Beyond Beginnings 2 - Chapter Eleven

BEYOND BEGINNINGS - BOOK TWO
Linda Barth

Chapter Eleven

In front of the full-length mirror that hung on the door of her bathroom, Catherine twisted and turned, anxiously inspecting her appearance from every possible angle. Despite knowing that Vincent would find her beautiful even if she were dressed in rags, she always took special care with her appearance when they planned to be together, understanding the enjoyment his sensual nature derived from the sight of deep, jewel-like colors, the texture of luxurious fabrics, and the flowery fragrance of fine perfume. These were small pleasures, rarely encountered in the world Below while commonplace in the world Above. But they held meaning for Vincent, and that made them important to her.
Months earlier she had purchased a dress for their anniversary celebration, and as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled, wondering if perhaps the finding of it had been an omen of sorts. At the time, she had almost rejected the exquisite dress, knowing it to be a frivolous luxury, unsuited to the realities of the life she hoped to embrace. Yet at the last moment she found she could not resist and had purchased it quickly before common sense could intervene. It had made her feel beautiful, radiant, as if she were readying herself for the most wondrous moments of her life. That thought, which had once seemed almost silly in its wishful improbability, had now become a conversely perfect concept, full of rich and vibrant possibility.
The dress was a soft, light velvet, its lustrous ivory hue touched with a pale golden glow that reminded Catherine of shimmering candlelight. The skirt flowed gracefully from a raised empire waistline to ripple about her ankles, skimming the ribbon ties of her ivory leather slippers. The deep curving neckline of the fitted bodice and the long, tapering, off-the-shoulder sleeves were edged with a rippling of rich satin in an elusive shade of peach blossom. Small silk and velvet rosebuds of palest blush pink were nestled among the softly gathered ruffle that framed her slender shoulders and small hands. She wore her hair unadorned, smoothed back from her face to fall in long, silky waves, its always errant strands tucked behind her ears; and her only jewelry consisted of a pair of antique topaz earrings and Vincent's crystal, suspended on its length of sparkling gold to lie just above the curve of her breasts.
Catherine swayed slightly, watching her mirror image catch and reflect shimmers of light in the luxurious sweep of her dress, in the glossy softness of her hair, and most of all in the luminous inner glow of her eyes and her smile. A single word came to her mind, and an evocative phrase inevitably followed, its whispered voice making her blush self-consciously. Radiant. As radiant as a bride.
With a soft, trembling sigh, Catherine turned away from her hopeful musing, knowing that to dream too deeply and too much could lead not only to happiness but also to despair. Whatever might lie ahead, uncertainties both dark and bright, they would go on, exploring possibilities, waiting for dreams to come true, and loving each other every day of their lives.
Without hesitation, she walked through the bedroom and closed the door behind her before descending the staircase to the first floor. She knew everything was in readiness for Vincent, needing only his presence to make it complete. As she entered the living room she heard the mantel clock strike seven, and a shiver of excitement rippled through her. She knew she would be with him very soon; he would meet her, as she'd asked, at their private music chamber beneath the park. So little time separated them, but Catherine found herself pacing through the quiet rooms, needlessly straightening a framed painting, nervously pulling a velvety rose from a crystal vase to inhale its full-blown sweetness before thrusting it back into the heart of the bouquet, scattering droplets of water with unintentional force.
"I can't just wait here like this," she said aloud. "And I won’t."
Minutes later, her beautiful dress protected by an ankle-length cloak of lightweight, forest green wool, and flashlight and keys clutched in her hands, Catherine passed through the hidden doorway in the cellar and entered the Tunnel world. Kanin had timed the walk for her, estimating she could reach the music chamber in no more than fifteen minutes. She knew that it would take Vincent slightly longer to arrive from the home chambers, and she smiled, anticipating his surprise and delight to find her already there, waiting for him, longing for him.
Whenever they used the music chamber, they would store their supply of quilts, cushions, and candles in a small antechamber, safe from any rain or dirt that might sift through the grate from Above. To her surprise, Catherine found them carefully arranged in the small space as if waiting for the presence of the music and the lovers who were its only visitors. Smiling, Catherine realized that the contents of her note must have led Vincent to believe they would spend the evening of their anniversary in this special place. She hoped he would not be disappointed to find that it was not to be.
Carefully so as not to crush her dress, Catherine lowered herself to sit upon a mound of canvas-covered cushions. Soon, she told herself, feeling her heart tremble away the seconds, he'll be here soon.
In a chamber not far away, Vincent stood by his writing desk, illuminated by a pool of candlelight, once again reading the note from Catherine that he had found upon his return late the night before. He had been surprised to discover she wished to meet him in the music chamber, having assumed he would journey to her balcony after dark, just as he had on their previous anniversaries and on so many other wondrous nights. A hopeful smile touched his lips as he wondered once again about the surprise she had planned, knowing he would love anything she had devised for his benefit, and knowing, too, that she derived great pleasure from even the simplest acts of pleasing him. The thought filled him with amazement and a shy sense of pride.
Still smiling, Vincent returned the note to its envelope and then set it aside in a locked drawer of the desk, laying it on top of other notes and letters from Catherine, every one she had ever sent him. Then he reached for his old, wooden-handled hairbrush and impatiently pulled it through the tangled length of his hair, hoping to bring the unruly amber strands into some semblance of order which would equal the special care he had taken with the rest of his appearance. Moments later he abandoned the task, running his large hands over his hair a final time, knowing that he had done all he could and that he would simply have to trust that he looked acceptable. Vincent had never kept a mirror in his chamber, and now for the first time in his life he found himself wishing that he had.
As inexplicable as it still seemed to him, he knew that Catherine would find his appearance pleasing even if he had dressed in his usual worn jeans and layers of shirts and sweaters, instead of the clothing he had chosen with painstaking care for this special night. There were so few luxuries in his world, but occasionally some would find their way Below in the form of bolts and remnants of various fabrics and cast-off yet still usable clothing donated by Helpers. From time to time, there would be something suitable for Vincent's tall, muscular frame; and he was always grateful to receive serviceable clothing such as sturdy jeans and flannel or denim workshirts appropriate for his labors on construction and excavation sites, as well as warmer, heavier garments which would help keep out the Tunnels' ever-present chill. Yet in his heart he harbored a small, secret pleasure in the rare discovery of something special that had been donated or, better yet, made by someone in the community just for him.
As he looked downward, his gaze swept his body in a brief, critical assessment. He wore a pair of fitted, dark brown cord pants and a creamy off-white, collarless shirt of fine, smooth linen which laced shut over the wide expanse of his chest. With the shirt he wore a vest that had been made for him by Martha, one of the original residents of the Tunnel world and one of its most accomplished seamstresses. The tunic-style vest was a simple but beautiful patchwork blend of supple leather and wool in muted tawny hues. It draped from a few soft, unpressed gathers across his shoulders to reach just below his hips, and its only fastening was the wide, buckskin leather belt at his waist. On his feet he wore dark brown suede boots that were strapped firmly over the muscles of his calves and lower thighs with long, intertwined strips of leather.
Taking a few steps forward, Vincent reached for the thong ties of the pouch containing Catherine's rose and carefully slipped it over his head. It was the only adornment he ever wore, and since the moment two years earlier when she had presented it to him, he had rarely been without it. For a brief moment he cradled the pouch in the palm of one hand and then let it rest against his chest, near his heart.
Once again his gaze darted the length of his body. Although he finally recognized the belief for the unnecessary torment that it was, he could not help wondering how and why the man he saw in himself could be physically attractive to Catherine. He had painful memories of a long ago night when he had seen her, glossy and elegant, appear perfectly paired with an equally sleek and worldly Elliot Burch. It had broken his heart to know how quickly and easily he might lose her, and he'd scorned his own foolish dreams that someone such as he might ever have the right to think of her as a part of himself. She had belonged then to a bright, glittering world full of men like Elliot, but, he reminded himself, that was a time long past and it would never come again. Catherine had followed her heart and it had led her away from the frenetic, extravagant pleasures of the world Above, to bring her miraculously to him.
Vincent shook his head hard as if to shatter old and painful memories, ridding himself at last of their dangerous, hurtful power. He found his gaze drawn to the portrait Kristopher Gentian had painted. Although he would see it in his heart forever even if he were to be stricken blind, Vincent found that each time he looked upon the painting, he found it as entrancing as the first moment when he and Catherine had discovered it. Then they'd still shied away from speaking of their innermost desires, but the mystical artist had sensed their deepest secrets, revealing them in all their sensual, enchanting beauty. All that remained was to transform the passion in the painted images to an ardent, unrestrained reality. It seemed such a simple thing and yet...
With a short, sharp sigh, Vincent threw his familiar ebony cloak over his shoulders and strode toward the chamber entrance. Catherine was Below, he realized, suddenly sensing her presence fill his heart with the warmth and hope of joyful anticipation. Once again she had come into his world, seeking his presence, waiting for him, wanting him, longing to be with him, just as he longed for her with every breath he took.
At the threshold he paused and looked back into his chamber, his sharp eyes piercing the candlelit haze that almost obscured the things for which he searched. There on the farthest wall he could just discern the faint chalk lines that marked the places where the excavation work would begin in two days' time.
Like Kristopher's painting, the soft, smudged marks were a symbol of what was to come, of a life that was meant to be, and with that promise held close to his heart, Vincent left the chamber and moved forward toward love, toward Catherine.
Several minutes later as he approached the music chamber, Vincent felt an awareness of Catherine fill him more powerfully than ever before. His body tensed with the urge to race forward, as if he would literally die without her presence before him just as strongly as it was within him. With effort, he controlled his pace as he rounded the last turn in the winding tunnel. Then he came to an abrupt halt, needing to look ahead the last few yards, knowing he would see a vision of beauty and light waiting only for him.
Through the bond Catherine had sensed Vincent's closeness long before his approach, the awareness filling her almost as strongly as it had touched him. Then in the hazy silence she heard his rapid footsteps and rose to her feet to face the entrance of the little chamber, watching and waiting for him to appear. Seconds later, she gasped, her breath catching in her throat, as her heart began to pound almost painfully. She had to close her eyes for a moment before fluttering them open once again, needing to know that she was not caught up in a beautiful dream, that the man who stood before her was more than a glorious fantasy. She watched as he approached her, his steps measured and slow, as if he, too, feared that she might be nothing more than a shimmering dream-image, soon to vanish before his yearning eyes.
Then in a heartbeat he stood before her, and they rushed into each other's arms, their wondering voices whispering words of love before their hungry mouths came together, tasting and touching in a heated urgency that took their breath away. He crushed her body to his with undeniable need and she curved herself closer still, as if even the slightest hint of space between them was an unendurable distance, and for many long moments they struggled to withstand the driving urge to tumble down together upon the cushions and pillows heaped at their feet.
Shuddering, they pulled apart far enough to look into each other's eyes and found brilliant azure meet gleaming jade in almost visible rays of light. Together they drew in deep draughts of air and then smiled as the harsh, uneven sounds of their breathing echoed in the quiet room. Catherine's hands rested on Vincent's shoulders, restlessly gripping the woolen folds of his cloak in her fingers as she felt his touch move lightly up and down her back. His fingers skimmed over the fabric of her cloak in a gesture that was meant to soothe and calm, and to reassure him of her reality beneath his hands.
"Three years, three years ago tonight." Her gaze flickered toward the metal grate above them before being drawn back to his beloved face. "You found me, and our lives changed forever."
"Yes," he answered, his voice husky and low. "I found you, and my life began."
Her smile grew more luminous. "I love you so much, Vincent. I know I would die without you."
"And I love you more than my life, Catherine. There is nothing at all for me without you." He knew she heard the promise echoing in his words, a sacred pledge they acknowledged with a soft, sweet kiss.
They drew apart, still facing each other with hands clasped, unable to bear a complete severing of their physical bond. Vincent tilted his head down at her. "All week I've been thinking about our anniversary, Catherine, wondering what you had planned. Yet I was surprised to receive your note saying I was to meet you here in our music chamber."
Her smile deepened. "I knew you would be, but I couldn't think of any other way to do it."
"Will we celebrate this special night here?" he asked, his curiosity apparent. "The concerts in the park won't begin until summer, and the weather is still too damp and cold for us to spend much time in this chamber."
Catherine forced herself to ignore inner shivers of apprehension and excitement. "No, not here," she answered carefully. "I'd like to take you to a place you've never been."
The quizzical look on his face intensified. "I don't doubt your ability to surprise me, Catherine, but it must be impossible for you to have discovered a place Below that I have never been."
She shook her head. "It isn't Below."
"But when you didn't wish for me to come Above or to meet you at the threshold to your building, I thought -- "
Before he could continue, she interrupted gently. "Please, no more questions for now. Just trust me?"
There was no hesitation in his response. "Yes. Always."
Releasing one of his hands, Catherine drew him forward with a firm grasp on the other. "Let's put everything away and then we can go. It's a short walk, only about fifteen minutes from here. We'll be there soon."
Knowing she would chatter on nervously unless she forced herself to stop, Catherine instead asked Vincent questions about his day, the activities of the inhabitants Below, and anything else she could think of to pass the time in a sense of normalcy until they reached their destination. As she had promised, they soon arrived at the entrance to the little-used branch tunnel, where her slowing footsteps brought them to a halt.
Puzzled, Vincent again tilted his head and looked down at her upturned face. "This isn't a passageway we normally use," he began. "Are you certain this is the direction you wish to take?"
She nodded, smiling inwardly at the double meaning of his innocent question. "Yes, I'm very certain. Are you sure you still trust me?"
He frowned slightly. "Of course, Catherine. Why do you ask? You know I would trust you with my life."
Her voice was quiet and serious. "Because I'm about to ask you to change your life in a way you never thought possible." Her hold on his hand tightened almost painfully, and with the other she reached into a deep pocket of her cloak to withdraw a small flashlight. Its flickering beam helped illuminate the tunnel before them as she asked a final question. "Vincent, will you come with me now?"
"Yes, I will," he answered, letting her lead him into the dark shadowed passageway. Her earlier words echoed through him. I'm about to ask you to change your life in a way you never thought possible. Yet even searching the limits of their bond gave him no help in untangling the mystery. Moments later his puzzlement deepened as they stopped before a door he could not remember having seen in all his innumerable explorations of the Tunnel world. Dropping Catherine's hand, he reached out to touch its contours, immediately realizing that although the door seemed to be an old and unused portion of tunnel wall, its appearance was merely a clever design to camouflage its true nature as a serviceable entryway to some unknown place.
A place you've never been.
"Catherine, you were right," he began, turning back toward her. "I have never noticed this door. How did you manage to find it on your own -- and where does it lead?"
She looked searchingly into his eyes for several long moments before replying. "I didn't find it on my own, and the reason you've never seen it is because until a few days ago it didn't exist." She handed him the flashlight and then reached back into her pocket to find a ring of keys.
Within the bond, he could sense the tumultuous emotions she struggled to hide, feeling them churn even higher as he watched her unlock and open the mysterious door. Just inside the threshold Vincent could see what appeared to be a wooden barrier, but Catherine easily slid it aside with slight pressure from her hands, and an instant later he found himself following her into a small room lined on all four sides with shelves of dusty wine bottles. He waited while she re-secured the shelf that hid the tunnel entryway from view and then looked up at him with a nervous smile she had meant to be reassuring.
At her request he set aside the flashlight, finding a place for it on a nearby shelf, before continuing their journey. A few steps brought them to a set of wooden stairs leading upward, but as Catherine put her foot on the first one, he felt a surge of panic rip through him and he froze. She looked back at him, her eyes filled with a hundred swirling emotions. "Please, Vincent, just a little farther," she urged him, her voice soft and pleading. "I know how difficult this is for you, but it's all right. You'll be safe here. There's nothing to fear! I promise I won't let you be hurt, not ever again!"
Shame merged with trepidation as he remembered his vow of trust. "I know, Catherine, I know you would not do anything to endanger me."
"As I have in the past?" she asked, her heart heavy with the guilt she would never fully release. "What right have I to ask you to trust me now when so many other times I've forced you to risk your life Above?"
Immediately he gathered her into his arms, his voice sighing into her ear as he rested his face against her hair. "You have every right because I gave that right to you long ago. Those other times are over -- they will not come again. What you did then, what I did, that doesn't matter any more. You've shown me that. All that matters is the life that waits for us. And if this is what it takes to enter into that life, then I’ll do it willingly -- for both of us."
Catherine's eyes filled with tears as she gently pulled away from his embrace, knowing she could not find the words to tell him all that she was feeling, yet knowing, too, that he already understood.
"Then come with me, Vincent," she said joyfully. "We're almost there." And in her heart she whispered, we're almost home.
His heart beating furiously, Vincent followed her up into the basement of the brownstone, past the stacked boxes and stored furniture, and then up again into the dimly lit kitchen. He could see that it was a pleasant, spacious room, equipped with many objects he recognized easily and others that he had never seen. He listened intently, but could hear no sounds which might indicate that others were nearby, and then he could do nothing but wait, watching as Catherine hung the ring of keys on a hook by the basement door before turning to face him. Her eyes danced with excitement, but underneath the happiness he could feel her anxiety.
He tried as best he could not to yield to his uneasiness, but his eyes revealed his apprehension, even though his voice was composed and calm. "Where are we? Who does this house belong to?"
She took a deep breath, feeling as if she were balancing on the very edge of the rocky cliffside above the Great Falls, knowing that she must now step off into space and either soar to great heights or fall into unreachable depths, and when she did, she would bring Vincent with her.
Although she hesitated for only a few seconds, it seemed a lifetime to Vincent. "Catherine, whose home is this?"
Even without the bond, she had heard the ill-concealed secrets in his voice and again she reached for his hands, clasping her fingers within his. "It's ours, Vincent, if you want it to be."
"Ours?" The single word rasped harshly from his throat. "Ours, Catherine? How can that be?"
"Peter and I bought it together," she began, her words spilling out in her enthusiasm and her need to tell him everything at once. "He's in London now, but he's going to live here, except when he's traveling, of course. The whole brownstone is ours. You and I can stay here whenever we want. It's perfectly secure -- we've done everything possible to make it a safe place for us. Come on, I'll show you!"
As if caught up in a whirlwind, Vincent felt himself begin to succumb to her excitement as he followed her down the hall. He glanced into rooms she indicated were a dining room and Peter's study, before they reached the small parquetry floored foyer and adjacent living room at the front of the house. He started to enter the softly lit place, his eyes immediately sweeping over dark paneled walls, shuttered windows, shelves upon shelves of books, and elegant but comfortable antique furniture. Then as he caught sight of the carved oak front door to his right, he froze where he was, his lifelong need for caution cresting uncontrollably despite his trust in Catherine.
Immediately she tried to comfort him. "No one will get through that door without our permission. And all the windows are shuttered and locked from within just like these." She gestured toward the living room, watching as his eyes followed the movement of her arm to scan the length and breadth of the windows. "There's a security system in place throughout every part of the building, too, so it's nearly impossible for anyone or anything to disturb us. Peter had a team of experts upgrade the entire system, and they did a fantastic job. But even if somehow something did go wrong, we still would have plenty of time to get away. I'll show you how it all works later, all right?"
He turned his attention once again to the sturdy door, assessing it visually as if he could somehow see it for the reliable guardian Catherine believed it to be. Somewhat reassured, he nodded his agreement, determined to see her gift through to its conclusion even if, as his growing wariness began to whisper, they were to find that this, too, would prove to be nothing more than just another dream.
"This is the living room. Come and look."
Her gentle voice broke into his painful musing, and he turned to look at her. In an instant the fears that gnawed at him were stilled, and he could think of nothing but her. Catherine had removed the dark green cloak and now stood before him in a dress the color of glowing candlelight and cream-soft roses. Golden lamplight glistened in the dark honey waves of her hair and gleamed from within her lustrous eyes and her trembling smile. Never had he seen anything as beautiful as the woman who now opened her arms to him and, in a voice so full of love he could feel it warming him from within, called him forward into her eager embrace.
"Welcome home, Vincent. Welcome home, love."
For a long time they held each other in the quiet room, listening to the prayers and promises of their hearts, slowly becoming aware once again of other, more tangible things. Where his hands clasped Catherine's waist, Vincent could feel the soft velvety fabric of her dress and almost unconsciously rubbed his palms against it, enjoying the sensation of the pliant texture under his innocent caress. Suddenly through the bond he realized that the feelings his sensual gesture evoked in Catherine were far from innocent -- and that he shared them, too. Then when he felt her hands swiftly untying the knotted cord that fastened his cloak at the neck, he sensed those feelings escalate dangerously, stoking an already simmering fire.
Raising his hands, he helped her remove the heavy, dark garment and then turned to set it aside across the same chair where she had left hers. As he turned back again, he realized in an instant how he must have appeared to her when he had stood gazing at her minutes earlier, for that same look of enchantment was now in Catherine's eyes, reaching out to him in an unmistakable torrent of desire and devotion. In that moment, he knew that she saw in him all the deeply stirring beauty and wildly sensual temptation that he had always seen whenever he'd looked at her, that the love they would offer, one to the other, with their bodies was as true as the love they had already given with their hearts and minds. The old doubts that had hurt him for so long fell away then, and he knew somehow that they would never return.
"My God, Vincent," she whispered, her voice almost breathless. "You look incredible!" She reached out a shaking hand to tremble across his chest, savoring the varying textures of his wool and leather vest, remembering the tactile sensation of the taut muscles and thick hair beneath it.
Swallowing hard, he managed to find his voice. "And you look so beautiful tonight, Catherine, more beautiful, I think, than ever before."
"Thank you," she murmured, smiling as she looked up at him. "I wanted to wear something special for this night, just for you. I know you did the same thing for me -- and I love it."
Even in the simple words, Vincent knew he heard a more intimate message, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her back into his arms. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense and he gripped his hands into tight fists, willing himself to maintain his control. His desire for her ran deep at all times, but never before had it threatened to overcome him as it did now.
Catherine could feel her heart begin to pound, but she knew that this time it was not from even the slightest trace of apprehension. She wanted him with a fierce desire that surpassed everything she had ever known, and although she tried to suppress its impact, she knew the bond would reveal her every surging emotion to him. Only the depth of her fear that she would ruin everything by forcing him to move forward too quickly, gave her the strength to walk away, striving once more to take things slow and easy, to wait until he showed her that he was ready to go on.
Through the bond Vincent traced the path of Catherine's emotions, and was only slightly surprised to find himself filled with far more regret than relief. In spite of the depth of his desire for her, he was still unsure of himself and was as yet unwilling to initiate anything more than a kiss or an embrace that he was certain she would welcome. Still it left him with an undeniably deepening hope and lent him an unexpected sense of composure when, for the first time in his life, he realized he wanted nothing more than to abandon that innate sense of control and lose himself completely in her.
He took a deep, calming breath. "This room is beautiful," he began. "Are the furnishings and the books both yours and Peter's?"
"Yes," she answered, forcing herself to breathe evenly. "Well, actually almost all the furniture is Peter's, except for the pier table between the two front windows. That was in the living room of my parents' house, but, like the rest of their things that I kept, it's been in storage for several years. The books downstairs are partly Peter's and partly mine, although I decided to keep many of my favorites upstairs in the bedroom."
Vincent nodded as he walked about the room, occasionally pausing to look more closely at a painting or print, to read the title on the spine of a book, to breathe in the lush scent of a rose. Because of the tight hold he maintained on his own emotions, he did not sense the rippling variations in Catherine's. She had always loved to watch his reactions to his environment under any circumstances, and now she reveled in the chance to see him gradually acclimate himself to the new home she had so carefully structured for them. His actions seemed to tell her that he was slowly, cautiously accepting her gift, that there was reason for her to give free rein to her high-flying hopes.
"Do you recognize the candles?" she asked, drawing his attention from a small, framed photograph that he'd been studying.
He shook his head. "No, perhaps I've become so accustomed to seeing candles everywhere that I didn't notice the ones you have here."
Coming closer she placed in his outstretched hand an ivory candle housed in a brass candlestick and watched as a small smile curved his mouth. "It's one of Rebecca's candles, isn't it? You brought candles from Below to this house -- you did this for me?"
Catherine could only offer a tremulous smile in response, knowing she would dissolve in tears if she tried to speak. The incredulous tone in his voice stirred deep feelings within her, calling her to take him in her arms and protect and cherish him forever. To give him all the special considerations, the small extravagances that others take for granted, all the sweet diversions and delights that he had never known. She wanted to give him everything, and she knew even that would not be enough.
As if reluctant to set it aside, Vincent returned the candle to a nearby table and then placed the photograph back where he had found it on a Biedermeier cabinet. Catherine leaned forward and then grinned up at him when she saw which one it was. "That's a picture of Peter's daughter Susan and me when we were only nine. We decided we desperately needed to learn to ride, so our parents took us to the stables that give lessons in Central Park. Susan stayed with it and she's still an excellent rider." She paused, waiting for the inevitable question.
"And what about you, Catherine, did you become an excellent rider, too?"
Chuckling lightly, she shook her head. "I fell off five minutes into the first lesson, and then spent twice as much time screaming and crying. The poor horse was probably more scared than I was! I think it was later that same day that I decided give up horses and switched to Barbie dolls instead."
Vincent laughed softly as he looked down at her, easily picturing a much younger Catherine holding tea parties for dolls and playing in the park with her friends. "It's your memories of what it's truly like to be a child that helps you understand the children's fears and dreams as you do now," he told her, his voice warm with pride and love. "It's no wonder you're such a favorite of theirs."
Her smile grew soft. "I love being with them. And I'd like to do more, to spend more time with them."
"I know they would love it if you could," he answered, unable to deny the hope that perhaps her wish might lead to yet another way for Catherine to become a part of his world. Yet he was unable to ignore the problems and restrictions as well. "But you have many responsibilities Above. Your commitment to your job -- "
"Is ending," she told him, suddenly sure this was the right time and place to share the life-altering decision she had made. "When I go back to work next week, I'm going to talk to Joe and tell him I'm resigning."
Vincent felt as if his heart had stopped beating. "Why?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why have you decided to do this?"
She leaned closer, raising a gentle hand to stroke his face, tracing the line of his jaw and the firm column of his neck before laying her fingers upon his shoulder as if to hold him near.
"Because it's for the best, Vincent. For almost three years, that job has been the most important part of my life, except, of course, for you. I know the work I've done has had value and sometimes it's changed peoples' lives for the better. I've loved what I've been able to do. But it's over now -- for me anyway. There are a lot of other lawyers who can do the same things I've done, and many of them will do those things better than I."
"No, Catherine," he protested gently. "That's not true."
She nodded, inordinately pleased by his words. "Yes, it is. I'm tired of it, and before long I'll be as burned out as some of the others I work with, and then I won't be able to do my best anymore. I care too much to wait for that to happen." She shook her head, a bittersweet smile on her lips. "The best part of my job has been that it's given me the chance to help others, but that doesn't have to end."
"What will you do now?" he asked and then he hesitated, unwilling to say what needed to be said, all the while knowing that he must. "Is this because of me, because of your involvement in the Tunnel community?"
"Yes," she answered honestly, "but not in the way that you think. When I transferred to the Trial Division last year, you were no longer subjected to all the danger and horror I'd put you through." She hesitated as a shudder ran through her at the painful memories. Immediately he reached for her, stretching a hand around her waist and drawing her closer as if to give shelter to both of them.
"So that’s not the reason I'm leaving," she continued, her voice growing calmer. "Do you remember last month when we talked a little bit about my becoming more involved in your world?"
"Yes, I remember. You said you wished to work more closely in support of our goals and beliefs. To offer your skills and abilities to the community on a regular basis, perhaps to set up a scholarship or trust fund, or to teach a class."
Catherine smiled delightedly. "That's exactly what I said! Do you think if I ask to speak with the Council that all those things might be possible? I know I can't do it all at once, but I could start by teaching a class soon. That would be a beginning."
Vincent nodded slowly, some small part of him still unable to accept the joy she offered him. "Yes, I think that becoming a teacher would be the best place to begin. But just as I asked of you then, Catherine, I will ask of you now. Look deep into your heart and be sure that this is truly what you want."
When he had said those words to her several weeks earlier, she had almost panicked, believing he still harbored doubts about her love for him. She had been relieved to hear his assurance that he doubted not her love but rather the wisdom and rightness in her heartfelt offer of help, a gesture whose acceptance would bind her further to his world and restrict her from her own. Catherine felt no such panic now, only a need to repeat the words she had told him then, the words of her heart which would always be the truth.
Knowing he would remember them as well as she, Catherine began to speak. "I look deep into my heart every time I look at you, and there I see everything I want, everything I need. I want to live as you do, to join my life more closely with yours and truly become part of a world that stands for what is good and right. These are the only possibilities I want, and these are the choices I make. But more than anything else, I want to be with you. Wherever you are, wherever you go, that is my world, Vincent, only with you."
His reply was swift and strong. "And wherever you are, wherever you go, that is my world, Catherine. I want only to be with you."
She felt warm tears fill her eyes. "Then you'll help me when I speak with the Council?"
He drew her closer into his arms, nestling her head against his chest. "Of course, I will help you. How could I do otherwise when it is all that I could ever hope for?"
Leaning back, she looked up at him, the tears in her eyes twinkling even in the muted light. "I love you, Vincent, more than I can ever say." She stepped backward, gently ending their embrace, and reached for his hand, cradling it in both of hers as she continued to gaze into his eyes. "And this house, it can be part of our world, too, but only if it's what you want as well."
"I won't withhold the truth from you," he began, his voice serious but full of love. "It is a beautiful house, and your reasons for doing all that you have done are more beautiful still. But this is all very new for me and it will take some time before I am entirely comfortable visiting you here." He paused, his eyes taking on the same twinkling light as Catherine's. "Yet I won’t stay away. That's something I cannot do. I will come to you here as often as I can."
Her smile hinted at unrevealed secrets, but as yet he had no understanding of them. For a few brief moments his thoughts turned to the plans he had made for his own chamber in the hopes that somehow she might wish to live with him there. How foolish they suddenly seemed. Now that she had this beautiful new home, what reason could there be for her to want to leave it behind in order to live in his underground world?
The sound of her voice was a potent allure and he firmly set aside his own disappointments, knowing there would be time enough later to deal with that anguish.
"I wish I could have told you about the house before this, but I had my heart set on surprising you for our anniversary." She shook her head. "It was inconsiderate of me, and I'm sorry for that."
"Is that what still troubles you?" he asked gently.
"More than anything else, I hated keeping secrets from you. But I think what's bothered me almost as much is the idea of leaving behind the balcony at my old apartment," she answered. "For so long it was the only place that was really ours, and I never told you that when you came to me there a few nights ago, it would be for the last time. I'm sorry, Vincent. I shouldn't have kept that from you."
To her surprise, he smiled softly, a bittersweet melding of memories and dreams. "It was a very special place, and it's true that in many ways it was the only window between our worlds. But my world is with you, Catherine, always with you. The place itself doesn't matter, only that you and I are together in it."
His response warmed her deeply, yet she couldn't resist teasing him just a bit. "Then you're sure you won't miss the view of the stars?"
He bowed his head for a moment, embarrassed at having to admit to what seemed like such a childish disappointment. "Yes, I suppose I will miss that."
She grinned up at him. "You won't have to -- come on!"
Feeling more lighthearted and carefree than he would have believed possible, Vincent followed Catherine's rapid pace up a carpeted flight of stairs, pausing only briefly to glance down the hall and hear her quick explanation that the floor housed Peter's bedroom and two guest rooms. Then they continued upward where they stopped in front of a door, one of only two that opened off a long hallway.
Catherine pushed the door open and paused at the threshold. "This is the bedroom," she told him, her voice even and controlled. "We can come back to see it afterwards, but there's something else I'd like to show you first. All right?"
Suddenly unwilling to trust his own voice, Vincent nodded his head in agreement.
"We have to go up one more flight to the fourth floor," she continued as they walked the length of the hall. "That's the top of the house." Vincent waited as she opened the last door and reached in to turn on a light to illuminate the steep, narrow staircase. "The house was built over a hundred years ago, and this was the attic or possibly the maids' quarters," she explained as she gathered her skirt in both hands and carefully began the ascent with Vincent right behind her.
Seconds later they reached the top of the stairs, but even Vincent, accustomed as he was to the often dim, indistinct light of the tunnels, could see virtually nothing in the darkened room. When he heard a slight, scraping sound above them, he reached instinctively for Catherine's hand, ready to pull her aside and protect her should the noise be a signal of any danger. Her soft voice and his own dawning awareness as he gazed upward immediately told him there was nothing to fear in this secret place.
It seemed to Vincent that he was looking up at something magical in the realms of the clear night sky. Strong April winds and rain earlier in the evening had washed away the clouds and haze that so often blur the city sky, leaving the vast heavens clear and untouched.
"Look, Catherine, there's Polaris, the most faithful star. And Auriga, the Charioteer!" He pointed upward with his left hand, captivated by the beautiful sight. "And there, just past him, Perseus!"
He reached for her, drawing her closer with an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, delighted beyond words at his initial reaction to the skylight room.
"I don't ever remember seeing the stars so clearly," she whispered, her eyes following the path traced by his hand. "I never knew that constellation was Perseus."
"That one is made of spring stars," Vincent explained. "They are with us always, but this is their time, the months when they shine brightest and can be most easily seen."
Catherine moved even closer. "But where is Andromeda? I don't like to think of their being parted. Isn’t she made of spring stars, too?"
Vincent smiled, closing his eyes for a moment as her words murmured through him, their message as clear and bright as any sparkling starlight. "Andromeda's are autumn stars, but, look there," he moved his arm to indicate a sweep of light. "Perseus will always come for her. Do you see that curve of several stars, almost a U-shape, and then those farther along on a single, outstretched line?"
Catherine nodded, and he felt her head moving gently against his shoulder as he continued. "That is Perseus beckoning to Andromeda with one hand and reaching for her with the other. He will not leave her chained and apart from him. He could never live without her."
"And even without chains, she would have waited there for him. She would have died without him. He was her life." Eyes closed, Catherine tilted her upturned face toward Vincent.
"As she was his," Vincent whispered, before lowering his mouth to hers in a kiss that for all its gentle strength eclipsed every brilliant star.
For several minutes they again gazed skyward, content in a warm, unending closeness, until Catherine gently extricated herself from his embrace. But when he started to move toward her, she stopped him with a gentle plea. "Please wait. There’s something else for you here."
In an evening of untold gifts, he wondered what more there would be, and as he watched Catherine move slowly about the room, he soon learned that all that had gone before had been a prelude to a sweeter song. Under his mesmerized gaze, Catherine found and opened the box of long, tapering matches she had left there earlier in the day. She leaned down to light, one by one, the small white votive candles she'd scattered about the periphery of the room, seeing their tiny flames burst into sparkling light that reflected in the glass panels above and on the polished surface of the floor beneath them. And she knew even without looking that the same brilliant light glimmered in Vincent's eyes.
Vincent found he could do nothing but watch in silent wonderment as the large, low-ceilinged room was revealed in the twinkling candlelight. Other than the candles, it appeared to be empty, but then to his further surprise he saw Catherine reach for a black rectangular object that had escaped his notice. As she moved it forward a few inches into the light, he recognized it at once as the CD player she had often brought out onto the apartment balcony so that they could share their favorite music while they read or simply rested together in moments of perfect harmony.
The seductively stirring sounds of a waltz floated through the starry room as Catherine returned to stand before him. Swaying slightly, she opened her arms in invitation.
"Will you dance with me, Vincent?"
Her voice to him was more beautiful than the loveliest music, and he answered by taking her in his arms, holding her as if she were a delicate angel, a beautiful dream, and in his heart he knew that's exactly what she was. He gazed down into her upturned face and then raised his head to let his eyes see the beauty in the whole extraordinary room before settling on her beloved face once more.
"A world of dancing light," he murmured, his warm, deep voice filled with awe.
"Our world, Vincent," she promised him. "Only ours."
With the controlled grace and strength she so loved in him, Vincent drew her into the dance, moving her with him in rhythmic, gliding strides as they swirled slowly over the floor.
"Do you remember the first time we danced together?" he asked shyly. "At Winterfest."
A soft, breathy sigh preceded her reply. "How could I ever forget that moment? When you held me all alone in the Great Hall, with just the light of a few torches flickering in the darkness, I felt like I was flying way up in the clouds, and I never wanted to come to earth again."
His quick intake of breath sent sparks cascading through her. "I could hear the music then, Catherine. I didn't want it to end."
"It doesn't have to."
Catherine felt enchanted by his words and his touch, by all that he was. She drifted closer into his embrace as the flickering lights sparkled above and around and within them. He was near enough now that she could feel the warmth of his breath fanning across the flushed skin of her face, and when she raised her eyes to look at him, she found the glittering promise she'd anticipated in the blue depths of his.
Caught up in the magic, Vincent drew her closer still, and the breath that only moments before had warmed her face now whispered across her bare shoulders. As they moved, the flowing fabric of her dress swirled in rippling waves and brushed against his legs in a soft, hushed caress. The large hand he'd clasped at her waist moved upward, the work-roughened palm skimming enticingly over the lush fabric of her dress and beyond to the sensitive skin of her back. They both trembled at the sensation as warmth turned to glowing heat everywhere he touched her -- the tightening clasp of their hands, the gently insistent rhythm of their hips and thighs coming together and parting again on the lilting strains of the music, the crush of her velvet-clad breasts against the wool and leather and linen that covered his massive chest.
Across the empty floor they floated, the shared sound of their rapid breathing becoming a heated counterpoint to the elegant music. At last they drifted slowly to stillness, holding one another beneath the starry sky, unable to part as the music of the waltz still whirled all around them until it, too, was gone, leaving only the pulsating rhythm of their hearts.
It seemed to Vincent that he could feel every soft curve of Catherine's body where she leaned against him, as if her heated skin had been entirely bared to his searching touch, and his hard-muscled length unclothed to her ardent embrace. Flickering images drawn from his most erotic dreams scalded him, and he knew that he could no longer pretend to dismiss and abandon them as nothing more than heated fantasies. He needed the reality of those desires, the reality of her, and that need would not release him from its grasp.
Raising both hands past the cool, satin ruffle along the low-cut back of her dress, Vincent caressed the smoothness of her shoulders and then felt his entire body shudder uncontrollably at the sensation of her supple skin trembling at his touch. He looked down at her, needing to see the pleasure and acceptance in her eyes, but her eyes were closed as with a soft sigh she leaned back against the wide outstretched palms of his hands. Instinctively he lowered his hands against her flesh and opened them wider, curving his long fingers upward in order to support her slight weight and pulling her harder against himself to maintain their balance.
The murmuring sounds she made grew warmer with deepening, purring pleasure as she leaned back farther, deliberately rubbing her bare skin against the sharp points of his taloned nails. For a moment, Vincent savored the arousing sensuality of her actions. Then in sudden horror, he dropped his hands away from her smooth flesh, instead grasping her tightly around the waist so that she would not fall with the sudden withdrawal of his support.
Instantly her eyes flashed open and she looked up at him, dazedly seeking an explanation that for many long moments he found he could not offer. "Vincent, what's wrong? What happened?" Her voice sounded like tearing silk, at once raspy and rippling. "Why did you pull away from me like that?"
He took a shaky breath. "My hands -- when you leaned back against them like you did, I was afraid I'd hurt you, that I would cut your tender skin. These hands..." He could not continue, knowing she shared his haunting awareness of that long-ago devastation.
But Catherine's eyes closed languidly with the remembrance of a far more recent sensation, and when she looked up at him again, the answer was there in her hungry gaze, her moist parted lips, her breathy sigh. In that moment, she took away all his pain and with the force of her love made his world right again.
"I love the way your hands feel on me," she whispered heatedly. "The strength and tenderness, your skin and nails, smooth and rough, silky and sharp. I love everything about them, everything." She paused as a strong tremor shook her body, and she felt an answer within his. "I leaned back because I wanted to feel more of those sensations, more of you. Please, Vincent, don't ever pull away from me. I'll never want less of your touch, I'll only want more and more. And I want you to touch me again."
He moaned as he felt her arms encircle his shoulders and her searching hands reach through the rough silk of his hair to clasp behind his neck, drawing him closer again. And in response he pulled her tight against him, his hands rising once more to stroke over her shoulders and back, now willingly and eagerly giving the caresses that she craved. The evocative fragrance of her hair rippling against his face and neck and the unaccustomed sensation of her warm skin under his hands threatened to overwhelm him completely, and he groaned deep in his chest as he felt the fragile control he maintained on his body begin to melt in a rush of flames.
The sensual sound drove all remnants of restraint from Catherine and she arched closer, seeking the heat and hardness of him that was just beyond her reach. Almost desperately she tried to urge his mouth downward for her impassioned kiss, but as he wrenched his head backward out of her reach, a whimpering protest quavered from her throat. To her infinite pleasure the cry drew him back to her and his mouth covered hers, at once filling her with the sweet, moist heat of his panting breath and the pulsating thrust of his searching tongue, delving into her again and again with instinctive urgency. She parted her lips farther, needing to draw him inside her, taking his kiss when it was only the steamy, shadow image of what they both wanted far more.
Hearts pounding, they suddenly tore themselves apart, unable to withstand another moment trembling on the sword-edge of completion and denial. So deep was their need to be together in every way, it was more than they could bear, and without words a decision had been made in that last fiery moment of pleasure and pain. There could be no doubt of what was to come.
One by one the tiny glass-enclosed flames guttered and darkened around them until only the stars far above offered a trace of light. Together they moved to the entrance of the secret room, pausing only long enough for Catherine to turn the switch that once again secured the glass-paneled ceiling. It was incredibly difficult to be parted even for the seconds it took to descend the short, steep staircase and walk the length of the narrow hall to the threshold of the bedroom.

Thoughts of You

Katrina Relf

Thoughts of you – of the night you entered my world, my heart, my dreams,
And when you left, you took away a part of me,
Leaving me empty and longing for something I knew could never be mine.
Thoughts of you – when first you spoke of love,
And bathed my soul in the warmth of your eyes.
You held me as no one had held me before,
So close in your arms – so close to your heart.
I was not worthy then, I am not worthy still.
Thoughts of you – never will my heart forget
Those moments we shared in your world –
Nights bathed in moonlight,
The sky ablaze with stars glittering in the snowy park,
Or shining as the warm breezes of a summer night brushed your hair.
The wind, the rain, the magic of your world.
Yet there was magic in my world, too –
The first time I saw your face in the candlelight –
Was ever anything more beautiful?
Thoughts of you – as I gaze upon you now, my love – my bride,
As we begin our journey together, through love, through life.
A life that could never be
Save for your strength, your courage.
Let me feed on your strength, touch my heart with your gentleness,
Take my soul in your tiny hands and lead me towards love.
As I look into your eyes and see me, I am afraid no more,
For you are my life, and for all my life and beyond,
My Catherine – I am yours.