The Pious Few: From Weston

Dear Mary,

Since I last wrote it has only been a day, but much has changed. We have made it to Weston! Yes, the ghosts of the rebels haunt my thoughts making it feel like a bubbling pot, but we are out of that stretched of terror between the bulwark and here. A part of me feels like while I have a job to do, I'm really just preparing myself for the awfulness which will be the journey back. It is the thoughts of you which drive me.

In honesty, I though the last day of our walk was going to be uneventful. My hip was still causing me fits, but I was able to keep pace. Zed was still aching from the savages. He is too tough to say anything about it, but you could see him wince everything he had to bend beneath a branch to miss gaged a hole in the road. He pallor also seemed, to me at least, a little on green side. Doc, as you might expect, kept an eye on us and when we came to an abandoned home around noon, he suggested we stop for lunch and let him change our bandages. I was torn between letting my hip rest for a while and just wanting to get here. Doc Hartwell and my hip won.

Hardtack and jerked meat, with water that tasted a little too much like leather, was lunch. I tried to pretend is tasted like your pot pie, but my imagination is not nearly mighty enough.

Just as Doc finished freshening up my bandages, Isaiah hushed us. We could hear the sound of a single horse coming down the road. We hunkered down and stayed quiet in the house. We didn't want to get tangled up in anymore trouble. We couldn't help but watch, though. It was a woman, on the road we had just gotten off and coming from the same direction. I wondered for a moment if we had cleared the way for her, or if she saw the remains from our conflicts. Isaiah and Winn talked briefly about talking to her, but Zed saw her for a heretic and I just didn't know if this was a trap.

So, we stayed put and watched. As she got closer, we could see that riding with her, but very weak was a sickly boy. Given our mission, I suspected I knew where we were going. We had been assigned to investigate a miracle worker, an trouble causing heretic, in Weston. That would be just e kind of thing which would bring a mother out here, she thought she could save her boy. The boys knew this too and said we should question her, but I couldn't bear it. If we befriended here then had to take her miracle worker away... The thought of it sickened me. So, we held.

A few minutes later, when she got to the angle we could no longer spot her out of the window we heard the horse whinny. After just a moment of inaction, I opened the door and looked down the road. I didn't what was to be done, but something coiled me. I could hear the men being me. I could see three people surrounding the woman and the boy, people who probably would have surprised us had be not stopped. I stepped a little closer and I could make out what was going on in more detail. One of the people was over the boy, one held the horse and another was over the woman, they had weapons and looked like they would kill them all.

So, I did what I had to do, I acted. I didn't ask my men to come with me. I didn't give and order. I acted. Being who they are, Isaiah, Zed and even Winn and Doc acted with me. It was an ugly encounter. They were cultist, covered in profanity and unholy markings and before I could do much more than speak they killed the mother. Gunfire and shouting filled the air. They had a rifleman shooting at us from the woods in addition to the three we could see and they seemed to take special pleasure in taking shots at Doc.

We protected the boy, but it cost us. Hartwell was very nearly killed, gut shot, and Jack, who served so faithfully, took a fatal shotgun blast. That poor dog did everything which was asked of him. We buried him with Fuller's badge. In such haste, it was the best we could do.

Lastly, my men we rattled bad, they nearly turned on me for forming to the rescue of these two. They felt it was foolish and risky. I don't think they understand the pressure I am under and perhaps they since the fear I have that I will get one of them killed. I told them it was our duty to protect the innocent, but I would try to be more careful. This seemed agreeable to them, but their agitation was apparent. I wish I was a smarter, more thoughtful man, because I can't imagine how I would act any differently.

The doctor examined the boy and said he had a real bad case of damp lung, bad enough that he could pass in days or even hours. He needed bed rest and attentive medical care. He might live with those things, but otherwise he had no chance. We couldn't leave him in the house. The horse he had, had ran off. My men didn't seem anxious to take him on, thinking he couldn't make it not matter what.

I wasn't going to give up, so I carried him. I lifted him in my arms, holding him in front of my chest. Remember looking down when it seemed his breathing had stopped and seeing the dried blood in the knuckles of my hand. I wanted to set the boy down and clean myself, but when the boy suddenly wheezed I knew I couldn't.

Missing you, your loving husband,

Piermont

XV

I: We were blessed to finally be married, joined before God, supported by friends and family. We were blessed with Savannah and Sierra, who so drastically changed who we were, what we were about it is hard to remember out couplehood before them.
II: We were blessed with out first home, historic and across from Crane Park in Kalamazoo. It fit the four of us.
III: We were blessed when my contract ended with Pharmacia to have friends to help place me at Data Constructs. A job placement that used skills I hadn't used in a long time and learn so much new. A job I wasn't fit for, but it kept the light on and our children fed.
IV: We were blessed the year that job, too, washed away. It seems now like the struggle from a cocoon. Our families provided a place for you to stay while you worked, trying to help us keep up. We were blessed with the job I finally found at Blue Cross. We were blessed by a church family, which welcomed me back and us, as a couple, for the first time, an experience like we had never had before. They drew us to them and to God, who had been blessing us all along. He blessed us with Pat and Gary, who gave us a home to raise our family for the next three years. Finally, he blessed us with our third child, Shelby.
V: He blessed us with the reconnections we made with old friends and the strong connections we formed with new friends. He blessed us with roots, most of which still thrive today, lifting us.
VI: He blessed us with more responsibilities for his people at the church. We found ourselves responsible for a youth ministry, something I hadn't done since college and a first time for you. In this we grew closer to God.
VII: He blessed us with our last child, Sienna.
VIII: He again showed us the value of the loved ones around us when Pat and Gary needed to sell the home we were in, while we still paid for our house in Kalamazoo. He provided places for us to live, with our parents, while we waited. I'd like to say patiently, but he blessed us in spite of our anxiety.
IX: He blessed us with a promotion at work, refining the skills I would need as a leader, teaching me again to always be ready learn something new. Providing even more for us, while we continued to wait.
X: He blessed us, finally, with the sale of our house in Kalamazoo. We learned so much during that time, but it was like slipping free from an albatross, so we didn't drown. He blessed us, almost immediately, with a new home, our home, that the six of us could move into. The kids wouldn't even need to change schools. Somehow it felt like we made it, God had taken care of us.
XI-XIII: Many blessing fell upon us during these years, but it seems in my mind the dates and times are a blur. The clock has picked up speed. God brought our children from one school to another. He changed our church, merging two church together, bringing us new families and friends. He bless our home and my job. He made us better at so much. He blessed us with soccer and Fife and Drum Corps. These are the years that is seems one kind of crazy was replaced with another.
XV: In this, our fifteenth year, God continues to reign down blessings upon us. Savannah and Sierra completed Middle School, with good grades and ready for High School. Shelby looks forward to the Middle School her older sisters have just left, also with a good head and a strong will. Sienna, who will remain at the same school, but without her sisters is not intimidated by their absence, instead she is set to tell of her "fame" and to run the place. Also, in the last year, I can't but be reminded of how blessed we are to have each other, to have been given this path to walk together. This was another year where I loved you more than the year before.
XVI:?

I'm not a plumber

So, for the last few weeks my whole family has had to use the downstairs shower. This is in the bathroom which is called my bathroom, but outside of being the not one who brushes my teach there, it is hardly mine. The one other way it is mine is it is the place where I take a shower. Well, having everyone use my shower has resulted high occupancy, when it is most needed, the shower door being knocked out of the track, by nobody apparently, and surprise pools of clothes and water. In other words, it has been a minor pain.

Now, they didn't just one day decide to invade my shower, they just preferred it over a hose in the yard. See the upstairs shower, their usual shower, has had problems for a while. It would drip until I replaced the rubber washer on the stem, which I am fairly certain was as old as the house. Even then, to get the dripping to stop I would have to use both hands n the handles to exert enough force to get it to stop. This meant even at its best, I would regularly have to go in and stop the dripping. Well, apparently, I was not the only one doing this. Shelly would do this as well. She did this right up until she twisted the stem into two pieces, leaving the handle with part of the stem inside and the water still trickling.

That was a few weeks ago and I've been looking for a chance to fix it since then. I knew the valves downstairs were old and leaking when touched, which could mean a small job could become a big job quickly. I also knew I was going have to go somewhere to kind the right stems and valves, which might not be Lowes or Home Depot given their age. This weekend, though, when Shelly was in Canada with the Fife and Drum Corps, it was the perfect opportunity.

At first it went as smoothly as these thing can go. Got the water turned off, with no leaking and I have a big bin in place in the event leaking started. I removed the stems, both of them because of their age and problems, not just the one which was broken, with stem removal tool. It looks like a large hexagonal cylinder with a hold for the pry bar. I went to Lowes to discover they did not have the one which would work, or if they did they had no idea which it was and none looked close enough for my comfort. So, I headed to Northside Hardware.

Northside is a large, packed hardware store were the narrow aisle ways look like they could topple onto you, washing you would with a flood of nails and knobs and hinges. It has the appearance of having everything, which means you need the assistance of one of the many old handymen who work their to assist you, Fortunately, a gnome of a man in a red employee smock, spotted me walking around looking for something which matched the worn and dirty plumbing part I have in my hand and he came to my rescue, "Hot and cold?" He asked as he examined the part. "Yes. I need two." Then he was gone, not the back room. I could only imagine what the back room of this Mr.Mcgorium's Hardware Emporium would look like. No matter, in a few minutes, or two additional offers of assistance, he returned the parts in hand.

At home, the parts went in with no problem. I put them in, I tightened them down, then I head downstairs, sending one of the kids up in the event water begins exploding everywhere once the pressure is up. Water goes on and outside of scaring Sierra because the sink came on, a remnant from reducing the water pressure before I started my work, there were no leaks. This is critical and a very good sign. Downstairs the value leaked, but it stopped eventually.

Back upstairs it was the moment of truth. I place the handle on the naked stem. No cover, no screw, I was just using it to test. I turned the handles and ice cold water came out of the faucet, just like it should, but water also started coming out of both of these new stems. Cold the Northside old men have steered me wrong? Could I have placed it wrong, although then shouldn't it have leaked all the time? How in the world do I go from having leak free handles to both of them leaking, even thou I only turned on cold water. I played, with no success, with them for just a bit and then it was time to go to soccer.

I asked Johnny, my brother-i- law, Jim and a few of the other fathers at the game and none of them had any idea. It was, in a word, weird. I tried to do an Internet search and I couldn't find an answer. I talked to my father-in-law and dad at church. Nothing, nobody said, ah this is what you need to do. I wished they had because Shelly was about to come home to a shiny, non-functioning shower. Sure, she left with a non-functioning shower, but I wanted to be "the man". Instead, the closest I got was saying, you want to see something weird?

Last night she took Savannah and Sienna to Fife and Drum corps practice and I thought, this was my chance for a do over. I turned the water off and drained the pipes. I removed the new stem for the cold water and began slowly looking at it compared to the old one. What was wrong, were did the water have to be coming from, how could it get in there. It didn't make any sense. I took it completely apart, and then I saw what was going on. Inside of the mechanism which holds the stem was a rubber gasket, which closed around the stem when you tightened a mystery piece which went around the stem. I had never touched this mystery piece.

I put the stem back together. I replaced the stem. I righted the myster piece on both the hot and cold stems. I can't tell you how much I hoped this would be it. Girl upstairs, water back on, moment of truth and... No leak. I may have stuck both fists up in the air with celebration. Hero of the day.

The Pious Few: A Night in Old Ford

Dear Mary,

As the first bit of morning light, grey and scattered by the broken panes of dirty glass, allowed me to make out my fellow Peacekeepers, I thought of you. I hoped you were resting comfortably back in our home, in our bed. Somehow, with us taking residence in this abandoned home, it seems harder for me to ponder our home, if you are not in it. The weight of the emptiness would be too much. You tried to tell me it wasn't about the money, when it seemed we were fighting about nothing but money. I was wrong, having faith doesn't mean you are free of responsibility.

In my last, I believe I wrapped up telling you how we needed to move on from the butcher's place and find some place Doc could give me a proper bandage. As we discussed our options, Jack, the dog provided to us for this mission, altered. He is smart as a whip, pointing, as if his spine was an arrow, to the road to the south. Isaiah, who always had a way with animals, felt it meant savages are coming. We are not here to fight savages and given the amount of blood my leg was still pouring out, I was particularly uninterested in meet them. So, I ordered my men to move out.

Isaiah and Winn, dove out the window to the back, which is further from the road I suppose, but just imagining the pain that would cause me made my belly ache. So, the Doc assisted my in moving out the front and around the side of the house. We could already see the shambling, diseased masses of the lost to the south. I should mention, Zed had an idea, which struck me as a pretty good one, which was to set this place on fire with a little lantern oil and a flint. He suspected it would draw the savages in, like a moth, and it would aid our escape. This left him an little behind the rest of us..

Mary, if you should ever find yourself in similar circumstances, let me advise you, savages are not particularly attracted to fire. They are, though it would seem, very interested in moving Peacekeepers. Additionally, while they may seem aimless at times, when they get a target, they are fast. They will run on broken, bootless, half rotted away feet at unimaginable speed. Speeds which tear their rent and soiled clothing.

A dozen of them fell on us, particularly on Zed. One of them still wore a Peacekeeper uniform. It is like that start you get when you walk into a room with a mirror you don't expect, These savages, these mindless, cannabilistic, pathetic souls, were us. It stopped me cold.

Zed, who had wreaked so much havoc at the Knudson farm, was brought down, by the allies of this Peacekeeper turned savage. They had him nearly lifeless on the ground, working to consume him. The best I can diatribe it, is like the pack of wild dogs, which will sometimes take down a sick or weak livestock. Just moments ago, Zed was neither, but now he barely twitched. I lost my mind.

I remember shaking the doctor off, so he could fight as well. I remember seeing Jack hold the attention of several of these things. I remember thinking if I could use the pain as source of power, if I could let it enrage me. I remember thinking I wouldn't let them have Zed, no man on my watch would fall like Sgt. Fuller. God, Sgt .Fuller, Mary, he was such a good man.   I remember the black realization that this Peacekeeper savage had been Fuller. This was his disease ravaged body I had to kill, or let him kill me. I know the one true God promises this all has meaning, but I am too small to see it. I struck him down. I killed Sgt. Fuller.

By the hand of God alone, a hedge of protection had been placed around Zed and we were able to save him, but with him so badly hurt, and my injury further aggrivated, we needed to find somewhere to hole up, It wasn't even supper hour and we were beyond spent.

We moved into one of the nearby homes and let Doc begin his work. He was quiet for a long while, as he cut and stiched, patched up Zed and finally got the bullet from my hip. Then, as if realizing what had to be done, he suggested we should return to Bark River to heal up. Six weeks, at least. I wish it was that easy, but that is not our charge. Whole or not, we need to get to Weston because that is our duty. I sternly told him as much, but I longed to give into his medical consultation.

It was then we heard a shifting in beaten wardrobe on the wall. How Isaiah, who is normally so good at checking all the nooks and crannies missed I don't know. I suppose it should give me an idea how worried he was. Anyway, being the man responsible for our presence here, I opened the door of the furniture and inside was Amy.

Now, Amy is just a little bit of nothing, dirty like the rest, but cautious and wise to way the world works out here, She thought we might kill her, for what reason I don't know. Once we had a comfort level, she then helped us learn what we needed to do to hide from the savages. Had it not been for her, I might have written longer last night, but we certainly would have been killed by the large savage herds passing through. I think it is fair to say we owe her our lives, but she was not intersted in our assistance. As I have been writing this, she slipped out to be on here own again. Why she would want to be on her own, is beyond my grasp. When we were spoke into existence, we were given notes of our own, note which are meant to be played with others. Amy doesn't know this, but one alone can never have harmony.

I had better go, before the boys see how much this is getting to me. It may be a week or more before we make it home.

Your loving husband,

Piermont

The Pious Few: Outside the Bulwark

Dearest Mary,

I doubt you could imagine the conditions from which I write you. In fact, were I not here myself, the level of squalor and filth, despair and blatant profanity, I would find a fantasy or a twisted man's description of Hell. Even now, it is easier for me to pretend this is a dream from which I am waiting to awaken.

Not long after I concluded my last note to you, the doctor was finally pried free of the gate officer's office and we dutifully moved up to the gate priest's office for our blessing. As you know, I am thankful to live in a place that has such respect for the one true God, but there are times when the government appointed clergy are handled with such sloppiness, I wonder if it wouldn't be better if no such appointments existed. Of course, men placed above me are making those decisions. Even before we made it to his office, we could smell the the sweet and bitter aroma of the sacramental wine. The office was only very dimly lit and the man who stumbled to the door seemed to be the source of the odor, given the level of its increase upon opening.   In addition to the usual vestments, he also had managed to imprint a wood grain mark from his forehead and down the right side of his face. Is suspect he had no idea, while it is true his face was red, it was not from the embarrassment he should have felt. As is required, I asked for the blessing for my team, which he stumbled through, missing whole phrases and slurring words. Had I not wanted to be out of there so badly, I might have chastised him.

Isaiah still has some of that sweetness and innocence you might remember. When were back In front of the mighty gate, he seemed completely oblivious to the crowd which was growing for the solstice celebration. He seemed not at all to here the refrains of Mighty Bulwark. He asked me straight out for a real blessing, I expect given the impact alchohol has had on his life he disliked our visit with the gate priest even more than I did. Anyway, I explained, in a brief way that I was not trained in these things, but the Almighy would certainly bless us. I said a short prayer, which seemed to please the boy, and we made our way out. I expect the Doc, Winn, the one from Red River, and Zed didn't have much use for any of it. If you would, pray for them.

We were ushered through a small door in the large gate and with little ceremony found ourselves out of West Ford, in fact out of all civilization. As we surveyed the wild ahead, the cross bar secured the door behind us. We stood in the shadow of the great wall for a few moments. One, than half dozen, then hundreds of silhouetted men, women and children seemed to be looking down upon us. Then the anthem, the anthem to God, anthem celebrating the barrier, which we stood on the wrong side of, began. The song, which brought the savages to allow them to be thinned, had begun. It felt like saddeling a steam engine. It felt so powerful and special and from so unique a perspective, it took me a minute to escape from the lure of it. Knowing what would happen next, I hurried my men and we made it away from the celebration before the first shot was taken. The voice of the one true God whispered protection on us for the first little bit.

It was in Old Ford that ptotection came to an end. We approached the community that years ago, before the withdrawing of the bulwark, would have been full of solstace celebration. Instead of singing and candy giving and joy overflowing, the buildings reminded me of rows of broken and dis colored teeth. Not only was the celebration missing, but the people and any thought of rightness, The wood of the buildings was exposed and not kept up, causing the boards to separate and in many cases roofs had fallen into the front rooms and bedrooms. The street we walked had recent signs of use, but any turn from it and you would find piles of waste, pieces of broken china and spent shell casings. It was a ghost town, but the not quite dead. Rotting.

Our conversation became hushed, like folks will do when they enter a graveyard, but, in spite of my personal bad feeling, we kept moving forward. Mary, it has always been your gut I've trusted, mine being prone to twist in fruitless knots, but I should have listened this time. A woman, from where we could not see her cried out for help. We could tell she was in the direction we were headed, but none of us ran to her. She though, did run to us, turning a corner and nearly falling into us. Actually, she did fall, but it was backwards, as she worked to skitter, not unlike a crab away from us. She was terrified. He clothes had been worn so thin and the edges so frayed, you would not have tried to make dust rag of their material. The color had bleached and then become so dirty they looked like lifeless smudges on her. As wretched as the buildings she crawled between. I instructed Winn to see about her, perhaps to assist, but it was too late. We could here a man yelling, cursing and calling names when a rifle was fired leaving the woman dead near our feet. The cursing and yelling continued and after we took just a couple more steps, he fired at us.

Now, why a lone gunman would kill a poor woman and why he would then try to take on five trained peacekeepers, I did not know, but I decided that now was not time for an interrogation. As you know, asking questions is not my favorite part of our work. Doc does enough asking for the both of us. Anyway, We moved off the road and worked to use the failing homes and businesses as cover for our approach. I pitied the man if Zed got to him first, but I lost track of Zed and Isaiah, as the hid behind the buildings across the road from the rest of us.

As it turned out, the man was not alone. In addition to the rifleman there was a second gunner in the building, which they were in the second story of. Also, much to our surprise a third man, a monster of a man popped out of an outhouse, which we were quite close to. He was a bald beast of muscle and blood. He wore a leather smock of gore and as he ran towards me he swung two enormous butchers blade. Except for the edges, shined with use, they were crusted over with brown scabs of blood. He was on me before I could even take a stance to fight. The blades hit, but turned, not quite doing their work, like his grip was made slick. This gave me the time I needed. I took this mans unprovoked anger, made it my own and hit him as hard as I have hit anyone in my life. How he stayed standing, I don't know, but he did. It struck a cold chill in me. I called for Doc Hartwell and Winn to assist me. They fired into this lunatic, but he had an infernal determination. I stepped back to hit him again, when heard the rifleman take another shot. My hip exploded with pain, a path of fire deep into my leg and I lost my balance. The damned gunman had shot me from behind, over the roof top of the butcher's outhouse. Mary, I know we have no money to replace them, but I am certain these pants are ruined.

My fellow peacekeepers finished the fight, but I expected the damage had been done. How I would continue on with a bum leg and no horse, I had no idea. The Doc assisted me to the home these men has been shooting from. As it turned out, though it was no home. The center of the place was a butchers table with an animal somewhat like a pig being carved. As I surveyed the gruesome place, the doc pushed on my leg, perhaps relocating me hip, or adjusting the position of the bullet. I can't say, but it felt a little better. Then, causally as you might mention what is for dinner, Doc said, "Those are human remains."

The woman in the road, us and whoever these people were being carved in this building, we were all meant to be food. The blood from my leg mingled with the blood on the floor until you couldn't tell where one started and the other began. We hadn't even seen a savage, but I felt infected.

There is more to tell but it is too far into twilight to see my scribbles anymore. Amy, who I will tell you about in my next letter, has advised us not to use candles because the light will draw the herds to us. If there is enough light and in the morning, I will continue.

Your Loving Husband,

Piermont

Mushrooms

The mushroom grew from just a tiny spore, lighter than air, which carried on a rogue current was deposited into the cave. The cave was a perfect home for the future fungus. The painful rays of the sun could not get through the walls of stone, which left the air cool and damp, but not wet. The cold humidity of a dead body. Additionally, some bear must have found this cave just as delightful, because he left his waste in the corner of the natural room, the waste on which that spore settled, the waste which would become the food source for the spore. So, the mushroom, in all its poisonous glory grew, eventually casting off spores itself.

The private burden didn't start as anything. A fleeting thought, a minor action, something which wouldn't even be a foot note in your biography. But that insignificant nothing settled itself into your mind. Your mind, as it was, was the perfect home for this future shame. You didn't let God's light shine through the barrier you had erected. You could never bring yourself to confess, to share, to open up, to those who would support you. The painful interactions with God or the Godly didn't need to happen here. This space was where thoughts and desires came to be animated. I dark place of thought necromancy, where the failings of your control could remain hidden. The terrible thing about this place is it is neglected, like a room in your house where guests are forbidden to go, cluttered with the garbage you have accumulated, garbage which become the food to grow that burden into so much more. And so, the shame and doubt and disappointment and sin, which grows in the shadows of your mind, will, like the mushroom, cast off children of its own.

In my experience, which is not great, I have come to believe we all have these dark places in our mind. Places where we keep the lamp of God from being a light unto our feet, which David references in Psalm 119. John also wrote, in his letter 1 John, that sin is walking in darkness and walking with Jesus is walking in light. There is something about that dark hidden which produces the ungodly things.

So, what is there to do about it? First and foremost, give those things, those thoughts, those doubts, those burdens to God. Let him claim all of you. Second, don't keep them in the dark. I am not saying you need to go crazy and publicly declare all your ugly baggage, but understand it is not yours anymore. You have given it to God to be set out as he chooses. Find a trusted accountability partner to help you from hiding these things back in the dark. Give them a flashlight (a God driven partnership) and the permission to explore the caves of your mind. This will be uncomfortable, but it can go a long way into killing those spores before they become something more.

A lighter me

I wouldn't even write this article, but I know people who are starting the same kind of journey, have come to the same conclusions, have felt the discouragement and ambivalence which comes with trying to loose weight. If left to my own devices, I would talk about this one on one or just smile when Ferren, a friend from work, calls me "Skinny". That is not where I am at now, I am the person who has read other people's success stories, trying to extract from them the how's and whys, feeling the inspiration and using their stories to propel myself another day or week. So, in a way, I kind of feel like it is my turn.

My story starts with the admission that I love food and am not a fan of exercise. I have been that guy who says, "God will not take me a moment before or after he plans to, therefore I'll get a dinner plate of desserts." That is until my accountability partner, Steve asked, "Isn't your body God's temple?" What was I supposed to say to that? So, at his prodding in 2011 I started with 20 minute walks three times a week and nothing more. I pushed my speed and remained diligent, but diet was to part of the discussion. I weighed myself only periodically, and I didn't record it (as I do know), but I remember it at one point reading 234 pounds, which is just a few pounds lighter than the heaviest I have been.

While sporadic walking didn't hurt me, it was far from the change which needed to take place. I broke a belt and buttons on my pants, but I resisted moving past this, enjoying slight improvements and slight setbacks until February of 2012. Another accountability call of course and in the notes of that call I use the phrase detaining, I have been lazy, eating away what ever progress I had made, so I committed to walking daily, at lunch and my buddy Reuben would walk with me. He still does.

Well, once you start walking at work and with coworkers, people ask what is going on, which means you learn, wether you want to or not, about exercise and diet and that one of your co-workers works for weight watchers and is willing to give you free books. So, by September I was on their points system and by October I had mustered the courage to actually record my weight. October 3rd, 2012 - 216.0 pounds.

Walking and points, and talking about walking and recording points. On and on it went. Everyday I wanted to give in, and I did sometimes, but I had people who were watching, so I always came back.

I don't usually make resolutions at New Years, but in January, Steve and I talked about the year and I told him that, this year I wanted to get and maintain a weight between 180 and 190 pounds. This is heavier than the charts say I should be, but this is a weight I have felt comfortable at before.

The recipe is not hard on paper, but the human mind is a devilish thing to try to separate from its desires. Mine desires S'mores Ice cream and salted Carmel cupcakes. So, I walk everyday, and have Reuben to keep me on track. I record what I eat, so that when I splurge I can do it under control, fully enjoying whatever it is, and most importantly, I make it part of my accountability with Steve. He gets to know my up and downs and call me out when I'm being stupid. He understands this struggle, so there is no resentment when he is just trying to help me and he can see through the games, which I so easily fall into when I want what I want. It works.

No matter what Ferren would say, I am not Skinny, but today when I stepped on my scale it read 192.6 pounds. Not all the way there, but 40 some pounds closer than I was two years ago.

The Pious Few: Summer Solstice

Dearest Mary,

I have never been so happy for a long winded, overly meticulous functionary in my life. No. I'm not talking about the doctor. I have just completed my paperwork, actually I had to do it twice because I wasn't clear about being from Bark River, at the Old Ford gate. The gate officer recorded notes on nearly every aspect of my person, some of which seemed to be for our required paperwork, other parts seemed to make it into his personal log. it was practically an inquisition. In the time of long suffering in this office, I spent the pauses between questions noticing he had a pros and cons list of adjusting his diet and observing him count precisely fourteen letters between dips of the pen. I imagine he might have seen me smiling when I imagined the interactions he and Doc would share, which meant I would have time to compose this very correspondence.

Yesterday my unit received orders from Lieutenant Giles which would take us to the other side of the Bulwark. I think he felt bad, not about the danger of the area he was sending us into, but that it was the eve before the Summer Solstice. That he would be separating us from our family. I was moved by the thought, I wanted to just enjoy dinner with you at your sister's house, but I respected your wishes.

Instead I spent the eve doing what I had done in years past, finding a place to read the scriptures and give little gifts to the kids who would sit and listen. I selected the Wilken's Barrel, because I remembered it was the place you would order our specials from. With every ring of the bell, which would happen as the door swung open or closed, I would see you stepping into the store, but of course it was never really you. I would try my best to hide my disappointment and return to my reading until the bell would ring again.

The yarns these people would tell, not knowing they were within my hearing, are completely wrong. They have built me up to be some hero, but I am not. The incident at the farm was difficult and sad, but not heroic. They whisper about how the bullets pass around me, like lions who refused to tear into a prophet, as if the one true God had shielded me. I suppose in a way he did, but I know not why. I have never been less worthy. I would take a biting word from you over their misplaced praise, if given the choice.

This morn we arrived to the station early, the four of us and fifth, Wyatt, who was to be sent with it. I am not sure what is to be said about Wyatt. He is from Red River, but doesn't seem quick to judge, like that lot usually is. He is young, but did mention he had no family left alive. I don't know if this is some cover for nefarious purpose, or if this has just been his sad fate. I'll say he didn't look all that broken up about it. I don't have to explain to you why, but I won't be placing my life in this man's hands. Why they would send this outsider with us into such dangerous territory, I am not sure.

The walk to the gate today was beautiful, leaving us all a little sun kissed. It gave me time to talk to Isaiah and Lamont a little about the holiday and a little about our assignment and a little to have them watch Red. He doesn't have to rattle to be poisonous.

As we approached the gate, I noticed the number of people around was higher than usual. It took me a while to figure out why, but of course they were there for the celebration. Mary, I don't know if I ever told you this, but I remember as a child not knowing more than the first first of How Mighty is the Bulwark, so I would just sing it over and over again. I was proud. I guess I still am. It would draw the attention of the savages and I would watch my Dad and Uncles, and so many other children's Dads and Uncles, thin the ranks of savages. It was brutal and fascinating. I hope we are far from the Bulwark when the singing begins.

The doctor has walked out and back into the gate office no less than half a dozen times, so I suspect I need to wrap this up and tell him to get a move on. I don't know for sure when I will be able to write again, much less when I will have access to the post, but I am hoping to be back in Bark River in three days. It would mean a lot to me if you would make use of our home while I am away.

Your Loving Husband,

Piermont

Love of a Husband

Shelly loves to talk about love, how it began, who convinced who, who was oblivious, the dates, the story and so on. I am not so inclined.

It is not that I don't like love, that I don't feel love or I don't show love, it is just talking about it always makes me feel awkward. Like taking a test I have no way to pass or peering into the cosmos and trying to describe what I see. Mushy without being good at being mushy doesn't do anything for anybody. Let me do something or buy something, but don't make me talk about it.

Of course, this highest hurdle is the one my wife most wants me to make. It would be close, but I think she would trade a diamond ring for a half hour of me just talking about love. One of her favorite, and my least favorite, games is the why game. The introduction lines to the why game look like this. Me: I love you. Shelly: Why do you love me?

Some of you might be thinking, what's wrong with that. Just tell her why. Heck, it might save you a diamond right one day.

The problem is, I can't. See, there is an incredible amount to love about my wife. She is loving and thoughtful, a loyal friend. She cut the grass when I was having a busy few days and it was getting long, so I didn't have to and loves to watch Sci-Fi. She is empathetic to the emotions of those around her and likes to please. She is a talented cook and crafty and smart, about to have deep conversation in a broad range of things. In nearly everyday, she engages and excites me. But, these are not why I love her.

I love her, because I love her. When we were two, before we were married, I could see what we would be like. I could see how she was the puzzle piece which so perfectly filled the gaps I had and I could do the same for her. Made for each other and drawn by a force stronger than gravity. A pure, divine, mystery of the universe kind of love, which made us not just two pieces which fit together, but one. I love her because more than even my hand or my legs, she is me.

See, all the things that I could tell her fall short, must fall short, of the full truth. I love her smile, but I would keep loving her if she couldn't smile anymore. I love that she cut the grass for me to help me out on a busy week, but if it was the last time that ever happened, I would still love her. If she gave up Sci-Fi and cooking and crafting, I would still love her.

It seems to me the best answers I could give in the why game are upside down. See, I say, I love that you love Star Trek. But the truth is, your love of Star Trek doesn't make me love Shelly more. Instead, whatever like I had for Star Trek is eclipsed and then grown by the love I have for Shelly. To put it more simply I love all those things more because they are attached to her.

I am not sure if that does an adequate job of explaining it, but this is why I can never get comfortable talking about love, at least the love I have as a husband for my wife.

The Pious Few: First Assignment

Dearest Mary,

I reckon it would be hard for you to comprehend the emptiness I felt when I crossed the threshold of our abode to discover only the note you had left me. I know my ways have caused you fits, but I am certain these troubles are short lived. I need, more than anything to talk to you. So, while you enjoy the company of your sister and her family, I will write. In my imagination, I can draw you nearer with this thin rope of ink.

Before a single boot of mine had rested on the station floor it came to my attention that the Lieutenant was looking for me. So, while I wanted coffee mighty bad, as we had none at the house, I did what was right and found him. The assignment seemed simple enough.

Do you remember the Knudsens? We used to buy carrots and sometimes potatoes from them at the Dawson street market. Doing business with them was somewhat like using a cactus to rest, but their prices were too low to resist. Anyway, it seems the senior of the group had borrowed a considerable sum from Lord Worthy and refused to pay it back. The good Lord, in his great consideration, had offered a provision to keep him from debtor's prison. Instead, he only asked for the man's property. Given his age and the fact he had grown sons, I expected it to be a sad, but easy, eviction. The only indication that this was not true was the number of men I was given to perform my duty.

Doc, of course, went with me. You might remember him from the one time we could arrange to break bread with him. You'll remember he sat transfixed for a good long time starring at the mash, after we mentioned an incident the neighbors had, had with food poisoning. You see the wheels turning, deciding then second guessing himself, as his hand twitched to either pass the bowl on, or take some for himself. After he retired from our meal, which took three times longer than expected, I think you described him as humorless, odd and an inflicter of long suffering. In spite of myself, the thought of him setting there with no right course of action and you desiring to whomp him with the handle of a spoon, still brings a smile to my face.

In addition to Doc, who I'm with all the time, I was finally paired with Isaiah Skinner. You will, of course, remember him as young Master Skinner from the church. He and his Mother would often sit near the back away from the parishioners. They continually wore winter clothing to conceal the bruises Isaiah's father would leave when he came from the Alhambra Saloon all roostered up. It was hard not to be taken with him, in such a sorry state. do you remember the little candies we would sneak him? Just as we looked after him then, I hoped I could do the same under my watch.

The last man to join us, one who had worked with Isaiah on patrols was Zedekiah "Zed" Lamont. I knew he was a good Peacekeeper from a line of Peacekeepers, but in the station he always struck me as cold. He was never on the shoot or ornery, but made of steel, like a knife, which doesn't care if it is a steak or your finger it cut. The law without compassion. I would rather have him on my side than have to face him, but his presence made me nervous.

As we approached the Knudsen farm it was clearly being worked, but the workers had already retired for the day. Given the light that would be left it seemed a bit odd to us, but not a great cause for alarm. Isaiah, after seeing this decided to round the house at a great distance. Some part of me was thankful for this, as if anything went wrong he would be safely at one distance from us. The boy would be preserved for another day.

We tied our horses to the apple tree in the front of the yard and I, being responsible for the success of this operation, knocked on the door. For a long time no one answered, long enough, as a matter of fact, Doc, who was practically and uncertainly, standing in the road, mentioned he thought no one was home. I could see moment, even hear the pitter patter of people inside. I told him as much and he got what you might understand as the mash look.

Eventually they did open the door and did allow us entry, but something was amiss. I did my duty, reading the legal notice and I begged for them to consider their options. I tried to show them the light of mercy the One True God had shined upon them, but they would have nothing of it. They wanted to fight, even knowing the danger. My heart sank when I realized that honer and pride had caused any hope for an easy eviction o go up in flame. A man, his wife and sons, seemingly good folks, were about to force my hand.

I can see the moment before the bloodshed began. The doctor nervously looked like he wanted to run. Zed seemed to be intimidating one of the sons, daring him to act. Sam, the father, was lifting his double barreled shotgun from the arm of his wheelchair. I can feel myself stepping forward to relieve the old man of his gun, but instead of thinking of the danger, I'm thinking of Isaiah. I'm relieved he doesn't have to be here for this.

The details of the fight are more tragic than I can bear to share with you, but I will say it was rough, the roughest I've ever seen and you know I have seen a good scrap before. Zed was perhaps the most unbelievable fighter I have ever seen, a pistol in one hand and a huge knife in the other. He was a tumbleweed of razor wire in a tornado. Doc and I did our part, but for the bulk of the fight we played second fiddle.

Suddenly, into the midst of this broken family, Isaiah was there and he's not the boy we used to sneak candy to. He's a man, a peacemaker. I am at once wishing that he was still outside, but pleased to see his bravery. I watch him as a father would, while we fight together.

At the end, when the fight has all but been won, I see Isaiah drop his iron, probably empty, and expertly draw his bow. Mary, he had transformed so fast. He looked down at the man flailing with a pig sticker at his feet. He doesn't look as a warrior, but as a hunter, coldly lining up his arrow for the kill shot. He might have stepped on him to hold him still, I'm not sure, but the man was killed as a deer.

Our duty had been fulfilled, but I couldn't but feel like I had failed.

Zed had been gut shot, which Doc said looked worse than it actually was. I kept Isaiah safe, but I don't think it was enough. I have no money for the candy I want to buy and even if I had the candy, it seems I have no boy to give it to anymore.

At the station I found bullet holes in my clothes, but no marks underneath. It didn't make me feel lucky, I'm ashamed to say it terrified me. Realizing how close I came made me hurt for the children we have never been blessed with. Nearly poured out completely. Mary, you know I'm rotten with a needle and thread. I wish you were here to patch the holes.

Your Loving Husband,

Piermont