A Round Robin Story
Part One by Terrie Milliman
"I'm sorry. I came as soon as I could," Vincent explained as he slipped into his seat between Peter and Old Sam. "Eli felt like talking tonight, and I ...well, I was reluctant to rush him."
Mary smiled at that. "Oh, he must be feeling better. We should --"
"Proceed with this meeting," Father spoke, abruptly cutting her off. "We had to start without you, Vincent. As you know, this special Council meeting was called at Peter's request, and he has another appointment later this evening."
"Forgive me, Peter. It was unavoidable." Vincent turned to press the older man's hand.
"Don't worry about it, Vincent. I'm just glad Eli is feeling up to --"
"Can we move along and get this settled?" Father's tone brooked no argument.
Vincent gave him a sidelong glance and then nodded in his direction.
"Fine, fine." Father cleared his throat and continued speaking. "A vote has already been taken in Vincent's absence, and it would seem that the Council is deadlocked." The small marbles, black for 'nay', and white for 'yea', still rested on the table in front of him, bearing witness to this fact.
"The deciding vote lies with you, Vincent. You bear a great responsibility. Peter has come to us with a request. He would like permission to bring --"
Vincent stopped him mid-sentence. "Father, please, let Peter speak."
For a moment, Peter found it necessary to stare down at his folded hands. The corners of his mouth twitched in an effort to keep from smiling. In a matter of minutes, Vincent had gently, but assuredly, wrested complete control of the Council meeting from his feisty mentor.
Vincent's attention was focused solely on Peter as the older man began to speak. "This request that I'm making...well, it's very important to me."
The look in Peter's eyes spoke volumes. Vincent inclined his
head toward his friend and
urged him on.
Peter continued. "There's a woman I know, a wonderful young woman. She's the daughter of a life-long friend, and it's really on her behalf that I come here tonight."
As Peter spoke, Vincent leaned closer, listening attentively to
his story.
"Her name is Cathy. She works for the DA’s Office, but volunteers
most weekends at some of the soup kitchens and shelters throughout the city.
There's one particular place she often works at, over on West 69th at Christ and St. Stephen's
Church. About three months ago an old woman and her little granddaughter started coming
there. They had been living in the park for some time." He turned to look
directly at Vincent. "The number of homeless people on the streets and in the park is increasing
at a tremendous rate. Vincent, you've seen them."
Vincent nodded. "Yes, and there are more children among them
than ever before."
"It's impossible to help all of them." Peter shook his head sadly. "But Cathy instantly took an interest in that little girl, a four-year-old named Lily."
At the sound of the child's name, Vincent raised his head from his hands and exchanged glances with his fellow Council members, noting that only Father did not meet his startled gaze. "Lily?"
Peter nodded. "Yes. Cathy wanted to help them in any
way she could, but the grandmother was a proud woman and refused most of her offers.
She told Cathy they got along just fine and the Good Lord has always provided them
with all they needed. The people at the soup kitchen warned Cathy not to press the matter
or Lily and her grandmother might not come back.
"Then a month ago, the DA’s office sent Cathy to California for
a few days. When she got back, she learned from the people at St. Stephen's that the
old woman had been found dead just inside the 66th St. entrance to the park.
There was no sign of the little girl. Lily had just vanished. Cathy was frantic and went
to the police, but other than keeping a Missing Persons file open on her, there was little else
they could do."
"Cathy was so concerned about Lily that she considered taking a
leave of absence from her job in order to help look for the child, but then she realized
she'd have a better chance if she used some of her contacts at work. She also
hired a private detective who has been searching the streets and showing Lily's picture around,
but he hasn't had any success so far."
Peter shook his head and released a heavy sigh. "Now Cathy's
spending all her free time looking for this little girl. I understand why she's
doing it, but she's taking too many risks -- going into dangerous areas
of the park alone after dark, hardly taking time to eat or rest.
As I told everyone else before, Vincent, I'm very worried about her.
Cathy is like a daughter to me..."
Peter's story touched Vincent's heart, and once again he reached
forward to rest his hand reassuringly on the doctor's arm. "And you believe that
Lily is --"
"The young girl you found in the park," Peter finished for him.
"In fact, I know she is. Father, may I have the picture?"
Somewhat reluctantly, Father passed a small photograph to his son.
Peter continued. "When I was down here Sunday for the recital, I thought I recognized Lily, but I couldn't remember from where. Then it dawned on me that she was the child Cathy was looking for. I asked Cathy for a copy of the picture and told her I would keep an eye open for the little girl on my rounds in the hospital. Of course, I haven't mentioned any of this to her yet, but I have to -- and soon. It's killing me to see her go on this way."
Vincent studied the familiar image of the dark-haired pixie with
the caramel-colored skin, the child he knew as Lilyanne.
With a smile, he remembered the day not too long ago when Father
had attempted to abbreviate what the child considered her proper name. "It's
Lilyanne, sir," she had informed him politely but very firmly.
Vincent placed the picture face up on the table, the nail of his
left forefinger clicking on its shiny surface. "What are you asking of us, Peter?"
"I want to ease Cathy's mind, and the only way I know to do that is to let her see the child -- see that she is well and happy and living in a safe place where she will be cared for and loved. I'm asking for permission to bring Cathy Below . . . to see all this for herself."
Vincent sat quietly for a time; then, as everyone watched and waited for his reply, he pushed back his chair and rose from his seat. Peter found he was suddenly grateful that this intelligent, thoughtful man was to cast the deciding vote. As Vincent rounded the table, he paused momentarily to rest his hand on his father's shoulder as though to ease the betrayal about to take place. The gesture said it all. He felt the old man sag under the weight of the as yet unspoken decision. He dropped to one knee and compelled Father to look at him. "We can help this woman, Father. We must help this woman."
Father shook his head adamantly. "Vincent, there are risks
-- risks to you, to all of us, that need not be taken. There are other ways."
Mary leaned forward, drawing their attention toward her.
"Father, I will not allow that little girl to be carted Above after
all she's been through. She's just now beginning to settle in and
trust us."
"You know Mary's right, Father," said Old Sam. "It's too
soon for our little Lilyanne to face that world again."
Sarah spoke up. "And remember, this woman -- Cathy -- works for the DA’s Office. What if she wants to take her away from us? I say let her come to know us. Let her see for herself how well cared for our children are. Peter trusts her. That's good enough for me."
Peter smiled in gratitude of their support.
Then a worried Pascal spoke. "I don't know. I think Father's
right, Vincent." Picking up one of the black marbles, Pascal turned his gaze toward Peter.
"It's not that I don't trust your judgement, my friend, but the risks..."
He shook his head sadly as the marble slipped from his fingers and rolled across the table.
Vincent had listened intently to all that had been said.
"Peter would never put any of us at unnecessary risk. You all know that. If there was
another way, he would have found it." As he rose to his feet, he allowed his eyes to scan
the table, then returned his gaze to the petitioner. "Peter, I've
made my decision. You have my permission to bring your friend Cathy
Below. She needs to see for herself that Lilyanne is well and happy
in her new home."
The sound of chairs being pushed back from the council table signalled the end of the meeting.
"I got a real bad feeling about this," Winslow muttered as he heaved himself to his feet and made his way out of the chamber.
"Nonsense!" remarked Sarah, following after him.
Knowing how it always hurt him to go against his father's wishes,
Mary made a point of stopping to reassure Vincent. "You made the right choice,
dear," she told him firmly.
"Thank you, Mary," Vincent replied, grateful for her words.
Peter came up behind Vincent and clapped his hand appreciatively on his friend's back. "She's right, Vincent. It was the correct decision. Cathy Chandler is worthy of your trust. I've known her all her life. In a way, you once knew her, too…a long time ago."
Knowledge dawned in Vincent's eyes at Peter's last words. "You don't mean -- Peter, you can't mean -- Catherine?" he whispered. "Your friend Cathy is my Catherine?"
"Yes." Peter nodded, smiling. "You remember her?"
"Of course. I -- of course, I remember her. I thought -- and she's living in the city?" Vincent said, suddenly at a loss for words. "Why didn't you mention this?"
"I wanted you to come by your decision without any undue influence.
Would it have changed anything?"
Vincent shook his head. "No, I didn't think so."
"What's this?" intoned a curious, though still smarting Father. "Vincent? Do you know this woman?"
"I knew her, once…many years ago, but I've never met her."
When Father looked at Vincent as though he were purposely talking in riddles, Peter took pity on his old friend. "Surely you remember, Father. Cathy was the young girl -- Catherine -- whom I arranged for Vincent to exchange letters with when you were what -- eleven, twelve, Vincent?"
"Hmm, twelve," Vincent answered, his mind clearly elsewhere. "The spring after Devin left us..."
Peter smiled. "Well, it looks like you might get to meet her
at last - if you still want to."
"Perhaps." Vincent slowly nodded and quietly excused himself from
the group.
Part Two by Edith Crowe
Catherine stood in the living room of her apartment, so stupefied with weariness that she couldn't remember what she’d come here to do. She'd been in it so seldom lately it seemed suddenly unfamiliar to her. Food, sleep, relaxation -- nothing seemed important or pleasurable when images of Lily's possible fates crowded her mind. Catherine hadn't been an Assistant District Attorney long, but it was long enough to know that dying of exposure was one of the better possibilities. Exposure...that was it, it had begun to rain and she'd come in here to get a raincoat and umbrella. As she began to move toward the closet, the doorbell rang, startling her almost out of her skin. It had to be a neighbor or someone she knew; a stranger wouldn't get past the doorman. Unless he'd let the police come up. Why would the police be coming to see her, unless it was with news of Lily? Probably bad news, or they would have just called. Her friends on the force must have wanted to break it to her gently.
So thoroughly had she convinced herself of that sad scenario, Catherine was flummoxed for a moment when she saw through the peephole who had really come to visit. She flung open the door.
"Jenny! And Nancy -- I didn't know you were in town."
Nancy smiled with only the slightest of winces, and reached out stiffly to hug Catherine. "Another doctor's appointment. I couldn't come into the city without seeing you and Jenny. From what Jenny tells me, we're lucky to find you in."
"For heaven's sake," Catherine exclaimed, "what am I thinking? Sit down, make yourself comfortable. How are you doing?"
Nancy lowered herself gingerly onto the sofa and breathed a sigh of relief at its comfort. "Better than I look, honestly. Well enough to be getting irritated that I'm not completely recovered yet."
Jenny threw up her hands. "Good grief, you were mugged and almost killed, in a part of New York we all thought was relatively safe. Only eight months ago. Even a stoic New Englander should cut herself a little slack."
Nancy smiled. "Westport hardly counts as New England. If I were from Maine, say, I'd be considered a wuss for not chopping my firewood by now."
"Jenny's right," Catherine replied. "You've got to allow yourself time to heal, both inside and out. Being the victim of a vicious attack like that must have a powerful impact."
Nancy nodded. "It was horrible. I've never been so frightened in my life. But Paul has been wonderful. It's made me appreciate him and my family more than ever. Thank heavens the kids weren't older. They were upset when Mommy was in the hospital and then came home looking like a wall fell on her, but I don't think they're quite old enough to appreciate the psychological battering. In some ways that's worse -- being made to feel so helpless, so vulnerable."
Catherine tried to hide her involuntary shudder, but it didn't escape the eagle eyes of such close friends. Jenny put her arm around Catherine. "Still no word on Lily?"
"No. I was just about to go out again when you got here."
Jenny frowned. "Cathy, you won't do her any good if you run yourself into the ground. Or get yourself attacked like Nancy."
"And it won't help your clients, either," Nancy added. "I still feel responsible for your leaving the comfortable world of corporate law for the DA’s Office. I'll feel guilty if you let some thug get off because you were too tired to prosecute properly."
Catherine looked at her friend sharply. "You really mean that, don't you? It wasn't just what happened to you, you know. I wasn't happy with my life for a long time before that. Your attack just pushed me over the edge."
"Maybe, but you could have been teetering on that edge a long time if it weren't for me. You owe it to all those other victims to save some energy for them."
"Cath," Jenny said gently, "you've hired one of the best -- and most expensive -- private detectives in Manhattan. You've got New York's Finest combing the streets, looking extra hard because, in a sense, you're one of them now. Realistically, there's nothing you can really do that they aren't doing better."
Catherine sat down suddenly like a deflated balloon, almost missing the chair. Squeezing her eyes shut couldn't quite keep the tears inside. "I know," she admitted softly. "But it's so hard to just sit around waiting, worrying. Thinking of all the predators out there, and what they could be doing to an innocent little girl."
Jenny rested a hand on her friend's shoulder. "And if anybody has done anything bad to her -- which may or may not be the case -- you'll need to be at your best to prosecute the louse right into Attica. So take a night off before you collapse. Let's order in some Chinese and talk girl talk."
"Jenny's right," Nancy encouraged. "A night off could be just what you need to give yourself some fresh ideas about Lily."
Catherine surrendered to the logic of her friends' arguments and to her own exhaustion. "OK, you win."
By unspoken agreement -- at least on the part of Nancy and Jenny -- there was no talk of Lily for the rest of the evening. They relentlessly led Catherine along into reminiscences of The Radcliffe Years, bringing up old friends and acquaintances from those more carefree days. They were able to fill each other in about what had happened to all those friends in the years since. When they didn't know, they traded speculations, each more outrageous than the last.
"Say," Jenny attempted through a mouthful of moo shu chicken, "what ever happened to what's-her-name, the blonde?"
"Gee," Catherine wondered, "didn't Radcliffe teach you how to phrase a question a tad more precisely than that?"
Jenny licked plum sauce off her fingers. "Oh, put an egg roll in it. You know who I mean. The one with the spectacular bosom who planned to take Hollywood by storm and win an Oscar before she was thirty?"
"Oh, her." Nancy thought a moment. "I remember the bosom vividly, and the hair. But I can't think of her name to save my life." She turned to Catherine. "Do you have your yearbooks here?"
"I think they're in my storage area down in the basement. But you don't want to go all that way--"
"Great!" Jenny exclaimed. "We can dig them out and feel like we've earned the green tea ice cream."
"It's dark down there and damp and dirty. I don't think it's a good idea."
"If you're worried about me," Nancy offered, "don't be. I can't avoid every potentially scary place for the rest of my life."
Jenny looked contrite. "Oh, good grief, Nance, I'm sorry. I never thought--"
Nancy stood up resolutely. "Let's go. Call it desensitization therapy. My psychiatrist will be proud of me."
Catherine didn't have much in her storage space except out-of-season clothes. Between her father's duplex and the Connecticut house, she had plenty of other spots for memorabilia. She ran into former college classmates often enough, however, that having the yearbooks closer had seemed like a good idea. After a bit of rummaging around, Catherine dragged out a battered cardboard box. "I'm pretty sure this is the right one. I hope so, because I don't want to go back in there. Some of those dust bunnies look carnivorous."
"Try senior year,” Jenny suggested. “I'll bet there'll be some good photos of the college theatre stuff, and I'm sure she was in lots of the plays."
"They're caught on something. Maybe a flap of the box." As Catherine tugged hard on the books, they suddenly came loose, pulling various odds and ends with them and dumping Catherine soundly and unceremoniously on her rear end. Catherine let Jenny and Nancy look through the yearbooks while she collected the other detritus that had scattered around the floor and tossed it back in the box. It appeared to be assorted Radcliffe ephemera she'd forgotten she still had... programs from long-forgotten plays and concerts, menus from restaurants that probably weren't in business anymore, dog-eared notebooks with cryptic jottings that looked as incomprehensible to her now as Basque or Navaho. As she touched the last item she gave an involuntary gasp and drew back her hand.
Jenny raised her head from her so-far-unsuccessful attempt to identify the mysterious well- endowed blonde. "Cathy, are you OK? What happened?"
Catherine gingerly reached out again to the small package, touching it with just the tip of her finger before grasping it. "I think you two were right about my needing a break. I'm beginning to hallucinate. I could have sworn I felt a tingle when I touched this at first."
Nancy and Jenny came closer. "What is it?"
"It looks like some old letters." Catherine undid the ribbon around them and tilted the top one toward the dim lights, trying to read the faded writing. "It's -- omigosh! How did these get in here?"
"Letters from an old boyfriend?" Jenny suggested.
"Hardly. I was only ten years old when I got these. I don't know how they got mixed up with all my college stuff."
"So who --"
"Jenny, this was before your time. But Nancy might remember. They're from Vincent."
Catherine was too engrossed in the letters, and Nancy too focused on dredging her memory, for either of them to notice the involuntary shiver that went through Jenny and the widening of her eyes. She stared at Catherine. "Who --" She waited a moment to get her voice under control. "Who's Vincent?"
"Didn't he have something to do with Peter Alcott?" Nancy asked.
Catherine continued sorting through the letters, a little smile on her face. "Yes -- I was never sure exactly how. It was right after my mother died, and I was inconsolable. Peter told me there was a little boy, not too much older than I, who'd just lost his older brother and was very lonely. He told me that if I wrote to him, maybe he wouldn't feel so alone."
Catherine closed her eyes, looking inward. "Later I wondered if Peter made him up, as a form of therapy, but I don't think so. Somehow I knew he was real...but he was a very unusual little boy."
"Unusual?" Jenny stared at Catherine. "How?"
"Well, he was very intelligent, and a lot more sensitive than the average twelve-year-old. He seemed to have read just about every book in the world, or that's what it looked like to my ten-year-old self, anyway. But he'd never been to any theaters or restaurants or the skating rink at Rockefeller Center. I thought maybe he was just poor, but there are a lot of interesting places you can go to for free in New York, or very cheaply, and he didn't seem to have been to them either. He'd never even ridden the Staten Island Ferry, for Pete's sake."
Catherine re-wrapped the letters carefully and tucked them into a pocket of her sweater. "He's the one who introduced me to The Velveteen Rabbit. I can't tell you how many times I read that book after my mother died. I'm not sure I would have survived without it."
"Whatever happened to him?" Nancy asked.
"I don't know. His letters got farther apart, and so did my replies. My father was keeping me extra busy, taking me places, trying to get my mind off Mom's death, I'm sure. I remember asking Peter about it once or twice, and he was kind of evasive. I got the impression he ---or someone -- really didn't want this correspondence to go on. Eventually we just stopped writing, but every one of those letters meant a great deal to me all those years ago."
Nancy smiled. "Maybe that tingle you got means you're becoming psychic...and I thought Jenny was the only one."
Jenny squirmed. "I'm not --"
"Oh, you are, too," Catherine insisted as she rose from the floor and dusted herself off. "Although it doesn't seem to be a very dependable gift. You haven't felt anything about Lily, unfortunately."
"Well..."
Catherine looked up sharply. "You have? And you didn't tell me? For God's sake, Jenny, why were you trying to keep it from me? How horrible is it?"
"No, no." Jenny shook her head vigorously. "It's just that it doesn't make sense." Catherine and Nancy both gave her a so-what-else-is-new look.
Jenny sighed. "OK -- I get the feeling that she's safe, but I was afraid you'd just think I was telling you what you wanted to hear. I got this picture of her curled up in a big, old-fashioned bed with a patchwork quilt, and someone was reading to her...someone with long golden hair and a very soothing voice."
"Sounds like a fairy tale," Nancy suggested.
"That's what I was afraid you'd say." Jenny squirmed. "Especially since..."
"Since what?" Catherine demanded.
Jenny hugged herself protectively. "She was in a cave."
"A cave." Nancy looked at Catherine. Catherine looked back. Both looked at Jenny.
"Well, it looked like a cave, sort of. See, this is exactly why I don't --"
Catherine held up her hand. "OK, OK, I'm glad you told me, honestly. Even if I'm going to drive myself nuts from now on trying to figure out what it really means."
They decided that poring over yearbooks should be done in the comfort of Catherine's apartment, accompanied by bowls of ice cream, and not in a basement. They were halfway to the exit when they realized Jenny wasn't with them. Tracing their steps, they found her staring at a wall.
"Jenny, what in heaven's name are you doing? I thought you were the one who was so crazy for green tea ice cream."
Jenny turned to Catherine. "Has there ever been a door in this wall? One that got bricked up or something?"
"I don't think so," Catherine replied. "I've never heard of one down here. Why?"
Jenny sighed. "I just got the strongest image of a door, here, a threshold...and of you walking through it."
"Maybe it's a symbol of Cathy starting her new life," Nancy suggested.
"Maybe." Jenny didn't sound convinced.
"I guess that would depend on what I found on the other side of the door," Catherine laughed. "The DA's Office? Shangri-La? The Three Bears?"
Jenny looked at Catherine as if seeing her for the first time. Your destiny. But what she said was, "Never mind. Probably too much plum sauce. Let's go."
Part 3 by Barbara Hill
“What is real?” said the rabbit one day when they were lying side by side. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick out handle?”
“Real isn’t how you are made” said the skin horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you when a child loves you for a long, long time. Not just to play with, but really loves you. Then you become real . . .”
“Generally, by the time you are real most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all because once you are real you can’t be ugly except to people who don’t understand. Once you are real, you can’t become unreal. It lasts for always.”
Catherine woke with a start, the soft, soothing voice of the storyteller in her dream lingering in her sleepy mind. Usually she could barely remember her dreams, but this one played itself over and over in her mind almost like a movie, and she could remember everything about it vividly.
The lace curtains on her terrace doors rustled softly in spite of its being tightly shut and locked. The full moon filled the bedroom with a pale, almost ethereal light and Catherine found herself drawn to the balcony and the moonlit night beckoning just outside the doors. Reaching for the blanket at the foot of her bed to ward off the chill of the crisp April night, she wrapped it around her shoulders and stepped into the night.
Leaning against the balcony, Catherine gazed out at the thousands of lights shining brightly despite the late hour. Suddenly her mind was filled once more with the visions that had suffused her dream.
********
The big room was filled with an array of furniture and an assortment
of knick-knacks. The dim lighting was supplied by several candles of all shapes and
sizes. A large, comfortable looking bed took up a big portion of the room.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she realized that it wasn’t really a
room so much as a cavern - or perhaps even a cave.
Curled up amongst two over-stuffed pillows on the bed was a little
girl. Her thin arms were wrapped tightly about a stuffed rabbit as she listened to
the figure sitting on the edge of the bed reading from a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit.
The storyteller’s deep, resonant voice filled the room, seeming
to echo softly off the stone walls of the chamber. His face was hidden in shadows,
but his form was easy to make out even in the dim setting. He was a large man with
a cascade of long, blond hair. The clothes he wore were old-fashioned, like something
out of a fairy tale. His hands were big, much bigger than the well-worn book he held, yet
his fingers turned the fragile pages with utmost care. Catherine’s attention suddenly
settled on his hands. There was something about them, something she couldn’t quite bring
into focus, but something she somehow knew was different. There was an aura about
him of great, self-contained power, yet the child showed no fear of him.
Instead, she appeared to be completely at peace with him and within her surroundings, and seemed
to trust him implicitly.
The soft voice grew quiet as the man noticed that the child was sleeping soundly. Slowly, he made his way about the room, extinguishing the candles one by one until only one small candle on a ledge high above the ground remained lit. Catherine had the distinct impression he deliberately left that one burning so the child would not be frightened should she awaken and find herself in complete darkness. Carefully, he moved the little girl into a more comfortable position, tucking the blankets around her. Leaning down, he smoothed her bangs back, and gently kissed her forehead.
“Sleep well . . .”
*******
‘Sleep well . . .’
The words seemed to echo softly in the night and for some reason she could not explain they felt vaguely familiar.
Catherine glanced around, startled out of her reverie. The vision of a mysterious man reading to a small child in a cozy cavern far from the outside world refused to fade from her memory. She laughed softly as she realized that the cavern in her dream easily could have been a cave, the little girl could very well be Lily and the mysterious man with the soothing voice and golden hair might just be the man in Jenny’s vision. Her friend’s confession that evening regarding the images she’d seen of Lily had probably planted the seeds for her own dream about the innocent child she had come to care for so much, or perhaps Jenny’s physic abilities had finally rubbed off on her. Catherine sincerely wished it was the latter, since that could mean that Lily was in a warm, safe place, cared for and loved.
Catherine shivered as the chilly air finally seeped through the blanket she held wrapped about her. As she stepped back into her bedroom, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was almost five o’clock in the morning. She was wide-awake and knew she would get no more sleep this night. She would have to get ready for work in just a couple of short hours, but it was long enough to give in to one more unexplained feeling of something she needed to do.
******
The letters were spread out over the table. Catherine had corresponded for about a year with the young man called Vincent. None of the envelopes containing his letters were stamped or addressed. Peter had hand-delivered each and every one of them, and across the front just one word had been added - her name written with a flourish she had never seen before or since. She was certain that the letters she had sent in return must have been hand-delivered by Peter as well.
Catherine spent the remainder of the night reading the letters, once again reliving the pain and sorrow of her mother’s death and the peace and acceptance Vincent’s letters had helped her achieve. They had shared their thoughts and wishes as easily as if they had been life-long friends, but only now, after once more reading the letters, did she truly realize how simple and unselfish Vincent’s wishes had been. His letters were filled with concern mostly for others. Rarely did he complain or wish for anything for himself. It was only at the beginning of their correspondence, when he first mentioned the disappearance of his brother Devin, that he seemed to show any sign of self-pity. Yet even then he had quickly become more concerned about those around him, especially his father. Catherine found herself wondering if his brother had ever returned.
One letter in particular stuck in her mind and she read it again. In it Vincent had mentioned a secret late night trip to the carousel in the park. It was this expedition that had apparently led to his brother’s abrupt departure. He had also mentioned a drainage tunnel somewhere in the park where he had carved his and Devin’s names. Catherine wondered if she could find the spot, but was certain she would have no idea where to even begin. Still, it would be proof that Vincent truly had existed and was not just a phantom Peter had created to help her through a very difficult time in her life. And for some reason she couldn’t quite focus on, she hoped fervently that her unusual pen pal was real.
*******
Catherine could not concentrate on the paperwork in front of her. Her thoughts were lost in a place unlike any she had ever before imagined or dreamed of, as a soft, deep voice repeated two words over and over in her mind, ‘Sleep well . . .’
The shrill ringing of the phone startled her out of her daydream. Absent-mindedly she picked it up, her usually professional demeanor gone for the moment.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Cathy.” The familiar voice at the opposite end startled her even more.
“Peter! I was just thinking about you a few minutes ago.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“Of course they were. Actually, Peter, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Well, I’m on my way to the hospital right now, but I did want to talk to you, too, about something rather important. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“I sure am.” Catherine found it hard to keep the curiosity out of her voice. “What’s going on? Why are you being so mysterious?”
“I’m not being mysterious, Cathy. I just have something important to discuss with you and I don’t want to go into it over the phone. It’s as simple as that. Stop being so suspicious.” Peter’s voice teased lightly.
Catherine laughed. “Sorry. It comes with the territory I guess. This job will do that to you after a while. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?”
“No, I’ll pick you up at your apartment at about seven o’clock. Will that be all right?”
“That’s fine.” Catherine smiled to herself, allowing her life-long friend his paternal indulgence. She knew he worried about her almost as much as her father did.
“Okay, then. I’ll see you tonight. Bye.”
“Good-bye, Peter.”
Catherine had barely a moment to wonder at Peter’s sudden dinner invitation or his rather evasive answers to her questions when the phone rang again. This time it was Jenny.
“Jenny! Contact with you two days in a row? That’s got to be a record for us.”
Jenny laughed knowingly. Usually the two friends were lucky if they talked to one another twice in a month, let alone twice in as many days; but Jenny knew that Catherine had been upset to discover she’d envisioned Lily without telling her right away, and she wasn’t taking any chances of upsetting her again. “I had another vision, Cathy.”
“Of Lily?”
“Yes...and of you.”
“Me? You saw me with Lily? Where?”
“In the same place I saw her the first time. I saw the same cave, at least it seemed like a cave, but not really…Oh, Cathy, I just can’t explain it. If it is a cave, it’s the homiest cave I’ve ever seen. Anyway, Lily was sitting on the bed, propped against some big pillows, holding some kind of stuffed animal. I couldn’t quite make out what kind. The man with the soothing voice was reading to her again and...”
Catherine shivered as she listened to Jenny describing her own dream. Maybe the idea that her friend’s psychic abilities had rubbed off on her over the years wasn’t that far from the truth after all.
“You were there, Cathy. You were sitting on the bed with Lily, holding her, listening to the man read, too. You both seemed very happy and content, and this time…” Jenny hesitated, wondering how her friend would take the next piece of news.
“And what, Jenny? Come on, tell me.”
“She spoke, Catherine. Lily spoke.”
“What did she say?” Catherine whispered softly, somehow sensing what Jenny’s answer would be.
“She called the man by name.” Jenny took a deep breath before continuing. “Vincent! She called him Vincent. Maybe it was my subconscious playing tricks on me and that name is just a result of what you told us about those letters - but it seemed so real! Cathy, what do you think it all means?”
“Jenny, I have no idea, but at this point I don’t think anything will surprise me. I’m having dinner with Peter tonight. He called sounding almost as mysterious as you and your visions. He said there’s something very important that he needs to discuss with me.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with what’s been going on lately? I mean with Lily and this Vincent, if that’s what his name really is?”
“I don’t know, but like I said, nothing will surprise me now.
I’ll talk to you later, Jen. Thanks for calling.”
Catherine had no way of knowing that her words would soon come back
to haunt her, just as she had no way of knowing that the biggest surprise of
her life waited for her…just beyond the threshold Jenny had envisioned in the basement
of her apartment.
Part Four by Linda S. Barth
“You’re not going to keep me in suspense any longer, are you?” The warmth in Catherine’s smile softened the demand in her voice. “I was more than patient during dinner, even though you refused to tell me a thing until you’d finished your dessert. And even then, those flimsy clues you handed out would have sent Sherlock Holmes into early retirement.”
Peter chuckled softly. “I can’t disagree with you, Cathy, as much as I’d like to. And how can I refuse you now, especially when you’ve humored me all evening?” He set his coffee cup on the table between the twin couches in Catherine’s living room, and then felt the smile fade from his mouth as he looked across at her. “I wasn’t being purposely evasive in the restaurant, but on the way over here tonight I realized that what I had to tell you might be best discussed in a less public setting.”
Catherine’s face tightened in apprehension. “Is it about Lily? If it is, then just tell me, Peter. I need to know.”
He nodded. “Yes, it is about Lily, but it’s good news, nothing to worry about.”
Catherine’s voice rose. “Good news? Then why did you wait to tell me? You know how anxious I’ve been about her!”
“I know, Cathy, and I’m sorry to have kept this news from you. I haven’t known about it myself for long, and I had to…go through some channels before I could share the information with you.” He hesitated, sighing as he glanced down at his clenched hands before looking up at Catherine again. “It’s complicated, and not an easy story to tell.”
“Then begin by telling me how Lily is,” Catherine suggested, forcing her voice to become calm and even. “You said it was good news. Is she safe and well? Where has she been living?”
Peter smiled at her. “You’re making this easy for me, easier than I deserve. Lily is fine. She was found in the park the same evening her grandmother collapsed on the street, probably only an hour or so after it happened, and she was taken to a safe place where she’s been ever since.”
“To another shelter?” Catherine asked. “Which one? I’ve called everywhere and no one has had any knowledge of her.”
“No, not to a shelter. Purely by coincidence, it was a friend of mine who found her. He brought her to his home, a home he shares with many other people. It’s a very special place, full of warmth and kindness. Lily was truly blessed to have found sanctuary there.”
Catherine shook her head as if hoping that Peter’s cryptic words would rearrange themselves and settle into clarity in her mind. “But where is this place, this home? Is it outside the city? You’re still not giving me enough information.”
He sighed again and took a deep breath before continuing. “The place where Lily is staying is right here in the city. And -“
“She’s here - in New York?” Catherine interrupted in excitement. “I want to see her! Can you take me there?” She leaned forward in emphasis. “I trust you, Peter, but I need to see for myself. And I need to let Lily know I haven’t forgotten or abandoned her.”
“I know you do, and I will take you there. But first we have other things to talk about. And I still owe you an explanation."
“Yes, you do, but now that I know Lily is all right, I’ll be able to actually listen without wanting to scream at you for being so mysterious.” Catherine smiled at the man who was like a father to her, and then settled back against the cushions of the couch.
Relieved at her reaction, Peter finally found the words that had eluded him earlier. “I discovered Lily when I attended a children’s musical recital at my friend’s home on Sunday. There were quite a few children there, but something looked so familiar about this one little girl, and eventually it dawned on me that she resembled the child you’d been searching for. But I wanted to be sure before I told you, so I asked for that picture of her and I took it Be-to my friend’s home last night to confirm that the child was actually Lily.”
Catherine’s face was alight with hope. “And you’re really sure she’s the child you saw?”
“Yes, I’m sure. She told my friend and his family that her name is Lilyanne and that she’s four years old. Of course, she was very frightened and confused at first, and she misses her grandmother terribly, but all things considered, she’s made a remarkable adjustment.”
Catherine sighed in relief. “I’m so glad to hear that, Peter. I can’t find the words to tell you what it means to me. Your friend and his family must be very special people, and if you can trust them, then so can I.”
Peter smiled. “And they’re willing to keep Lily with them for as long as she needs their help.”
“Well, we’ll have to look into that,” Catherine replied, her voice growing solemn. “So many children slip through the cracks, and the child protective services are incredibly understaffed. I’d hate to see Lily shuffled through foster homes, but we can’t just let her stay with strangers either, no matter how kind and caring they might be.”
“They’re not strangers, Cathy,” Peter reassured her. “I’ve known most of these people for a lot of years, some of them since before you were born.” He hesitated for just a moment. “And you know one of them, too. That friend I mentioned - the one who found Lily - he’s an old friend of yours.”
Catherine’s eyes widened in surprise. “I know him? Peter - who is he?”
Peter’s expression was serious, but his voice was full of warmth. “You met him a long time ago, when you were just a child yourself, not long after your mother died. You were so sad and lost and I wanted to help you somehow, so I told you about someone else who had suffered a great loss, a boy who -“
“Vincent,” Catherine broke in, her voice trembling slightly. “You told me about Vincent.”
Now it was Peter’s turn to look surprised. “You remember him? It was so long ago, I was worried you’d forgotten.”
Catherine found herself smiling at his reaction. “Actually, I had forgotten, but only last night I found his letters in a box where I’d put them years and years ago. In fact, I reread the letters very early this morning. I’d had the oddest dream and I couldn’t go back to sleep. It was about Lily and…”
Her voice trailed away without warning and the sudden faraway look in her eyes sent shivers of concern through Peter. “Cathy, what is it? Are you all right?”
Long moments passed as images flickered in Catherine’s mind. The soft glow of candles, the pages of a familiar book, a gentle hand tucking a patchwork quilt around a drowsy child. The vision offered a doorway to a world of warmth and peacefulness, a safe place, calm and nurturing. And the boy who had once comforted her, now a man -- Vincent…she could almost hear his voice, almost see his face smiling at her…
“Cathy, tell me what’s wrong!” Peter started to rise from the couch to go to her, and the abrupt movement recaptured her attention.
“It’s all right,” she said, gesturing him back to his seat.
“I’m okay.” The bemused look that lingered in her eyes echoed in her smile.
“Tell me, Peter. Does Vincent have a very soothing voice, deep and calm? And
is he tall, powerful-looking but gentle, with longish hair, a kind of golden
bronze color?
And the rooms he lives in - there’s candlelight and lovely old-fashioned
furniture and lots of books, isn’t there?”
Peter swallowed hard. “How could you know that, Cathy? You two never met face to face, only in your letters.” He paused and laughed ruefully. “I get it. He described himself and his home to you, right?”
Catherine grinned at him, a part of her enjoying the opportunity to add a moment of mystery of her own. Then, taking pity on him, she continued. “Now, Peter, what twelve-year-old boy would tell a ten-year-old girl he has a beautiful voice, and how would he know for sure what he’d look like as an adult?”
Peter forced himself to ignore the latter part of her question and only asked, “Then if he didn’t tell you, how did you know?”
She tilted her head at him, her smile somewhat flustered. “Now I’ll have to ask you to trust me.” She waited while he nodded his agreement. “I saw him - I saw Vincent in a dream. And Jenny saw him, too, in one of those visions or images that come to her from time to time.”
Peter’s shocked expression was not what she expected. “You saw him - you saw Vincent? And you say Jenny did, too?”
Catherine frowned slightly. “I know it sounds weird, but yes, I did see him in my dream. Not clearly -- in fact, I didn’t even see his face -- but I knew it was him.”
Peter’s relief was so obvious that it concerned Catherine even further. “What’s the matter? Why are you so worried about my seeing Vincent?”
“It’s not easy to explain,” he began. “Vincent is different. He - well, in some ways he doesn’t look like other men. In fact, there’s probably no one else who looks quite like him. And it can be something of a shock when people see him for the first time."
Catherine frowned. “Are you saying he’s handicapped in some way, Peter? I appreciate your warning me, but it doesn’t matter, and I certainly won’t behave inappropriately when I meet him.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Peter answered quietly. “I’m just trying to find a way to tell you what to expect. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to Vincent to let you see him without some preparation. I owe you that, just like I owe it to the people in his community not to betray their trust. And I won’t to do anything to set up a situation that might hurt Vincent.”
“I’d never hurt him,” Catherine replied quickly. “And I’d never betray their trust.”
“I know that.” Peter’s voice was solemn as he reassured her. “I trust you, and it’s that trust, and their faith in me, that persuaded them to allow you to see Lily. But it was Vincent’s decision to face you, and, Cathy, it wasn’t an easy one for him to make.”
“If the man he has become is anything like the boy he was, then Vincent must be a very special person in so many ways, and it will be a pleasure, even a privilege, to meet him.”
Peter’s expression was enigmatic, but his smile was warm and genuine. “He’s a remarkable man, unlike anyone else I’ve ever met, and somehow I have this feeling you two are going to be great friends. Again.”
Catherine laughed appreciatively. “I think so, too. Maybe our finding each other again like this was meant to be. And if that’s true, then you must be our version of - what was his name, you know, the angel in “It’s A Wonderful Life”?”
“Clarence,” Peter answered with a laugh. “But I didn’t hear any bells ringing, so I guess I’ll have to wait a while for those wings.”
Smiling, Catherine glanced at her watch and started to push herself to her feet. “Well, one thing I can’t wait for is going to see Lily. I know she’ll probably be asleep by now, but it’s only 9:00, so -“
Peter shook his head and gestured toward the couch Catherine had
just vacated. “I think you’d better sit down again. I know
you’re anxious to get going, but we can’t take the usual route Below this late at night.
Besides, I’ll have to let everyone know when to expect your visit. And
no, I can’t call them
either.”
Catherine frowned in confusion as she sat back on the couch.
“Below? What is Below? It’s somewhere here in New York and they don’t
have a phone?” Peter’s sigh ended in a rueful laugh. “On second thought,
Cathy, maybe you should get up after all and go fix some more coffee for us.
It’s going to be a long night.”
[Two nights later.]
Catherine stopped abruptly and grabbed Peter’s arm to halt his downhill stroll toward a large drainage tunnel that loomed ahead of them in the dusky twilight of the park. “That’s where we’re going?” she asked, her voice edged with growing tension. “I wasn’t entirely convinced you were serious when you told me about this last night.”
A small, tight smile helped mask the tension Peter shared. “I understand your disbelief, Cathy, but I was completely serious, and that is where we’re headed.”
Catherine tried to return his smile. “I guess it still seemed too unbelievable, even though Vincent told me about a tunnel in one of his letters. He said that once he and Devin had carved their names on the wall of a tunnel like this.”
“It’s the same one,” Peter answered. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Glancing about uneasily, Catherine was glad to see the area was deserted. Her trust in Peter and her need to see Lily, added to the growing desire to renew her friendship with Vincent, had led her this far. But her life as a New Yorker told her how foolhardy their venture could be, and that realization only added to the growing turmoil within her as they neared their destination. At the entrance to the tunnel, she watched Peter withdraw a flashlight from his jacket pocket, and then followed both him and the alarmingly small beam of light deeper into the damp reaches of the passageway. Without warning, her feet slipped on the slick flooring and she reached out with both hands to steady herself. The curved metal walls were cool to her touch and for a moment she closed her eyes, feeling as if she’d fallen into the pages of a storybook where fantasy and reality merged, skewing her life toward a mysterious, unimaginable fate.
“Cathy, are you all right?” Peter’s voice had a hollow, metallic sound that seemed to echo in Catherine’s ears. “It’s not much farther.” “Good,” Catherine muttered as she opened her eyes and followed Peter again.
“Are you sure this was the best way to go - what did you call it - Below?”
Peter chuckled. “There are other ways, but this one really was the best for our purposes.” He led Catherine around a curve in the tunnel that opened into a darkened alcove, and then gestured toward a gated door in one wall. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?” Catherine questioned as she reached forward to touch the sturdy steel gate. She peered at the smooth, solid-looking metal panel beyond it. “Is this the way in?”
“It is, believe it or not,” Peter answered, unable to suppress a laugh.
Catherine gave him a sideways glance. “Do I have a choice? I’m tempted to believe this is all a dream, but I know it isn’t…is it?”
“No, it isn’t,” Peter said cheerfully. “And it gets better. Look!” He reached up to brush away layers of loose dust and dirt from a small concrete panel near the top of the gate. “Take a good look and tell me what you see.”
Catherine moved closer and looked up at the space Peter had indicated. The glare of the flashlight illuminated two names scratched into the cement surface, and her voice was hushed as she read them aloud. “Devin and Vincent.” The smile she gave Peter was full of delight. “They’re real. It really happened, just the way he told me all those years ago.”
Peter nodded. “Yes, it’s all real. Now are you ready to go on - to see Lily and to meet Vincent at last?”
Catherine was surprised to realize she felt not even the slightest hint of lingering doubt. “I’m ready, Peter. Let’s go.”
Several minutes later, Peter and Catherine approached the entryway to a chamber he had referred to as Father’s study. The walk through dimly lit brick and stone tunnels that echoed with rhythmic, almost musical, metallic sounds had both awed and unnerved Catherine, and the unusual clothing of the few inhabitants they’d met along the way only added to her feeling that she was in another world entirely removed from anything she’d ever known.
Still, she told herself reassuringly, everyone we’ve met so far has been polite and welcoming. It’s clean and warm here - wherever we are -- and I trust Peter. I have to…
“Come on, Cathy,” Peter said, gently tugging at her arm and urging her forward. “Everyone’s waiting for us. Especially Lily.”
Catherine took a deep breath as she followed Peter down a small connecting passageway to the top of a short flight of wrought iron stairs. Despite the information Peter had shared and the fanciful images of her own dreams, Catherine found herself unprepared for the reality she now encountered. It seemed to be a world from another time and place, a spacious rock-hewn chamber filled with leather-covered books and antique furniture, its every surface warmed by the shimmering golden glow of candlelight. With a gasp of surprise, she clutched the metal railing, as if needing to anchor herself to something tangible and mundane. Her gaze fluttered from an ivory chess set displaying a game half-finished, to a brassbound chest half-opened to reveal sheaves of maps and charts, from a Victorian era sofa with worn velvet cushions to the dusty yet still vivid shades in an Oriental rug.
It seemed to Catherine almost too much to take in at once. That such a place should exist at all, let alone beneath the streets of New York City… She shook her head in wonderment and then looked sharply up at Peter in response to his tug at her elbow. Following his gaze, she looked deeper into the hazy candlelit chamber to discover two figures emerging from an alcove she’d overlooked at first. An older man, dressed in the same eclectic garments she’d seen on other tunnel residents, stepped forward and looked up at her, his genuine if tentative smile softening the sternness of his features. But it was the child who clutched his hand who commanded Catherine’s complete attention in an instant.
“Lily!” Catherine called the precious name as she flew down
the short flight of stairs and knelt to gather the smiling child in her arms.
“It’s really you! I’m so happy to see you again!” She leaned back to look into the
little girl’s face. “Are you all right? Are you happy here?” Not giving her
time to answer, Catherine hugged Lily tight and then sighed with relief when she heard the
child’s giggles
and felt Lily’s small hands pat the top of her head, mimicking
the comforting gesture she’d often received from adults.
Smiling, Catherine set Lily on her feet once again and stood, but still held the child’s hand tightly. “I’ll bet you have a lot to tell me about your new home,” Catherine began gently. “Would you like to do that?”
Lily eagerly nodded her agreement and led her friend toward a grouping
of worn but comfortable-looking chairs in an alcove of the large chamber.
Both child and adult had completely forgotten about the two men who
now stood to one side, smiling at each other with satisfaction and relief that
their kind but risk-filled venture had, at least, begun well.
Part 5 by Jessie Gurner
Hidden in the shadows at the edge of the chamber, Vincent and Father
stood side-by-side watching the joyful reunion.
"In all the time Lily has been with us I have never seen her as happy as she is at this moment," Vincent commented softly. "It appears the Council made the right decision."
"Perhaps," Father replied in a low tone, his noncommittal response clearly conveying his doubt. "Only time will tell if we should have trusted this woman or if this decision will be a monumental error of judgment we will all live to regret."
"You cannot believe Peter would have asked to bring Catherine to us if he didn't have faith in her ability to keep our secret."
Father's hands tightened on his cane. "Even if Peter believes she will keep the information of our existence to herself, we still know nothing about her."
"You're wrong, Father," Vincent said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know Catherine. I know her hopes and dreams. I know her fears and how hard she struggles to overcome them and be strong."
Father scowled. "Once, long ago, you may thought you understood a child you exchanged letters with, but that doesn't mean you have any comprehension of the woman she is now."
"Her spirit is the same as it was all those years ago."
"You don't expect me to believe that you can tell that simply by looking at her?" Father scoffed.
"Yes."
"Vincent ..."
"In the same way I now know that all those years ago she would never have just stopped writing."
"I..."
"How did you do it, Father?" Vincent kept his face and voice
calm as he turned to study the older man. "Did you intercept the letters she sent to
me and then tell Peter there
wasn't any reply?"
"It was for you own good, Vincent." Father didn't even try to deny the accuracy of the accusation. "She was filling your head with all sorts of nonsense. Concerts in the park. Trips to museums. Telling you about things that I knew would only lead to heartache for you if I allowed the relationship to continue."
Vincent uncrossed his arms. "So instead you allowed me to believe that Catherine had completely forgotten about me."
"I did what was best for you."
Vincent shook his head. "For a long time after her letters stopped I would lie awake wondering if the reason she quit writing was because somehow she had found out about me - about the way I look."
"I never intended ..." Father went white and wiped a shaking hand across his forehead. "I never knew ...."
Vincent put his hand on Father's shoulder. "I didn't bring this up to cause you distress. I just wanted to remind you even the best of intentions can cause pain."
His eyes widened in sudden understanding. "You intend to renew your friendship with Catherine."
"Yes."
Father sighed. "I think it would be a mistake."
"I know - but it's my mistake to make."
****
Catherine watched Lily leaving the chamber with a woman who had introduced herself as Mary. It was story time and Lily was anxious to join the other children to hear more about the adventures of Paddington Bear.
"Hello, Catherine."
She immediately recognized the deep, smooth voice even though she had never heard it before. Wanting her own voice to be steady she gave herself a moment before turning to face him. "Vincent."
"I came to escort you back to the park entrance. Peter will be waiting for you there."
She kept her eyes on his face. "That's very kind of you."
"Did you enjoy your time with Lily?"
"Very much." Catherine smiled. "She couldn't stop talking about you."
Vincent dipped his head shyly and then turned toward the exit leading to the tunnel.
"Wait!"
He looked back over his shoulder.
"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"
Vincent became very still. The only movement came from the rich stands of gold that danced around his face. He could imagine the question Catherine wanted to ask him. Who are you? What are you? What happened to make you this way? "You can ask me anything you want to, Catherine."
She crossed the chamber to his side. "Why did you stop writing?"
Astonishment held Vincent motionless. "It was a ... misunderstanding. I thought you wanted to stop our correspondence."
"I didn't." Because the top of her head was level with his shoulder, Catherine titled her face back to see his. She met his gaze calmly so that she would know she spoke the truth. "I don't."
Vincent could feel a smile curling the corners of his mouth. "You don't?"
"No." She smiled up at him.
As Vincent led Catherine down the narrow corridor his calm expression hide the wild activity of his chaotic thoughts.
After a few steps Catherine linked her arm throught his. "Perhaps we should come up with another delivery method. I doubt Peter has time to carry messages back and forth."
Vincent looked down at the woman walking beside him. "Tell me, Catherine, have you ever read "Great Expectations"?"
The End