Fourth Night in Camp

Gritting her teeth and bracing herself against the pain that he would certainly feel, she began to peel the first adhered layer.

He closed his eyes, trying not to flinch, trying not to whimper. That hurt.

"Sorry!" she whispered. She muttered a few quiet curses under her breath as she continued. It was impossible to do it without hurting him. When she finally had the bandages off, there were still the pads of cloth clinging tenaciously to the wounds. "Nearly there," she said shakily, trying to sound reassuring. "I think you'd better lie down."

Cotton agreed with her. It had taken all his willpower to remain upright, and he slipped to his belly on the padded mat with little more than a quiet moan, swiftly bitten off.

"'M sorry, Maggie. An' thanks, lass."

"All right, all right," she replied absently. Her hands hovered with uncertainty for a few moments before she began to peel the cloths away gingerly. She winced as she saw Cotton wincing.

"As I rode out one May morning across yon fields so early," she suddenly sang in a shaky and overloud voice, "I spied a maid, a most beautiful maid, as sweet as any fairy."

Cotton smiled. "I'm the one who spied a fair pretty maid, lass," he said. He knew she was trying her best not to hurt him though as her hands continued working, he had to press the back of his wrist to his mouth to stop any sound. He held himself rigid, afraid that any movement at all would hurt more.

She laughed nervously and continued singing to distract herself and him. His poor back was such a shambles. The cloth fibres wanted to stick to the blood.

"Said I, My pretty maid, where art thou going? And by the hand I took her.
She blushed and she said, I’m going home, I’m a poor old weaver’s daughter.”

She had a nice voice, Cotton thought, and it wasn't pleasant, what she was having to do. But it would soon be over, very soon.

"Thank you, Maggie," he said. "And, thank you for learnin' me to read, a bit, an' all."

(OOC - I'm for bed! See you tomorrow.)

"That's all right," she answered vaguely. "There, that's the last bit off. Let me clean you up a bit and we can have fresh. What a lot of... I can't imagine." She did not elaborate but reached for the bowl of water and a clean cloth, and then she began the task of sponging and blotting and swabbing away what excess blood she could. It must be excruciating.

"May I come with thee, my pretty maid, for gold and silver I’ve plenty?
She turned her head, she blushed and she said, Oh no, kind sir, I thank thee.
You all right, Gabe?"

"I bin... better...." Maggie had kind hands, though, and it didn't hurt so much as when the surgeon had done it. "It don't hurt... so much.... as it done earlier," he managed, somehow holding still for her.

"You've been better! Of all the ungrateful wretches," she cried teasingly. This was not so bad, now that she was in the thick of it. "Nearly there, not long now.

"My mother she is dead and lay in her grave and the early lesson she taught me,
Was to marry for love and not for gold, cried that poor old weaver’s daughter.

"There, all clean. New bandages now. Or I wonder if they should air out a while? Well, probably will hurt less when they're wrapped up good and snug, so, sorry but you'll have to sit up again. Put your hands here and... No, let me see if I can wrap this around like... How did he do it? I need three arms! Sorry, Gabe."

"I wasn't joshin' you about your nursin' skills, you cheeky wench," Cotton returned, bracing himself to sit up. "If you want a hand, just ask... Careful, lass!"

"If I want a hand, I don't think yours will work. Unless you can grow another one sticking out of your back. Here you go - elbows up."

Cotton had to chuckle at that. He obediently raised his arms, hissing a little as the motion pulled at the wounds. "You're doin' good, lass, really."

"Well I'm glad to hear it. I've never done this before. Arms down."

"Yes'm." He lowered his arms, with a small sigh of relief. "You done yet?"

"Almost."

"Thanks for lookin' after me, Maggie." It couldn't be pleasant for her, and he did appreciate it.

"Yes yes yes. All right, there you go, all finished. Shirt?"

"I don't... How bad is it stained?" It would need washing anyway, and better one shirt than both of them. Shame it was his good one, though.

"Oh. Well, it is pretty bad. It would do better to wash it now before the stains set. But you have another one, right? Or are you wanting to save it?" She thought for a moment. "I suppose you don't have to wear a shirt tonight, if you wrap up in blankets and all. I can give you my brown shawl, and if I wash these tonight and hang them by the fire, they'll probably be dry by tomorrow."

"All right. Only other one I've got is the one you mended for me. Will you be able to get the blood out, or will I have to use me other one for best?" Not that he really had such a thing, of course.

"We'll have to wait and see, but I think I can do it," she said with a wink. "You've come to the right place for fighting stains."

"Not like anyone'll see them, anyway," he said. "But thanks. And... I'm sorry I got your shawl all bloody, too. Hadn't I best use my own blanket, in case I dirty your other shawl? And what will you wear when you get cold?" He smiled. "Oh. My jacket, of course."

"Of course. It's a fair trade. And don't you worry. The shawl's brown and so stains won't really show - not that my washing will leave any stains to speak of. You haven't seen what I can do! Plus I have a wool jersey I can wear. Now you wrap up in this," she said, carefully wrapping the clean soft shawl around his shoulders, "And next this," she added, draping the blanket over him, "And I'm going to take these things outside so I don't splash all over the mat. Surgeon might not like that. Neither will you and me, for that matter, sleeping in puddles."