A week drifted by slowly, filled with the responsibilities of Catherine’s job Above and Vincent’s work Below, leaving the two very little time to be together. They had not seen each other at all until, unable to stay away another hour, Vincent had come to Catherine’s balcony late Friday evening. He found her just arriving home after a long night of research in the NYU Law Library, and she rushed to him, throwing herself into his arms with a surge of energy that delighted them both.

"Vincent!" she gasped breathlessly. "I’m so glad you’re here!"

"So, I noticed." He chuckled softly as he kissed her cool cheek and then nestled his face into her windblown hair, resting his chin in its familiar place at the crown of her head. He breathed in the scent of her that he so loved. "I’ve missed you very much."

"And I’ve missed you." She sighed wearily, snuggling tighter against his chest. "It’s been so long."

"Five days," he murmured, "but it seems like five years."

Minutes passed as they stood pressed together, holding each other against the cold night air and the threat of their inevitable parting.

"You can’t stay, can you?" Catherine asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, but I had to see you, even if it’s only for a few minutes. Catherine, our two days together…I have no words to describe the happiness you’ve brought me. It’s more than I ever dreamed I’d know."

"You don’t have to find the words, Vincent. I know – I felt it, too. And I never wanted it to end."

His heavy sigh echoed her feelings as they turned together to look out over the lights of the city. "I had hoped to ask you to come Below again this weekend, even for few hours, but it’s impossible. The severe winter has been a hardship for our community. There are broken water pipes, cracks and breakage in the supports of several walls in the outer areas. All the work crews must labor continuously for the next several days attending to these things. And while we do, the regular maintenance has to be set aside."

"It must seem unending, Vincent. And you’re exhausted. I know you work harder than anyone else, but please take care of yourself. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you." She shuddered at the ominous sound of her words.

Vincent reached for her hand and clasped it in his firm but gentle grip. "I remember saying much the same thing to you, Catherine, not so long ago."

"Yes, you did. And I promised you I’d try, as you must promise me. There is nothing more important than you – nothing." She searched his face anxiously as she awaited his answer, and saw at once all the entangled emotions her heartfelt words had evoked in him. Soaring hope and hesitant fear, flaring desire and lingering disbelief.

For several moments he remained silent, and then he whispered his reply. "And you have my promise, as well, Catherine. But I must go. It’s very late and you need your sleep."

"When will I see you again? Not until the children’s party next Sunday?" She could not hide the wistful longing in her voice.

"I’m afraid not, Catherine. I don’t see any other way."

A small, single tear trailed down her cheek as she reached for him, tenderly bringing his face close to hers and pressing a bittersweet kiss to his lips.

"Then once again we will measure time in our own way, Vincent," she told him. She watched as with one fluid movement he leaped to the top of the balcony wall and reached for the fire escape ladder that would take him to the service elevator on the roof. Just before he disappeared into the darkness of the winter night, he looked back at her, and it took all his strength not to return, to gather her into his arms and stay with her forever.

"Be well, my Catherine," he whispered, and then he was gone.

/////////////////////////////

Catherine awoke to a sunny but still very chilly February morning. Grateful that it was Saturday, she took her time about rising and snuggled back into the nest of her down comforter for a few more minutes of undisturbed rest. She pulled the covers securely over herself and wished that the warmth she felt suffusing her body came not from soft fabric and feathers but rather from the hard-muscled strength and sweet embrace of the man who had sheltered her from the winter wind on her balcony only hours earlier. She felt her lips curve into a wide smile as her imagination filled her with thoughts of what might be.

Sighing, she rose at last and wandered into the kitchen to prepare a breakfast of cinnamon toast and strong, hot coffee. The Saturday morning "Times" held little to interest her, and without the usual weekend workload, she found herself somewhat at loose ends. If only Vincent were free this weekend, too, she wished. Why is it that our worlds have never quite given up on finding ways to keep us apart? I know we have more time together now than we’ve ever had, but it’s never enough. It could never be enough…but last weekend was wonderful…

A melancholy smile haunted her lips as Catherine walked back into her bedroom. She ran a hand absently through her sleep-tousled hair as she approached the small, mirrored dressing table opposite her bed. Late morning sunlight glistened on the silver handle of her hairbrush as she lifted it and slowly stroked its bristles through the tangles. Immediately the rhythmic motion evoked treasured memories of tender serenity and deep pleasure.

Vincent.

She remembered how he had brushed her hair that night in the little guest chamber and how he had thrilled her by lowering his guard to lead them both into a world of sensual delight. She could almost feel his long, graceful fingers brushing lightly over the smooth skin of her forehead, tentatively tracing the ivory scar near her temple, before trailing through the silky strands of her honey-colored hair. It had been a gesture at once deeply soothing and exciting, and the bond had resonated with their shared sensations.

Catherine shivered slightly as she remembered the brilliant flare of passion that had shimmered for just an instant in the sapphire light of Vincent’s eyes. Its intensity had mirrored her own response, sending wild hope soaring through her. But it had burned out as swiftly as a shooting star when Vincent had yielded not to the moment but instead to that secret place where all his still unspoken dreams lay imprisoned.

She sighed as she sank down upon the brocade-covered cushion of the small bench that faced the dressing table. Setting aside the hairbrush, Catherine looked at herself in the glass, not seeing simply the reflection of her own lovely face, but rather the image of the only woman who would ever know the miracle of Vincent’s love. In her eyes she found a glowing awareness of that beautiful gift, and she wondered if he saw it, too, whenever he looked at her.

Again she ran her fingers through her hair, the motion imitating Vincent’s caress, and as she smoothed the strands away from her face, she noticed a light fragrance drifting in the air, a subtle blending of her perfume and shampoo. She sniffed the air appreciatively and her dreamy smile widened as she savored the delicate, flowery scent. She knew it was one of the many reasons Vincent so enjoyed their all too infrequent embraces.

As she caught sight of her bemused expression, she laughed self-consciously. It’s getting so that almost every little thing makes me think of Vincent, she admitted to herself. Not that I’m complaining, but I wonder how often I go around with those thoughts written so plainly on my face!

And I wonder, she continued, what makes him think of me. What little, ordinary, everyday things bring me to his mind, the way nearly everything reminds me of him?

She toyed distractedly with a small crystal vial of her favorite perfume, the only one she ever wore. I’d love to ask him, she considered, but I don’t think I can, not yet anyway. She raised the little glass bottle and sprayed the lovely fragrance toward her throat, watching as tiny droplets twinkled for a moment in the sunlit air. Again she inhaled the familiar scent.

Well, she told herself, this perfume certainly must be one thing that makes Vincent think of me. But it can only be a part of his world when I’m Below. I wish I could think of something he could keep, a gift from Above that would remind him of me and of how much I love him. I remember how happy he was when I gave him my mother’s rose, and how he cherishes everything it stands for.

With a rueful little sigh, she returned the perfume bottle to its usual place and rose gracefully from the bench to head toward the bathroom. Within seconds she spun around and hastily retrieved the small crystal container. She held it up to the light and laughed delightedly as she watched the amber liquid swirl within the etched glass.

"That’s it!" she cried aloud. "It’s a perfect idea!"

Still clutching the small vial, Catherine raced to the linen closet and snatched up a new bottle of her favorite shampoo. After quickly checking to make sure their caps were fastened securely, she returned to the bedroom and carefully placed the two containers into her black leather shoulderbag. In record time, she showered and then dressed in a comfortable pale blue sweater, black pants, and low-heeled black suede boots. She buttoned her black and white tweed jacket, knotted an angora wool scarf around her neck, and then hurried to the door. In minutes she was on the street in front of her building.

Catherine waited with surprising patience as the doorman attempted to find an empty cab from among the many cars and buses that darted in and out of the weekend traffic on Fifth Avenue. She smiled as she patted the angular shapes that jutted against the soft leather bag at her side. They were tangible proof of the inspiration she was certain would provide a wonderful Valentine’s Day gift for her beloved Vincent.

Twenty minutes later Catherine entered a tiny shop hidden away on a side street in Soho. She had noticed it on one of her many visits to Mr. Smythe’s bookshop, and although intrigued, she had never found time to explore it. Blinking to adjust her eyes to the dimly lit interior, Catherine descended three wooden steps to the shop’s floor and breathed deeply of the heady scents surrounding her.

There were wooden and ceramic bowls of every size and shape, each filled with dried flowers, powdery spices, tiny aromatic wood chips, and a few intriguing substances Catherine’s untrained eye could not identify. On narrow wooden selves above the crowded tables were arranged rows of tiny corked bottles that contained essential oils derived from innumerable flowers grown the whole world over. An old bookcase held several volumes perched precariously on its warped shelves, but the sight that captured Catherine’s attention was the small figure seated behind an antique wooden counter at the back of the shop.

"Hello?" she called out uncertainly.

The elderly woman raised her head and smiled at her visitor, her dark eyes sparkling even in the subdued light of her little shop. "Welcome, my dear, what may I do for you today?" The woman’s voice was clear and lilting despite her considerable years, and she rose to come and meet Catherine in the center of the room.

"Well, I’m not exactly sure," Catherine began, "but I think if anyone can help me, you can."

"I will certainly try my best. Is it an aromatic mixture you’re searching for – a potpourri – or perhaps an herbal remedy of some sort?" The little woman gestured toward the overflowing shelves. "There’s a good chance we can find it here."

Catherine smiled down at the petite figure. "Yes, it certainly seems that way. What I want is a potpourri mixture that can be sewn into a small pillow, but the problem is that I’m not sure of the flowers and herbs and whatever else I’ll need to put it all together."

The woman laughed lightly, the delicate sound floating through the scented air. "Then you have, after all, come to the right place. Come, sit down, and we shall determine just what you will need." She led Catherine to a pair of spindle-back chairs flanking a little fireplace, and pulled up a small, battered gate-leg table. Upon opening its drop leaves, she settled herself behind it and looked at the younger woman expectantly. "You have brought a sample of your fragrance?"

Catherine sat opposite the older woman and hurriedly removed the bottles from her bag. "Yes, I have them right here, Mrs. –"

"Delacroix, my dear, Giselle Delacroix."

"It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Delacroix. I’m Catherine Chandler."

"And it is a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Chandler." Giselle reached eagerly for the two bottles Catherine had placed before her. "You say it is a potpourri blend you would like? And you wish it to match the fragrances of this perfume and this shampoo?"

Catherine nodded in affirmation. "Yes, I’d like something that combines the two fragrances in one mixture. If that’s at all possible."

Giselle’s dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "But of course it is possible! Now, let us see." She opened the vial of perfume and brought it to within a few inches of her nose. She then raised her free hand and waved it gently above the top of the bottle, sending the scent from within to waft toward her upon the still air.

Catherine watched with growing interest as Giselle closed her eyes and breathed deeply once and then once again. Moments later her eyes flickered open. "Roses. Boule de Neige and Gloire de Dijon, I believe. And cape jasmine and vetiver." She smiled with satisfaction at Catherine’s astounded expression.

"That’s amazing! How did you figure it out so quickly?"

"It is what I do, it is what I have always done," Giselle answered with a slight shrug. "I am sure it is an inherited gift. My mother was a nose for many, many years."

"A nose?" Catherine was not entirely sure she had heard the older woman correctly.

Giselle laughed. "Yes, Miss Chandler, a nose. That is a person with the ability to do what I just did for you – to determine the elements of fragrances simply by smelling them. My mother was born in Grasse and worked for some of the greatest parfumiers of France. I grew up with the scent of lavender and jasmine and roses in every breath I took."

"How lovely," Catherine said with a smile. "It must have been a beautiful place to grow up. What made you leave it to come here?"

Giselle’s smile softened. "One day I met a young American who had come searching my country for his ancestors, his roots as they say now. I think we fell in love the moment we met, and when we married I came with him to New York. We were very happy here. Now Edward has been gone for many years, but I still have my little shop, and my memories."

Catherine smiled gently at her new friend. "You must miss him very much."

"Yes, every day of my life. But I am an old woman and I think it will not be long before we are together again…Now, this mixture you wish me to make for you – I think I am right in saying it is for a very special gentleman, is it not?" Giselle smiled conspiratorially. "For a Valentine gift perhaps?"

Catherine laughed. "Not only are you a nose, Mrs. Delacroix, I think you must be a psychic, too!"

"Please, you must call me Giselle. And, no, it takes no extraordinary powers to recognize the light in your eyes. Only a very special love can create that."

The two women looked at each other in quiet understanding as Giselle reached for the larger bottle that contained Catherine’s shampoo. As she turned it around in her small hand, she glanced at the label. "Acacia honey. That is most unusual, Miss Chandler. Where did you find it?"

"Catherine. I bought some in England a few years ago and fell in love with the scent. Now a friend sends me a new supply every so often. I can’t get it here and I’ve never been able to find anything else like it."

Giselle opened the bottle and repeated her previous actions. "Hmmm, this is a bit more difficult, but not impossible. There is the acacia, of course, and honeysuckle as well. Wild thyme, blue sage, lemon verbena, and something else. Yarrow, I think. Yes, definitely a touch of yarrow. It is the earthy, woodsy scent that anchors the lemon and honey and florals. Quite a charming scent, and one that will work well with the elements of the perfume."

Shaking her head in wonderment, Catherine smiled at the older woman. "Well, even though you’ve explained how you do it, I still think it’s amazing. Almost like magic!"

"That’s not me, dear. That’s the yarrow."

Catherine looked at her quizzically. "The yarrow?"

"But of course. People have believed in its magical properties for more than 60,000 years. It is a great healer and protector, but moreover – and, I think, of more interest to you – it is said to have prophetic powers. Should you sew a mixture of yarrow into a small sachet and place it beneath a sleeper’s pillow, he will dream of his one true love." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "Or so they say."

"Perfect!" Catherine cried in delight. "How did you learn about that? And the other ingredients, the jasmine and sage and the others, do you know what they mean, too?"

"Certainly. I have not surrounded myself with all these things for so many years without learning all I can of them. But here –" She rose from her chair and quickly returned with a small book from among the many volumes on a crowded shelf. "If you would like, you can look through this and it will tell you everything you wish to know about the flowers, at least to begin with."

Catherine looked at the little book Giselle had placed in her hands. "The Language of Flowers," she read aloud, opening it to the first page.

"Yes, it was written in England in 1913 by a lovely gentleman whose identity has never been revealed. It was his gift to his wife on their golden wedding anniversary, and it is really a little dictionary of hundreds and hundreds of flowers and their meanings. It makes for quite a charming language all its own, don’t you think?"

"It’s wonderful," Catherine replied as she leafed through the pages. "And this is a lovely reproduction. Did you purchase it nearby?"

"Yes, that sweet Mr. Smythe in the book shop next door found it for me. Perhaps he will be able to get a copy for you. Do you know him?"

"Oh, yes, we’re old friends," Catherine answered. And then as an eerily familiar feeling teased at her, she added cautiously, "I suppose you’ve met Kristopher Gentian, too?"

"Oh, certainly! He often stops in to chat and, as he says, to breathe in the atmosphere. And although you might expect him to favor his namesake, he is particularly fond instead of the tuberose."

Catherine quickly flipped through the pages until she came to the section of flowers whose names began with the letter "t." "I’m almost afraid to look," she muttered half to herself. "Tuberose: Dangerous pleasures. Why does that not surprise me?"

Giselle chuckled softly. "He does enjoy the scented blossoms of the green locust tree, too…but perhaps it’s best you not look up that one, Catherine." She turned toward her tables of supplies, clearly eager to get on with the challenge Catherine had presented to her. "You may borrow the book if you would like. And now I must begin. Do you have some shopping to do or some errand to occupy your time while I work? It will take a while, perhaps a few hours, to blend the many essences in just the right measure."

Catherine slipped the small volume into her bag, while at the same time making a careful mental note to read about the green locust tree later. "Thank you. And, yes, I do need to buy a dress for a special Valentine’s Day party and also a small gift for an eleven-year-old girl. I’ll go out and see what I can find and then come back in about two or three hours. Will that be enough time?"

"Oh, probably, but do make it three hours just to be certain. One mustn’t rush the process if it is to be just right."

"Great! I’ll see you at about four o’clock then," Catherine replied happily as she headed toward the door of the shop.

Giselle was already absorbed in her work, selecting and sniffing various bowls full of flowers and herbs, setting several aside for her use. Just as Catherine was about to step out into the afternoon sunlight, the older woman called to her. "There is a very nice shop on Spring Street near Greene. Perhaps you will find your party dress there."

"Thank you," Catherine answered. "I’ll take a look."

Once on the sidewalk, she walked in the direction of the shop Giselle had mentioned. She’s been right about everything else, Catherine told herself. There’s no reason to believe she won’t be right about this, too.

She strolled down the street, making her way through the throngs of weekend window shoppers out to enjoy the cold, crisp air and trendy atmosphere of the little village within the huge city. Several minutes later she reached Spring Street and turned left to search for the shop. In seconds she saw it. Even though Giselle had not mentioned the name, Catherine knew it was the one.

An intricately fashioned wrought iron sign hung over the shop’s doorway. It swung gently on its hinges in the icy breeze, and the faint creaking sound it made was oddly musical to Catherine’s ears as she hurried across the street to look up at it. She smiled as she read aloud the shop’s name, "Dream Weavers," before turning her attention to the display in the window. There, as if waiting for her, was one of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen. It was soft and feminine, made of velvet with long tapered sleeves and a fitted bodice that fastened from the scooped neckline to the tight waist with a row of tiny opalescent buttons. The skirt fell in graceful folds to mid-calf length. Yet for all its loveliness, it was the color of the dress that made it perfect – the deep blush pink of flawless summer roses, so delicately sensuous that the garment seemed to be woven not from silken threads but from the petals of the flowers themselves.

Catherine entered the boutique and several minutes later emerged with the dress safely wrapped in layers of tissue paper within a box marked with the shop’s name. This whole day has been like a dream, Catherine told herself lightheartedly. Everything has gone so well!

The tiny shop had also yielded what Catherine felt was a perfect "Secret Valentine" gift for Samantha. She knew the young girl would be delighted with the heart-shaped locket made of silver filigree. Her errands so successfully completed, Catherine decided to while away the hours until she could return to Giselle’s shop by browsing in various Soho boutiques, an activity she had not indulged in for a very long time and one that no longer held much interest.

As she wandered among the myriad items on display, she found her thoughts continually turning to Vincent. She wondered how the repair work was progressing Below and she hoped he wasn’t pushing himself too hard to take on the most demanding tasks, fulfilling what he believed was his rightful role in the community. Even as the thought formed in her mind, she knew her hope was in vain, and that by nightfall he would be bruised and exhausted, yet convinced he had done what he was meant to do.

Catherine’s lips curved in a smile as her imagination took her one step farther. With all the soreness and pain he’s sure to have, she reflected, he’ll probably go to the hot pools tonight. And I’d love to be right there with him, helping to soothe away every last little twinge and ache…

Suddenly the February chill seemed to have been replaced with a very warm glow, and Catherine shook her head in amusement at herself. Growing restless, she decided to head back toward Giselle’s shop in the hope that her potpourri would be ready earlier than expected, enabling her to return home to begin working on the rest of Vincent’s gift.

A half-hour later, Catherine was in a cab, speeding uptown in the fading sunlight of the late winter afternoon. Well, the magic seems to have lasted, she told herself, as her thoughts returned to the fascinating elderly woman who had helped provide so many of the answers she had sought that day.

When she’d reentered the shop, Catherine had found Giselle waiting for her with a carefully wrapped package of the newly blended potpourri. To her delight, it was a perfect match to the fragrances of her perfume and shampoo, and Giselle had showed the younger woman how to use an array of essential oils to renew the fragrances as they gradually faded. Catherine paid her bill and expressed her gratitude for Giselle’s help, promising to come back soon for a visit and to return the little book she had borrowed.

As she’d turned to leave, Giselle had offered one final intriguing observation. "Your young man, Catherine, he is at heart, I think, very sensual, very romantic, is he not?" As Catherine smiled in agreement, she continued, "And yet there are reasons he keeps something of himself hidden away, even from you…But do not worry, my dear, you have his heart as surely as he has yours. Some day all your dreams will come true."

Feeling more than a bit lightheaded, Catherine had decided not to question the woman’s words. After all, she told herself as she stepped out of the cab in front of her apartment building, like Kristopher said, if you try to explain away all the wonders and mysteries of life, then all the wonders and mysteries disappear. And that’s a risk I don’t intend to take!

////////////////////

Throughout the long, exhausting afternoon, Vincent had found his concentration clearly divided between his grueling physical tasks Below and the happiness Catherine had discovered in the diversions of her world Above. Their bond had thrummed with her enjoyment, its sweet music reverberating chords of pleasure and pain through Vincent’s heart. More than anything else he wanted Catherine to be happy, and yet he could not help but wish it was he and not the world Above providing that happiness for her.

Almost before the thought had formed in his mind, he rejected it, disgusted with what he believed to be his own selfishness. I should be grateful, he chastised himself, to know that Catherine is safe and well, free from responsibilities and care even for a little while, that she is happy. I must be satisfied with what I have…with what we have found together …and yet…

He turned his attention forcefully to his work, hoping to find relief in the numbing fatigue of physical labor. He told himself that all was as it should be, but in his heart a tiny flame of hope refused to die. And the truth that Vincent never allowed himself to consider was that all the joy, all the contentment, he sensed in his beloved Catherine was nothing more than the reflection of the pleasure she had derived from spending the entire afternoon thinking of and doing things for him.

At last the afternoon slid into evening, and the exhausted men agreed to quit their work for the day. Cullen groaned loudly as he flexed his sore shoulders. His fellow workers echoed the harsh sound as, with the last of their energy, they pushed themselves to gather tools and materials, leaving them in readiness for their return.

"I’ll go get Kanin," Matt volunteered. "He’s down one of the side passages."

"Don’t take too long," Cullen replied wearily. "I’ll be asleep on my feet by the time you get back."

"Go on ahead. I’ll wait for Matt and Kanin," Vincent suggested immediately.

The other men looked at him gratefully. "You’re sure, Vincent?" Rafael asked. "I’ll stay, too, if you want."

"No, go on ahead. We’ll be along soon."

Calling out their thanks, the work crew started the long walk back to the home chambers. For safety purposes, it was the practice not to allow any of them to travel long distances alone. From experience everyone knew how dangerous some of the outlying tunnels could be to a worker who was physically and mentally exhausted. Eager for a hot meal and a hot bath, the others swallowed any guilty feelings they might have had as they took Vincent up on his unselfish offer.

As he waited for Kanin and Matt, Vincent slumped against the rocky wall. Entirely heedless of its lack of comfort, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, while his thoughts, as always, drifted to Catherine. For the past week he had feverishly tried to think of a Valentine’s Day gift for her, one that would convey his message of endless love for the woman who had captured his heart. Yet try as he might, he could find nothing that seemed meaningful and special enough.

My world has provided me a safe haven all my life, he reflected with a weary sigh. Yet sometimes it is so limited, so barren of what I seek. I know Catherine would say she needs no gift other than my love, other than me…

The small, unexpected confession warmed his soul, and for many moments he was lost in its beauty. And yet, he continued, I want to be able to give her something special, some keepsake for her to take Above so that it will remind her of my world…of me.

He remembered her joy when nearly two years earlier he had given her the crystal, and his own when she had sent him the seashell from the sands of a California beach. In sharing little pieces of each other’s worlds, they had found that together they could stretch the limits life had imposed on them. And Vincent had come to realize that perhaps those limits were not as indestructible as he had once believed them to be.

Approaching voices broke into Vincent’s reverie, and he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet to join the other two men.

"Hey, thanks for waiting for us, Vincent," Kanin called. "Sorry it took so long, but I had to pack up my tools. We’ll be back here before we know it, but I don’t like to leave them lying around."

Vincent gestured to the large leather sack Kanin had hoisted across his back. "You do beautiful and remarkable work with those tools, Kanin. No one could find fault with your taking good care of them."

Kanin gave his friend a grateful smile and then managed a tired laugh as Matt quickly spoke up. "Well, I don’t have any problem leaving everything right where it is," the younger man said vehemently. "I don’t have the strength to pick up a nail, let alone haul all this stuff back tonight."

"I agree with you, Matt," Vincent answered, leading them away from the work site. "And everything will be perfectly safe until we return."

"Yeah, and I know why. No one else wants to do it either!"

"You got that right," Kanin agreed. "I don’t know what I want first – a bath, dinner, or just some sleep."

Vincent added his agreement and then suggested, "Tomorrow will be Sunday. Perhaps we should all take the day to rest. We’ve been working at this pace for a week, and the project will suffer if we continue at it without a break."

"It’s not just the project that’s suffering!" Matt added wholeheartedly.

"Will you listen to this kid, Vincent," Kanin joked. "Wait’ll he gets to be our age. Then he’ll really have something to complain about!"

Good-natured laughter echoed through the stony corridors as the three friends continued homeward. When they finally neared the more inhabited chambers, Matt left them and headed toward his own living area to bathe and change his filthy clothing before dinner. Once they were alone, Vincent voiced a question that had been preying on his mind for some time.

"Kanin, have you had an opportunity to look at that area I asked you about?" he began quietly.

"You mean behind the far end of your chamber, where we thought there might be room to expand?"

"Yes, and the area near the hot springs as well."

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I went in there last night when you were out taking that medicine to Sebastian. How’s he doing anyway?"

"Much better. Father thinks he’s over the worst of it," Vincent answered. "And what did your inspection tell you?"

"Well, it won’t be easy, Vincent. We’ll have to be really careful we don’t interfere with the internal structure of any adjoining walls. That could be kind of tricky." He looked up in time to see the stricken look Vincent hadn’t been quick enough to hide. "But, hey, don’t worry! I didn’t say it was impossible. I mean we’d have to take our time and be careful, that’s all."

"There’s no need to hurry," Vincent answered quickly. "I just wanted to explore the possibilities."

A knowing look flashed across Kanin’s face as memories of lilacs and candlelight filled his mind. "Well, whenever you’re ready, let me know. Figure with a work crew of four or five, it’d take about two, maybe three weeks to complete the job, depending on what else we had to do. And I checked with Mouse. That idea about diverting some of the fresh water from the hot springs for a separate bathroom should work out fine. He said he still has some of that plastic explosive left from when you and Father were trapped in the Maze."

"Then I’d better make sure Mouse understands it’s not a project he should undertake alone," Vincent answered with a smile.

"Yeah, or you, Father, William, and who knows who else are going to find yourselves sharing one very large chamber – and it’ll probably be underwater!"

Vincent laughed in agreement, pausing as they reached the point where Kanin would turn off toward the communal bathing pools before joining Olivia and his children in the dining chamber. "Thank you, Kanin," he said quietly. "Know that I appreciate what you have done for me."

"No problem, Vincent. I was glad to do it," Kanin replied. He began to walk away and then turned back for a moment. "And except for Mouse I didn’t mention this to anyone else. I didn’t think you wanted me to, and I’m pretty sure Mouse understands that, too."

Vincent nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly before quickly striding away toward his own chamber.

Kanin hesitated a moment longer, watching as his old friend disappeared from sight. I hope it won’t be too long before you decide we should start that work, he reflected. You two deserve some happiness of your own. And sometimes things happen, things you didn’t count on…

He shook his head, clearing his mind from somber thoughts of things long past and put to rest. As he continued on his way, a smile began to light his boyish features.

And maybe Livie and I won’t be able to find lilacs for you this time, he thought, but I think we can manage to get some wildflowers from the park. And you know, I bet neither one of you would even notice. But be careful, Vincent, and don’t wait too long.

I Want Her To Be Happy
Peggy Garvin

I feel the sweet contentment,
Her enjoyment of the day,
The music of her pleasure
Fills my heart in such a way
That brings conflicting feelings
To me – happiness and pain –
I want her to be happy,
Yet I struggle now in vain
With selfish thoughts and longing
That I, not the world Above,
Provide the source of
Catherine’s happiness and love.