Chapter 27: It Was You

The Next Morning

Narrative Continued by Deacon Saul Mathers.

…

Looking into her calm face, I couldn't help feeling what I felt. Between those bruises, those scratches, that swollen eye, and those dried tears, I thought of what could have possibly reduced her to that horrible state. Her arm began to twitch, and her breathing slowly became more rapid. I was warned about this kind of thing, so I gripped her arm delicately, wiped the unwanted tear from my eye, and watched her breathing slow back to its normal rhythm as I gently rubbed her wrist with my thumb, stuck in thought about this poor girl and the girl I met.

"How you feel, ranger?..." said the 30-something man in the black police equipment. His black pants and vest were still covered in dirt as he lorded over the cot. I took a quick look at my surroundings, appearing to be in a hospital. The place was really a shack since the only evidence it was a hospital was the padded cot I was on, the surgical tray on the nightstand, and the thin white dividers around me I'd seen in ruined hospitals back in CA. Looking back at my interrogator, I was pretty sure this one's name was "Paul," but I couldn't say for sure since most of the New Canaanite soldiers who found me looked similar under their caps.

He must have waited long enough for an answer because when I met his face again, he asked, "… Well? Your voice give out now?..." Despite the question and its tone, he apparently wasn't angry; none of the New Canaanites who found me were "angry," even when they found me where I was. He asked this sounding much more frustrated or like he was being forced to show compassion to me… I understood if all their kindness towards me since meeting them was "forced."

He looked as though he was going to say something else or just walk out when I found my voice, "Where am I?"

He tensed up a bit and those lines between his stern eyes got deeper before he said, "You're in a hospital… or Clinic. Dr. Franklin just set this place up recently to treat outsiders like you beyond the wall."

He stopped at this, and he stood staring at me like a frustrated statue for a long moment afterward. I could still see the "How you feeling?" on his face. The way he looked at me was almost like he just needed me to answer that question before he could rid himself of my presence. Thinking of that question, I still hurt from so many burns, so many hits, and seeing him stand there made me think once more about all that happened.

"Look, I'm sorry… I…" I didn't know what to add as I couldn't think of anything other than the events leading up to this "rescue." Paul raised his eyebrow at my loss of words, and all I could think about was the loss of my men. The death-stricken faces of Sam, Walton, and Duane flashed before me. There was so much blood. The four of us killed them all, and I would have happily done so again and again if it didn't kill us too.

I looked at my Judge again and told him straight and full of pain, "… I'm sorry you and your men were close to those people, but they…" his face began to show anger like it was an emotion he only brought out for special occasions. Despite this, I said, "… I- who attacked who doesn't matter… We got them and they certainly got us too so be assured by that if nothing else..."

The rage on his face was cooled, returned to that stern judgment, and I paid him no more mind as I thought of all those my friends and I killed, how that in turn killed my friends and put me where I presently was. The deaths of my rangers must have flashed in my mind a hundred more times before my eyes returned to Paul who sternly demanded an answer from me;

"Do you believe in God?"

"Which one?" I asked, automatically and instantly. I heard from all my work in the Utah Wilderness over the past year that New Canaanites were religious people. I also knew of gods and many gods from time with the tribes across the Sonoran and later California Wastes. I heard about Hubology from folks who lived in San Fran too, but in the end, my entire familiarity with God or gods in general was not something I ever believed I had time to even think about.

Either way, Paul the New Canaan soldier didn't answer, my question merely made him scoff before he said plainly, "About what I expected… After what you and your men did, I'd say you should meet Him. Might figure out why you ended up the way you did-"

He stopped at the sound of footsteps just outside the cubicle we occupied. This brief pause was just loud enough for me to wince at the pain from so many injuries and think how I already knew how I ended up like this. I saw the faces of those I ended, those I failed to end, and those who I let down all hovering in the back of my mind before the moment of silence ended and two women appeared in the entryway.

"There you are, Paul… How long you been here? Have you turned in your equipment yet?" asked the woman around Paul and my age as she stepped further into the patient cubicle. The long brownish-red hair of the woman was the cleanest I'd seen anywhere else in the wasteland. Her eyes were greener than green, and her blue and white striped dress looked as though we were transported to a world before the nuclear war. But what really caught my attention was her belly. Evidently very much pregnant, she looked as though she was only a couple weeks or maybe even days from popping as she entered the cubicle and kissed Paul the New Canaanite on the cheek.

Following the woman into the confined little space was what I could only describe as the woman's little twin. Hiding behind her mom and holding the end of the long dress, a little girl around the age of 10 with those same green eyes, that same hair, and even that same style dress followed her mother into the room and looked at me curiously as she entered. Paul could clearly not see the girl from where his wife stood, and upon making eyes with me, the little girl made a "shush" motion when she brought her finger to her mouth.

I turned my attention back to the face of Paul at the sound of the wife's kiss landing on his cheek, and saw just how much his entire demeanor had changed. No longer was he scowling, angry, or frustrated, in fact, it was hard to describe him at all as he returned a kiss to his wife's cheek and subtly rubbed the mark on his face as he answered the woman;

"I was going to head home as soon as I got this wounded man situated and returned my equipment. Constable said I could have the rest of the day off when we got back and you know I can't stay away from you or the girls, honey."

The woman's face reddened as she placed her hands on her belly and looked down, saying sweetly, "I know. I just missed you and heard you were back half an hour ago from John and the others. Thought I'd- or We'd surprise you!"

Just then, the little girl came out from behind her mother's dress with a leap, saying "Hi Daddy!"

Immediately, Paul's face lit up, as he picked up the girl with a big hug, "There she is! How did you grow so much in two little weeks? You're getting too big for me to do this but my my, you look so pretty today, Michelle! You have fun with mom and your baby sister while I was gone?"

In his elation, his eyes went to me, the stranger, and he instantly set the little Michelle down. He straightened his demeanor and his wife's green eyes instantly flashed to me as he started, "We'll have to take this out-"

His wife however wouldn't have it as my still troubled eyes met her bright green eyes and she said immediately, "How rude of me, I'm so sorry. I'm Daniella, but most call me Dani. How are you, sir? I'm so happy my husband found you. I hope you aren't too badly hurt…"

Paul seemingly wanted to warn her off but couldn't as she instantly approached my bedside, asking my name with an extended hand. I instinctively took her hand saying through a rise in my bodily pain, "Mathers, good to meet you too ma'am."

She shook my hand and said how I was in good hands as I used all of my effort to stifle a scream that came from the pain that the handshake gesture riled. Right in the sight where the tomahawk punctured my armor just below my right arm, I fought the pain, and almost couldn't hear her anymore. On top of this, I found myself somewhat lost as she spoke in a tone far different from those of the guardsmen who reluctantly took me back to their home for recovery. Still, that smile persisted on her face as she spoke on, and I was just so lost in this cheery greeting as her smile and pleasantries began to tear away the problems in the back of my mind. When she released my hand, oblivious to the pain I was enduring, I remember thinking that I would have extended my hand again if I could do it all over just for that little bit of kindness. Either way, I used the rest of my effort to compose myself as she backed up and the words she'd been saying to me went back to her husband seamlessly as she turned to him;

"… So if you could please do that for me, I'd really appreciate it, honey. I got to run before Mrs. So-and-so runs out of that cloth my women's group needs. Just promise you'll be home as soon as you can. Hannah's needing a lot of attention but try to have a little fun with Michelle too. She's missed you every day these past two weeks. Anyway, I won't be long and I'll see if Jessica can watch the kids for a bit this evening too so we can have some alone time…"

Paul stuttered, trying to get a word in, but Daniella his wife turned to the little girl and went right along, "… You Missy, are going to stay with daddy for the rest of the afternoon, would you like that, sweetie?"

"Yes Mom!" shouted the little girl ecstatically as Paul continued to try to get a word in.

"… Thanks so much, honey. No more than 45 minutes, I swear. Hope you get well soon, Mr. Mathers. We should have you over for dinner sometime…"

Her words trailed off as she exited the cubicle and in a moment, we heard the door to the clinic open in the distance as the words Paul had for his wife trailed off as well, "I can't look after her right now. I need to…" But Daniella was already off to her errand in the market, leaving me in the cubicle with my stern interrogator from earlier and a pretty little green-eyed girl.

The girl stared at me, and Paul collected himself for a moment after his wife's departure. After a moment, he knelt down, whispered something to the little girl, and she went to go stand in the corner of the cubicle as Paul tried his best to regain his tone and intimidating appearance from earlier.

This physical resetting of his composure in the moments after Daniella left would have been pretty funny, and something I would have pointed out if it wasn't for the lingering pain in nearly all of my extremities. Thinking of this pain made those memories of all that happened out there in the wilderness begin to resurface, and it didn't help when Paul finally collected himself enough to say to me,

"I'm sorry for the interruption…" and I only thought the words, "Don't be" as I saw the little girl's eyes go from me to her dad over in that corner. Again, he fixed his countenance, and my attempts at fending off the haunting of those memories were put to the test even further when he said,

"… Well as I was saying earlier, you think about how you ended up in this state, and what happened to your rangers while you rest up. We'll make sure you get fixed up, but don't expect to stay. The other guardsmen are already arranging transport to get you back to your homeland or as far away from us as possible.-"

A single second of silence ensued after the last word left his lips and I knew my fate. As kind as it was for he and his men to get me to a doctor in the first place, a large part of me wished they would have just finished me off out in the wastes. Hearing my fate, the image of that long walk back to Broken Hills, to New Reno, then to NCR made me feel like crying for the first time in as long as I could remember. What would that walk be like? I didn't know exactly, but I did know that every step of those 200 miles would be with those haunting faces glaring at me, asking the same question I was asking myself when I looked at Paul's "Why didn't YOU die like your men? Like those people YOU killed?"

In just a flash, the image of all that shame, all that guilt, the images of how I might take my own life after a shameful return to my brothers in the Rangers vanished with the first sound I heard. Just like when Daniella came in with her little twin, the future I knew I deserved was gone when the little Michelle shouted from that corner;

"Don't be mean, dad!"

Paul's face twisted through every emotion imaginable at the sound of her voice before landing on confusion as he watched his little daughter run straight to my bedside. I felt the little hand place itself on my arm, and my eyes went between the speechless confusion or frustration on Paul's face to the bright smiling face of that little girl beside me. Her hand still on my arm, she dropped herself onto her knees at my bed, and glanced back at her dad saying in that sing-song voice, "Do it like this, daddy." Her face turned back to mine and she said straight to me,

"Do you know who Jesus is, Mister?"

I looked from her smile to Paul, who still couldn't seem to find anything to say before I looked back to her and said the first thing that came to mind;

"No… I-uh. I can't say I really do… Who's that?"

Paul still stood like a statue that seemingly Wanted to tell his daughter to get away from the stranger, but couldn't. I too felt the need to apologize to Paul about speaking to his daughter without his permission, but also couldn't. I saw the faces again begin to take shape in my mind during the brief moment after I answered. Once more, those images or scenes from so much killing and death, friends and enemies, across the Arizona, Mojave, California, and Utah wastelands beginning to play in my mind. Again, the regrets and failures of the life I lived in memory were battered into nothing when that smiling little girl at my bedside started speaking like the child she was full of sincerity and innocence;

"He's my best friend. You can meet Him too. I talk to Him all the time and He takes care of me. He can be your best friend too. I'm going to tell Him all about you because you seem kind, and you look like you want a friend. Do you want a friend, Mister?…"

The mere fact she was talking to me despite the fact she didn't know who I was, what I'd done, who I let down, or who I hurt, meant far more than I could express, even if I was able. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so friendly and loving towards me, a stranger, if she knew what her dad knew about me, but for the moment that didn't matter. Paul still could not seem to say anything, or enlighten his daughter about what I'd done to her community's friends. I felt my eyes get clouded and wet as she spoke to me about her friend Jesus, and those haunting memories were kept at bay as her question entered my mind, "Do you want a friend, Mister?"

Did I want a friend? I didn't have any friends anymore. Not more than a week ago, I lost all my friends, I got them killed. Walton, Sam, and Duane's faces hovered behind the girl's smiling face, but they weren't as tragic to look at as they were less than a minute ago and I didn't know why despite the crushing weight of emotions I couldn't identify pressing down on my heart... I could only nod at the question as I wiped my eyes in a gesture that again brought more pain to the site of my injuries. Seeing her clearly, the care and concern on her face was not her own, it knew me even if I didn't know myself because the sympathy in that face turned once again to joy and she went right along;

"… I can be your friend too. So can my daddy. Daddy tells me all about Jesus just like my teacher. My daddy can be very kind too. He does a lot of things Jesus does but sometimes my dad can be mean. I love my daddy and mama, and my teacher is so nice. In school we learned all about when Jesus talked to the Canaanite woman and…"

The girl went on and on and on, talking to me about her family and about all the things a child could tell you about Jesus without stopping and without any more questions. Her voice was the sweetest thing a man who lived nearly his whole life in the violent wastes could hear. For over 5 minutes, Paul's little girl, Michelle, sat by my bedside, smiling at me the whole time, telling me all she was capable of telling me about Jesus Christ and everything her young life held dear, and at no point did I ever want her to stop smiling at or talking to me. The longer she talked, the more I saw her innocent smile, the longer those painful memories of recent or distant past would stay away from the forefront of my mind. She continued to talk to me, and I wouldnt have had it any other way as the faces of my Rangers faded away to be replaced by the world around me, and that smiling girl.

As she continued giving me her kindness, I'd occasionally catch glimpses of Paul over her shoulder. Where he originally looked to be gathering the ability to tell his daughter to back away, by the end, Paul's own face showed a smile to match Michelle's or Daniella's. Even if his smile looked as though part of it was rooted in embarrassment for his daughter's freeness of expression.

In the end, I didn't want her to ever stop talking to me about her friend Jesus, and all the other things she loved, but after several minutes, Paul finally managed to speak;

"Michelle… Michelle…" she stopped and turned to her dad, "Michelle, why don't we let Mr. Mathers get some sleep for a while? He's still in a lot of pain."

She looked back to me and even though Paul could hear because of how small the cubicle was, she whispered to me, "I'll ask mama and daddy to pray for you tonight," then she winked at me in a way that said she hadn't quite mastered that simple ability and leaped up to run to her dad's side saying "Ok, daddy."

Having heard what his daughter whispered to me, he was still smiling and shaking his head when she threw her arms around his waist.

Just then, he collected himself again, and freed himself from her grip before squatting down to her level and telling her, "Sweetie, why don't you go wait in the lobby, I'll be there in a minute…" She looked towards me with a worried look on her face before Paul added, "… Do that and I'll get you whatever candy you want at the general store on the way home-"

Immediately, the girl's face lit up and she walked hurriedly out to the clinic waiting area with a "thank you daddy" and I was left with Paul alone.

For a moment, as Paul again gathered his composure, I feared the return of those memories while I waited for the stern countenance of Paul to take over his face once again. As the silence lasted for another few moments longer, I realized that the only thing I could think of was the women in Paul's life that gave him so much joy. I thought of his wonderfully pregnant friendly wife, and the smile of his brave daughter ready to tell complete strangers all about what she loves. For a moment, I found myself thinking, "I want a family like that…" but then, as the silent seconds passed and that embarrassed smile persisted on Paul's face, I found myself thinking something even more as the words of that little girl rang in my mind, still keeping the haunting memories at bay;

"I want what made that little girl so happy. I want what could change Paul from a bitter interrogator to that smiling man across from me who can't regain his authority for the life of him."

Paul finally regained himself enough after Michelle's departure, looked to me with an embarrassed air about him, and said as a sort of blush appeared on the parts of his cheeks not smeared by wasteland dust, "Sorry about my girl…."

I finally found it in myself to utter what I couldn't earlier, "Don't be."

He seemingly ignored this, looking more at the ground than me as he added, "… I- You know how kids can be, they can really chat your ear off…"

I didn't say anything, merely stuck in thought, thinking about everything that little girl spent five straight minutes telling me about. Those memories still not daring to show themselves again, even as Paul concluded everything he had left for me since I awoke;

"… I'll let you rest up a while. Either me or John, or one of the others will check up on you before the day's out…. Just focus on healing up for now… and I know it was a lot, but think about what my girl was telling you…"

Even that last part, he said concealing a smile as he still refused to look at me. I did indeed intend to think about that, and without anything else, Paul left my cubicle, but he hadn't even disappeared from the opening before I heard him say full of joy;

"Michelle? What're you doing out here, trouble? I thought I told you to wait in the lobby, you spying on us sweetie?"

The little girl replied without shame beyond the divider, "Sorry daddy, but yes!"

Paul walked his daughter towards the door and the door soon shut behind them, but not before I heard him say, "I got to check in with Grandpa Hanshaw, but we'll get you that candy on the way home…"

And that was that. The memories of my life would of course resurface again, even later that day, but I found it easier to subdue them when I thought of that little girl's smile, and how she turned Paul into something unknown to those like me he found in the wasteland. For a long time, I thought a family, a wife, a daughter like that would be able to turn me from something I didn't like having to be out in the wasteland. But eventually, I got to thinking more into it:

What was it that made that girl brave enough to approach a killer, a gunman, a ranger like me, even if she didn't know I was so bad? Childish innocence, sure, perhaps in part, but that wasn't it. My teams and I had found all kinds of children, all kinds of wives, and women out in the wastes, but none like that. As the days passed and my recovery went on, I began to think less of how that family treated me, and more about what was said. I thought of what made that girl so eager to talk to me about, and how that action alone helped me in ways beyond description after the encounter that landed me in the company of New Canaanites. For me, the answer came in the form of that little girl's best friend, the one who could change a hardened man like Paul at sight of his daughter's mention of Him. The one who spared me, the one who saved me, who landed me in that company, that clinic, and who had so much more planned for me when I was ready to give up… The one who could be my "Best Friend" too if I heeded the message of a 10-year-old girl, "Jesus."

I cannot say that I was converted outright by a little girl who spoke to me for 5 minutes straight, but what she did, what Paul's wife did, and how they affected Paul himself, was the spark. I never left New Canaan. I was never put on that caravan back west. Paul and the rest of the guard never sent me on my way. I was welcomed, slowly, and sometimes hesitantly amongst those who knew what I did, but the more I recovered, and the longer I stayed, the more I learned about who Michelle first told me about. For many days, many nights, many weeks, I heard more about Him, I helped where I could, and my past was left in the past before I entered the community and became part of it. I've served in the Temple Sect for over five years at this point, and whenever I think back to what started that fire I have in my heart for Christ my Lord, I always end up thinking of that little girl smiling at me when nobody had any reason to smile at me at all.

It was her. It was her childlike kindness that introduced me to what His kindness is like, what kindness I needed right in that moment at the clinic, what kindness I by no means deserved. It was her who created that spark on His behalf that made me seek Him in all my waking hours and led me to this life I was living and the life I loved so much…

And it was her who was torn apart by that world out there.

With a mind returned fresh from those recollections of my first time meeting Paul and his wonderful daughter, I could only wipe the tear from my eye and whisper to that calm bruised face of the present day,

"It was you, sweetheart… It was you who introduced me to Him, and I can't thank you enough if I tried… He got me through so much, He'll get you through this too, I promise."

I continued to rub her wrist with my thumb, and then she awoke.

The eye of Michelle fluttered open through the swelling around her eyelid. She turned her face to me as I put my hand back on the bed, and after studying me for a few short seconds, she began to cry silently. I couldn't help but hold her wrist again as her sobbing became vocal by winded exhales and she stared at the ceiling while the tears flowed down her cheeks;

"It's alright, Michelle, it's ok…" I said as controlled and soothingly as I was able.

Her sobbing increased as she hyperventilated and asked between short breaths, "Where's mom? Where is she? Where's my mom? Where's dad?…"

I held her arm with both hands as she repeated this a few more times, telling her calmly, "It's ok, sweetheart, your mom just stepped out to get you some breakfast. She'll be back real soon, I promise. Don't worry. You're safe."

This assurance seemed to calm her down, her breaths slowed to a rhythmic pace, but still, the tears flowed as the quiet seconds passed and the light of morning peered through the blinds beyond her tragic frame. As she collected herself, she'd regained control of her breathing, and I reached for the handkerchief in my tunic to wipe her eyes when she asked more collected now, "Where's dad?"

She waited for my answer, but I was still unable to speak as I watched one particular tear come to a halt at the edge of her bruised cheek. It eventually fell as another one took its place along the same stream before I told her, "You know, I'm actually looking for him myself. Your mom might know. We didn't have time to talk before she left to get your breakfast."

This was true and telling her this seemed to work as the flow of tears stopped and I offered her my handkerchief. She took it with a trembling hand, still staring into that ceiling and seeming to do her best at containing her inner struggles. Just as she handed me the cloth back, the door handle behind me gave a click and I told the young woman, "Sounds like she's back. Don't worry anymore."

As I stood from the stool, I caught a few more tears flow down her calm face before turning and seeing Daniella enter the room with a tray full of food in both hands. I gestured towards the stool, and the woman of today was another tragic comparison to the woman I met all those years ago. Daniella gave me a silent nod of thanks to my offering of the seat beside her daughter, still seeming to hold back her own tears as she sat down and rolled the surgical table over for something to hold the tray.

Still a very pretty woman, Daniella sat down beside her daughter, her little twin, eyes fixed on the girl, and that little nod of thanks repeated in my mind. Those green eyes were dulled and sunken by grief, her shoulders lowered and her hair disheveled by sleeplessness and worry, and yet she was still so pretty, even through all the worry she'd gone through since her daughter's unexpected and tragic arrival from the wastes. The tears returned to mark the cheeks of Michelle, and Daniella perched herself right by the bedside to hold her daughter's arm until I said aloud and unconsciously;

"That's a lot of good food there, Michelle. It'll definitely do you some good to eat something."

Michelle remained unmoving, but this utterance seemed to remind Dani of something she'd forgotten upon seeing her daughter awake again. Dani moved the tray closer, picked a few bites of the oats and collected a small portion of bread as she sat on the bedside and said to Michelle,

"Mr. Mathers is right, sweetie, some food will help you."

The two were silent as Daniella fed her daughter and herself, and there I stood, almost blank in mind as I could only watch the care Daniella was giving Michelle. After both had taken a few bites, Dani turned to me from that bedside, tears trickling down her face as she mouthed the words "Thank you" to me. I merely nodded, and there she began to feed her daughter again for another few moments of silence. At last, the two had eaten their fill as the surgical table was pushed away and Dani returned to the stool beside Michelle. If their physical states didn't say it already, the amount they'd eaten from the tray did. What was probably enough food on that tray to feed four people looked as though it was only a few small birds that had picked at it. Then, silence reigned again as Dani's entire attention was locked on her daughter. The steadiness of Michelle's breathing indicated she was calm, if not ready to sleep again.

It was in this silence that I came to find the reason I was here in the first place once again, a question that Michelle wanted to know as well, and so I sought the answer before Michelle could return to the healing land of sleep once more;

"Dani, if I may ask, do you know where I can find Paul? Michelle was asking about him as well." I asked in my most timid voice.

Dani turned in her chair towards me, her pretty face looking even more sunken than before as she released a long breath and told me in a way that said she didn't have time to be upset or sad about her husband as well;

"I don't know, Mr. Mathers, I'm sorry. He said he was going for a walk last night but I haven't seen him since…"

Just then, Michelle began to softly weep again, and Dani turned right back around to calm her down.

It troubled me deeply that Paul had disappeared in the immediate wake of what happened to his daughter. I know he was with Dani and Michelle in this room all afternoon and all evening yesterday, but to go for a walk and not return to his daughter's bedside first thing in the morning was not something I would have ever expected from Paul. I thought of Dani's face before she turned back to Michelle, and knew that she would love to cry and worry about where Paul went off to, but she needed to save all her feelings for the girl on the hospital bed. This attitude in Dani was very admirable, but it made me sad for their children, and wonder where Paul could have gone.

Dani must have sensed that second part because as she calmed her daughter back down, she said with her back to me, "The kids are staying with Constable Hanshaw and Leslie…"

She glanced over her shoulder at me, and added, "… Could you go find the Constable and ask if he's seen Paul? I- or we'd appreciate it."

Stuck in thought, I replied, "I was thinking I'd do just that,"

Still facing her daughter, Dani kissed her daughter's arm and held it tighter as she said, "Thank you, Mr. Mathers," and I departed.

I left Michelle's room in Doctor Stepp's clinic, passing a few nurses in the hall who greeted me by my title, and exited wordlessly into the streets in the cool morning. Zipping up my jacket further, my feet planted on the cobblestone of the town square, looking over the fountain as people passed on their way to their occupations and a line of children on my left crossed the square toward the schoolhouse. It was just a little before 7am, and I was still wondering how Paul could disappear when his family needed him. Such a thing was again so unlike him, especially after hearing he'd been by his wife and Michelle's side every second following Michelle's unfortunate return. It was really hard to not think about my friend, or his daughter's condition, and although I wasn't sent to find Paul as part of my duties for the Temple, I certainly wanted to find him as a friend.

The whole reason I was looking for Paul in the first place was because I cared for him, and wanted to check in with him, see how he was doing, and minister to him on a personal level before I had to check in at the Temple by 11. Hearing about Michelle's early return from mission, and the condition she arrived in through my colleagues in the Deacon housing block put him and his family at the forefront of my mind. Seeing her state on that hospital bed and the state of Dani left me wondering even more about what happened Michelle while also affirming that Paul was in need of a friend to give him some ministry… If only he hadn't disappeared…

I'd been standing in front of the clinic for long enough and figured he might have gone about his duties earlier, or before his wife woke up to get his mind off of things. That had to be it, I figured, but I still didn't know where his duties took him on that particular day. So, I decided I'd still seek out the Constable, who should have been in his office at the barracks around this time. Just as I had this thought and stepped down the way towards the barracks in the southeast quadrant, I saw a man walking down the storefront lanes towards the clinic. I recognized this particular guardsman from my assistance in he and his wife's counseling sessions, a man who I knew who could save me a trip to the barracks and meeting with the Constable, a man who was in Paul's detachment.

"Mr. Rhynes, how are you? It's been a while, how are you and Melanie?"

The guardsman stopped, looked at the door to the clinic only a few feet away and then looked around for who spoke until his eyes landed on me. The last of the people on this side of the town square were disappearing into their work establishments and the confused look on Rhynes face turned into joy at sight of me while his eyes said he had other matters on the brain;

"Ah, Mr. Mathers, I'm well. So's Melanie. How bout yourself?" said Rhynes as I approached his side under the clinic sign. His eyes went back to the clinic door briefly as I stepped up saying;

"I too am doing alright. Now I can tell you're busy, so I'll be quick about it…"

"Go ahead, Deacon," said the man with a polite nod,

"I'm looking for the Constable, but just wanted to ask where he usually is this time of day. I don't want to go running all over town."

The man forced a smile, again looking at the clinic door before returning to me and saying, "Sure thing, I could tell you, but honestly…" he paused and glanced up at the sign.

"But what, Mr. Rhynes?"

He looked at me and let out a collective breath, "It's nothing, I was just going to say you should avoid the Constable, he just got a lot dumped on his plate this morning… Perhaps you could wait and seek him out later? What's it about if you don't mind my asking?"

I wondered what was dumped on the Constable's plate this morning to cause the Constable such distress. However, since Rhynes was in Paul's detachment, I knew I could be honest. "I'm sorry to hear about the Constable, but I was only looking for him in order to seek out Paul. Perhaps I could skip that part with the Constable if you know where your lieutenant is?"

Rhynes looked even more uneasy at this mention, and then his eyes went back to the clinic door. "You just came from the clinic, right?..." I nodded, he nodded in understanding and went on, "… Thought so, you visit with Dani and Michelle?"

Again, I nodded, "I was looking for Paul. Thought he'd be with Michelle. I'm just looking to minister to my friend, what happened to his daughter…" His expression fell to sadness and 'something else'. "… I don't know what happened to his daughter exactly, but I know Paul could use some spiritual help. A simple friend."

The man began to look even more uneasy as his gaze left me and went to the town square. Very few people were walking the streets now, and with a glance at me, he was about to say something, but seemingly couldn't.

"What aren't you telling me, Mr. Rhynes?" I asked in all humility.

With a gesture of his head, he told me to come closer and I did. He said in the same tone he'd been using this whole exchange, but very lowly, "He went out. Him, John, Doyle, and Herbein took a bunch of the guys out to find the ones who attacked Michelle and her mission party…"

He must have seen the look on my face because he added instantly, "… Don't tell anyone and don't judge any of them-"

My mouth interrupted for me at that last part, "I couldn't possibly judge them, I saw the condition of Michelle."

He looked at me somewhat perplexed, "Didn't know there were any like you in the Temple Sect, but thank you. I only stayed behind to explain things to the Constable, and I just came from doing so. That's why he isn't a place to be talked to. I think it's best to let the Constable cool off. He'll understand. Heck, if the posse wasn't headed by Graham, I think the Constable would have given the go ahead anyway…"

He paused and I couldn't help blurting out in astonishment, "What? Graham's out there leading them?"

At the time, I wasn't aware of Graham's orders to be confined within the walls of town. I was merely shocked that Paul and the group out there seeking retribution for Michelle were headed by Graham. This was a lot to take in, and Rhynes must have seen this on my expression because he said, "Yeah, but if you'll forgive me, I'll have to leave it at that for now..." He paused, seeing me still stuck in thought before glancing at the clinic door again, "… I gotta tell Paul's wife where he went. Not to mention the wife of John, Doyle, and some of the others in that posse."

I was still frozen, and Rhynes was about to depart before I stopped him one last time. Something told me Rhynes knew everything going on, "What happened to Michelle and her party?"

Facing me and moving towards the clinic door, he answered, "If you got the time, go talk to the rangers about it. Some NCR rangers were the ones who brought her in yesterday so you'll have to talk to them if you can get past the fact they're secular rangers. They're staying at the Trinity Inn outside the gates. I'm sorry Deacon, but I have to go."

At that, he turned and the bell to the door of Dr. Stepp's clinic rang as he exited my company. There was a lot on my mind when I turned back to the open town square. The place was desolate, my watch beeped, indicating it was officially 7am, and I wouldn't be able to find Paul. He and many others from the guard had departed into the wastes last night. I had assumed that this departure in the night wasn't authorized by the Constable when I thought of Rhynes' face as he told me the situation and said how the Constable was not in a mood to be spoken to. The one thing I wanted to do, minister to my friend in need, couldn't be done, and all I could do was think about the tragic faces of his daughter and wife as I looked out at the vacant square.

Michelle's face would haunt me as the seconds passed, and I got to thinking about Graham, the man who was leading a posse of New Canaan's most experienced guardsmen. As I imagined what they were doing, I got to thinking, "What could make Paul follow a man like Graham, redeemed or not, into the wastes and track down the ones who put his daughter in that state?"

"Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord" and I began to wonder what that would look like as I wondered how I'd be able to minister to Paul when he returned, and remembered Michelle's tears on that hospital bed.

I thought of what Rhynes had said, and who brought Michelle back home from the wastes. Mr. Rhynes was evidently one of those who didn't know about my past, based on what he said about the Rangers, and I continued thinking about this even as I soon found my legs carrying me toward the gates to the market.

Perhaps it wasn't my business, but I had to know what happened to Michelle and set Paul off into the wastes. The way I saw it, I could only effectively minister to Paul if I knew more about the situation, but little did I know, there was something else that made me leave the confines of town that morning. I struggled to figure out what that other thing was, but Rhynes referral rang in the back of my mind all the while.

Making my way through the busy morning crowds of the market, my nose was filled with the smoke of barrel fires beneath the overcast sky. Fighting the cold breeze, I looked down the south road, past the incoming or outgoing trains of travelers and mules, looking out at the distant refugee village that occupied most of my time when I wasn't attending meetings in the temple, and decided to turn. I realized what that other thing drawing me this morning was when I opened the door to the Trinity Inn, scanned the crowds of wasteland travelers escaping the outside cold, and found them sitting at a little table by the window.

Maneuvering around the crowds packed around each table, I found myself standing before two NCR rangers sitting opposite one another by that window. The morning light from outside peered through the glass, showing them both in brown pants, cowboy boots, tan shirts, both with belts holding ammo pouches and canteens, and each wearing leather satchels while short range radio receivers sat clipped to their breast pockets. I studied the black steel revolvers with the red wood grips and golden bear insignia sticking out of the holsters at their hips before my eyes drifted to the two men's faces. I saw both sat staring at me from behind scratched aviator sunglasses with bright smiles on their faces before the older one on my right said straight to me;

"Can we help you, Padre?"

Both of them remained smiling at me in a very "amused" sort of way as a thousand memories with men like these from my earlier life hit me in a millisecond. I shook the memories out of my head, saying,

"Yes- hello gentlemen. How are you this morning?"

"We're doing great, Padre. There something we can do for you?"

Hearing the word "Padre" again, made me wonder what could have made them say that. I was only wearing my black jacket, slacks, and shoes. Perhaps they could see the white shirt peaking out from under my jacket, but still, "Padre?" Suddenly I felt their eyes scanning me from behind those shades, and knew that they were looking at the smooth surface of my slacks and the shine in my shoes. I looked and carried myself unlike any of the other hundred people in this establishment. All I said in response was;

"If you men have the time, I'd like to speak with you for a moment."

"Sure thing, take a seat, please." said the younger one on my left. The young ranger stood and pushed the passed-out man at the table next to us to the ground in a single motion, moving the chair to his spot while taking his own chair to sit beside the older ranger. I looked to the passed-out man who hadn't woken up, even by his sudden relocation to the ground, and sat myself down at the ranger's table with the timid words,

"Thank you…" I was going to say something else, but I glanced back down at the unconscious waster on the floor before the younger ranger with a name tag above his right breast pocket reading "Hale" spoke once again;

"Don't mind him, Padre. He'll be alright. He was hitting the bottle pretty hard at that table last night after Martha and her boys closed for the night. Doubt he even felt it…" With a smile, he added, "… not a bad idea, come to think of it," in reference to something I didn't quite get at the moment.

Looking back at the two rangers, they both moved back an inch in their chairs and removed their sunglasses since the light outside wasn't as bright anymore. Still, they both looked at me with pleasant grins from across the table and the noise around us faded into the distance as the older one with the nametag reading "Banks," said;

"So, what you wanna chat with us about, Padre?"

I smiled back, trying to recall exactly what I myself wanted to talk to them about as I answered, "Please, call me, Mr. Mathers. I'm a Deacon with the Temple, and-"

The younger ranger Hale jutted in politely, "No offense, Padre, but if you're here to tell us about Jesus, we'll tell you what we told the fella last night: We'll think about it."

The older gave his comrade a sharp nudge, and amusingly told his partner, "Call him, Mr. Mathers, Hale. Show some respect-"

I said in my most sympathetic or diplomatic tone, "No offense taken," recalling other memories of my past where rangers acted just like these two in the towns of the Sonoran and California wastes: Diplomatic, but with a will unchanging.

The younger sat back in his chair, still relaxed and grinning while the older said, "Still, my pard is right. We already heard it from Pastor?... Deacon?..." turning to his partner, "… What was that guy's name again?"

"You think I remember?..." said the younger before both Banks and Hale exclaimed at the exact same time, "Pastor Rudee! That's it." The two chuckled for a moment, I couldn't help but join in. After a second, Ranger Banks said to me;

"Still, we already heard about salvation, so is there something else we could do for you Mr. Mathers?"

Even just being around these men reminded me of so many good times during my life with the Desert and then NCR Rangers that I almost forgot there ever were bad times as I said, "No, I'm not here to talk to you about Jesus Christ, at least not now…" I couldn't help but smile a bit wider, and the rangers did so too before the older said;

"Alright, so what you looking to chat with Hale and I about?"

As Banks spoke, his attention went from me to something under the table between his legs. The 20 something Ranger Hale glanced at what his partner was doing and said lowly, "give me some too."

"Well give me your canteen then-" said Banks before stopping abruptly and looking up at me. Hale stopped in the middle of unclasping the canteen from his belt to look at me. Banks raised what was between his legs somewhat hesitantly as both looked at me, exposing a wide metal flask and a hollow green military canteen,

"You don't mind if we… indulge a little, right?" asked Banks before Hale added, "Rough night, hair of the dog and all that."

These men were definitely rangers. I remember meetings between deputies and chiefs, Rangers and wasteland mayors or chieftains that couldn't start until everyone with a ranger badge had at least two swigs of a local moonshine or ancient whiskey. I smiled a bit wider, "By all means, you'll get no judgement from me."

Banks gave his partner a sharp nudge again, "I knew I'd like this fella, Ha!..." they both chuckled, and were much more open as Banks finished his canteen and turned to Hale's on the tabletop. "… You got something about you, Padre. I like it," added Banks, back to calling me Padre, and finishing off Hale's Canteen with the last of the flask.

Both rangers took a swig, and Hale's eyes grew slightly wider as he lowered the canteen from his lips and gestured the canteen towards me. With memories full of past rangers I knew from that life, I shook my head, "I'm alright, thank you though…" Hale shrugged and took another swig as I added, "… You boys should add a completely dried prickly pear fruit to each of your canteens.. It does something to it, makes one into 4. Good for a hike and you can literally 'taste the desert' in a good way…"

I stopped, both men were frozen, and I suddenly wondered if I made an enormous mistake. Now the older ranger, Banks, looked like he could have been in the rangers as long as I would have been if the New Canaanites hadn't found me, but I didn't recognize his face when I first saw them. Ranger Hale looked as though he was probably in his mid to late teens when I first came to this community, so I wasn't worried about him recognizing me from my past. Still, my reference to a little tradition amongst those of the desert rangers, specifically those rangers operating in the Sonoran wastes was incredibly dangerous if I was considered a Ranger deserter rather than KIA that I was most likely assumed to be.

The men were both looking at me with curiously raised eyebrows, clearly stuck in thought as I wondered what I could add to stop them from thinking about who I was further. At last, Ranger Hale turned to Banks and asked him, "Doesn't Calderwood do that with his canteens?"

Banks was nodding his head in contemplation before he answered, "Yeah… I think so?..."

Suddenly it hit me, "… I heard from some other rangers that was a good thing to try out in the desert where alcohol is scarce… I also wasn't always sober."

I knew I didn't need to add that last part, but both were true. I did in fact hear how to do that from other rangers, but I didn't feel the need to say I heard about that tradition while I was "In" the rangers. However, my words seemed to work as a distraction since they both shrugged and Banks said, "Huh? I should try that…" Hale nodded at this, looking over my shoulder. Just then, Banks looked to me and added, "… So anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

As I looked at the dusted faces of both rangers, the close brush with my old life made me consider the present, and I thought of how it was these men who brought my friend's daughter back home in the condition I saw. All business, I looked into these men's eyes knowing that my past with men like them was just that, the past, and told them both;

"I understand you were the men who brought that girl in from the desert around noon yesterday-"

"Michelle, huh?" interrupted the younger, still smiling, but that smile was less now that they both knew the subject of the meeting.

I was about to go on when Banks' face became more serious but sympathetic as he asked, "You her dad or something, Mr. Mathers?"

Hale nudged his Partner, "She said her last name was 'Young', remember?"

I interrupted again, "No, I am not her father, but I am close with the family. Paul can't be here at the moment. I'm looking to minister to him when I see him, and I'm trying to help the family in the meantime, so I'd like to know more about what happened to her…" I saw the hesitancy on their faces, "… Don't tell me anything you're not comfortable sharing, I know this sounds strange, but I've seen her, and it might be best that her father doesn't learn too many of the details."

Both men were nodding their heads in thought, probably thinking about the scene they arrived to when they found that poor girl and those she was traveling with. At the same time, Hale and Banks looked up at me. Hale looked as though he was going to say something, but stopped, and then they faced one another for a second before returning their focus to me. Finally, Banks said;

"Alright, we can tell you what's up. I don't know what there is to say if you ain't too familiar with the kinds of people out there, but if you'll excuse my language, Padre, Michelle and her group were set upon by a gang of real shits. Hale and I were headed up from Saint George thereabouts when we found her lyin near a rock off a desert trail several clicks…"

…