But even though he had tried to keep a rein on his emotions, he’d failed completely. With a rapidity he almost couldn’t believe, he had fallen for Edith, and day by day, even hour by hour, his love for her had grown deeper and deeper. He found her beauty, both within and without, singular. From virtually the moment he’d first seen Edith, descending the wooden stairs into the basement of the 21st Street Mission, he had been taken with her-with her dark hair and eyes, her delicate features and pearlescent skin, her quiet confidence and certain, almost regal bearing.

When the two of them had met, Kirk could not possibly have known how similarly they viewed life. But in a world beset by wars, by disease, by poverty and starvation, Edith somehow possessed the soul to gaze up at the stars and see the same things that Kirk did: a better tomorrow, an advanced humanity, hope, wonder. Edith perceived a positive future she did not simply long for, but one she worked to bring about as best she could. Where Kirk traveled the galaxy seeking out new knowledge, encountering new species, mediating disputes, keeping the peace, Edith fed the poor, with food for their bodies and a great vision for their minds.

You see the same things that I do, Edith had said earlier, and he did. He always had, from far back in his life. When he’d been a boy, his family had sometimes taken walks at night out on the farm in Iowa. Sometimes his mother had gone, sometimes his brother, but most often it had been just Kirk and his father. They’d gazed together at the stars and seen the future-Jim’s future, mankind’s, the universe’s.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Edith said, her words quiet and soft in the darkness.

“I was just thinking about my father,” he said, the ease with which he spoke surprising him. While his parents had greatly influenced his life, always fostering and supporting his dreams of space exploration, he almost never spoke of them to anybody. His mother’s death from disease when Kirk had been just nine years old had left him heartbroken and traumatized, and the day just two years later, when he’d found his father’s lifeless body out in the fields one summer afternoon, had hardened him. Afterward, he had more or less sealed off that part of his life, not only not speaking of his parents after that, but pushing away any recollections of them.

“What about your father?” Edith asked. Kirk could hear in her voice a thirst for information about himself, just as he too yearned to learn more about her. He also discovered that, with Edith by his side, he did not feel the need to turn away from his childhood memories, nor to avoid talking about his parents.

“I was thinking about the nights when I was a boy that I used to walk with my father out into fields and look up at the stars,” he said.

“Were you raised on a farm?” Edith asked. He could feel her adjust the position of her head on his shoulder as she raised her face toward his in the darkened room.

“I was,” Kirk said. “In Iowa.” He knew that he shouldn’t reveal too much about himself, but he could not see how Edith knowing the place of his birth would cause any disruption.

“In England, I grew up on a farm too,” Edith said, her tone conveying her pleasure at this additional point of commonality between them. “After my mother died,” she went on, quieter, “my father just couldn’t maintain the land anymore, and we lost it.” A few nights ago, Edith had spoken of the close relationship she’d had with her father, particularly after her mother had passed away. After years of living a difficult life, her father had at last chosen to make a new start for himself and for his daughter, and he’d believed that relocating to America would allow them the best chance to do that. That had been eight years ago, and he’d died only days after he and Edith had arrived in their new country.

“My father died when I was eleven,” Kirk said. “I found him out in our north field, working the corn. It was a strong sun that day, and it turned out that he had a weak heart…” He thought to say more, but he’d never before said aloud the words he just had, and whatever would have come next caught in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes, and for just a second, he felt grateful that the lightless room concealed his weakness.

But he didn’t feel weak, he realized. He felt…free. Free to reveal to Edith-to share with her-his deepest wounds, his greatest fears, his most desperate hopes and desires. He would be utterly vulnerable to her, and yet he found that he trusted her so completely that he had not the slightest doubt that she would never betray his faith in her. He knew that, for all her days, she would love and nurture and even protect him.

A tear spilled from his eye and down the side of his face. Kirk didn’t know how she knew, but Edith reached up and gently traced one finger along his cheek. “It’s all right, Jim,” she said. “I understand.”

He knew that she did understand-what he felt for his lost parents, what he saw when he peered up at the stars, what he wanted and worked to make happen for the human race. Edith understood that and more, much more. “I get through my days by not thinking about it,” Kirk admitted, “but I miss my mom and dad.”

“I know,” Edith said, placing her hand lightly against the side of his face. “But they would want you to go on. They would be proud of you for doing so.” The words could have sounded like a hopeful fantasy or even a sort of appeasement, but delivered by Edith, they rang true.

Kirk reached up and took Edith’s hand in his own, squeezing it in a wordless display of the emotion he felt for her. She squeezed back, then pushed up from bed. Before he knew what she was doing, her lips brushed tenderly against his own.

Tonight, after he had walked her home from the mission, she had invited him here, into her one-room apartment. They had swept easily, naturally into each other’s arms, their movements sure and effortless, like those of longtime dance partners. Their lovemaking had developed at its own pace, by turns languorous and slow, then fevered and full of energy. She could not have been more right for him, nor he for her.

In the darkness, Edith lowered herself back to his side, back into arms. She again rested her head on his shoulder. After a moment, she said, “Do you have any sisters or brothers?”

“I do,” Kirk said. “I have an older brother, Sam. He and his wife have also given me three nephews.”

“That’s wonderful,” Edith said, and Kirk perceived in the assessment the sense that she had no family of her own left to her.

“They’re good boys,” Kirk said, though Sam’s two older sons had both reached their twenties. “I haven’t seen my brother and his family in almost two years.” He could hear the wistfulness in his own voice. It had been just before Kirk had taken command of the Enterprise that Sam and Aurelan had brought their family on a surprise visit to see him off on his first captaincy. He had been deeply touched by their gesture, and he realized now how much he missed them all-especially Sam. “I’d love for you to meet them,” he said without thinking.

“I’d like that too,” Edith said.

For a moment, Kirk cursed himself for his foolishness, but he could not maintain his anger. Even though he knew that Edith would never meet Sam, that she would never be more a part of his life than she was right now, his sentiment remained true: he would love for her to meet his brother. In fact, he wanted to share all of his life with her.

Edith raised herself up again, this time onto her elbows, her hands resting on Kirk’s chest. “Where is your brother?” she asked. “What does he do?”

“He’s a scientist,” Kirk said with the exuberant pride of a younger brother. “He’s- ” On Deneva, Kirk thought, but he knew he could not say that. “- out of the country doing research right now,” he finished, prevaricating but not actually lying. He didn’t think that he could lie to Edith.