Chapter 22: Christmas 2277

December 24th 2277

It always astonished me how cold it could get even in the late afternoon this time of year. With snow atop the mountains in every direction and the overcast sky letting the occasional snowflake fall, I walked with my family and so many of my neighbors toward the temple. Joseph and Hannah were more than excited, shouting and laughing with their friends of the neighborhood far ahead of the rest of the adults. I was more excited for the Christmas service than I was most years, but that was because of so many reasons. Overall, 2277 was an extremely mixed year. Near the start of it, I lost a friend on an expedition named Morgan Nevarez who, although he wasn't in my detachment, was a big part of the guard community. I wish I would have mentioned him sooner, but with how much happened this year, especially towards the end, it has been hard to recount every tragedy and every good thing over the entire course of it.

After a start to the year like that, I had many ups with community get-togethers, weddings attended, intimate talks with my guardsmen, countless bible studies, successful expeditions, successful caravan escorts, and no matter if my days were good or bad, my family was the one constant this side of Heaven that I couldn't be more thankful for. I felt my wife's grip on my arm and her head on my shoulder as we made our way to the final service of Christmas Eve. She looked up and smiled at me as a snowflake landed on her nose and I remembered the look she gave me every morning this year and so many years prior. I held her head to my shoulder as we continued along amidst the conversations between neighbors to our left and right and made eyes with my daughter. I was so proud of Michelle, and there I saw something in her eye right before she looked away as if attempting to conceal something. I think I knew what it was, especially since that look made me recount the rest of this year.

I remembered setting out with Gavin Salazar, Roy Sutton, Axel and Dennis Gates, Diego Marquez, Rowan Tomlinson, and of course, Evan Buller in mid-September. An expedition that was supposed to only be about 5 days around the north shore of the Great Salt Lake didn't make it past two days when we were set upon by the White Legs tribe just on the outskirts of the west SLC ruins. I'd never lost that many men at one time before and perhaps during this time I still wasn't 100% over it. In fact, there was a reason I still hadn't refilled the ranks of my detachment and have been putting it off. That amount of loss was also the same reason I'd been keeping somewhat distant of Mr. Rhyne's squad and preferring to spend most of my time with John Langdon and his boys so much lately. Perhaps I felt it would make it easier if I lost Rhynes and his men if I remained distant. Although the alternative stood where it would be even more devastating if I lost John and his squad. In the end, I remembered how that preference idea wasn't a good one either way you cut it, and no matter how much I may distance myself from those under my charge, whatever happened to them would still affect someone. It was that thinking that made me forget or bury what Evan Buller might have been to my daughter, and I decided right then and there that next year I would make it a point to spend more time with the rest of my detachment.

As hard as the loss of those men was to get over and still get over, what happened next, what happened after my injury, was more proof than I thought possible of what God is capable of. Scarcely a month after that terrible event, I got to witness the return of a man everyone I knew thought gone forever, and I had the honor of facilitating that almost directly and with the help of God.

The second I had this thought, I looked over at my daughter again, gently released myself from my wife's grip, and put an arm around Michelle. The two of us froze there in the street as the neighbors passed, my wife put her arms around Michelle, and the girl sobbed silently into my arms. There was a lot going on inside of her, and perhaps she thought she'd be engaged by now or before her first mission, but circumstance and God's plan was not in line with her own. Even though she and everyone who passed us on that street knew it was a good plan, that didn't mean it was always easy, or one we could always understand. Either way, I raised my eldest daughter's head, kissed her on the forehead, told her everything would be alright, and the tears continued to stream down her cheeks as her mother took her in both arms reminding her that her family would always be there despite the past and coming changes.

It was there on this street and before the last turn before the town square and the Temple all lit up that I saw the nearly vacant patio of the Polson's little café. Upon seeing my wife firmly had our daughter in her assuring and loving embrace, I saw the two men sitting by the lighted railing beneath the lights and told my wife that I would join them at the Temple. Without needing any explanation, my wife nodded and continued her care for Michelle, knowing I only departed her company in this manner for the most dutiful of reasons.

As I stepped away and up to the little gate to the cafe patio, I saw my wife and daughter begin stepping away. Daniella gave a brief glance to the patio, and then to me before she nodded and continued towards the Temple with Michelle on her shoulder. The little gate gave a creak as I opened it, but that didn't disturb either men who occupied the patio in even the slightest as I found myself standing over the shoulder of Mr. Saul Mathers and looking down at Mr. Joshua Graham. The two were so deeply engaged that they hardly noticed me, and although there was much I wanted to say to them, the tone around them told me it was best to wait, so I instead just looked at the other New Canaanites passing in the streets on their way to the Temple as the sky got slightly darker.

At sight of the entire Willett family, and their son I was most recently familiar with, I turned away before he could see me noticing him and heard Mr. Mathers say slowly in a voice full of emotion;

"… There was so much killing back in those days. We tried to do what we could but it was never enough and they just kept coming… You told me I don't owe you an apology, but I still feel that I do in spite of it."

"You can thank God, Mr. Mathers," said Joshua deeply.

"Before I even knew Him, I cursed Him many times for missing that shot. For a long time afterward even, I wished it would have landed and I almost couldn't forgive Him or even myself for that."

Joshua stated slowly, "You know, it was probably around that time you were talking about that I started wishing I would just get hit. Although it took a while, I began to realize what I deserved, what I wanted, and what I was not allowed to receive, at least yet."

"Still, I'm so sorry I held that against you for so long, and against God." said Mr. Mathers, allowing a long silence to hover between the two.

After a while, Joshua said in his characteristic manner, "You have no reason to be sorry. You had every moral and logical reason to fire, it's just God that says you weren't the one to deliver it."

Mr. Mathers chuckled, seeming to swallow some apparent embarrassment before saying, "It wasn't even that long after I was brought here that I wised up to the fact that God doesn't care about how many confirmed kills NCR has against you, He will work in His own time… Still though, given everything we talked about, I'd consider it a personal favor if you absolved me of that old shame."

"I forgive you," said Graham hesitantly, "but I hope you forgive me too… Forgive me for wishing you too had landed the shot."

"I forgive you," said Mr. Mathers. After that, Mr. Mathers wiped something away from his eye and the two lowered their heads to pray together while I remained somewhat dumbstruck.

I hadn't caught everything, but the prayer I heard certainly clarified what I had walked in on. While Mr. Mathers was with the NCR Rangers, he was on special assignment in the northwest quadrant of the Arizona territory and believed he had killed Joshua Graham in the Guerrilla War the Desert Rangers were waging against the Legion in that area. Upon learning that he had missed, he couldn't forgive himself, and held guilt about that for a long time. It wasn't until Mr. Mathers had come to Christ that he resented his guilt about taking even such a man's life. Graham argued that Mr. Mathers was more than in the right for wanting to kill him, because that happened in a time where he himself was beginning to feel like he deserved death. Graham had absolved Mr. Mathers of all the guilt he felt in missing that shot. It was also Graham who admitted that although he would have preferred to be hit, the fact Mr. Mathers missed was what caused the Deacon of today to be reassigned to the Utah wilderness and be brought to a place where he could find the Lord he now served so well.

The two had finished praying, and gave an amen before raising their heads and neither bore the least shame for what they were talking about in the presence of a bystander like myself. It was their demeanor that made me start to feel ashamed that I decided to stick around and not give them the privacy the topic of discussion seemingly required. Before I could become too ashamed of this, and all at once, the men looked to me as if aware of my presence for the first time as Mr. Graham said;

"How have you been, Lt. Young?"

I shook myself to the present and patted the deacon's shoulder answering, "I've been well, didn't mean to intrude on your conversation here."

"No offense taken," said the two in unison.

I smiled, trying not to make the situation any more awkward than the "none" they thought it to be, and replied, "Was just on my way to the Temple with the family when I saw you two here. Thought I'd ask if you two would like to join us…"

This was true, but I honestly wasn't even thinking about that when I decided to approach.

"Ah Christmas…" said Mr. Mathers with a nostalgic and happy twang in his voice, "… I think it was exactly this moment last year that I was running late for the production. If you remember, I had a part in the pageantry last year and was getting into costume for the choir. I couldn't and still can't sing for the life of me, which makes me think we need a new Choir Director, but thankfully I didn't have a solo part."

"Remember that God doesn't care how well you sing, just so long as you sing," I said with a laugh.

The Deacon added, "I know, I just felt bad for that poor girl next to me who had to hear it," all three of us chuckled at this, and I replied automatically;

"I think I remember it was last year that my family and I were on our way out the door to service when Nathan came pounding on my door with an emergency the guards were dealing with just outside the gate… Turns out the emergency was just a bunch of wasters who consumed too much contraband alcohol singing Christmas carols. They said they were 'auditioning" for the choir', and all of them were singing different carols while the conductor was there for show more than anything else. Every guardsman in the market tipped them well anyway, and I was glad to have seen it, even if it wasn't what I had in mind when Nathan pounded on my door, pistol in hand while telling me the whole way how I 'Have to be there to understand the situation.'"

We all laughed again, Mr. Mathers, in particular, finding extra delight in the story before we simultaneously turned to Graham without thinking about it. Was this crossing a line? Perhaps it was, but the automatic gesture left us wondering after a silent moment where he was this time of year last year. More people passed in the streets unaware of our existence as more of the lights turned on with the darkening sky. I was just about to inform Graham that he didn't have to talk about anything he didn't want to and suggested we make our way to the Temple when he decided to answer;

"I think it was around this time last year that I had gotten my last letter from a man I considered a friend of mine…" He paused in recollection, "... Of course I didn't have many if any friends while I was leading the Legion, but there was one commander I got to see every now and then who I felt a strange connection to. The man himself would have been a pretty good man if the Legion hadn't entered his life, so that might have been what appealed to me… That's about all I can say about that right now, but it was probably around this time last year I received my last letter from him … I don't know what happened when his task finally got started, but I know what happened to the Divide…"

I think everyone even in New Canaan had heard about a place called "The Divide" through caravan stories. Caravan traffic slowed in the south for a few months after stories of "The Divide" began to surface. I don't know where "Death Valley" is exactly aside from west of New Vegas, but whatever happened there gave way to stories about a crack in the earth and new storms of untold proportion down that way. In fact, it was because of those stories that it took so long for stories of what happened between the NCR and Legion at Hoover Dam to reach us. Either way, there wasn't much for Mr. Mathers and I to add to Mr. Graham's remembrance aside from "I think I heard about that" and my mind was stuck wondering about things far bigger than myself happening in other parts of the wasteland as Mr. Mathers stood and said, "Shall we head off to the Temple then?"

There at the bottom of the crowded steps and beneath a string of white lights between two streetlamps sat my family. Daniella was standing, engaged in a conversation with the Constable and his wife, Leslie. As I approached, neither the Constable nor his lovely wife even noticed who I had in tow as I threw my arms around the two of them and joined my wife's side. My children huddled around us as well and I gestured towards Mr. Mathers and Mr. Graham feeling all needs to introduce them disappear as both were greeted so warmly as if they were known all their lives.

The conversing went on as the sky got a little darker and more of the lights across town lit up. Mr. Mathers conversed with other officials from the Temple and general population while Mr. Graham stood idly off to the side. I felt the need to bring him into the conversations as he stood beside the steps in a long black overcoat, but that need went away when I saw that he was not at all alone. Every person who walked by us on their way up the steps whether with children at their feet, or by themselves, all greeted Mr. Graham warmly, even asking him questions or speaking idle banter on their way as though he had always been part of the community. I was dressed in my finest attire and cleanest coat, just like everyone, and just as the doors were opened and the Elders shouted their welcome message, my family and I began up the steps with the Constable, his family, and so many other friends of the community.

Before stepping under the beautiful archway into the Temple proper, The Constable pulled me aside and asked if he could lead a prayer for those on duty during this time of enjoyment. This must have been known to many people because as he began and my eyes were shut, I felt the presence of many other people joining us beside the doors. By the time he was done, and by the time my eyes were opened, I saw myself, the Constable, our families, and our friends surrounded by nearly a hundred people of the community. Everyone said "Amen" all at once, whether their arms were around the Constable or somewhere in the back, and the rest of the populace proceeded inside for the last service before Christmas Day.

As Mordecai spoke his sermon, and long after the opening worship where everyone usually felt extra emotional, there came a point where I began to feel very sad. I felt strangely sad knowing that this, the beauty of the Temple, was something I so rarely got to see. The sight of children and families all happy in the pews was something so rare for me when I remember how most sermons I hear are the ones over the radio on a Sunday shift atop the towers. It's not often I get to see exactly what me and my men are protecting, and the reminder always hits hard on occasions like this. I sat in the pews surrounded by so many friends and families I knew, feeling like everything I do and did throughout the year was worth it. All the loss, all the tragedy, all the horrors out there are all worth it when I see the smiles on the faces, all the families together, and all those lights covering the hall beneath that glowing cross in the illuminated glass.

I became stuck in my head, and I could barely even hear Mordecai's words when I remembered once again what it took for me to get here. All this came about when my glance over the room caught the backs of so many heads I knew all too well. The heads of the people in the row before me and two seats left were those of the Buller family. In front of them, the parents of Rowan Tomlinson and his younger sisters, beside them were the parents of Axel and Dennis Gates, next to them sat the widow of Gavin Salazar, near the front by the pulpit sat the widow of Morgan Nevarez, and it went on and on. It wasn't until I heard the infant child of Diego Marquez begin to cry and saw his also widowed wife stand up that I could no longer take part in the present.

It's hard to describe what a place like the Temple during that Christmas Eve sermon was like and I don't know how to explain my life on duty in a way that does it justice. Despite all I've written, I don't think I've even come close to capturing what all of this year or what this moment on Christmas Eve was truly like.

What do you even say when you're the one considered an honored guest at a wedding once or sometimes twice a year? How do you explain it when you're the one giving the groom advice on how to be a husband, how to raise children, and then give an opening prayer before a beautiful bride dressed in all white comes slowly down the aisle? You see that beautiful young woman with her father, ready to be handed over to a son of the community you hold dear, and wonder who you are to even be here in this moment? What do you see in yourself when you are the man who the beautiful bride gives a special kiss on the cheek and thanks you with tears in her eyes for playing the role you did in her new husband's life? What do you do when the families and friends raise a special glass to you and your men when you see all those happy tears of joy and then remember what you do?

Very few at those weddings or those celebrations know what it's like to feel a bullet shatter your ribs, or know what it's like to pick out the bits of cloth mashed into a bleeding wound from a pellet of buckshot. How are you supposed to feel when you're the same guy who cracked a man's skull with the butt of your rifle and shot a hole into a man's throat not two months before you felt that bride's kiss on your cheek?

It's always been so hard to understand how you were supposed to feel seeing all those happy faces and then remember that slaughtered party you and your men found in the wastes. You can't get the image of those naked bodies with opened throats and severed genitals or breasts out of your mind. You know most of the people at home have seen their own horror on their one and sometimes only mission, but they couldn't understand what it's like to feel such anger and rage that you track down the ones responsible and make them suffer too. They don't know what it's like to fire at a human being, hear the gurgle of blood in a dying man's throat, and to beat someone who simply won't give up into an awful death. They could never understand, but strangely enough, neither can you. You don't get why you have to do that. You don't get why you come home and help your wife with the chores, help the kids with their schoolwork, and why the world outside can't just be peaceful. You don't get why you have to go out there again and again praying you won't have to do what you know you're capable of…

Then one day that bride comes to you with tears in her eyes and streaming down her face, begging you for answers through tremendous sobs as to why you didn't come home with her husband. You simply have nothing to say. You- I, live two lives…

There are usually one or two sermons throughout the year that leave me disgusted when I hear words like "love thine enemy" and am told to forgive myself for what I did or failed to do. I feel utterly humiliated to have even felt disgusted at such words since I know they're true. I know it's correct to forgive the enemies of the wilderness, and myself for everything I did, but it's hard when you think back and remember so much that happened. As much as you think of the tears of that widow, those parents, and all those mourning, you're so lost in your own misery that you forget that it's not just you who's living through the pain. It's not that the enemy needs to be hated, it's that the grieving need to be loved, and all you can offer is what you can. No matter how little that offering may be, you know that even that task to love the ones you love is more than you're capable of.

When I see the people all together at home, in this Temple, I know firsthand what kind of year they've had. I know all the horror and tragedy they've been through, and there were so many times I had to be the one to tell them what happened out there. It was me who had to tell them the awful thing that would change their lives completely. I see the head of Mrs. Buller lean on the shoulder of Thomas, staining his light grey coat in tears, and know exactly what she's softly crying about. I see it all throughout the room, and the impacted survivors of so much heartache before I see the widow of Diego Marquez still rocking her baby in her arms over by the wall.

I see the innocence resting sweetly and quietly in the Marquez widow's arms, and I see where the wet eyes of the young mother are looking. They aren't looking at me for what happened under my watch, they aren't looking at the Bishop for what to do, and they aren't looking at the lights over the archways for a distraction, they're looking up at that cross in the glass above us all. The choir takes the stands again, and I see the tears flow down the widow's face as she holds her baby tighter, but her eyes remain on that cross and all it stands for. Those tears aren't those of hate, spite, or sorrow, they're tears of hope and longing for something better she knows is there beyond this rock, beyond this wasteland, and beyond the misery of this world. She like so many others in this place, including myself, know how horrible this world we inhabit has been, and will be, but there she looks in awe and wonder regardless of the pain at what's ahead as the halls echo with the words "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

She is not alone, I am not alone, my wife is not alone, my family is not alone, none of the people in the warmth of the Temple or the cold of the night outside are alone. Not in this place, or any other, and the people of my home disperse to the arms of one another at the last word of Mordecai's address, "Amen." The choir in place, friends and neighbors embrace one another after such a hard year as the halls fill with the sobs and laughs of the grieving and the hopeful. I feel the hands of my children on my shoulder, that of Joseph on my left, and that of Hannah and Michelle on my right. I embrace them all as the first words of "Silent Night" carry across the vaulted room and into the world outside. Our lives will not be easy, and the next year will be as tragic if not more than the one we just ended. However, the sounds of grief and tragedy lessen throughout the room as more of the choir's words remind us of what has been true since the dawn of time, since the days He was needed most:

"All is calm..."

All truly is calm this night, and whatever happens next;

"All is bright..."

And all will truly be bright no matter what kind of darkness is lurking in the distance because He's going to be with us the entire time.

I stand with my family, embrace my wife, turn to those friends grieving or quietly celebrating throughout the Temple, and the congregation steadily departs into the night. Beneath the streetlamps, the lights, and the gentle snowfall, the soft tune of Silent Night continues on the speakers across town. All is calm, all is bright… whatever kind of darkness was on the way, no matter how hard, it still wouldn't be anything He isn't capable of handling.