Anticipating his reunion with Beverly distracted Jean-Luc so much that he lost track of where the regiment was. Rather than the narrowing road before him, his eyes saw Beverly on their wedding day. He saw her walking into his parlor in her blue gown. He heard her say "I do," to become his wife. He saw her wearing the sensual silk dressing gown. He felt her warm lips on his as they made love. He felt her grabbing him, gripping him, licking and sucking him—

Beside him, Will Riker interrupted his reverie. "Looks like we might have a problem."

Jean-Luc turned to his trusted lieutenant and Will nodded toward the road ahead, where a light was visible on what appeared to be a wagon. But, who would be out in a wagon on a cold New Year's Eve on a back county road? Jean-Luc could think of only one person.

Riding in front of the group, Q recognized her first and loudly announced her presence to his men. "Why, I believe that's Mrs. Picard out there in the middle of the night! Whatever could she be doing out here at this hour?"

"Perhaps she's in need of help," Will offered neutrally. As if riding to her aid, Jean-Luc and he kicked their horses to catch up to Q.

The three men, followed by the rest of the officers and, farther back, the soldiers on foot, cantered past the dense woods that lined the road.

With a triumphant grin, Q—vividly remembering the last time he had encountered her buckboard in the dead of night—rode alongside Ro, who sat perfectly still, the reins in her hands, blocking the regiment's path. Here, only yards away from him, he was certain, lay evidence that would prove that Laren Ro Picard, not Vash, was the slave smuggler.

"Mrs. Picard," he said, "what a surprise."

"I could say the same to you, too, Major," Ro retorted.

"What in the universe could bring you out driving in the dark on a cold New Year's Eve?"

"Well, I had gone into town to purchase some supplies and stopped for dinner and I'm afraid I got a rather late start back."

Jean-Luc felt a lump form in his throat. Her story sounded preposterous even to him.

"Good thing we've found you so that we can help you home in the dark." Will tried to ride past Q, but the latter turned his horse sideways and blocked him.

Thinking quickly, Jean-Luc rode around the two of them until he was abreast of the wagon. "My darling wife, how wonderful to see you again after so long!" He spoke loudly enough for the men behind to hear him and he hoped he conveyed the appropriate excitement at seeing the woman who was supposed to be his wife. He held out an arm to embrace Ro.

Catching on, Ro slid toward Jean-Luc and leaned in for a hug. Instead, Jean-Luc grabbed her, twisted her body away from Q and Will, laying her across his lap, and bent to kiss her.

"Are you carrying what I think you are in back?" He whispered.

"No, we're safe."

Will whistled suggestively at what appeared to be a rather protracted kiss.

Some of the men began to chuckle.

"Let's hurry home, men, to see our own wives!" Will's distraction worked for at least some of the soldiers, who broke ranks and headed toward the wagon. Will moved his horse aside to let them pass.

But Q was not deterred. Taking advantage of Ro's position on the other side of the wagon—just righting herself after Jean-Luc's embrace—Q moved to the tarp on the back of the wagon and ripped it back to reveal . . .

. . . a wagonload of supplies and Mr. Soong, cradling a jug and appearing very inebriated.

"Are we home? That was hic that was fasht," Mr. Soong slurred.

"Q!" Ro shouted as she stood and reached for the tarp. Grabbing the thick covering from his hands, she made as if to re-cover Mr. Soong, but thought better of it. "Are you pleased with yourself?" She said to a very shocked Q. "You've exposed a good man's secret and jeopardized his career and his reputation."

For once, Q seemed not to know what to say.

Empowered, Ro continued, speaking to the men of the company. "I hope I can count on you all to be discreet. I'm sure some of you took a few drinks while you were off at war. How would you feel if your story was talked about all over the county? How would you feel?"

Several men lowered their heads. Beside the wagon, Jean-Luc held his head up proudly.

To re-assert his authority over the men and the situation, Q loudly addressed them. "This is as good a place as any to break up, men. You know when to meet up and where. Everyone, enjoy your leave. You're welcome. Happy new year!" To punctuate his pronouncement, he fired his revolver into the air and, at that sign, the men hooted, hollered and scattered.


Her loud screams echoed in the chilly halls of the great house as she bore down and pushed, the movement forcing her head down into her sweat-soaked pillow. Until, finally, she strained her body past what she had thought were its limits. "Aaaaaaaaaaah!"

"It's all right. I've got the baby. Relax." The calming presence in the room, Beverly gently guided the small body out of the birth canal and onto a warm towel provided by Guinan. She expertly cut and tied the umbilical cord, checking the baby's respiration, color, pulse and muscle movement. The baby was definitely small—between five and six pounds, Beverly guessed—but apparently healthy. Guinan softly wiped the baby down with another warm cloth, per Beverly's instructions. A small cry told Deanna and Lwaxanna—both panting and nervous—that the baby was alive. The two women tightly clasped each other's hands.

Tears on her face and still worried about her patient, Beverly tended to Deanna, while Guinan wrapped the baby up in a blanket and handed the bundle to Lwaxanna, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Congratulations, it's a healthy boy." Guinan's closed-mouth smile stretched from ear to ear.

Lwaxanna was quite beside herself. "Oh, Deanna." She showed the baby to her daughter, who, despite her exertions, sat up in bed, causing Beverly to lean forward. "He's beautiful," the new grandmother cooed.

Guinan moved around to the other side of the bed to arrange pillows behind Deanna. The new mother held her baby for the first time with eyes round in wonder. The tiny pink infant's face did not obviously resemble either Will or her, but his eyes opened enough to show his father's blue irises. A thin patch of black hair covered most of his tiny head.

"Oh . . . ," was all Deanna could say as she beheld him.

"Guinan," Beverly said without looking up, "please give Deanna some water. Call down to see if the dinner is ready." She squeezed Deanna's leg behind her knee to feel her pulse. She had to make sure that Deanna's body was recovering properly. She would not relax until she was sure that she was out of danger.

Deanna sighed. "I just wish Will could be here to see his son." She could not take her eyes off the baby. Her heart pounded as she thought of how her life had just changed. She drank some water in the glass Guinan held for her and realized how thirsty she was. Guinan gave her more. "He's so beautiful, isn't he, mother?"

Lwaxanna slid closer, tears glistening in her eyes, and wrapped her arm around Deanna's shoulders. "Just like his mother."

Guinan held a water glass for Beverly and wiped the sweat off her forehead. Walking around the midwife, she lit a candle from the light fixture on the wall and quietly stepped out of the room to get the dinner that all of them needed.


Jean-Luc, Ro and Wesley burst through the front door, startling Guinan, on the stairs, for the first time in many years. As she quickly descended, they stopped speaking and looked up at her.

"Captain? Is that you?" Guinan asked holding the candle up to light his face.

He nodded and spoke firmly in a lowered voice as she came alongside them. "Yes, we were finally granted leave. The entire regiment is on the main road heading to their homes and Worf is hiding in the woods with . . . ," he turned a stern gaze on Miss Ro, "some passengers. We need to get them to the tunnel safely. Whose carriage is out front?"

"Senator Riker's. The carriage brought Mrs. Troi. Mrs. Riker just had her baby." Guinan held the candle up to the bedroom at the top of the stairs, from which a light shone.

Beverly will be up there, Jean-Luc thought looking up at the doorway wistfully.

"Is anyone else here? Anyone else on the way?" Ro asked urgently.

Guinan shook her head. "Most people are at Mrs. Troi's house. She was having a party."

"Then we can go help Worf," Ro concluded.

"No." Jean-Luc returned his attention to the two women before him. "We would have no excuse for being out in the woods in the middle of the night. We couldn't risk discovery."

"Guinan just said that everyone is at the Trois' house."

"She said that most people are there. And they'll probably start leaving soon since it's after midnight and their hostess has been called away. There'll be traffic on the roads." His authoritative tone left no room for discussion. Guinan noticed that Ro, rather than continuing to argue, as she typically did, immediately conceded.

"Then what do we do?" Ro asked.

Jean-Luc considered the two women who had masterminded and managed the operation together for years, yet appeared to be near total opposites in temperament and tactics. "We can't send Mr. Soong out to get them, because he's supposedly too drunk to sit up." He looked at Wesley.

"I'll go," the young man quickly volunteered.

Jean-Luc was loathe to risk his stepson, who had already been arrested once.

As if reading Jean-Luc's mind, Wesley stood up straighter and said, "I'll be all right." He shook his head. "We'll go through the woods. We hardly even have to be on the road."

Jean-Luc stared at Wesley as he considered his options. Eventually, he nodded. "All right, but I don't want you to go alone." He looked at Ro and Guinan. "Is there anyone else we can trust who could go out and search for them? Anyone else who was part of the railroad?"

"Geordi," Guinan suggested.

"Geordi?" Ro scoffed. "The blind man?"

"He has excellent hearing."

Jean-Luc shook his head. "No, too risky."

"Ben could go." Guinan sounded sure of the idea.

Jean-Luc looked at Ro for confirmation, but found the young woman staring at Guinan with wide eyes. "Ben? Ben help Worf? You do realize how much he hates him, don't you?"

Jean-Luc was confused. "Ben hates Worf? Why?"

"It's a long story," Ro answered.

"A long story that needs a new ending," Guinan added. "Ben and Wesley would be the best people for the job."

"That's crazy," Ro protested. "I can't believe—"

A knock on the door interrupted her.

The four of them instinctively stepped farther into the hall, away from the door. Jean-Luc took charge. "Guinan, take Wesley to find Ben and send them out there to retrieve Worf and the passengers as soon as possible. Please find someone to take your place." He looked at Miss Ro with a wry smile. "My wife and I will answer the door."

Guinan lit another candle from hers and gave it to Miss Ro just as another knock sounded, then disappeared in the shadows.

"Shall we?" Jean-Luc held out his hand toward the imposing front door, with a futile glance over his shoulder to the lighted room, hoping in vain to catch sight of Beverly.

"Of course." Ro tried to muster some fake enthusiasm. With Jean-Luc standing almost at attention behind her, she opened the door.

Will, Dr. Timicin and Kate stood on the doorstep, eager to come in. "Good evening, Mrs. Picard," the doctor said. "I hope it's not too soon for us to stop by for Mrs. Riker, especially since we have Mr. Riker with us."

Will looked like he was going to explode in excitement. Only his nervousness at becoming a father rendered him tongue-tied.

"And I thought maybe I could help Beverly," Kate said. "Has Deanna had the baby yet?"

Ro froze. She would be expected to know that. Perhaps she would even be expected to have been in the room, helping.

Jean-Luc saved her. "Won't you all come in?"

The three entered and Ro wordlessly led them into the front parlor, where Guinan's back-up had miraculously appeared and begun lighting the room.

Will stopped to whisper to Jean-Luc. "Is everything all right?"

"We have no idea. Just arrived."

Once inside, Dr. Timicin observed the propriety of introductions. "Captain Picard, I presume? I am Dr. David Timicin, graduate of Harvard Medical School. I've been serving as county physician since the unfortunate health crisis of my friend and colleague, Dr. Dalen Quaice."

Jean-Luc's cheek twitched at the mention of his friend's ill health. "Dr. Timicin." He gave a slight bow. "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard, late of the French Royal Navy and more recently of the Army of the Confederate States of America." He extended a hand and Dr. Timicin took it.

"Pleased to meet you," both men said.

Will hovered over Ro expectantly. She stared at him with her mouth open, trying to think of something to say.

Kate rescued them both. "If it's all right with you," she said to Ro, "I'll go up and check on things with Beverly." She squeezed Will's arm. "And I'll let you know as soon as you can come up."

Will and Ro nodded and Kate departed. Ro noticed the young woman, Guinan's replacement, whose name she did not know, standing in the shadows awaiting instructions. "Would anyone like something to drink?" Ro asked.

"Yes," Jean-Luc took up the charge. "It is the new year, after all, and we have a great deal to celebrate."

"Why, thank you, captain," Dr. Timicin said. "I would be happy to join you in a toast."

"And I know you'd like one," Jean-Luc said to Will, still in shock at the news of his imminent fatherhood. He crossed to the bar himself and retrieved a bottle of brandy.

Ro turned to the young woman. "I'd like some water, please."

"Will you join us in a toast, Mrs. Picard?" Dr. Timicin asked.

Jean-Luc looked at her. "My wife does not usually drink alcohol," he said, leaving Ro wondering how he knew that about her. "But, perhaps, tonight, due to . . . all this excitement, my dear, you might care to join us?" He smiled a generous, unnatural-looking smile that the doctor would not realize was insincere.

Ro thought over the events of the last several hours: her risky decision to move an unprecedented seven passengers at one time; the slower than usual pace in the overloaded wagon; trusting Mr. Soong to convincingly play a drunkard to save the lives of the passengers and conductors; the dispatch of the rescue mission consisting of two men who did not get along; and, finally, Deanna Riker giving birth amid a house full of people, where she was forced to play the happy wife and hostess.

Just then, the front door opened and Marie walked in, followed by Kyle Riker and Alynna Nechayev. "Hello, everyone, my, what a wonderful way to start the new year! Our men home and a new baby!"

Ro sidled over to Jean-Luc and slid her arm through his. "Yes, darling," she said. "I think I will have a little drink."

Kyle, with Alynna perched threateningly on his arm, surveyed the room. "Looks like the party's moved over here! Thanks for hosting, captain."

Jean-Luc patted his pretend wife's arm and in that simple gesture conveyed strength and the patience to get through the trying hours ahead. Now, the concealment of their secret work depended on them keeping the others occupied and off the roads. As Jean-Luc poured drinks, however, he realized that two of his neighbors whom he definitely wanted to detain were missing from the group.

"Where are Q and Vash?" He asked innocently.

"Oh, good heavens," Marie answered mid-stride. She continued to breeze over to her brother-in-law and kissed him on both cheeks. "We'll be here till dawn if we open that subject up again."

Jean-Luc and Ro exchanged a glance. That would be plenty of time, they each thought.


Since she was a little girl, Victoria Hetrick DeLancie had seen herself as a survivor. Long before she had acquired the vocabulary to describe her dominant personality traits of resourcefulness, persuasiveness and amorality, she had developed them into a guiding trio that would empower her to constantly improve her position. This potent combination had served her well, from state to state and husband to husband, until New Year's Eve 1861, when her luck appeared to have run out.

Although a feeling of helplessness had been locked inside her subconscious since early childhood, Vash was so unfamiliar with the emotion, her defenses had been so successful at burying it, that she did not recognize it when it poked its head into her awareness in the county jail. Completely cut off from the outside world, Vash languished without legal counsel or, apparently, legal recourse. Her letters and telegrams to her husband went unanswered and she began to suspect that his silence was because he was having an affair.

Such lascivious behavior would be scandalous, but not uncharacteristic of Q—in fact, he had secretly begun his relationship with Vash while still married to his first wife. True, he was presently stationed with a regiment of men in far off Virginia, but, Vash knew, there were women in Virginia. Worse, there was one very attractive, very unattached woman that her husband already knew, from Georgia. After much deliberation, Vash zeroed in on the primary suspect in her husband's affair: Beverly Crusher.

If Beverly were having an affair with Q, then her cross-state trek would make much more sense, Vash reasoned. Never mind that, if she considered it, Q and Beverly had never seemed to really like one another. No one knew better than Vash how easily a man could be manipulated, especially when a woman held a commodity—namely, her sex—that was in short supply and conveniently located.

Vash had only recently worked out the affair notion, after Alynna had informed her that she could no longer visit her due to her pariah status among the elites of the county. She would have like to have gotten Alynna's validation of her theory. Despite her old friend's weak assurances that they would resume their relationship after Vash's current difficulties were resolved, Vash had seen the phoniness in Alynna's eyes and gestures. Vash had been dumped by friends before; she knew what abandonment looked, sounded and felt like.

But, she asked herself, don't I have other friends? Where was Kate? Where were the Trois? The Barclays, Maria Maxwell, Marie Picard? Given the amount of time she had spent obsequiously flattering the Saties, she had expected Norah to defend her, perhaps to write a letter on her behalf to Atlanta.

Nothing. No one had offered to help her, no one had returned the cards she had sent. Not even her husband had bothered to write to her. Vash had to face the fact that no one was coming to save her this time. For the first time since, as a child, she had determined to forge her own destiny, she was completely alone, with no chance of rescue.

All of a sudden, Vash slipped out of the chair in which she had been sitting and collapsed in a pile on the floor. Her cheek against the cold stone floor, Vash realized that she lacked the strength to raise herself up. She struggled to wrap her shawl around her for warmth and noticed her messy red cuffs. A sticky, red-brown liquid seemed to be everywhere, on her dress, in her hair, on her hands.

Disconnected, or half-connected, images flashed through Vash's mind. She remembered how Kyle had come to visit her to tell her that she was alone and unloved in the world. Yes, it was he who had suggested that Q was having an affair. He told her that he was seizing her house and land and everything in an on it, as property of the people of the State of Georgia. The law would deal with her very harshly and she was all alone. Kyle poured her a glass of champagne to celebrate the new year and, shortly after drinking it, she had begun to feel woozy.

She remembered sitting at her small desk, writing . . . something. Kyle was helping her. He helped her write her letter and he helped her with the letter opener—the sharp, silver letter opener. The metal had felt cold against her wrists and it had hurt. Kyle had helped her.

She felt awful. Maybe she had a hangover? She only remembered the one glass of champagne, but when one gets drunk enough to black out, Vash knew from experience, almost anything could have happened.

This life was over, she knew. But, eventually, Vash thought through the haze of her light-headedness, she would get out of jail, move away and start all over. Maybe in the North, next time, where no one knew her. She had nothing left here, no one and no thing. She felt so cold. She closed her eyes, searching for warmth and rest.