After leaving the camp, Obadiah Hakeswill soon veered off the main road onto a path through the woods that was a shortcut into the small town of Leadingham, which would save him twenty minutes.
Once he got into town, it didn't take him long to find Jacob Cutler's cobbler shop, which was located on a quiet side street. The shop was larger than one would expect of an average small-town cobbler, mostly because of the contract with the army, which had necessitated occasionally hiring more men to fill orders on a timely basis. There was also a good sized workshop building situated directly behind the shop proper.
Obadiah found the shop empty when he entered, save for a woman behind the counter turned away from him, who was bent over a worktable. She straightened and turned when she heard the door open, showing herself to be a young woman around eighteen or so. Smiling in welcome when she saw him, she said, "May I help you, Sergeant?"
Obadiah twitched, then gulped nervously, when he saw the young woman, whose hair was the colour of newly-mown hay, the exact same shade as that of his dearly departed mother. In his estimation, this was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, like something from a dream. He was gratified to see that the woman did not turn away in revulsion, like so many women did, when his face twitched.
Clearing his throat, he explained, "I'm the new quartermaster sergeant." Holding up the requisition form, he added helpfully, "I needs to see Jacob Cutler about this requisition list."
"Where is Sergeant Hunter?" she asked, mildly curious. "He has been the one we've dealt with for years."
"Man died, he did," the young sergeant told her briefly, twitching again. "That's why I'm here; I'm his replacement."
"Oh, that's too bad," she said, frowning briefly in concern. A moment later, she quickly added, "But I am glad to meet you, Sergeant. I'm Jane Cutler, the owner's daughter."
"Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill, at your service, missy," he said proudly, favouring her with what he hoped was a winning smile. "Fine thing to meet you, too, it is."
"Sergeant Hakeswill," Jane acknowledged, with the slightest dip of a curtsey. She looked up, meeting his blue eyes; their eyes locking for a brief moment, before she self-consciously averted her gaze.
"I needs to see your Da about these requisitions," he repeated, still unable to take his eyes from her.
"I've been running the front of the shop since my mother died three years ago," Jane explained briskly. "Da doesn't do much of the business part, because he'd rather just make the shoes and boots, you see. Besides, he's not here right now, anyway." Reaching out for the form he held, she said, "I can take care of that for you, Sergeant Hakeswill."
After giving it to her, he said, "Sorry to hear about your mother. I knows how it feels, 'cos I lost mine when I was just a lad of eleven. Not a day goes by that I don't still miss her."
Looking at him with a sympathetic expression, Jane said, "I feel the same way. My Ma was my best friend."
Suddenly embarrassed by his intense gaze, she turned her attention to business. After quickly perusing the list, she remarked, "This is a much bigger order than what we normally do."
"Got a bunch of lads comin' back from battle," he told her. "They took a good beating, so's they'll be needin' all new shoes and boots. Them what still has shoes will be havin' 'em fallin' off their feet, all worn out, and a bunch of others will be comin' home barefoot, they will."
"I guess my Da's helpers need to get busy making shoes, then," she said, chuckling.
"Right you are missy," Obadiah agreed, chuckling along with her. "They needs to get started right away."
"When will the men get back to camp?" she asked.
"Don't know for sure, but it should be in the next week or two, I'm thinking," he told her.
"All right," she replied. "As soon as my Da gets back, we'll get started on it."
"I'll come back every now and then to see how it's comin' along," he promised, twitching slightly.
"I'll look forward to seeing you again, Sergeant," she told him, giving him a friendly smile.
"Obadiah, missy," he said quietly. "You can call me by my Christian name if you wants to. I expects we'll be seeing a good bit of each other in the next few weeks, no doubt."
"Obadiah, then," she replied. "And you must call me Jane."
"Jane it is," he said, looking her over again appreciatively. After a short pause, he added, "I hate to go, but I needs to go see the tailor today, too. Them boys will be coming home in rags and will need new uniforms as much as shoes."
"Until next time," she said, picking up the requisition form, ready to take it back to the workshop.
Some time later, as he was heading back to camp after visiting the tailor and stopping at the pub for a few pints, Obadiah was still thinking about Jane Cutler. He'd been immediately drawn to the sweet-natured young woman, who had rendered him almost shy in her presence.
Jane was different from the usual type of women he usually sought out to scratch his itches; there was something essentially innocent and pure about her. Rather than wanting to just use her to satisfy his lust, Obadiah experienced the unfamiliar feeling of wanting to be protective of her, just as he'd felt about his own dear mother.
As he continued to walk, he thought about marriage, something he'd never before considered for himself. He was twenty-five now; it was about time for him to find a wife and sire some children. Every man wanted at least one son - and perhaps a few daughters as well. Jane was the type of woman he would have felt proud to bring home to his mother. Obadiah considered the idea that it was quite possible that he had just met the woman who was meant to be his wife.
The young sergeant was a bit nervous, knowing he'd have to properly court her if he was going to win her heart. He couldn't treat the future mother of his children like a common whore, as he'd done with the women he'd been with since joining the army. This was all new territory for Obadiah Hakeswill and he didn't quite know how to properly go about it.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
Nearly a year before, Richard Sharpe had left England as a boy; a green, untested soldier. As the ship carrying him and his weary comrades entered Portsmouth harbour, he returned as a man, with hard won experience under his belt. He'd been tested in battle, and suffered the privations of hunger and harsh weather conditions, but had endured and survived.
And, like Obadiah Hakeswill, he had found purpose and a home in the army. Young Sharpe had proven to be a natural-born soldier, something that his superiors had quickly recognized. His coolness under fire and ability to motivate his fellow soldiers had soon earned him a promotion to corporal.
As he walked down the gangplank gingerly, on feet that had suffered frostbite the previous winter, he was grateful to set foot on English soil once more. There were times in the previous months when he'd seriously doubted he'd live long enough to see his homeland again.
Of the original group recruited at the same time with him, only three were returning that day. His best friend, Sam Carter, had died at Boxtel without ever having fired a shot. Charlie Jenkins, the malcontent that Obadiah Hakeswill had given a kicking to on the way to the training camp, managed to survive the battle in one piece, but succumbed to illness in the harsh winter that followed. Sharpe had made other friends, but he'd always miss the good-natured Sam Carter.
"Feels good to be home, Sharpe, don't it," said one of his fellow corporals, Ben Lawson, as they began marching inland toward the 33rd's home base..
"Right you are," Sharpe agreed, shifting his musket from one shoulder to the other. His steps were a bit unsteady, as he'd not yet re-acquired his "land legs".
"What are you going to do first when we get back to camp?" Lawson asked. "'Fore anything else, I'm going to have me a real bath with real soap. Then I'm going to find me some pretty lass to roger."
"Me, too," Sharpe said grinning. "Be nice to find one what speaks English and who's had a bath herself. First, though, I think I'm going to sleep for a week after drinking the biggest bottle of gin I can find."
"And eat 'til I can't fit in me breeches no more, too," Lawson added.
"Sounds good," Sharpe replied happily. "Even army food will taste good, just as long as there's plenty of it."
The two men fell silent then, marching on in eager anticipation of the indulgences to come.