Starting Over

Posted on Sun Dec 15th, 2024 @ 5:42pm by Lieutenant Commander Ridge Maguire

1,159 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: A New Beginning
Location: Maguire Ranch, Ontario, Canada

Dressed in worn blue jeans, boots, and a loose fitting gray Henley, Ridge was mucking out stalls when Max Maguire came into the barn. His paternal grandfather was dressed in similar fashion though he was wearing one of the eight million flannel shirts he owned, and carrying two cups of coffee. He waited while Ridge finished the stall and then handed over one of the mugs.

Together they walked out to the barn entrance and watched Max's latest project, a nervous gelding darting around the round pen and sipped coffee. Neither one of them could cook but they could both make coffee strong enough to peel the enamel off their teeth, or so, Catherine usually said, whenever they made a pot.

"Your orders came in," Max asked, his blue gaze, nearly a twin to Max's own, flashed toward him over the rim of his mug. "That ensign looked worried about getting dirt on his nice clean uniform."

Ridge grunted, a chuckle rumbling up from the depths of his chest, as he pictured the ensign, who barely looked old enough to shave let alone be a Starfleet officer, and nodded. "The Valkyrie." He sighed quietly. "I should be happy of course. First officer on a fast, new ship."

"But you're not," Max said. "It's that same thing you went through when you got assigned to the Standing Bear and then again on the Tecumseh."

Ridge nodded and took a long sip of coffee, delaying his answer, but Max was patient. "The Vulcans, whenever they say something in Vulcan, make a point of translating it for me. And the rest? Look at me as though I'm some weird alien specimen." He shrugged lightly. "Takes time. I know this but ... every time I get transferred, I have to start the process over again. It's ... irritating."

"Spent twenty years in Starfleet," Max said after a moment, "there's always something. You get it worse because you don't fit into any of their neat little predefined boxes. But in the end, they'll see you for who you really are." He smiled, slow and subtle, as he added, "and if they don't, well, there's always work here that needs doing."

"Speaking of which," Ridge said, "what's on the agenda for today? Don't have to report until tomorrow so I'm all yours for now. Besides," he added, his own smile almost a duplicate of his grandfather's, "Grandma is making fried chicken tonight. Starfleet can wait."

Max laughed. "Good to see your priorities are straight." He gestured toward the barn. "Get the horses saddled while I gather the gear. We'll ride the fence line up in the north pasture."

Ridge nodded and headed back into the barn. Grandpa always rode Churchill, a tall bay that knew the ranch better than they did, while he generally rode Baby, a four year old black gelding who thought he owned the place. Once they were saddled, Ridge brought the horses out and together, they mounted and rode out into the fields.

[Much Later/Dinnertime]

The ranch house, home to generations of Maguires, was filled with memories. Some in the form of memorabilia that crowded the from edges of bookshelves, perched among photos on the fireplace mantle, and decorated end tables. Others lay in the dents and dings that went along with children growing up within its wall. Max knew most of the stories, having learned them from his father who learned them from his father, fading back into the past, and lived the rest. It wasn't new, sleek or modern, by any means; old wood and fading paint, not a house but a home.

You entered through the mudroom where boots were left and jackets hung from pegs and from there came into the oversized farm kitchen. And that led into a combined dining room/living area dominated by an old stone fireplace with a piano tucked into one corner. Four bedrooms, one bathroom toward the rear of the first floor and a staircase that led up to the attic which had been partitioned, for storage and for a bedroom with its own small bathroom, that had held any number of foster kids over the years.

It was home. It was sanctuary. The place Ridge came to when he needed time to unwind, to just breathe. At the moment, he was sitting at one end of the long dining table across from his grandmother with his grandfather sitting at the head of the table as always.

"Seems strange," Ridge said, "it being just the three of us." Over the years, Max and Catherine had fostered any number of young people, all of whom eventually became unofficial younger brothers or sisters. In all his years living here, Ridge couldn't remember a night when the dinner table wasn't crowded and where you almost had to shout to be heard.

"Milo will be here next week," Catherine said as she passed the fried chicken to Max and started in serving herself some of the mashed potatoes. "And he's bringing his wife and the new baby."

Ridge mock-shuddered as he used the tongs to pick up a chicken breast and place it on his plate. "Maybe it's a good thing I've gotten orders," he said, slanting his gaze toward Catherine who was wagging her finger at him. "Coz' I just know that crib is gonna end up in my room ... again. Took weeks to get the stench out from Jason and Claire's visit."

Max laughed and Catherine dropped her gaze for a moment. "It was Christmas, Ridge, and the house was full. Didn't have anywhere else to put the baby. This time ..."

"It'll probably be there again," Max said as he lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes. "We only have four bedrooms and the attic won't be available, not with Edward arriving next week."

"Edward," Ridge repeated. "Don't tell me I'm getting a new little brother."

"Absolutely," Catherine said. "Max is going to start getting the room ready for him tomorrow."

"Maybe the day after," Max said. He pushed the salad around on his plate and then, under Catherine's sharp gaze, ate a small bit. "Got a few things I have to finish up tomorrow. Not sure there will be enough time."

"If you want," Ridge said, while dissecting his chicken, "I could request an extra day. Least I could do is help out with the hay delivery before I go."

"No, that's alright," Max said. "You got somewhere to be and one of those things I'm taking care of tomorrow is hiring someone to help out. We'll be fine. Just a day to get us organized is all."

Ridge nodded and returned to his food. Maguires never retreated and they always found the courage to do the hard things. Even if it was facing a new ship and the endless questions and stereotypes that were part of merging with the crew.

A Post By:

Lt. Commander Ridge Maguire
First Officer
USS Valkyrie

 

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