November 6, 1963

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Clayton stood by the bedside, and watched Emily sleep, their baby in a bassinet flush to the side of their bed.

Jonathan slept soundly, and thank God for that.

It took long enough.

Throughout the night he watched his boy startle for no reason he could discern and the crying would go on a long time.

Emily insisted on cradling him, rocking him in her arms, and calming him. Then Jonathan would sleep, and it was back to the bassinet. Emily would sleep soon after, a worried furrow on her brow.

Clayton would not sleep tonight.

He stood at their bedside, exhausted but awake, and too aware. He had so little time and the day ahead was so long, or it would be.

Clayton yawned and continued his beside vigil.

✟ ☧ ✟

Clayton served Emily breakfast in bed. Jonathan was milk-drunk, mouth firmly latched onto his bottle. Clayton angled her breakfast tray away from his son so she could eat while holding Jonathan.

"You're very quiet today, Clay.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Quieter, then." Emily smiled, plucking a crisp piece of buttered wheat toast, and taking a crunchy bite.

Clayton nodded, and ran his hands through his hair. "Grifford was over only a moment ago. The Order is shipping me out to Viet Nam."

"You're not fighting someone else's war, Clayton Walker."

"No, no... it's nothing like that. There's a very old tribe in central Viet Nam they're calling the Ruk. Cave dwellers, hunter gatherers. Shamans. This is routine."

"Your son is only just born. Can't Grifford send someone else?"

"The good judge Grifford is the one who put me on assignment. Like I said, Em. This is routine."

Emily stared at Clayton and took a deliberate bite of her toast, showering her chest and Jonathan's small forehead with crumbs. Emily blew the crumbs off his forehead, and fanned her eyes. "What will I do? It's just me and Jonathan alone if you go."

"It's not if I go. When I go." Clayton put his hand on Emily's shoulder. "I ship out tomorrow evening. I'll make certain you get a call when I arrive. I'll write often."

"They're a world away, Clay. This has nothing to do us."

"Em, this has everything to do with us. The heathen faiths followed the colonists here through the Mayflower. There were heathens here already when our people arrived."

Emily scowled. "The Order already has people out there. They don't need you."

"This war we fight isn't limited to Driftwood, or Pridewater... it's not limited to Colt County. It spans beyond politics or secular warfare."

Emily dropped her toast back onto her plate, picked up the fork and stabbed an egg yolk, sulking over her meal. "Family has to mean something, Clay. You can't be one foot in the door, one foot in the war."

Clayton shook his head. "When I'm home, it's both feet firmly planted. When I'm at work, it's the same. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."

"It's poetic, Ephesians... but it doesn't put you where I want you."

"We were raised in this, the both of us. I'll be home soon, beautiful. I promise." Clayton sat at the bedside, and watched Jonathan stirring.

"How long will you stay until you're away again, though? How long until the judge sends you on some other crusade? How many times will you go wherever he points you?"

"As long as I can be, as often as he needs to, and as many times as it takes. The war has to end some time... but not likely in our lifetime. Probably not in his." Clayton pointed at Jonathan.

"Sometimes I hate this life we're in."

"Sacrifice is necessary for success, Emily. If we want a life with lots of children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, we need to start winning now. Winning means preparation, and sacrifice."

Emily cocked an eyebrow. "Lots of children?"

Clayton nodded. "As many as we can have."

"You're not the one who has to have them. Let's start with Jonathan, and see what happens." Emily dropped her fork on the plate, her appetite ruined. She pushed the tray toward Clayton.

"Everything is going to be alright. I'll be there, and back before you know it." Clayton lifted her fork, cut a messy piece of egg and ate it.

Emily shook her head, and pulled Jonathan away from his bottle with a small wet pop. Jonathan opened his eyes, his infant voice gearing up toward an angry cry. Emily carefully switched him to her other arm, rocked and shushed him. "You don't know that. There's war going on over there. We're already embroiled in it, and it's going to get worse. Before it gets better, it'll get worse, Clay."

"He's still hungry."

"He's always hungry, but he has teeth and they're sharp. He can wait until the next bottle. Don't change the subject."

"It was only an observation."

"Tell Judge Grifford this is the last one. Tell him to retire you. You're old blood here, Clay. He trusts you, he'll listen."

"It's a rare thing he listens to anyone without asking first for their opinion. Trust or no trust, I have a duty to The Order."

"You have a duty to this family, Clay. You have a duty to your wife, and your baby. You have a duty to raise him."

Clayton shrugged. "I can't tell the judge I'm not going to go on this, or any future tasks. It's better than hunting them domestically. At least I won't die with a bullet in my back, or a blade jammed through my throat."

"You don't know that either."

"I know there's no choice in the matter, so there's no further need to discuss it. If you're not going to eat, rest up. Recover. You'll have help while I'm away."

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