Chapter 43 At Home Again

Melanie sighed and closed her eyes as she folded the letter she'd just received from Bridget Kilpatrick. News from her Irish servant friend always made her think of the fort and remember life there. The girl rested back in the reading chair in her room, her friend's letter still in her hand. Her thoughts drifted back in time to the second attempted journey home. Had she really been home for six weeks now, she asked herself; the time had gone so quickly.

She recalled the morning she left, only days after Alex died. The girl had arisen early that morning to place flowers on Alexander Bordon's grave. She sat quietly there, alternately sobbing over him and whispering her love for him, asking how she would carry on. Her grieving had been disturbed only by Colonel Tavington, fetching her to join the detachment that was ready to depart. She remembered how she took his arm as he escorted her to the wagons, how they hugged, and that he said that he hoped they would meet again sometime. She smiled as she looked back at him a last time, where he gave her a simple wave and turned to walk away.

The journey back to her plantation had been uneventful. The young woman was put into a medical convoy of wagons full of stabilized wounded being sent to her farm to finish recovery there. Melanie had learned that her home had become a sort of long term recovery and rehabilitation infirmary. After the men had been operated on at the field and camp hospitals and were well enough to travel, they sent them to the Prescott farm.

Upon returning home, Miss Prescott had been delighted to find her house, outbuildings and lands in excellent condition, nearly as father had left them on the day he was killed. This was just as Lord Cornwallis had promised. Melanie was surprised to find that not one single piece of her mother's good china had been broken—not even a crack or a chip. She was happy to find the same slaves and indentureds still there, and relieved to find that they had been treated kindly as her family always did, much to the insistence of her faithful overseer. Yes—Mr. Andrews was still there, running the farm. And Mrs. Sloane, the head of the house servants, was overjoyed to see the girl, now the new plantation mistress.

The loyal servants filled Melanie in on all the happenings there over the last two years and showed her the 'new' daily routine of the plantation—running it plus dealing with the British and a hospital. She quickly dropped into the daily duties of running the farm business and helping with the wounded.

Whenever Melanie had a quiet moment here or there, she'd steel out to the cemetery to visit her family's graves. She marveled at how it had grown greatly and now included dead soldiers from the hospital. The girl would maintain all the graves, weeding them and decorating with flowers. She'd murmur to her dead family of how things had changed and how she missed them.

And then there were the nights—long and lonely. During her months at Fort Carolina, Melanie had grown accustomed to having Alex next to her in bed most nights. Now with him gone, she had to adjust to sleeping alone in her own home again. She cried herself to sleep every night, longing for him and missing him so. The young woman had been given a lock of his hair which had been cut at the behest of ColonelTavington: one for her and one to send back to Bordon's family in England. She often clutched the cinnamon colored hair and smelled his scent upon it, making her cry even harder. The was just now getting to the point where she could have a passing thought or slight mention of the man during the day without dissolving into tears.

Now as she slumped back in her chair, the letter made her think of the fort. Thinking of Fort Carolina inevitably reminded her of Alex. At the first flash of his face in her mind, she opened her eyes and willed herself not to cry. Instead, she stood up, laid the letter on her bureau, and left her room, all the time telling herself to be strong.

She descended the stairway and sought out her two main servants, Mrs. Sloane and Mr. Andrews. Once downstairs, she summoned the two into the parlor. "I have some news for you both," Melanie said with a smile. "Whenever this war is over, or whenever Captain Wilkins is released from service, whichever comes first, we will resume business with him."

"That's good to hear since the Wilkins' winery and brewery is our biggest customer," Andrews remarked.

"Practically a partner in business, as I recall your father's regarding of them", Mrs. Sloane remembered aloud.

"Yes," Miss Prescott echoed. "And I've learned that the captain is now married."

"The most eligible, and certainly one of the wealthiest bachelors in this area now taken?"

"My, my, the lady who caught him is certainly a lucky one, and so handsome," commented the housekeeper. "And who is this lady? Someone local that we know? I hadn't heard any gossip of such."

"No. No," replied Melanie. "He married an Irish girl. They met at Fort Carolina. Indeed, she was employed there in the main house and nursed me back to health when they took me there. Her name is Bridget. She and I became great friends and I'll be happy to have her close again."

"When may we expect to see him and his new bride?" Mrs. Sloane asked.

"I don't know. Soon hopefully. They were only just married," answered Melanie.

With that, a young slave boy came running into the house. "Miss Prescott! Miss Prescott!"

"Yes, Jonas."

"Wagons are coming up the lane, with horses and soldiers."

"Thank you, young sir," she said to the little boy.

Melanie sighed as she turned to her housekeeper. "More wounded. I don't know where we are going to put them all. I hope they sent another large tent—the buildings are full!" With that, the two women and Mr. Andrews hurried out of the house to meet the wagons.

Upon surveying the wagons of wounded, Miss Prescott was glad to find that there weren't as many injured men as she'd guessed there would be. As the soldiers unloaded the wounded, a flash of bold red caught Melanie's eye. She turned her head to look again and noticed a red and green jacket laid across a litter. The girl walked a little closer and could tell it was a dragoon jacket, but due to the men around the litter, could not see the face of the patient. She pushed gently past the men, curious to see if she knew this cavalryman. Looking down, her eyes rounded and her mouth dropped open when she recognized the face of Colonel Tavington

"Colonel? Colonel?" she said as she gently touched his shoulder. His eyes were shut.

"He fainted a few miles back," a young orderly spoke up. "He's badly hurt, but the surgeon deemed him fit enough to make the journey here. Poor man. He groaned most of the way until he blacked out. Lord have mercy."

Melanie was worried. "What happened? A battle? When? Where?"

"Yes, battle wounds," the medic answered. "Don't know where the battle was. I think he's been in the camp hospital for nearly a month."

"Please, take him to the house," Miss Prescott requested.

"Miss?" questioned Mr. Andrews, raising a cautionary eye.

"It's alright," the girl answered. "I know him….from the fort. I want him in the house. He can have my bedroom."

"Miss, begging your pardon," Mrs. Sloane objected. They, too, had heard the rumors that their own plantation mistress had become the concubine of an officer at Fort Carolina. They wondered if this was the man.

"No, I assure you, this is innocent," Melanie assuaged. "When the dragoons took me back to the fort, this officer gave up his quarters in the main house so that I would not have to be the only woman in a tent full of injured men. I recovered in his room for months. And now, I gladly give up my room and bed for him. I'll move into the small nursery next to my room."

"Very well, miss." With that, the colonel was carried into the house and quartered for his recovery in Miss Prescott's bedroom. Melanie, having grown to love her time at the fort, fell in love with Alex, and developed a fondness for her rescuers, was bound and determined to return the same kindness to Colonel Tavington. Even though she had been disgusted with him sometimes for his 'war tactics', she always reminded herself that if it weren't for his legion coming along when her family was being attacked, she wouldn't be alive.

For the remainder of the evening the Melanie remained at his bedside as he moved in and out of consciousness. She gratefully received the doctor that came in to see him.

"The notes that came with this man said he was injured in a battle up in the piedmont near the North Carolina territory," the surgeon said as he looked at the unconscious officer. "Thrown from his horse, got a bullet in the left arm, and took two bayonet stabs to the neck and the belly."

With that, he lifted the sheet to examine his patient. Melanie and the doctor together carefully eased William's shirt off his body and over his head. "This man's lucky," the doctor remarked as he looked over the colonel.

"This belly wound," he said as he swept his hand over the officer's middle, "could have been worse. It's deep, but into this large muscle group here. Missed his vital organs."

Melanie drew in a short breath as she looked at the angry red wound, stitched and swollen. She noted that the dressing needed to be changed soon and would probably do well with some kind of poultice.

The doctor pulled the sheet back up to Tavington's chest and removed the bandage from the injured man's neck. "Look how far off to the side of his neck this stab wound is," the doctor directed, pointing at William's throat. "It missed his voice box, airway, and a large artery, again puncturing a muscle and a bit of soft tissue on the side here. Just another inch this direction….."

Wincing aloud at the sight of the wound, Melanie spoke now, asking about the wounds and how to treat them. She committed quickly to memory the recipe for the poultices needed as requested by the doctor, thanked him, then bid farewell to him. The young woman ran quickly from the room to start gathering the ingredients and supplies to treat the dragoon commander.

Within the hour, Miss Prescott returned to dress the colonel's wounds. As she did, she couldn't help but note how good of physical condition the officer was in, which would no doubt help in his recovery. The girl gazed at his lean and hard abdomen, then up at his muscular shoulders and upper arms. She snapped herself quickly back to order when she realized she was staring at his bare torso, and went to work on treating his wounds.

It was late into the evening as Melanie sat wearily with Colonel Tavington. It had been hours since he'd arrived and she'd redressed his wounds, and still the officer hadn't regained consciousness. The young woman rose to leave, heading to the small nursery next door, which was her new room for the next few weeks.

As she neared the doorway, she heard a faint groan come from Tavington. She smiled and walked back to his bedside. He moved his head on the pillow a little and moaned louder.

Melanie breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down next to the bed.

She took his hand in one of hers then stroked his forehead and smoothed his hair back with the other one. "Colonel? Colonel Tavington?" she addressed him softly.

The cavalryman groaned again as his eyes fluttered open. "Miss Prescott?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Yes—it's me," she answered quietly. She took his hand again. "I'm glad to see you."

"Where am I?" asked Tavington, obviously confused.

"You're at my farm," Melanie replied. "They brought you here to finish your recovery."

She reached for the wet linen from the basin nearby and sponged his face and forehead. "The medic told me you had a rough ride here," the young woman remarked. "You fainted in the wagon."

"I just remember that the jarring was horrid," he commented in a weak voice. "I think the driver picked the bumpiest path here. The pain was terrible."

"You were out still when you arrived, and have been until now. I was worried about you." She put the rag back in the bowl. "Are you hungry?"

"No. I feel sick," William answered. "But I'm thirsty."

Miss Prescott reached for her own cup of tea, which was lukewarm. The girl slipped her hand under his neck carefully, minding his awful wound there, and gingerly lifted his head. The officer took a couple of sips, then closed his eyes and sighed as his nurse let his head sink back into the pillow.

Colonel Tavington moved his hand across the sheets down by his side and found Miss Prescott's hand. He took it and gripped it tightly, surprising Melanie at how much strength he possessed even while recovering from severe injuries.

"Will you sit with me for a few minutes?"

The dragoon commander had no idea that the young woman had been at his bedside most of the evening. And even though Miss Prescott was tired, she was happy to oblige. To her, his request was a simple one as she remembered how kind it was for some of the dragoon officers to relieve Miss Kilpatrick while Melanie was recovering and took the time to sit with her.

"Yes," she said sweetly, smiling at him. "The doctor tells me you are a lucky man. The bayonet missed vital arteries and organs, and the bullet didn't break your arm."

"Yes," he acknowledged, "but he tells me I won't be doing any cavalry riding or fighting for awhile. He said I'll be lucky to be back on a horse for short periods by summer."

"Colonel, do you remember anything about the battle? We don't get a lot of news here; just rumors from neighbors and villagers and whatever word the soldiers bring in."

"It was in the piedmont," the officer began. "Near the Broad River, almost into the North Carolina territory. There was a meadow where livestock was penned sometimes."

His hand slipped out of hers as he recounted the battle. Melanie leaned forward, right elbow on her knee resting her chin in her hand as she listened to him.

"We had been chasing the rebels for days. We got very close to them in mid January. We made camp and left our baggage behind with sentries and rode, up the Green River Road, I think it was. Early in the morning around three. I just remember being tired and hungry, but having to press on to try to put an end to this bunch of rebels."

The colonel paused a moment, then continued. "It was so cold. Terrible weather that morning. We met them on the field early, around seven in the morning. We were surprised to find that we were outnumbered by militia and their regulars. We were trying to regroup again for a last charge when I caught sight of Benjamin Martin from the militia."

"I remember you and Alexander talking about him," she remarked, "stating that he was a man you needed to kill or capture."

"Yes," Tavington confirmed. "He was running toward me with a crazed look on his face. I was on horseback and clearly had the advantage. So I charged toward him, taking the opportunity to put an end to him once and for all. He impaled my horse, killing it and throwing me to the ground."

Miss Prescott shook her head in disbelief that someone on foot would challenge a soldier on horseback and in a much better position. She recalled Benjamin Martin when he spoke years before at the South Carolina congress and not so long ago when he spoke with her in the rebel camp where she was held prisoner. The girl thought he seemed so calm and level headed. She didn't peg him to do something so foolhardy.

"I was dazed momentarily, but managed to make it to my feet," Tavington went on. "When I got my bearings, he was in front of me, challenging me as if to a duel."

"In the middle of a battle," she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he said. "I assume he found out that I ordered the burning of the church, with his daughter-in-law in it. I killed two of his sons. I'm sure he wanted revenge. He must of thought the battle the perfect place to issue the challenge, so I seized the moment to put an end to him."

"What happened to him," asked Melanie.

"I'm not sure," William answered, his voice quiet and weak. "I got a few good strikes in and I am positive one slice inflicted major damage, but after knocking him to the ground, he surprised me with a stab in my belly. Just as he started at my neck, a shell exploded near us, blowing us both off our feet. From the ground where I lay, I saw him get up and hobble away. I don't know what happened to him after that."

"How did you get help?"

"I rolled over as best I could and tried to drag myself off the field toward some bushes. I didn't want to be captured by the rebels. I hadn't made it very far when I felt a pair of hands on me. It was Captain Wilkins."

Melanie smiled, happy that her childhood friend and neighbor had helped his commander. She had remembered that there had been some friction between the two men after Tavington had forced Jim to throw the initial torch at Pembroke, but was glad to know that in a battle, her friend had helped a fellow soldier and commander.

"He helped me back to his horse and got me on it somehow. Wilkins retreated from the field and headed us back down the road toward camp. It was an excruciatingly painful ride. I was glad he rescued me, but in enough agony to want him to leave me by the side of the road."

William sighed, then went on, his voice sounding much weaker now. "That is all I can remember of the battle and my rescue. Next I recall waking up in a hospital tent in grave pain."

"We'll take care of you here," Melanie stated in a gentle voice.

Tavington's hand found hers again, taking it in his. He looked up at her. "I'm happy to see you again."

"I feel the same." The young woman slipped her hand out of his and put his arm back under the sheet. She pulled the blanket up and tucked it loosely around him.

"Now, I need some sleep, and you need to rest," she said with a smile. The girl walked toward the door, then turned back to look at the officer. "I'm in the room beside you if you need anything."

"Miss Prescott," he called weakly as she stepped through the door, "Are you happy to be back home?"

Melanie hesitated, then answered. "Yes.I…I…I'm fine."

With that she closed the door, stepped into the hall, then turned into the miniscule room that had once been a nursery, ready to spend her first night in there. The girl slipped into her nightgown then onto the small rope bed. She laid on her back and looked up at the ceiling, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

Seeing Tavington again and hearing him talk brought back memories of her time with the dragoons and at Fort Carolina. It also made her think of Major Bordon. Here it was, night time and once again she found herself longing for Alex and missing him so.

Unable to sleep, she began to cry. "Alex…..Oh Alex," she sobbed quietly. "I love you. I miss you so much."

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Note: in lieu of box springs, some beds had rope webbing across the frame and the mattress and whatever it was stuffed with was placed on the ropes for support. One had to re-tighten the ropes most nights before getting into bed. The Walnut Grove Plantation in Spartanburg, South Carolina has excellent examples of rope beds and the tool one used to quickly tighten the ropes at night.