Exactly one week later, Jean-Luc marched up the front steps of Dr. Quaice's house with a youthful exuberance he had not felt in years. Inside, Beverly met him with a relaxed smile. Since the day was cloudy and not too hot, she had set out some lemonade and pie in the back yard, at a table with wicker chairs that Jack had built for Dalen and Patricia and set up in the shade of two tall trees.
"Well, this is very nice," Jean-Luc exclaimed, making himself comfortable in one of the chairs.
"I hope you like pecan pie." Beverly cut him a slice.
"I've never tried it."
Beverly froze. She shook her head in disbelief. "Jean-Luc, how long have you been living here? I can't believe Guinan hasn't made it for you yet. This is a serious gap in your education of the American South, which I intend to close immediately."
He took the plate from her and, with her watching, tasted a piece of the pie. "Mmm," he said. Seeing her eyes on him, he felt obligated to say more, even though the rich dessert, like so many other foods in his adopted country, was not to his taste. "What an . . . extraordinary taste. Really, quite different from anything I've ever eaten."
"You don't like it, do you?" Beverly said with mock hurt. She actually found his attempt to compliment her pie humorous, but she would not let on.
Jean-Luc sighed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Beverly, the pie is a very nice treat and I very much appreciate your making it for me. But, I prefer simple meals during the day, really."
Beverly smiled. "So do I. All right, next time, shortbread cookies it is."
Next time, he thought giddily. She wants me to come back again.
More at ease with one another, they discussed the books they had each read. As it had on that first evening they had met at dinner, the awkwardness that they initially felt when together melted into familiarity more easily than they could have accomplished if they had been thinking about it. Beverly was pleased to see herself in Beatrix and Jean-Luc believed he gained an insight into the Puritanism of America.
When the conversation finally hit a lull, Beverly reached into the grass under her chair and pulled out another book. "I thought you might enjoy reading a tale of the sea."
Jean-Luc read the jacket. "Moby Dick. This looks quite interesting."
In exchange, Jean-Luc gave Beverly The Hunchback of Notre Dame. "A French author. Trés fascinant."
Her use of his native tongue brought a smile to his face.
A tall young man approached them.
"Wesley!" Beverly lit up. "I'd like to introduce you to Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Captain Picard, my son Wesley."
Jean-Luc stood and firmly shook Wesley's hand. The thin youth looked a bit scared as he uttered, "Pleased to meet you, sir," impressing Jean-Luc with his manners.
"As I am pleased to meet you, Wesley."
For his part, Wesley felt partly astonished and, in huge part, intimidated. Dr. Quaice had told him about the new man in the county who had captured his mother's interest and she had coyly mentioned him as well. Wesley had strode across the yard intending to let the stranger know he would be looking out for his mother, in case the man had any improper designs on her. Now that he was standing in front of the captain, however, something about the older man silenced him.
"Why don't you join us?" Suddenly seized by the idea of having Jean-Luc become a role model for her son, Beverly gestured to the chair next to her.
"Um . . . ." Wesley looked at his mother's excited face and the modest smile on Captain Picard's face, which seemed to have drooped slightly since her invitation, and suddenly felt very awkward. "I have a lot to do. I have to run some errands for Miss Ro."
Jean-Luc's smile was revived. "Perhaps another time then."
"Yes! Wesley, the captain and I meet once a week to exchange books. You can join us next week."
"Um, okay. Um, have a good afternoon, sir. It was a pleasure to meet you." Wesley nodded and quickly retreated. He would have to talk to Dr. Quaice about this unusual man.
Jean-Luc nodded and sat back down, beginning to feel more comfortable. A bachelor, and an aging one at that, he had no idea what to say to young people. Truthfully, he had always felt uneasy around children. Watching Beverly smile at her son as he walked away, he glimpsed an insight into parenthood that he had never experienced.
"You're very proud of him, aren't you?"
"Yes. He's growing up to be such a fine young man."
"I can see that."
"Have you ever had any children?" Beverly regretted the very personal question as soon as she saw the marked change in Jean-Luc's countenance, as though a dark cloud were above him.
"Uh, no. The . . . the opportunity never presented itself." Jean-Luc had been caught off guard. He blanched at the thought of admitting his discomfort with children. More than that, looking at Beverly, he was unexpectedly gripped by the inappropriate desire to have children—with her. Perhaps it was time to leave, he thought, fidgeting. He picked up the book Beverly had given him and another he had brought.
"Oh, did you bring another book?" Seeing he was about to go, Beverly grabbed hold of an excuse to keep him there.
"Yes, I wasn't entirely sure if you would want to tackle the very lengthy Victor Hugo book or if you would prefer another of Shakespeare's plays."
"Jean-Luc, do you think I can't finish The Hunchback of Notre Dame in one week?"
Jean-Luc loved the expression on her face as she joked with him. "I didn't say that."
"You practically did."
She had him. Blushing, he stammered, "I, uh, well I know you can certainly read the book, if your duties allow. But, uh, to a certain extent, you have no control over the community's need for medical, uh, care . . . ."
The way that Jean-Luc was easily rattled, his confidence and knowledge melting into innocent embarrassment, endeared him to Beverly. She sighed and decided to ease up on him.
"Which play is that?"
"A Midsummer Night's Dream. Have you read it?"
"No, I haven't. Why don't you leave it here and I'll read it after I finish The Hunchback."
It was Jean-Luc's turn to claim the advantage. "If you're going to be that busy reading all week, I certainly hope that I don't fall off a horse in the next several days."
"Very funny. If you do injure yourself, I promise I'll try very hard to pull myself away from my reading."
They chatted amiably for a while longer, then reached a break in the conversation. Worried that he might leave, Beverly was struck by inspiration. "I know! Jean-Luc, why don't you read some of the play?"
"What?"
"A Midsummer Nights' Dream. Why don't you read it aloud?"
The idea intrigued Jean-Luc. Although he had never read Shakespeare out loud to another person, it seemed a very intimate thing to do, as infatuated as he was with the language. Truthfully, he was glad for an excuse to linger in Beverly's company. He looked into her eyes, dancing and merry. He returned her smile, beguiling and inviting. He would have done anything she asked of him.
"Very well." He opened the book. "Act I, scene I."
. . .
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste—
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
So the boy Love is perjured everywhere.
. . .
Although she had noticed his powerful baritone voice the evening they had met, Beverly had never felt quite so aroused by it as when he began to read the rich words of the Bard. A perfect marriage of written word and sonorous speech, Jean-Luc's reading led her into its arms and held her close as it danced with her. Listening to him, she felt privy to a part of his soul, laid bare only for her to see. She vowed to take it to her breast and keep it safe.
Jean-Luc felt increasingly intoxicated as he read to Beverly. Having begun quietly, unsure, his voice increased in volume and confidence as he continued. The magical words of his favorite author empowered him and he felt that he was sharing some very private part of himself with Beverly and, more so, that he wanted to share it with her.
Their delicate relationship blossomed through their weekly book exchanges and the occasional dinner at the Picard residence. Marie and Dalen enjoyed the unexpected happiness of those close to them, but kept their romance secret. Marie knew that her brother-in-law was a very private person. Dalen simply wanted to protect Beverly from the gossiping hens of the county.
One sultry day, the four of them embarked on a three-hour carriage ride to see a brass band concert. Jean-Luc and Beverly sat next to each other in front, not at all self-conscious, chatting as amiably as old friends. From the back seat, Marie and Dalen could not see their companions occasionally holding one another's hands, physical contact that sparked electricity through each of them. The glances and smiles they shared were full of affection.
Guinan had packed a picnic lunch that they spread out on a blanket on the lawn before the concert. While Jean-Luc could not hide his unflattering opinion of the American composers, he did enjoy the European waltzes and light classics. The four of them discussed the music knowledgably and felt its soothing effect. On the way home in the carriage, Beverly leaned against Jean-Luc's shoulder and soon fell asleep. Her contented sighs hinted at sweet dreams.
Jean-Luc reflected that, apart from his early ocean voyages, many years hence, he had never felt more at peace in his entire life.
Beverly enjoyed sewing and she liked spending time with Marie Picard and Deanna Troi. But for those two reasons, she wondered why she attended the Ladies Auxiliary Sewing Circle. The rest of the women talked about things that did not interest her, such as idle gossip, and some of them frankly grated on her.
It was common for the women with the strongest personalities and weakest personal censors to dominate the conversation, Lwaxanna Troi being among the foremost of these. Alynna Nechayev and Vash DeLancie tended to sneakily hijack the discussion and change the atmosphere of the group. Kate Pulaski and Nella Darren were quieter and rarely brought up a topic that interested Beverly, although Nella did share Beverly's love of music. Ro Laren did not always attend, but even when she did, she was aloof. When she was absent, the others talked about her.
As it happened, the Thursday after Dalen's and her trip to the symphony with the Picards, Marie sent her regrets, in a short note stating that she had business to attend to related to Robert's estate and the plantation. Some of the women considered this a happy coincidence as it enabled them to sink their claws into Marie's newly arrived brother-in-law.
"Have you all met Captain Jean-Luc Picard?" Lwaxanna started off.
All of the women, except Ro, who shook her head, and Beverly, who remained silent, indicated they had. Deanna gave Beverly a curious look.
"Well, I found him quite standoffish," Kate said. "Not nearly as friendly and personable as his brother was, may he rest in peace. In fact, I found him to be rather rude or, at best, ill-at-ease. I assumed he was well-bred, but I didn't see much evidence of it."
"Yes, yes, he's terribly awkward, I'm afraid," Lwaxanna commiserated. "Apart from the expected pleasantries, he didn't converse much."
"But, he is cute," Vash purred. She looked around the circle for reactions. Alynna kept her poker face, but Nella blushed. Kate looked slightly alarmed, as though worried at the thought that she might have competition. Deanna smirked.
"Oh, yes." Lwaxanna threaded a needle as she talked. "He's very handsome and he definitely has a European savoir faire."
"What did you think of him, Deanna?" Vash asked pointedly. "As a single woman, I know you must have paid a call on him, with your mother, of course."
"Of course." Deanna was nonplussed. Her confidence always impressed Beverly. "He showed good manners, in my opinion, but he did give the impression that he didn't want to spend much time with us." She paused to complete a stitch. "Overall, I thought Captain Picard was very polite, somewhat handsome, and . . . fatherly." She gave Vash a look that should have ended her line of inquiry.
It did not. "Don't tell me you're not interested in him. A rich landowner, with a gorgeous house. A dashing French naval captain who looks more virile than his years would suggest."
"Vash, please!" Kate was the one blushing now.
"I agree!" Exasperated, Lwaxanna set her sewing on her lap. "I told Deanna, if he's not interested in me, then he's simply got to be attracted to her. My daughter has an otherworldly beauty. I thought for sure . . . ." She sighed in frustration.
"From my brief conversation with him, I gathered that he seems much more interested in the business of the plantation than in women," Alynna observed without judgment. It occurred to Beverly that Alynna might find that trait attractive.
"What about you, Nella?" Vash turned her critical gaze to the other single woman known to be seeking a husband.
Nella promptly stabbed herself with a needle. "I, oh, uh, I did meet the captain," she flustered. "He was very nice. Well, I only spoke with him for a short time. He had some work to do." The women looked at her expectantly. "But he didn't seem interested in me."
"Hmm," Vash mused, "that is interesting. All our fine ladies turned out to meet the captain but he didn't bite." Kate blanched at the metaphor. "What about you, Laren Ro? Did you go to meet your neighbor?"
Without lifting her eyes from her work, Ro answered in a bored tone. "Since I live near him, I'm not in any particular hurry. I thought I'd wait until the carriage traffic died down some." She said the last with a sideways glance at her companions.
Her slightly veiled insult did not offend Vash. "You're never in a hurry to meet single gentlemen, it seems."
"No, I'm not," Miss Ro answered simply, continuing her work.
"Better be careful, or you'll end up a spinster like Beverly."
"Well, if I do, I hope that I'm as beautiful and as good a seamstress as Beverly." At Ro's remark, all eyes turned to the ruffle that Beverly was attaching to a dress. Ro looked up to catch her attention. "You always do such fine, delicate work with a needle. It's very impressive."
"Thank you," Beverly said simply, looking at her admirer a second longer than necessary. Although she did not know Miss Ro well, and the biracial woman was sometimes abrasive, Beverly liked how she did not let herself be bullied. She hoped that the younger woman saw her gratitude for deflecting Vash's insult in that look.
"It does seem odd, though, that a man like that, so attractive and wealthy, never married," Lwaxanna said.
"Mother, don't forget, he was at sea for many years," Deanna commented.
Vash smiled. "So, there were women—"
"Vash, please!" Kate huffed.
"Undoubtedly," Alynna contributed.
"We don't know that." Nella sounded offended on Jean-Luc's behalf. Everyone looked at her. "Well, we don't. We don't know what he did while he was in the French navy."
This remark elicited a rare smile from Alynna. Vash laughed outright.
"Oh, dear," Lwaxanna patted Nella's wrist, "you're so adorably naïve."
"I think that means we do know," Ro said.
"Maybe so, but we don't have to talk about it!" Kate threw her sewing violently into her lap.
After a pause, all the women laughed.
"Well, I can't wait to see who he ends up with in our little county." Vash closed out the subject of Captain Picard and the ladies went on to discuss other people.
Beverly breathed a silent sigh of relief. Eyes down, she noted that none of the women included her in their speculation, not even Vash, as she sized up the competition. Apparently, she was viewed as an incurable "spinster" by the gentle folk of the county. As she sewed, she reflected that she could not really blame anyone for classifying her that way. She had turned away so many suitors when she was younger that local men no longer bothered to woo her. Occasional visitors who needed medical attention might express an interest, but she avoided travelers. She had not intended to remain alone the rest of her days, but she had never found a man whom she found attractive physically and intellectually.
Until she met Jean-Luc Picard. The way the women described him, he was some kind of uncouth, socially awkward woman-hater. Her experiences with him could not have been more different. What did it mean? She did not dare believe that she was special to him, although that was her secret hope, a hope buried so deeply within her that she scarcely dare admit it to herself. She had no idea what it would be like to be with a man again and the thought terrified her as much as it intrigued her.
Jean-Luc. She felt her body grow warm at the mere thought of him. Seating her at the table. Watching her during dinner. Speaking French. Talking about his passions, the sea and stars, literature and archaeology. Touching her hand on the lemonade glass. Reading to her in her backyard. Kissing her hand. Holding her hand in the carriage. Providing a strong shoulder for her to lean, and sleep, on. Even without a looking glass, she sensed her cheeks and neck had gotten very pink. The other women chatted away, not noticing.
A moment later, Beverly ventured a look up and saw Deanna staring at her.
"Mother, are those the invitations?"
"Yes, little one." Lwaxanna sat at her desk, wiggling a colorful feather pen as she finished her afternoon's task. "I'm just writing the last one. I'm going to invite Miss Ro to be courteous, although I'm sure she won't come."
Deanna sat down on a chaise and sifted through the envelopes bearing her mother's calligraphy. "I don't see one here for Beverly Crusher."
"Oh, Beverly's a lovely woman, but you know she doesn't like to attend these things," Lwaxanna said without looking up. "She always seems so uncomfortable when the men try to seek her favor. I think it's kinder to not invite her."
"That's thoughtful of you—"
"I know."
"—but I think that we should invite Beverly. She's a friend of mine, after all, and this will give me a chance to spend some time with her."
Lwaxanna sat up and turned to her daughter. "Little one, I'm not having this barbecue so you can socialize with your lady friends. I'm having it so that you can find a man. Preferably, a French man with a large plantation."
Deanna sighed loudly.
"Oh, how nice!" Marie exclaimed as she read the invitation on the verandah.
"Mm, what's that?" Poring over the legal documents J.P. Hanson had delivered that morning, Jean-Luc barely listened to his sister-in-law.
"We're invited to a barbecue."
The strange word caught his attention. "What is a bar-be-cue?" He asked without looking up.
Marie smiled. "It's a party, an all-day event. We eat first, plenty of pork and chicken cooked on the spit over the barbecue pit. Then the ladies nap while the men congregate in the smoking parlor for drinks and cigars, and afterward, there's a ball, with dancing. Of course, as I've been in mourning, I haven't attended any social events this season."
Marie's description sounded entirely unappealing to Jean-Luc, from the unappetizing food to the threat of dancing. He wondered if he had fulfilled his social obligations by meeting with all the county residents already. "Marie, I don't know if I would want to attend." He tried to raise the topic gingerly.
"Oh, you have to."
"I do? Why?"
"It's being held in your honor."
Merde, Jean-Luc thought, the content of the legal papers in front of him suddenly leaving his mind.