This time of the year is usually so beautiful, Maggie thought, as she stared out of her window. Oh, the leaves were still turning brilliant hues of red and orange and yellow. But it was 1864 and Maggie was in Virginia. Sighing, she turned away from the window, once again cursing the Fates which had had her turn a marriageable 17 at the start of the War Between the States.
Maggie could see only one benefit to being unmarried at the God-awful age of 21. When she worked at the hospital, along with every other able bodied woman in the county, she wasn't required to work in the more critical wards or assist the doctors in surgery as were the married women and the widows. Even in the midst of war, there were things that just weren't proper for a virgin to see. So, Maggie sat with recovering soldiers, changed some bandages, wrote letters home for those who couldn't do it themselves, brought water to fever-parched lips.
She'd received so many proposals of marriage that she'd stopped counting. She would laugh and flirt with the soldiers, but she never seriously entertained their offers. Maggie had her heart set on a man just like her father. Of course, she had never actually met this man she would marry. Yet. But she knew what she wanted him to be like. He would be tall and broad of shoulder. His eyes would twinkle with a genuine sense of humor. His hands would be large enough to take care of her and protect her from the world, but gentle enough to wipe a tear from her cheek.
"If I don't stop this wool-gathering, I'll never get anything accomplished today," Maggie mused, turning away from the window. She set about dressing for the day, wondering if, even at this early hour, her father had already left for the hospital. He was too old to join the ranks of soldiers himself, but he'd been the county doctor for more years than Maggie could remember and spent most of his time at the hospital. As his only child, Maggie divided her time between the big house and the hospital. They still had a few servants, but most had fled long since. Maggie's mother had passed away several years before the war.
Maggie ran a brush through her fair locks and secured them at the nape of her neck in a bun. Her dress was somewhat out of fashion, but suitable for working at home or the hospital. Her bountiful curves strained the worn fabric but her beauty was timeless, and, as her father had told her many times, would probably remain so. She was the mirror image of her mother, who had been a raving beauty even at two score and ten.
The day was long and tiring. Maggie spent most of it washing and rolling bandages, then taking them to the hospital where she'd held the hand of a grievously wounded soldier while he died. She never knew his name, but she wept a tear for a life cut short. Maggie trudged home at twilight, a new basked of bloody dirty bandages to be washed and rolled. Father had still been in surgery when she left. Again. She reminded herself to leave something warming for him for whenever he returned. If he did. He often stayed days at a time at the hospital.
The shadows cast by the trees were lengthening into dusk when Maggie rounded the last curve before her home. Once again daydreaming about her faceless suitor -- this time he was a knight of old, striding up on a white horse to rescue her from a dragon -- Maggie didn't notice the noises behind her until it was too late. Two sets of hands grabbed her arms. She screamed, but one filthy hand clamped over her mouth and fetid breath fanned her ear, "Scream and we'll have to hurt ya, Missy."
The breath Maggie had drawn to scream was cut off by a thick arm squeezing her middle, hefting her off her feet and dragging her into the trees beside the road. Struggling, she heard fabric rip and felt the cool autumn breeze on her back. Her struggles acquired new energy and Maggie felt she had almost got free of her captors when one of them clubbed her on the back of the head and she lost her wits.
When Maggie regained consciousness, it was to feel the cool air on her bare legs and hear the raised voices of the men arguing about who would have her first. Apparently they'd discovered her virgin condition and each wanted to be the one to break her in. Maggie took in the dirty blue coats and surmised they were a small band of Union deserters.
Fear blinded Maggie to her surroundings and, as she tried to make her escape, she stepped on a small branch, alerting the men to her attempt. She was dragged back and each man held a limb to the ground to prevent further foolishness on her part. Instead of fighting, now each man did his part to further tear her garments from her body. The old and worn fabric ripped easily and in a matter of moments, Maggie lay naked on the ground, ruined scraps of dress below her.
Coarse remarks burned her ears.
"Look at them titties," one said with his tongue hanging out.
A second grabbed one and squeezed, hard. Suddenly, they all joined in, pawing Maggie, leaving dirty marks on the most private parts of her soft white skin. Maggie sobbed uncontrollably. Suddenly, the heavy drum beat of horses' hooves sounded in her ears and she looked up to see a huge white horse bearing down on them.
