Evergreen Chapter 3: The Shortest Day, a walking dead fanfic

Chapter 3: The Shortest Day

"Hey, can we get a hand, here?" called Maggie from the doorway. She and Daryl had disappeared immediately after lunch, and now came bearing armloads of pine greenery they had cut from the treeline that bordered the church property.

Rick ran a hand through his hair, obviously irritated, and said, "That was a damn fool move, you two. What if you'd run into trouble?" Daryl shrugged and said, "All quiet, chief. Nothin' movin' out there except the wind." By now the scent of pine was beginning to perfume the air, and everyone had their hands in the mass of branches, pulling them apart to decorate the room, and Rick chose to let it go. "Just should have told us where you were going; we could have put a few more eyes out there with you."

"We were safe about it, Rick," Maggie insisted. "And it was worth it, I'd say," nodding at the flurry of excitement around the tables. "It just didn't smell like Christmas without it."

They had opted not to use the sanctuary for their solstice observance, mainly because the kitchen was so much warmer, but also because it felt much too intrusive. They did find a cache of candles behind the altar, and after setting aside a substantial portion, put the rest on the table to be lit during dinner.

Everyone joined in to decorate, finding colorful yarn in the preschool's art supplies to add bows to the pine boughs, and even a couple of boxes of holiday decorations in a storage area. The result was a bizarre melange of paper honeycomb turkeys, blue and white dreidels - apparently the congregation marked everyone's holy days - oversized Christmas balls, red and green bells, greenery, and candles.

Dinner preparation was also a team effort, including T, who revealed a previously-unknown gift with homemade biscuits. The rest of the menu included tuna casserole, canned corn and lima beans (Carol couldn't bring herself to call such a poor offering "succotash"), what could be salvaged from the carrots and beets, and the entire squash, baked in the oven. Carol wished in vain for real butter and brown sugar to fill it with.

The entertainment ran the gamut, from cheesy (jokes by Carl) to surprising (T-Dog's rendition of "What Child is This," delivered in a mellow, tuneful baritone.) "Theodore, you are a constant source of amazement. First the biscuits, now this?" Hershel joked. T ducked his head, grinning shyly in a display that rivaled even Daryl's most awkward moments.

Rick read "The Night Before Christmas," Lori selected Robert Frost's "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening." Maggie had found a copy of David Sedaris's Naked and read carefully edited portions of a story called "Dinah, the Christmas Whore," much to her sister's and father's dismay. Hershel, as if to counter it, read the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke.

Glenn and Daryl had been cooking something up since the previous night, hiding out in one of the unheated rooms and not letting anyone else in. The only clue was a muffled, rhythmic sound that had popped up repeatedly during the day. When their turn came, Glenn ran off to their "rehearsal space" and came back bearing a tall, cylindrical drum with a wildly colorful jungle pattern printed on it. He dashed off a little drum roll, using only his hands, and said, "now, this is the kind of thing they'd do at a real Bardic Circle." He looked to Daryl, who was settling into his chair; in his hands was a large book. with a painting on the cover of a face among leaves. "Go for it, my man," said Glenn, and began to drum a steady rhythm, bum-BUM-ba-dum-bum, like the beat of a giant and complex heart.

"Like antlers, like veins of the brain the birches
Mark patterns of mind on the red winter sky;
'I am thought of all plants,' says the Green Man,
'I am thought of all plants,' says he.

"The Hungry birds harry the last berries of rowan
But white is her bark in the darkness of rain;
'I rise with the sap,' says the Green Man,
'I rise with the sap,' says he."

On each closing line, Glenn's voice joined with Daryl's to echo the phrase. The rhythms of words and drum together were compelling, and Carol found herself, like the others, leaning forward to catch every syllable. It was so vivid, she could see every image as Daryl evoked it. It was so perfectly him, she thought, and was glad they'd found the book the night before, after he'd asked.

"The ashes are clashing their boughs like sword-dancers,
Their black buds are tracing wild faces in the clouds;
'I come with the wind,' says the Green Man,
'I come with the wind,' says he.

"The Alders are rattling as though ready for battle
Guarding the grove where she waits for her lover;
'I burn with desire,' says the Green Man,
'I burn with desire,' says he.

"In and out of the yellowing wands of the willow
The pollen-bright bees are plundering the catkins;
'I am honey of love,' says the Green Man,
'I am honey of love,' says he.

"The hedges of quick are thick with May blossom
As the dancers advance on the leaf-covered King:
'It's off with my head,' says the Green Man
'It's off with my head,' Says he.

"Green Man becomes grown man in flames of the oak
As its crown forms his mask and its leafage his features;
'I speak through the oak,' says the Green Man
'I speak though the oak,' say he.

"The holly is flowering as hayfields are rolling
Their gleaming long grasses like waves of the sea;
'I shine with the sun,' says the Green Man,
'I shine with the sun,' says he,

"The hazels are rocking the cups of their nuts
As harvesters shout when the last sheaf is cut;
'I swim with the salmon,' says the Green man,
'I swim with the salmon,' says he.

"The globes of the grapes are robing with bloom
Like the hazes of Autumn,like the Milky Way's stardust;
'I am crushed for your drink,' says the Green man,
'I am crushed for your drink,' says he,

"The aspen drops silver of leaves on earth's salver
And the poplars shed gold on the young ivy flower heads;
'I have paid for your pleasure,' says the Greenman,
'I have paid for your pleasure,' says he.

"The reed beds are flanking in silence the islands
Where meditates Wisdom as she waits and waits:
'I have kept her secret,' says the Green Man,
'I have kept her secret,' says he.

"The bark of the elder makes whistles for children
To call to the deer as they rove over the snow;
'I am born in the dark,' says the Green Man,
'I am born in the dark,' says he."

Daryl's eyes, as he finished reading, were almost as intense as when setting out on a hunt, and several of his listeners released breath they didn't even know they'd been holding. Glenn was gleeful, chuckling, "Wasn't that a rush?" Daryl nodded, reluctantly accepting the others' shower of praise, but Carol saw something there that made her pulse flutter and her face warm - a wildness, kept in check but always hiding just behind his eyes. It seemed the man had the soul of a poet. Who would ever have known?

Finally it was Carol's turn. "I wanted to make a sort of dedication before I read this, if that's alright with everyone. Now, I don't want to make anyone cry - although I did find a box of tissues, and they're right there beside my chair if you need one - but I want to dedicate this to the people who aren't with us tonight." There was a restless stir among the rest of her little improvised family, knowing what was coming, and both welcoming and dreading it. "I wish we had some wine so we could toast; I guess if you want to, you still can."

She waited until all had their glasses in their hands before she went on. "To my precious Sophia; to Dale, and the Morales family; to Shane, and Andrea, and Amy; to Daryl's brother Merle," and her eyes found him easily across the room, offering him a sad smile, his eyes wide with surprise. "To Jimmy, and Patricia, and Otis… oh, am I forgetting anyone?" Around her came a tumble of names, some who'd gone before they'd all met, some of those from the Quarry she'd never had a chance to get to know.

"And last, I'd like to include some people you didn't know; people I didn't know either, but if things had been different, they would have been here tonight for their own celebration, and I think they have the right to share this with us."

"To Margie Sokol, who was the pastor of this church, and her husband Pete; their two teenagers, Peter and Miranda; the Hansons, the Akers family; Sol and Anne Hartnung. Sol always played the hammered dulcimer at the Christmas Revels. Mary and Bill Clime, the Baers…" She continued to read from her list of names, assembled from the records she'd found in the office. "That's all the names I could find from years past; I'd like to think they're here with us in spirit." In silence they raised their glasses and toasted the dead and missing.

Carol turned to the binder and said, "This was one of the pieces they would have read tonight, and I think it's just beautiful. It's called 'The Shortest Day.'"

"And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.

"They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.

"Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,

"As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year."

No one clapped, but that's what Carol had hoped for - that they were as moved by the simple words as she had been. She sat and put her arms around Beth and Carl, who were seated on either side of her.

"Dona nobis pacem, pacem,"

Beth's silvery voice rang out in the silence, and everyone around her stilled.

"Dona nobis pacem."

As she finished the first stanza, she looked at Maggie, who nodded and drew a deep breath to join her sister for the second verse. Maggie took the melody line, and Beth's voice soared above it in a high descant that twined around the simple tune, "Dona nobis…" As they reached the end, Hershel chimed in with a baritone counterpoint, weaving three voices into a gorgeous tapestry that echoed into the far corners of the room. They continued on, the parts changing with each round, and some of the others joined in, humming or softly echoing the ancient words as they felt comfortable. By an unspoken accord, they slowed and brought the song to a close, and all fell silent again, listening to the last notes as they shimmered in the air.

"That was so beautiful," said Carol, quietly. "I know it's Latin, but what is it?"

Hershel smiled. "It means, 'grant us peace.' I think we can all agree that's a fine sentiment, for us tonight, and for the rest of the world as well."

"We learned it in school choir," said Maggie. "It was part of the holiday concert every year, and Daddy used to help out; he heard it so many times, he got the church to add it to their Christmas Eve service, too. Funny thing to hear Baptists sing in Latin."

Carol looked around the room at their serene faces, and said, "Unless anyone has anything else, I think that's a lovely note to end on, don't you?" They began to stir from the spell of Beth's offering, hugging each other and picking up their dishes to return them to the kitchen sink. By mutual agreement clean-up would be postponed until morning; they were all tired enough that they knew sleep would claim them easily.

In just a few minutes she was alone, tidying up the room - except for Daryl, who kept his seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fiddling distractedly with his cuticles and from time to time looking up to catch her eye. "Was there something you wanted, Daryl?"

He ducked his head, or maybe it was a nod. "That was a good thing, what you did. Sometimes we need to remember them, so it don't blindside us when we're not expecting." She hadn't thought of it like that, but it made sense - to deliberately air the hurt, let out some of the pressure, rather than having it build up and escape at a time when they couldn't afford to break down.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks; you didn't have to put Merle in there, 'cause I know deep down he ain't dead, but I'm glad you did. None of these other folks woulda even thought to include him."

"My pleasure, Daryl. He may have scared the hell out of most of us, but he was your family - he is your family - and I truly hope you're right that he's still out there."

It was hard for her to see him, now that most of the candles had been extinguished, but she could still feel his eyes on her, and it helped her make up her mind about something she'd been considering for a while.

"Would you come outside with me, Daryl? There's something I want to get from the truck." He raised a curious eyebrow, but immediately stuck his head into the sleeping room to inform Rick of what they were doing, retrieved his crossbow from where it leaned by the kitchen doorway, and checked his knives; she saw him briefly consider and discard the idea of also taking a gun (she didn't know how she knew that's what had passed through his mind as she watched him, but she did) before escorting her out to the truck, the one in which they'd been traveling companions since the falling temperatures had made the bike impractical transport. She rummaged briefly in a bag in the cab while he kept watch, tucked something under her sweater and touched his hand to indicate she was ready to go back.

Inside again, he immediately turned and said, "What you got there that was so important we had to go out after dark for it?"

She tilted her head toward the office, indicating they should move away from the others, most of whom were settling in for the night. He followed, his curiosity burning.

She closed the office door behind them and put her back against it, effectively barring his exit. "I… I have something for you, Daryl. It's something I found weeks ago and have been keeping - oh, I'm not sure what I've been saving it for. I'd almost say 'a special occasion' but I think if I said that out loud I wouldn't be able to stop laughing. This has been a pretty special day, though, and… I know we agreed no Christmas presents, but… I had this already, it's not like I had to go to any effort to get it." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, him, or herself. "Here. For you. Because I know you like bourbon, and I think this is supposed to be good, isn't it?"

The bottle she held out to him was Pappy Van Winkle whiskey, marked "20 Year Family Reserve," and she thought Daryl's eyebrows were going to disappear into his hairline, he was so surprised. "This shit is like a hundred bucks a bottle, Carol. I don't even know anyone who's ever tasted it, let alone... Why the hell you givin' it to me? I ain't done anything special."

"It's a gift, Daryl. It doesn't have to be a reward or a thank you, it's just… I wanted you to have it." She felt like she was going to jump out of her skin, for some reason; not the least of it was the thought of the avid gleam that had burned in his eyes as he'd finished reading that poem.

He looked down at it, and at her, and back at the bottle, like one or the other of them would explain it all to him. "Didn't get you nothin'."

"Didn't expect anything, Daryl. How about if we just say you'll get me something, sometime down the line; not something I need or ask for, just something you think I'd like? Is that fair?"

"Guess that works for me." He looked back down at the bottle, shaking his head. "Uh, thanks. Merry Christmas, Carol."

"Merry Christmas, Daryl."

A/N:

To hear what I heard in my head while writing this last chapter, listen to Beth Nielsen Chapman's version of "Dona Nobis Pacem", from her album "Hymns." (available on YouTube.) It doesn't quite capture what it was in my imagination, but if you've not heard the song before it will give you a good idea, and I wanted so much to share its beauty with you as well.

BTW, the Christmas Revels are an Actual Thing. They're held in cities all over the world every year, and "The Shortest Day" is, I believe, always included. Google it. It's a very cool event.

I got to thinking about this story after the fact, and how OOC it probably was for Daryl to have participated at all in the Bardic Circle, let alone read that long-ass poem (which I put in strictly because I LOVE IT), so I came up with an explanation for how it came about - it's called "Backstage at the Bardic Circle", also published here (12/21/13.)