Snow Falling Softly III

Snowflakes brushed past her eyelashes, trying to cloud her vision. Beverly kept her eyes resolutely on her notes, reading her Nana's eulogy to the small gathering of mourners. Most of her friends had remained on the ship, letting Jean-Luc and Deanna represent them. She and the other two had beamed down just in time for the start of the service, no time to greet the remaining members of her family with any familiarity other than an acknowledging nod of the head and the flutter of recognition between eyes.

The words of the eulogy slipped by without pause and with no comprehension in her own mind. Her mouth formed them of its own volition as her mind did as it pleased, thinking of the three children standing nearby. It frightened her, how much they'd grown since she'd seen them last, nearly a year and a half ago. Allie now as tall as she, lithe and long legged, a body composed from a little girl's promise of beauty into the reality of a young woman. From Andrew's letters, she knew Allie captured the attention of more than enough boys and caused her brother no end of trouble. The girl's blue eyes had remained as clear as the day she'd been born, her hair as dark, skin as porcelain. Her brother stood even taller, gone were the softer features of a little boy, replaced by strong lines of a young man. His jaw seemed etched from stone, but she could see the slight workings of it as he set it against showing his sorrow. Where Wesley had been slight, Andrew was well-muscled, a testament to the athlete that he was, along with his sister. The gray wide eyes of the boy had turned to a steel color that matched the winter sky. The same winter that turned Andrew from a summer towhead to being touched with fire in his close cropped hair.

The eulogy continued without thought from her higher processes. No one noticed any discrepancy. Little Gracie stood between her brother and sister, tightly holding a hend from each, her knuckles as white as the snow beneath her feet. Not yet even five years old, her auburn hair braided behind her, her eyes the same color as her brother's, her fair skin missing the smattering of freckles the taste of the summer sun bestowed upon her each year. Of the three, she was the least successful at not showing she was upset. Tears tracked down her cheeks, as lazily as the snow drifted around her.

Beverly wanted to reach out, to gather her into her arms, tell her it was all okay, she wasn't alone.

She couldn't. She had to finished the eulogy. "Rest in peace, Nana," she said. Of that, she was certain. Felisa Howard would rest in peace, leaving the living continuing in their own storms created by the lives they had chosen to lead. Three of those lives stood next to her, as she'd stepped away from the place directly in front of the gatherers, and to Allie's side. Three lives who'd had no choice in what direction they'd taken, no choice in knowing who they truly were, or what it was like to have an intact family. What it was like to have a mother, a father.

The governor, Maturin, gave his conclusion. "And so now we commit her body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope that her memory will be kept alive within us all." A closing millennia old to a passage as old as the human race. The mourners processed in front of the cherry stained coffin raised above the hole in the ground that would be its final resting place. The headstone stood guard nearby, waiting for its eternal posting. As the procession continued, those at the head of the line had already left, the crowd growing thinner and thinner, until all that remained were the governor, Beverly's friends, and the last of Beverly's family, sans her eldest son.

"It's okay," she heard a soft male whisper. Andrew had said this to Gracie. Beverly realized two things. First, her son's voice had gained the even timbre of his father's, so similar that she feared everyone would know as soon as he opened his mouth and let words out. Second, that she hadn't moved a muscle, her cold toes letting her know that they needed, at the very least, to be wiggled. She complied, but moved nothing else, watching.

The three children had gone to be next to the open grave and the ready coffin. Andrew had squatted down to Gracie's height, hand drawing her by the waist in a hug. The little girl was biting her lower lip, her hand now grasping a camellia flower instead of a sibling's hand. "It will die," Gracie told her brother.

Andrew bit his own lip for a moment, composing himself again. "It's already dead," he said. "As soon as we cut it from its roots, it was dying."

Gracie shoved her brother with her free hand. "Then we killed it!" she said and stepped away from him.

Andrew took her by the shoulders and gently brought her closer. The cold air had drawn blood to their cheeks, staining them red. "No, we didn't," Andrew told her. "Every one of the flowers Nana grew had a purpose, something it was destined for. Picking it for that purpose isn't killing it, it's letting it live fully. Something can't stay attached to its roots forever, or it will never fully live. We didn't kill the camellia, Gracie. We helped it in its journey. This flower, its job is to say good-bye to Nana. You're helping it like it's helping you say good-bye."

Gracie's voice became so quiet that Beverly had to strain to hear. "I don't want to say good-bye."

This time it was Allie who spoke. "We have to. Nana has somewhere else to be now. And you know how she got when we kept her waiting."

The comment brought a slight smile to Gracie's lips. She turned and dropped the camellia on the coffin, bright against dark, a testament to a life gone by. "Good-bye, Nana," Gracie said. She turned her back to the coffin, looked up at Andrew and Allie. "I don't want to be here anymore," she told them. Her eyes fell on Beverly. "Can we go now?"

Captain Picard was immersed in some sort of conversation with Maturin. The doctor recognized the opportunity to slip away and nodded her assent to Gracie. She motioned to Deanna as they walked out of the graveyard proper. The snow hadn't stopped. Beverly reminded herself to check the weather modification net to see if it was planned or if something had gone wrong. The counselor had fallen into step beside her. "We have to take care of things at the house," Beverly said. "Would you mind coming along?"

"I'd love to," Troi replied. "I think that was a beautiful eulogy."

"Thank you." She wondered if Deanna had felt any of the other thoughts that had crossed her mind during the entire thing. If Deanna knew that her only thoughts weren't of the eulogy at all. "I haven't introduced you to my cousins," she said, motioning ahead of her. The group paused on the path to the cottage. "The tall one, there, is Andrew. The other tall one is Allie, his twin sister. And the short one, that's Gracie."

"I'm not short," Gracie said. "I'm exactly average for my age."

Troi smiled. "Now I know you're a relative of Beverly's. Pleased to meet you." The counselor looked at the other two. "And you as well."

They nodded in reply.

"Come on," Allie said to Gracie. "Let's go before your toes freeze and fall off."

"They wouldn't fall off," Gracie said.

"No. They'd stay inside your shoes, dead toes next to live ones," Andrew replied.

And Gracie gave her brother the look so familiar to Beverly. One she'd seen earlier that day from Jean-Luc, the crinkled brow and the certain light in the eyes that said he was annoyed at someone he cared about and was trying not to swear at them. Again, her thoughts ran away with themselves, Deanna's entire conversation slipping by unnoticed as memories surfaced.

2364

She'd gone to him and she shouldn't have. In the gymnasium, Beverly worked through her mok'bara routine that Worf had set out for her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She punctuated each admonishment with a blow to the heavybag in front of her. They'd made it through the odd Psi 2000 intoxication look alike with nothing actually happening, despite some fairly good efforts on her part. Came so close in that holodeck scenario. The change in clothing, in roles, had freed up thoughts and feelings that they kept locked away behind the fence formed by their uniforms and duties. In the ancient twentieth century garb, immediate reminders of those locks had been thrown away without even the tinkling sound of a key tossed carelessly to the floor.

"Do we have time to see your office?"

"I don't see why not."

The light playing behind his eyes, behind hers, she remembered it. If Whalen hadn't been there to remind them of who and where they were, they could've fallen into the mistake they'd avoided months earlier during the intoxication.

Then Armus had taken Tasha from them. An instant of pure evil, unprovoked and without meaning, Tasha had been killed. That alone had hurt. The security chief left a living will and her comments addressed specifically to Beverly and the captain proved the doctor's undoing.

"From you I have learned to strive for excellence, no matter what the personal cost."

How could Tasha know what those words actually meant? That striving for excellence was all a mask, hiding the cost of it, what she had to do to keep the mask in place. Her sixteen year old son, with her on the ship. Both of them without his younger brother and sister, now nearly ten years old and living on Caldos, having no idea they had a mother, an older brother, both alive and well.

"Your fierce devotion comes from within. It can't be diminished." Oh, but it could, so easily. If she had truly fierce devotion, all of her family would be with her, without shame, without any masks.

"True to yourself, your ideals." No. She was a liar to them all.

Her jabs became more vicious. The spiderweb cracks in her resolve spread from repeated blows as Tasha's hologram made comments to the captain. "I can't say you've been like a father to me, because I never had one and I don't know what it feels like." How Andrew and Allie must feel, never having a father, never knowing that it feels like, yet feeling that same gaping hole everyone felt at not having a father. The one she found when her father was killed, the one Wesley carried in his own heart from the death of his father. But she and Wes, they had the memories, something to patch up the hole to keep them going. When you didn't have one at all, you didn't have the memories to even conjure up what the reality would be, nothing to fit into that gap that only a father could fill.

"But if I could choose someone in this universe to be like, someone who I would want to make proud of me, it's you. You who have the heart of an explorer and the soul of a poet." Raw emotion flowed from that last statement and Beverly put everything into trying to split the heavybag. The nightmares had woken her up, her feet took her to the one person on the ship who would understand how she felt.

Instead of the normal command of "Come" when she'd pressed the notification panel outside his doors, she heard saying, "This had better be good," as he opened the doors from his side. When he saw who waited on the other side, his features softened and concern showed plainly. "Beverly," he said.

She couldn't talk. Standing there in the middle of the corridor in the ship's night, wrapped in her warm robe, arms hugging her sides. Him standing there in his own robe, arms at his sides. Those strong arms reached across the doorway and pulled her inside the safety of his quarters. "Come inside," he said, steering her to the couch. "Can you even talk?" he asked.

She shook her head. No. The tears had started and she felt even more stupid, crying in front of him again, letting him comfort her again. His arms had gone around her and pulled her to him, her ear on his chest, the metronome of his heartbeat lulling her into security. The tears dried up. She sat up suddenly, realizing where she was, who she was with. He laughed.

"You're laughing at me," she said.

"No. Well, yes. I mean, you...hold on." He got up from the couch, handed her a tissue, sat back down.

She smiled in spite of herself. "I must be a sight."

"Yes," he said.

It wasn't the sight she'd been referring to that she saw in the warmth of his gray eyes. "I should go," she said, standing. His hand on her arm stopped her mid-motion, leaving her in a silly looking position of half-stand.

"Don't go."

"Jean-Luc, I can't--."

He drew her back down to the couch. She let him draw her back down, she wasn't a woman to go where she wasn't willing. His finger moved to her lips to stop her from talking, followed by his own lips.

The memory searing her mind, Beverly let loose another jab, shouting her frustration. She'd stayed the night, slept with him, needing him and his comfort. Again, she'd lost her resolve. The offer that had been dangled in front of her the week before waited for her in her office. Head of Starfleet Medical. She'd been sitting on it all that time, debating. A huge leap in her career if she took it. But Wesley had it good on the Enterprise. Her friends were here. Jean-Luc was here. Chances to practice real medicine instead of pushing around proverbial papers.

And now, it offered escape. Escape from her weakness yet again. Another shout, another jab, and a shocked comment from the half-Betazoid counselor who'd happened to walk into the gym. "Started early this morning?"

"Sleep walked right in here," Beverly said. "Woke up to find myself beating the hell out of this heavybag."

"Have you succeeded?" Deanna asked.

Beverly let her arms drop. "No." It wasn't the heavybag that needed the beating. Her conscience needed a good righting of itself.

Troi frowned. "I think the shore leave will do you good."

Only if it was away from Jean-Luc. "I think so too." She motioned towards the stretching mats. "Shall we?" And they started their daily workout.

Beverly had just transmitted her acceptance of the new position when the calls came in from the bridge of casualties to treat. Her endeavor to avoid her commanding officer until her departure had largely succeeded until she interrupted what seemed a tender moment between Picard and Jenice Manheim. The captain had immediately pulled away from the woman and guilt flashed in his eyes. The explanation was quick. "She's an old friend."

The doctor couldn't help the tone of hardness she took. "I gathered that," and went right to business. Once Jenice had left, the captain took it upon himself to attempt to rectify whatever had gone wrong between himself and Beverly.

"Doctor," he said.

She frowned and faced him.

He gave her a moment, to see if she'd say anything. When she didn't, he continued. "I haven't seen Mrs. Manheim since Paris."

She didn't want to hear this. His need for explanation of his relationship with this woman showed her some of his feelings about what had happened. The fact that he felt heowed her any sort of explanation supported her need to get away from the Enterprise. "You needn't explain, Captain."

He continued. "It was a very long time ago."

"Yes, she's a lovely woman." Again, she turned to leave.

"Beverly," he said.

This time, when she faced him, she allowed the irritation to show on her face. "What is it, Captain?" she asked, putting emphasis on his rank to make sure he noticed her use of that instead of his first name.

He frowned. "Nothing, I'm sorry."

The later visit from Counselor Troi was anything but unexpected. Beverly fiddled with instruments and tools as her friend stood near her. The doctor wouldn't give Deanna any leeway by talking first.

"All you all right?" came Deanna's question in her lilting voice.

Beverly's tone was as sharp as the one she'd taken with Picard earlier. "Why wouldn't I be? I've got one of the medical wonders of the galaxy dying in my Sickbay." She picked up a wayward tricorder and started walking towards the closet where the extras were stored.

"That isn't what I meant," Deanna said.

"I don't think I want to talk about what I think you mean." Beverly's hip smacked into a table that had meandered into her path. She swore under her breath and continued towards the storage closet.

Troi continued to press. "You're not helping the situation by pretending it doesn't exist."

At that, Beverly whipped around, knocking a stack of PADDs to the floor. She swore again, louder, and bent to pick them up. The question with the obvious answer came out, "I'm making it worse?" As if the chaos she'd caused in her own Sickbay in those past moments wasn't enough. With her last round of swearing, her staff had made themselves scarce.

While the doctor couldn't see her friend's face, she could certainly hear the frown. "I didn't say that. I said you're not helping it. Or yourself. Or the captain."

Beverly frowned. Exactly what information did the counselor have? The discomfort between her and the captain was observable in the past days and had only become more apparent in the previous day or so, with the appearance of the Manheims. Particularly the appearance of an old love of the captain's in the form of Jenice Manheim, the woman she'd found in Picard's arms in her Sickbay earlier. Now she knew she was being overly dramatic. Jenice was a woman grieving over her nearly terminally ill husband, seeking comfort.

Seeking comfort. Beverly swore again, then said to Deanna, "That's his problem." She finished stacking the fallen PADDs, picked them up, and replaced them on the counter. Her friend continued to watch her with those dark Betazoid eyes, calm, collected. Exasperation coursed through her, at this questioning, at the situation, at everything. "All right. I'm still not sure how I feel about him. Now it looks as if I'll never know. There. I said it. Are you happy?"

Deanna frowned. "Talk to him."

That, Beverly knew, would be a mistake. "No." She paused. "I can't compete with a ghost from his past. No one could." Beverly herself was a ghost from his past. Was she competing with herself? She didn't even know if she wanted to compete. Yes, she did know. The answer was no. Were it otherwise, she wouldn't have accepted the new post.

Deanna continued. "She's not a ghost. She's here, right now."

Beverly stopped moving the equipment. Depending on what Deanna's empathic senses were telling her, she could be talking about Jenice or Beverly. It was true. Right now, she was present. Right in front him him, unsure of how to act or what to do or what she really felt. "She may be in the here and now, but it's the ghost he sees. No, he'll have to work it through without my," she searched for the right word. "Input." The answer she'd given the counselor, Beverly knew, was for the captain's situation with Jenice and the situation with Beverly. The captain would have to continue to do without the information Beverly held close to herself, even without Beverly's presence, soon enough. The doctor picked up the last tricorder and slammed it into its slot. "There, now I feel better." And she stalked off into another part of Sickbay.

Troi observed her, her friend's emotional turmoil rolling over her in unrelenting waves.

2365

Jean-Luc had tried to stop Beverly from leaving to assume her new post. The last of her belongings packed into the small bag that hung at her side, her final good-byes said to Wesley, she stepped up on the transporter pad. As the transporter room door opened, Beverly saw the captain walk through and got out, "Energize," to the transporter chief before Picard could say anything to her.

"Belay that order," the captain said.

She glared at him. "Captain, you're going to make me late in reporting."

"I think you at least owe me an explanation."

"I hardly think a step up in my career needs explaining," she replied, then looked at the chief manning the controls. "Energize."

"Keep belaying that order," Picard said, then changed tactics. "Chief, you're dismissed."

The young chief nodded solemnly and left the room. Beverly felt the anger rising through her, threatening to let loose on the captain. All she could do was continue her glare. A glare that, for the time being, left Picard unfazed.

"We need to talk," he said. "You and I, we need to sort things out."

"There's nothing to sort out. I've accepted my post, I'm leaving. Everything taken care of."

He frowned. "Look, you and I...it can't just keep happening and then not be talked about."

She hadn't wanted to talk about this. That. Whatever "it" was. "Why do you think I'm leaving?" she asked.

Ever so slightly, his face fell. Knowing him as well as she did, the control he had over his emotions and facial expressions, she knew his heart had fallen far more than his face would ever show, even in that slight movement. He said nothing, his eyes searching hers, looking for the truth, for what she truly felt.

Beverly knew she had to leave right then, or lose her resolve entirely. "Jean-Luc, let me go," she said.

His reply was to step behind the controls of the transporter and beam her to the surface, as she'd asked the transporter chief moments before. A lifetime before.

Beverly Crusher had settled into a routine at Starfleet Medical with ease. After she'd been there two weeks, her grandmother had contacted her with a request. The twins wanted to visit Earth and see what the Terran home planet was like. That was how, three weeks later, Beverly found herself summoned to the emergency room at Starfleet Medical Hospital and faced with an irritated Starfleet Security officer, an irate nurse, and two scratched, bloodied, and mud-covered children. When she entered the room, all four of them started to speak at once. The doctor held up a hand. "Please, one at a time." She looked at the security officer. "Lieutenant, you first."

"Doctor, I found these children on the Academy quad after a report of two people fighting. When I got to the quad, they were in one of the flowerbeds and beating the hell out of each other. Children should not be on Academy grounds without an escort, as you know. I understand that they're under your care?"

Beverly sighed. "Yes."

The lieutenant studied his feet for a moment. Then, "Well, doctor, the groundskeeper would like to speak with them and you when they're cleaned up."

"I'll see to it," Crusher replied. "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

The officer nodded and left. Beverly turned to the nurse. "Your turn," she said, though by looking at where the nurse sat, she could see why he was irate. The man sat between Andrew and Allie and by the looks of him, had spent a lot of energy in keeping them apart. His uniform was nearly as dirty as the two children that flanked him.

"Doctor, they won't stop fighting. And I can't get them into an exam room or even try and get them cleaned up until they do."

Beverly frowned. "I'll give you the afternoon off for going above and beyond what's required of you. I'll take care of these two." As the young nurse made his way out of the room, Beverly turned a glare on the two ten year olds. "Follow me," she said.

The doctor marched the two down to one of the exam rooms next to the lavatories. Once in the room, she replicated two sets of hospital pants and shirts, gave a set to each child, and showed them each into a lavatory. They cleaned up faster than she thought and once they were out, she marched them into the room again, and shut the door. "Sit," she said. They sat. Beverly studied them. Andrew had a long cut that looked like it had bled a good deal along his cheek. Allie had quite a few scrapes on her arms. Wordlessly, Beverly fixed them up. Neither of them dared move or speak. That done, she asked, "What happened?"

Andrew said, "There was a spider."

Allie said, "He came after me."

Beverly sighed again. "From the beginning. Andrew?"

"She put a tarantula in my pants," he said, in his most serious tone of voice.

The absurdity of his statement almost had the doctor laugh out loud. Keeping the amusement out of her voice, she asked, "And how did that happen?"

"Her stupid pet! Why anyone would want a spider as a pet is beyond me. It's not like it's a dog or a cat or something with fur that you can play with. It's a spider."

"This isn't about your sister's choice in pets," Beverly reminded him.

He frowned. "If she didn't have a pet tarantula, it would've been a lot harder for her to put one in my pants."

The boy had a valid point and said it with such a straight face that Beverly didn't trust herself not to laugh if she tried to say anything. So she waited.

He continued. "Anyway. I was working on my homework and felt something brush on my leg, below my knee. I stood up and shook out my pants and a huge brown hairy tarantula came out."

Allie burst into giggles. "Beverly, he freaked out! He ripped his pants off and went shouting into the bathroom! I didn't think he knew that many swears!" She was carried off by another set of giggles.

Andrew stood up. "Shut up! It's not funny! I hate spiders!"

"Sit down," Beverly told him. Then she told Allie to stop laughing.

Andrew continued, doing his best to ignore his sister. "I went up to my room, got a new pair of pants and then back downstairs to find Allie."

"So, you set out to kill your sister," Beverly said.

"I wasn't going to kill her. Maim, maybe."

"He chased me," Allie said. "Murder was in his eyes."

The boy glared at his sister. "You're being dramatic. Besides, I wouldn't have had to chase you if you hadn't run away."

"Like I was going to stay put and let myself be murdered."

"Allie," Beverly interrupted, "Exactly how did your tarantula end up in your brother's pants?" It was all the doctor could do to keep a straight face when she asked the question.

"Honestly, Beverly, I don't know. He got out of his tank this morning and I spent all day looking for him. I mean, not that the result wasn't bad, you should have seen him!" Mirth glinted in her eyes.

The doctor looked over at Andrew, his face now flushed with anger. "I'm not talking about it anymore," he said.

Allie continued the story for him. "He chased me all the way to the Academy and onto the quad. Didn't catch up until I tripped over a root. Then he tackled me into this flowerbed that was being watered and then the Security guy found us."

The doctor decided that whatever discipline the groundskeeper could come up with would work the best. She had them sit in silence as she made the appointment, then escorted them home. Later that evening, the children in bed, she managed to get Nana on a communique and related the entire story to her. They laughed until they had tears streaming down their faces. That night, she woke from her sleep in a cold sweat. Only, it wasn't from a nightmare. She couldn't even remember dreaming at all and instead, the waking itself became the nightmare. Even with the sweat soaking her sheets, she refused to believe its truth. Only one thing made her wake up in cold sweats. Dread tugging on her heels, she made her way to her medkit, flipped open the tricorder.

Not again. It was statistically impossible. "Improbable," she corrected herself out loud. "And still stupid." Not again. Was it something about her being grieved that made her conceiving so very easy? Beverly threw the tricorder into the bath, where it split in two and the halves spun around to opposite ends of the tub. The sound woke up no one. And when she didn't wake up, she was faced with the truth. Again.

She ignored the issue as best she could for the last week the twins would be in San Francisco. Felisa arrived a couple days ahead to accompany Allie and Andrew back to Caldos. In the weak light of pre-dawn the day the trio would leave, Felisa found Beverly in the kitchen, poring over information on several PADDs and ignoring the mug of tea nearby.

Felisa placed the two pieces of the broken tricorder on the table. "Which one was it?"

Beverly started at her grandmother's voice. She hadn't thought anyone else to be up and about at this hour and had chosen the time to attempt to compose a letter to Dalen Quaice on Delos IV. The subject being her current dilemma. "What?" she said.

"The tricorder. Which one was it that broke it? Allie or Andrew?"

Beverly said nothing and began to stack the PADDs.

"Oh, it wasn't either of them. Was my grown up granddaughter instead." Felisa took a seat across from her, felt the mug that held the doctor's drink. "Tea's cold," she said.

"So it is," Beverly said, making no motion to do anything to rectify it.

The older woman put her hands on Beverly's, stilling them in their task to find busywork in moving about the PADDs. The action caused the doctor to look up. Her clear blue eyes met Nana's vivid green ones. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Felisa asked. "I can't imagine Starfleet approves of its doctors breaking tricorders all the time over nothing."

"I don't break them all the time."

"I notice you didn't say it was nothing."

Beverly placed her head on the table. "Oh, Nana, it's something alright." She felt Nana's hand on her head, reassuring.

"I always thought those two troublemakers could use a younger brother or sister. You do what you need to do and we'll be waiting. Always could stand to have another cousin in the family. Now, let me warm up that tea. You look like you need some."

Beverly Crusher didn't think she would ever figure out her grandmother. Felisa never brought it up again, let Beverly handle all the timing and paperwork. Once he received Beverly's message, Quaice answered immediately and with an offer for her to work on a research project with him on Delos IV. Crusher wrapped up the projects and things floating around Medical's headquarters, assigned someone to cover her post as she attended to a high priority--as Dalen called it--research assignment.

To her relief, Dalen hadn't told a lie about the project. It was important enough to bring her from headquarters, he'd only bumped the scheduling for it up a few months to help his friend out. As the project went along, so did the life growing inside the doctor. Finally, the new child made her way into the world. Quaice delivered the child himself, cleaned her up, handed her to Beverly. The old doctor had tears in his eyes. Beverly teased him about that, he did the same thing every time he delivered a child. He insisted that it never got old and got him all worked up inside.

"Am I wrong in saying she's got her father's eyes?" he asked her.

"No," she said, looking down at her new daughter. "You aren't."

The grandfatherly man reached out with one finger and stroked the child's downy auburn hair. "My wife and I should've had more of these."

"Maybe I should've told you the tarantula story a few more times," Beverly said.

Quaice smiled. "Wouldn't change my mind." He paused. "What's her name?"

"Mary Grace. After the woman who first introduced me to dance."

"Heavy name for a little girl. How about you name her that and I'll call her Gracie?"

"Better than naming her Dalen."

The elder doctor chuckled as he walked away. He stopped in the doorway. "You'll be okay?" he asked.

She nodded.

He sighed. "You get yourself into such binds. One day, you'll stop being so hard headed and so will he." He wandered down the hall, muttering to himself the arguments and kind chiding he'd given her for the past months. It made Beverly smile. Some things could always be counted on.

Felisa arrived the next day to pick up the new Howard, a child that had barely survived the plague that killed her father and mother. Beverly missed the communique from Nana and had to settle for the message saying they'd arrived on Caldos safely. In her rush, she nearly missed the post script. The snow dusted the ground in a carpet for Gracie's arrival. I thought you'd like to know. -Nana