Disclaimer: I still own nothing Cold Mountain related, excpet my own orgininal characters. The rest...uh-unh.

Chapter 2: Sleep now

Yet again, she awoke to the waning moon and rose to set about her tasks. There was a cow to be milked and fed; water to be fetched and boiled, all before breakfast.

"Another day..." she muttered quietly, before letting a sigh escape. Drawing her coat in closer around her, Maggie walked briskly across the farm yard. A mountain winter's morn was always bitingly cold, regardless of falling snow.

The barn latch hadn't frozen over night, and it gave way quite easily to her gloved hands. Milking Bessie in the cold of morning was her least favorite farm chore, but something that always had to be done. As she picked up the bucket and set to work, her mind wandered to the memory of the one time she forgot. Will, her eldest brother by 10 years, promised that she would never forget again—sure enough, every time a bolt of pain shoots through her shoulder blade she always thinks about that time. A smile spread onto her face. God, how she missed them. All three of them. Will, Matt and John—all swept away forever by the ravages of the Civil War.

It had just been the four of them, living together, surviving together, working together, struggling...and succeeding in making their family farm a success. And now, now everything was up to her. Her two eldest, Will and Matt, taught her everything they learned and knew. And by the time they enlisted, she knew everything they knew, if not more. And now, more than ever, she was eternally grateful to them for everything. She sniffed back the tears forming in her eyes—she missed them so, and since their departure had only sparse contact with others, namely raiding Union soldiers—but could not afford herself any self-pity. Brushing back a stray curl, she rose with the now full milk bucket in hand. The hay crunched beneath her boots as she crossed the small barn to set down the pail and gather hay for Bessie.

"Bet you get lonely too, huh?" she asked, dumping the hay out of the barrel, "No other cows around...just you..." she trailed off, reflecting on that truth that was her life. No matter though...nothing to be done about it now. She buttoned up her coat and prepared to brave the walk across the yard to the cabin.

Nothing eventful had happened—it was just a day. But she wished for some excitement, something different to happen. But with all her work done and everything in its proper place, she found her life's only source of excitement—a book. The Three Musketeers. She must've read it twenty times. It had been Matt's at one time. She opened it randomly as she often did and began reading.

" 'One of my friends, –one of my friends, please to observe, not myself," said Athos, interrupting himself with a melancholy smile, –"one of the counts in my province, noble as a Dandolo or Montmorency, at twenty-five years of age fell in love with a girl of sixteen, beautiful as fancy can paint. Through the ingenuousness of her age beamed an ardent mind, not of the woman, but of the poet. She did not please; she intoxicated. She lived in a small town with her brother, who was a curate. They were said to be of good extraction. My friend, who was seigneur of the country, might have seduced her, or taken her by force, at his will, – for he was master. But unfortunately, he was an honorable man; he married her. The fool! The ass! The idiot!'

'How so, if he loved her?' asked D'Artagnan."

She stopped reading, already knowing the end to Athos' story. The love of his life was branded with a fleur-de-lis, the mark of a murderer. She had lied to him about everything and it had turned the count's heart to stone. Maggie vowed to herself if she was ever was in love, never to lie to him. Chances were there would only be one man who would ever walk into her life what with her living miles from Deerswtich, the nearest town, and she never wanted to risk losing him. But she didn't think about the end of the story, she thought more on what their lives were probably like before the count discovered the brand. Full of happiness, joy, love...everything she truly wanted life to be, but knew could never come to her. She pushed such romantic thoughts out of her mind. There was no point to wasting anymore time—those thoughts would get her nowhere. She set the book down and walked to the stove to check on dinner. The fire smoldered low and would soon go out. Thankful for the day's last bit of sun, she pulled her shawl over her shoulder and headed for the cabin door. She noticed her small porch supply was running low—something else she would have to do in the morning. She reentered the cabin and stoked the fire to a good flame before returning to the porch to gather a few smaller sticks. The setting sun cast shadows upon the farm yard and shrouded the porch in long shadows. She shook back the curls that had fallen into her face as she rose from the wood pile, gazing at the world around her. Immediately, she jumped back, crashing into the post, her breath catching in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't mean to frighten you none..."

"No...it's alright. You just startled me, s'all." She recovered her breath and brought a hand to her chest. "I'm sorry. There hasn't been a person, save for me, around here for some time." The scruffy, rough stranger regarded her with green eyes filled with curiosity and coldness.

"I heard noise...and followed it..."

"It's alright. I don't mind that you wandered here." Her words came fast and excitedly. She was just startled and somewhat glad to see another person.

"What? For all you know, I'm a killer...on the run, hiding out, taking and killing as I go..." Her relaxed attitude caught him off guard during a time when everyone was up in arms about strangers passing through. She tilted her head to one side and looked closer at him—his hands were open at his side, and the butt of a pistol stuck out clearly from his waistband.

"You could be," she said, "But in my heart, I don't think you are." Her hazel eyes locked with his for a brief second, as though she was looking to find something. "You're shivering..."

"I'll be alright once I get going again..." he turned from her as though to leave.

"Please..." he stopped and turned back around, "Won't you come in for a warm fire and something warm to eat? You look half-dead, as though you've been walking for weeks without rest."

"Thanks Miss, but I'll be movin' on. I'm a deserter—if I'm found that would be trouble for the both of us." The genuine trust that she was showing to him by openly offering him her hospitality struck him. Did such trust come naturally to her? Could such trust come naturally to anyone?

"Please..." she stepped off the porch, snow crunching beneath her feet, "Please. It's no trouble. The soldiers, from both sides, have been gone from here for many months now. There's naught here they want anymore. Besides, I could do with the company, and from the looks of it, you could do with food and rest." A soft inviting, hopeful smile spread across her fair face.

"Thank you..." he said ever so quietly as though she might suddenly change her mind. Her smile grew and filled out her thin face as she tightened her shawl around her shoulders and headed for the cabin porch. He followed slowly behind, inwardly looking foreword to warm food and a warm fire. She pushed open the wooden door and instantly the heat from the fire grazed against his chapped, cold skin, like a welcome whiff of summer in a winter's storm. She listened for his footsteps on the hardwood cabin floor behind her but instead a scuffing, scrapping sound was to be heard.

"That's considerate of you." She said, noticing his efforts to scrape the snow and water off his boots.

"It's the least I could do after the consideration you've shown for me."

"You're welcome Mr...." she trailed off, suddenly realizing that she didn't even know his name.

"Inman."

"Mr. Inman."

"Naw...Inman's fine." He shrugged, raising his eyes from the floor to hers. "And your name, Miss?"

"Maggie..." she closed the door behind him as he entered the semi small cabin, full of its warmth and inviting aromas from the stove.

"Thank you again, Miss Maggie." Her light laugh filled the air—a sound that to Inman reminded him painfully of Ada, her voice and laugh he so longed to hear.

"Just Maggie is fine." She motioned to a chair at the table and she turned to head to the stove to fix him and herself a plate. His pack fell soft against the wood floor and he removed his hat and jacket before sitting down.

"Where do you hail from...Inman?" she stumbled around the lack of formality surrounding this man she barely knew.

"Uh, A tiny town in the North Carolina mountains, name o' Cold Mountain. S'Where I'm on my way to."

"Well, you're not so far away. About a week's journey on foot from here." She was sure his eyes lit up at her remark as she turned from the stove with two brimming bowls of hot beef stew.

"Here..." she said, setting the bowl before him and sitting herself, "This should warm you up quite nicely."

"And what about you? Your husband leave you to fight?" he quickly asked before digging into the stew.

"No. I have never been married. But the war took the lives of my three brothers who lived and worked on this farm with me." A flood of memories skittered rapidly across her mind. "I've lived here and worked here—alone—since they left nine months ago." She lowered her head and dove into the soup herself. Surely, if he wanted to know more, he would ask. No sense in rambling on.

"And you manage the whole farm on your own? Very well, from the looks of things." Inman said in between bites.

"My mother died when I was but two and my father was...well, he was never around, so it was up to my brothers and me to make a living for ourselves. Will and Matt worked for some local farmers for a few years, learning how to run and maintain a farm. When they knew enough, they quit and taught me and John the ins and outs of farming. From there, we made our living farming. So, when it came time for them to enlist, they had given me the makings of survival out here." He nodded his head, mouth full. His respect for her grew—anyone who could etch a living in these mountainsides deserved it, and for her to have succeeded despite her loses with no replacement, to him, was something admirable.

"Your stew's very good Maggie."

"Thanks Inman." She raised a small smile, noticing the firelight dancing in his green eyes. Quickly lowering her eyes to her soup, she realized she'd been staring. The rest of their meal passed in silence, save for the occasional sounds of a spoon scraping against the bowl's edge or the squeak of a chair. She rose and headed for the stove, returning with a warm pan of bread.

"I'm afraid it isn't much—I wasn't expecting a guest and I don't bake much for myself, but you're welcome to what you would like."

"Oh no, please. I feel bad enough taking your stew—much less the bread you baked for you to eat."

"I eat bread and stew almost everyday. From the looks of it, you eat once a day, if even that. Please...have your fill. I don't mind." He accepted her kind offer, finding that it complimented the stew wonderfully, and had a small haunting aftertaste of guilt.

"Thank you Maggie." His voice was laced with exhaustion as she took his empty plate to be washed. Having deposited both hers and Inman's dishes in sudsy warm water, she moved about the cabin to draw the covers back on a vacant bed for him.

"Your bed is here...ready and waiting...for whenever you feel so inclined." She moved back to the wash basin, turning her back and scrubbing away. He sat, somewhat bewildered. There didn't seem to be anything her heart wasn't willing to sacrifice to help him, a total and complete stranger. Most kindness this extensive, in his experiences, required and expected eventual compensation—something which he was in no position to return. It troubled him that there would be very little he could do to return her generosity, but with night having already fallen, there was little he could do about his situation. He rose to his pack and retrieved his rolled book, containing Ada's letters and photo. Even though she wasn't smiling in the photo, Inman could clearly recall her smile, her soft skin glowing under the summer's sun, her blonde curls blowing gently in the breeze. He could only hope in his heart that she was still waiting...that she would still remember him...that he could love her.

"She's very pretty. What's her name?"

"Ada...Ada Monroe." His words sounded distant, as though his mind was in Cold Mountain. He hadn't even seen Maggie cross behind him and cast a sideways glance at the photo.

"She's the reason you're risking your life to return home, isn't she?"

"Yes...and there are others."

"As in any decision, there are." She agreed, remembering clearly all the reasons her brothers felt compelled to enlist. His eyes closed, what with his mind full of pleasant thoughts of Ada, his stomach full of warm food, and his body warmed by the strong fire.

"Come on, in to bed with you. You need sleep." She helped him to his feet, wrapping her hand gently around his arm to help steady him in his mellow state.

"Thank you, yet again, Maggie." He said quietly, finding sleep beginning to overtake him as his head fell soft against the pillow.

"Ssshh. Sleep now. We'll talk more when you wake." A gentle smile spread across her face as she drew the quilt around him and watched him drift off to sleep.

It was a bit of a disappointment, yet something she should have expected, to hear about Ada. Of course. For what else would be compelling enough to risk such a dangerous trip? The people in the novels she'd read had always done daring, perilous and sometimes foolish things in the name of love—so why shouldn't Inman risk such a journey? And yet...his green eyes had fascinated her from the moment she met him.... She turned quickly from his side and walked to the table. She could only hope and pray that it would pass and not grow into anything more. She picked up his book and the photograph. Ada was truly pretty. And if she had a personality to match her beauty, then why shouldn't Inman love her? Maggie didn't think herself to be pretty, and seeing Ada's photo made her wish she was. Sighing to herself, she placed the photo under the front cover and placed it on top of his pack where he would find it in the morning. Morning...for her, it would come sooner than usual. The moon had already risen quite high in the sky. She stirred the fire down to smoldering embers and pushed it deeper against the brick-back of the fireplace before heading for bed herself. Even though he would be wanting to leave after breakfast in the morning, she still had chores to be completed before she could even think about breakfast.


more to come.... the rest of it is already written, now its just a matter of getting all up on the site. i should hopefully update it soon.