Proverbs 1:8

Listen, my son, to your father's instruction and do not forsake your mother's teaching.

Before the sky rained down bombs… before the NCR and the Legion locked horns over the Hoover Dam… before a man was thrown from a cliff, covered in burning pitch… before a courier was pulled from a shallow grave, half alive and with a bullet in her head…

There was a place called Ogden.

It had existed, as all Pre-War places had, in uneasy peace with the threat of nuclear war dangling over its head. And when the bombs fell, it was ruined – but not left alone. In time, after Vault 70 opened, a predominantly religious group following the teachings of the Church of Latter Day Saints built a new town upon its ruins: New Canaan.

It stood, fifteen miles from the Great Salt Lake, lined by high mountains, and its inhabitants enjoyed the fruits of their labor as they worked the land and worked together to grow their community. Things were peaceful for a while. And then, Joshua Graham returned.

They accepted him back into the fold, but it would not last. Caesar, angered by the Malpais Legate's survival, sent a band of White Legs, tribals of the Great Salt Lake, to burn the city to the ground, to destroy and pillage and murder, to give into and grow the darkness that lingers in the corners every man's heart. The earth was salted, destroying the careful fertility nurtured and grown by the people of New Canaan.

Only thirty survived; Joshua went to claim his vengeance as the war chief of the Dead Horses in Zion, battling the White Legs with a thirst in his heart that could not be quenched by the blood he spilled.

And then she came.

She stood with her back to the rebuilt New Canaan, staring out at the wide expanse of prairie with her hat pulled low over her eyes. Squinting, her eyes crinkled with age and laughter, she scanned the horizon for any sign of movement, any stir that would alert her to the return of the hunters – and therein her husband.

She thought back to her time in the canyons of Zion, the cool waters and clean air that was so different from the muck of New Vegas. She closed her eyes and remembered: climbing the trails and sloshing through the shaded pools; how her heart beat at the sight of Joshua, wrapped in his gauze; the smiles of her friends; the feeling of bighorner blankets on bare skin, sweat cooling in the air of the cave… Her eyes opened. The memory had surfaced to the front of her thoughts, unbidden, and a flush spread across her cheeks.

They had survived, Penelope and Joshua, and he had come back to the survivors of New Canaan, eager to help them rebuild, his heart healed by mercy over blood. Penelope had done all she could to help the Dead Horses and the Sorrows and the New Canaanites she had never met, but ultimately, she had to leave Zion to return to her duties in New Vegas.

But she returned, and with his daughter in tow. She and Joshua were married, and she settled down, eager to leave the life of violence and destruction she had unwittingly architected, a life she hadn't asked for but had taken the mantle, willing or no.

Absentmindedly, she touched the scar on her forehead.

"Mama?"

Penelope turned, her long braid flipping over to the side. Sol was standing a few feet away from the house, carrying her baby sister on her tiny hip. Penelope smiled to herself and walked over to her children. Hefting her youngest from Sol's grasp, she stroked the older girl's black hair, hot from the sunlight.

"Solomon Zillah Graham, what are you up to?"

"I was trying to find you," the nine-year-old said, and dimpled. Her blue-green eyes glittered in the afternoon sun. "Mrs. Jane's here with Tommy and says he's got an awful bad stomachache."

"Perhaps Tommy should keep his hand out of the sugar jar," Penelope said with some amusement before looking at the blonde toddler in her arm. "What do you think, Dinah?"

The child nodded, sucking on her fingers as she blinked sleepily. Penelope smiled and readjusted her grip on the child. She cast one last glance at the prairie stretching beyond the horizon, her heart aching suddenly, before turning back to the house.

. . .

"He'll be fine, Mrs. Lopez – it's just a bit of a tummy ache from too much sugar." Penelope smiled, hanging up her stethoscope on its designated wall hook. "A little chamomile or peppermint tea should speed it along. But, in the future, perhaps put the treats a little further from his reach to try and avoid this again."

The young woman nodded, twisting her handkerchief in her hands. "How much?" she asked nervously.

Poor woman – Tommy was her first and only child. If anything were to happen to him, she would be an absolute wreck. Penelope waved her hand. "As it's such a small thing, don't worry about it." She smiled. "Though I suppose the next time George is in town from his travels, ask if he's got any more of that radstag jerky. Joshua loves it."

The bell tinkled as they left, young Tommy still sniffling from his aching stomach. Penelope let out a long sigh and leaned against the counter of the clinic, removing her gloves and tossing them into a bin. She closed her eyes and emptied her mind.

The afternoon heat stilled the town, and the room she stood in was quiet, and empty. In the corner, Dinah was curled up in a padded play pen, drooling as she named. The lazy hum of the crude, generator powered ceiling fan stirred the air against her face and she let herself fall into the void of her thoughts.

Her father had taught it to her, when she was learning medicine in the Boneyard. At fourteen, someone had brought in a farmer, his leg destroyed by a tiller, and they had to amputate. She had thrown up until she was just dry heaving, her eyes streaming tears and mouth full of bile.

"You have to clear your mind," her father had told her as he held back her hair. "Don't give credence to what you're seeing. See the problem, not the cause, and address the problem."

It became easy to call the void when she was in his clinic. Eventually, the void got called in stressful situations – when she had fought at Hoover Dam, when she had met Ulysses at the end of the Divide, when she had killed Caesar, when she had found herself at the end of Benny's pistol. The bullet was the only thing that had been able to tear through the void, a blinding white pain that ripped through the darkness.

Now she did it to escape.

Guilt gnawed at the emptiness. Why should she try to escape? Two healthy children who she loved dearly, the man she loved, a peaceful town where she made a difference. And yet…

The Mojave had been her adventure. More often than not, terrifying, but that fear had somehow been exhilarating, too. She had done so much in her five years after being dug up, but now… now life seemed the same, every day.

She opened her eyes as the sound of murmurs and conversation grew outside, muffled by the glass windows of the clinic. The hunters had returned. Penelope walked to the window and opened it, leaning on the sill.

Down the road, the group meandered, a cart pulled by Brahmin filled with gecko, coyote, and bighorner. A quarter of a man's kill would be kept for his family, but the rest would be given to the town butcher to sell. The economy of New Canaan only worked so long as there were things to buy; food was a great commodity. Services came next; laundry, healthcare, weapons cleaning. But there wasn't much of a call for that. Of course, the trader came to town every few weeks or so. Penelope smiled to herself. Rebuilding Happy Trails Caravan Company had fulfilled her in a way she hadn't expected.

As the hunters drew closer, she heard the front door open. Leaning further out the window, she saw Sol running down the road, black hair bouncing in a ponytail as she giggled. One of the hunters leaned down and scooped her up, tucking her under his bandaged arm. Penelope smiled wider, her shoulders lowering.

Joshua raised a gauze-wrapped hand towards his wife, who waved back before clasping her hands together. Behind her, she heard a shuffling and a sniffle – Dinah was awake. Straightening, she stretched and started to think about dinner, all thoughts of the Mojave fading with the late afternoon heat.

. . .

Outside in the twilight, cicadas chirped a summer symphony. She sank further into the metal tub, eyes closed as she relished in the cool water. Hands massaged her shoulders, fingers dancing over the smattering of freckles and the scars from her past. She let out a small noise as they hit a particularly tight spot and they paused, momentarily, before a hand cupped her chin and brought her head up to a soft, warm kiss.

Penelope smiled through the kiss. The hands pulled away and dipped lower into the water; she broke away from him, eyes opening, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, now – I only just got the girls to sleep."

Joshua laughed from his seat by the tub before kissing her on the forehead. His bright blue eyes danced in the candlelight, having unwrapped the bandages from his head. Penelope began to stand, and he gave her the towel that was resting on his lap.

"Did the girls behave today?" he asked, helping her towel off her back. She nodded as she wrung water out of her long hair, grimacing at the weight.

"Sol is doing well at school, though she's still having some trouble with numbers." She pulled a long shirt off of the dresser of the bedroom and pulled it over her head before wrapping her hair in the towel. "Dinah is doing Dinah things. Mrs. Lopez had another stomachache scare with Tommy, and Harry came in for more of that healing poultice." She gave him a smile. "Today was quiet."

He lowered himself onto their bed – a gift from the local carpenter for when she first arrived in New Canaan – and put his hands on her waist, drawing her close. He pressed his face in her stomach, and she rested a hand on his head. They were silent, save for the cicadas.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

Penelope broke from his hold to remove the towel from her head and grab the brush from the dresser. She sat down beside him and draped her hair over her shoulder as she began to brush.

"Yes."

"You hesitated," he said, reaching up to hold her hand. She stopped brushing, lowering the brush.

"I'm happy to be with you, and the girls," she said. "I'm happy to be helping New Canaan rebuild and grow."

She stopped, and looked out the window, the guilt threatening to resurface.

"It's hard," he said, "to let go of the violence of our past. You know what it did to me."

"Yes," she said, "but I'm not like you. I should be able to let go. My life wasn't built around war. Just…"

"More than this?"

She nodded ruefully.

He lifted her legs onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her. "We can try to make things better for you," he said, his voice soft in her ear. "You could go with the hunters next time – or with the traders to New Vegas? When was the last time you went?"

Penelope hesitated, resting her head on Joshua's shoulder. His scarred and ridged face looked toward the window, where the sky was quickly turning from lavender to black, stars scattered like dust.

"And if something were to happen to me?" she said. "Sol and Dinah would have no mother. The town would have no doctor."

"Nothing bad would happen to you," he said. "You have survived far worse than a caravan ride to New Vegas. The last time we had a casualty was before you even arrived here. And perhaps it would be best to see your friends again – they haven't even seen Dinah, and she's almost two."

Penelope pulled away to search Joshua's face. "Would you be okay with it?" she asked.

"What I would be okay with," he said, "is for the love of my life to be happy. You are not a homemaker, despite your excellent dinners and wonderful parenting. You are an explorer and an adventurer who keeps a cool head, and who decided to settle with me, though the Lord knows I did not deserve it, repentant or no." He held her closer. "I want you to be happy, and if that means that I won't see you for a month or so out of the year, so be it."

She didn't break her gaze, but a smile crept over her face. "Alright then." She swept her legs so that she was straddling his lap and began to unbutton his shirt as she bent her head, lips brushing against his neck. He rested a hand on her waist, responding to her light kisses.

"We will talk about this…later," she murmured, and he smiled, lowering himself to the bed and submitting to the ministrations of his wife.

The next day, the letter arrived.