The Georgia Peach Pt. 01

"I want to believe you Catherine, I do, but ... the notebook was found inside your house. How on earth can it have got there, secreted behind the coals of the main fireplace, if you knew nothing about it?"

The girl looked away, and blinked. Was that a tear? Was she genuinely upset or was she playing him? The General had demanded a short time alone with Catherine in the hope that he could uncover at least some of the facts and save her from an unwelcome fate.

"Catherine?" He said again, "Tell me what you know. It's not too late, not at all, just say what the notebook is for and tell me anything you might know about the bag and its contents. For the very love of God my dear girl, save yourself any further distress!"

Sherman was genuinely troubled. He already suspected that the dates in the notebook were linked with William Quantrill, the notorious thorn in the side of the Union Army. A guerrilla leader, who showed any man in blue no mercy whatsoever. What else could the initials WQ mean? Had it been Quantrill who murdered the Federal Bummers recently? Had Catherine been somehow linked to it?

He felt sick. This was going quickly from bad to worse. If he was suspecting the poor girl, then he knew full well what the Lieutenant and his men would be thinking.

"If you are in some way subverting my Army Catherine, I am duty bound to ..."

The girl looked up with a new found defiance in her expression. "To do what General? To have me shot?"

Sherman was dumbfounded. Was she admitting to being a confederate Guerrilla?

Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled kindly at the man she had known for all of her life. "Uncle Billy, I am a Georgia girl. My father, your best friend, was a Colonel in the Confederate Army. You know where my sympathies lie, it is more than obvious, I think. But you have to believe me when I say that I have no active part in this war nor do I want one. It had already taken too many lives ... all I want is peace, Uncle Billy, and my life to resume its familiarity."

He took her once more into his arms and let her sob her tears. But in truth he had no idea whether they were real or simply a further manifestation of deceit. Her imploring was steadfast and earnest, but it still left the same unanswered questions.

The General gently eased her away from him and gave her his most meaningful paternal look. "Catherine, I want to believe you, but I fear that my judgement is clouded. You leave me no choice but to hand you over to the Lieutenant for further questioning."

Chapter 10 - The Drawing Room at White Orchard Plantation, Around 3pm, May 11th 1864

How long she sat there, trying to remain stoic but slowly crumbling inside, Catherine couldn't say for certain. When she heard footfall outside the door, she turned her head in the direction of the sound, hoping for anything to break the darkness surrounding her.

She had been taken into the drawing room and pushed down, forcefully, onto one of the bamboo and wood viewing chairs. Ordinarily she would occasionally use this very seat to look out onto the plantation, and observe the wildlife, able to forget for a moment or two that this damnable war even existed.

The sky was already cloudy and ominous outside, but once every single shutter had been drawn shut, the gloom had been added to rendering this room in her own house, dark and foreboding.

And now she sat, under house arrest with armed guards posted inside and outside the door, waiting for the Lieutenant.

She never for one moment believed Uncle Billy would abandon her like this. How could he? And now, where was he? Still in the house somewhere, or had he already left to go back to his Godforsaken army?

Catherine saw the orange light of a lantern through the cracks in the wooden frame as the doors opened. Then he was there, his threatening shape unmistakable. Previously Lieutenant Sampson had seemed no more than an annoying irritant, about to be put in his place by her Godfather, his commanding General ... but now he seemed like something entirely different!

Sampson stepped forward, hanging the lantern from a timber beam above his head. Catherine immediately stood, feeling that to do so offered her a more comforting and stouter position. He gestured for her to retake her seat before placing himself in the one facing her.

Catherine contemplated resisting the order, or at the very least ignoring it, but quickly came to the conclusion that she would gain nothing from rebellion. She moved to sit, swaying a little as her head swam with emotional confusion, but before she could complete the action Sampson stood up, crowding her.

The girl pulled away instinctively until the backs of her legs were against the chair. He pursued her over the short distance with slow, languid movements infuriating her as her heart pounded in her chest. Bile rose in her throat as she struggled for breath.

"Ask me your questions Sir, and let me repeat the innocence contained within my answers."

Lieutenant Sampson smiled languidly. "Oh Miss McCown, I have no intention of asking you anything ... not yet."

This answer confused her, scared her in fact, for if he was not going to question her, what was the purpose of her being trapped in this room with this heinous fiend and his ruffians.

His hands moved to the shoulders of her dress and with a deft movement he pulled the material down onto the tops of her arms. In doing so he exposed very little more of her exquisite form, but the symbolic relevance was not lost upon her. He could do what wanted ...

Catherine looked the monster before her in the eye and smiled. The fury that her apparent indifference generated was immediately present in his gaze and once more his fingers moved but this time to grip the front of her dress. Without letting her expression slip for one second, Catherine grasped his wrist, her hands unable to encircle them.

His voice was low in the dark, and the lantern at his back meant she could barely see his face as he spoke. "Your clothes are to be removed Miss McCown. You can either make it easy on yourself or not. But I will have you naked for this, girl, to encourage your complicity, and so before you are questioned further, strip ... or we will help you."

Nausea almost overwhelmed her. Were they about to rape her? She had heard of such an abhorrent deed being used as an act of war, but it couldn't happen to her ... could it? She had not been with a man before, ever. This was not the way ... Uncle Billy would never allow it. Yet in the recesses of her mind she knew that if her Godfather really cared then he would be here now putting a stop to this appalling scene.

"You cannot possibly Sir, you will not ..." Her words were cut short by the crack of a resounding slap, as the hapless girl's head snapped sideways.

Reaching around her back she felt him fumble for the buttons of her dress. Catherine sank her nails into his skin as he continued to undress her, but it did not hinder his progress. Not one bit.

He grinned at her, having located the fasteners that he was searching for, and she trembled as he pulled the dress from her body letting it fall in a heap around her ankles, revealing her lighter undergarments. The Lieutenant moved to undo the laces of her stays, the boned corset she wore underneath her dress, and it served to snap her out of the impassive trance she'd slipped into.

Catherine stepped to the side, holding her hands out to stop him before slowly reaching to do it herself. If this was going to happen, she would be the protagonist of her own nudity, without his filthy hands pawing at her.

But the resonance in her logic failed her when she thought of how, since she was an infant, she had never been unclothed for anyone save her beloved house-maid, Mary. It was many years since even her poor mama had seen her without clothes. And now, as the doors opened again and in walked the two soldiers who had been guarding her confinement from in the hallway, Catherine realised that these five Federal monsters were about to see her strip naked.

Her shaky hands fumbled with the knot as she unlaced the stays and dropped the stiff corset to the floor. She found with dismay that she could not remove the shift below with nothing to exchange it for, and a quick glance at her tormentor showed that no replacement would be provided. She stiffened and looked back at him, silently declaring herself done.

With a nod he gestured to the seat again. Catherine slipped past him, turning as she went so that she could keep him in front of her at all times, her eyes locked on his face.

Catherine sat, her hands clasped upon her lap and her eyes downcast looking at the rug on the floor beneath her feet.

"Bring me a water bucket," Sampson ordered, "... and a cloth."

He settled into his chair once again and, as soon as his instructions had been adhered to, the Lieutenant dipped the cloth into the bucket, sloshing a little of the water out over the rim. He took her arm, making her jump at the sudden contact and began to slowly wipe away the perspiration that covered her skin.

"What are you ...?" Catherine was taken aback by his action.

"Shhhh, Miss McCown, I am not a savage. You have endured a terrible trauma and I wish to comfort you a little by cleansing your skin."

His hands were surprisingly gentle as he went about his self-appointed task and Catherine was conflicted by it. With all that had happened today, all that was still happening, she felt dangerously close to collapse. Her nerves were frayed, and every wipe of the damp cloth sent a jolt of fear racing through her. Her jaw still ached from the gag, but once she had loosened the muscles in her face Catherine was driven to speak.

"Are you going to kill me, or ...?" The fear of hearing the answer was vastly outweighed by the uncertainty that ate at her.

He didn't respond immediately, instead choosing to continue his thorough cleansing of her arms and hands. If the Lieutenant was surprised by her words, he did not show it, which troubled her greatly.

Grime had found its way into the grooves of her nails, maybe from the amount of furniture gripping she had performed this day, and he began to work on them with the cloth. She couldn't bring herself to speak again, unsure if it would incur his anger. Instead Catherine watched his face, looking for any crack in the smooth apathy of his features. Her hands began to tremble as she came to the only conclusion that made sense to her: he was going to interrogate, maybe even rape and then execute her.

He acknowledged the girl's new found trembling with a firmer grip on her fingers, and nothing more ... no words, comforting or otherwise.

When the Lieutenant was satisfied that he had done the best he could on her left arm he dipped the rag back in the bucket and reached for her right. She didn't protest or try to pull away despite the dread rapidly building inside her chest. How did soldiers execute people? It must be worse than what the justices did in peace time, though she couldn't imagine how.

He finished with her hand and dropped the cloth into the bucket.

"We shall see," came his very delayed response. The way he looked at her made Catherine think he understood the ambiguity of her question, and that he too was aware that she would most likely live out her usefulness in a short time.

He stood and pulled her to standing with him. Her body shook as she stared straight ahead into his chest, his presence overwhelming her already battered defences. Catherine felt the metaphorical noose tighten at her neck and she was breathless.

When his fingers brushed the top of her shift she pulled away, fear wracking her body once again. The implied promise of her own impending death suddenly became secondary to the imminent threat to her person.

"You don't have to do this," she looked at him, hoping to stave off what she knew to be inescapable.

"That is true," he said as he advanced on her, crowding her again as she retreated back to the chair. When she had backed up as far as she could go, he came up against her, reaching out and catching her wrists to trap them behind her body. His swift movement brought the Lieutenant's face to within inches of her own.

Catherine gasped.

Shifting his hold on her into a single grip from his large hand, the other began gathering the cloth of her shift.

"But I want to," he said, voice low and cruel to her ears.

She tried to twist away from him, crying out as he gripped tightly making her body ache. His other hand wrenched the thin fabric over her head and drew the garment down her back along her trapped arms. She resisted as much as she was able but felt restrained by the pain he was inflicting through his grip on her confined wrists.

He continued, unperturbed by her struggles. Catherine was never more aware of how pitiful her physical power was than when she struggled wildly and yet barely moved him. The Lieutenant managed to tug the shift from her arms and capture them again before she'd landed more than a glancing blow on his chest.

Then the enormity of the situation hit her.

Topless now, wearing nothing but cotton drawers that dropped only to her thighs and silken stockings underneath, she felt the smirking gazes of each man as her body was openly ogled.

Catherine stilled, tensed and shaking, her breasts uncovered and her arms still secured in a tight hold. She did not want him to touch her, but while one hand continued with the restraint of her arms, the other was free to roam wherever it wished.

The poor girl was beside herself with distraction. Never before had she been touched like this, never before had she been touched at all. However, she had the presence of mind to realise that this could become much worse if, in her panic, she continued not thinking with any kind of clarity. Sampson took her change of mental pace into his stride and ran his fingers through her hair as she stood stock still before him.

His free hand drifted down onto her shoulder and across her breast. In her frantic attempt to remain stoic, Catherine tried desperately to hold back the rising panic that was fuelling her nausea. Only a day or two ago she had been sewing in the drawing room while life went on around her, and now here she was, trapped by these monsters while they systematically stripped and humiliated her. She turned her face away from him as his fingers circled her nipple lazily; the aureole pebbled and stiffened in the low light. She clenched her jaw tightly shut as he brushed the sensitive bud, tweaking it ever so gently and making her insides squirm.

His touch was so strange, so precise and gentle. Then his fingers travelled downwards, making their way to the apex of her thighs. She clenched her legs together to impede his progress. It didn't seem to bother him. Catherine gritted her teeth against the sounds of distress she could feel teasing her throat. What was this lazy caress? Then he was back at her breasts. Why was he toying with her?

She was increasingly aware of his tight grip at her back and she was scared of that touch more than the wicked hand that cupped her breast, squeezing it as his thumb flicked at the teat. His lips descended onto her neck and she gasped in surprise before snapping her mouth closed. She would not react to this man. The hand at her wrists loosened and she used the opportunity to slip from his grip and scramble back onto the chair. She heard laughter all around her. She had become their plaything ...

Catherine couldn't see his face in the shadows as the only lighted lamp in the room was behind him again, but she could feel his malintent, the easy grace of his movements attesting to the confident predator that he was. She had to keep him in front of her. This situation was out of her control, but perhaps she could manage to keep at least that aspect in hand.

"Hold her."

Now Catherine screamed as she felt herself lifted by a trooper either side of her, one gripping each arm. Her eyes widened when she saw the raised arm before her and her head spun as the open palm slapped down hard onto her face when she was slapped again.

She yelled the first time, but when the reciprocal backhand smacked into her from the alternate side she grunted. It was with a daze that she felt her drawers loosened and pulled down. A draft of cold air slipped between her exposed thighs as she felt the silk torn from her legs, and with slippers removed Catherine was held naked before this monstrous man.

It was in this haze-fuelled, humiliating condition that she heard the drawing room door open and the soldier's voice say, "Everything is ready just like you asked Lieutenant."

To Be Continued ...