Q paced the floor of his ostentatiously decorated parlor. "If they're not interested in the land or the money, and they're not in love—"
"We don't know that for sure," Vash interjected from her perch on a sofa. "That's just Marie's opinion."
Q stopped. "But we have no reason to question her judgment. She knows the man better than anyone. She lives with him."
"All right, then what are they doing if you've ruled out business and sex?"
Q returned to pacing, a habit he rather enjoyed while he thought. "What do we know about Captain Picard's sentiments?"
"His what?"
"The good captain spent some time in the North, didn't he, before he arrived here?"
Vash sighed, bored with her husband's ramblings. She would much rather have talked about what Kyle Riker was up to. "He was in the French navy. He spent some time everywhere before he settled here."
"Including the North."
"What are you getting at?"
Q sat next to her, for emphasis. "I think that the mysterious and worldly Jean-Luc Picard is an abolitionist."
Vash was shocked. "No. That's not possible. Living right here with us? He's Robert Picard's brother, for heaven's sake, and Robert was certainly not one of those." She could hardly bring herself to say the word.
"Yes, but they weren't very close brothers, were they? Did he ever visit Robert? Did Robert ever mention him?" Q knew the answers to his questions were negative.
His wife went on. "You're forgetting that he harvested a cotton crop this year just like everyone else and made a hefty profit off slave labor. That doesn't sound like an abolitionist to me."
Q sat back on the pillows and folded his arms across his chest. There were some holes in his theory, he admitted to himself.
Vash continued. "What do you think he's up to? Printing pamphlets? I'm sure if he tried to print anything in town, we'd know about it. Trying to win people over to his side? Could he be having clandestine meetings without us knowing?"
"Not likely."
"And what about Laren Ro? How does she fit into your conspiracy theory?"
Q came to life. "A-ha, she's the only part that does fit. Her father was an abolitionist from China. What if the daughter plans to carry out her father's crazy plan to free his slaves?"
"If she were going to free her slaves, wouldn't she have done so a long time ago and packed up and left? Why would she stay here, where she's clearly not happy, just to wait around for some foreigner to come and print anti-slavery pamphlets with her?"
Q perched a fist at his lips and thought. "I didn't say I had it completely figured out. But I'm getting there."
Vash smiled. She so loved his devious mind. "Why don't you let that conspiracy theory percolate a little bit and let me tell you all about someone's visit to Kyle Riker's house last Sunday afternoon?"
It was Q's turn to become bored. He rolled his eyes. "Let me guess—Kate Pulaski?"
"No, not Kate," his wife purred.
Now, Q was intrigued.
Fall turned to Winter. With a chill in the air, Beverly and Dalen treated several people with seasonal common cold complaints. They worried about the more serious occurrences of influenza, which cropped up here and there. They delivered babies and repaired broken limbs. The brown leaves fell off the trees and the ground grew hard.
Dalen's heart was breaking as he watched the woman he loved like a daughter suffer. Beverly had become quiet, closed up. Never much of a party-goer, she stopped socializing altogether. Now and then, Marie or Deanna visited her, but she never ventured out into the country unless it was for a medical call. He never heard her teasing voice, her soft laugh. She had lost weight and her typically slender frame appeared waiflike.
From time to time, Dalen saw Jean-Luc Picard in town. Sometimes, with Miss Ro. The Frenchmen nodded from a distance and Dalen always nodded back, mindful of his manners. His upbringing and decades of equanimity prevented him from striking Jean-Luc, as he sorely wished to do. A few times, he had considered approaching Jean-Luc and asking him to explain what the hell he was doing, but he always stopped himself. A part of him dreaded hearing that Jean-Luc had simply grown tired of Beverly or found Miss Ro more attractive. Besides, if he knew the truth, Dalen would have to keep it from Beverly to spare her more pain and he did not like the idea of keeping secrets from her. No, better to never ask.
Christmas Day was the day after a heavy rain and the population of the county filled the church with the spirit of the season and happiness at seeing the sun. Only two families brought a cloudiness inside. Dalen, Beverly and Wesley had arrived early and sat near the front. It was Beverly's tactical maneuver, to avoid even seeing the Picards. Lwaxanna and Deanna sat next to them, both women making a fuss over Beverly before the service began.
Try as she might, however, Beverly could feel little positive emotion. She gripped Wesley's hand during the service and gave him a smile, silently thanking him for being a rock of support during the last half of this year—a year that had begun ominously, with the tragic death of friends, soared dizzyingly with the passion of love, then tumbled rapidly, to the depths of lonely despair. She looked at Dalen and sent him thoughts of thanks as well. Without his wordless affection and steady mentorship, she would have floundered even more through her ordeal and she knew it. Beverly resolved to resume the holiday baking she had foregone this year after dinner that very afternoon. It was time to end her self-pity, she decided, and take care of the people in her life as they had taken care of her.
Several rows behind Beverly, Jean-Luc sat sandwiched uncomfortably between Marie and Miss Ro, the former not deigning to speak to the latter after a strained greeting. Not a regular attendee, Jean-Luc found his mind wandering during the sermon, to most unwelcome places. He could not help but be mesmerized by a rare opportunity to gaze upon the woman he loved, even if it was only her back. Beverly's beautiful red hair had been curled and pinned up in a modest hairstyle, exposing her alabaster neck. Her dress was a rich, dark green velvet. When she turned to look at Dalen, he glimpsed her face, which looked surprisingly thin, her high cheekbone emphasized. Even at a distance, he could see sadness in her eyes, instead of the merriment he remembered.
Thoughts of Beverly had not been as comforting as he had hoped. In the somber setting, next to Marie, wiping tears away throughout the service in her black velvet, Jean-Luc began to mourn the loss of his brother and nephew. René, a young man who had not had a chance to build his own life, see the world or fall in love. His premature death was so unfair. Robert, the formidable presence in his life, even when apart. The solid older brother who would always be there to knock him down, figuratively, and sometimes, literally. The two men were so different and so distant. Jean-Luc had never contemplated a time when Robert would be gone and he would never be able to reconcile with him, to tell him that he loved him. The weight of their deaths sank on to Jean-Luc's tired shoulders and threatened his composure. He felt his lower lip tremble, but with measured breaths and closed eyes, feigning religious ardor, he carefully returned his emotions to the old armoire where he hid them and secured the door.
Eventually, the sermon ended. Standing quickly, J.P. Hanson turned to leave and noticed his friend. "Merry Christmas, Jean-Luc, Marie. Merry Christmas, Miss Ro."
On the other side of the small church, Q heard the name and watched the exchange, noticing an awkwardness about the captain. As Vash and he rose, he called out loudly, "A Merry Christmas to our newest neighbor, Captain Picard! Or should I say, Joyeux Noel?"
This had the desired effect of turning all heads to look at the Picards. All but one. As if nothing unusual had happened during the year to estrange him from them, as if they had been friends who regularly smoked and hunted together, each of the men of the county shook Jean-Luc's hand and delivered holiday greetings. He hesitantly reciprocated.
Having been thus engaged, Jean-Luc took it upon himself to also speak with the ladies who filed out of the church. They were eager to hug Marie, even though most were cooler to her rude brother-in-law. Nella made a point of wishing him a happy Christmas and batting her eyelashes at him and Kate gave him a smile.
To a woman, they dismissed Miss Ro with the curtest acknowledgements they could manage within their code of etiquette. Ro shuffled uncomfortably next to Jean-Luc, unsure how to insert herself into the conversation. It did not take long for her to give up.
"I'm not doing this," she whispered to Jean-Luc.
"What?"
"I'm not going to stand here and pretend to like these people in the name of Christmas. I'll meet you at the carriage." And, defying all propriety, Ro fled the church.
At that moment, Wesley Crusher made his way to the Picards. "Merry Christmas, Madame Picard, Captain." He stood in front of his mother, as broad-shouldered as he could, to try to block her from seeing the captain and afford her an escape route. Marie, overcome by how much Wesley reminded her of René, felt tears on her face as she hugged him and kissed his cheeks.
Moved by his sister-in-law's grief and her joy at hugging Wesley, Jean-Luc swallowed a thick lump in his throat, held out his hand and, as Wesley shook it, said, "Merry Christmas, Wesley," as kindly as he could. He was surprised to feel a rush of pride for the young man, who conducted himself so well, a brave man who used his considerable intellect to help liberate enslaved people. He took notice, as well, at how Wesley tried to shield his mother, a good son.
With Wesley out of the way, Beverly moved forward and hugged and kissed Marie. The latter struggled to say something, to somehow communicate an apology for her brother-in-law, but, consumed by her own grief, she could think of nothing.
"Merry Christmas, Marie," Beverly said, genuinely happy to see her friend.
"Oh, Beverly." Marie, suddenly in tears, hugged her friend. "It's so difficult without them." She held her friend tightly, after months of missing her,
Beverly's eyes grew dark as she remembered her first Christmas without Jack. She understood what Marie was feeling better than anyone else right now. She held Marie and let her cry.
The men stood around the two women awkwardly. Standing behind Beverly, Dalen nodded his head at Jean-Luc—the only gesture he felt generous enough to extend—before walking out of the church. Jean-Luc did the same in response.
Fortified by her recent promise to move on, when Marie composed herself and Beverly found herself standing in front of Jean-Luc, she was ready. "Merry Christmas, Captain," she said with all the polite blankness of expression that all the other women had worn on their faces.
She moved past him before he could recover from his shock enough to extend the same wishes to her. Her coldness hurt more than seeing her in pain had.
Jean-Luc watched her stride regally out the door into the chilly winter air. He stood still, inwardly in turmoil, wanting nothing more than to follow her, tap her shoulder to stop her and prostate himself before her boots. He saw himself confessing his undying love for her and begging her to overlook his mistreatment of her. He imagined telling her everything and her forgiving him. Instead, he stood paralyzed at the end of his pew, sullenly watching the only woman he could ever love walk away.
Miss Ro watched the brief exchange between her would-be beau and Beverly from a distance, along with the other remaining churchgoers. She waited patiently next to the carriage for Jean-Luc and Marie to join her and for the former to help her up. As Jean-Luc came up to her she leaned close to him and said for his ears only, "Do I need to play the jealous belle?"
"No." He solemnly put his hat on then helped her into the carriage. Ro was struck by the mournful look on his face. Although Jean-Luc never smiled easily, she had never seen him appear so bereft. After helping his sister-in-law climb in, he sat between the two women and started the horses.
As they rode along in silence, Ro regarded her companions. Marie seemed utterly lost in her thoughts, her head turned away, her eyes on the forests they passed. Ro remembered the emptiness of her first Christmas without her parents and knew Marie was feeling it now. Jean-Luc faced the road, seemingly transfixed by his driving duties. After a cloud passed over and the sun returned, she saw tears on his cheek. He did nothing to stop their funereal march to his chin. Ro wanted to wipe them for him, but she did not.
Throughout their months-long charade, Ro had chosen not to consider her partner's longing for Beverly. For as long as she could remember, her only passion had been helping slaves to freedom. Doing this had not required any sacrifice on her part. For her new partner, however, there was a steep price to pay. Ro felt a tinge of guilt for requiring Jean-Luc to hide his wounded heart. Still, nothing was more important than saving lives. Without his help, their operation would be less effective and people would remain enslaved, to be worked like animals, beaten, separated from family and killed. What was one man's aborted love affair compared to their mission?
She patted his arm gently. "You still care for her a great deal, don't you?" She asked softly.
"I always will." His voice barely above a whisper, his face a mask of misery, as he kept his eyes on the road and drove on.