Note: The upcoming subseries, "Pinehaven", will explain how Tess left home, and focus on her relationships.

Chapter 1

Bright morning sunlight slanted through the classroom windows as Spock oversaw the semester's final examination. Seated at his desk, he observed sparkling dust motes floating above his star pupil Tamod as the young Vulcan concentrated on his computer screen, fingers to the keypad. Spock's attention shifted to Suran. He had no concern that either student would fail the course. "Rediscovering Surak through the Mind of Yanash" was a perennial favorite among seminarians. For that reason, Spock always saved it for the end of the term.

Satisfied that all was well, he returned to his own monitor, where he was writing a new textbook on the growth of the Yanashite Community outside the home world of Vulcan. Quite logically, his thoughts went to his wife T'Naisa and their parting a few hours earlier. In the years since their daughter Tess left home, T'Naisa had spent more time on the lecture circuit. She enjoyed making the rounds of Earth's Yanashite outposts, recalling her days as a disciple of Yanash with a mixture of deep faith and humor. Thanks to her dedication, he could now devote himself almost exclusively to the formation of future priests here at Plum Creek.

In the midst of his writing, Spock realized that the time for the examination was up. He reached for the touchpad that would deactivate the student monitors…

And at that instant, a storm of rage struck.

Spock froze. He saw nothing, heard nothing but a cyclonic fury at the center of his being. Only gradually he came to realize that he was still sitting in his chair while the students worked on, oblivious to his personal distress. Unobserved, he struggled to find the anger's source and contain it. And came at last to his bonding nexus.

His hands began to tremble, but by a supreme effort he composed himself and stood. The students looked up as he levelly announced, "The examination is over. You are free to gather your belongings and leave the seminary."

oooo

In the privacy of his home, Spock sat before the phone, still as Vulcan granite while his call went out to T'Naisa for the fifth time. There was no longer any doubt of it; the rage was hers. But why? What could have affected her so deeply that it felt like a scorching pain? When she failed to answer his call, the system cycled to her mailbox. He had already left two messages, so now he waited.

Fresh bouts of trembling overtook him and he made little attempt to control it. Two hours passed, during which the sense of anger gradually faded and T'Naisa seemed strangely distant from him. Distant, but alive.

When at last the phone chimed, he somehow responded, feeling stiff and cold and sluggish. He knew by the caller ID that it was his eldest son Simon, at the Phoenix, Arizona temple.

On the screen, Simon looked concerned. "Father, have you heard from T'Naisa? I've been trying to get hold of her. She missed a speaking engagement."

oooo

Something was terribly wrong. Spock stared at the darkened phone screen, feeling as dull as its blank surface. Scarcely aware of his own actions, he rose. An unbearable pressure in his chest made him restless, and he began to pace. The sound of his steps seemed jarring in the hollow silence of the cabin.

His eyes lit on a small table and he stopped. In her haste this morning T'Naisa had rushed off, leaving her mug half full of coffee. Spock picked it up and inhaled the familiar scent of her favorite beverage. She drank coffee by the potful, no matter how he chided her. For a long time he held the flowered mug in his hands as if by touching it, he could somehow reach her.

At last, very carefully, he put the mug down and wandered into the bedroom. He stood staring at the bed they had so recently shared—the pillow where her soft red hair lay as she slept beside him, only this morning. Having lost his first wife tragically, he had known better than to take T'Naisa's unfailing love for granted. Her lively, endearing personality had been a vital part of his life for decades. Since she, too, was a halfling, he had hoped they would have many more years together.

Why am I thinking these thoughts? he asked himself. She is not dead. I would know if she were dead.

Rousing himself, he returned to the phone and attempted to locate her through another series of calls.

oooo

Alone, Spock stood on a barren stretch of Australian land while curious kangaroos watched from a distance. He now knew that T'Naisa had disappeared from an Alice Springs depot when her shuttle stopped to take on passengers, but three days of personal investigation had not turned up a single lead.

Vanished. Without a trace. Not a single sign of foul play.

This morning, Australia's Yanashite priest had come to town and offered the sacred rite of Kuru for her return. The borrowed church building was crowded with both Vulcans and humans whose lives she had touched. Seated with family and friends, Spock had viewed the proceedings through a persistent fog of uncertainty. To him, T'Naisa was more than an honored member of the Yanashite Community. She was his wife—his bondmate—welcoming his embrace, mothering his children, galloping atop her horse, hair streaming like a red banner. Oh what fun, she would laugh with her childlike zest for living. Spock tried to focus on their time together and be thankful for it. But where had she gone? Had he in some way failed her?

On the morning of her departure, he had walked in upon her as she was viewing messages on the computer. When she quickly ordered a "delete", his brow had lifted in surprise. Only partly in jest he had said, "A secret admirer?"

"A fanatic. You don't need to read what he wrote."

"I get them, too," he had told her. It was a common price of fame.

"And I hope you're as quick as me at deleting that trash. So help me, if I ever catch you…" And her eyes had flashed a warning.

"You are in a strange mood," he had observed, "if you think I would ever be unfaithful. Have we not settled that particular issue once and for all?"

Rising from the chair, she had put her arms tightly around him and said, "Don't you ever think of leaving me."

Now Spock could not help but wonder if she had left him. Some were whispering that she had returned to the wild ways of her youth, but his heart could not accept it. They were bondmates in every sense of the word. Surely he would have known if she was growing discontented. Wouldn't he?

oooo

In Colorado, Nayo was amused to hear of T'Naisa's abrupt departure, leaving Spock without the comfort and pleasure of a bondmate. Now the insufferable prig would find out what it was like to have his woman gone. How long would it take before he strayed from his lonely bedroom? Spock was always so quick to criticize him when celebrity news outlets spread gossip about his extracurricular activities. Spock did not have a wife who left on covert assignments for months at a time, and since a Zaran could block any meld, Nayo never knew what Sola Thane had been up to. One of these times she might never come back at all.

The days were gone when Nayo dabbled in the Yanashite religion. The past had too strong a hold on him, and the life of a movie star was rife with temptations. Even Sola had come to accept his indiscretions, but not Spock. Oh no, not his pristine pure twin.

Seated in his lavish living room, Nayo assumed a suitably sorrowful expression and put through a call to Spock on his new padd. His ever-conscientious brother answered on the third ring.

"Greetings, Nayo," Spock said. The screen made him look very small, but not so small that Nayo could not easily detect a faintly stiff, disapproving manner.

Drawing on his skill as an actor, Nayo said, "Brother. I should have called before now to offer my condolences. T'Naisa gone. I can scarcely believe it."

"Yes," Spock said, pain evident in his eyes.

"Might I assist in some way?" Nayo offered with a show of sincerity. "I have the acquaintance of a reputable detective. If funds are a problem, I can pay him myself. Anything for you, brother..."

Spock was silent a moment, and judging by subtle nuances of expression, it was a most gratifyingly irritable silence. At last he said, "I thank you for the kind offer, but I have already hired a detective agency."

Nayo offered a tight, appropriately sympathetic smile. Definitely Oscar material. "Most efficient, as always. Feel free to call me if you change your mind."

He could stand no more. Without waiting for an answer, he broke the connection and dissolved into hearty laughter.

From the kitchen, a woman's sultry voice called to him. "Something funny, Nayo?"

"Oh, yes," he chuckled, "hilarious."

oooo

The seminarians would not return until September. For the first time since the death of his first wife, Spock was living alone, and his grown children did not like it. T'Beth, in particular, fretted over him, for she remembered his spiritual collapse after finding Lauren and little Teresa murdered by the young Vulcan he had taken into their home. Spock's aging uncle, Sparn, showed a similar concern when he came all the way from Vulcan to pay Spock a visit. On the day of his departure, they spoke by the corral where T'Naisa's horse stood placidly enjoying the late afternoon shade.

"Sultan is small for an Appaloosa," Spock explained to his uncle, "but handsome and sweet-tempered. He'll make a good riding horse for the boys at Dreamcatcher."

"The ranch in California operated by your son James," Sparn recalled.

"Yes," replied Spock, and for a time they discussed the fine work James and his partner were doing with troubled and abused youngsters.

Sparn glanced around the clearing and said, "This place is very secluded. Since the founding of temples in the warmer climes, fewer Vulcans live in this area. You are no longer running a retreat house, and with the seminarians away…" His dark, discerning eyes found Spock once again. "Yanash tells us that it is not good for a Vulcan to live in isolation. We are so...introverted by nature."

Spock shrank from the thought of company. It had been difficult enough sharing his home with Sparn for a week. Hoping to deflect his uncle's concern, he said, "I will take up the matter of an assistant when the seminary reopens."

"Certainly, you will need assistance…but I am frankly troubled about you living here without a bondmate. A good woman…like my T'Prinka…helps open one's heart. And there is the matter of our seven year cycle…" His voice trailed off, leaving an awkward silence.

Spock drew a slow breath, feeling the strange numbness in his bonding center, refusing the tears that rose dangerously near the surface. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "Do we or do we not trust Yanash to fulfill his promise of freedom? And perhaps…T'Naisa will someday return."

Sparn focused on some distant point, and there was only the sound of birds singing. Very quietly he said, "May it be so. We all loved her."

His use of the past tense pained Spock as he received his uncle's parting embrace. Then the solitude of the mountain closed over him.

oooo

High in the loft of her ranch house, Antonia Cordova Kirk studied her latest painting and sighed deeply. Capturing her friend's lively spirit on canvas was proving almost impossible. Carefully mixing colors, she had matched T'Naisa's skin tone and fiery hair perfectly, as well as the glint of amusement in those dark eyes. But something was still missing.

Sudden tears welled, blurring the image. T'Naisa, I still can't believe you're gone...has it already been six weeks?

Using the back of her hand, she wiped her eyes. Then she set her brushes to soak before heading downstairs. With Sam and Jenny married, she had the place all to herself again. For much of her adult life she had lived alone, but today the house seemed much too quiet. T'Naisa's disappearance was stirring up emotions that she had worked long and hard to suppress.

Wrestling with her conscience, she went into the kitchen and opened the cooler. Tortillas and cheese, black olives and onions. As if of their own accord, her hands set about making a large batch of enchiladas. There would be plenty to share with her neighbor, and why not? When she was grieving over Jim's supposed death, Spock had come to her aid repeatedly, never taking no for an answer…until, in the end, she had loved him for it. Made a fool of herself, and perhaps she was being foolish now. But having suffered grief of her own, having experienced the numbing loss of a spouse, how could she stand by, ignoring a friend in pain?

When Antonia drove up to the cabin at Plum Creek, Spock's slender form rose from T'Naisa's vegetable garden. Brushing dirt from his hands, he came over to greet her.

"Antonia," he said politely. "Good afternoon."

She set a covered casserole dish on the hood of her car. "I made a big batch of enchiladas, and knowing how you like them..."

"Most kind," he said formally.

She doubted he would invite her inside, though there was a time when he had thought nothing of sitting in her loft for hours, fascinated by the creative process of her painting. She had mistaken Spock's interest in fine art for interest in her, and since that troubled time, the two of them had avoided being alone together. Though Spock had scarcely changed, age was creeping up fast on Antonia. But she had not come here to complain of graying hair and twinges of arthritis. Her heart ached with empathy for Spock's loss. Lean by nature, he seemed to have grown even thinner, and a weary look in his eyes told of long sleepless nights. Oh, how well she remembered those...

There was no sense asking if he had heard from T'Naisa. Instead, she inquired, '"How are you doing?"

He turned his head aside. She followed his line of sight to the empty corral where insects lazily buzzed in the summer heat.

With a lump in her throat she said, "I miss her, too. I've never forgotten how good you were to me...when we thought Jim had died in the Enterprise. If there's any way I can help..."

Still gazing at the corral, he nodded. Then he drew a deep breath and met her eyes. "It is the uncertainty..."

Antonia swallowed against a gathering thickness. "Jim returned for a while. Maybe T'Naisa will make it back, too. She was such a dear friend. I keep thinking of that deep, simple faith of hers…and the way she could make me laugh…"

He made a sound in his throat and his solemn mouth curved into the suggestion of a smile. And though nothing had ever been said, Antonia wondered if T'Naisa made him laugh, too.

oooo

Spock stood holding the pan of enchiladas and watched his good neighbor drive away. Then he went indoors and ate them, one after the other, surprised at how they awakened his hunger after weeks of replicated fare. Oh, he had been to Pinehaven for a few dinners with Tess and her family, and he appreciated those visits. Tess seemed to be dealing fairly well with her mother's disappearance. She had matured into a strong sensible woman, and her relationship with her husband was solid.

Spock certainly knew the importance of a loving marital partnership…as did Antonia, who had suffered greatly because of Jim Kirk's final desertion. As always, the thought of his friend Jim brought an unpleasant stirring of guilt. After all these years, he could not shake an illogical feeling that he should somehow have foreseen Jim's plan and acted to prevent his reckless return to the Nexus. He had read the accusation in young Sam Kirk's eyes…as an unhappy boy, and even now on those rare occasions when their paths crossed.

Spock heated another cheese enchilada and followed the current of his thoughts as he resumed eating.

Antonia Kirk was very different from her son. In her, Spock had never sensed any blame. During the eighteen years since Jim's disappearance, she had come and gone from Plum Creek, visiting T'Naisa, sharing an occasional meal at their table, never once acting cold or resentful. He blamed himself for that long-ago incident in her loft, when a widow's loneliness drove her into his arms. He had shown an irresponsible lack of judgment by spending so much time alone with her, heedlessly indulging his interest in art, and they had both suffered painful consequences.

Pulling his mind back into the present, Spock reached for another enchilada. The pan was empty. He looked at the padd beside it, lit with a poem of Li Bai.

"Clouds bring back to mind her dress, the flowers her face.

Winds of spring caress the rail where sparkling dewdrops cluster.

If you cannot see her by the jeweled mountain top,

Maybe on the moonlit Jasper Terrace you will meet her."

As he read the poetic verses his heart ached for his bondmate. Where was she?

oooo

In mid-August, Antonia returned from an art show and rushed off to a doctor's appointment—the third in an ongoing series only her children knew about. Not that she could keep the treatments secret for very long. Already the changes in her appearance were becoming evident, and to tell the truth, she found the situation a little embarrassing, for she had always resisted the idea of rejuvenation. Why the sudden change of attitude? She knew only that it had something to do with T'Naisa, with the vagaries of life, with a need to set aside the past and fully embrace each and every remaining day. She was suddenly tired of being tired, of awakening stiff and quitting work early for lack of energy.

Back home, she studied herself in the bathroom mirror. There were definite signs of dark color near the roots of every gray hair. Her tan skin was becoming tauter, the little lines around her eyes less noticeable. Each day she seemed more energetic, freer of the aches and pains that had been creeping up on her for years. Here it was, late afternoon on a busy day, and she felt like baking. After dyeing her hair back to its natural black, she would head for the kitchen.

Antonia was taking the last pan of cookies out of the oven when she heard the hum of an air car. Out the window, she recognized the vehicle T'Naisa had always driven, and was startled and pleased to see Spock get out. Holding her casserole pan, he headed for the porch.

She quickly slipped off her apron and met him at the front door with a neighborly smile. "Well, what a nice surprise."

He briefly studied her freshly dyed hair before holding out the pan. "I thought you might be needing this."

"Thanks," she said, taking it from him. "I hope you enjoyed the enchiladas."

"Indeed. Every one. It was most considerate of you."

An idea struck her. "I just baked a batch of peanut butter cookies. Come in, I'll send some home with you."

His left eyebrow quirked, and she remembered sugar's inebriating effect on the Vulcan system. Was that the problem? Or was it the memory of that old visit to her loft when she made a play for him?

"Thank-you," he said with a hint of regret, "but I must be going."

"No, wait right here," she countered. Leaving him, she rushed into the kitchen and filled the pan with warm cookies.

Spock did not refuse them.

An impulsive idea came to Antonia. "I've been wondering. Would it be alright if I came over to Plum Creek…say, next week…and did a landscape?"

Spock considered. Before he could refuse her, she asked him once again to wait while she ran up to the loft for a canvas that was barely dry. Back outside, she propped her latest work against the porch rail. It was a magnificent mountain scene featuring golden shafts of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

A bit sheepishly she explained, "It's the view from your Inspiration Point. I rode over there on horseback. Hope you don't mind." She watched his eyes devour every nuance of the image. "What do you think?"

"Remarkable," he said low.

His simple praise thrilled her. Spock's opinion of her art still mattered more than anyone's. "About next week..." she pressed.

Once more, he considered. Then he turned from the painting and looked at her. "Is Saturday convenient?"

She mentally reviewed her schedule and told him, "My afternoon is free."

"I'll see you then," he said with a nod, and his next words came as a shock. "You are welcome to stay for dinner."

oooo

Spock was at the creek with two of his grandchildren when Antonia arrived. By the time he reached the car, Tess and her husband came out of the cabin. There was no need for introductions; even the children knew Antonia as T'Naisa's friend. Her dark eyes twinkled as she took stock of the family group. Now she understood why Spock had included a dinner invitation.

As if reading her mind, Spock said, "I realize that you had not expected so many people, but no one will come near while you are painting."

Knowing his interest in the creative process, she wondered, Not even you?

Spock helped carry her equipment to the far end of the clearing and watched her set up. And with the first stroke of her charcoal, his attention was indeed captured. Antonia had already decided on her subject—a pleasant view of the cabin, complete with its summer lilacs and woodland backdrop. Seated on her stool, wearing a paint-daubed artist's smock, she expertly roughed out the scene and proceeded to mix her colors. Half an hour passed before Spock left her side and went back to his family, but the allure of Antonia's artistry was so powerful that he returned again and again.

oooo

Sunshine streamed through the windows of her airy loft as Antonia put the finishing touches on the Plum Creek painting. Imagining herself back in the wide clearing, she could almost smell the warm pine scent and feel Spock looking over her shoulder. With a sigh, she applied a final daub of highlight to a flower and leaned back, satisfied with the wistful feeling the painting conveyed. How T'Naisa had loved that cabin. There was no way she would have left it…and Spock…voluntarily, no matter how Spock seemed to sense her living presence. The pain of grief could trick anyone. Antonia knew firsthand, and her heart went out to him with a tenderness that was beyond ordinary sympathy.

It was fast becoming apparent that the rejuvenation therapy was affecting more than her hair and skin. All these years she had worked hard to control her feelings for Spock, swiftly and firmly rejecting every adulterous thought until they all but disappeared. The aging process had helped, but now the old yearnings were creeping back, bringing a resurgence of dreams—furtive visions of illicit passion in the arms of her best friend's husband. She would need to be very careful. No more enchiladas, no more inviting herself to Plum Creek. Now that T'Naisa was gone, she had better keep a safe distance from Spock and restrict her neighborliness to the phone.

oooo

In September, the seminarians returned to Plum Creek and Spock was ready for them. Out of necessity, he had appointed a fellow instructor—a fine, well-qualified Yanashite who freed him to engage in occasional lecture tours. It was on just such a tour that T'Naisa had vanished.

He welcomed the busy season, filling his days with Yanashite concerns and his nights with meditative prayer. Seated before his attunement flame, hands resting palms-upward, he communed with Yanash for hours, but in the morning there remained an empty place in his heart that no prayer could fill completely.

Along the creek, wild plum trees turned a brilliant shade of yellow that reminded Spock of the oil paint in one of Antonia's tubes. In his quest for peace, had he been neglecting his hospitality toward her? She still checked on him regularly by phone, and her kindness reminded him of a helpful neighbor in Arizona when he had been grieving for Lauren and Teresa. They were both warm-natured Hispanic women. Antonia had been born a Cordova of Mexican extraction and still used that name to sign her canvasses. Each time Spock saw her on the phone screen, she seemed to grow younger, but today when she answered his call, he was taken by her loveliness.

After an awkward hesitation, he said, "You...appear well."

Her dusky skin showed a hint of a blush, and her brown eyes widened as if she had been caught doing something improper. "I'm sure you've noticed my rejuve treatments." She paused before asking, "Do you…think it's wrong?"

She looked as if she truly cared about his opinion. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "Even Vulcans sometime make use of such therapies…if deemed logical."

She flashed a crooked smile. "What do I know of logic? I'm an artist, not a scientist."

The familiar turn of phrase raised Spock's eyebrow. "Your wording reminds me very much of an old friend. But in fact, it is your art that prompted me to call. The autumn colors are vivid along the creek. You are welcome to paint the scene, if you don't mind the seminarians observing…"

oooo

Brimming with excitement, Antonia threw together a pan of chilies relleno and took them with her to Plum Creek. It was the least she could do, just a small gesture of appreciation.

"They're mild," she promised Spock as she handed them over. "I took out every last seed."

He thanked her for the effort, and she set to work with a slow, pleasant pace that took three wonderful days to complete. Now and then the seminarians checked on her progress, and for fun she sketched both of the men, letting them keep the likenesses. Throughout the days, Spock came and went, always making sure someone else was present. She sketched him, too. It was a fanciful drawing, part memory and part imagination, arms folded over his chest in a relaxed manner as he leaned against the thick trunk of a pine. When she gave him the charcoal sketch, duly signed, his eyebrows rose.

He said, "I never posed for this."

Touching a fingertip to her temple, she smiled, but the sketch was more truly the work of her heart. By the look in his eyes, he suspected it, and in that moment of truth she did not care if her love showed.

Antonia didn't see him again until Christmas week, when he was about to leave for his daughter T'Beth's home in Scottsdale, Arizona. Throwing caution to the cold winter winds, she drove through a light snowfall to deliver a gift to him. Responding to her knock, he opened the cabin door, and the dilemma she presented made his jaw drop noticeably.

"Antonia," he said, nothing more. Obviously he was quite alone, not willing to invite her inside, yet equally unable to leave her freezing on the porch. Finally he decided in favor of courtesy. Backing up, he said, "Please come in."

She carried a big gift-wrapped painting into the hot cabin. Spock closed the door and adjusted the temperature for human comfort.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked, knowing full well that it was, and regretting that she had not called ahead. "I just wanted to give you this. Go ahead, open it."

His eyes went to the sleek red paper with its candy cane pattern. To his credit, he managed to say, "This is most unexpected."

As he took it from her, Antonia glanced around the tidy living room, her eyes coming to rest on the table beside T'Naisa's favorite chair. At the sight of the blue iris coffee mug, a pang of grief struck her.

Spock finished ripping away the paper. One hand steadying the frame, he stared at the rendering of Inspiration Point. He seemed unwilling…or unable…to speak.

Antonia could not think what to say, except, "I know you liked it, and you've been such a good friend to me…"

Lifting the painting with care, he propped it safely against a wall. Then he turned to her with gratitude in his eyes. "I do like it...very much. Thank-you." And he added, "Would you stay for some Vulcan tea? Or perhaps you would prefer coffee."

Coffee. Antonia shared T'Naisa's love of the beverage, and for that very reason she decided against it. "Tea would be fine."

As Spock went into the kitchen, she walked over and picked up T'Naisa's mug. Sparkling clean, not a speck of dust on it. For a moment she just held the cup close, thinking of T'Naisa and remembering her own strange quirks while grieving for Jim. Back then, it was Spock who had come into her home, persisting in his efforts to help her until she finally rose from the darkness.

Heart pounding hard, Antonia headed for the kitchen. Spock glanced up from the counter and immediately noticed the mug in her hands.

"Any word of her?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He slowly shook his head.

Very deliberately she opened a cupboard and set the mug on a shelf. Spock met her eyes and though the pain in them was hard to bear, he did not object to her meddling. A silent dialogue passed between them, acknowledging what they both knew of loss. Then Spock turned away and finished preparing the tea.