Hi everyone. Many apologies for how long it's been! I was out of the country for a good bit of the summer, and had the hardest time getting back into a routine once I was home. I'm really starting to fall in love with this story again though, and I'm hoping to be putting things our more regularly. I know this chapter was supposed to be their wagon ride, but I wanted to get some things about Daryl's war experiences out their before then. Sorry for the delay. Historical notes at the end if you're interested.

With a heave and a grunt, Daryl brought the worn handle of the ax down and split the log that he'd propped up cleanly in two. By his reckoning, he had another thirty logs to split before he'd be done. He paused for a minute to stretch his back and noted that the soreness that twinged there occasionally was gathering more often than it used to. He supposed that sleeping on the ground for four years straight could do that to a body.

As he raised the ax again, he tried to get control of the gnawing in his gut that he hadn't been able to shake all day. It had been present since the moment Hershel had mentioned that he should take Beth to Talbot with him. The thought of being that close to Beth, who would certainly talk and expect him to respond, for that long filled his stomach with a nervous churning that should have been shameful for a man that had dealt with as much as he had in the past few years. It seemed that he was finding a a tentative footing with everyone on the farm except for the farmer's daughter. She kept showing him kindnesses that he felt he couldn't repay, which was a feeling he was totally unaccustomed to. He was used to being surly, and he felt that he couldn't be with her. Maybe he'd ask Jimmy to come along with them - if he did, then Jimmy and Beth could chatter to themselves and ignore him entirely.

He was considering the merits of this idea when he heard a decisive crash from the barn behind him and -

It was impossible to draw a full breath because of the thick smoke that hung in the air like a parasite. Daryl could feel the irritation of scratchy wool on damp skin that happened whenever it got hot like this, and - while he knew that if he made it through this he'd be annoyed - it was the least of his worries right now. His fingertips burned on hot metal as he knelt to reset the firing cap on his .58.

"Sounds like them bastards finally overused their guns," Merle grunted to his right.

They'd been firing over this particular hillside for what felt like hours, but up until now, the artillery rounds just kept coming, You could never be sure if they had finally over heated the gun barrels or if the Yanks were just reloading. Daryl couldn't imagine that the Union artillery guns had much steam left in them on a day as hot as hell itself. He'd grown up thinking that it was cold up North, but if this particular stretch of Pennsylvania farmland was any indicator, the stories had it wrong.

After a full two minutes of quiet, Daryl was finally starting to believe that they'd earned a reprieve. He heard hoof beats, and glanced up to see Captain Grimes riding the length of the line they'd been holding.

"General Pickett says the Yankee guns are done, fellas," the Captain hollered, "Load up and get in formation! We charge with the drums!"

A half-hearted whoop ran through the line, and Merle - ever the hell-raiser - managed a tired Rebel Yell. If the big wigs thought the Yankee cannons were out of commission, this final infantry charge might put an end to this three days stretch of misery.

After double checking that both his rifle and side-arm were loaded, Daryl stood and shouldered up next to Merle. His body tensed, anticipating the charge.

"Ready to give 'em hell, baby brother?" Merle ribbed, elbowing him.

"Born ready," Daryl affirmed, fixing his eyes ahead.

At the roll of the drum, the company moved forward like a well-greased wheel and made their way up the hill. Daryl moved his rifle from it's marching position and leveled it at the hazy line of offending navy blue in the distance.

He was just drawing in a breath to aim when the ground underneath his feet shook so violently with artillery fire that it knocked him to the dirt.

Daryl struggled to even his ragged breathing as he slowly realized that he was crouching behind the chopping block like a damn fool. As the haze in his mind faded, he realized that the crash he'd heard was coming from the inside of the barn and not from the other side of a battlefield. His face burned with shame as he realized that something as simple as a noise could unhinge him that easily. He was grateful that no one was around to see him.

Hershel had driven Patricia and Jimmy into town a few hours ago and the three had yet to return. A letter had come that morning saying that Otis's personal affects had been recovered and shipped to the Army depot in Senoia. Hershel, to his credit, had given Daryl some odd jobs for the day, instructed Beth to stick to house chores, and loaded Patricia and Jimmy into the wagon directly. Daryl hadn't seen Beth since she'd brought him a bacon sandwich a few hours ago, and he was grateful for it.

With a shaky breath, he straightened up and reached for the ax that he'd let fall to the ground. This was only the second time that he'd had a flashback that vivid. The things that he saw and did during the War were never too far from his mind, but only once before had he been gripped by a fear so so strong that it had seemed to rob him of his consciousness. He couldn't explain it, and he didn't like it a damn bit.

He tried very hard not to hear his father's voice in his head as he placed another log on the block. William Dixon would have berated him for a coward and probably punched him in the mouth for good measure if he had witnessed his youngest son's tiny break with reality. Daryl shook his head a little to clear it, and reminded himself for the umpteenth time that his father was dead and gone - even if he could sometimes feel his shame from the grave.

Two swings later he heard a dull thump - not nearly as loud as the first one - come from the same spot in the barn. He knew it couldn't be Hershel and the others returning. He would have seen them coming up the lane. At this time of day Beth should have been in the house getting supper ready. That left the possibility of either a loose horse, a wild animal, or someone who had no business being there. With a sigh more of annoyance than apprehension, Daryl stuck the ax in the wood of the chopping block and started around the side of the barn to the door.

He placed a hand over the hunting knife at his hip before pushing the side door of the barn open, and noted nothing but the late-afternoon sun filtering through the dusty air. He made his way along the length of the room, checking that all the horses' stall doors were latched properly. He had almost reached the end when he heard the same thump and a soft voice that he couldn't quite make out.

In the final stall, Daryl was little shocked to find a sweat-soaked, messy-haired Beth kneeling over a very pregnant doe goat who was heaving in the midst of a kidding.

"Come now, Mama," Beth practically whispered, running the her hand the length of the doe's swollen stomach, "I know that little one's facin' the wrong way, but you shouldn't have much longer now.

She clearly hadn't noticed his presence yet, and Daryl took the opportunity to process what he saw. Beth Greene was certainly no plantation belle, but judging by the size of this farm and house, she certainly hadn't grown up with any working skills. In fact, he'd be willing to put money on the guess that her mama had probably insisted on her learning to speak French and play the piano. Young ladies did not tie up their skirts, kneel in the hay, and hazard the potential muck and filth that came with livestock births.

And yet, here she was. He could tell by the tiredness around her eyes, and the fact that her light blue dress was dark with perspiration, that she'd been here awhile. That, coupled with her calm and collected words, had him believing that this was far from her first experience with this kind of thing. He didn't know what to make of this girl.

Without warning, she glanced up and caught him staring. He coughed a little to cover his embarrassment when she offered him a tired smile.

"Daryl," she said simply, "I thought that was you splitting logs I heard a moment ago."

"Heard a noise in here," he said by way of explanation, not wanting her to think that he'd snuck in here to watch her.

"Dina flailed a little, and kicked my water pail over," Beth explained, cutting her eyes to the bucket laying on it's side in the hay, " The kid's nearly here, and she's gettin' a mite restless."

Without comment, Daryl retrieved the water bucket and walked the few yards to the other side of the barn to refill it for her. She must be about to expire with heat. Noticing the dipper next to the pump, he grabbed it too, and returned to her stall. Her eyes filed with relief when she saw him return with the water, and she left the goat's side long enough to get a drink.

"Thank you so much," she sighed, "Dina was having such a hard time, I didn't wanna leave her."

"How d'you know the kid's backward?" he asked, purposefully not acknowledging her gratitude.

"I suspected an hour or two ago," she replied, "I felt for it, and I'm pretty sure what I encountered was rump and not head."

Daryl couldn't stop his eyebrows rising at that. He'd known teenage boys who blanched at the idea of checking an animal's birth canal. Beth was made of sterner stuff than she looked. He unlatched the stall and moved in to kneel beside her. Tough though she might be, he doubt she had the arm strength to do the pulling that might be required if the kid's hooves got stuck.

"What'd you plan on doin' if he got stuck?" he inquired.

She chuckled a little sheepishly; apparently she'd thought of that too.

"Hollerin' til you came to help," she said with a smile that seemed to light up the whole interior of the dusty barn.

Daryl snorted a little, in spite of himself. At lease she was honest.

"Have you seen a kidding before?" she asked, rubbing the distressed animal's head.

"I helped with calving on a farm near my cabin as a youngin'" he answered, "Can't be too different."

Beth nodded, and leaned down to check their progress.

"I can see the sac," she said, suddenly all business, "but it's not comin' as easy as it should. If I hold her shoulders, can you work it out?"

Daryl took a peek as well and could see that her assessment was spot on. He nodded and rolled his sleeves up, lamenting the fact that he'd only washed this shirt a week ago and it was about to get filthy.

After a few tense minutes of tugging, with Beth's soothing voice keeping the doe calm, the birthing sac spilled onto the ground and the kid kicked through it almost immediately. With a little assistance from Beth, it broke free and was up on wobbly little legs in a matter of minutes.

Beth laughed out loud, which Daryl was surprised to realize didn't sound nearly a jarring as it had when he'd first arrived. They both watched in awe as the tiny brown goat tested his new legs and eventually settled down next to his mother to nurse.

With a touch of familiarity that made him stiffen, Beth bumped his shoulder with hers and turned a beaming grin on him.

"I'm glad you came in when you did," she said, rising to her feet and wiping her messy hands on her apron.

"Weren't nothin'" he grunted, attempting to wipe some of the mess from his boots, "I's surprised is all."

"About what?"

"I ain't never seen a lady birth an animal before."

At that comment Beth shrugged a shoulder and bent to pick up the water bucket.

"My mama would probably have a fit if she saw me now," she remarked, a bit of sadness creeping into her face, "But times change. The past couple of years have been different and I've had to learn to adjust same as everybody else."

"Mmmm," was all Daryl could manage. He had the strangest impulse to try and comfort her and he knew he had to squash it quick. He had no idea how, and it wasn't his place.

"Even ladies have to get dirty sometimes," she teased.

"Mmmm."

Yet another comment he didn't dare reply to.

"What should we name him?" Beth asked after a beat.

"Don't much care," Daryl responded with a shrug, "You pick."

Beth knelt to stroke the little kid's soft ears and when she stood again their was a telltale impishness about her smile.

"I think I'll call him Jolly," she declared with a hint of sarcasm, "in honor of the man who brought him into the world."

Lord help him on this wagon ride in the morning.

I hope you're liking them getting just a little more comfortable with each other. All the details from the Gettysburg scene, right down to the temperature were pretty accurate. Daryl's company participated in Pickett's Charge which is arguable one of the most important turning points of the Civil War. It's what really got the Confederates defeated at Gettysburg. There will be more of those flashbacks as we go along and you can check out if you're interested in more specific info!