It was early summer in Idaho and seasonably warm when a peculiar change came over Nathan Blom. Spock's handsome nephew, D'Gar, had recently graduated with honors from Starfleet Academy in Phoenix and received a choice starship assignment with his fellow standout ensign, Jean-Luc Picard. Nathan and Tess had attended D'Gar's commencement, and afterward Earth's entire S'chn T'gai clan converged at T'Beth's home in nearby Scottsdale for some family time.
Nathan always dreaded those gatherings. His own family consisted of his sister Lydia and their elderly mother, who worried about what they ate and did not get around much anymore. Though his work often brought him into contact with celebrities, his friends were just ordinary people. He had married Spock's daughter, Tess, in spite of her relatives and he did not regret it, but it troubled him that so many members of her family were outstanding. Now even young D'Gar had overcome an unsavory background and exceeded all expectations. For Nathan, it was an unhappy day, for he felt utterly worthless by comparison, and back home he could not seem to shake the feeling.
As the week wore on, Tess noticed a difference in him—the way he woke up without his usual vitality, the way he dragged himself to his workshop and came home with no energy for the children…or for anything else.
The weekend came. Eight-year-old Adele and little Nate were out in the backyard, playing in the sunshine. Nathan sat at the kitchen table, slowly eating a liverwurst sandwich on rye bread, his brow creased with worry. Across the table, Tess was about to ask what was on his mind when a light came into his eyes and he plopped his sandwich down on his plate, next to the cole slaw.
Full of excitement, he said, "Photography! That's the thing, and I know just where to start. Pack up the kids, Tess. We're going to camp on Mount Shasta!"
Tess was perplexed. This did not sound like the steady, predictable Nathan who thought out everything carefully, even before spreading mayonnaise on his bread. "But honey…"
"We'll rent a skimmer," he enthused, "and fly up above the snow line. Think of the vistas! All we need is a tent, some sleeping bags, and—" Suddenly he broke off. "Tess, where's the good camera?"
Adele had walked into the room and stood listening intently. Her brow furrowed just like her father's when he fretted. "Mount Shasta? But Daddy, that a volcano; it's not safe."
Nathan rolled his eyes. "Did you hear the child? 'It's not safe', she says, like a little old woman. Addie, have you ever heard of adventure?" Taking her onto his lap, he extolled the natural wonders of California, or at least what remained of the state since its lowlands crumbled into the Pacific Ocean. Space was no longer the final frontier. California—that was the place of mystery, now that the ground had stopped quaking. Sure, there was still some lava flowing, but think how beautiful it would be, all laid out in a book. "Picture this," he finished with an expansive gesture. "Mount Shasta: A Photo Journal, by Nathan Henry Blom."
Caught up in her father's dream, Adele gave him an adoring smile, but Tess had serious misgivings about the whole venture. Nevertheless, on the following Tuesday they set up camp on snowy Mount Shasta, right near an active lava field. Adele turned queasy from the altitude and stood about miserably on numbing feet while Nathan rushed around in high spirits, setting up "splendid" camera shots. In the morning, he cooked sourdough pancakes over an open fire, but the smell was too much for Addie's stomach, and she ran for the trees. By now, little Nate's cheeks were severely chapped from the cold, and both children pleaded to go home.
That night, their father relented. After boarding the rented skimmer, he circled the sluggish orange rivers of glowing lava and captured a spectacular series of photographs, but upon returning home, the camera malfunctioned and corrupted the entire Mount Shasta file. Crushed by the loss, he retreated back into a somber mood. The depression affected his immune system, and he came down with a virus that kept him in bed for two days. Even after he got up, he felt too sick for work, and left his shop in the trusted hands of his assistant. On the following Saturday, he was well enough to go to Temple, and took Addie with him. He came home in a fresh state of enthusiasm. The Temple cantor was resigning, and Rabbi Schuster would audition anyone interested in taking over the position.
Nathan adored sacred music and had a pleasant enough singing voice, but the last of the virus had stubbornly lodged in his throat. The more he tried to sing, the worse it became, until he was reduced to a hoarse whisper that hung on for a month.
The day after the rabbi hired a new cantor, Nathan's voice cleared. It was a painful turn of events, but when Tess sympathized with him, he told her that it was nothing. Though his mouth smiled, there was no fooling her. She saw the sorrow in his eyes.
Nathan was a kind, thoughtful husband and a caring father, but he was not acting like the man Tess had married. All summer he embarked on a series of creative ventures—painting, sculpting, and writing sonnets—all doomed for lack of talent.
Autumn came. It was by nature a restless season, a season of profound change, and it wore on Nathan until he turned uncharacteristically irritable, quarreling with Tess and snapping at the children. It seemed to him that he could do nothing right. Then one day a tremendous cloudburst caught him riding home on his bicycle. While drenched to the skin, a daring a new idea came to him, but this time he did not confide in Tess right away. He thought long and hard before summoning the courage to tell her about his latest and best plan.
They were in their bedroom, preparing to retire, when Tess said to him, "You've seemed happier lately. I'm so glad you're feeling better."
It was Nathan's cue. With pounding heart, he turned to her. "Tess. I have something wonderful to tell you."
As he watched the color drain from her face, it cut him to the core, for it meant that she no longer trusted him. Bracing against the pain, he said, "Oh, sweetheart. I've been a little erratic, I know. It's taken me a while to put my finger on the real problem." He paused and drew a slow breath. "Well, here it is, in a nutshell. I'm tired of being a shoemaker. I want to make a fresh start in life." She just stared at him, so he rushed on, trying his hardest to sound optimistic. "First off, I'm turning the workshop over to a manager. Then we'll need to raise some money, so we'll sell your little music studio and take out a big loan. Now listen to this. We're going to open an accredited academy of music, right here in Pinehaven." Her eyes bored into him. "I know it sounds a little brash and crazy, but I've been talking to your brother Simon and his wife Dane. They're both marvelous musicians, and they think it might be feasible with the proper handling."
Tess was dead silent.
"You know how I love music," he added. Early in their marriage he had taken up the piano again, hoping that he had developed more aptitude than when he was a boy. For almost a year he had practiced hard, but even little Adele could play better.
"Tess," he pleaded.
Faintly she said, "Sell off the studio…? My studio?"
Nathan ventured a step closer, as if proximity might make his argument more persuasive. "Not just the studio. Eventually I'll sell my workshop, too. Imagine, Tess. Our own academy of music."
Tess broke free of her shock and found that she was angry, deeply angry with her husband for the very first time. Putting her hands on her hips, she cried, "Sell the shoe factory! Nathan Henry Blom, what has gotten into you?"
Faced with her opposition, his fragile hopes went crashing. "Tess…sweetheart…any replicator can make a pair of shoes."
"Not like yours, it can't! Fine shoemaking is even more than a craft. It's a true art—at least the way you do it."
He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oy vey! Making shoes…an art. The Blom label is nothing more than a status symbol for the rich."
"Oh, Nathan." Her voice had lost its angry edge. "It's much more than a status symbol. It's the love you put into them, the skill, the pride. You're a born shoemaker. Your father was a shoemaker before you, and his father before him. The Bloms have made shoes for over 200 years."
His shoulders slumped. "But that's just it. Don't you see?"
Tess came and stood right before him. Softly she said, "What, Nathan? What should I see?"
He couldn't look her in the eye. Gazing sidelong at their tufted bedspread, he explained, "When I was a little boy, I wanted to be a great musician, but I didn't have the talent. Nate and Addie will have their dreams, too. Maybe they'll want to join Starfleet like your cousin D'Gar. They'll look at me…at my shop…and think that their simple old man is an embarrassing throwback."
At last Tess understood why Nathan had behaved so strangely since D'Gar's commencement. With tears welling, she asked, "Is that how you felt about your father?"
Ashamed, he nodded. "There was a time…"
Gently Tess touched his cheek. "Oh honey, there comes a time when practically all children think their parents are embarrassing. But Addie and Nate are nice Jewish kids. They'll grow out of it, and one of them might just inherit your talent and love for the family business."
The wise, caring words brought sudden clarity to Nathan's mind. It was true, he did love making shoes. He loved the feel and the smell of fine leather as he worked it into a finished product that delighted his customers. In a way, it was rather like sculpting, with each shoe a creative, satisfying work of art. He had never before thought of shoemaking as a God-given talent.
"You're right," he said in amazement. He felt blessed to have a wife who was not only beautiful, but also understood him so well. Taking Tess into his arms, he held her close to his heart. And that night, their sleep was untroubled.
In the morning, Nathan rose in a cheery, energetic mood. Putting on his work clothes, he cycled through the leaf-strewn streets to his workshop, where back orders were stacking up. At closing time, he came home and devoured the pot roast that Tess had cooked slowly all afternoon, so the house would be full of its good aroma. And sitting there with his peaceful little family, he could not help but smile, for he was the luckiest man in the world.
oooOOooo