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Up from Canaan
Two
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Golden rays of sun caressed the Caldos landscape. It lit the amber fields and sparkled off the dancing whitecaps of the sea. A tender breeze ushered itself by, lifting and teasing the russet and silver strands of hair from Beverly Crusher's slender neck. Along with it floated one or two poplar leaves that had gained early color. Crusher sat back on her knees, breaking from the monotony of weeding her small garden plot. The squash and pumpkins had begun to bloom in the late summer sun, and would soon begin to bear fruit. Winter would be cold and wet – but Crusher welcomed the desolation and isolation it would bring to the landscape and her life.
The memories had not left her, and still reeled through her mind erratically, always taking her by surprise in their intense reality. But the warm sun and cool air dulled the edges of her pain, as did the colonists who were consistent in their kindness. They did not know why she had returned to take her grandmother's place, but they welcomed her. Early on they had sensed her heartache, her detachment from them. Brunch, supper, tea invitations had all gone unanswered or rejected. The community had not taken it poorly, recognizing that the lone woman in the small cottage on the hill had not ever intended to become part of them, but to leave behind something else.
As she stared off over the azure sea, the past washed over her again. As always her attempts to stop it were futile, and she surrendered. Already lost in thought she rose and made her way to a faded-out deck chair that rested nearby. She elegantly sank down on the weathered teak and closed her eyes.
xxxxx
"You know, you'll think much better on a full stomach." Jean-Luc Picard stood leaning on the door jam of Beverly's office, a devilish grin on his face.
"Is that an invitation?" She looked up, eyebrow arched suggestively. Crusher and Picard had already made plans to dine together that evening, and both were edgy with anticipation – tonite was the nite. They had coordinated their schedules and fiercely defended the time throughout the week.
"Absolutely." He stood upright as she came around the desk to greet him. She extended her hand and he took it. Together they strolled out of the office and toward the lift.
"How was your shift?" Crusher focused on small talk, trying to keep her mind off of the evening ahead.
"Long. I was mysteriously distracted the whole time. At one point Ensign Maggiore waited for five minutes for me to give the order to engage our course." He met her clear blue eyes and his own lit in amusement and joy as he chuckled at the thought. They paused and entered the lift.
"Alyssa gave up on me five minutes after I started my shift. She sent me into my office to finish the quarterly crew evaluations." Beverly could not stop the grin from spreading across her face as she moved closer to Picard and began to run her hand down his chest.
"Beverly, if you're not careful we won't even make it to dinner." Picard removed her hand and tugged on his uniform tensely. Maintaining his control was growing increasingly difficult.
"Would that be so bad?" Crusher stood primly, her hands behind her back. But she was still standing uncomfortably close to Picard.
"I believe they have already corked the wine Café Laroue." Picard's tone was artificially reserved.
"Far be it from me to stand in between Jean-Luc Picard and a bottle of wine." Beverly abruptly changed her posture and moved across the lift.
Now it was Picard's turn to deal. "What if I promise that I will only make you wait through one bottle?" He stepped close to her and wrapped his arm around her trim waist as he leaned in to whisper his supplication.
Beverly maintained her arch posture and stared ahead. "I suppose that would be acceptable."
The turned to each other and smiled as the lift came to a stop. Picard took Crusher's hand firmly and they strolled to the holodeck.
They had first made love there. Jean-Luc had wanted to return to his quarters, but Beverly had refused the delay. "The doors are secured, Jean- Luc. I'm not taking any chances. We've waited three months – hell, we've waited 25 years. I'm not waiting another second." Those had been the last words from either of them for hours. They'd spoken, but only with their eyes, mouths, and hands.
It had been glorious. In those first moments, Beverly Crusher's world had stopped – simply stopped moving forward. Time did not start again for her until she'd awoken much later, near dawn, and risen on one elbow to watch the snow cascade silently through the trees over the rise and fall of the landscape of Jean-Luc's chest. They'd started with dinner in a mountain chalet, modeled after ancient Swiss hotels of 19th century Earth. The romance of the setting had swept them both away before the second course, and they had hastily retreated to a room with a bottle of wine and desert.
They did not finish the wine nor the crepes. Instead they made love for hours, breaking intermittently to sleep. Upon waking, Jean-Luc would gaze at her intently for what seemed to be stretches of forever, until lust overcame them again. Their love had been like the breaking of a dam. For so many years they had watched fissures appear in the architecture of their mutual resolve. Slowly, slowly the structure had weakened, and more and more desire ebbed through. Finally, the retaining wall had burst, and a tidal wave of emotion and passion had flooded through. The sheer force of it was powerful, undeniable, and would forever alter the course of their lives.
Beverly and Jean-Luc understood all that within minutes after they had first been together. There would be no denying their future, their roles as lovers and soul mates. He had not asked her to marry him then, but the question, when it came a few months later, seemed as an afterthought. She had not answered him, only taken him in her arms and held him fiercely until both were overwhelmed by their need to be with the other.
xxxxx
Beverly choked on her own sobs as she came gasping back to reality. The sun was setting over the western sky, an angry crimson ball of fire spreading blood across the water. The air held a chill, and she shivered as she fell back into the chair, her head lolling weakly on her neck. She felt as flimsy as a rag doll, her body drained of strength by the emotional and spiritual holocaust of her life. It was like this each time she came out of one of her unbidden and silent reveries. Some were worse than others. The first night they'd given in to their feelings, or the first time they'd made love. And the worst – the reminiscence that invariably drove her to the vial of sedatives – the violation in the church. And it had been a violation. She shuddered at the thought and quickly changed subjects in her head.
It was approaching nightfall. She was not hungry, but she should eat something, or at the very least give herself a nutrition supplement. It would not do to have Deanna show up at her doorstep and insist on force- feeding her for a week. Solids rarely stayed down well for Beverly anymore, and she'd just end up running to the bathroom after meals. Despite her efforts to maintain her weight, Crusher had lost 15 pounds, and could admit to herself she was an eerie sight. She would start eating again, really eating, soon. She'd promised herself that a month ago, but was no closer to fulfilling it.
"Give it time, Beverly." She coached herself through the days, always staying positive. She sometimes wallowed in her own discouraging, vindictive thoughts, but she always came out the other side. She saw her recovery as a marathon, or a struggle with illness. It would take a long, long time to reach her goal, and by the time she did she may be a whole different person. And that was fine with her – for whoever Beverly Crusher had been almost a year ago was dead, her soul left behind at the altar of that church where Jean-Luc had crucified it.
xxxxx
"I wanted to be the one to tell you, Beverly." Deanna reached over the table and touched her friend's arm tentatively, before firmly grasping her forearm and leaning forward to try to meet the woman's glassy stare. "Beverly?"
Crusher turned her head slowly, speaking softly and tonelessly as she responded. "Thank you." Deanna was troubled by the vacancy in Beverly's gaze and mind. She had been ready to accept a tidal wave of emotions at the news she heralded. The Captain had always wanted a child – and the raven- haired empath knew that Beverly had hoped to have one with him when they married. Deanna had expected sorrow, even anger at the fact he was to have one now. But somehow Crusher seemed unfazed by the news.
In truth, Beverly had in essence stopped interacting on an emotional level with anyone. She lived a cyclical existence of routine. She was going through the motions of life, hoping that by continuing to do so she would eventually feel again – feel anything except vacuous pain. The fact that Picard would now have a child by his "new" wife was devastating. But Beverly had reached maximum saturation. The knife in her heart was twisted as deep as it could go. The damage was done, and anything else was simply collateral. She had expected this news eventually. She knew what Jean-Luc wanted, needed from life. She had, in fact, been preparing herself for this conversation.
What Deanna did not know, what nobody knew, was that Beverly had indeed been pregnant by Picard at one time. They had been hoping to have a child months before their marriage, and she had become fertile much more quickly than expected after stopping her contraceptive treatment. She conceived a month before the wedding. They were overjoyed, and planned to announce the happy news at their reception.
But after he had finished publicly humiliating her at the ceremony, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him roughly, and hissed angrily, "And get rid of that bastard child." She was speechless. The tears continued to stream down her face as she stared at him. There was only one question in her mind – how? How could this man, whom she had come to love so wholly, so completely, have become such an absolute stranger?
She terminated the pregnancy. She still wrestled with the decision a year later. But what would she have told her daughter about her father – the father that did not want her, did not want her mother. Perhaps the child would have helped her heal – or perhaps the girl would have grown up with two absent parents, Picard physically and Beverly emotionally. She could not do that, and could not face seeing the child grow to look like, sound like, act like her father. It was the hardest decision of her life, but one that she accepted. Now, there would be another child for Picard – but not for her. Not ever for her.
Crusher brought herself back to the moment and offered a placation to Deanna. She knew Deanna was surprised at the emotions Beverly failed to produce. "Thank you for coming. It's good to see you." She smiled at Deanna, but it did not touch her eyes.
Deanna sat back in her chair. She had little hope of reaching Beverly. She felt the distance between them each time she visited. It was not decreasing. Instead, Beverly had become more and more emotionally isolated from her friends and her life. It was deeply troubling to the counselor. What Beverly needed desperately was to connect with someone – anyone. Troi sighed. "Beverly, I'm worried about you. We're all worried about you."
"I know." Beverly stood and walked over to the stove to put on a pot of water. She leaned against the counter, loosely wringing her hands as she waited for the water to heat. "I'm not going to tell you I'm fine Deanna. We both know it's a lie." She turned, looked up and opened the cupboard above the sink, taking down two glasses. "I'm not getting better. It's been a year and I'm no better. I can't sleep. I can't focus on my research. The memories are still with me – so vivid. God Deanna – the memories." Beverly turned again and walked back to the stove. She'd lost before, but this was different time was not healing – it was making things worse.
The water roiled in the pot and she turned off the range. She pulled a canister from the back of the counter out and popped it open, reaching in to take two tea bags and place them carefully in the mugs. "I don't know which are worse – the good ones are the bad ones. It all hurts the same, leaves me aching for it to just stop." She returned to the table, cups steaming. She placed the hot tea in front of Deanna and curled into her own chair. She tucked her right leg up under her left and clutched her own tea with both hands, grasping it to her chest as though the ambient heat would heal her battered heart. She stared out the window, spent.
"Will has put in for a transfer." Troi confessed it quietly. She knew Beverly would only feel guilt over the change, feel that she had somehow played a part in the unraveling of her friend's lives. In truth, Riker could no longer stand to serve with Picard. The Captain had become increasingly cavalier with his commission and out of touch with his staff. The general sentiment onboard was that Picard was tired of his command, and vying for a spot in the admiralty. Morale on the ship was not high. After what had happened with Beverly, it had been insult to injury, and more than Will could stand.
"And you?" Beverly's eyes did not stray from the window as she posed the question.
"I am concerned about the Captain. But if Will is transferred, I don't know how much longer I'll stay on the Enterprise." It was Deanna's turn to speak distractedly as she sipped her tea. Things had not been right since Picard's dramatic revelation on his ignominious wedding day. Nothing had been in harmony for any of them. The constant dissonance had worn on Deanna, and she was rapidly tiring of it.
Crusher felt Deanna's unease and reached to take her hand as it lay on the table. "I'm sure you'll do whatever's best." She punctuated it with another smile she could not pretend was genuine.
"Right." Deanna stood, needing to move and clear her mind. "Now. Tell me more about these rhodedendrons you're cultivating...."
xxxxx
Beverly woke with a start, sobbing. She sat bolt upright in the bed, hoping the change in position would help chase away the vivid recollection of the dream. Deanna's visit had been last month, and the thought of Picard and his child dogged Crusher's waking and sleeping thoughts.
She threw off the covers and stumbled into the bathroom, not bothering with the lamp. The dual moons poured light through the curtains and illuminated her bedroom in a silver pink glow. Most on the planet thought the moonlight here beautiful. It happened only twice a year that both shone full at the same time, and it was always celebrated with an evening festival. Beverly had attended out of need to maintain some connection with the colonists. She knew they talked about her, knew they were wary of her hesitancy to establish a relationship with them. Tonite's celebration had involved a special play written and performed by the small kindergarten class. Beverly had left half way though, but not before the tiny faces and voices burned themselves into her unconscious.
She closed her eyes and turned on the faucet, leaning over as she splashed cold water on her face. She would not sleep the rest of the night – three hours would have to do. She reached for a towel as water dripped down onto her nightshirt and thought about what she would do for another four or five hours until daylight. She could take a sedative, but she'd already taken three this week. She was worried she was becoming psychologically addicted to them.
She exhaled loudly. "Just get it together, Crusher." A small voice inside her head pestered her lately. She was beginning to wonder if she could do just that – if she could in fact ever break out of this purgatory. "A little more time."
She left the bathroom and stood at the foot of her bed. What would she do tonite? She tapped her foot. "Ah." She crossed over into the hall and headed toward the attic stairs. There was a project she had started on the Enterprise, one that could only be finished when integrated with the results of a study that had not been complete at the time – a study that had arrived in her Starfleet medical journal that morning.
She clicked on the light in the attic and looked for the trunk she'd brought with her from the ship. She found it easily enough and popped it open. She rummaged through a few old uniforms and a labcoat before she found the set of padds she was looking for. As she began to close the lid, a shaft of moonlight caught a small silver object and winked off of it brightly.
It was the box Guinan had given her. Beverly could not say why she had not thrown it out. She'd wanted to sock the woman after their conversation – she had been more insensitive than Beverly could believe. But she had kept the box, and now she picked it up. She hadn't had any desire to open it at the time, and now she was curious.
She turned it over and over in her delicate hands. It was smooth, and cool to the touch. There didn't appear to be any way to open it, nor any seams nor hinges. Curious. "You can make this right." The enigmatic woman's words echoed in her mind. Again the question – how? How in the world could she make things right? What was Guinan even thinking? With that, Beverly tossed the box back in and closed the trunk.
It would be another long night. Beverly retreated down the stairs and prepared to wait out the moons.
xxxxx
Winter covered the world, cold and wet. Dampness was in the house, in Beverly's soul. Nothing was right. Desperation was a quiet and persistent presence in the red headed physician's life. There was more white in her hair now than there should be. At fifty, Crusher was in the prime of her life. But her spirit felt old and heavy. It was not like her to be so cowed by what had happened to her. But no matter what she did, she could not shake this.
Crusher stood at the sink, staring out over the bleak landscape. Leaves on the willowy poplars around the house were long gone, replaced with a thin dusting of snow from a storm last week. It was still and quiet outside and inside. The residents of the village had holed up in their homes with their families. Lazy tufts of smoke drifted up and blended with the grey sky before fading out into the stratosphere. A cold front had moved in after the snow had fallen, and in the night she would lay awake, listening as branches snapped under the weight of accumulated ice.
"Dammit. This isn't working!" Crusher abruptly slammed her hand down on the counter, rattling the breakfast dishes. She was angry, but there was no release in it. She would move through each of the cycles of her grief, only to begin them again.
"It's time for that son of a bitch to face up to this." Hiding was no good. She'd retreated to Caldos to lick her wounds, but it had been a bitter balm, leaving them as raw as ever. Crusher moved through the house quickly, banging her hip on the kitchen table as she passed. "Oww." She continued on to her desk and anxiously punched up the communications link, running her slender hands through her hair as she waited.
Moments later Will Riker's expectant face appeared on the screen. This was the first time Beverly had contacted any of them – he hoped it was a good sign. After hearing what the Doctor proposed, however, the intrepid Commander found himself wishing Deanna had answered the hail.
"The Enterprise will be in range of Starbase 55 in the next 10 days. Everyone would love to see you Beverly, but are you sure you want to come to us?" Riker leaned forward, pulling a hand through his beard. In the past couple of years it had become streaked with silver. It had grown in a manner befitting the dashing first officer, forming two stripes at the corners of his mouth. On the one hand, it was good to see a glimmer of the old Beverly. On the other, the Captain had proven himself capable of heights of insensitivity Riker could not believe were possible. Was Beverly really ready to handle what she was getting herself into?
Beverly stood and began to pace. "Don't worry about me Commander. I can handle it. I've spent the past year in hell. Whatever that bastard has to say, I'm ready to hear it." She turned and faced the monitor, giving him a wry smile. "I don't know what else to do, Will." She sank back down into the old desk chair.
Riker sat up and pulled at his uniform. "I'll tell the Captain I'm expecting an old friend. You don't have to see him until you're ready." He smiled warmly. "It will be good to see you here again."
"I'd say I was looking forward to it, but I don't think that's exactly accurate." Crusher adopted a sardonic grin. "Give my best to Deanna. I'll see you in six days." She smiled again and clicked the link off. She slowly closed the monitor. Six days. She'd lied a little bit to Riker – she wasn't sure if she were ready at all. But there was only one way to find out.
xxxxx
Beverly sank into the cushions of the small transport shuttle. She'd spent the week doing her best to prepare herself emotionally for the task at hand. She'd packed and unpacked three times. Even as she was walking to the transport station she had been convinced she should just turn around and go back. But that quiet voice that had once been desperation now urged her forward.
It was a six hour ride to the Starbase, and another four from there to the Enterprise. She'd packed several padds of research to keep her occupied along the way, but none of them were holding her attention. She was now in the second leg of the journey, and her stomach began to flip flop as she thought of what waited for her when she reached her destination. At the Starbase she had dug out the small box from Guinan. She wasn't sure why she brought it along, but she now held it tight. As long as she'd clutched it, it stayed cool.
She had not slept more than six hours in the last two days, and fatigue began to wash over her along with boredom. The combination lulled her into a fitful sleep.
xxxxx
"You're glowing." Deanna tucked an errant strand of fire-red hair behind one of Beverly's delicate ears.
"I know. Does it show?" Beverly was as close to giddy as she'd ever felt.
"It shows, and it's beautiful." Deanna could not stop herself from embracing her friend. "I'm so happy for you Beverly."
Crusher moved to wipe away the tears that were already forming in her eyes. "I think I'm going to spend most of the day crying." The two women smiled at each other and laughed.
He stood at the top of the aisle, dashing in his dress uniform. He seemed uncomfortable, anxious. Beverly smiled to herself. He was so put out by public events – and being the center of it was enough to drive him to distraction.
She felt lightheaded as she walked down the aisle, Will at her side. So many of their friends had come, some who had known them since either she or Jean-Luc were at the academy. Most had responded to the invite with a variation of, "It's about time." They had laughed at each communiqué as it arrived.
She came to Jean-Luc's side and met his eyes. Her brow darkened as she did, not finding the joy she had expected to see reflected there. Knowing him as she did, she could anticipate his reaction to almost any situation. As nervous as he may have been, his response to this day would never be solemn. His gaze was forboding.
"Jean-Luc?" She moved to take his hand. He pulled back with a start.
Panic sounded in Crusher's head. Her heart beat in her throat and her stomach filled with ice water. Jean-Luc had changed his mind. Those fleeting insecurities that had visited her in the smallest hours of the morning came rushing forward, screaming in her head. The music, the lights, the world all dimmed as Jean-Luc Picard became the focus of her terror.
"Jean-Luc? What's going on?" He had not spoken, but she did not need him to – it was all wrong. She had envisioned this moment for months, ever since he had asked her to marry him. She would arrive at the altar, and he would take her hand, brush her cheek with a kiss, and whisper as he so often did, "my love." She would tremble and meet his gaze, her own cerulean eyes overflowing with contentment and wonder.
None of this was transpiring. His eyes were distant, hard, and resolved. Beverly's conscious mind surfaced long enough to notice that the small parish had fallen silent, the air now still and heavy. Admiral Brand stood before them, waiting for a sign from Picard or Crusher.
Jacqueline cleared her throat. "Captain, are you ready?"
He turned first to her, then to the assembly. "I am ready indeed, Admiral." He clasped his hands behind him, squared his shoulders, and began to pace. "Ladies and gentlemen. I thank you all for coming to this, what should be the most joyous occasion of one's life. And indeed it shall be, for two people here today. His gaze went not to Beverly, but to the pew directly in front of him. Today, Anna Young and I will be wed." He paused in his oratory.
Crusher stood paralyzed. She and everyone else in attendance was stunned into inaction. A veritable who's who of Starfleet's finest caught totally flat-footed. It was all wrong. Everything in her cried out against what was happening. Jean-Luc was wrong. His posture, his tone – he was wrong. Couldn't anyone else see? She turned and handed her bouquet to Deanna, who wore a troubled expression of her own. She walked over to where the Captain had paused and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Jean-Luc?"
"For Christ's sake woman, can you think of nothing else to say?" He practically shouted as he shrugged off her touch. The echoes of his deep baritone thundered through the church.
"I apparently have not yet made myself clear. Let me be blunt." He walked over to the pew, and extended his hand to a woman seated in between two Captains Beverly faintly recognized, old friends of Picard's. "Anna, please." He took her by the hand and pulled her up. She stood and surveyed the congregation coolly, her eyes seeming to regret the break in contact with Picard's as she favored them all with her stare. She was as tall as Picard, olive skinned and flaxen haired. Her eyes were golden brown, the color of late summer wheat, only a few shades lighter than the wavy mane that fell to her waist. She was almost ageless, and radiated seduction and confidence.
"There will be a ceremony today, my friends, but not the one you anticipated." Picard drew Anna to his side, and they walked hand in hand to the altar.
To Beverly, time had ceased to exist. Her world had narrowed to one where little occurred outside of her own thoughts. She saw, or rather registered, what was happening around her. She absorbed the essential meaning of it all without hearing any of the words. At some point Deanna and Will had stepped forward, each with a firm hand on either of her shoulders. Reality had collapsed in upon itself, and Beverly was caught in the world of the bizarre. Surely this was not happening.
She started as Picard stepped toward her. He lowered his voice and spoke in a commanding tone. One that she had previously come to adore – it was the avatar of his authority - but which now seemed as cold as the expanse of space. "Commander, Counselor, just a moment with the Doctor if you will." His inflection and body language made it clear it was not a request. Reluctantly, Deanna stepped back. After a moment Will followed her.
Picard leaned toward Crusher and grabbed her forearm. "Perhaps you have not already gathered my meaning Doctor. Leave. Now." She met his steely hazel gaze, her face a mask of confusion and horror. He hissed at her, sotto voce. "Leave. And get rid of that bastard child."
Before she knew what had happened, her hand flew up and struck him, smacking him squarely across the jaw. "There's only one bastard in this church, Jean-Luc Picard." She fled the altar and flew down the aisle. Deanna followed immediately after.
Will stayed behind and came toe to toe with the Captain, his voice bellowing loud enough to be heard by all. "What the hell is this all about?"
Beverly was out the door before she could hear a response, gasping at the crisp early spring air that suddenly surrounded her. She blinked back an ocean of tears as the sun shone thinly and brightly on the bucolic pastures of LeBarre.
"Take me back to the Enterprise, Deanna." Beverly was on her knees now. Any strength had left her as she had heard Jean-Luc's pronouncement, the unconscionable and unimaginable rebuff from a man she had been prepared to swear as her life long partner, lover, confidante, and husband. She had struck him, and through the blow lost everything that made her whole and propelled her forward. She was completely without ballast, without direction.
"Deanna, please!" Crusher sobbed.
Troi knelt down to embrace her shoulders. The empath herself was completely nonplussed. She reached into a fold of her dress and tapped her communicator. Beverly did not hear what she said, but moments later was blissfully surrounded by blue oblivion.
xxxxx
The transport shuttle landed with a gentle thud. Beverly slammed back into consciousness, her face wet with tears she had unknowingly shed. Through the forward portals she made out the pastel grey markings of the Enterprise shuttle bay.
Dressed in civilian clothes, she nodded at the new arrivals that had accompanied her on the trip, colonists, scientists and crewmen on leave, all about to board the mighty flagship of the Federation. Each averted their eyes from the gaunt woman who sat disheveled in the corner, her deep set bright blue eyes the only hint of color emanating from the pale oval of her face. Crusher had breathed a sigh of relief that no one on that particular transport had worked with her on the Enterprise. She'd covered her hair – as much white as it had taken on, it was still unmistakably red. Should any rumors begin about the strange woman meeting Deanna Troi, she did not want any of them to lead to speculation that the prodigal Doctor had returned.
She disembarked and her tears began anew as she embraced the Counselor. Deanna steeled her own emotions against the waves of sorrow, hope and desolation that came from the frail woman in her arms. The dark woman was caught off-guard by a sudden surge of rage that passed through her mind, and was even more surprised to find it coming not from Beverly, but from herself. The havoc that Picard's whimsy had wrought on her best friend was inexcusable.
Two sets of damp eyes engaged and crinkled with baleful smiles. Deanna took Beverly's hand and her bag. "Let's get you settled."
Beverly Crusher nodded and followed the trim brunette back into the halls of the Enterprise.