Chapter 45 A New Humility

It was now mid March and the days had warmed again. William Tavington had been at the Prescott plantation for a little over three weeks. Melanie faithfully attended him, always remembering how the dragoons had rescued her when she was near death. She was happy with the progress he had been making. His wounds were steadily healing and the pain seemed to dissipate a little more with each passing day. He had progressed from sitting up, to standing, to walking a few steps by himself in just the short time there.

But the physical healing wasn't the only change Miss Prescott had seen in the legion commander. The girl had witnessed a side of him she had not seen in her little over two years in captivity at the fort. The young woman marveled at his humility. Indeed, his great loss in battle at the Cowpens in January, losing at whole detachment of men, including his aide-de-camp to an ambush, his injuries, and facing an uncertain military future had truly humbled the officer. After seeing mostly harshness from him in military matters, and firsthand experiencing some of the methods the dragoons used, this new side the officer revealed nearly caught the girl off guard. But to her, it was a pleasant change.

This afternoon, Melanie was helping Colonel Tavington in venturing out of the house. The man, though glad to be out of a drafty hospital tent and into a warm bedroom inside, was anxious to go outside. The pair walked slowly, Miss Prescott helping to steady him. The officer winced and groaned occasionally as he stepped gingerly on the unlevel lawn. The young woman stayed close to him at his side, her arm about his waist to help hold him stable, and William's arm around her shoulder, trying not to lean too heavily upon the girl.

In another moment the officer became winded. The couple stopped at the top of a gentle slope which led down to a babbling brook. Melanie watched the dragoon commander as he stared intently at the water. She recalled how he always seemed to pay special attention to waterways when she had accompanied the legion on special missions.

"What creek is that down there?" asked Tavington.

"Oh, Father called it 'Prescott Branch', she answered. "It's a small brook that runs from Steeplechase Creek. It meanders around our property near the perimeter."

"It looks deep there," William commented as pointed toward a spot that pooled then ran off a small set of falls.

"Yes," she replied, amazed at his perception of water. "It's about three to four feet in the pool."

"And you cross there," he surmised, nodding his head and looking at a certain spot in the creek.

"Yes. Yards down from the falls," answered Miss Prescott, "It babbles easily and is shallow enough to walk across; barely a few inches deep."

There was a minute lull in the conversation as the two listened to the water rushing about. Melanie looked again at the colonel, who was still watching the sparkling water.

She spoke up again. "Colonel, you are fascinated with water, aren't you?"

"Why do you ask?" His nose crinkled in query as he looked down at the young woman.

"Whenever I rode with the dragoons," the girl began, "you seemed to take particular time in looking at rivers and creeks."

"Oh. I suppose that is habit," Tavington admitted with a smile and slight roll of his eyes. "My father made our family's fortune from mills, particularly flour. I was raised around them—and in them. Pa was always looking at waterways, studying them for the potential of building another mill."

William paused, took a breath, then went on. "I would wager, even from this distance, that it is an excellent spot to put a mill. I'd have to get closer to the water to confirm it."

"We are NOT walking down there today, Colonel," Melanie advised, noticing how tired Tavington looked. "In fact, I think we should sit for a few minutes and let you rest." With that, she took his arm and helped him a few steps into the shade of a small gazebo.

As Melanie eased the officer down onto a bench, he spoke again. "Have you ever thought of milling?"

"No," she replied with a light chuckle. "I don't know if Father ever did. Probably not. I know he wasn't interested in vast numbers of commercial livestock. He never had the manpower or the nerve to drive large herds to market. No—he left the milling, herding, and other professions to other men. He had his hands full with commercial fruits and vegetables!"

The couple became quiet again, watching the workers within eyesight going about their jobs. Melanie broke the silence with another question.

"Will you go home and run those mills?"

"I don't really want to," the colonel answered. "I had a huge dose of that at age twenty."

"Oh?" The young woman cocked her head to the side, her interest piqued by his wry remark.

"Yes. Mother summoned me home from school at Oxford. She could not find Father for days and creditors were harassing her. When I came home to help, I found Father had nearly ruined the very business he built himself—as well as our family's reputation. He had begun drinking and gambling, and was spending more and more time away with loose women."

Will stopped for a moment and took a breath. He looked off into the distance, remembering that troubled time. "I looked at all the books with our accountant and lawyer. It was decided that I would temporarily take control until things were back in good shape. So, I sold off some mills at a profit, paid off all Father's gambling and bar debts, caught all the business bills up that had fallen behind. After that, I put some of the money back into improving the mills that Father neglected and needed repair, set my mother up for the rest of her life in our estate, and paid that off so that we will always have possession of it. I created inheritances for me and my two sisters."

Tavington stopped talking abruptly. A scowl crossed his face clearly conveying his feelings to Melanie. "Father was not happy with me for taking over his business, even though he had groomed me for it. Yet he was in no condition to manage things. He died shortly after I'd turned it all around."

"I'm sorry," Miss Prescott said quietly.

"Thank you," the commander replied. "He hastened his own death."

Tavington paused again, then went on. "At the time and being so young, the whole situation soured me. There was a call that went out for men that were good with the sword and could ride well, so I took part of my inheritance and purchased a commission in the cavalry. That's how I came here."

Melanie's eyes rounded at the whole revelation of this story. She was amazed and again, was seeing a side of Colonel Tavington which she had not seen before.

"Well, I wasn't sure how you had come to be in the military," she began in a surprised voice, "and I had no idea what an astute business man you were."

William laughed. "I had to become one quickly or we would have lost everything and wound up in debtor's prison. I knew how to build and run mills from years of accompanying father to them. I learned the business aspect when I had to start managing all of that."

Miss Prescott nodded her head in agreement, a smile curling her lips slightly. "Yes. I'm learning all that right now."

"Well, I'd advise you to keep the books straight and know all the aspects that you can of your business," he imparted. "And, always know what is going on—don't be an absentee owner and expect things to stay straight."

The girl's face lit up with a huge grin. She lifted her eyebrows and looked at the dragoon commander. "I'll keep that in mind, Colonel. Thanks for the advice."

William smiled at the girl and nodded his head. Another moment of quiet passed between the two as the officer thought about how easy it had been to talk with Miss Prescott.

Colonel Tavington spoke again, cautiously, as if imparting a secret. "I want to stay here in the colonies, but I lost the chance."

Melanie's face went from a friendly smile to a look of question and concern. "What do you mean?"

"Lord Cornwallis had been given a land grant in the Ohio country by his majesty," he began. "He offered part of the grant to me as a reward for the capture or kill of Benjamin Martin. I lost the chance when I lost Martin and the battle."

"But you could still stay here," Melanie pointed out. "Why not take part of your inheritance and buy your own land. It would be a good investment."

The girl stood up and took a few steps. She turned back to face the officer. "Think about it. This war is destroying families and fortunes. There will be widows left with debt. And there will be wealthy men who helped to fund the rebel effort, borrowing from good faith creditors or against their own assets. Even if the rebels should win, it will take years to establish banks and a new government, and you know that the debts will probably be called in before that."

She took a breath, then continued. "Think of all the mortgage foreclosures and bankruptcies the war will cause. With people having assets seized, they will be willing to unload property quickly to the highest bidder. You could probably pick up a few acres with a fine plantation house for a low price. And, you would be helping out a person in need."

Colonel Tavington smiled slyly, then laughed. "Isn't that just a nice way of saying that I would be profiting from someone's misfortune?"

"Think of it as taking the opportunity to make your future," she said with a smile.

Their conversation was interrupted by Mr. Andrews trotting toward the pavilion. As he grew closer, the two could tell he was concerned about something.

"Miss Prescott!"

"Yes Mr. Andrews, what is it?"

"I've just come from town," he began as he stepped into the gazebo. "I have news."

"What is it," Melanie asked anxiously. The war had stopped the flow of regular and trustworthy news onto the estate.

"There was a huge battle up in North Carolina two days ago," he plantation foreman announced.

"Who was the victor?" asked William, missing battle himself and needing to know.

"The British," answered Andrews, "at a heavy price. There were a lot of casualties. Both armies fled the area quickly, leaving the severely wounded there. Apparently, they didn't leave enough orderlies behind to take care of all the injured. Rumor is that the ones in better shape are headed our way."

Miss Prescott heaved a sigh. "Did the rumor contain anything about us getting more tents?"

Mr. Andrews smiled, knowing the mistress was wondering aloud whether or not more hospital tents, which they were short of, would be sent to the plantation. "No," he answered. "I expect some of the injured may arrive as soon as tomorrow."

The girl closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, wondering where they would put more injured since they were nearly out of space. "If we should overflow," she instructed as she turned back to face the overseer, "then we'll have to pull the buggies out of the carriage barn and use it."

The late Hayden Prescott had built this barn modeled after the one at Middleton Place, which he'd seen years earlier while on a visit there. It consisted of three sides and a roof, was a little over fifty feet in length and fifteen feet deep. One whole side was open to the elements. This barn had space for five vehicles. It housed the Prescott's personal coaches: a two wheeled Chaise, a four wheeled Landau, a Conestoga wagon and a buckboard. One of the delivery wagons usually occupied the fifth spot.

She continued. "Mr. Andrews, gather all the canvas squares we have. You'll have to nail them up to cover the open side of that barn as much as possible to shield the men from the weather."

"Yes miss." With that, the foreman started back toward the main house.

"Mr. Andrews," she called after him.

The man stopped in his tracks and turned back to look at the plantation mistress. "You know that before this is all said and done, that we'll all be living in the barns, most likely," she commented, only half joking.

"Yes," he agreed then turned back toward the house.

Miss Prescott paced back and forth a few steps, the colonel watching her all the while she did. She muttered, "More injured….dwindling space….need more doctors.." shaking her head all the while. The girl seemed to forget that William was there with her. The young woman finally plopped down on the bench across from Tavington's, rubbed her forehead then sighed.

"I've been home nearly three months now and I'm still not used to this being a hospital," commented Melanie. "Although it's been a good distraction. If all the people weren't here, and it was just me here alone with my family passed on, I think I'd go completely insane."

Another moment of quiet passed between the two. Melanie studied the colonel who was looking off into the distance. She thought he looked tired, yet troubled.

"Why don't we head back to the house," coaxed the girl. "You look tired."

"No, I'm fine," Will insisted. "Could we stay a little bit longer?"

"Of course," she answered cordially.

Another bit of silence passed between the couple. William sighed, then spoke.

"I've decided to resign my commission."

Melanie, stunned by this revelation, looked at the man with saucer eyes. Her mouth dropped open, yet she seemed lost for words. Quickly regaining her senses, she spoke up.

"Why?," she questioned. She thought this man loved the military.

"I can't ride anymore let alone fight," Tavington stated.

"You won't be injured forever," the girl argued. "You are recovering."

"Slowly," he retorted. "Meanwhile, the war goes on."

"I don't think you should resign," Melanie asserted boldly.

"Why not?"

"It seems to me that the cavalry—or the military rather—is your life," she pointed out. "I don't think you should give it all up simply because you cannot fight right now."

"What do you mean?" the officer asked. "I'm no good to the army now. I can't fight or lead men into battle as they want me to."

"You just said it, Colonel," declared Miss Prescott. "You said the word 'now'. If you can't fight now, then you should serve in whatever capacity you can until you are able to resume battle."

"Which would be a staff officer," he snorted rolling his eyes. He couldn't see himself being relegated to the role of aide-de-camp to a general.

"Colonel, I have seen how much you want to attain military glory," she cajoled. "You won't get that if you resign."

She stood up and looked down at the officer. "If you should happen to stay on, even if it is on some general's staff, then if the British should win this war, wouldn't that make you part of the glory?"

"You're right," Tavington admitted. "I should investigate things a little more before I do anything hasty."

The girl smiled at him, nodding her head in agreement.

"So Miss Prescott, while we're speaking of war," Tavington mentioned, continuing their conversation, "are you still a pacifist, or have you chosen sides?"

"No, I'm not a pacifist," she stated flatly, "but I haven't chosen sides. This plantation has both loyalist and rebel customers."

She paused, contemplating just how she felt: her level of interest in the war and her emotions tied up within. The young woman heaved a forlorn sigh.

"I suppose I'm just a tired plantation mistress who wishes this conflict to be done and over with," she proclaimed, "not giving a care who wins. I've had my fill of war."

"Ah….and of soldiers it seems," William commented. "I recall you telling me that you hoped you'd never see another soldier again after the war."

Melanie blushed, recollecting exactly when she'd made the comment and embarrassed that she did. "Yes, I remember that conversation with you, sir. Mrs. Bordon had come to the fort ...... which made me angry at Alex. That was a rash statement; I spoke out of turn."

The young woman made a sour face then shook her head. "I was jealous of her. I wanted to be his wife and the mother of his children. I wanted to be Mrs. Bordon."

"Funny," smirked Tavington, "I wanted to be Alex Bordon. I was jealous of him."

Melanie looked at the officer, not sure that she wanted him to say anymore. She became nervous when she realized they were sitting next to each other.

"I wanted what he had," stated William, "I longed for you."

The colonel leaned in close to Miss Prescott then brushed a very soft and chaste kiss across her lips. The girl did not push him away. Instead, she quickly stood and stepped to the other side of the gazebo.

"Colonel," she began cautiously, "What we did before, I take all the responsibility for. I was upset at Alex, and I seduced you to get him back…..or ease my own pain……" her voice trailed off. She looked out of the pavilion, away from the officer, not wanting to face him.

Melanie went on, her words slow and measured. "I shouldn't have done it. It wasn't the conduct of a lady."

"And being Bordon's mistress was?" William spouted off without thinking, assuming the girl had regretted their stolen moment at the fort together.

The words hit the young woman hard, making her realize that even though she had loved Alex deeply, the world outside would always view her as 'Brutal Bordon's whore'—a fallen and loose woman.

Miss Prescott burst into tears. "No," she sobbed, answering the colonel's question.

Realizing what he'd said, the officer felt like a cad. He stood slowly and painfully, and stepped toward the young plantation heiress. "I'm sorry," Tavington apologized. "I shouldn't have said that."

William brushed the tears on her cheek away with his fingers then cupped her chin, making her look up at him and into his azure eyes. "I don't care that you were someone's mistress," the officer declared. "And I'm not sorry that relations happened between us."

With that, he lifted her face a bit higher and brushed another light kiss against her lips. Then he dipped his head and kissed her a second time, lingering for a moment.

"Don't," Melanie demurred, pulling away from him. "I'm not ready for this. I…I think of Alex all the time. I still love him."

The girl, feeling awkward and confused, wanted nothing more than to run and hide. She walked quickly away from the officer. As she left the pavilion, she stopped on the steps and called weakly back to the man without looking at him.

"I'll send someone down to help you back to the house." With that she left quickly, wanting to lift her skirt and run away. But she stayed calm, instead, walking at a quick pace back toward the house, doing her best to hold back another round of tears.

William sank down onto the bench, now alone in the gazebo, and thought to himself about what had just transpired. I made an advance toward her, which she rejected. Now our feelings for one another are out in the open. What do I do next? What happens now?

*******

Author's notes:

"Chaise" and "Landau" are names for types of carriages

A gazebo at the time of the RevWar was sometimes also called a 'pavilion'.