Marie had been furious when Ro insisted that no one witness her marriage. She explained that it was Chinese custom—a lie that Marie would never challenge or verify—for couples to wed alone and to celebrate with family afterward. Leaving Marie fuming to Guinan that it was American, or possibly French, culture that should dictate the wedding ceremony, Ro and Silva had gone alone to meet Jean-Luc, acquiescing at least to Marie's firm belief that it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.

The Catholic church was unlike any Ro Laren had ever seen in her life. Made of stone, rather than wood, and enormous, the church was dark inside as the light was kept out by ornate stained glass windows. She spent a good deal of time staring at the windows, with their depictions of Jesus and Mary. She wondered what the holy family would think of their grand deception. Although a lie was a sin, it was a lie told for the greater good of saving people's lives. Ro did not know much about the Bible, having quit Sunday school after her parents' deaths, but she remembered Jesus defending the poor, the sick and the meek. She breathed in deeply, reassured that her life's work would earn praise from the Lord, as she gazed up into his image on the window above their pew.

Beside her, Jean-Luc kneeled with his eyes closed and his head bowed in prayer, silent. She knew that their sham marriage, as brilliant as the idea was, was very difficult for him. After spending an hour sitting in the church, during which time the ceremony was ostensibly taking place, he would walk out as a married man to the rest of the world. While she did not care who thought she was married to him, Ro knew that he cared very deeply about one woman's feelings.

After he had knelt there for several minutes, maybe twenty, Ro estimated, she began to worry that he would remain like that for the entire hour. With her discomfort at her surroundings growing, she was not sure she could even stay in the imposing house of worship that long. She certainly could not do so without talking to pass the time.

Feeling her hands sweating, Ro removed her white gloves and set them next to her on the red velvet cushion of the pew. She stared at the back of Jean-Luc's head as he continued to kneel. To speak to him, she would have to kneel herself, on the odd cushioned rail attached to the pew in front of them. A few other people were scattered throughout the sanctuary, lost in their own prayers. The large space was quiet. She would have to speak quietly.

Jean-Luc smelled the faint residue of incense in the semi-lit church. He felt transported halfway around the world, back to the church of his childhood in Labarre, which he had attended every Sunday. He imagined returning there, with Beverly as his bride, the two of them speaking French as the local priest, who had long since expired, married them. He would hold her gently and kiss her beautiful lips, then turn to the congregation, which would include Robert and his parents, and proudly introduce them to his wife.

He heard a rustle of clothing next to him and realized that Miss Ro had joined him.

"Captain, I—I just wanted to tell you a few things," she began, "while we're here."

He was unsure if he needed to say anything or give her permission to speak. When he did not respond, she simply resumed.

"I know that it's been hard for you, pretending to court me. I can only imagine how you must feel pretending to get married. I mean, . . . I really can't imagine how you feel because I don't love anyone the way you love Beverly.

"But, I want you to know, if it means anything to you at all, that I think you're a great man. With your help, we went from rescuing tens of people to hundreds. You're very smart and dedicated and, maybe I'm thinking this because of where I am right now, but you were really a godsend to us. That you had to sacrifice your happiness for the chance for others to be happy only makes you more admirable.

"Captain, you're the bravest man I know and I only wish that my father had had a chance to meet you."

Jean-Luc heard her sniffle and realized she was crying. He unclasped his hands and took her nearest hand in his.

"I feel so ridiculous," Ro said, wiping her tears with her other hand, "crying like this when my dream has come true."

He did not know what she meant, but suddenly feared that she was speaking of marriage. "Your dream?"

"Yes, saving as many people as I could from slavery."

He watched her for a moment, battling against her emotions, staunching the unfamiliar tears. He helped her up to sit on the pew, pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and gave it to her. She nodded her thanks and covered her face with it.

Jean-Luc turned to face the altar. He spoke to her softly, as he never had before to her. "Laren, I don't know your religious beliefs, but if you do believe in heaven, as I do, then I hope you share my feeling that your father is watching over you from above. I think he is very proud of you, of the strong, brave woman you've become. You alone, among the people of your county, have stood up for the human beings suffering the indignity of slavery and you alone have fought for them. And freed them. That is a powerful legacy for your father. You've become the best daughter he could have ever wanted."

Ro felt a sudden urge to get away. She moved abruptly, surprising Jean-Luc, when she stood and walked to the end of the pew. His eyes followed her as she strolled, as if sightseeing, looking at the paintings, statuary and stained glass, as though she were interested in them.

His face a knot of tightly controlled tension, Jean-Luc found he could not spare any further sympathy for Ro, so consumed by pity for his own torment as he was. He looked down, at his wedding suit, the tails he had worn on the day he had met Beverly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the small bouquet of flowers that Guinan had made for Ro. How he wished Beverly were holding it now, sitting beside him.

The Ladies Auxiliary Sewing Circle was abuzz with the news. "It happened last week," Lwaxanna insisted. "Holm saw Guinan in town and she told him everything."

"Married in Atlanta?" Nella sounded almost dreamy. "It must have been beautiful."

"Sounds like it was a very hurried affair," Vash said as she pulled a stitch out. "I wonder if they had to get married." She looked up to see Kate's face turn red.

"I'll be sure to call on the new bride in five months or so," Alynna said, sparking giggles from Vash and Lwaxanna.

Next to her mother on their largest flowered sofa, Deanna sighed to herself. If they hadn't been hosting the group, she would not have attended. Deanna had finally exhausted her tolerance for their criticizing and gossiping. They reacted to Miss Ro and Captain Picard marrying like sharks circling prey.

Vash smiled smugly. "I had a feeling there was a real romance there. Some people doubted that they were in love."

Alynna took the bait. "I still doubt it. As I've said before, marriages occur for many reasons, including land grabs."

"I heard," Nella said, "that Captain Picard moved into Miss Ro's house, instead of the other way around. Is that true?"

"Yes," Alynna confirmed. "Some of my field hands saw him moving things into her house."

"I wonder why."

Lwaxanna said, "Oh, I'm sure it's for poor Marie's sake. I know the last time I spoke to her she was just furious with her brother-in-law for taking up with Miss Ro. Can you imagine how awful it would be for that woman to move into Marie's house?"

"It's good to know he has some sensitivity to others' feelings," Kate sniped.

"Poor Beverly," Lwaxanna moaned. "That poor dear soul, to have trusted him like that only to have him . . . oh! I'm sure I don't know what I ever saw in him, but I'm glad that my daughter wasn't involved with him at all."

The other women looked up at Deanna, catching her by surprise. "Yes, I'm still here. And still single," she said, not at all saddened by her status.

"Still single," Lwaxanna repeated, as though reading a death sentence.

The women commiserated with Deanna, assuring her that she would find someone. Politely accepting their condolences, Deanna resolved to see Beverly as soon as she could to check on her. Knowing how her friend felt, Deanna was very worried about her spirits.

"So, the wall can be built before we need everyone in the fields, but only if we start immediately," Noonien Soong concluded. He looked at his colleagues for confirmation. Wesley nodded. Although he did not see Soong's gesture, Geordi nodded as well, causing Jean-Luc to marvel yet again at how the three men worked together as a team, almost three cogs of the same machine.

"Very well," Jean-Luc said. "Let's get started immediately. Thank you, gentlemen, for your efforts in designing this so quickly."

The three stood to leave, Soong helping Geordi around the table in the captain's office.

"Uh, Wesley," Jean-Luc said, somewhat awkwardly, "could I have a moment with you?"

"Sure, Captain." Wesley had been dreading this moment since the captain and Miss Ro returned from Atlanta. Word of their marriage had spread like wildfire through the county and, of course, his mother had heard.

"Please, sit down." The captain directed him to the small sofa by the bookshelves and joined him there.

"Yes, sir?"

Jean-Luc clasped his hands together then began to wring them nervously. "Wesley, I hate to put you on the spot, but I was wondering if, . . . well, if your mother had heard about Miss Ro and me, um . . . ."

Wesley helped him out. "Yes, sir she heard. Madame Picard wrote her a letter about it."

"Oh?"

"She actually found out the day before you left."

"She did?"

"Yes." Wesley knew what the captain wanted to know and decided to spare him further suspense. "Mom told Dr. Quaice and me she doesn't want to talk about it. But, she seems to be kind of coping with it."

"She does?"

"She's just made herself very busy lately, gardening and experimenting with plants and herbs, canning vegetables, things like that."

Jean-Luc nodded, although he did not quite know what to make of Wesley's report. Was Beverly able to cope so well because she no longer had feelings for him? Surely, an intelligent woman like Beverly would relinquish any feelings she had for a man once he was married—unambiguously bound to another woman. All these months that he had held out hope for her, for a future with her, as improbable as that had seemed—what had he done?

He reined his thoughts in and quickly composed his face into its usual mask of stoicism, covering any sign of the strength of his emotions, even as he continued to discuss them.

"Wesley, as you know, but the others do not, Miss Ro and I are not romantically involved." He paused, re-considering whether he should continue with his plan to share the truth with the young man he had come to think of as a son. He believed it was his instinct, rather than his heart, urging him to reveal what he hoped Wesley might somehow communicate to his mother. "We, uh, we didn't actually get married."

"I know."

"You know?" Jean-Luc was shocked. "How did you know?"

"I figured it out."

"You did?"

"Well, I figured that you were claiming to be married so that you could combine your lands and the farming operations for a higher yield."

Jean-Luc stared at the young man with astonishment and a bit of pride at his powers of deduction. "Yes," he acknowledged. "Also, we wanted to combine the lands for security reasons, in advance of the conflict that we believe will be upcoming."

"Conflict?" It was Wesley's turn to be surprised.

Jean-Luc leaned back into the sofa cushions. In some ways, Wesley seemed like a boy to him, innocent and unexperienced in the world, never having left the cocoon of his home state or experienced great adventure. Yet, Wesley was a teenager, about the same age that he was when he joined the French navy, and he may soon have to take on even more responsibility than that to which he was accustomed. Better to have him prepared, Jean-Luc decided.

"Wesley, let me tell you what's going on in other parts of the South and in the nation's capital." He rose and walked over to the shelf above his desk that held his brandy and returned with the bottle and two glasses. If he were going to give the boy the truth about their situation, he might as well let him drink like a man.

The numbers were staggering. News of escaped slaves from all across Georgia, and some from as far away as Mississippi. Q paced in the office of his cousin, Sheriff Q, currently occupied at his desk with extracting an errant piece of his lunch from between two molars with a toothpick.

"How can you have no idea where these criminals are passing through the county?" Q demanded.

Sheriff Q shrugged and continued picking.

"You don't have a single clue as to how they get through the county to the lake and the Carolinas?"

"It's not that simple, Q. First, we thought they were going across the lake. Then, it looked like they were moving across the land. These abolitionists are sneaky. They change their routes. It's impossible to tell what direction they're coming from or going to." He lost his train of thought as the implement successfully got underneath its prey.

"But it's your job to find those routes and seal them off. And arrest the criminals."

"I know that, but my main duty is to the people of this county and slaves aren't escaping from around here."

Q was outraged. "You have a duty to return fugitive slaves and arrest abolitionists who help them! No matter where they come from."

"I know, I know." Sheriff Q whittled away at the stuck morsel. "I'm not saying that I'm not trying to catch them. I'm just saying that I'm not trying hard."

"Why the devil not?"

"Look, Q, I have other priorities in keeping law and order in this county."

Q approached his cousin and leaned over his desk, menacing. "Priorities such as regular visits to Nella Darren?"

Caught off guard, Sheriff Q stopped his excavation. "I wouldn't call them regular . . . ."

"Every Tuesday and Friday night for dinner for the last two months?"

"Well . . . Nella's a really good cook. Anyway, I'm not neglecting my law enforcement duties. I have to handle drunks, thieves and the white trash that come through here all the time. I do a fair number of evictions. The other day, a horse got loose over at—"

"I don't want a list of every granny you've helped cross a street. Maintaining the integrity of our system of slavery is the foundation of our society. If there's a crack in that foundation, no matter where it occurs, it threatens the entire building. Right now, that crack is widening and it won't be long before we fall right through it."

Sheriff Q smirked. "Come on, Q, don't you think you're being a little dramatic? We haven't had an escape round these parts since . . . since the brother of that guy on the Picard place, that Worf. What was his name?"

"Kern. Yes, he escaped from Kyle Riker and Kyle's still mad about that." He straightened. "Q, you leave me no choice. I'm taking my concerns directly to Senator Riker. If we have to, we'll bring in the militia to get to the bottom of this."

Sheriff Q went back to picking at his tooth. "The militia is a joke. A bunch of old veterans from the war with the Indians marching around to get ready to fight the Yankees. If they couldn't stop the abolitionists down in Cobb County, what makes you think they're going to up here?"

"They make arrests in Cobb County. They thin the ranks of the criminals. We could at least do that. I've a mind to start my own patrols."

"Well, good luck with that." Just then, the toothpick freed the stuck piece of food, which turned out to be meat. Pleased, Sheriff Q savored the taste as he swallowed it.