They talked late into the wee hours of the morning about all manner of things. Since Brackenreid had to omit a large portion of the last five years from his recollections, he mostly talked about his childhood growing up in Yorkshire and then how he worked as a dock labourer for most of his adult life (the latter being ironic as he always got dreadfully sea sick). He briefly mentioned how he had attempted to become a pugilist in his late teens but that dream had been crushed due to a serious head injury. The doctors told him that he couldn't participate in the sport anymore if he wanted to live for much longer. He stubbornly refused to believe them but his mother had talked him out of fighting. Annoyingly the army hadn't had any qualms about throwing him into dangerous situations. But he gathered that the two things were rather different, or maybe they just didn't care? Either way, he was still alive and he often times wondered if too much of a fuss had been made over his head injury way back when.
Margaret followed suit and talked about her childhood as well, and how her mother had died when she was just seven years old and how her two older sisters more or less raised her at that point as their father was always too busy with work. In those days he had been struggling to start up a plumbing business with his brothers. Then she talked about how she had wanted to go to college to study English but her father had been afraid for her safety and refused to let her go. She had been angry at him for a long time and for awhile they were estranged. Gradually they had gotten over their differences and now they functioned quite well together (apart of course from little misunderstandings, which was apparently what Brackenreid witnessed and been the cause of).
Their conversation had been so engrossing that he forgot to check the time and when he finally did found to his dismay that it was almost morning! There was virtually no way he was going to get back in time but he had to at least try. So excusing himself profusely, he rushed out of the house, jumped on the black beauty (silently praying that he was sufficiently rested) and charged into the thinning darkness faster than he had ever ridden before.
Nearing his destination (while the sun had begun to rise), the stallion began to falter. He had been so focused on getting back in time that he had neglected to make sure he wasn't pushing him too hard. But now he could see the copious amounts of foam that were collecting along his bridle and dripping down. On top of that, the horses eyes were bloodshot and unseeing. And sure enough, within a few seconds the stallion had almost come to a stand still. Brackenreid quickly got off and moments later the horse collapsed forward, never to move again.
Understandably he felt bad for the fellow, especially after everything he had done for him. But now was not the time for grieving. He still had to make it back to his tent. Sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, he plunged into the woods and towards the encampment. When he was closer, he slowed down, (equally from a desire to be stealthy as well as to catch his breath) creeping along the tent borders until he reached his own. Brackenreid was overjoyed to have made it back just as the sun was signalling roll call time.
He entered his quarters and came face to face with General Johnson. The General's eyes flashed with thinly veiled mirth and Brackenreid gulped nervously. He was about to speak when the General put out a hand to silence him. Then he left Brackenreid standing there with his mouth hanging open.
Needless to say, Brackenreid did not have a good time of things for the next week. As threatened, he was again demoted, (this time to the lowest possible rank) and now forced to shine the men's boots for hours on end. When he finished with those, he was expected to clean each and every single rifle lying around. Within a few days his hands were sore and callused, and by the end of day five, they were raw and bleeding, just like the General had foreseen. But still he was ordered to keep on at it even though every motion caused a wave of agony throughout his poor digits.
Finally he got some relief. Margaret had come to see him. He didn't know how she talked her way on to the grounds but he didn't care. All that mattered was that she was there now. And somehow his hands didn't seem to throb as horribly anymore at the sight of her. As she approached, some of the men whistled and Brackenreid felt like ripping their throats out. For the first time in a long while, he wished he was still a Major, then he could have put them in their place without fear of repercussions. So in order to get away from those rascals, they removed themselves to his quarters. It was then that she noticed his battered hands.
"What happened, Thomas?" she asked concernedly as she reached for one of them.
"Nothing I can't handle," he said wincing as she stroked his hand gently.
She made a disgusted face and said, "The army is such a vile place. There is so little sense in fighting our fellow man." Then abruptly, "How much longer must you be forced to stay here?"
One of the things he had confided to her a week ago was that he longed to put that chapter of his life behind him and move on to bigger and better things. Or at least something he might enjoy more.
"Not much longer," he said. "Soon I'll be able to leave of my own free will."
Margaret contemplated that for a moment and then looked around the tent. "So this is where you call home. It's not much to look at."
"No, it's not but I don't mind. I haven't had much use for possessions these last five years. The one thing the war taught me is that everything is expendable. You shouldn't place too much value on any one thing because you never know when you'll lose it."
"But that's a horrible philosophy!" she exclaimed. "I can't imagine living my life that way. You'd never feel the need to care about anything!"
"That's pretty much the point, Margaret," he said with a sad smile. "Soldiers that are afraid to lose something precious to them are the ones who fear death the most. They're pretty useless on the battlefield, so the army tries to condition them. Once you learn to turn off your emotions, you have a much better chance of surviving. Of course, it's easier said than done. But once you turn them off, they're hard to turn on again."
She stared at him like she couldn't believe what he was saying. It seemed like she would say something indignantly but all she said quietly was, "And were you successful at this task?"
It seemed to him that there was hidden meaning behind her words, like depending on how he answered, her desire to be with him would be affected. He couldn't really blame her, he was damaged goods after all. The war had seen to that quite thoroughly. He hadn't even been in a relationship for the past five years and he wondered if he still knew how. Then again, had he ever really known? Even before being drafted, he had never had much success with this courting business. He always seemed to say the wrong thing or offend people with his brash language. But he had been trying his best to behave himself with Margaret and so far it was paying off.
Maybe his previous problems all stemmed from a simple truth? Maybe those attractions hadn't been strong enough to force him to make an effort? As far as he could tell, he had never been in love. But this time was different. He was feeling all these things that he had never felt before. They always seemed to magnify ten fold when he was around her, so he was positive that she was the cause of them. But as to whether it was love he was experiencing, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he hated being away from her and when he was, she was all he could think of.
He could lie to her now and tell her what he thought she wanted to hear, but he was still repulsed at himself for the last time and knew he could never do that to her again.
"Yes, I was," Brackenreid said slowly and clearly. "That's what made me so good. That's how I survived for so long." A shadow appeared to flit across her face so he continued. "But I've recently learned how to feel things again, how to feel good things again." He looked directly into her eyes. "And you're a big part of that, Margaret."
As soon as he said that, her face erupted gleefully. However, this only lasted for the briefest of seconds and then she appeared as she always did when she was complacent. But that was all the time he needed to know that she wasn't planning on bolting out of there any time soon.
"So what do you do around here for fun?" she inquired. "Or are you not allowed to have any?"
Brackenreid smirked and was relieved that the conversation was now taking a lighter tone. "Well, we mostly play card games or some other form of betting game. And when we need more amusement than that, we go into town."
Margaret smiled at him and said, "I was just in town, it's dreadfully slow today. Let's play a game." Waggling a finger at him, "Don't let my looks deceive you, I'm really quite good at those sorts of things."
"Why am I not surprised?" he said grinning.
And so it was that Margaret stopped by every day and they would play games or else go for long strolls through the forest. It seemed to him that she intuitively knew that he wasn't allowed to go into the city himself anymore, as she had never mentioned going there themselves. He wasn't surprised at all that she realized this on her own. Why else would he have continuously shown up at her doorsteps in the dead of night?
No matter what they did, they were always talking. Brackenreid didn't think he had ever been so comfortable talking to another person, especially not a member of the opposite sex. And while he had been making an effort to control his language, he would occasionally slip up when he was particularly excited about the topic. The first time it happened, he expected her to get angry at him. Instead she just shook her head a little and pretended as if she hadn't heard. He wondered why she was okay with such salty language. It made him a little uncomfortable that she was because then it meant she had spent a lot of time around rather questionable fellows. Of course by this logic, he himself was one of these men and therefore he shouldn't have a problem with it. But he couldn't help it, he did.
This thought continued to gnaw at him until one day he snapped and blurted out, "Why the bloody hell don't you have a goddamn problem with my bad language?"
Margaret looked at him in a mildly disapproving manner and said calmly, "My uncles fought in the Fenian raids. They picked up a lot of bad habits during their time in the army. I was still so young when they came back that I guess it just sort of became a part of me. So even when I was old enough to understand that their language was bad, it didn't seem to bother me too much."
"But when we first met, you said army men disgust you."
"I was angry with you, Thomas."
"Let's hope that never happens again."
"I wouldn't bet on it, which as you know, I'm quite good at."
The big day had come at last. Brackenreid was allowed to leave the army. A few of the men came to see him off but for the most part, it was a very low-key affair. And he was perfectly fine with that, he was just happy to finally be leaving. Margaret met him on the outskirts of the encampment and together they walked away from that place, both hoping to never have to return.
That same night he sprung something unexpected on her. Indeed, it was surprising to himself for he hadn't planned on it at all. It just sort of happened. They were having dinner at a local restaurant and he had been drinking. Possibly he overdid it just a bit, he could never say for certain later on. But he was just so extraordinarily delighted with the goings on and the company that before he knew it, he found himself proposing to her!
"How about it Margaret? What do you bloody well say about marrying a bloke like me?"
She stared at him in apparent shock. He felt more shocked. They both sat there with slightly parted mouths but neither said a word. At first Brackenreid had felt foolish and wanted to take it back but then he realized that even though this hadn't been planned, it was the right time to do it. Maybe not with the words he used but he was never particularly elegant in that arena anyways, so as far as he was concerned, it didn't really matter. When she still didn't answer after ten seconds he began to doubt himself again. She must have seen a change come over his face for she spoke then.
"I-I'm not sure, Thomas" she breathed, driving a nail into his heart. "I need some time to think about it." She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. "You have to remember that it wasn't that long ago I was engaged to another man."
"Of course," he said brashly, trying to make it seem like it was nothing when in reality his soul was being crushed. "Take all the time you need, Margaret. I'm not going anywhere." She hesitatingly smiled at that and then he abruptly changed the topic, trying to keep his cool for the rest of the evening and mostly succeeding. But most likely she knew what was really going on in his head.
The next morning he awoke to knocking on his recently acquired apartment door (that was the one time he had been allowed into the city since his last great escape). It took him awhile to get there as he was very groggy from not sleeping well. In fact, he barely slept at all. All he had been able to think about was what he'd do with himself if she rejected him. He didn't want to go back into a bad way again but he wasn't sure that he was strong enough to stop himself without her supporting him.
Brackenreid desperately hoped that Margaret was on the other side. But it was not to be. He opened the door and found a little mousy man standing there with a big smile on his face. The man was holding a plant of some sort.
"What the bloody hell do you want?" he asked gruffly.
The man seemed taken aback by Brackenreid's appearance and manner but pushed on nonetheless. "Hello, good sir, I just wanted to welcome you into our little family here." Then he handed over the plant and Brackenreid begrudgingly took it. The man offered his hand and said, "I'm Tobias Wilch, pleased to meet you."
"Brackenreid," he said closing the door in his face before Tobias could catch him in further conversation. He was in no mood today to be annoyed by such a person. There was no telling what he might do to them. Better to be rude than to end up in jail again by smashing a pot into someone's skull. This time he wouldn't be getting bailed out.
He laid the plant on the kitchen table and then lay down again, wanting nothing more than to try and get some rest. But there was more knocking before he had a chance to even attempt this. He stormed over to the door and whipped it open. He was about to lay it on thick when he saw who it was.
"Margaret," he said forcing himself to calm down. She looked as bad as he felt.
"Bad time?" she asked giving him the once over and raising her eyebrows.
"Never for you," he said. "Please come in." And then realizing his state of dress, grabbed a blanket to cover himself with. He gestured to the only chair in the place and she sat down. Brackenreid sat on the edge of the bed. They awkwardly remained like that for a few seconds.
"So.." they both said simultaneously but neither one smiled this time.
"I was hoping you'd stop by," he said.
"It sure didn't seem like it by the looks of things."
"A misunderstanding, that's all."
"I see." Another awkward silence. "I came by today to discuss what happened last night." He nodded but didn't say anything so she continued. "I've given this a lot of thought over the past eight hours and I've come to a decision." Brackenreid held his breath, waiting for the outcome of this situation and preparing himself for the worst. "It might not have been the best timing ever but-" All of a sudden she broke into a massive smile- "I've decided to accept your offer, Thomas."
His face mirrored her own and he took her hand to kiss it, the most recent of a long line of them. Then he drew her close and they shared their first kiss. It was utterly exquisite and even more magical than he imagined it would be like. Parting, she had wrinkled her nose a bit and he wondered if his breath had been bad.
Seeing his mortified expression she said, "Your moustache is so ticklish." Then she laughed and he laughed along with her and they kissed again, this time more deeply and passionately. Brackenreid felt like everything was right with the world and he couldn't wait to find out what would happen next.