Every now and then, Beverly and Dalen liked to stroll through town and into the countryside after nightfall. They enjoyed the cool, quiet peacefulness as they gazed at the starry sky and talked, breathing in the warm scents of summer. This humid night, both had something to tell the other that would change their insular world. For years, they had been two close companions and colleagues, but that relationship had begun to change.

They chitchatted amiably as they walked.

"I see that J.P. Hanson finally fixed his front porch," Beverly observed.

"Yes," Dalen said. "I saw some men from the Picard place out there working on it."

"Really?"

"Yes, there was that blind man. What's his name again?"

"Geordi."

"Yes, that's him. He was telling the other men how to do it. I've never seen anything like that, a blind man giving orders like that."

Beverly smiled. "Wesley has worked with Geordi. He says Geordi can see solutions in his mind even if he can't see the problem with his eyes."

"I believe that now. I do."

They found constellations and inhaled honeysuckle.

"Dalen," Beverly began, more nervous than she had been in a long time. After all, Dalen had been her friend and mentor since Jack had died. They had walked together, literally and figuratively, for years and she was sad and tremulous at the thought that their paths might now diverge.

"Yes?"

"Marie has been talking to me about moving in to the house with her. I think she might be a little lonely. And . . . well, Jean-Luc had wanted me to live there . . . ."

"Oh, thank goodness."

"Dalen?"

With a hearty laugh, Dalen took her arm and patted her hand. "Oh, my dear, I didn't mean to sound as though I was happy to get rid of you."

"Well, it sounded like—"

"It's just that . . . . There's someone interested in renting your house."

"Renting my house?"

"Yes, and working for me."

Beverly stopped. "You found someone to replace me?"

Dalen turned to her, his eyes sparkling like the stars above them. "Beverly, you know that no one could ever replace you. We'll always be close. But, you're a married woman now and you belong in your husband's house. I suppose it was foolish of me to think you could keep working with me now that you don't need the job."

Beverly shook her head, her eyes blazing. "I didn't want to stop working with you, Dalen. I love medicine. You taught me everything I know—"

"Oh, that's not true."

"—and I always wanted to be there to help you. One day, you'll be nearing retirement and—"

He chuckled. "I'm near retirement, all right."

"—I know it's probably crazy of me to think that I could take over your practice, but I could certainly help your successor. I know all the families and how you do things. But, that's all changed now." Her eyes darkened as she forced herself to honestly evaluate her situation. "Dalen, if I can't be any help to you with my scarlet letter "A," for abolitionist, then I do want you to find someone else."

"Beverly," Dalen frowned at her suggestions that she was unfit. He set his hands on her shoulders. "You're the best physician I've ever seen, better than any man. I've been all over the South, I've traveled north and west. You are brilliant and you could practice medicine anywhere. But, right now, it's time for you to be a wife. Why don't you take some time for yourself for a while?"

She tried to understand what he was saying. Over the years, as she had learned more about medicine, treated patients and experimented with herbal remedies, she had built an expansive skills set and repertoire. More than the technical knowledge she had gained, however, she had come to love the practice of medicine. Healing people, curing disease, repairing injury. Beverly considered it a calling, as she knew Dalen did, and he had told her more than once that she had a natural ability for it. If that were the case, then, why would she stop?

Dalen understood. "My dear, when your husband returns, do you think you will simply continue working for me?"

"I thought—" Beverly stopped. What had she thought? "I guess I thought that Jean-Luc loved me the way I am and that included . . . ." Once she had begun to express it, the scenario sounded ridiculous even to her.

Dalen nodded sympathetically. "You thought that might include traipsing around the county with an old man tending to the sick and delivering babies? At all hours of the day and night, while your husband sits at home and waits for you?"

In her fantasies, Jean-Luc and she were picnicking, traveling, attending plays and concerts, reading and, lately, making love. Beverly had never really envisioned what her day-to-day life would be like. While Jean-Luc was working on the plantation, she would have to be occupied somehow, but almost certainly that pastime would be pursued on the plantation. Sewing, gardening, planning dinner. Many women she knew napped during the heat of the afternoon—wasted time, in Beverly's opinion. She preferred to be active in the cooler mornings and then do simpler tasks, like balancing the books, dusting the examination room and the house, writing letters and sewing, indoors when the sun was high in the sky.

Dalen saw the tide turning. "And what about when a little Picard comes along? Or many of them?" His round cheeks looked ready to burst.

For her part, Beverly's cheeks were ready to blush. "I don't know about 'many,' at my age."

"Oh, pshaw. You're still young. You never know what God has in mind."

"That's certainly true," Beverly answered, thinking of Jack's early death, Wesley's brilliance and Jean-Luc's appearance in her life, ages after she had given up on ever finding love again.

Inwardly, Dalen was still unsure how well Kate and he would or would not work together. A part of him was terrified at the thought of no longer having Beverly by his side as he practiced medicine. Mostly, however, he felt happiness for her, tinged with some sadness for himself.

"Time marches on, my dear," he said as he again took her arm and began literally marching forward with her. "We must enjoy and appreciate the good times while we are having them but be ready to say goodbye and convert them into cherished memories when times change."

Beverly sighed and they walked on in silence, him enjoying her company and her mulling over his words of wisdom. Unbidden, her thoughts returned to her last days in Dalen's office, with people who hated her vowing never to return. With her concerns that wealthy patients would find another doctor, an even worse idea occurred to her: would poorer people refuse to get medical help altogether, then suffer or die without it? Beverly could never live with causing someone's pain or death, even if she was only the indirect cause and the person's own pigheadedness was the direct cause.

Perhaps, this change was for the best. Just as she was being ostracized by Dalen's patients, someone had serendipitously stepped forward to take on her work. Someone?

"Dalen," she asked, "who is it? Who's interested in working for you and renting my house?"

"Kate Pulaski." Dalen used his best cheerful voice.

Beverly was surprised. The Kate that she had known never professed any interest in working, although she was a productive seamstress. "I thought she had plans to marry Kyle Riker." Beverly said the first thing that came to her mind about the older woman.

Dalen chuckled. "Well, I suspect Senator Riker doesn't have the same plans. It seems that living off what her husband left her is no longer an option and she'd like to return to her former career as a midwife."

"Oh, I didn't realize she was a midwife."

Dalen nodded. "A long time ago. She was quite capable, from what I remember. Of course, she wasn't like you. She's not going to invent new techniques or save babies or mothers that we're on the verge of losing."

"Don't say that. Kate is smart. I'm sure you could train her."

Dalen just smiled.

"She's a nice woman, I suppose." Beverly did not even sound as though she herself was convinced of that description.

"Cherished memories, my dear Beverly. We will have cherished memories. And we will still get together socially, of course."

"Of course," Beverly said automatically. She tried to adopt Dalen's infectious optimism. The trait was one of the things she loved about him and had come to rely on over the years. His tide of positivity had swept her past more than one small, tumbling wave. As she walked on with him, she hoped it would do the same this time.

On their second trip north, Worf saw his brother again for the first time in six years. Standing side by side in a safe house in Ohio, they sized one another up, found their counterparts to be healthy and strong, then embraced.

Kern found words to speak first. "You look well, my brother. I am proud that your bravery has brought you this far."

"And you also, Kern. You are my younger brother, but you have done our family proud." Worf took note of his brother's healthy appearance, longer beard and better attire.

Kern smiled at the compliment. "Tell me, how is Alexander?" He held a special place in his heart for his nephew, whom he had rescued and brought to Worf.

"He is growing well. Alexander has his mother's intelligence."

"Ah, and his father's spirit?"

Worf was not at all sure that his son took after him in any way. The boy was pensive and curious so far in his young life, more a man of thought than of action. At times, these aspects of Alexander distressed Worf, who knew that his son would need courage, honor and strength to survive in this dangerous world.

"I am . . . working on him," he finally answered.

Kern laughed and patted him on the back. "I'm sure you are, my brother. I'm sure you are. Now, let us talk the business of the railroad."

Wrapping his arm around Worf's shoulders, Kern led him into the kitchen, where the escaped people, finally relaxed, were eating a hearty meal with Ben and Jenny and their hosts, a freed couple originally from Tennessee who never tired of cooking for brothers and sisters who, like them, had made the perilous journey from slavery to freedom.

Silva had reluctantly agreed to go with Ro, but had insisted that the younger woman do all the talking. Ro was not especially comfortable with this role.

"Marie looks at me like I'm some kind of animal," she said as they walked toward the Picard house in the twilight.

"Oh, that's all in your head."

"It's not."

"Well, she's not the one you have to convince anyway."

"No, but she's pretty close to the one I have to convince."

Silva frowned as she pondered that assessment. "No, I don't think the two women are very much alike. Madame Picard is traditional, formal, an old-fashioned lady. Dr. Crusher does all kinds of things that a white lady doesn't usually do. She'll listen to you and she'll understand. She's very smart."

"You don't think Madame Picard is smart?"

"Not like Dr. Crusher."

Ro sighed loudly in frustration.

Guinan met them at the back door. "They've finished dinner and are sitting on the side verandah.

Silva nodded. "How is Dr. Crusher adapting to living here?"

Guinan did not mince words. "She seems pretty bored to me. It's only been a week, but she seems to be done with all her letter-writing, plant-gathering and reading by early afternoon. Then she doesn't seem to know what to do with herself the rest of the day."

"Doesn't she take a nap?" Silva asked.

"No, she doesn't like to, but Madame Picard is trying to get her into the habit."

Ro looked at her companions. "Good. Hopefully, we can convince her to do something else with her idle hours."

Guinan led the two women through the kitchen, the back hallways that servants occupy and the dining room. At the door to the verandah, they heard Marie talking about having new furniture built.

"Mr. Soong likes carpentry and I believe Geordi helps him, although I'm not sure how."

"Excuse me, Madame."

"Oh, Guinan, please come in. Hello Miss Ro, Silva." Marie was nothing if not a polite hostess. She made sure everyone was seated comfortably and offered refreshments before any discussion of business began.

Ro awkwardly stumbled through pleasantries at the best of times, and her current crisis was far from those. Even though Beverly and she were not enemies, she had no idea what the other woman thought of her or her abolitionist work. Why would the doctor want to help her? Complicating things further, their whole scheme was based on Silva's many assumptions about Beverly, any number of which could be completely wrong.

"So, uh, how are you settling in?" Ro asked Beverly.

"All right, I suppose, Beverly sighed. "It's not too difficult to get comfortable in a beautiful home with a close friend."

"Of course."

After that brief exchange, Ro was stuck. She looked to Silva for guidance, but, true to her warning that Ro would have to start figuring things out by herself, the African woman was staring intently at a hanging plant just above Guinan's head, making it impossible for Ro to make eye contact with her.

"It's a lovely plant, isn't it?" Marie followed Silva's eyes and adjusted the conversation accordingly. "Beverly brought it from her house. It's called fuscia."

"My, it's very beautiful," Silva said.

"Thank you," Beverly said. She began to get the feeling that the women had something to say to her, but were, for some reason, nervous to say it. "We could probably find a place to plant some. You have so much land here, between the two estates. I've taken some walks around the property, but I'm sure there's a great deal I haven't seen yet."

Silva's head spun around and she glared at Ro. With a quick smirk back to Silva to confirm that she did get the hint, Ro attempted to smile at Beverly. "I could show you around tomorrow, if you have time."

Beverly saw something pass between the two visitors, but felt no need for alarm. Rather, she viewed an outing with Miss Ro as a way to break up what had already become the monotony of her days. Beverly truly enjoyed Marie's company and the two women had had some pleasant talks, played some parlor games, sewn together and, one day, when it wasn't too hot for Marie, gone for a short stroll. But, Beverly was simply not suited for a life of leisure. She had known this for years even though she had never had the opportunity to try out a sedentary existence. Although she had little in common with Miss Ro, she imagined that they could make small talk around the different areas and functions of the plantation as they walked.

"That would be very nice," she said. "How about tomorrow morning?"

"That would be perfect."

Feeling that her mission had been accomplished, Ro would have liked to have stood up and left. She knew, however, that she was expected to stay and socialize with her hostesses. The group slipped into an awkward silence.

"How are things going?" Marie asked Ro to get the conversation flowing again.

Ro's briefly panicked face gave away the buried trouble that the innocent question had uncovered. "It's been . . . a bit of an adjustment, I would say."

"Oh?"

Aha, Beverly thought, there's some kind of problem she wants to show me. As the other women chattered, Beverly tried to deduce what the problem could be. She knew that new cabins had been built in a village designed by Jean-Luc. Were they too close together, causing illness to spread among different families? He had been so proud when he had shown her the plans that she had simply shared his excitement and not thought of potential medical ramifications.

"Well, so much has changed this year. The fields are different, everyone is free and has a new house. We've combined the two workforces but the captain is gone and Worf is . . . uh, re-assigned."

Beverly frowned. It sounded as though Miss Ro was experiencing difficulties in the operation of the plantation itself. Surely, the younger woman knew that farming lay well beyond Beverly's area of expertise. Why would Miss Ro want to show her problems on the plantation?

The answer came the following morning after the two women had taken a thorough tour of the combined properties' vast miles of cotton fields, vegetable gardens, village and barns. Beyond suggesting a plant additive to the animal fertilizer in the gardens, Beverly had not contributed a single suggestion to help improve the farming operations.

If she could have offered assistance, however, she would have liked to have done so. Everywhere they turned, it seemed, things were in disarray. Teenaged girls and children were playing and chatting instead of tending to the food they were growing for the residents to eat. Men in the fields bickered and, in one case, physically fought over how to best utilize the land or store the cotton or virtually anything else. There was competition over the use of the mechanized farm machinery and disputes over who had a better job in the Ro and Picard households and why.

When Ro and Beverly sat down on the former's verandah for a cool drink, Ro motioned for Silva—who had delivered a silver tray with the pitcher of iced tea and two glasses—to sit down with them. To her consternation, however, Silva merely shook her head and backed away.

Beverly saw the exchange. After wiping her sweaty neck and dabbing her face with her handkerchief, she drank some iced tea and looked at her companion. "Miss Ro, it certainly seems as though you have some problems. But, I'm not sure why you thought it was so important to show them to me. I certainly can't help you."

Ro liked Beverly's directness. No need to deploy social formalities or pleasantries to ease into a troublesome topic. "Actually, Dr. Crusher, I think that you can. Our entire cotton harvest is at risk if we can't get everyone to cooperate and work together. Captain Picard worked very hard to set up a village of freedmen and he's counting on the harvest to pay all these workers. We owe it to him to get it done right."

The mention of Jean-Luc pricked her conscience, yet— "I still don't see what I can do to fix any of the problems."

"With the captain and Worf gone, we need someone to organize and manage the workforce and the process."

"Don't you have an overseer?"

"In title, yes, we have Mr. Soong. But Worf was the real overseer."

"But, I don't have any experience with farming or ordering people around," Beverly countered. She shook her head in frustration. "What would you expect me to do anyway?"

Ro took a deep breath. The countless times she had rehearsed this moment, she imagined that this conversation would be excruciatingly painful. Speaking with Beverly, now, the words simply came to her. "Everyone here respects you. You'd be seen as a neutral party, where I am not. I think you would be able to talk to people, to encourage them to work together for the good of all of us. I think you could be a strong leader."

Beverly scoffed. "What makes you think I'm strong?"

Ro could not fathom how Beverly could question her own credentials in that area. She folded her arms across her chest and briefly looked sideways in disbelief. "First of all, Captain Picard has a great deal of faith in you and he's not easy to impress."

"Really?"

"Second, you come highly recommended by Guinan and the only other people she's ever recommended to me were the captain and Worf."

Beverly raised her eyes at her inclusion in such a select group.

"Third, I've seen you with my own eyes. Beverly, you discovered we were conducting on the underground railroad and two minutes later you were operating on a fugitive in a dark, hot tunnel. No questions asked. And you worked on him for hours. Without a single complaint. And, then, you operated on the captain, somehow got him up to his house safely and then . . . you forgave him.

"I always admired you for . . . ," Ro was very surprised to find emotion choking her words, "for being your own woman. For being smart, when we're supposed to act stupid. For being honest, when we're not supposed to say what we really think. For taking care of yourself and Wesley, when we're supposed to need a man to do that for us.

"I didn't always know how to conduct people to freedom, just like you didn't always know how to be a doctor. But we learned because we had to, because lives depended on us learning. Right now, the captain, everyone's livelihood and safety, and even lives are depending on us.

"That's how I know you can do this."

Beverly was too stunned to say anything at first. It occurred to her that she had never heard Ro compliment anyone so profusely. In fact, the younger woman rarely—if ever—spoke so much at one time. Clearly, this meant a great deal to her, to have to try to convince Beverly with such a speech. Still, Beverly knew that her skills and experience were vastly different from those required to oversee an enormous cotton plantation.

Jean-Luc's had been as well, a small voice in her head whispered. He may have understood aspects of commanding men, but he had known nothing about cotton cultivation, the enslaved African population or anything else on the estate. When he had wanted a better way to harvest the crop, he had not designed and built machines himself; rather, he had assigned the task to the right people and they had completed it for him. Instead of living on his own, on the sea, with his trusted crew, he had had to learn to navigate the political games of his scheming neighbors. Having grown up in a country without slaves, he had risked his life, over and over, to save people he did not even know because it was the only option his sense of morality approved.

If Jean-Luc could completely change his life's work, through sheer determination and a confidence in his ability and values, then perhaps she could, too. Perhaps, as Ro had said, it was important that she at least try, because so much depended on the success of the harvest. Beverly knew she would not sleep comfortably, not now, knowing that Jean-Luc's whole cotton crop was in jeopardy and she might be able to save it. She loved her husband's unstoppable spirit and uncompromising dedication to duty. In his absence, taking up his mantle would be a way to honor him and, in a way, to feel closer to him.

She had made up her mind.

Beverly turned to Ro. "I admire you, too, Miss Ro, very much, for your courage and strength."

Ro looked away.

Beverly took a deep breath and exhaled. "Now, where do we start?"

Beneath a window on the verandah, slouching to conceal her presence on a chair in the front sitting room, Silva felt a surge of pride as she heard Ro Laren, whom she had raised since infancy, persuade Beverly to help them and begin to map out a plan to save the harvest. She wiped a tear from her cheek. Yes, she thought, my baby's come a long way.