The Oath Keeper Trilogy: Book Two - The Grooming

By R.D. Sexton

Corporal Aedan O’Neall, just out of the U.S. Marine Corps, has his eyes set on Texas A & M University. Prior to being discharged, his covert handler promised that if he graduated with a major in accounting, he would gain employment with a prominent U.S. intelligence organization. He has no idea the organization is not connected to the United States government.

With his bachelor’s degree in hand, O’Neall interviews with the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, then learns his new employer is a front for the Order of the Knights of the Way. Over the next two decades, the Order’s front moves him in and out of legitimate companies while O’Neall faces professional challenges he can share with no one outside the organization and personal challenges he can share with no one at all. His covert work tests his resolve and challenges his sanity.
His moody and sometimes unreasonable wife, Maggie, further complicates his already stressful life. A new baby daughter changes both of them. A terrible tragedy almost destroys O’Neall and the future others plan for him without his knowledge.

The Grooming shares O’Neall’s life with the reader through fast-paced trials and tribulations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.D. Sexton
• Release date: Dec 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310908392

R.D. Sexton

R.D. Sexton is a former U.S. Marine and Vietnam War veteran. He lives in Texas with his wife where he retired as a Certified Public Accountant. He holds the following degrees: Bachelor of Business Administration (Accounting) and Bachelor of Theology.

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Oath, n.

A solemn affirmation or declaration, made with an appeal to God for the truth of what is affirmed. The appeal to God in an oath implies that the person imprecates His [God's] vengeance and renounces His [God's] favor if the declaration is false, or if the declaration is a promise, the person invokes the vengeance of God if he should fail to fulfill it. A false oath is called perjury.

– Noah Webster Dictionary – 1828

The Knight's Oath

I do solemnly swear by the Almighty Creator and in His Name, to serve as a Knight of the Way. I do swear by the Eternal Power of Jehovah to obey orders of my Commandant and those who lead me, to aide brother knights, and to aide my countrymen against those who would usurp the freedom guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States. I will be loyal of hands and mouth, and serve every man as best I may, seeking the fellowship of good men and hearken to their words and remember them. I will be humble and courteous wherever I go, boasting not nor talking overmuch. I will see that no lady or damsel or woman be in reproach despite her station or quality in life. If I fall into company where men speak with disrespect of any woman, I will show by gracious words it pleaseth me not and I will depart from them. This oath do I give of my own free will, without coercion, so help me God.

DIARY

10 November, 1967, Diary Entry

This is my first entry about the Order since I became part of it.

No one but my replacement, whoever that may eventually be, will understand any of this except him. He will be an oath keeper, a man who holds his word as a solemn bond with other men above all else. He will be one of many other men in a universe of individuals also substantially qualified to step into my shoes. By the time I choose him as my replacement, he will have suffered a great deal of loneliness and self-doubt, something all of his peers will also experience, as did I when I was not the leader.

We, all of us, are in a ruthless business about which we may tell no one. The countless, incredible acts committed on behalf of our beneficiaries will never be known by them, as it should be. The men he will lead are truly guardian angels, individuals who move about out of sight but who, with great vigilance, guard what is most precious to Americans.

During his grooming, I want my replacement to understand the extreme gravity of this position, to consider its emotional cost, so that if he accepts it he will do so with his eyes wide open. The world is not getting better. Although, at present, the Russians and the Chinese are our greatest adversaries, there is a growing threat from the cradle of civilization that will devour the world at a rate few know or understand. Islam, more than any other adversary, is a mad dog that kills everything in its wake and if not stopped, will erase civilized man. Our job will become exponentially more difficult and dangerous with each month and each year that passes. When he reads this, my prayers are with him.

– Kimoni Chirchir,

Commandant of the Order of the Knights of the Way

Chapter 1 – Aedan O’Neall

Fall 1968

Route 66

My mind ripped from blissful sleep and my body slammed against the ceiling of the GTO, then bounced on the back seat and thrown against the back of the front seat. I forced myself back to a sitting position and stared through the windshield. All I could see was mounds of sand.

Damn it, Artie! What the hell is going on? My brother's face twisted back at me while he gripped the steering wheel and tromped down on the brake pedal.

Sorry, Bubba! I dozed off!

The tires burrowed into the sand and the car came to a stop. I grabbed Artie’s shoulder. Where the hell are we?

In the Arizona desert.

We could have been killed.

Okay, okay. I’m sorry.

I lived through Vietnam, Artie. Please let me live long enough to see my bride again.

I said I was sorry.

Yeah. This is going to put us behind. Let’s get out and walk back to the road. Are we are still on Route 66?

Yes.

Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will pick us up."

The last sign I spotted showed Flagstaff down the road about ten miles, Artie said, while following me through the sand back to the paved road. The highway looked like a massive piece of faded black tape stretched across a giant sandbox about to disappear as the sun fell below the horizon.

Little brother, I took my last forced march in the Marine Corps. I’m not doing another, especially tonight.

I heard that the Arizona snakes come out on the road after dark.

Oh, great.

An hour later, we stood close together on the pavement in the dark watching for snakes when a Phillips 66 tanker truck stopped and picked us up. The driver was a middle-aged, short, thick man with a wild, bushy grey-black beard. I didn't know anything about him but I thought he was damned brave to let two strange young men into his truck.

He pulled out onto the highway and glanced at Artie and me. What did you say your names are?

We didn’t, I said. I’m Aedan O’Neall and this guy sandwiched between us is my younger brother, Arthur. Glad you took a chance and stopped to pick us up.

No problem. It is payback. On my eighteenth birthday, my truck's back end was hanging off a bridge. Another trucker stopped to help me so I owed him a debt. Name is Buster Eds. Where you young men coming from?

I just got out of the Marines. I was stationed at El Toro near Garden Grove, California.

The Marine Corps air base?

Yes sir.

My run used to include refueling their jet fuel tanks. Love airplanes. Could have stayed out there twenty-four-seven just watching those hot shots take off and land.

It’s addictive, for sure.

You do the Vietnam thing?

Yes, sir. I finished my thirteen month tour about a year ago.

Thanks for serving, O’Neall. Where you headed?

Home to Cut and Shoot, Texas.

Trucker’s horror, man. Sounds mean.

Used to be. We’re pretty civilized now.

He dropped us off at a Flagstaff, Arizona truck stop loaded with big rigs. The place was lit up like a city. Truckers were fueling their rigs or headed inside for coffee and food. Artie and I decided to refuel our stomachs.

All of the tables were taken. We spotted two empty stools in the middle of the counter. When we sat down, a bleach blond waitress wearing a black-and-white checkered uniform walked up behind the counter.

What can I get you?

Two black coffees, I said. We both want eggs over easy, bacon and white toast with strawberry jam."

Scramble mine, Artie said.

I glanced at him. "What the hell is this scramble crap?"

While you were in Vietnam, I got food poisoning eating an egg fried over easy.

Hell, Artie, you can get food poisoning no matter how the damned eggs are cooked.

He pointed at the waitress for emphasis. Scrambled.

Man, where is this attitude coming from?

I was home with the old man the whole year you were in Vietnam. You weren’t there to protect my ass.

"Yeah. You’re right. Sorry."

After the food arrived and we shoveled it down, we killed another ten minutes rediscovering our youth. Neither of us looked like innocent teenagers anymore. Both of us had opened Pandora's Box. Afterwards, we made a head call so the drive home would be uninterrupted. Assuming there would be a drive home. We walked outside and I glanced around wondering how we were going to get back to the car and pull it out of the desert. A wrecker truck was parked next to the pay phones at the end of the building. We walked over and the driver was sitting behind the wheel thumbing through a Playboy magazine.

Are you still on duty? I asked.

He glanced at me while working a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Bud, I’m always on duty. Whatcha got?

We ran off the road a few miles back up the road. The car is stuck in the sand.

He grinned. Fell asleep, huh?

My eyes shot over at Artie. Something like that.

Ten minutes later, we were back at the spot where the other trucker picked us up.

You're lucky, for sure, the driver said. There's a few spots along this road that would swallow your ass.

The moonlight shining on the car revealed no body damaged so we only lost some time. After parting with the forty dollars in my wallet, I thanked the wrecker driver and pointed the GTO towards New Mexico, then Texas. Artie slouched down in the seat next to me.

How do you like being married to a doctor? Artie asked.

Veterinarian, Artie. Maggie is a Veterinarian.

Still a doctor.

You going back to school?

I think so.

Sam Houston?

Naw. Texas A&M.

I heard it's tough, Artie said.

Probably.

Do you miss El Toro and working on those hot Marine Corp jets?

Not yet. I glanced at Artie. Get some shut eye. I might want you to drive again.

Damn. I thought running off the road would get me out of driving.

I shook my head and punched his shoulder with my fist.

A few minutes later, Artie started to snore. He was right. If I managed to be accepted, A&M would be difficult. Swede said they would accept me but I would have to earn my way like everyone else. He said that if it was necessary, the order could get me a PhD without my ever attending a single class. What intrigued me more was Swede's promise of a covert opportunity after I graduated.

Although the Marine Corps gave me the complete skill-set needed for an intelligence operative, my experience was limited in the military. The concept of doing it as a civilian brought back that boot camp, gut-twisting, momentary fear of the unknown. Four years in the Corps and thirteen months in Vietnam taught me how to control fear by either sublimating it or turning it in to some form of action, either physical or mental.

Just below the fear would always be the memory of assassinating a U.S. Army general and his aide.

* * * *

Cut and Shoot, Texas

A few minutes after midnight, I nosed the GTO into my parent's driveway and blew the horn. Artie climbed out of the backseat.

Bubba, there’s nothing like home.

Man, you don't have to tell me that.

Before my foot hit the pavement, I spotted Maggie running out the front door. Ma and Artie’s wife, Brenda, were right behind her. Maggie jerked my door open and leaned in to kiss me. Tears were running down her cheeks.

Babe, I’m home now. You don’t need to cry!

She shook her head.

What’s wrong?

This morning your father had a heart attack. He is in intensive care at Conroe Hospital. Oh, Aedan!

The fight-or-flight reaction shot though me like electricity, almost a replay of my first rocket attack in Vietnam. My heart raced and I glanced at Artie.

You and Brenda get in back with ma. I will drive us over to the hospital. Okay?

Yeah. Sounds good. Should we take the stuff off the roof to lighten our load?

It's okay. I glanced at my mother.

Ma, what’s his condition? I asked when I backed out of the driveway.

He's stable. That's all we know right now.

Are you sure he’s okay, Ma? Artie asked.

Son, like I said, they told me he was stable when we left the hospital.

Kate, am I squashing you back here? Brenda asked ma.

No, honey. I'm fine

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into a parking slot and we walked into the hospital headed for the Intensive Care Unit waiting room. I walked over to the nurses' station.

I'm Aedan O'Neall. How's my father, Rogan, doing?

She glanced down at one of the charts on her desk. The doctor said there was no damage to his heart, Mr. O’Neall. He should watch what he eats and take the medication prescribed.

Mr. O’Neall? That title will take time for me to accept.

Okay if I go in to see him?

Give him a half-hour. He just feel off to sleep.

I nodded and walked back to my family while they stood there staring at me. He’s better. Asleep now. We have to wait a while before we go in to see him.

I walked over to Brenda and hugged her. She was swollen in the mid-section and pink-cheeked. Artie probably doesn't want me to say this, but he worships the ground you walk on.

She pulled back from me. Since the day I first met Arthur, he never shuts up about you, she said with a slight frown on her face.

I stood there trying to match the tone of her voice with the frown on her face and all I could come up with was the word resentment or maybe jealousy. The thought quickly left my mind. She was a fair-skinned brunette about Maggie's five-foot four inches with large brown eyes and a great figure.

If Artie has talked about me that much, then he probably ran out of the good stuff quite a while back. That would mean you have heard about my bad side.

No. At the moment, you still qualify for sainthood.

That tone again. What's the deal?

I winked at Artie. Looks to me like Artie made a pretty good catch.

He's bright too, Brenda said. I think he figured it out on his own.

I glanced at ma. Sorry. Didn't mean to ignore you, ma.

She responded to my hug with tears. Ya father was so excited about ya comin' home for good. It happened so suddenly, ya know, we almost didn't know what ta do. But honey, the doctor said it was a mild attack.

Yeah. Well, I hope he will be all right. Want some coffee?

No thanks.

Artie and I walked down to the vending machines for some coffee and candy.

I dropped a dime in the coffee machine and waited for the cup to fill up. Say, Artie, I'm getting vibes Brenda doesn't much like me.

Yes she does. Remember, she's pregnant with raging hormones.

Yeah, I suppose. What do you want in your coffee?

You know how I like my coffee.

Not after ordering for you at that truck stop in Arizona.

Back in the waiting room, we talked for about forty-five minutes.

Honey, Maggie said. James has almost worn out that film you and your squadron made for him at Yuma.

That was the idea. The letter I sent him explained how all of VMA-214’s Black Sheep members helped me put it together. I was told the new Marine Corps commandant was considering using it to recruit aviators.

It really lit a fire under him about flying. When he is old enough, he wants to take flying lessons. I hope your encouragement doesn't get my little brother killed.

Flying is safer than driving so don't worry. Finally, I stood.

If you 'all don't mind, I'm going to try and see him right now.

The shift nurse was leaning over writing notes on a clipboard when I reached the counter. Okay if I check in on my father?

Go though those doors to the right, she said pointing. He's in the forth bed on the right.

As I walked down between the beds only separated by curtains, the sounds of life saving equipment and smells of human stress and pain flooded my nostrils. Right before I reached the forth curtain, I stopped to gather myself.

There was never a time in my life when I had witnessed my old man in a position of weakness. He was, to my memory, never sick. If anything, he was usually standing over me with words of encouragement and a bottle of medicine or a belt, depending on the situation. I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and let it out, then walked through his curtain.

Standing at the end of his bed, I felt helpless looking down at him. He was asleep and I was afraid to wake him. Even now, my old man was physically imposing. Although his short hair was more grey than red like mine, years of loading beer trucks left his shoulders and arms heavily muscled with no hint fat about him. I could only imagine how much he hated being trapped in a hospital bed. I reached down and touched his foot through the covers. His eyes snapped open.

Boy’o, he said in a small voice that stunned me. Looks like me heart broke.

Father, I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner.

Ya couldn'a done anythin', boyo. I'm so glad ya got home safe. I'm so proud of ya.

Since I returned from Vietnam, his demeanor towards me changed so much I was sure it could not last. Although he apologized to Artie and me about how he treated us growing up, I could not imagine how any man could change that much that quickly. Looking at him now, I thought he might have meant what he said.

How are you feeling?

Better. Weak. Not me, ya know?

Yes sir. I know. Can I get you anything? Coffee, a Guinness Stout, anything?

No, he said with a short laugh and grin followed by a grimace. Don’t make me laugh, boy’o. It hurts to laugh. They just told me to rest. Gotta eat better from now on. Ya know?

You do what they tell you, father. I'll help around the house until you get on your feet again.

Thanks, boy’o.

I don’t want to upset you but I must ask you a question.

What's it?

Do you want me to try and contact Devin to let him know about your heart attack?

His face reddened and his jaw muscles tightened. "No! Don’t ya ever mention me brother’s name again!"

Father, I am so sorry. I did not mean any harm. I'm going out now so the rest can see you. Ma told me they will let you come home in a day or two.

He nodded and put his head back down on the pillow. Sorry to snap at ya. See ya tomorrow, eh?

* * * *

The half-hour drive home from the hospital was quiet until I mentioned what I asked father.

Aedan! Ya now better! Why did ya do that? ma said in a tone I did not recognize.

I just thought that in his condition, he might want to hear from his only brother again.

Well, ya should know better. Please do not speak of him again.

Maggie frowned at me. Artie remained quiet. No one spoke again until I pulled into the driveway. We were tired when we got out of the car.

Maggie and I cooked chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy, Ma said. We'll have to reheat it.

Sorry father couldn't be with us, I said.

There will be other meals, baby.

When I sat down at the table, ma was pouring sweet iced tea and Maggie loaded my plate with massive helpings of the food I had missed for so long. Brenda glanced at Maggie and started filling Artie's plate as well. Ma leaned on her elbows with her hands together, waiting for every thing to settle down. Finally, she cleared her throat.

Baby, would ya say grace for us?

Since I was a small boy, ma usually asked me to pray over our food but her sudden request caught me off guard. For the thirteen months in Vietnam, my prayers had not been to ask God to bless my food or even thank Him for it. When I prayed, and that was often, it was to beg Him to keep me from coming home in a body bag. I nodded at her.

Sure ma. I bowed my head and decided to make it brief, starting by asking for my old man’s quick recovery. When I finished, everyone said Amen. Iced tea glasses started to rattle and everything settled into the old routine.

Bubba, when you start college, what will you major in? Artie asked.

I swallowed my first piece of chicken-fried-steak and looked his way. Same as before, business and accounting. Maybe these last few years have given me the maturity I need to do it right this time.

"You'll do well, Aedan. Arthur says you're a genius," Brenda said in what sounded like a smart-alecky tone.

"Just call me Bubba, Brenda. When Artie first learned to talk, he couldn’t say brother, only bubba came out. I’ve adopted the alias."

"Okay, Bubba. I'm sure you'll graduate with honors."

Not likely. But I'll work a lot harder than the first time.

My eyes glanced down at my empty plate, then over at Maggie.

I’m guessing you want a refill? she said.

I would appreciate it.

God, I love home cooking.

After dinner, I helped ma clear the table. While I stacked the dirty dishes on the counter, she put the rubber stopper in the sink and started the hot water running into the liquid soap. She was facing the sink when I grabbed her around the waist and gently slid her out of my way.

I've got these dishes, ma.

She flushed. No ya do not.

Ma, I've got four years of experience in the Marine Corps working with dirty dishes. It is imperative I do not lose my skill set.

You! She leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. I missed ya so much while you've been away.

I rolled up my shirtsleeves and dipped my hands down into the hot, soapy water and stack of dishes. Ma, I've not told you this, but I'm so sorry for the emotional distress I put you through when I joined the Marines then volunteered for Vietnam. I was only thinking of myself.

Baby, ya are a man. Men have ta make difficult decisions that affect other people they love. What ya did was for our country. Like your father did in World War II. It's a mother's job ta worry.

I moved the faucet over to the sink to my left and turned on the hot water. Well, maybe so. Here's another tough decision I must make. I pointed at the other sink. You rinse the dishes.

* * * *

I was trying to adjust my body on the right side of the new but unfamiliar full-size bed.

Where the hell is my old bed?

The two of us couldn't fit on that old single thing, Maggie said. Her ample breasts showed through the short, pink nightgown barely covering her body.

I grew up on that lumpy piece of crap and my body knows how to sleep on it. Now I've got to get used to this one, I said with my eyes trying to focus on her nipples.

I didn't know Marines whined so much.

I frowned at her. I guess this thing is a hell of a lot more comfortable than my cot in Vietnam. I didn’t get the chance to share that cot with anyone like you.

If I ever find out you did, you're a dead Marine.

She was laying on her side facing me so I twisted to face her. Maybe you could try to kill me right now.

She grinned. Be careful what you wish for, Jarhead. I just might take you up on that.

I pulled her to me and kissed her warm lips. A few seconds later, she gently pushed me away.

"Why on earth would your father not want to hear from his only brother?"

Talk about bad timing, I thought. No idea, babe. They had a falling out before we left Ireland to move here. I was afraid to ask my parents about it then. I still am. One day my uncle Devon just disappeared.

I guess your father has his reasons, she said while turning out the light on her nightstand.

I moved back to her. How about we take up where we left off before Uncle Devon?

* * * *

A screaming bell jerked me from sleep and scared the hell out of me. The damned alarm clock. Vietnam taught my mind to fear unusual or loud sounds. I glanced at the hands and it was zero-nine-hundred.

Jesus, I have to quit thinking in military time.

It was nine-o'clock in the morning. Maggie, I noticed, didn't stir even though she, apparently, had set the alarm. I eased out of bed and did my ritual in the head – oops – bathroom, then wandered down to the kitchen still thinking about our few minutes in heaven last night.

Ma glanced up from the newspaper. Did ya sleep good, baby?

Yes ma'am, I said while leaning against the sink next to stove and the coffee pot.

I've got ta get dressed, Ma said.

Don't you want coffee? I asked.

I'll get it later, she said when she started back down the hall.

Just about the time the coffee pot started to whistle, Maggie walked in and sat down. Damn. She even looks hot with messed up hair, no makeup and a wrinkled robe. Her bare toes look good too. Jesus she has nice feet. However, there was something wrong with her overall demeanor.

Babe, you look really tired. Didn't you sleep last night?

She let out a breath and leaned on the table. I thought so but I'm still bushed.

Ma loves to take her vitamins. She swears by them. Tell her you'd like to try some.

She nodded. Maybe I'll ask her later. In the meantime, pour me some coffee.

I pointed my finger at her and grinned. "Why did you set the alarm?"

Listen up, Leatherneck. I did not have a bugle for reveille so I thought the alarm clock would do the job. Nine wasn't too early, was it?

While I poured her a cup of coffee, I grinned at her. I suppose not.

Good.

I sat across the table from her. How about I take you to town and we do some shopping?

"Not on your life. Your father and ma spent days with me searching for a place we could live. We found it so you and I are going over there at noon so you can see it."

You're the boss.

* * * *

When we arrived and pulled up front, my eyes fell on an almost new, fully furnished doublewide mobile home, maybe twenty-four feet wide and fifty-feet long. The property stood about a mile either direction from our parents' homes and only a short drive to the Cut and Shoot Animal Hospital where Maggie practiced veterinarian medicine.

What do you think? she asked.

"I hate it," I said. I glanced at her with a serious frown.

Her smile fell. What? I thought that you –

I grinned. Babe, it looks like a mansion. You made a good choice.

She rammed her fist against my shoulder. You jackass!

Hey, can't my fussy redhead take a joke?

She jumped out of the car. Let’s go inside!

Maggie did not need to convince me it was right for us. The former tenant took good care of things. The home included two bedrooms, a full bath with shower, a nice living room and fair sized kitchen with all the appliances we needed. It also had central air and heat and a small laundry room. Flowerbeds and neatly trimmed azalea bushes landscaped the quarter acre lot. A clean concrete driveway led up to a metal carport on one end. In the backyard, a nice, big Oak tree shaded a flagstone patio with a sturdy iron barbeque pit.

When we walked back to the car, I glanced at her. "I want to cook something on that pit right now. How much is the rent?"

Seventy-dollars a month."

Call them immediately! I don't want someone else to get it. I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

The next day the hospital released my old man. I was sitting on the bed watching him change out of the hospital gown.

Cute outfit, I said.

Watch ya mouth, boy’o.

He looked a lot better but was not moving as fast as before. Facing his own mortality was something he had not done since he was a young man in World War II fighting alongside other Irishmen in the British Army. We both shared that experience, each in his own war.

On the way back home, he insisted on us rolling down our windows. Fresh air is good for the soul, boy’o.

When Artie and I were boys, the windows were always down because the car had no air conditioning. Although my GTO was so equipped, I still liked to ride with wind blowing through the open windows. My soul did like the fresh air.

Neither of us spoke for a while. It had been a long time since he and I were together. Maybe years. When he wasn't pissed off, my old man could make you feel safe at that moment. Today, I felt safe with him, an odd feeling for an otherwise combat-hardened Marine. I didn’t plan to analyze those thoughts. He reached down and ran his fingers across the radio, then glanced at me.

Ya still like this car we bought for ya after Vietnam?

Yes sir. I am still overwhelmed about it. You and ma shouldn't have spent the money.

Boy'o, it was a small price to pay for what ya done for our country and for forgivin' me for treatin’ you and ya brother so badly while ya was growin’ up.

"Who said I forgave you?"

His jaw tightened and he frowned. But I thought we settled things?

I grabbed his shoulder with my hand. We did.

He settled back in the seat and stared out the side window. Ya didn't get ta know my old man, boy'o.

No sir. I do remember him though.

His head shifted my direction. He was a good man. Loyal to his country and his family, ya know.

I remember some about him. Not much.

He was hard on his sons. He wanted us to be good, strong Irishmen. When ya was born, all I knew about father'n was what I learned from him. He glanced at me and touched my arm. That's why I was the way I was to ya and Arthur. I didn't know better.

I glanced at him."

You did good. Your son's don't hate women, we love hard work, and we didn't turn out to be serial killers.

He laughed.

Of course, I thought, I wasn't a serial killer. Just a plain old, every day, garden-variety killer.

When we arrived home, Ma had a cup of decaf coffee ready for him in the kitchen. We sat and talked for an hour. He wanted to know more about my experiences in Vietnam. Although I wanted to, I could not tell him everything. I could never tell him everything.

The men that work for me at the plant were awed by your heroism in Vietnam, he said. I told ‘em about your two Purple Hearts and the Silver Star. I hope ya don’t mind.

No sir. About that time, Maggie walked in with ma behind her.

Come on Leatherneck, let’s go find some furniture for our new home.

I glance at my old man. You and ma want to tag along?

For God sakes, boy'o, leave us alone and take your beautiful lass shoppin'.

Two days later, Maggie and ma furnished our new place with things they scraped together over the past few months plus the items we bought together. While Maggie made salad and mashed potatoes in the kitchen, I tended steaks on the grill and nursed a cold Guinness beer in the backyard. In an hour, our families would join us for Maggie's welcome back to civilian life party for me. She also invited Dr. Chirchir and his wife and Dr. Cindy Drumworth and her husband, Dustin.

When I flipped the steaks, Private First Class Sellers jumped into my mind and sadness washed over me. I'm standing here enjoying a beer about to have a party and Sellers is in a box in the ground. We only knew each other for a couple of days in Vietnam, him riding shotgun while I drove the six-by truck down to an Australian army unit to deliver a generator and a covert message. In that short time, I grew to like him. Our brief partnership ended when we were ambushed. I caught a bullet in my arm and he got one in the head.

When the screen door slapped closed, I spotted my old man and Maggie's old man headed my direction carrying their beers and chattering in their best Irish accents.

Hey, Boy’o, ya cookin’ is killin’ us, my old man said. When is tha stuff gonna be ready for eatin?

That’s right, Aedan, you’re draggin' your feet, Carl MacFayden chimed in.

"Just hold your horses, men. I’ll be done when it’s done."

About that time, I heard the screen door slap against the frame again.

Honey, I want you to meet my—

Maggie's sudden stop caused me to stare at her.

— Aedan, did you wash your hands before you handled our food?

Jesus, Maggie, of course, I said while feeling my face flush as Dustin and Cindy Drumworth stood their staring at me. I glanced at them trying to recover from Maggie's scolding.

Maggie walked back into the house.

I'm Dustin, he said while extending his hand to shake mine. Maggie told me so much about you that I feel like we’ve known each other for years.

Good to finally meet you, Dustin.

He was a little shorter but more stocky than me. His bushy mustache was long, drooping to points down the sides of his mouth and his thick brown hair hang down his back in a braid. His Army green t-shirt said, I am OK when I’m Taking my Meds.

I glanced over at his Cindy. She was a little taller than Maggie, had short, curly blond hair and a beautiful face. Her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight and her killer-body filled tight slacks and a crop-top blouse.

Aedan, I guess you know I'm Cindy, she said. Your photos don’t do you justice. She grabbed my hand with hers. It was hot and electric and I shrunk back from what it did to me.

Yeah. Happy to meet you.

Dustin stepped in closer. Aedan, when I was in Vietnam, Cindy’s letters often mentioned you. She said you were way up North of me. Small world, ain’t it?

You bet. Maggie told me about your Purple Heart.

Should’a been watching where I put my feet.

How’s the leg? I asked.

Not bad. I make a weekly visit out to VA Hospital for therapy. How about you? Cindy said you took a couple of bad hits in Vietnam.

My arm is as good as new. The knee could be better. Hell, it could be worse for both of us. We could have lost limbs or returned in bags, right?

Brother, I ditto that.

I pointed at the barbeque pit. Meat is about ready. Why don’t you and Cindy go inside and I’ll bring the goodies in so we can get started?

While I was piling the meat on the tray, I heard the door open again and glanced back.

Aedan, welcome home! Dr. Chirchir said. I am so glad to see you relaxing and away from war.

I walked over and hugged him. Yes sir. Good to be back home. Where's Zena?

She has the flu. Not bad, but she didn't want to spread it to you and your family.

Really glad you could come today, I said in Arabic hoping to impress him.

Your Arabic is excellent. How about your Swahili?

Did you hear the one about the Kenyan doctor who – I said in Swahili.

So all those hours Naz and I spent teaching you were not wasted?

You know me better than that.

I picked up the full tray of meat. Let's get inside and feed that hungry pack of animals.

That night after our guests left, I stood at the sink and washed dishes while Maggie sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee. I glanced down at the dishes and it dawned on me that I might be setting some kind of precedent in the future. I also remembered how she embarrassed me in front of the Drumworths.

What the hell was that about me not washing my hands? I asked. You embarrassed me.

Don't be so damned sensitive. I spend all day working with dirty animals. I don't want to come home and catch something from you.

Sensitive? Maybe you should think twice before treating your husband like some stupid child. And since when am I so damned dirty that you worry about catching something from me?

You know what I mean.

No. I don't have a clue about what you mean.

I'm going to bed.

Don't wait up, I said.

How is it that I didn't see this side of her before we married?

* * * *

On Sunday morning, we arrived at church at eighty-o’clock. Maggie looked very tired even though she was taking vitamins Ma gave her. She laughed when I suggested she make an appointment with her doctor. Jesus, she didn't even have a doctor.

We sat on the second row of pews on the right side of the sanctuary facing the podium with the choir a dozen feet to the rear. Seated to Maggie’s right were Dustin and Cindy Drumworth, new members of our church and new friends to me. Miss Irma Latichia was playing Nearer My God to Thee softly on the organ. Seated behind and to the side of his lectern, our pastor-teacher, Colonel Thamus, thumbed through his Bible while ignoring the crowded sanctuary. At his request, I wore my Marine Corps dress blue uniform with my ribbons and medals. I felt like someone who showed up at a costume party in a clown suit and discovered they changed the theme to formal tuxedos and dresses.

As usual, every pew was full and a low, respectful hum of conversation pervaded the room. In a few minutes Irma’s organ music ended, a signal to the choir to begin its opening hymn. When the choir finished, Colonel Thamus stood and stepped behind his lectern. He was an imposing square-jawed man, tall and muscular, and his piercing blue eyes could wake up the dead.

Let us pray, he began with his head bowed. His prayer first gave thanks for our many blessings then he offered salvation to anyone present that had not yet accepted Christ as their Savior. After a few minutes of silence, he said Amen.

Normally his next step was to repeat 2nd Timothy 2:15, Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that need not be afraid, rightly dividing the Word of Truth. He would then wade into his sermon. I opened my Bible to Romans 6:23 where, according to ma, he left off the previous Sunday.

That is when things changed.

This morning, Colonel Thamus began, I want to acknowledge that we have a young man here who has been an active member of our congregation since he was a small, rowdy kid. Those of you who have been members long enough know exactly who I’m talking about.

Laughter erupted throughout the sanctuary.

I can remember many occasions where it was necessary for me to stop my sermon to ask him if he wanted to get up here and take over.

More laughter.

That was then. This is now. Recently, he was honorably discharged from the United States Marine Corps. He spent over a year in the Vietnam War and is one of the decorated heroes present this morning in our church. He glanced directly at me.

Corporal O’Neall, would you please step up here and say a few words to this congregation about your experiences in the Marine Corps and about your faith?

I stood up. Sir, I would be honored to do so.

My eyes flashed back at Maggie and I swallowed hard when I leaned close to her. I figured this was going to happen, I whispered. Maybe I’ll pass out before I get up there.

Standing at the podium looking out over the two-hundred or so people, I was not sure how to start or whether my mouth would move or actual words would come out. The last time I spoke to a large group of people, it was after a high school football game my team won and the fans wanted to hear from the quarterback. Today, I wasn't a quarterback and the room wasn't filled with my team's fans. My eyes fell on Dustin Drumworth.

This church is filled with heroes, I began, "including incredible men like Colonel Thamus. We have men here representing World War I and II as well as Korea and Vietnam. Some of our members never returned from their wars, forever buried on foreign soil where they died for this ideal we call freedom. Some of our members spent long years as prisoners of war, suffering torture and unspeakable horrors. Right at this moment, some of our nation's Soldiers, Sailors and Marines languish in camps in Vietnam, North Korea, and probably in Russia and China." I pointed back at Dustin.

I would like to recognize my friend and one of this church’s newest members, Dustin Drumworth. As a soldier in the United States Army, Sergeant Drumworth served gallantly in Vietnam where he was seriously wounded. For his heroic actions, he earned not only the Purple Heart but also a Bronze Star. Dustin, would you please stand?

Dustin reluctantly stood and wore a kind of embarrassed expression. The church clapped loudly.

Dustin, I began, when a group of Marines want to honor one of their own, they holler the words, Oo-Rah, Oo-Rah, Oo-Rah.

Everyone spontaneously hollered those words and the sounds reverberated in the sanctuary. Dustin cried tears down his cheeks. I spent the next ten minutes giving a seriously abbreviated description of my time in Vietnam. I left out the part about assassinating two men.

* * * *

I bought a second-hand rotary mower at a garage sale along with a shovel, rake and a tool kit filled with almost new socket and box-end wrenches. My timing was good because the grass already needed mowing and several weed patches needed my attention. Early Saturday morning my mower helped me return the yard to its original beauty. The smell of freshly cut grass filled my nostrils and brought back faded memories of my childhood. My old man would cut the grass with an old reel-type push mower while I watched and wondered what it would be like to mow like him. Just about the time my rake grabbed a load of grass clippings, the mail carrier stopped his Jeep in front of our mailbox.

Hey, I yelled at him, how are you doing?

You're Corporal O’Neall, right? Just out of the Marines?

Yes sir. One and the same. I put my hands on his Jeep door. I’ve always wanted one of these things.

We’ve got more at the Post Office. There’s probably a job down there if you decide to join us.

I’ll keep it in mind, sir.

I'm Jack Shift, he said. I've known your folks for a couple of years since I moved here from Houston's south side. Almost every time I put mail in his box, your father walks out to tell me about how you have been doing. Son, I feel like I've known you for years.

He held his arm out with a healthy stack of mail. Looks like everyone in the world already has your new address, he said and then laughed.

Wow! My bride made sure about that.

We shook hands.

He grinned. Sure glad to lay my eyes on a young man who isn’t sporting shoulder length hair, a beard and a t-shirt with some damned anti-war slogan plastered on it. Most of us are thankful you men weren't here in the U.S. to see those bastards burn our flag and disrupt traffic with their damned protest marches.

I’m glad I wasn’t here either. We heard about this stuff while I was in Vietnam. Believe me, sir, none of it set well with us. I am home for good so maybe we can talk more. Good meeting you.

On the way back up the driveway headed towards the backyard, it dawned on me that my old man’s yard probably needed mowing too. Maybe I would swing by there this afternoon and take care of it.

Glancing around the backyard to survey my handiwork, I thought it looked good. I sat on a lawn chair with my feet up on a small black metal table where Maggie left a big mason jar of ice-cold, sweet tea. I gulped down a few thirsty swallows then flipped through the mail. My eyes locked on the letter. The official Registrar Admissions envelope finally arrived.

"Dear Mr. O’Neall. Texas A&M University is happy to inform you that we have accepted you for spring admission to our Undergraduate School of Business. Please read the enclosed students' orientation program indicating the dates and times to follow.

Thanks again and we look forward to your future with us at Texas A&M University."

Maggie! Maggie! I yelled at the top of my lungs while sprinting for the back door. A&M accepted me!

She was just as excited so, on Sunday after Church, we planned to drive to Steak & Ale in Houston for a celebration meal.

Only six months stood between me and starting at the university and it seemed like an eternity. Mr. Elliott, owner of Elliott's Gulf Station on the west side of Cut and Shoot, agreed to hire me thirty-hours a week to help pump gas and provide service to his customers until Thanksgiving Day. Although he only paid $1.15 per hour, any money at all would help us out.

One Saturday morning, I sat in the backyard sipping my coffee and reading the paper when two very thin puppies wandered up to me barking as if to get my attention. The yellow Bloodhound immediately jumped up on my lap and slapped a wet tongue on my face while the black and silver Yorkshire terrier repeatedly jumped up on my leg while it continued to yelp. They stunk and looked like a mess, the Yorkie having matted hair full of thorns and grass burs and the Bloodhound with patches of mud and stains on her yellow coat. Both had clumps of matter at the corner of their eyes. More disturbing was the oozing patch of skin on the Bloodhound’s side where hair should have been.

Maybe mange? Not good. Neither has a collar with the tag needed to find who owns them.

Hey, pups, where do you belong?

They barked again, both seeming to have dog smiles on their little faces. Suddenly, the Bloodhound jumped off my lap and both dogs squatted down on the ground close to my feet, their little pink tongues hanging out while they panted rapidly as if to catch their breath. They both glanced up at me as if they belonged here. I reached down and rubbed their heads.

Jesus, now my hands stink.

I was going to have to find out who owned them so I got up and walked back to the house. Maggie was in the kitchen washing dishes.

Babe, did you see what dropped in on us?

I was watching. Looks like those two really hit it off with you. Even though they are both puppies, you’ve got to wonder how the bigger Bloodhound ended up with the tiny Yorkie.

Yeah, well, we’ve got to find out who they belong to because I don’t want any dogs.

I didn’t know that you didn’t like dogs.

I shook my head. It’s not that I don’t like them. I don’t have time for them. I had a puppy when I was a kid and it died six months after I invested my heart in the little bastard. I don’t want to go through that trauma again.

If they are still here on Monday morning, I’ll check with the other vets to see if they’ve heard anything about them.

They probably belong to someone in the area, I said. I’ll check with our neighbors.

Pick up a couple of cans of dog food at the UtoteM, Maggie said. Both of them look pretty famished. Whomever owns them should be whipped.

Yeah. I started to walk back to sit down then remembered something so I turned back to Maggie.

Yesterday, you mentioned that you’d like to invite Cindy and Dustin to join us at the movie next Friday night. Are we still on with that?

You didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it. Is it okay with you?

Sure.

* * * *

Thanksgiving morning arrived and I got a few days off to reflect on what I needed to do to make my first semester at Texas A&M a success when I started in January. I was sitting under the Oak tree next to the barbecue pit drinking my