Chapter 13: Come To Me All Who Are Weary…
After the Escape From Rock Shack
There was not a lot to say about what happened in the early morning after our rescue from the events at Rock Shack. The men of myself, Doyle, and Herbein arrived back at the gates approximately an hour or two before dawn of that morning if I remember correctly. We would have arrived sooner, but Herbein led us further south and into the wasteland for a while when we believed we were being followed by the outlaws we spared. It wasn't unlike men of their caliber to go back on their word, and worry of them following us with their weapons recovered meant the engagement would be a bloody one even if we outnumbered them by the addition of Herbein's men. With no intention of having them follow us and creating a firefight right outside the markets and gates to our home, the diversion seemed to work. Although we still aren't sure if it was the remnants of Cade's gang following us, or just paranoia. There were times one of us felt we saw something moving in the brush of the wasteland, then there were other times I thought I'd only seen a wasteland critter in the darkness. Knowing that whether we were being stalked by human or creature, it was best not to lead them to the main road or gates until we knew for sure. We never learned for sure what was following us, but eventually, our push to the south had us stepping on the caravan trail to New Canaan and then we decided to move north back home again.
The town was still asleep when the night guard lowered the gates for us, and between the three groups in our scout, all of us spent the next hours well into the morning touching up our reports, giving our briefings to this Elder, that Elder, the Constable, etc, about the trip. Then we spent the hours up till noon turning in the gear we borrowed, handing over our issued weapons as well as the acquired weapons over to the armories, and then after dismissing the boys, Doyle and I had to deal with the Cade situation. After giving our reports and suggestions to the Constable and after the meeting with Elder Larsdale, the outlaw was taken off our hands by some of the Constable's personal runners, and Deacon Fitz was notified. Once Cade was taken off to the aforementioned cells on the east side of town near the guard barracks, I hadn't seen him since. Our report and the meeting with the Constable and Elder were sure to include what he said to me the evening before, as well as our suggestion that those responsible for his servitude keep especially close eyes on him. Cade was in hands that I trusted, but the fact he was the only known person from the outside who knew our secret and retained his wicked intentions, my nerves regarding his whereabouts remained for long after.
Once all that was done, the Constable told us that we all had the rest of the day off, and this was especially good news to hear after being up for well over 24 hours. Perhaps it could have been mentioned earlier, but the members of the night guard and Constable weren't the only ones to be surprised that our scout was only a little over a day long, my wife and kids were surprised too. The scout investigation was predicted to take a minimum of two days, and four days at a maximum. This was evidently passed on to my family, who were all home at the time of my arrival and happy to see my return. Even if my return consisted of little more than a short greeting to them all before immediately passing out on my bed till the next morning. There was plenty more that happened the next morning, including the baptism of the young Duncan Schmitt, but that didn't happen the way the community planned. The return from our trip, some confusion with the Temple about the timeframe, and the condition of Doyle and I's men after the trip threw a wrench in that, but life began to hop back into its usual pace after the excitement died away.
The routine of life in town continued in its usual way, but as the days eventually turned into a week, then more days, one central question continued to occupy the back of my mind:
What is to be done with Graham?
At this point, days after the return from our scout, and long after our reports had been handed over for consideration, the returned son of our community remained a hermit living in an isolated dwelling outside the walls. I figured the incident with Cade and the discovery of Cade's intent to report information about the man would be cause for alarm amongst the Elders, but not a word was said. The burned man was almost never seen outside of his shack, and his existence was almost completely forgotten by the whole community scarcely a week after our return from the scout. I wanted to bring this issue up in the meetings amongst the lieutenants of the guard, and everyone, including all the attendees of the meeting between the guards and Elders, seemed to come to the same conclusion:
Just don't talk about him.
This seemed to be working well enough, and I even raised it during the meeting with the Elders, "If a guy like Cade is getting orders from the Legion about tracking him down, who else is on their way?"
Clearly, the Legion or someone knew he was alive, and although word of his survival from travelers in the market was nonexistent, the idea of him going about his day outside the seclusion of the town walls was unsettling.
The words from Cade that night were a frequent echo in the back of my mind "I'm not going to be the only one sent looking for Graham." Perhaps I wasn't the only one who held this silent worry, but life seemed to move right along, and it wasn't long after the Elder/Guard meeting the week after our scout that the entire community's attention was shifted towards a new issue. An issue that once again was predicted by the outlaw leader we brought into custody.
"Soon enough, refugees from the east will be flocking to New Canaan in droves if they hadn't been already"
Two Weeks After the Incident at Rock Shack
New Canaan had always been a place that refugees from the war-torn wilderness of Utah flocked to for support. The typical policy had always been to offer our charity to those who arrived and even offer larger groups the missionaries and personnel needed to help rebuild and protect their communities in a safer place away from the ones who harmed them. We did what we could, with respect to the tribe's identity, while also giving them examples of the benefits of following the Lord we served. The system was a win-win and has worked well since the first days of our resettlement from Upper Ogden. And although it's true that the cold season always brought about more than the usual refugees, the near spike in tribal refugees coming to our gates this season was no mystery to the ones who heard what the outlaw Tom Cade said to Doyle and I on that scout. It was slow at first, slow in a way that was almost imperceptible, but amongst the supplies being doled out to those in need of protection from the cold came the influx of those whose people had fallen to Legion expansion in the far east beyond the mountains. Few knew this to be the reason, but questions amongst my brothers and sisters giving out their charity in the markets were set aside by the chaos caused by dwindling supplies and increasingly upset people in need.
It was a Monday I believe, two weeks after our trip, and my boys were guarding the gate in our usual post when I was approached by Mr. Mathers who asked if the men could cover my round while he took me to the Trinity Inn for a moment. The boys agreed on the condition that I bring them back some cold glasses of ice water to help them combat the midday heat beneath the cold breeze of early November. I followed the Deacon clad in a dusty black smock away from the gates, seeing the charity stalls occupied by my brothers and sisters from inside the walls, watching them dole out supplies, blankets, and basic food items to the crowds of refugees surrounding the yard beside the central well.
Tribals, travelers, wastelanders, traders, caravanners, mothers, fathers, children, and even infants in their mothers' arms swarmed the markets in a way unseen even in past cold seasons. Many of the traders, caravanners, or wasteland visitors went about their business, pushing their wares and beasts of burden through or around the masses of war refugees while my brothers and sisters of the community rushed to and fro needing to inform Mr. Soandso about needing more this and that. The scene around the market was so busy that even an extra detachment of guards from the north end was dispatched to the market by the Constable, and the extra guards were instrumental in securing the stability of these days, yet we were still shorthanded.
Passing the stalls, I followed the Deacon, shifting my attention to the guards patrolling the grounds, all too occupied with the masses to give us the common greeting they would have done on any other day. All the while, I saw the Deacon turning his head to each group or horde of poverty striken refugees, likely peering closely at the downtrodden faces, the crying children, the saddened faces of mothers, and the solemn expression on each man's face beneath the layers of ragged and dirty handwoven clothing.
Just before reaching the door to the Inn, my attention turned to a sudden shout from what appeared to be at a glance, a group of wasteland and tribal men standing slightly distant from the nearest charity stall. It was my intention to stop for a moment and investigate what I assumed to be the start of unrest regarding the diminishing charity supplies, but I saw a group of guardsmen approaching them and I nearly tripped over the Deacon. Stopping short of that, I looked over the Deacon who'd knelt down before a tribal mother in a very thick grey and brown woven long dress with three children huddled next to her for warmth. The Deacon didn't even notice me almost trip and was busy conversing with the mother who evidently didn't fully understand the language of the man crouched before her and the children. The woman gave a faint grief-filled smile, nodding in confused politeness and showing a mouth with several missing teeth before the Deacon clasped her hands in one of his. He made the motion of a sign of the cross with his fingers toward her, and released his grip, leaving something in her hands I didn't see before he immediately stood up. He caught eyes with me briefly and opened the door to the Inn as if he hadn't stopped to pray for a stranger. Then gesturing an "After you" I walked inside and that was that.
Inside the Trinity Inn, the place was busier than I had ever seen it. The place was absolutely packed with every sort of person and louder than it was even in the early days of spring when traders and Caravanners flocked to our gates in droves. I could scarcely even see the counter beyond the crowds, and I caught a glimpse of Martha, our sister of the community and owner of the establishment, busier than ever with the sweat pouring down her face as all six of her apprentices rushed in and out of the back to all the tables completely overcrowded. As usual, several harsh words were heard through the chatter regarding wastelanders' frustration at the establishment not having alcohol, only for them to grumble about needing water or caffeine from a prewar soda after their trip anyway. Perhaps it's worth mentioning, but some within the community didn't like Inns serving drinks with caffeine, especially those in the Mormon sect, but it was allowed since Martha was accommodating and agreed not to serve alcohol in accordance with the law set forth by the Elders and the Temple. Anyway, I followed the Deacon through the crowded establishment, and for some reason it stuck out to me that there were almost no tribals inside. Beneath the hollering and laughing, I saw one or two, but this appeared to be where all the caravanners and wastelanders were congregating to escape the cold and the refugee chaos outside. I began to wonder where the Deacon and I were going to sit, but before I could, the man was taking off his smock, and placing it on an empty two chair table by a window as if it was specially reserved for us. I kept my long sleeve on and took my seat opposite the man and the two of us were soon lost in conversation, the noise of the establishment disappearing into the background.
I asked what Mr. Mathers wanted to talk to me about, and he went on to say that the construction project at Judah Black's former ranch was nearly done. The men on his renovation project were satisfied with the work and so was he. I recalled passing the place on return from the scouting trip, and although it was too early in the morning to make out much, it did appear the place had come a long way since the idea was first concocted by him and approved by the Elders. The large shack itself was refurbished and so was the shed. Mr. Mathers and his crews had even made two more sheds of the same style on the lot, one beside the old one, and one on the opposite side of the road. He and the crew had patched up and restored the decaying fence around the perimeter, and then enlarged it to encompass a bigger area, with sections for temporary tents, and an additional pen section for livestock. It was this last part that made me ask if the purpose for the renovation was to handle the traders and caravan traffic, but he answered that although it may be repurposed for that at a future date, he gestured to the more pressing concern by pointing outside. The place would serve as a refugee station to help mitigate or ease the congestion in the market. I thought the idea brilliant, and by the time he told me this, one of Martha's boys returned with our drinks. We gave cheers to one another with the expensive ice water, and I placed an order for four more tall cups of the same to go.
After the boy left, I asked the Deacon why he needed to tell me this now and in this place. He saw me keeping one eye on the outside, and knew I was busy, but he then cleared his throat and asked if I could give word to the Constable about another detachment to guard the new refugee station. He was very understanding when I said I would see what I could do, probably noticing me focus on the world outside the window even more and the scarcity of the guards. It became somewhat clear that there was something else he didn't want to just dive into, but he and I both knew he had me at least for as long as it took to get the water for my boys. As busy as the world beyond the glass was, and as much as I was needed out there, I knew my boys wouldn't think too highly of me if I didn't get them what I promised I would. And so, looking around the crowded Inn, there was nothing to do but wait, and I was at least in good company.
It still wasn't long after Martha's boy left that Mr. Mathers and I got to talking about other things. The man was curious about a great many things his friends and colleagues in the religious sect weren't familiar with, and part of me still knew he invited me to a one-on-one talk for another reason. He didn't invite me here just to request more enforcers around the restored ranch, there was something else, but he would only divulge his other concerns through discourse. Our talk went on and I was the one doing most of it at this point, seeing the man was all ears until the proper time as we caught one another up on whatever our conversation took us to;
"… So you took the boy out back behind the barracks that Sunday?" Mr. Mathers asked with a laugh.
I finished my swig of the icy water and went on, "Yes sir, we figured that was the best way to do that for him. I don't know if you know Tammy in water treatment, but just don't tell her we're the reason for that slight increase of output in her cistern… Doyle promised to make amends with her someday if he hadn't already."
The man chuckled once more, "Shoot, I wish I could have been there. I'm glad you boys didn't do it in that muddy pool off the trail to Rock Shack, but you probably should have if you'd known it would have been so dangerous."
Thinking about that Sunday after the return, I thought of the blank expression on the kid's face as he stood in that kiddie pool full of water with Doyle while me and 30 other members of the guard stood around him watching, "Yeah, after getting back from the scout, none of us were in any condition to attend the Temple for it, not to mention the mixup with the baptism pastor that day since he thought we wouldn't be back for another few days. Still, the way we did it was rather fitting for Mr. Schmitt and his… personality."
The Deacon shook his head with a smile, "I knew he was searching for a way to get out of his baptism in the Temple when I talked to him about a week before you all's scout. Did he say anything that stood out? Before going under I mean?"
I was still thinking about the fun and the aftermath of the kid's baptism and I answered, "Well, you know some people aren't much for making a big spectacle about it. For some, they feel they lose the genuineness of the moment if they're pledging their life to Christ before people they don't even know. He's always been a bit of a shy one and I think he was much more at ease about it when he knew all the faces around him in that water were his friends in the guard. As to your other question, you know he ain't much for words. Boy didn't even tell me he was winged by a bullet after the fight with Cade's gang. That and nobody wanted to make him feel like he was obligated to give a tearful testimony before going under."
Still amused by the story, there was a slight hint of solemnity in Mr. Mathers' face as he nodded his head, "No doubt, I'm happy he got to do that in a way he felt best.. Still, I wish I could have been there. I probably don't know him the way you and the men in Doyle's detachment or the barracks do, but I've enjoyed speaking to him this past year on the odd occasion. He seems like a promising young man in many ways."
"I think so too," said I, partially wishing the young Duncan was a bit more open. There were lots of people like Mr. Mathers who would have loved to be there for Duncan's baptism, but given the kid's nature, it was best not to throw him into something he wasn't comfortable with. The fact that he finally agreed to get baptized in the first place was wonderful enough, and the little party the guard threw together that Sunday made the thing even better. Before I could dwell on this for too long, my attention was turned when the Deacon was done with his glass and he asked,
"So, what about the outlaw? How's he doing?"
I preferred not to talk or even think about the outlaw we brought in, but I had just told Mr. Mathers all about the scout and so I said the truth, remembering one of my curiosities as I spoke, "I haven't seen Cade since we brought him in. Actually, I was hoping you could tell me how he's doing. Have you talked to Deacon Fitz lately?"
Perhaps the Deacon heard the disdain in my voice before the question. He gave an audible, "Hmm" and pondered the question a moment before saying, "… I believe I heard that he's in the fields now. Thought I heard mention of that a couple days ago, but no I haven't heard from Fitz. I suppose that means the outlaw is getting along well enough if he's out there… Even if he's been in the cells longer than most petty criminals."
Thinking back to the night and morning I spent with the outlaw, I still couldn't think of him highly and the presumption of Mr. Mathers about Cade's assimilation made me say in an instant, "There's a reason he was in those cells longer than others, Mr. Mathers. That guy essentially told us he was a snake in the grass. He admitted openly that the first thing he's going to do when released is collect the reward for information on ... " looking over my shoulder and seeing we were alone in our bubble amidst the packed establishment, I went on even lower, "… 'Our brother'. The way Cade sees it, his stay with us is just a vacation from the wastes and a way to shake the rest of his gang off so he can collect more of the reward."
Mr. Mathers nodded his head in recollection of what I had told him earlier, "Yeah you mentioned that…" He paused, then thought for a moment before meeting my gaze and asking, "… You sure that's his intention though? Seems strange that even a guy like him would admit to what he would do. Perhaps he was just bitter since the loss of his gang was still fresh?"
That thought had crossed my mind, but memories of that afternoon, and that evening in the shack went through my mind as well. "I know a liar when I see or hear one, he wasn't lying. At the risk of sounding bitter myself, I'd keep him in chains for a year, and the only way I'd trust him enough to let him go is if we removed his tongue, eyes, and hands so he can't communicate."
Part of me was surprised myself by my own words. I felt my face, feeling a stern scowl carved into my countenance and removed it upon discovery. I had a faithful and moral obligation to assume the best in people, but the memory of those gunshots at Rock Shack, the face of Evan Buller, and the faces of many others I lost came to me, making the idea of assuming the best pretty hard to execute.
The Deacon sat there with his hands clasped before him on the table, his face concerned, and seeing the thoughts I battled before saying softly, "I understand your worry but isn't that a bit much Paul?"
The seconds had passed, and although I knew my conviction was wrong, I knew it was also right from experience. Still, I told the man, "Maybe, but you know the kind of men like him yourself. After all, it wasn't but 7 years ago that you were killing guys like him in the wasteland for the NCR Rangers."
A long silence hovered between us. I probably shouldn't have brought that up, and the Deacon's face remained unchanged as he casually looked over his own shoulders at the backs of wastelanders around us before returning his attention to me with a new half concealed sadness behind his emotionless expression;
"That was a long time ago, Paul, and I was shown the error of my ways when you met me out there," he said still softly, appearing almost completely undisturbed.
Knowing part of my stance on the issue of Cade was wrong, I admitted, "Still, there's something to be said about those ways, especially when the safety of everyone who loves our Lord in this slice of the waste is at stake, wouldn't you say?"
The Deacon didn't answer, and a silence hovered between us again for a few moments before he said, "Believe me, I understand the concern. That concern is part of why I called you here…" He paused, looked down at his glass, "… I only wish more of my brothers in the Temple shared the worry…"
Once more, the Elders and religious leaders of the community had all but forgotten about the man we harbored just outside our walls, and the strange unspoken disconnect appeared once again between the religious and guard sect. The Deacon knew I was right, but I was also wrong. I believed men like Cade and those who put no value in the word of God could not change, but the Elders and members of the Temple believed they could. I believed they could, and so did the Deacon. It was here that the Deacon and I sat, it was why we got along so well when you strip away all the casual friendliness and idle banter. I knew that men like Cade, men worse than Cade could change, but sometimes they never could. What made some men change and some not was unknown to all of us below the sun, but known to God, and the proof of that something's existence in the worst of men was only proven by the wrapped man outside the walls as the world beyond was consumed by more and more chaos. At last, the Deacon knew he was not alone in the frustration and contemplation when he saw it in me, and told me what it would take to reconcile the two stances on how to deal with my own internal issue of Cade;
"… Whether or not the outlaw sees the light may not matter. One way or another, more will come looking for our returned brother… If a lowly outlaw bounty hunter and his gang of scalpers could find the trail and start sniffing down it, how long before others do?"
"and in the meantime, he's still outside the walls. A secret hidden in plain sight," said I, more to myself than him.
The Deacon only nodded, asking lowly, "I wonder what it will take for the Elders to realize we need to fully embrace him or he needs to leave."
I had considered this as well, coming to the same conclusion in this talk as I had done many times since the return of Graham, "Hopefully it'll be before a Legion army decides to march this way…" then considering the events with Cade and my opinion on his presence in the community of faith, it occurred to me, "… I suppose that's one way to reconcile my faith and pragmatism when it comes to Cade."
"How's that?" asked the Deacon with a raised eyebrow.
As unfortunate as the reconciliation between being faithful to my trust in Cade's turn to faith and my dread at what he would do upon release was, it was given by the idea of Legion siege or the word about Graham getting out, and I told the Deacon as much;
"It wouldn't be hard to believe his conversion or trust him enough to set him free unharmed if the reward goes away."
The reward certainly would disappear if there was a Legion army surrounding us, and the Deacon must have been thinking about this as well when the faintest smile returned to his face, "Lets still hope it doesn't come to that though."
"Agreed." I then asked myself, "How would the word even get out?" as my eyes went to the window and I saw all the chaos outside.
The waters I ordered would have been along at any minute, and the Deacon and I were about to change the topic for more hopeful or amusing ones when suddenly our search for a new diversion was ended by it stepping up to the table. Out of all the crowds in the building, all thoughts of our prior gloom were thown aside as a man emerged from the gaggle of wastelanders, stepped right up to our table, and shouted through the noise, "Do my eyes deceive me? Mr. Saul Mathers and dare I say, Lieutenant Young!?"
Standing there in faded black rodeo jeans, boots, and a dirty white shirt with light green and blue plaid with the sleeves rolled up, I almost immediately recognized the gitup alone. The man before us was a tall young man of his late 20s with light blue eyes, a patchy dark brown beard, and dusty face beneath a wide-brimmed flat black hat with a red band around it almost identical to the hat Tom Cade wore. All at once Mr. Mathers stood himself up and embraced the man as I stood as well, the Deacon shouting in return;
"Daniel! Oh my! Hadn't thought I'd see you for another few weeks at least!"
The Deacon released his brother in the Temple sect, and turning to me, my old friend Daniel extended a hand that I immediately met in a strong grip adding;
"I could say the same. How've you been Daniel? Where's Josie and Alan?"
Out of nowhere, Daniel pulled up a chair and took a seat at the Deacon and I's little table while Mr. Mathers and I sat back down. Daniel removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead and said to the both of us;
"How can it be so hot and so cold out there?..."
Daniel was about to go on when the Deacon said idly, "Tell me about it. Probably warmer where you've been?"
Glancing between both of us as he talked, Daniel said, "I've been well Paul, hope you and the family have been too. Josie and Alan were pretty beat from the trip, so they headed straight to the gates. Figured I'd stop in here to get something to drink before returning to Elder Rockwell for my report. Not sure that was the best idea though. I had no idea this place would be so crowded!..." With an amused but winded chuckle, he paused.
"I'll bet. How were the kiddos on their first time out… Don't worry about the drink though, I placed an order for my boys that should be along any minute, Martha's fella can take your order then" said I.
Daniel nodded at me, and once again turning to both of us as he spoke, he went on, "Yeah'p that'll work. But truly, I'm proud of those kids. Zion may be a bit warmer even at this time of year but that trip is no picnic. It ain't often that the Temple sends kids on their first missions that far south, but their folks had some pull with Mordecai and I'm just glad I was able to take them down there without incident."
The returned career missionary leaned back in his chair and the Deacon asked what I too was thinking, "So how are the Sorrows holding up? Pretty well I suppose? You've certainly been down there with them for a lot longer this time."
Daniel only adjusted in his chair and shook his head with an exaggerated sigh as he said, "There's still a lot to be done with them. Language is still the primary issue, but the kids are getting English and at least able to help translate for their parents which is more progress than last time. Josie and Alan, Josie especially, that wonderful girl, was even able to begin our true mission. With permission from the tribe and the parents, Josie led a group of children for almost 4 months before the letter to come back. Dear girl left the kids her collection of children's Bible stories for them to keep. I hope the parents don't mind, but I was busy helping the adults with the practicals, helping them with new means of purifying the water they live in, showing them new ways to make use of their game, and they taught me so much this time around I really felt I was having an impact… At least between the attacks."
I'd only heard very little about the tribes of Zion or those around Grand Staircase, Bryce Canyon, and other habitable parts of the region, but what I did hear made me ask, "Sorrows still getting raided by Dead Horses?"
Daniel reclined again, adding simply, "Sometimes… It's hard for them to get into the Zion valley, but when they do, it aint too good for anyone…"
He paused again, focusing his attention more on me this time before adding, "… The raids are few and far between, but when they show up, when the Sorrows captured a warrior or two…" He paused even longer, still looking at me as he finished, "… They're pretty vocal about who trained them to fight like they do."
Neither me nor the Deacon had heard what Dead Horse captives had to say about who trained them to harass the friendly Sorrows tribe of the Zion Valley, but we both knew who it was without it having to be said. The eyes of the Deacon and I met for a moment, and suddenly when I returned to the face of Daniel, I saw the expression of extreme curiosity, sorrow, and friendliness about being amongst friends when the Deacon asked in an apparent effort to change the unspoken subject;
"So when's the next time you're headed down to Zion?"
Immediately, the missionary's face grew a smile while the other emotions stayed in their place behind it all as he answered cheerily, "Not for a while I don't think. Probably a couple of months, maybe a year. Elder Rockwell seemed to have different tribes for me in the near future, but for now, I could use a rest… That said, what's been going on here? What's with all the crowds?"
The eyes of the Deacon and I met for a moment once again and all the Deacon said was, "Lots of refugees these days. Apparently lots of fighting in the East beyond the mountains and past Hanksville…"
Daniel nodded at the Deacon, then turned to me and apparently saw something in my face when his own face showed even more of the emotions buried behind it earlier. We locked eyes momentarily and I asked him what I assumed he already knew by his talk of the Dead Horses earlier, "… You know about our recent visitor?"
At these words, Daniel only nodded once again, seeing in his face that there was much he wanted to know and ask about but also that this just wasn't the time or place. That nod was all that was needed, and Daniel appeared to be ready to move on to something else when the young apprentice of Martha stepped over to our table and placed a small milk crate with four glasses of ice water on the table before me.
Upon receiving the awaited order, I stood to my feet, asked the lad, "How much do I owe Martha?"
The young apprentice waved his hand, "No charge, Martha's got you this time since it's for the guard… Just return the crate and glasses when you can." My heart warmed at that, and I tossed the boy a silver coin with our community's cross on the face and back as tip. The boy caught it with a "Thanks, Lieutenant" and was about to run off for other tasks amidst the packed Inn when Daniel caught him by the shoulder and ordered something. I was just about to resume our talk and hint at my need to depart when again, a new person stepped up to us from out of the crowd.
It was my guardsman, Carl Northrup, who before anyone could greet him, said to me in a winded breath, "Lieutenant, we need you outside. There's a situation around the charity stalls."
The apprentice boy had left, Daniel and Mr. Mathers were looking at Carl and I, and I said to nobody, "Perfect timing" as I handed one of the waters to Carl who downed the contents in a single gulp. Wondering what had been told to me through the crowd noise, I took the crate of water glasses in my hand, grabbed my cap, and said to the men sincerely;
"I have to go. Mr. Mathers, thank you for the talk…" Then to Daniel I said, "… Daniel, enjoy your time with the Deacon here, welcome back, and I'm sorry to depart so abruptly but my family and I would love to have you over for dinner. Mr. Mathers, you're welcome to show up too."
With a smile, the missionary said, "That sounds nice, how does this Wednesday sound?"
I gave the man a thumbs up in agreement and disappeared into the crowds following Carl to the door outside.
AN: On an entirely unrelated note, please let me know if you see a comment on a video about the Legion on Youtube that talks about my fic "The Edge of Glory." I got a review on that story recently that mentioned such a thing and I've been searching for that video since. Let me know the name of the video if you find it because I'd love to leave it and the comment a thumbs up and because my ego demands I see it... Thanks for reading and hope you're enjoying!
