Bells Through the Leaves, chapter 6
Spock stepped out of the taxicab and gazed up at the large house on the hill, and then turned to see that Nyota was watching him with a grin on her face.
"You know," she said, "the first time I ever took a boyfriend to meet my grandmother, she pulled out a vid of me in the bathtub when I was two years old. It was horrible."
They started up the long sidewalk toward the front door. As they walked, he saw that his grandmother had changed the color of the trim on the old two-story brick house. Instead of the familiar green, it was now a deep gray. The contrast of the dark shutters against the white painted bricks was pleasing. He would have to ensure that he complimented her choice of decor. He also noted that she had planted a small oak tree to replace the tree she had lost in last winter's storms. He had never walked through this yard without passing under the ponderous branches of the old tree, and he could not help but remember how he had looked up at it as a very young child and feared that it might simply fall on him.
"To the best of my knowledge, my grandmother does not possess any recordings like that."
"Oh, she'll find something to bring out that will embarrass you."
"It is not what she might find that concerns me. It is what she might say."
Nyota laughed. "I like her already."
Reaching the front door, he pressed the small button on his right. As he had heard so many times in the past, the deep pealing of the old-fashioned doorbell was followed immediately by the sound of quick footsteps as his grandmother hurried to meet him.
Her expression was bright when she threw open the door. "Spock! Come here and let an old lady say hello!"
Glancing at Nyota, he bent tolerantly and allowed his grandmother to kiss his cheek. She had always greeted him this way, and he had learned long ago that it was best to allow her to do it. He recalled how he had complained once to his mother that he did not like to be kissed. Amanda had calmly replied that one must make certain concessions for one's family, and since it brought such joy to his grandmother he would be remiss if he were to object. What she did not point out was that he would eventually reach an age where he would appreciate the uncomplicated, unconditional affection that was always so evident in his grandmother's eyes when she reached up to give him the obligatory kiss.
"Greetings, Grandmother," he said gently. "You look well."
"And so do you." She patted him on the cheek. "My favorite boy. When did you get so tall?"
"Approximately twenty-six years ago."
As she laughed, he straightened and gestured for Nyota to step forward, but before he could say another word, his grandmother took both of Nyota's hands in her own.
"And you must be Nyota. Welcome! I'm so glad that you two took the time out of your busy schedule to come and see me."
Nyota smiled warmly and clasped the older woman's hands. "It's our pleasure, Mrs. Grayson. Thank you for having us."
"Please call me Rebecca."
"All right, Rebecca."
She gave Nyota's hands a final squeeze before she ushered them both inside and closed the door. This portion of the house was dark and cool. The scattering of bright oriental rugs added the illusion of warmth to the richly polished hardwood floors, and the high ceiling and spiral staircase were impressive and austere. His old friend Margaret had labeled this area "the cave" when they were children. As always, though, the brightly illuminated doorway at the end of the hall beckoned, luring him into the warm area that he had never known to be called anything other than simply "the big room."
Nyota's eyes were wide with appreciation as she studied the graceful staircase. You have a lovely home, Rebecca. I noticed the little plaque by the front door. Is this house on the historic register?"
"Yes, it is." Rebecca took Nyota's elbow as they walked slowly toward the sunny doorway at the back of the hall. "This house has stood here since the year 1905, but it had fallen on some rough times when my husband and I found it nearly seventy years ago. We knew a treasure when we saw one, so we bought it, and the very first room we fixed up was the nursery. It's been far too long since we had a baby in the nursery, I'll tell you that."
Although she had addressed Nyota, Spock knew very well for whom her comment was meant. Nyota grinned and caught his eye before returning her attention to the elderly woman.
Rebecca patted Nyota lightly on the arm. "This place is home to many memories. Come into the big room and sit down with me. Spock can pour us some lemonade, and we'll have a nice talk."
He followed them into the large room that stretched across the back of the house. This was the source of his strongest childhood memories, this area where the family gathered to cook, dine, socialize, or relax. It was just as he remembered—spacious and bright, with tiny motes of dust dancing in the sunbeams that fell through the large windows, and potted plants sprouting from every corner. Without needing to be told where to look, he went directly to the kitchen and pulled three glasses out of the cabinet, then reached into the cooler for the glass pitcher that he knew would be there.
As he poured the lemonade, his finger brushed the chipped spot on the handle just as it had so many times before, and he reflected on the fact that it was simply right that he would be here once again.
...
Squashing the illogical nervousness that fluttered in his stomach, Spock sat at his grandmother's computer and attempted to compose himself. There was no reason for him to experience such unease. Truly, this would not be difficult. His mother was not the sort of person to ask intrusive questions. She would accept his words at face value and would undoubtedly be extremely approving of the news he was preparing to impart.
If his father were to answer, however...
Spock swallowed and dismissed that thought from his mind. He had been back on speaking terms with his father for nine-point-one years. In those nine-point-one years, he had initiated contact with his parents seventy-two times. Of those seventy-two times, his father had been the one to answer on six occasions. Therefore, based on available data, over the last nine-point-one years his father had answered the comm approximately eight-point-three percent of the time. The odds were twelve to one in his favor; not overwhelming odds, but acceptable.
"Computer. Open frequency to Vulcan, Amanda Grayson."
As he had anticipated, his grandmother had programmed the computer to place the call using nothing more than the most basic data. He counted the minutes required to establish contact with Vulcan, the seconds required to route the call to his parents' home, the time it took for his mother to hear the signal, put aside what she was doing, walk to the computer...
The screen brightened, and Spock experienced relief at the smiling face of his mother.
"Spock! When the computer told me that the message was from Seattle, I was certain it was Mother. What a wonderful surprise!"
"Greetings, Mother. I trust you are well."
"Yes, I'm fine. How long have you been on Earth? Did the Enterprise come in, or do you have business there?"
He suppressed the urge to shift slightly in his chair. "I have been here since Tuesday with... a friend, but we did not arrive on the Enterprise. This is not a business trip."
"You're on vacation? Who are you with? Admiral Kirk?"
"I am here with Nyota Uhura. We came for her nephew's graduation from university."
He paused, trying to gauge his mother's reaction. He did not think that he had supplied enough information for her to understand exactly why he and Nyota would be traveling together, but evidently he had told her all that she needed to know. She blinked and did not comment, and suddenly he felt compelled to fill the empty space with a rush of words.
"I am certain that you remember Commander Uhura. She was the communications officer aboard the Enterprise when you were there. I have served with her for many years, although she is currently assigned to the Lexington. We have been in London, England with her sister, and we are spending the day in Seattle today."
Realizing that he was talking too much, he clamped his lips together and waited for his mother to speak. Finally, a slow smile crept across her face.
"Of course I remember Commander Uhura. She's a lovely woman. How long have you two been involved?"
Reflecting on how it seemed to be a universal constant that his mother could always read him, he allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up slightly. "One year, six months, and nine-point-four days."
"Really! And it took you this long to tell me?"
He shrugged slightly, uncertain how to respond.
Shaking her head affectionately, she said, "Well, I'm very happy for you, son."
"Thank you." He turned at the sound of his grandmother's voice calling from the vicinity of the kitchen, then faced the screen again. "I must go now, Mother. Our lunch is ready."
"We can't keep Grandmother waiting! Have a good trip, Spock, and call when you get back. You can't drop something like this on me and not supply at least a few details."
"Very well, Mother. I will call you. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Spock."
The screen faded to darkness. Spock took a deep breath, then turned off the light and left the study.
...
Running her hands reverently over the heavy album on her lap, Rebecca looked at Uhura, who sat beside her on the sofa.
"I haven't brought this out for years. I suppose that when you reach my age, the memories in your head are far more beautiful than anything ever captured by artificial means. But that doesn't mean I treasure these old photos any less. Spock?"
"Yes?"
His voice came from behind them, and when Uhura glanced over her shoulder, she had to smile at the sight that greeted her. Rebecca had compiled a long list of "little odd jobs" that she needed done around the house, and one of them was stopping the draft that seeped in around the big window in the back. He had found once he got into it, though, that the reason the old paned window wasn't airtight was that it had slipped off its track on one side. Fixing it had turned into a monumental job. Right now, he had what looked like literally hundreds of years worth of dust and cobwebs all over the front of his once-immaculate white shirt. Thank goodness he had folded his black jacket over the back of the chair next to him before starting.
Rebecca appeared not to notice his disreputable appearance. "Spock, when I'm gone I want you to have this old album. Your cousins have been dropping hints that they'd like to have it, but I want you to be sure and tell them that I gave it to you. Will you do that?"
"If my cousins have expressed an interest, should we not divide the contents?"
"Spock, someday I'll be gone, and your mother will be gone..." She faltered for a moment, but soon tightened her lips and continued. "Someday your mother and I won't be around to remind you who you are, and I don't want you to ever forget that you're a child of Earth as well as Vulcan. The people in this album are your heritage, my boy."
Spock turned away from his task and straightened, and Uhura had to swallow past a sudden constriction in her throat at his expression. Openly moved, he did not speak immediately.
"I am honored, Grandmother," he finally said, "and I will ensure that the people in your album are never forgotten."
Obviously not one for sentimentality, Rebecca bent her head and opened the album. "Hmmph. Then it's settled. Move closer, Nyota, so that you can see."
Sliding over until her shoulder brushed against Rebecca's, Uhura peered at the faded, sepia-toned photograph under the old woman's frail hands. The ancient paper was so brittle that it looked like it would crumble at the slightest touch, but Rebecca smoothed a bent corner lovingly as she spoke.
"The oldest photographs here have been passed down through my family since before this house was built. I'll show these to you later, but right now I want you to see something more recent." She slowly paged toward the back. "Through the years, each generation has added a few more pictures to this album. It took some effort, but I had each image that I put in here converted from a holo to a flat photograph."
"What a dazzling bride! Is this you?"
"Yes. I was twenty-three years old when I met Lawrence Grayson, and we married two years after that. We were so happy. Look at him. Wasn't he a handsome man?"
The elderly woman's expression grew soft and unfocused as she studied the picture. She seemed to have drifted away, lost in the memory of a long-ago time. Uhura looked up to realize that Spock stood directly behind them, but before she could catch his eye, Rebecca laughed and drew her attention, sharp and alert again.
"He was extremely handsome," said Uhura. "How long were you married?"
"Sixty-three years." She turned the page. "And here we are with the children when they were hardly more than babies."
Uhura saw a young couple sitting on a blanket underneath a tree. With them were two children, a chubby boy of about two on the woman's lap, his fist in his mouth, and a freckled girl who must have been around six standing behind her father with her arms around his neck. She smiled hugely at the camera, her blonde curls unruly, and the one foot that could be seen was covered with a red cowboy boot.
"Oh, my! Is that Amanda?"
"Yes, and her brother. And look at this page."
Rebecca tilted the book so that Uhura could see the facing page. On it were two photographs. One showed a young couple that Uhura could only assume were Amanda's brother and his wife, and the other showed a very young Amanda, standing proudly next to Sarek. Both wore formal Vulcan clothing, and except for his dark hair and thinner physique, Sarek appeared much the same as the last time Uhura had seen him.
Uhura looked up at Spock. "Amanda looks radiant. When was this taken?"
"At their bonding ceremony," he replied. "If you look closely, you can see Mount Seleya behind them."
"Yes, I see." Uhura waited patiently while Rebecca turned the page, and then she laughed with delight. "Oh look! Look at you! What a beautiful little boy!"
She glanced at Rebecca's face to see that the other woman was grinning as well. On one side of the album were a number of images of two girls, probably Spock's cousins, but on the other side were four smallish shots of a dark-haired boy, the same somber expression on his face in every single pose.
Pointing, Rebecca said, "Here he is sitting on the bottom step out there in the front hall. He wasn't even two yet, but look how composed and serious he was! And this one, here, was taken when he was four."
"Is that Margaret with him?"
"Yes!" Rebecca laughed. "That little scamp. I'll never forget the day this was taken. They were all dressed up to go to a party—"
Spock interjected. "Mother's high school class reunion."
"That's right, that was it! Anyway, not ten minutes after this was taken, Margaret convinced Spock that there was, ah, what was it, Spock?"
"She informed me that she had found an arrowhead under your azalea bush. In truth, it was merely a flat stone, but I was too young to know the difference."
Uhura shook her head. "And you went out and played in the dirt right before your mother's reunion? How awful!"
"The dirt washed off," he retorted mildly.
Rebecca pointed to the next one. "Spock was twelve when this was taken. He was so thin it used to worry me to distraction. Glad to see that he's finally put some meat on those bones, although he'd better watch out that he doesn't get fat. And here he is on the front lawn of the Academy with his cousins."
"They're very pretty."
"Aren't they, though? They're my son's two girls." Snorting, she threw a sideways glance at Spock. "At least some of your family came to watch you graduate. And here..." She moved her hand, and Uhura saw that there was a fifth image on the corner of the page. "Here is my boy when he was named first officer of the Enterprise."
Uhura reached for the album. "May I?"
"Of course, dear."
Lifting the heavy old album, Uhura looked closely at the formal head-and-shoulders shot of Spock wearing his dress uniform, and it made her think of the first time she had met him. She had beamed aboard with another young lieutenant, and the senior bridge officers had greeted them in the transporter room in their dress uniforms. She'd always thought that he was a striking man, but in a flash she remembered how awestruck she had been that day. He had been so tall and dark, so blindingly intelligent, so utterly serious—he had scared her to death. Amazing how far they had come in all these years.
She handed it back to Rebecca. "This is a beautiful collection."
"Yes, it is. And look at this." The elderly woman turned the page to show them that there was nothing there. Patting the empty place, she said, "This is for you, Spock. See it? I want you to promise me that someday you'll put your most special pictures right here."
"I shall, Grandmother, and someday I will pass the album on."
Nodding firmly, Rebecca sat back and closed the book. "That's good. I'm going to go upstairs and see if I can find some more family holos. Spock, the railing at the top of the steps is loose. Could you take a look while I'm up there? I'd prefer not to make that climb twice."
"Of course." Coming around the sofa, he followed her out of the room.
Uhura listened as their footsteps receded down the hallway. Just as they were moving out of earshot, she heard Rebecca say, "I like her, Spock. It's about time you hooked up with a good woman, and not someone like that horrid T'Pring. After all, I'm not going to be around forever to look after you."
Uhura strained to hear his response, but other than the recognizable murmur of his deep voice, she couldn't make anything out. Too bad. She would have loved to hear what he had to say. She paged absently through the album, marveling over the clothing styles, the hair styles, the old automobiles... The sheer breadth of the history represented by this modest collection was incredible. Someday she'd have to find out exactly who all of these people were, and when and where they lived.
A creaking floorboard interrupted her reverie as Spock reentered the room, and she stood and smiled at him.
He moved close. "She is quite taken with you."
"Well, I like her, too. I'll bet she was a terrific grandmother, and that you and she had a lot of fun. That is, when you weren't busy digging around in the flower bed or wading in the creek or... Hey! Get away from me! You're too dirty—"
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and before she could object again, he covered her lips with his own. Relenting, she slid her hands up around his neck and tried not to think too hard about what kind of grime he was rubbing onto her favorite cream sweater. After a moment, he pulled away and looked into her eyes.
"Grandmother said that I needed to give you a large kiss. To refuse her request would be disrespectful."
"Oh, did she now?"
He released her and returned to his work on the window. "Actually, her exact words were that I needed to 'let you know how much I appreciate you.' I was merely extrapolating."
Laughing, she sat back down on the sofa and began picking the sticky little bits of cobweb off her clothes.
End chapter 6