Second Night in Camp

"What a day!" Jenny gasped when they had stopped marching to set up camp. "Finally. Time for some tea. You goin' to see your Gabe Cotton, Maggie?"

"Aye, course I am," Maggie grumbled.

"Well maybe I'll come along of you. Take my tea with that sweet Irish boy!"

"Do as you please, Jenny," Maggie replied. "You always do anyway."

Jenny chose to laugh at the comment, and within a few minutes they were off to seek out the 60th rifles.

It had been a long march, and Cotton knew he had a blister now. He'd been all but limping for the last mile or so, and just needed to get his shoe off and have a proper look, maybe get something on it.

They were in the hills now, and he was rather glad when the Captain came up and said not to bother with pitching the tent for him tonight. He'd be joining the officers of the 62nd where they were messing, so he didn't even need to worry about cooking dinner for him, either.

He wondered how Maggie was doing, and hoped she'd find him easily enough; he didn't think he could face walking another step until he'd sorted his feet out.

And there she was, walking up towards his camping spot. "Hello, Gabe," she said in a tired but cheerful voice.

"Hey - Maggie! How are you, lass?" he asked, almost forgetting his feet. "Come and have a cup o' tea and summat to eat. You look fair famished."

(OOC - you posted at the same time I did, so I merged the topics. Hope you don't mind...)

She gave him a tired but genuine smile. "Tea 'n tuck sounds just right." She dropped to a sitting position on the ground. She had been about to offer to fetch the water, but she was selfishly glad to see that one of the other lads had just brought up a full kettle.

She and Cotton had both been quiet and busy in the morning. She had hardly had a chance to speak with him at all since last night, and she still felt a bit ashamed of her emotional outburst. "Listen, Gable..."


[ooc - splicing threads, well ain't you fancy! Thankee!]

Cotton sat down next to her, staring at the dancing flames of the small fire. He felt a little uncomfortable at having intruded when she was obviously not feeling her best yesterday, and with getting things ready for the march this morning he hadn't had a chance to talk with her about it - or about anything else. It seemed she had something to say now, though, and he was going to let her have her say.

"I be listenin'. What d'you want to say?"

She frowned a bit. "I'm sorry for how I was last night. I never meant to... And thank you for being so... good."

He wasn't quite sure where to put his hands, and settled for locking them round one bent knee. He was afraid that if he put his arm around her again, she would burst into tears again - or something - which would just be embarrassing for them both.

"Hey, don't fret yourself over it, lass. It's all right."

She frowned again aprehensively. "Are you sure you want to carry on? With this courting business?"

Help. He was in trouble whatever he said, whether yea or nay. And hadn't he said he didn't want to push her yet, and hadn't she agreed to walk out with him, even if nothing came of it? He just hadn't expected the 'nothing' to happen so soon. And it hurt, inside, where he wasn't used to it hurting.

"I...I would walk out wi' ye, Maggie. But only if'n you wanted to walk out wi' me, like. An' if you don't, ain't much I c'n do about it, is there?"

She patted his arm. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean - I'm just sorry is all, and you might be changing your mind."

"Why would I change me mind over summat like that?" Cotton looked at her, surprised. He hadn't known quite what to do with her, crying like she'd done, but that didn't mean he would break it off. That was down to the girl to do, wasn't it?

"I wouldn't throw you over, f'r summat like that," he said, slightly awkward. "Not after offerin', an' all."

She lifted her small chin and searched his face anxiously. "I just didn't want you to be regretting already. Wondering what you'd got yourself in for, and why. I mean it." What a wretched sweetheart she made for the poor man. "I know you wouldn't throw me over. You're too good to do summat like that, Gabe. But I won't hold you back if you decide you'd rather be free for now."

"Regret takin' up wi' you? Maggie Evans, I've a good mind to turn you over me knee and give you a hidin', suggestin' I'd regret that. 'Course I don't. You'm a good lass, if'n you could see it. And you need someone to look after you."

Maggie stared at him with an amount of shock and then burst out laughing, to her own surprise and perhaps his. "Gabriel Cotton!" she cried between laughs, slapping his arm with her hand. "I was being serious."

"I know." He looked at her and smiled. "I don't regret it, and won't regret it, and if you think I will, I will turn you over me knee, just see if I don't."

He sighed, looking at her fondly. "And you are a good lass. Too good for me, really. You c'n read and write, and you earn good money, sellin' stuff an' all."

"You will not turn me over your knee, Rifleman," she answered haughtily. She chose to ignore the compliments. "Now then, about that writing. You want to write to your family? Or are you still just thinking about it?"

He grinned at her. "Don't give me a challenge like that, I might jus' take you up on it." He grew more serious. "Yes, I do, please. If... if you'm sure you don't mind? I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble, Maggie, honest."

She smiled. "It's not a trouble. Specially not for you. If it were anyone else I'd charge 'em for it, but only because I gotta make money somehow. But it ain't hard, really! You could learn too, if you want."

And that had Cotton choked, for some reason. "I don't... I don't know, Maggie. But if you would write me folks f'r me, that would... would mean a lot."

She had a good heart, Maggie, for all she pretended not to.

"All right, all right," she said with a laugh, pretending not to notice his emotion. "I'll go fetch the paper. Back in a moment. You can make me some tea."

Tea was easily made; the kettle was already on the boil, and Cotton sat back down, nursing his mug and trying to think of what to say. He'd never written a letter before. Well, never had anyone write a letter for him before, anyway. He was startled to find he was nervous about it.

She returned in a few minutes with a bottle, a pen, and some paper. "You got anything flat I can use for me desk? A board or a box?"

"Will me pack do?" Cotton asked, letting her see the Trotter that he had yet to replace with something more comfortable from a battlefield.

She looked at it skeptically. "Well, if it's the best you can do, all right." She adjusted it and smoothed its lumpy mass down, then laid out her paper and stirred a few drops of water into her ink pot.

"So how do you want to start? 'Dear mam and dad'? And family?"