December 31, 1861
Edward's long-held philosophy was to avoid white people as much as possible. To that end, he tried to always stay on Senator Riker's good side. Once he had gotten to know the man, that had become fairly easy. He always did as he was told, he never questioned an order and he made himself scarce when the senator was in a bad mood. Thus, Edward was never flogged or struck and rarely even yelled at. The senator's new daughter-in-law was perhaps the kindest white person Edward had ever known—nicer even than the universally adored Miss Betty, in his view—and Edward had no objection to her whatsoever. Women tended to be easier to get along with, in general, but there were two women who threatened his peace and quiet and bodily sanctity on this New Year's Eve.
The first was the highly unpredictable Lwaxanna Troi. Her changeable manner and impulsive decisions seemed, to Edward, charged with the potential for violence, although he could not imagine her personally committing such acts. He found it impossible to calculate how to remain in her good graces and the resulting uncertainty bothered him. There had been a tornado of activity swirling around the Troi house in preparation for the evening's New Year's Eve party and Edward had happily exited the fray—house servants scrambling, Mrs. Troi shrieking, field hands fumbling around outside—to drive Mrs. Riker to the Picard house. Mrs. Troi had issued an order for him to return Deanna to the Troi residence to rest after her visit with Mrs. Crusher and he intended to comply in order to stay out of Mrs. Troi's field of vision on the stressful day.
Therein lay the conflict with the second woman who had threatened him: Mrs. Crusher. After noon, after not being summoned to drive Mrs. Riker back to her mother's house, and being unable to find Guinan, Edward walked into the Picard kitchen looking for Geordi and found the tall midwife standing at a table, chopping up a variety of herbs and concentrating on the task. He had seen Beverly Crusher at a distance before, but now that he stood only feet away from her, he was mesmerized by the color of her hair, as orange as the flames in the fireplace. How could people get such color hair, he wondered.
Beverly had heard someone come in, but had not bothered to stop cutting up the herbs she needed. When the newcomer stopped but did not speak, she said without looking up, "Can I help you with something?"
Edward colored. "Uh, 'scuse me, ma'am? I'm here to pick up Mrs. Riker and drive her back to her mother's house."
"Mrs. Riker is not going back to her mother's house today. She's going to have her baby." Chop, chop.
Thanks to Lwaxanna's over-sharing of pregnancy details with everyone, Edward knew that Mrs. Riker was not due to have her baby until later in January. Childbirth was not a subject Edward cared to discuss at all, much less with an unfamiliar white woman. "Um, ma'am?" He asked nervously. "Mrs. Troi is expecting her."
Beverly continued to work with the large knife. "What Mrs. Troi expects doesn't matter right now."
It mattered to Edward. "Ma'am? Can we just take Mrs. Riker on home to her mother's place and then do what all for the baby over there?"
The unassuming man had inadvertently reminded Beverly of the stress of the situation—Deanna's body exhibiting signs of ill health that threatened both the baby and her. After monitoring her for days and noting a worsening of her condition, Beverly had decided she had to induce labor to save both patients. Already today, she had pressed a reluctant Worf into carrying Deanna upstairs and ordered Guinan, Geordi and Mr. Soong to prepare for the birth, start preparing a healthy supper and retrieve more herbs from her stores in Dr. Timicin's lab. Next, she had settled Deanna comfortably into the first guest bedroom and calmly explained how drinking the oddly flavored solution she would mix would, hopefully within twelve hours, coax her baby to be born. She had not told anyone, and had tried not to think about, the fact that the solution did not always work and mothers and babies in these situations did not always survive.
Shuffling in the middle of the kitchen, Edward became the lightning rod for all her worry and anger and she raised her voice to let him know she was serious. "Mrs. Riker is not going anywhere today. You can stay here or go somewhere else, but you are not taking my patient with you."
"But Mrs. Troi said—"
Beverly turned away from the table, gripping the knife tightly in her hand. Gesticulating to emphasize her point, she did not realize that she had raised and was waving the weapon as she threatened the man. "I don't care if Jefferson Davis himself is looking for her. Mrs. Riker's life is in danger and so is that of her child. I'm not going to let anyone take her out of this house. Is that understood?"
Edward began to slowly back away, nodding his head theatrically to make sure that she saw him agreeing. "Ye-yes, ma'am."
"Good. Now, leave me alone and let me finish my work."
"Yes, ma'am."
Edward was happy to oblige and he backed out the door as quickly as he could without taking his eyes off the knife. Outside, he let out the breath he had been holding and headed back toward the stable, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that she was not following him. Once in the safety of his world, he yanked his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow. He looked about for his counterpart, but did not find anyone manning the stable. Things had changed so drastically since Captain Picard had married Miss Ro, he thought. Who knows how they run things these days? No one tending the animals, white woman in the kitchen, what was this world coming to?
When he strolled outside the other side of the stable, he immediately encountered a familiar, if not welcoming, face. "Oh, hello, Silva," he said, still distressed.
Carrying a basket of carrots for the horses, Silva stopped to regard her husband and frowned. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Edward. What's the matter with you?"
Although her tone conveyed her usual harshness, something in the air—the topsy-turvy nature of seemingly everything on this plantation? the winds of the distant war? the coming of the new year?—moved Edward to make a suggestion he had not dared to make for years. Whatever else she had done, Mrs. Crusher had cleared his afternoon schedule. "I'll tell you all about it, but first you tell me something."
"Oh?" Silva set down her basket and crossed her arms.
"Is it true what they say? Do you have your own bedroom up there, in Miss Ro's house?" He swept his head toward the other mansion on the dual property with a hint of a smile on his face.
Silva was flabbergasted. It had been so long since Edward and she—no, he couldn't possibly be asking that, could he? She watched him neatly fold his handkerchief and tuck it into the pocket of his jacket. Edward was not a tall man, but he was handsome and, before he had been sold to Kyle Riker, at least, he had been kind and good-humored. Maybe he wasn't the strongest man she knew, physically or emotionally, but he was a good man. He was her husband.
Edward smiled in earnest, despite the fact that she had done nothing to encourage his optimism for fifteen years.
Silva picked up the basket of carrots and set it down just inside the stable, which brought her quite close to Edward. "Come on, you old fool," she said, then started off ahead of him. "I'll show you my bedroom . . . ."
Edward followed her eagerly. He would be so joyfully preoccupied for the remainder of the afternoon that he would rush back to drive Senator Riker to the party, cover his absence by saying he had been caring for the horses, and completely forget to tell anyone what he had heard about Mrs. Riker.
"I say, 'Good riddance to 1861!' It was a terrible year for everyone with this horrible war starting." Lwaxanna expressed her sentiments to her party guests, unmindful of how unpatriotic she sounded. "It's all been terribly inconvenient, hasn't it?"
"I believe we can all bear a little inconvenience, Mrs. Troi," Dr. Timicin, at her right elbow, stuffily pronounced, "if it's all for the good of the Confederacy."
"Here, here," Kyle chimed in, raising his glass. "With apologies to Lwaxanna and the ladies who've had to do without their menfolk, I propose a toast to the Confederacy."
Everyone drank a sip of their beverage of choice—wine, whiskey, champagne, apple cider. The Troi house had been decorated from floorboards to crown moulding with colorful streamers, beads and paper cut outs, per Lwaxanna's specifications, to make the very walls of her home happy and cheerful.
Lwaxanna wanted to steer the conversation away from politics. Once the men got started on that, they would become agitated and the women would become bored. She needed everyone to stay jovial for the sake of her party and for what many of them hoped might happen after the party. They still had three hours until it was time to festively ring in the new year.
As if reading her mind, or at the very least, her facial expression, Alynna asked, "How is your daughter doing?"
Lwaxanna beamed, thrilled to be able to talk about her second favorite subject. "Deanna is doing just splendidly. I wanted her to join us but she was just feeling so tired today, so she's upstairs resting. I'd love for her to come down at midnight. I'll have Homn check on her."
"I'm glad she's well." Alynna had no interest in discussing pregnancy or infants, but no one else stepped in to pick up the conversation. "When is her baby due?" She noticed that Kyle Riker, now seated in a chair across from Judge Satie and conversing with the elder statesman, was nevertheless looking at her.
"In a month's time."
Norah Satie said, "My oldest nephew was a Christmas baby."
"Oh, how wonderful to be born on Christmas," Kate commented, trying to catch Kyle's attention.
"Yes, we consider it very special. Of course, he's a special boy, young Aaron."
"Oh?" asked Maria Huxley Maxwell, Captain Ben Maxwell's wife.
Norah launched into a series of stories about the already obvious talents of young Aaron Satie III. Drifting to the rest of her guests, Lwaxanna noted, pleased, that Marie and the Barclays—the elder Barclays she supposed they would be called, now that young Reg had married—were entertaining one another. Hitching her arm through Dr. Timicin's, she re-directed him away from Kyle and Judge Satie and sat him down next to her on a sofa. Just as she was about to pay him an exaggerated compliment, a commotion in the hall drew looks from guests in every grouping.
"Hello, everyone. Uh, happy new year." Sheriff Q, dressed in a bland gray suit, clapped his hands together and stood awkwardly just inside the room.
It was Lwaxanna's worst nightmare—that the sheriff would have the poor taste to not realize that her invitation had been obligatory, not sincere. The evening had proceeded so smoothly, with everyone in his or her perfect place, chatting, eating and imbibing. With the unexpected appearance of the man who had arrested and imprisoned one of their neighbors and dear friends, the merriment halted abruptly. A conversation vacuum opened up.
Marie was the first to recover, with a warm smile. "Happy new year, sheriff. Won't you join us?"
Sheriff Q smiled and, with a nod at Lwaxanna, crossed over to Marie and the Barclays. After a tense heartbeat, the small talk resumed. A round of fresh drinks circulated.
Since Sheriff Q had first gravitated toward Marie, Lwaxanna's nerves were prematurely calmed. Pretending to listen to Dr. Timicin, out of the corner of her eye, she watched the Frenchwoman—the epitome of delicate manners—ease the less socially graceful lawman into the various conversations. She thought catastrophe had been averted, but just after recitations of Christmas gifts and cold weather accommodations, she heard Mr. Barclay interject the non-sequitur she had been dreading all evening.
"Say, that was an awful business with Mrs. DeLancie, wasn't it?"
Before Lwaxanna could maneuver herself close enough to change the subject, she was out-maneuvered by another calculated eavesdropper.
"I think it is utterly disgraceful," Norah Satie pronounced loudly. "That a woman who should be a pillar of our society would bite the hand that feeds her."
"Bite the—" Mr. Barclay tried to ask.
"Her criminal activities undermine our very way of life and the entire economy that supports it. Not to mention the danger she puts us all in by releasing mentally aberrant Negroes out into the world."
"Oh, my goodness," Mrs. Barclay exclaimed.
"I hadn't really thought about the dangers to us," Kate said.
"Well, you certainly should," Norah emphasized. "Any one of those big black men could sneak up on you and—"
"Now, now, Norah." Kyle seized control by confidently striding into the center of the crowd and lightly patting the air just above her arm. "There's no need to get the womenfolk all riled up. We have Vash DeLancie all locked up in the county jail. She won't be letting any more slaves run free in our county."
Despite standing inches shorter than the senator, Norah looked down at him skeptically.
"What a relief!" Lwaxanna exclaimed. "I'm so glad we don't have to fret about that and we can talk about more pleasant things."
"Yes," Marie readily agreed. "The other day, some of us were talking about holding a charity ball, like they have done in Atlanta, to support the war effort."
"That's a wonderful idea, Marie," Lwaxanna affirmed. "Why don't we—"
"Before we leave the topic," Norah insisted, "I just want to make sure that both DeLancies are sufficiently and severely punished for the full extent of their crimes."
"Believe me, Miss Satie, they will be," Kyle boomed. "We will bring the full force of the law to bear against them both."
"Including, I hope, taking their property."
"Yes, ma'am!" Various gasps of surprise greeted Kyle's announcement. "The legal wheels are in motion to seize the land upon which the criminals operated their heinous smuggling ring."
"Good!" Kate gave Kyle an admiring look.
"How can you take—" Mr. Barclay tried to ask.
"Why, did you know, we discovered that no fewer than five slaves were discovered missing from the DeLancies' land?"
Shocked faces and mutterings.
"Unfortunately, that's not all." Having let others begin the attack, Alynna chose her moment to jump in. "I found out that two of my slaves were missing as well."
"No!"
"Impossible."
"How?"
"You should all check on your overseers to make sure none of your slaves is missing," Alynna advised.
"I would love to host a charity ball." Lwaxanna clapped her hands together at the thought. "I certainly have the space and—"
"I agree," Norah continued. "If any of you is not keeping a close enough watch on your overseers and your slaves," she looked pointedly at Lwaxanna, "the DeLancies could have stolen your property right out from under you."
If anyone had asked her before this moment, Marie would have answered that she did not have a deceptive bone in her body. Indeed, in the company of the vultures in which she found herself, she knew she was an unpracticed novice. Nevertheless, for the first time in her life a strategic deception had occurred to her and she found that she could not shake it. Even worse, she felt compelled to act on it.
While Lwaxanna recovered from the sting of Norah's accusation, Marie spoke up. "Actually . . . ," she paused until everyone looked at her, "I was embarrassed to say anything, but my overseer Mr. Soong told me we're missing three slaves ourselves."
Norah's eyes widened. "You should have said something as soon as you learned of the theft."
"Yes, you certainly should have, Madame Picard." Kyle took up the thread, pleased to see his convoluted vendetta expanding in an unanticipated way. "In fact, you will need to swear out a criminal complaint with the sheriff, my dear. You have been the victim of a most serious crime." His head swept to allow a panoramic view of his neighbors. "Anyone else here who knows his, or her, property has been stolen also needs to file a criminal complaint. Don't be shy about it, women. You can go to the sheriff together, if you like."
"Well, the sheriff's right here," Kate suggested. "Why don't you do it now?"
Both Lwaxanna and Marie protested, but another voice, unused to speaking loudly, suddenly entered the fray. Petite Maria Huxley Maxwell blurted out, "We lost a slave. A young man. My overseer takes a roll call of the field hands every morning except Sunday. One Monday morning about a month ago, this one slave wasn't there. We searched everywhere, but it was like he had vanished."
"Why didn't you say something?" Norah pressed, as Kyle and Alynna caught each other's eyes, happy to allow their plan to blossom with the nurturing of others.
"I wanted my husband to handle it," Maria answered. Raised in a wealthy family in which women were never involved with business affairs, she could not conceive of doing anything in any way connected to the running of her husband's plantation. "But the men never got any leave."
"Yes, peculiar that," Mr. Barclay contributed. "I wonder if Q had something to do with that. Maybe it's part of their scheme to keep the men of the county away while they plunder our property."
"Lwaxanna," Norah commanded, "we'll need to use your writing desk. Let's everyone take a turn writing out a complaint." The group moved toward Lwaxanna's parlor.
"But," Lwaxanna pleaded, "it's New Year's Eve, for heaven's sake. Can't we enjoy this evening and do these complaint things tomorrow?"
"The wheels of justice must always keep turning," Norah pronounced. "I fear that Q's interference has stopped them for too long, but we will set them spinning again, right now."
"Here, here," Mr. Barclay said, impressed with her oratory.
"My," Alynna commented, equally impressed.
The more passionate of the partygoers descended on the ornate writing desk and immediately set up paper and pen. Each complainant benefitted from the advice of the small crowd in drafting the legal documents that would add to the charges against the thoroughly discredited Vash. Sheriff Q stood on the fringes of the group, conflicted about the development that would raise his profile in law enforcement circles at the expense of his sister-in-law. Marie gave Lwaxanna an apologetic look as she joined them.
"This is terribly exciting," Dr. Timicin gushed to Lwaxanna, as they watched the wheels of justice speed up.
"Yes, terrible," Lwaxanna muttered.
In the main parlor, forgotten by the enthusiastic mob, sat retired Judge Aaron Satie, who once tended the wheels of justice in the county himself, with compassion and the wisdom of experience. Hard of hearing and possessed of a more profound sense of peace with the world than most people, Judge Satie had observed the younger people with curiosity, but only limited interest in their preoccupations, most of which he deemed trifle. When they abruptly left the room, he returned his gaze to the fire, by which he comfortably sat.
Judge Satie ruminated on the fleeting nature of both man and fire. How they both burned, slowly at first, then brightly blazed until they gradually shrank to embers before being extinguished. Although they change the wood, or the world, when they burn, bringing destruction, ultimately, their reach is limited by their short lives. Eventually, as nature and the years go on, their impact is forgotten, obscured by the new growth and new life.
This being the wisdom of the universe, Judge Satie sipped some brandy and rested, perfectly content and unconcerned about whatever had agitated the young people. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the plush cushions of the chair and closed his eyes.
Miles away, on New Year's Eve, 1861, Ro, Worf and Mr. Soong drove Ro's wagon through the winter chill of a dark, cloudy night. In the back, seven recently liberated people from Alabama lay as still as corpses. Bags of flour and feed kept them warm and concealed. With everyone who might pose a threat to them at Lwaxanna's party, they had embarked on their current mission with impunity hours ago. Now, however, behind schedule and cold, they had begun to worry about reaching the safety of the tunnel.
Ro and Worf heard the sound long before they could have seen anything. A regiment of men, including officers on horseback and supply wagons, simply could not move quietly through the countryside. With the clopping of hooves and the shuffling of tired men's dusty boots, what Ro thought would be the perfect night to sneak people through the county suddenly became the worst night to do so. They stopped the buckboard immediately.
"What is that?" Worf asked, blowing out the lantern.
"The army."
"What? What are they doing here?"
"I don't know. Maybe they're home for the holiday." Her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"As soon as they come over that hill, they will see us."
"We'll have to think fast," Ro said, her hand on her shotgun.
The revelers all seemed to be enjoying themselves, even if the reason for the pleasure was not what Lwaxanna had anticipated. Sheriff Q was the center of attention, sitting with the finished complaints on his lap, telling stories about the misery that Vash was enduring, to everyone's apparent delight. However morbid and inappropriate she found the topic, they all appeared riveted by their former friend's suffering. The lone exception was Marie, who had taken refuge across from Judge Satie, by the fireplace.
Lwaxanna wandered around, sampling the finger foods and sipping champagne. All of a sudden, she felt something stab her in the stomach. She clutched her dress and looked down, but of course nothing was there. It was not something physical, she realized.
"Deanna?" She whispered.
No one noticed her leave the festivities. Homn accompanied her upstairs, where they found Deanna's room empty. Panicked, Lwaxanna hurried downstairs and, for a reason she could not explain, once she reached the main hall, she flew out the door without her wrap. By the time Homn had caught up with her on the dark driveway, on the way to the stable, she had found Edward with the carriage and was grilling him about her daughter's disappearance.
After several tense seconds and to Edward's great relief, she did not seem angry after he told her the whole story of Mrs. Crusher's intractability and the impending arrival of her grandchild. Never known for remaining calm, suddenly Lwaxanna was the model of organized action. Keeping her hand on the carriage, as though she were holding it in place, she turned to her most trusted servant.
"Homn, pack up my bags and Deanna's. I'm going over to the Picards. Please explain to my guests. If they ever stop talking and let you get a word in edgewise."
With that, she spritely climbed into the carriage on her own. "Edward, take me over to the Picard house immediately. My daughter needs me."
