hasperkynipples | civil war au } { meddling mothers

Christine expects Dean to have told his mother what she looked like. She also expected his description to be a person much different than herself. Gone are the tight curls pinned back from her face and the frilly dresses in pastel colors. Now she wears her hair severely parted down the middle and back in a bun. The dress she wears is a simple navy blue with black buttons and plain black trimming. Anyone who had known her before would say she's lost the bloom of youth. Her hands are a little coarser, and her eyes carry a sadness and seriousness they once lacked. But as she stands there with a traveling bag in her hands, she offers a gentle smile, her eyes radiating kindness.

"Yes, hello. I'm Christine Chapel." It's a name she hasn't used since she left home, so her father couldn't track her down. She picked a new last name and pretended to be a widow so she would be allowed to tend to the soldiers. And now that she works for one of the front line doctors in his practice, it's been easier to keep up the ruse. Signing her real name on that letter had been the first time she'd used it in years.

"Did I precede my letter accepting your invitation, ma'am?"

Mary perks up at the name immediately, a wide smile crossing her face. "Yes, of course. Christine." She takes a step back, studying her for a moment. Prettier than she thought she'd be. This is looking like a better and better choice already.

"Well, come on in darlin'. Dean's out in the back fields, but I could get you something cool to drink. It's a hot day."

"I'd appreciate that, thank you." Christine follows her up into the house, feeling touched at the familiarity she's already being shown. During the war, she had that with the other nurses, and they were more like mothers to her than her own flesh and blood had been.

"I-I know it must have seemed odd, my writing to Mister-- to Dean," she adds, trying out the name, "But he was very kind to me and I wished to know how he was." And because he hasn't written back to her, she's worried that he might have been hurt in the war. She worries --or worried-- that he might be an invalid. But the news that he's out in the fields working is promising.

"No, not at all. It was good to see that something nice came out of that whole mess." Mary's not a fan of war by any means, and she certainly wasn't fond of her son's decision to fight in it, but Dean is stubborn, a bit like her, and he was going to go whether she gave him her blessing or not. Having something like Christine be a result, rather than drinking (which he did, but not as badly, which she appreciated), is comforting.

She leads the way to small kitchen, making her way for the ice box. The entire Winchester house was small, not necessarily made of money, but warm enough for it's comforts. John did well enough at the market with their crops and they were part of the community here. It shows in the finer touches.

"It's been a Godsend having him here, too, especially with his father having thrown his back out - " the "again" is implied. " - and his brother away at school."

Christine sets her traveling bag by the door as she comes in, taking a look around. Back home, the rooms had had the ostentatious Victorian flair, and it was only after spending time in the kitchen with the servants that she came to appreciate the simplicity and lack of clutter.

"Oh, his father-- Is there anything that can be done to speed his recovery?" She can't recall any soldiers walking around bent in half, complaining they'd thrown their backs out. What would be the proper solution: heat, cold, or alternating between the two?

Mary waves a hand at that. "Time and a willing ear to listen to him complain usually does the trick. He's on the mend though - he's been walking around a bit and not complaining about the pain, so I'm sure he'll be back to work in no time."

This is a common problem for John. Mary fusses at him to have a doctor look at it constantly, but he won't listen. Winchester men are stubborn - but then again, so are the women they marry.

That makes her smile faintly. Her mother often complained of poor health, but Christine was sure it was mostly in her head. It wasn't like her mother did anything more strenuous than walk to the neighbors, or take a carriage to go shopping.

"And will he appreciate a new ear to listen to him?" she asks lightly. "If I tell him I am a nurse, perhaps he'll say more."

A nurse? Well, then, Dean was leaving things out. She considers for a moment, before shrugging. "We'll see what he says when he comes down. Stupid fool refuses to see a doctor, but maybe if we dress it up with a pretty face, he'll be a bit more willing to listen."

She shakes her head, placing the glass down in front of Christine before pouring one for himself. "Not that I'm saying you're just a pretty face, but men are a bit stupid that way. They need something nice to look at before they realize it's for their own good."

Christine laughs lightly and nods, accepting her drink.

"I understand." She's about to add that it was the same way with the soldiers she tended, but she stops herself. She tended to Confederates, not Federals, and she feels it would be a sore subject to bring up.

"So, Mrs. Winchester, what is your younger son studying?" She feels it's only polite to inquire. It was clear that Dean was very fond of his family.

"Oh, Sammy's in law school back east." There's no mistaking the pride in her tone. Mary's proud of both her sons, but Sam's always been smart and he worked so hard to get there. It just sort of flows out of her without her even realizing it. "He's always been smart - Dean's smart too, but it's more the practical kind. Sam on the other hand, he loves his books."

Christine likes how she doesn't favor one son over the other. A lot of people do that, and it seems unfair to her.

"I enjoy reading. Not that I could ever understand anything like a lawyer does! Well, you must be so proud." She sips at her drink, and then can't help returning to thoughts of Dean. "And Dean? Does he want to stay here and farm?"

"Very." She always will be proud of Sam, no matter what he does, but the fact that he's managed to come so far, warms her heart. She settles in the chair across from her before shrugging. "Dean's happy on the farm, but I think he's still undecided. The war changed him a bit, whether or not he wants to admit it. He can't help it though - war changes everyone, one way or another."

Christine understands that well. The war changed everyone in different ways, but seeing the blood and hearing the artillery fire was much different than sitting in the parlor in New Orleans, sipping at tea.

"I was a nurse in the war," she admits. She can't elaborate without admitting that she was tending to the Confederates, but if Mrs. Winchester asks, she won't deny it. "It reshapes you into a wholly new being. I hardly can believe who I used to be. But despite all the hardships, I feel I needed to do it. I like the person I am now far better than the one I was." The one who valued her name and her reputation. The one who delighted in gossip and frivolous parties. Life may not be a whirlwind of excitement now, but it doesn't feel near so empty either.

"That's the only thing that matters, darlin'," Mary says with a small smile. "My mother, God rest her soul, always used to say that the world comes and goes. You're the one who has to look in the mirror every day and like what you see."

That makes her sit up a little straighter.

"I do like what I see. Very much so." But she does have a worry deep in the back of her mind that Dean won't like what he sees when he looks at her. Maybe she appears too stern and serious now.

"Good. Then that's all that matters." She's about to get up and offer her another glass of lemonade when the back screen door slams open and Dean's voice can be heard in the back of the house.

"Ma?" He asks, footsteps leading the dirty and sweaty Winchester through the house to the kitchen. "I finished the back acres, so all that's left for Joe to do is the front ... "

His voice stops when he sees her at the kitchen table, a moment of stunned silence on his face. Not that he isn't happy or pleased to see her, just that he has no idea what she's doing there.

" ... Miss Chapel."

Christine's heart flutters off beat when she hears his voice, and on seeing him, she stays rooted to her seat, trying not to blush. How can a man look so handsome when he's so dirty?

But she overcomes her shock soon enough, swallowing to reply, "Mr. Winchester." And then she notices how surprised he looks to see her. Her mind begins to put it together as she looks to his mother. It was Mrs. Winchester who wrote back to her, not Dean. No, Dean didn't invite her, his mother did. Christine gets a sinking feeling in her stomach. He didn't want her to come.

Edited (i used like 3 different tenses there, sorry.) 2014-04-10 02:20 (UTC)

Mary just gets up to fetch another glass from the cabinet, pouring another lemonade for her son. "Drink?" she says with a bit of a smirk, and he glances back to her with a bit of a look - a gentle one. One that's mixed with fondness, if not a bit of exasperation.

"Getting out of my own way, I think were your words?" He says, taking the glass from her. She smirks, pushing down on his shoulders.

"Sit down, have a drink. Behave."

And with that, she'll disappear back into the house. Dean watches her go, before sheepishly looking down at his glass. "I'm sorry. I just ... wasn't expecting you. I would have cleaned up."

And now Christine looks down at her glass too. So his mother invited her without his knowledge. She feels so embarrassed and like she should just grab her bag and go.

But she can't do that. She wants to see how he is, even if he doesn't want to talk to her. He must not, or he would have written back to her himself, right?

"I don't mind. You were helping your family."

She runs her finger down the glass, wiping away the condensation. All the things she wanted to say to him on seeing him again have flown out of her head.

He nods once in agreement, unsure of what to say to her either. It's not that he's disappointed that she's here. In fact, he's very happy she's here, but he isn't entirely sure how to say it.

"Did you have a long trip here?"

"Not terribly long. I live in Arkansas now." It was a quiet little town, and she found it suited her temperament better than New Orleans did. The people were friendly and though they gossiped, they didn't shun anybody for acting outside the norm.

"I'm glad to see you're well."

He nods, taking a sip of his drink. "I was lucky. I managed to make it out of the war mostly unscathed." There were others that weren't so lucky. He considers himself fortunate to not be among them, but at the same time, he feels guilty for it. "Being home has been good, I think."

Mostly? She wonders if he means besides the wound she saw him with outside the front gate of her house. Or maybe he means his mind and not his body. She saw men damaged in that manner too.

"It's a lovely home," she replies, because it's true and it feels like the thing to say. "Your mother is so friendly and hospitable. And she says your brother's at school." She pauses, wondering what she's even doing now. Words are just pouring out of her mouth.

"Why didn't you write back to me?"

Just pouring out without a filter.

He looks a bit as though he's caught on the spot - which, to be fair, he is - but at the same time he knows it's a valid question. He should have wrote back to her. He just wasn't entirely sure how.

"I've never really been good with words. At least not on paper. I was going to, but I suppose my mother felt I wasn't doing it fast enough."

His face softens a bit in response, "I hope you didn't take ... all of this to mean I don't want you here because I do. I just ... would have liked to have been prepared."

"Oh, I-I did think... Once I realized you had no prior knowledge of my coming..." She looks a little ashamed of herself for drawing such conclusions, but she forces a smile through it.

"Perhaps my pride was a little wounded. But now we've cleared the air."

"That was not my intention either." His smile is a bit more relaxed and he inches forward, pulling his chair with him. "I'm just surprised you'd go through all this trouble to see one soldier you met during the war."

"You're more than just one soldier," she counters immediately. Her voice is serious on that front. "You're the reason I became a nurse. Were it not for your encouragement-- well, life would be very different than it is now. So I suppose, in a way, I wanted to come here to thank you." But it's also true that she wanted to just see him in general as well.

"You're welcome," he says with a nod, pleased that he could help her in some way. "I suppose you took well to nursing then?"

"I did! I learned quickly and was able to do a lot of good." Her face lights up as she speaks of that time, even though it was a harsh world and a challenge every day. She's learned she enjoys challenges and conquering them.

"And now I work for a doctor in his practice. It's very fulfilling work."

"Good," he says with a nod. "It seems you got more out of this war than most." And it's good that someone got something out of it, something that was, in the end, such a waste of human life and potential. "At least some of us were able to benefit from it for the better."

"Are you speaking of yourself?" she can't help but ask. He's someone who had suffered in her city and she hopes he's gained good things in his life since then.

He pauses for a moment, before answering honestly. "I am not sure. I think what I have to gain may yet be coming." Not something he can pin down right then, but something that will benefit him in the future. He needs to believe that there's something and he didn't just waste all of it.

"Maybe it'll come to you, or maybe you'll have to pursue it." That's what she had to do, going out into the wide world on her own to find what was best for her. Now she knows it's helping people, and she wouldn't have realized it if it hadn't been for him.

He nods a bit in agreement. Things aren't always as straight forward as he may like, but there are ways around that, things they can work on to try and pursue what he's looking for. It's just a matter of figuring out what it is he wants.

Though he may have a few days.

"Perhaps I will."

Christine smiles at that, since it's a start, and then she sits up straighter to take a sip of her lemonade before speaking again.

"If it's not too much trouble, would you show me around the farm? It doesn't have to be right now; I know you just came in from working and you must be tired."

He shakes his head. "No, not at all." He gets to his feet, grabbing his glass to take with them. "Follow me."

She takes her glass as well, moving to join him at the door.

"Thank you. How many acres d'you have here?"

"Only about two. Not a large as some farms but enough for us to get by. We don't need much." He starts down the stairs, before extending a hand back to her to help her as he does.

She looks up at the offered hand and smiles at his manners, placing her hand in his.

"It sounds a very good size for your needs. Now, let's see. Did you ever tell me what you grew? I remember you said your mother had her vegetable garden."

He nods. "She grows smaller stuff like beans and squash. Out back we have corn mostly. My dad's tryin' to get into wheat, but a good crop of that takes time to grow. It may be a few years before it does really well." But at least they're trying something new. With the way the economy's changed after the war, it's hard to really tell what will work and what won't.

"Oh, that must be difficult, having to wait for it to flourish while it takes up space in your fields." She lets him help her down the steps, liking the feeling of her skin against his. It reminds her of when he'd brushed away her tears, or when she'd held his hand while the doctor sewed up his wound. Idly, she wonders what the scar looks like now.

"This looks like a lovely place to grow up. It doesn't seem so..." She hesitates, searching for the right word. "So stifling, like my home was."

"It is, but in the end it should be worth it. We're hoping that it gives us a little more stability, if nothing else." Not that they aren't stable now - they're actually doing fairly well - they just could be doing better. Maybe even well enough to hire a few extra hands. He lets his hand fall gently once she's on the ground.

"And it was. I can't imagine growing up anywhere else."

"You must have wonderful stories from your childhood. About you and your brother?" Christine wishes more and more that she'd had a sibling to grow alongside.

Beside him, her fingers twitch slightly, missing his hand, but she moves to switch her lemonade to that hand instead and takes a sip.

He nods, a bit of a laugh as he does. "Oh, we have a few. Not ones that we're particularly proud of, of course, but we had our fun when we were younger." He misses his brother like crazy sometimes, but he's also equally proud of him for what he's accomplished.

Christine turns her head, delighting in the sound of that laugh, small though it is. The way he smiles simply makes her stomach feel fluttery, and she works to stop herself from blushing. Even long after they last saw one another, she's still taken with him.

"Well, I shan't make you recall anything too embarrassing then. But tell me more about this place? And about Lawrence too. I'm terribly curious. As the coach passed through town, it looked to be a very nice place."

At least as nice as where she currently lives. She's found that small communities suit her better. She no longer wants to be a high society hostess or any of that nonsense. Christine merely wants to help people feel better.

Dean nods a bit as they walk. "I can do that." In his own time, in his own way. First things first, he nods towards the large barn. "Would you like to meet the horses?"

"I'd love to! How many d'you have?" It seems Christine is full of questions today, but she just wants to keep the conversation between them flowing. She wants to listen to the sound of his voice and hear about his life here.

"Three or four," he says with a nod as he leads the way. "One of them is too old for field work. We keep her around because my mother's too sentimental to sell her, but the rest are work horses. Without them half this field wouldn't be handled the way it should."

"How sweet," she replies, looking touched at how the old horse hasn't been given up. "I'm sure she brings your mother a lot of enjoyment, doesn't she?"

Christine never had a horse of her own living in the city, and she certainly can't afford one now with no place to put it, but she thinks they're wonderful creatures.

"Oh, she's got personality," he says with a grin as he pulls open the barn door, gesturing for him to go in ahead of him. "And she was a good horse, healthy. She still gets ridden sometimes when one of us needs to go into town."

Once they're both inside, he takes the lead again, moving over to a beautiful sleek black mare. "Sammy wanted to name her Impala when he was younger. After those deer, in Africa?"

"Did he?" she asks, laughter in her voice. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with them." but it goes to show how smart his brother is. "Are they fast, the Impalas?"

"From what he says, yes. It's hard to tell with how accurate his books are, but he ... practically consumed them when he was younger. He wanted to know everything about everything." The pride is clear in his voice. Sam was always the smart one, the one who was going to make something more of himself, and Dean never told him otherwise. Now that he has, as much as he misses his brother, he knows that it was the right decision to make.

"That's how I am now. Or at least everything to do with medicine." Her cheeks go a little pink, because even though women made great strides during the war, talking about medicine isn't something they're supposed to do.

"What d'you like to study?" she asks, keen to know his interests.

"I was never really one for school," he says, shaking his head. "I was always better with my hands. I didn't study much." Not that he didn't read, when he had the chance. He liked books, fiction, but knowledge was never really one of his pursuits. "It was better that my parents saved the money for Sammy, rather than me."

"I like your hands," she blurts out, and that just makes her face turn even more pink. "I mean, before-- well, I've held your hand."

She has no idea why she's being so forward with him. Maybe it's because she fears she'll go another few years without seeing him after this visit ends.

"So, what do you do with your hands?" she continues. Might as well go all in, right?

His head turns to her at that outburst, and there's a look that crosses his face that's just shy of being flirtatious, but he knows better than to push too far.

"I repair wagons and things when it's needed. Make sure all the equipment is maintained well. And then there's the plowing and seeding and such." He gives a bit of a shrug. "General farming work."

If he became flirtatious, Christine would recognize it. Men flirted with her in the medical tent at the army camp, and she knew not to indulge that sort of nonsense. But now they're no longer in a war. The same rules don't apply.

"A wagon? All by yourself?" She looks impressed. She doesn't even know what wagons look like underneath. Just that there's two wheels and something that attaches to horses and some place to sit and carry a load.

He gives a bit of a shrug. It's not that impressive and he knows it, but he likes that she seems impressed. "It's pretty simple, once you figure it out. All that theory and philosophy that Sammy studies, I don't really have a head for. This I do, though."

In fact, he's more comfortable with it than a lot of other things he could be doing.

"But theory and philosophy... they're something widespread. They last generations. People are still talking about what the Greeks started. But all those people who talk about it wouldn't be able to live day to day if it weren't for you." She looks a little embarrassed. This is getting close to fawning, really.

"I mean people like you. You handle the practical things so they can philosophize. You grow the food and fix the transportation -- you're important too."

He gives a bit of a shrug. "I don't really want to be important. I just want a nice life." A little bit of land and a family. Something simple. Easy. Sam is the one who wants to make the history books.

His answer makes her smile, and she nods in concession. Happiness is more important than being important, that's true.

"You will, I'm sure. You already have a good start, with such a wonderful mother. And I'm sure your father and brother are the same, even if I haven't met them."

"I'm sure you'll get to meet my dad before you go. He's probably going to be heading downstairs soon." Especially if his mother told him that Dean had a female caller. "I should warn you, though, he likes to think he's charming."

Christine gives him a smile, a knowing look gracing her face.

"Don't all men like to think they're charming?"

That's been her experience during the war and even since then. Smiles and sweet words were a daily occurrence, and she only indulged it so far, thinking the men needed a little brightness in their lives. A smile in return, maybe a laugh at their jokes, but no more.

He laughs a bit at that, before shaking his head. "Probably true, though my father is worse than most. However, he does say that he's where I got all my charm from. How much of that is true, I don't think we'll ever know."

"You do have a gift for it," she admits, looking away with a smile. She focuses on the horse and carefully holds out her hand, not moving too near in case the animal doesn't want to be petted. She knows that some are frightened by the sheer size of a hoop skirt coming at them. But this sweet old mare stays put and Christine reaches out more to lightly draw her knuckles over the bridge of its nose.

"Yes, sweet girl," she coos.

Dean smiles softly as the mare stays put, before making a soft clucking sound for her to come come closer. He gestures with his hand and the horse stumbles closer, moving into the soft press of her hand.

"That's it. See, she doesn't bite."

It's not particularly clear who he's talking to there.

Christine assumes at first that he's speaking to the horse because she's not afraid at all. Her worry was frightening the horse herself. But as Impala lets Christine rub her nose, the woman turns her head to smile up at Dean, understanding now that he may have been addressing her.

"I could never be afraid of such a gentle creature. Do you ride her too?"

"Yeah, every once in a while to get her some exercise." He glances back to her with a small smile. "Want to take her for a ride?" Because he could easily saddle up a couple of horses and take her for a ride around the property.

A tiny thrill shoots through her and she looks between Dean and the horse.

"I would love to -- if she doesn't mind an inexperienced rider?" She really doubts she could ride with enough confidence that the horse would listen to her.

"Nah, she's the best for that. We all learned to ride on her. She can be a bit difficult, but that's mostly when she's trying to figure out if you're riding her or if she's riding you." Which ... you want to be riding her, just for the record. "Just gotta show her who's boss."

There's an unappreciative snort from the horse. Dean turns back to her with a nod.

"You know I'm right."

Christine giggles at the horse's reaction and Dean talking back to her. Patting her nose, Christine adds, "You'll be nice to me, won't you sweet girl?" Because she's not sure if she can be the boss in this situation.

Maybe. We'll see. Dean just chuckles a bit, before gesturing for her to take a step back so that he can get in the gate and saddle her. "Oh, she'll be plenty nice. She's a big fan of a pretty face."

She moves aside, face warming up at the compliment. But she's unsure if she should be thanking him for it or not, so she decides to just stay out of the way until he beckons her over.

He saddles up the horse, making sure the side saddle was snug against the horse's back, because in that dress she wasn't going to be using anything else. Then he opens the gate to lead her out, watching as she obediently comes to a stop near Christine. Dean rubs her side as she stops before holding his hand out to her.

"We'll get you up there and settled so that you can get used to it while I saddle up one of the others to go with you."

"All right." She takes his hand, trying to mask her nervousness. This is something she really does want to do, so she hopes her eagerness can overcome that nervous feeling.

"How do I get up?" She's never really paid attention to ladies mounting horses before. It's a rare sight when you live in a city or town and carriages or wagons are available.

He pushes a stepping stool over from the side of the aisle, before offering his hand to her to help her step up. Once she does, he'll move his hands to her waist slowly. "I'm not trying to be improper, I simply wish to give you a hand."

The contact does made her feel giddy, like she's drunk too much champagne, but she's quick to slide a hand along his arm to brace against his bicep. The other hand follows on his opposite arm, and her eyes meet his, feeling bold.

"I know. I'm ready when you are."

"Alright." And with that, he lifts her up into the saddle with the ease of someone who's used to doing a lot of heavy lifting. He lets her settle in the saddle, before reaching for the reins and handing them to her. "Use these to guide her left or right, and pull up hard to stop."

Though she's sitting stiffly and still appears nervous, she takes the reins and nods. The idea of falling off and hitting her head has her knuckles white around the reins. Hopefully the mare doesn't take off.

"And you will be right beside me?"

He nods in agreement as he pulls up the second horse he saddled. He mounds him in one smooth motion, settling into the saddle easily and coming up next to her. "Every step of the way. Don't worry, I won't let her run away with you."

"Good. Holding you to that." She smiles a little, a bit of her unease lifting away knowing he'll be close by. That doesn't mean her grip on the reins loosens any, but at least she's holding them in a way that's not yanking at the bit in the mare's mouth.

"I'm ready whenever you are."

He nods a bit before leading his horse out with a nudge of his heels and a few soft clicks of his tongue. As he passes her, he gives a soft tug on Impala's bridle to help guide her forward, so that she falls in step behind him. She does as she's told, clomping forward at an easy speed.

Christine's eyes widen as the horse begins to move. It's somehow much different than riding in a carriage. With each leg moving forward, she can feel the horse's muscles move, and she lifts and dips slightly along with it. She feels like at any moment the jostling will cause her to slide right off and all she can do is grip tight to the reins and hope that won't happen.

She's even afraid to speak, in case it spooks the horse. She probably looks a sight, eyes wide as saucers and gripping the reins up near her chest.

Dean glances back over his shoulder to see if she's still following him, and he can't help but smirk a bit when he sees her. He pulls up on the reins slightly, slowing his own horse so that he falls in step next to her.

"Relax. Trust the horse."

She exhales slowly, eyes darting over to him. She feels quite foolish at her behavior, but she hadn't expected to act this way before getting on.

"I am trying, but I fear I'll fall right off. She's never thrown anyone, has she?"

He shakes his head. "No one who didn't deserve it. Be good to her and she'll be good to you, won't you darlin'?"

The horse gives a bit of a snuffle in response, but keeps ambling at her own leisurely pace.

"All right." She certainly isn't planning on being mean. So she focuses on how the horse moves and makes her own muscles react so that she doesn't feel like each step is about to make her fall off. Eventually her hands lower, holding the reins at a more comfortable angle.

She doesn't look like a confident horsewoman, but she looks less terrified. It's a start.

Starts are good. He stays beside her every step of the way, keeping a nice easy speed as they make their way across the back fields. It's a leisurely ride, but eventually he slowly starts to pick up the speed, just a little.

When he moves faster, she's left with either falling behind or keeping up, so she gently nudges Impala in the side.

"Let's go, please," she says, her voice sounding less than confident. Impala doesn't even seem to notice the nudge, and Christine blows out a frustrated breath. Again she presses her foot to the horse's side. "Come on," she encourages her, and the horse finally walks a little faster, moving to catch up with Dean's horse. Christine can't help but smile proudly. It worked!

He glances back over his shoulder with a smile, watching as she catches up. He knew she would pick it up pretty easily, it was just a matter of giving her the chance to figure it out herself.

"See? Not so bad."

"You were right," she replies, feeling better about the whole thing. The horse listening to her has really put her at ease, and now she doesn't feel like any second she'll be thrown.

"Your farm is beautiful. So peaceful."

He nods as he turns his gaze back to the fields, looking over the expanse of land. "I missed it more than anything during the war. In the middle of the battlefields, the only place I wanted to be was here."

"Oh, Dean," she says, before checking herself for her reaction. She looks down at her lap for a moment, collecting herself. "Did you see many battles?"

"A fair amount," he says with a shrug. "War is war after all. Battles are a part of the equation."

"Indeed they are." Such a terrible part of war, and the part that grabs people's notice first. There's the marching, looting, starving part of it too. There's the politics and parades -- the parts she'd heard about and seen from her house in New Orleans. But it's the former that she learned about after joining them and witnessing it all firsthand.

"The medical tents were at the rear of the line," she says suddenly, before she can think better of it. "Sometimes the battles were so close that bullets would pierce the canvas. One time a patient was struck even as he waited for the doctor to see him. And one night--" She pauses, taking a moment to swallow. "One night I was sitting by the fire and I noticed what I thought was dirt on my skirt. But when I examined it, I found it was a bullet hole."

Christine hasn't thought about that day in a long time. She knew the dangers, but to see the evidence right there, to know how close she was to taking a bullet to the leg, well, she was rattled for a long time afterward. Yet she still stayed on, nursing the men back to health.

"I couldn't turn tail and leave when the men I was tending to had to feel those bullets. I was lucky."

He glances over at her, watching her as she speaks. He couldn't blame her for being scared - being that close to death would do that to you. But the fact that she stayed regardless made him smile. "Those men were lucky to have you. I know that first hand."

She exhales a slow breath, lifting her eyes to meet his where she gives a slight smile of remembrance.

"I often hoped that your wound caused you no lasting trouble. Sometimes men don't heal as they should."

He nods a bit at that, before giving her a smile that's a bit more charming than it should be. "I always attributed that to the excellent care I received."

His being charming has never escaped her notice and she feels that fluttering sensation in her stomach again. It's bittersweet, she feels, because he lives here and she lives in Arkansas. This visit is a once in a lifetime opportunity, but right now she wishes it wasn't. She wishes she could stay.

But a person can't make things happen on wishes alone. She knows this. Reality comes crashing down on her again as she looks out over the land, knowing she's only a visitor, not a resident. A small part of her, deep down, wants to be the latter. She wants to be asked to stay.

"I wouldn't have stood for anything less than excellent. Not for anybody, but especially not for you." The fluttering in her stomach increases, but she turns her head to look back at him. "I had to make sure you made it home. To your family, and your farm, and your mother making you pie." She remembers well asking him his favorite food and him saying it was pie.

His smile widens a bit at that, before turning his eyes back to the land. "I don't think if I'll ever be able to convey how grateful I am that you did." For more than just his mother and his ability to return home. He's grateful that he had the chance to get to know her.

He wishes she could stay as well. But he also doesn't know how to make that happen - he wishes he did. He wishes there were ways that didn't seem so forward or heavy handed. He wishes the world were a simpler place.

Oft times the simplest way is the best way, but Christine doesn't have the courage to say what's in her heart. It would be rude to ask to stay and it would be heartbreaking if she told him what she's feeling and he laughs at her, or simply doesn't feel it too.

"Sometimes these things don't need words," she responds. "It's all right, though. I know."

He nods a bit in agreement. "Good. I'm glad." He then pauses as they reach out to the property line, turning his horse so that they can look back over the land. "And that's it. That's our land."

Christine has a harder time turning her horse, but after a moment, the horse realizes she means it and obediently turns around.

"It's perfect. Like a dream. But not a land of fairy tales or anything like that. Just a good dream."

Dean nods a bit in agreement as he leads the way back to the farmhouse. "It is," he says softly. "One I don't want to ever wake up from. Hopefully I won't have to leave it again - at least not for something like the War."

"Oh, I hope there's never another war as long as I live." A shudder goes through her at the very thought. She's seen more than most young ladies her age and it's not something she wants to see repeated.

"If you stay here, then I know my letters will always reach you." It hasn't even occurred to her to ask if he wants her to keep writing. She wants to stay in touch.

He glances back to her, and there's a small smile. He would like it if she kept writing. He would like it a lot. "Good. I'll look forward to them."

"Good," she replies, relieved to hear that's the case. The war changed so many things and it definitely changed her. The strict, overbearing rules of society have been thrown out the window. If she wants to write to a single man, she will. If she's invited to visit him and his family, she'll accept. She doesn't answer to a father or husband. She's free to do as she likes.

"So how did I do my first time on a horse?" The fact that she didn't tumble off leads her to think she's done well enough.

"Very well." He draws them to a stop outside the barn and swings his leg over the side of his horse to lower himself to the ground easily. He walks the horse back into the stables to rest, before returning to help her off hers. "How'd it feel?"

"Better than I initially thought it would," she admits, letting go of the reins and setting her hands down lightly on his shoulders as he helps her down.

"I can see now how horse and rider have to trust one another." She had to trust that the horse wouldn't throw her or take off in a gallop, and the horse had to trust that Christine knew how to guide her properly.

"I don't know when I'll ever have opportunity to ride again, but I'm thankful for such a gentle creature for my first time. Thank you for taking me out."

The entire time she's speaking, she doesn't remove her hands from his shoulders. She's forgotten about propriety and personal space, it seems, either because she's excited to talk about her experience, or because this feels so natural a thing to do. Maybe it's a bit of both.

"Of course," He nods, before leading both of the horses back to his stalls. "With just me around they don't really get out to ride as much as they used to. I'm sure they were happy for the exercise without having to put in a lot of hard work."

"You mother mentioned your father had hurt his back. It's a shame you two can't go out riding together." She follows behind him, giving him plenty of room to guide the horses where they need to go. As he focuses on that, she takes the opportunity to touch her hair to make sure the pins aren't slipping after her ride. She may be much different than she'd once been, but there's still a little vanity present, wanting to look decent in front of him.

He nods a bit at that. "He and my mother used to go riding all the time. Now, not as much as they used to. But that doesn't mean they haven't found other ways to occupy their time."

"It is good to hear they have." They don't sound like her parents at all. Hers only shared meal times or carriages.

"Back to the house?"

He nods a bit in return. "Back to the house. I'm afraid my mother may insist you stay for dinner."

"I could easily be persuaded to stay in your family's company a little longer." Because she does want to get to know them better.

His smile widens a bit at that before nodding. "Good." And with that, he will offer her is arm to escort her back inside for a lovely (if not nosy) family dinner.

civil war au } { meddling mothers

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject