A Marriage Chapter 2

In which Hershel is laid to rest. Maggie and the family deal with grief. Daryl and Maggie share a moment.

...

Five Days Later

Maggie awoke to a pounding headache. Sleep hadn't come easily, and what little she'd gotten had been nothing but nightmares. She looked at the clock and saw it was 5:45am. She'd gone to bed at midnight, and she would count the number of hours of genuine sleep at around two. The old clock ticked along while she stared out of her bedroom window at the impenetrable darkness beyond. She couldn't see the lights in town, with her room at the back of the house, facing away from it. She had the sense she was staring into a yawning abyss with nothing but cold and loneliness to be found in its depths.

By the time she looked at the clock she was surprised only a minute had passed, though it seemed like so more time had gone by. That had been the case over the past five days since her father's passing. Time crawled by. It was as though she'd spent months grieving for him, when it had only been five days. It was torture, the way time crawled along, as though it enjoyed inflicting suffering on her, and those she loved.

Josephine tried to be strong and brave, but it was an act that Maggie could see through with ease. After all, the woman had just lost her best friend, the love of her life. She went about her day as usual, but without speaking a word. She held Beth with a distant look in her eyes, as though she was unable to remain in the present, undoubtedly trapped in the past she'd shared with her husband. She sometimes would smile while washing dishes, or frown while pushing food around on her plate that she couldn't bring herself to eat.

Beth refused to leave her room for the first three days. Often, the sound of bitter tears could be heard, muffled through her closed bedroom door. When she would come out to shower or eat, she would stare at the ground, her eyes hollow with grief. It wasn't until Maggie threatened to force feed her after two days of not eating, that Beth finally managed half a sandwich before rushing to her room to cry again.

There was something different, that morning, that Maggie noticed with mixed emotions: The pain wasn't quite as intense. Five days and she realized that she had a desire to shower, put on something clean, and fix her hair. The first five days, such normal activity had been a terrible burden, done with a sense of pointlessness that had been nearly impossible to overcome.

Breakfast was oats with the last bit of sugar and butter until they could get into town to trade, but Maggie had no doubts they'd be drowning in food before the night was over. Funeral food. It was so depressing. Maggie forced down her breakfast but relished the tea from Patricia's little indoor garden, but she secretly wished it was coffee. With that done, she tried to ignore her headache and prepare to help her sister and mother get dressed for the funeral. It was time to lay her father to rest.

…

The piercing ceremony would be held at Douglas Funeral home. Normally that duty was fulfilled by the eldest son, when a father passed, or the eldest daughter, when the mother passed, but Josephine decided she'd do it. She didn't have the heart to ask it of Maggie. They prepared to leave early, to hitch up the wagon to their only horse and ride the three miles out to the edge of town to the funeral home, when a black limousine pulled up, bearing the red, white, blue, and black Genesis flags. Beth took in a deep breath when Noah climbed out of the driver's seat, in full dress uniform, and ran to him. He hugged her close and whispered something that made her nod in agreement. He grabbed something from the limo.

"Mrs. Greene," Noah said, coming to stand before her, holding the old American flag, perfectly folded into a triangle. "Shall I hold this for you until after the funeral? Or do you want it now? It's your choice, Ma'am."

"Hold it," Josephine said. "Was this car your idea?"

"I couldn't afford it," he answered. "This is from Col. Dixon. He left this note for you."

He passed a folded sheet of expensive parchment to Josephine, who quickly read it before tucking it into her purse with a nod.

"Tell him I'd be grateful if he did."

Noah nodded before opening the door so they could climb into the limo. Otis went in last, and Maggie looked at the house, feeling the heaviness of grief and sadness weigh on her chest as she remembered her father standing on the porch, toking on his corn pipe and looking over the family land. He would never be there again.

Noah had to slowly navigate through the street, which was now packed with cars and people trying to cross to get to the funeral home, before he turned to the lot that led around to the rear of the building. Daryl waited by the rear entrance and held the door open for them, allowing them to file inside. The smell of spices tinted the air, as did flowers. Maggie followed one of the employees, who led them to a room filled with red velvet, cushy pews, crimson carpeting that was soft underfoot, and accented with white walls. For some reason, she kept thinking of blood on bone and had to close her eyes against the imagery.

Her father lay on a silver table that had been covered in a white sheet, dressed in his old military uniform, which her mother had cleaned and pressed the day before. Theodore Douglas himself was working to wheel him over to a contraption, bolted to the floor, that had a thin silver lance that retracted when Theodore pushed a lever forward. Maggie's stomach rolled at the sight of it and she feared her oatmeal was going to come back up.

"They're gonna stab Daddy in the head," Beth whispered.

"That's not your Daddy," Josephine said. "Baby, your Daddy's gone."

The piercing parlor was empty, reserved only for family and close friends. In this case, it was Josephine, her daughters, Patricia, Otis, Daryl, and Noah. Maggie sat between her mother and Patricia. She took comfort in the feel of Patricia's hand gripping hers tight while she watched her father lie on the table, squirming, struggling to free himself while his mouth, which had been made up for the funeral, snap and snarl with ravenous, unending hunger.

It'll be over soon, Daddy, Maggie thought. If you're in there, it's going to be over soon, and you'll truly be at peace.

Theodore Douglas, the funeral director, and a pastor at their church, stood by at a respectful distance. He was a large man with a young, kind face, somber now, in empathy for the family who sat before the table, waiting for the ceremony to end.

"Is there anyone who would care to speak before the piercing?" Theodore asked.

Daryl cleared his throat and took his place behind the ceremonial piercer. He was handsome, his beard neatly trimmed, his hair cut in the short style of the Security League. His dress uniform was immaculate.

"Miss Josephine, Miss Patricia, and Otis will remember when I first met Hershel Greene," Daryl said, a ghost of a smile at his lips. "I was 20 years old, and as wild as a feral boar, about as dangerous, too. Hershel caught me trying to steal some trout from the icebox he kept out in the barn to store extra meat. I was starving, dirty, a black eye and bloody mouth from a recent beating from my father, and I was plenty angry…but he saw something in me. He saw the potential to change. He hired me as a farm hand, held the money I earned for over a year so I could get my own place. Then, when he knew I was ready, he helped me get into the Security League. He helped me overcome my upbringing to be a better man. He made sure I was educated, with both book learning and life learning. He wasn't the only one who helped me. Miss Josephine taught me table manners, how to sew, and how to treat a lady. Miss Patricia let me practice what I learned on charming her, and Otis taught me everything he knows hunting and cleaning a kill. The Greene family, Otis and Patricia included, gave me a good life. I'm who I am now because Hershel, and you all, took a chance on me. I owe you everything. I'll always be here for you. I'll never let you down."

Daryl stood behind the piercer and took the lever in hand.

"I Release you, Hershel Greene. Rest in Peace, Sir."

Daryl pulled the lever, and there was a hard thunking sound as it hit home, embedded into Hershel's brain. Maggie couldn't stop herself from reacting, every muscle in her body tensing at the sound. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut, squeezing Patricia's hand too tightly, though the older woman didn't complain. She simply held on, and used her other hand to pat Maggie on the leg, while Beth wept into Josephine's shoulder. When Maggie dared open her eyes, the piercing machine had been removed. The lance had been left inside Hershel's head. He'd be buried with it.

With his duties complete, Daryl moved aside while Hershel was wheeled out. Theodore would finish dressing Hershel, make sure the wound didn't leak, place him in his coffin, and the funeral would begin.

…

The service seemed to drag on forever. Maggie listened to the stories about her father's acts of kindness. He'd done so much for their community, as both a veterinarian, and growing extra crops to feed the poor strictly at cost of the seed. While she was proud of all the genuinely good things people had to say, she just wanted to go home and lie down. Her head was splitting open even worse than it had been that morning, and her stomach was upset. The stress and the grief left her drained. Still, she soldiered on. She sat through the hour-long service before she walked to the limousine waiting in outside for the family. They piled back into the car, rode out to the cemetery, listened to a few words by Theodore Douglas, and then they went home.

As Maggie suspected, they were drowned in food. Casseroles, cakes, pies, salads, and other foods had been given by their neighbors and friends. Meat was scarce, which was to be expected, but Maggie saw a beautiful platter of fried chicken she normally would've dipped into. The smell of it was making Maggie sick. She hurried outside, onto the front porch, and seconds later was vomiting over the banister. Nothing really came up. She hadn't had an appetite since her father passed.

She was surprised when a hand gripped her shoulder and another pulled her hair back as she heaved.

"Maggie."

Daryl stood next to her, holding her hair from her face, and then helped her into a chair.

"I'll go get Miss Jo," he offered.

"No, don't," Maggie said, panting. "She's going through enough, especially with Beth."

"You need to lie down," Daryl said. "Come on. I'll see you upstairs. You were pale and sick all through the service, you need some rest now."

"I'm too old to be tucked in, Daryl," she said, her voice weak and shaky.

"That's an order," Daryl said, pulling her to her feet and leading her inside.

"I'm not one of your soldiers," Maggie tried to grouse, but she was too tired to really argue with him. She saw all the faces of the guests, some she knew well, some she didn't. Some of them she was fond of, like Carol and Rosita, but others she didn't particularly care for. None of it mattered. She was simply too wiped out to deal with anything else.

"You know which room is mine?" Maggie said, when Daryl led her right to her room.

He snorted.

"I know this house like the back of my hand," he reminded her. "I used to stay in that guest room. You used to make me tuck you in, till you got too old for it. That crush you had on me was cute, though."

"I never," Maggie denied, letting Daryl pull down the covers and pull her shoes off. Once she was under the covers, he promised he'd return. He did, ten minutes later, with a cup of cooled ginger tea and some chicken noodle soup.

"I can't eat that, Daryl."

"You'd be amazed how just two or three bites will make you feel, trust me," he insisted. He sat on the bed and watched her eat a few bites.

"Take this," he said, once she set the soup aside. Two of the pills she recognized as aspirin. The tiny blue pill, she didn't.

"What's the blue one?"

"A sedative," he said. "Doc Stookey gave it to me to give to you. There's one for Beth, too. Miss Jo already gave it to her. She's probably sleeping already."

"Thanks, Daryl. Thanks for the limo, for the piercing…for everything," Maggie said, squeezing his hand.

"Not a problem. If you need anything, let me know, okay?" he said. "I'll do whatever I can."

"I know. Thanks," she said.

"There you are," Josephine said, poking her head in. "I wondered where you'd got to."

"Daryl drugged me," Maggie said, with a small smile.

"I'm gonna go," he said, standing and nodding at Josephine as he strode from the room. He looked back once, nodded, and then left.

"Mama?" Maggie asked, as soon as Daryl was gone. "What was the letter Daddy wanted Dr. Stookey to give to you to hand off to Daryl? I've been meaning to ask but kept forgetting."

"You heard that, huh?"

Maggie waited while her mother stared out of the window. The day had been a nice, bright, sunny one, as though Heaven was happy to have gained one of the earth's better angels. The stars were starting to show as the last of the daylight faded.

"We've got 25 days to save the property," she said. "The law…"

"We don't have a male heir," Maggie said. "Otis don't count, he ain't married into the family."

"That's right. There's only you, me, and Beth. One of us must marry, or give the land over to one of Hershel's family. He's got a cousin in Collins Settlement who'd just sell the property to the government, turn a profit, and not give us a single penny from it. We still won't see a penny if the government takes the land."

Maggie's head was still thumping, but it began to lessen. She started to sit up, only to have her mother place a hand on her chest and ease her back down.

"That's where Daryl comes in," Josephine said. "Your father asked him to marry one of you girls to save the family land. He said I should choose one of you. I'm a widow. Widows aren't allowed, by law, to remarry for a year, or I'd find somebody just to save the land and free you girls from the responsibility."

"Which one of us did you pick?" Maggie said.

"Neither, of course," Josephine said, with a sad smile. "I'm not gonna force you into a marriage. I'm not selling my girls, not even for the land."

"This farm has been in Daddy's family for a hundred fifty years," Maggie pointed out. "We can't just lose it."

"Can you really ask Beth to get married now, at twenty years of age?" Josephine said. She looked so despondent. "I can't ask that of you, either."

"I'll do it, though," said Maggie. "I'm practically a spinster, anyway. If Daryl agrees, I'll marry him."

"I can't…"

"You're not asking, I'm volunteering," Maggie said.

Josephine forced a smile. "Maggie…you wouldn't be able to divorce unless you had a male child to name heir. I want you and Beth to marry for love, not…not convenience…not as some sham to keep the farm."

"I know, Mama, but it's like Daddy always said. 'Sometimes you gotta do what's right and not what's easy.' This is what's right, saving our farm. It's what Daddy wanted or he wouldn't have asked you to pick one of us."

"I haven't even given Daryl the letter yet," Josephine said. "I can't imagine asking such a thing of him. He loved your father like his own but to marry one of his daughters just to keep the family property?"

"Give him the letter," said Maggie. "Give him some time to make up his mind. Please, Mama. Promise me you'll give this a chance. For Daddy. For all of us."

Her mother nodded, even though it was clear she hated the circumstances, and kissed Maggie on the forehead. "Get some rest. We don't have to solve all of our problems tonight."

Maggie snuggled down in her blankets while her mother kissed her goodnight. The little blue pill was kicking in because she could feel sleep pulling hard at her.

God…married, she thought. Maggie Dixon.

The name had a weird ring to it. She'd been Maggie Greene her whole life. To go from being a Greene to any other name was odd but she'd do it. She'd do whatever she had to do to save the family land. She just wished she knew for sure that Daryl would agree. It was an awful lot to ask a man. Marry some woman he didn't love, someone he'd watched grow up, the daughter of his father figure, just to save some land he didn't need or even want? Asking him to marry a woman he didn't love was too much. She was sure he'd say no.

She lay on her side, in the gathering darkness. There was only the moon to filter through the window to give her light to see by. She'd grown up in this room. She'd resigned herself to never moving away from the house and having a family of her own, and she was okay with it. It was no longer expected that children would have to leave home once they reached adulthood. It wasn't like houses were a dime a dozen in any given settlement. She'd hoped Beth would have the life she doubted she'd ever have. Fall in love, move out, marry, have her children, have her life. She could still do all of that, but only if Daryl agreed to marry Maggie to save the family property.

If he did agree, though, she'd have Daryl as her husband. He'd sleep in this bed, the bed she'd grown up in. They'd make their babies here, in this house; grow old here. They'd die here, just as her father had, and his father before him, and so on, going back generations.

Her family had weathered the turn quite well in comparison to other families. She supposed she should be grateful for that. Many people lost everything and never recovered. The Greene's had soldiered on, so had the Dixon's. Theirs were old family names in the Settlement. One was highly respected. The other still bore the stains of disgrace from generations past. It didn't matter now. Will Dixon was dead from an overdose. Merle Dixon had been executed for the crime of murder. Daryl's mother had committed suicide when he was ten. There was only Daryl now. He had done what no Dixon had ever managed-he brought honor to the Dixon name.

He was a good man, Maggie had to admit. She didn't think of him in that way but she had to admit he was nothing like he'd been when she was a child. She could remember the wildling her father worked to tame. He'd had no table manners, no sense of decorum, a potty mouth. He'd been angry about everything, constantly lashing out. Maggie could remember her mother asking her father one night why he was trying so hard with some white trash like Daryl Dixon. She'd never forget her father's response: He ain't trash, my love, he's a kid. He's not beyond hope. He can change and I can see it happening already.

There was nothing left of the wild child who'd come to work on the Greene farm so many years ago. Daryl liked to keep to himself. He gave Maggie the impression he didn't think much of himself, still saw himself as the trash his mother had thought him to be at one point, even though he wasn't. He was quiet but well-spoken. He was respectful, disciplined, cultured, even, compared to the Dixons that had come before him. He was certainly kind and gentle. He was a good man and he'd make a good husband, and a solid provider. If he said yes.

Maggie's only problem was the idea of being with him in that way. She'd had her share of lovers. She'd been with men she thought she would someday marry. She'd even considered pursuing a soldier who'd teamed up with Genesis Settlement to fight another settlement, named Glenn Rhee, after a wild fling just before her brother died in that confrontation.

What would it be like to take Daryl to her bed, and into her body? He wasn't ugly. Far from it. He was quite handsome, especially in uniform. Still, there was no serious attraction. He was a family friend she'd grown up around and that was all. He was a man she saw maybe three or four times a year for trade, never more than ten minutes at a time. None of that mattered, though, not in the face of losing the family land. She'd cook for him, keep the house clean, fuck him, and have his children if it meant keeping their land.

She just hoped to God her mother would show him that letter.

She hoped to God he'd say yes.

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