Catching the Column

'Hush, dear.' George tried to both support the girl and at the same time not grip her stronger. 'I will protect you. And then Cotton will. You know that, don't you? And Jenny will come soon, and she'll take care of you.'

She was standing on the ground. Somehow she had managed to scramble out of the saddle with the captain's assistance, and she was rooted like a spear where she stood. She ached and she twitched and her breath would not come. Moving forward was as impossible as if a stone wall was blocking the path. But moving laterally - "I just... I just need a minute," she gasped, moving away from the marching ranks.

He moved with the girl, supporting her elbow gently. 'Yes, of course.'

Reeling like a drunkard - what was wrong with her head? - she moved to a grassy spot and sat down. The grass was cool. She lifted up her head and exhaled forcibly, noticing the stars as she did so. She stared at them while she breathed in the cool air, though it was still tainted with the smell of horse and men. But they were familiar smells, army smells. And a whiff of those scrubby bushes, whatever they were, and the smell of the grass she was sitting on, and the dirt. She looked down at her hands and was surprised to see that they were gripping large tufts of the grass. She let go and turned to the captain.

"I'm ever so sorry, sir. I don't know what came over me." Her heart felt a surge of shame that was almost nauseating.

George sat down beside the girl, careful to leave some space between them.
'It's alright. You are hurting, it's will take some time for you to get over it. There is not shame in that.'

She nodded, not exactly hearing him. She closed her eyes and shuddered, and suddenly her teeth were chattering. "I'm all right now. Thanks."

George unbuttoned his cloak and threw it over threw it over the girl's shoulders carefully. 'You will need to work through it, Maggie. Whatever you don't run away and hide from it.'

Maggie's mother had been a pious woman who taught her daughter to avoid strong and profane language, but now Maggie swore in her surprise. "Oh sir, no, please don't," she exclaimed, peeling his cloak away and pressing it back toward him. The shock of it all - a captain putting his cloak on her! - erased the other concerns from her mind for a moment. When she realized its effect, she started to laugh. "I'm sorry. No, sir, please take your cloak. What would they say? I'm all right now," followed by a loud hiccup.

George smiled gently, pressing the cloak back to Maggie carefully. 'I dare them to say anything. I am an officer, it doesn't mean I am not human.' Yes, right, said someone at the back of his mind.





[OOC: sorry, not his coat. XD Cloak! Damn brain!]

Somewhere in the back of Maggie's mind, she knew it would be impolite to refuse it again, so she accepted it with a quiet, "Thank you." Then she stood, ready to return, and noticed its length. "I think it's going to drag the ground, sir," she said with a slight laugh. "It weren't made for a little thing like me. I'm all right, really, sir. I've got my shawl. I'd hate to drag your cloak along in the dirt. I should know - I've had to clean them."

'Just pull it up a little and you'll be fine, Maggie.' George whisteled and Firebird came trotting up to him.

Jenny Ross wrote:"Yes. Well at least you won't have far to go. The surgeons are usually near the back, like us ragtag. You can take the donkey if you like, though she's just barely plodding along. And if the sawbones says you can ride in a wagon, come and find mine." She reached out to take his hand and then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much, Joe. Maggie and me - well, I am more than grateful, truly."

Newbury's face flushed hot and he felt himself grin. "Glad to help," he muttered, torn between embarrassed and pleased. He hesitated a moment before slipping off toward the surgeons' wagons, hoping it wouldn't take long to catch up with them.

They had been in camp, and Maggie still hadn't come. Cotton hoped it was only because of getting his note and not because she had decided to go back to Lisbon.

She could travel faster than the Army because she wasn't limited to the slow pace of the baggage, which meant that she might get here sooner. And then he remembered she didn't have her donkey and would be travelling on foot.

The Rifles were right at the front of the column, with scouts off in front and to each side of the column, which wound away behind them like a long, slow-moving, green-headed snake - or would, if they could have been seen.

He hoped she would come back to him, despite everything that had happened.

The captain had helped her back onto the horse, and now she was glad of the anonymity of the cloak and its cover. In the saddle it hung nearly past her feet and she felt almost invisible. Her heart caught in her throat when they finally came upon the greenjackets, their red patches looking murky gray in the dark.

"Sir," she whispered, "Sir, that's them."

Was it too late to change her mind? Could she not wait until the morning, go back to the baggage and sleep? Gabe would never even know. But Captain Hunter would think her a bloody fool and a coward if she turned back now.

He saw them too, and sped up a little. It would do Maggie good to be with someone who cared about her, even if the girl did not seem to think so before. He hailed the riflemen.

There was a hail from behind them and Vickery turned to see what the matter was. There was a horse with a rider muffled in a cloak or something, and someone walking alongside. He pulled gently on Brandy's reins to stop the horse and allow the newcomers to come up to him.

George approached the mounted rifleman.
'Good evening, Captain Vickery. We've come to see Rifleman Cotton, I hope he can be spared for a few moments.'

Maggie looked anxiously at Captain Vickery, not daring to speak.

Vickery nodded at the man beside the horse. "I can spare him for a bit, certainly," he said, and looked towards the marching Riflemen. "Cotton!"

Cotton had heard the hooves of a horse, walking slowly, followed by voices made indistinct by the sounds of the marching men that surrounded him. And then the Captain called his name. He frowned momentarily and stepped out of his file, jogging back towards the Captain and the other horse and rider. He saluted, a little uncertainly, wondering if somehow this had anything to do with Maggie.

Maggie cringed at Vickery's call, almost wishing that he would have told them no. But here they were, and it was time. She reached out to Hunter to be helped down from the saddle.

George caught the girl neatly in his arms and lowered her to the ground.

And the redcoat officer was helping the rider of the black horse down to the ground, and Cotton only had eyes for her - it was definitely a woman, from the height. And then his breath caught in his throat and he forgot about the two officers.

"Maggie. Oh, Maggie... You came back to me."

And he'd moved past the officers to put his arms round her and hold her close.

Suddenly Maggie could not breathe because she was crying, sobbing her breath away. Thank God, thank God, thank God.

"Oh, Maggie."

And she was crying. He held her close, resting his hand gently on her head, holding it to hi shoulder and patting it almost as though calming a frightened horse. His other arm was around her shoulders and he was rocking her a little, saying her name over and over. His own face was damp with tears and he had completely forgotten about the two officers and the rest of the army.

"Maggie, sweeting. Hush now, hush. It's all right, Maggie, I promise."