"Tsai Clare, you are causing excessive confusion among the women of this household."
Tuvoth accosted Clare with this accusation about a month after her arrival.
"Well, turn-about is fair play," Clare retorted playfully. "I've been on a first-name basis with confusion ever since I got here." Then, seeing that Tuvoth was in earnest—even more so than usual-she added, "Just kidding, Tuvoth. Humans do that. What's the problem?"
Tuvoth was insistent. "You appear to eat heartily enough at meals, yet T'Vikka informs me that on two separate occasions, you have indicated a concern that the kitchen is understaffed. This must logically reflect some dissatisfaction with the preparations."
In that instant, T'Vikka's chilly refusals of help made sense. Clare felt a little thrill of relief. "I was offering to help because I wanted to learn how you cook," she hastened to explain. "Back home, I used to love cooking for my family. I thought maybe I could do the same thing here, some of the time."
Tuvoth considered this, then said, "Ah, this was an example of your imprecise human communication? The human tendency toward oblique expressions is well documented. You have generally been straightforward with us, Tsai Clare, but I see that we must learn to be alert for some degree of indirectness on your part." Clare, who was beginning to distinguish the nuances of Vulcan expression, thought she detected satisfaction in his voice. "Very well, then," he continued, "I shall tell T'Vikka that there has been a misunderstanding. Thank you for clarifying this. We meet so few offworlders in this region. We haven't yet had time to become familiar with all your ways."
"But Sorik is part human," objected Clare.
"Sorik has always followed the Vulcan way, and there is none of us now living who can remember his mother. You are the first opportunity this household has had to observe one of your kind at close quarters. I look forward to learning more about your most interesting species."
Boy, are these people ever literal, thought Clare. But she couldn't help feeling that she had just made an important breakthrough. Further, Tuvoth had acknowledged as a member of "an interesting species," which was probably a compliment, considering the source. Maybe things were starting to look up.
That day, when it was time to start the evening meal, Clare gathered up her courage and sallied into the kitchen once again. T'Vikka was there with Linavil, who was standing at an awkward angle to the counter in order to accommodate her bulging abdomen. Judging from the mound of sliced cactus fruits on the counter and the large jug of vinegar nearby, the women were engaged in pickle-making. "I'd like to learn how to make Vulcan meals," Clare announced. "Besides, Linavil, you look like you could use a rest. Let me help out."
Tuvoth must have told T'Vikka about Clare's desire to cook, for T'Vikka merely nodded with no sign of surprise and said, "You would be most welcome to assist, Tsai Clare."
Linavil added, "I am well, but I too would welcome your assistance."
Clare was so pleased that she forgot about being calm. "Really? That's wonderful! I love cooking! I mean-" Recalling the Andorian crews' warnings about emotional displays, she tried to rein in her enthusiasm."Sorry to sound so gushy, but I really do love to cook. I hope it's not rude for me to sound a little emotional about things sometimes. All it means is that I really care."
"The people of your world are known for their open displays of emotion," said T'Vikka, moving over to make a place for Clare at the counter. "It would be illogical for us to expect you to act otherwise."
"Nor do we find you rude," added Linavil. She pushed a knife and a basket full of uncut fruits toward Clare. "The presence of an offworlder in this house is by no means as burdensome as one might have expected."
"Indeed," said T'Vikka, "We have found you to be most adaptable."
Clare was elated. Now that she was more familiar with Vulcan understatement, she chalked their comments up as the equivalent of, "No problem! We like you!" Yes, things were definitely looking up.
That was a turning point for Clare. Being welcomed into the kitchen made her feel as if she were, if not quite a member of the immediate family, then at least a member of the same team. T'Vikka and the other women oversaw her introduction to Vulcan cooking and their ways of gardening. The older children taught her some of their simpler games of logic, and she taught them some basic knitting. She was particularly pleased on one unseasonably cool evening (cool to the Vulcans, not to Clare) to see one of the boys sporting a pair of wool wrist-warmers he had made for himself under her direction. Tuvoth's oldest son, Kovol, tried to teach her to play the Vulcan lyre as well, but Clare had never been much of a musician. She sheepishly gave up the attempt after deciding that the harmonic valves were too much to master without growing an extra hand or two.
Sometimes T'Vikka or one of the other women took her to the city's open-air markets, where she learned to haggle, Vulcan style, for produce. ("You appear to have a surplus of plomeek. It would be logical for you to reduce your asking price.") Clare also purchased gifts from the market to send back home. There were a fossilized Vulcan fern for Tom's curio cabinet, embroidered veils that Giovanna and Emilia could wear as shoulder wraps over their sundresses, and for Lizzie, a necklace with an amber pendant shaped like a baby sehlat.
Clare was, as T'Vikka had said, proving herself adaptable. Of course there were setbacks, such as when Clare made jokes that fell flat, but on the whole her place within the household was becoming more and more comfortable. Clare herself didn't realize how far she had come, until one day while she was answering a letter from Sonny Clemonds, who had written from Risa to tell her about a gig his band was playing there. In her reply, she found herself referring to Sorik's family as "my kids here on Vulcan." Vulcan was finding its way into her heart.
As Sorik recovered his strength, Clare was able to spend more and more time with him. One of many surprises awaiting her on Vulcan was the fact that she and Donald had always been known to Sorik's family by name, thanks to the efforts of Claire Pertwee's father. James Pertwee had been an enthusiastic genealogist. When Claire Pertwee left the planet of her birth, her father had made sure that she carried a copy of the family tree.
During one one of their talks after dinner, Sorik surprised Clare by asking, "Are you happy among us?"
"You're like nothing I could have imagined," said Clare, "but every now and then, there are things that make me feel like I almost belong here. I love the way your people respect things that are beautiful and old. I like the way people listen to me, like what I have to say really matters. At first it was hard when everyone seemed so distant and cold, but now it feels more like a gift. It's like being granted..." she searched for the right words, "...emotional privacy, I guess you could call it." She fought down the memory of how Professor Tom had published parts of her private memoir for all his colleagues to read. "It wasn't always like that on earth."
"You guard your words carefully when you speak of your life in Indianapolis," said Sorik, "but I and the other family elders suspect that you left your own planet because you were no longer at ease there. I cannot know how much time is left to me, but you would still have a place here even after I am gone. Perhaps you would stay, and embrace the serenity which we find in logic."
"Give up my emotions?" Clare sat back and shook her head with finality. "No, Sorik. My emotions are me. They're what made me the woman Donald loved. They're what made me come looking for you. I could never give up who I really am. Maybe I could stay, but the only reason I could, is that I'm not one of you."
Sorik tilted his head questioningly. "I do not understand your logic."
"What I mean is that I expected to fit in with Prof... with my relatives on earth. That was family. The grandson I lived with even looked like Donald. So when I couldn't fit in, it didn't make sense. It hurt." She looked at Sorik to see if he was following. When he nodded, she continued. "But here, I knew you'd all be aliens. I knew there would always be gaps that could never be bridged. At first it was rough getting used to them, and sometimes it still is. But now it's okay if I never completely fit in."
"You would find it acceptable to remain an outsider?" asked Sorik. "Why?"
"Because," Clare said quietly, "it's easier to accept that you'll always be different, when there's a reason why you really are."
"Ahhh," said Sorik, understanding at last. He stared silently into space for a long time, seeing something that was hidden to Clare's eyes. The ghosts of several emotions flickered across his face, barely discernible. He did not speak again until his control was perfect.
"Claire Pertwee died when I was very young. It is not logical to prolong one's grief, but I have often considered it a most unfortunate loss. It is difficult to lose one's mother at such an early age."
"That's how Eddie must have felt," Clare murmured.
"Yes. I always believed that I had much in common with your son. We both lost our mothers much too early. They say your son never truly recovered from losing his mother at such a young age." He paused. "Nor, I believe, did I."
"You mother must have been amazing, to pull up stakes and move to a whole new world. I wish I could have known her."
"My memories of her are few, but still strong. Do you wish me to share them with you?"
"I'd love it!" Clare brightened. "Do you have a scrapbook or something?"
Sorik raised his eyebrows, looking almost amused. "I was offering to share my memories directly. Allow me to join my mind to yours."
"Directly?" Clare was taken aback. She hesitated-and probably blushed, besides-recalling various private opinions and fantasies that she wasn't eager to share with a man, different species or advanced age notwithstanding.
Sorik seemed to guess the reason for her reluctance. "It will be as if you had invited me into your house," he reassured her. "I will only go into those rooms where I am welcome, and I will not rummage through the drawers or cupboards."
Who had ever said Vulcans didn't have a sense of humor?
"I must place my hand against your face," he said. Clare pulled her chair closer to his and leaned in so he could reach her more easily. Sorik spread his fingers across her cheek and temple, feeling for the nerve points. "My mind to your mind..."
As the meld took hold, Clare felt the boundaries dissolving between her own awareness and Sorik's. Sorik's memories were becoming her own. Suddenly she, Clare, was a little boy on Vulcan, sitting in a desert garden and sifting the fine red sand through his hands. Its heat felt good in his hands. His younger sister, T'Rul, crouched next to him, patting out pies of wet sand and decorating them with seed pods. Across the courtyard, a tall, athletic woman with a cheerful face was vigorously sweeping the porch steps. Her blond hair was cropped short, and she wore a shopkeeper's apron over a Vulcan-style tunic and a pair of blue jeans. Claire Pertwee hummed a little tune as she worked. When she finished sweeping, she set the broom aside, dusted off her hands, and flashed Sorik a sunny smile, the same smile that Clare Raymond saw every day in the mirror. Claire Pertwee called out to Sorik, "Ricky, bring Tillie in now and get both of you washed up. Grandpa Tuvik will be here soon."
The images in Clare's mind shifted and re-formed. Now Claire Pertwee's own memories were opening up like a flower. Clare Raymond became Claire Pertwee, a laughing, adventuresome girl who loved her alien husband and his people as much for their serene outward behavior as for the fiery natures they hid within. There were scenes from the other Claire's girlhood on earth, of Christmas trees, of her first taste of baklava in the spaceport cantina at the Martian colonies when her parents went there on sabbatical, of James Pertwee's mother reminiscing, "When my Grandpa Eddie was your age..."
Clare sensed Sorik's voice inside her mind. These are the memories that my mother shared when she melded with my father, which my father passed on to me. Then Clare began unfolding her own memories to Sorik, showing him the humans from so long ago whose genes he carried within. In a breathtaking panorama, Clare could see her parents and grandparents, and of all her children—Donald's children, Eddie's children, all the humans and all the Vulcans-as links in a chain of life forged across the stars: forged of logic, and blood, and love.
