, she dropped her mama's hand and took a few steps forward.

"They came out here," she began pointing to the woods, "cut across here, then ran into those woods there." The girl swept her arm across, pointing out the direction the group of horsemen took.

Alex was granted permission by Mr. Willis to survey the area. The officer quickly swept over the trampled crops and went partially into both sets of woods examining the narrow paths for clues. He found none. When he concluded, the family escorted the major back to the front yard.

Major Bordon bowed again to the little girl. "Thank you, Miss Lizzie. You've done a great service for the kidnapped woman." He bid farewell to the family then took his leave of them.

The dragoon aide-de-camp stayed silent as he rode back to the fort, processing the information he'd just learned. At least now he knew a general direction and types of paths the marauders took. But his worst fear had been confirmed: the rebels were the ones that had Melanie Prescott.

Once back at Fort Carolina, Alex Bordon went back over the mental notes he had made from his interrogation of young Miss Willis. He hoped some minor detail he missed would jump out at him. The officer wanted greatly for the few pieces of this puzzle to come together and form the large picture with the answer. The equation was not complete—something was always missing from this circumstance that prevented him from arriving at an answer.

Alex stood just outside the open gate of the fort, staring at the horizon. Melanie's disappearance vexed the poor officer, giving him a headache. The man continued to try and figure things out as he rubbed his forehead with his thumb and fingers. He didn't understand. Aside from the day's tantalizing clue which revealed little more than a confirmation that Melanie had indeed been kidnapped by rebels, he'd heard nothing else of her whereabouts. It was unusual that the rebels were this tight lipped. Usually someone became scared early on and blabbed.

Bordon once again scanned the distance, as if he might see something or someone there. Feeling defeated and tired, the officer let out a heavy sigh and said, "Oh, Melanie. Where are you?"