Chapter 3

By the second day, Father had firmly schooled himself not to look up at every slight sound, expecting to see Vincent’s large form coming into his chamber. Early on the third day, he was awakened by a panic attack and had to firmly tell himself that the Wells family would not have even left the tunnels yet. They had made it to the furthest sentry post served by the pipe network the night before and Vincent’s message had been passed along to him. He knew there was virtually no danger in this trip – inside or outside the tunnels.

So why was he panicking now? Was it because Vincent had seldom been beyond range of the pipes, and then only to places further Below? It was silly to be worried about two adults in their 30s, one of whom was no stranger to the world Above. They were going to the safest place possible, under the circumstances.

Father tried to get himself under control, but admitted to himself, at last, that the problem was deeper than just worry. Vincent was the heart and soul of their community. He gave of himself – his strength and his patience – every day. They had come to expect him in the tunnels, even though he now had a family who needed him. He had no doubt that Catherine had wished her husband to help her with their son more often. Somehow, the community had come to rely on Vincent to solve even the more trivial problems. Mouse always had some new gadget that Vincent just had to see, Mary a teething child who needed soothing, William corralled him to haul food and ice up from the deep storage – and he himself expected Vincent to spend hours in his chamber discussing this or that – or playing chess - when he was not teaching children.

Father knew that Vincent was a natural leader and would take over when he passed on, but until now, he had not realized how much of that load Vincent had already shouldered. It wasn’t fair. He had sensed that Catherine was a little unhappy at having to shoulder most of the responsibilities related to little Jacob – and she had a right to be, he thought, ruefully. Well, they would all have to learn to lean on each other more over the next few days – or weeks. His son had not said how long they planned to be away, but May on a farm would be delightful. He could not begrudge Vincent enjoying that for as long as he wished.

With a sigh, he rolled over and tried to sleep. The work roster would have to be better organized to take into account Vincent’s absence. Perhaps if he kept everyone busy, they would learn more self-reliance. Yes, that’s what he would do. The Great Hall needed a good airing and cleaning. Once a year was NOT enough. Those tapestries needed to be looked at and repaired if necessary. And the dining room needed a proper spring cleaning too. The tables needed scrubbing with baking soda and one of their helpers had left them several boxes of mis-matched ceramic tiles. They could get that installed on the floors of the kitchen and dining chamber. If any were left, the laundry room floor could definitely use them.

Father smiled to himself. Work, that was the solution. Good hard work.

…

When Vincent awoke, it was to see the sun at a much lower angle. He got up quietly, careful not to disturb Catherine and Jacob, and saw long shadows from the trees outside stretching down the road. It must be almost supper time, he guessed. He padded to the door and breathed deeply. The smell of sun-warmed grass was something new to him. He could also smell the warm wood of the cabin and the drops of tar that had melted off its roof. From somewhere, presumably the barn or the fields, there was the smell of animal dung. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t smell candle smoke and he could see for miles without a rock wall or building interfering. It wasn’t quiet here, but they were sounds he’d never heard before. Some kind of creature was croaking – frogs perhaps? There were lots of birds. The wind rustled the grass along the road and a dead leaf scritched across the path. He remembered a poem by John Masefield in the book he had brought with him, and felt his heart soar.

"It’s a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,
And April’s in the west wind, and daffodils.

It’s a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,
Apple orchards blossom there, and the air’s like wine.
There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest.

He looked down past the other cabin and realized the rough path kept going, out of sight. Where did it go? He’d have to ask Agatha. He wanted to explore everything he could. In the meantime, he’d better go and fetch supper. He slipped on his tunnel shoes and left quietly. He jogged up the road to Agatha’s house, feeling as if he had already absorbed the peace of the place into his bones. He knocked on the back screen door and heard Agatha yell for him to enter. He found her in the kitchen packing an enormous hamper.

"Agatha – that looks like more than one meal’s worth of food!"

"It is, Vincent. I thought you might want to make a light breakfast tomorrow too. Just until we decide what time works best for a joint one. So there’s milk and some granola, if you like cereals. I’ve also packed in a summer sausage, blackberry jam, butter and bread. You’ll find a propane burner in the kitchen and there are pots and pans. Tea and coffee are in the cupboard. There’s a bottle of apple cider in here too. What else? Oh, and we can meet for chores here tomorrow, say an hour after sunrise, if you wish. I’ll give you the tour then."

Vincent nodded his approval.

"Agatha, where does the path beside the cabins go?"

"Ah, that goes to the lake – well, it’s more a large pond. We get a few ducks and geese there all year, but in the spring there are hundreds. They’re one reason this farm will be preserved. You can swim there, the water’s spring fed, but the bottom’s quite muddy. Last year, the tunnel crew made a boardwalk from the shore with a platform at the end to dive off into a place where the bottom is a little more solid.

"Oh, there’s a small woods off the north end. That’s the other reason. My granddad loved trees and planted some rather rare ones there. Tree of heaven, black walnut, pin cherry, arbutus, elder, Garry oak – others I’ve forgotten. There’s quite a few heritage apple trees of various kinds too. They’re all in bloom now. I always send William a few bushels of them."

She broke off when she saw Vincent grin. He moved to hug her.

"Thank you, Agatha. I don’t know how this holiday could be better than it is already – but you seem to have endless delights. Catherine has wanted to get away for a long time. Jacob probably won’t remember much of this, but he’ll have fun too."

Agatha sighed and looked at him.

"Vincent, if you hug me like that again, I’ll be tempted to tie you up and keep you prisoner. A spinster like myself doesn’t get many male hugs – but I’ll warrant yours are special. Catherine looks like a contented woman. I’ll bet you’re just as good in other areas," she grinned mischievously.

Vincent blushed and spoke softly.

"Agatha, until Catherine came into my life, I never really knew what love was. Now I want to pass it along. I’ll hug you as often as you wish. As to my other attributes - well, you’d better talk to Catherine. I’m no judge. But we’re happy and I am the luckiest man in the world."

Agatha nodded as if this were not news to her. She changed the subject.

"How long were you thinking of staying? Not that I care, really, but I’ll be sending a shipment of last year’s potatoes, navy beans and onions in about seven days. I’ll also have to deliver my usual milk, butter and eggs, to a helper on the outskirts of the city. A week after that, a crew will arrive to help pick some of the early vegetables – spinach, carrots, and leeks. I have a small greenhouse with tomatoes too."

Vincent looked out the window. A fortnight or so. Was that long enough? He was sure it would go quickly, but felt that might be long enough to be away from home. He was sure Father was already missing him.

"I think Catherine would probably agree we should help the crew harvest when they come and then go back with them."

"That sounds like a good plan, Vincent. By that time, it will be quite hot here and you’ll probably find it a bit uncomfortable. The tunnel crew go about half naked, even in May, but I hear you have to be covered to avoid sunburn. Pity. I’ll bet you’re something to see!"

She broke out into gales of laughter which Vincent could not help but join. He hugged her again, then remembered his reason for coming. He could sense that Catherine and Jacob were awake.

"I had better get this food back to the starving or a search party will be sent out. Thank you, Agatha. See you early tomorrow."

"You bet, Vincent. Oh, and by the way, one favour you could do for me is to collect the mail from the end of the driveway. Sometime in the evening would be fine, if you folks’d like a bit of a walk. There’s never anything urgent so you can just bring it by the next morning when we start the chores. The road ends at this farm, so there’s no traffic I don’t know about."

"Our pleasure, Agatha," Vincent declared.

He left the house and nearly ran down the rutted road to the cabin, the hamper an awkward burden. He found Jacob and Catherine waiting for him at the table, three plates and the cutlery placed at the ready. Both looked as if they would have eaten his spare boots if he had taken any longer.

"Sorry," he said contritely. "Agatha was telling me more about this place."

"You’re forgiven because you’ve brought the grub," Catherine smiled. Jacob started bouncing up and down on his chair.

"How on earth can we be so hungry when all we did is sleep?" Catherine wondered aloud.

"We did walk a great distance on fairly short rations," Vincent reminded her. "And I think country air is all it is rumoured to be. Oh, and Agatha wants us to pick up her mail every evening. I think we will need a walk after this meal."

They set to with a vengeance, demolishing most of the summer sausage, and eating great slabs of cheese on the home-made bread. Agatha had included a tin full of home-made cookies for them. All were brightly decorated and brought burbles of delight from Jacob. They were delightfully spicy with cinnamon and ginger. Catherine would have gladly eaten several, but wanted to be able to stand up when she left the table.

Agatha had given them a couple of bottles of milk, which Vincent put into the lead-lined cupboard, with a small basket of eggs and a container of rich-smelling cheese. Goat, he thought, with delight. She had also given them a freezer pack. He loved country living, if this was the way they ate. Used to tunnel rations, he felt as if he was in paradise. He’d have to restrain himself, he thought ruefully, or he would resemble a giant teddy bear when they returned. Either that, or he’d have to be sure to work it off. That sounded easier.

It was now getting dim outside and the walk to the mailbox sounded like a good idea to work off supper and tire little Jacob a little before bedtime. The three of them set off down the lumpy dirt road they had traveled in the van. It was no easier on foot, but Catherine and Vincent each took one of Jacob’s hands and lifted him over the worst of the potholes. He squealed in delight at every one. Eventually, the game paled and he squirmed until they let him go. He ran like a jackrabbit in front of them, stopping only to look back and see how close they were.

It took them about half an hour to reach the mailbox, by which time it was dark and the night sky was a velvet canopy lit with diamonds. The moon was nowhere to be seen, but the stars were so bright they could see their way without too much difficulty. Vincent had good night vision, and Catherine’s had improved with so much tunnel living. Jacob seemed to have inherited Vincent’s natural talent as well. He ran ahead of them after they picked up the few envelopes from the box. Bills, Catherine decided.

She wondered what it cost to keep up the farm and how Agatha paid for it. She knew next to nothing about William or his sister. William had joined the tunnel community after becoming disenchanted with the life of a chef Above, or so she’d heard. Perhaps Agatha had a family inheritance – or William had given her his savings before coming Below. The last seemed most likely. He must have earned very good money as a chef. He was a very good one.

Vincent was always remarkably uncurious about people. She had wondered at that in the early days, given his love of any other knowledge. Then she had discovered that people tended to confide in him. He learned all he could wish to know, without prying. His empathic talent seemed to work both ways, to some degree.

By the time they reached the cabin, Jacob was sitting on a porch chair waiting for them. He was obviously tired and made no complaint when Catherine gave him a quick warm bath in the kitchen sink and put him to bed. She had not brought him any pajamas because he was happiest with nothing on – like his father. There were plenty of blankets to keep him warm.

Catherine returned to the porch to find Vincent outside staring up at the night sky.

"Are there mosquitoes?" she asked.

"No, not yet. I think it may be a bit too early for them still. It will get chilly tonight because there are no clouds. But Catherine, look at the stars! There are millions and they look close enough to touch! I have never seen the Milky Way like this - so brilliant."

Catherine laughed. She had seen wonderful night skies before, but not for a long time. In New York, one tended to forget that there was anything besides the moon to see. She leaned against Vincent. He pulled her in front of him and hugged her to him, in a pose reminiscent of Kristopher’s painting, she realized. She could feel his arousal growing against her back and along their bond. She craned her neck to look up at him and he turned her around, pulled her closer and dropped a kiss on her mouth.

"Mmmph. I think it would be nice to test out the porch as a love nest," she mumbled when he let her breathe at last. They moved to do just that, pulling off several assorted chair cushions to carpet the wooden floor. In a rush, they removed their clothing and clung together, their body heat arousing them still further. Then, they added their own soft noises to the noisier ones of frogs and crickets.

Afterward, Vincent rolled over and lifted Catherine onto his chest. He whispered into an ear.

"Sex, which breaks up our integrity, our single inviolability, our deep silence
Tearing a cry from us.
Sex, which breaks us into voice, sets us calling across the deeps, calling, calling, for the complement,
Singing and calling, and singing again, being answered, having found."

"Where did that come from," whispered Catherine back.

"D H Lawrence’s Tortoise Shout," he told her.

"Good heavens! Is that in your book of poetry too?"

"Yes."

"I’ll have to read it. Sounds very erotic. Not that I need any encouragement. Mmmmm, you feel wonderful."

Vincent chuckled and held her closer. It was beginning to cool off, but neither wanted to sleep in the cabin, so he went in to find some blankets, bringing out two that would have done credit to the tunnels. They went to sleep quickly, sated with fresh air, country food and love.

Vincent awakened in the wee hours, as he often did, even at home. He did not need long stretches of sleep. Catherine had turned over, so he carefully extracted himself and went quietly outside. There was not so much as a breeze, and the air, though cool, did not bother his hirsute body. He looked down the grassy path and knew what he wanted to do.

He ran slowly at first and then full speed, glorying in the freedom to be able to do so. He had never run like this in his life. The ground was a soft and cool carpet beneath his feet and his blood sang in his veins as he entered a shadowed area between trees. He made himself slow down and stopped as he came suddenly to a still pond reflecting the night sky. The small boardwalk Agatha had mentioned stretched into it, a wide stripe of deeper black blocking the reflected stars. He walked out to the end and sat down, letting his feet dangle into the water. It was cold, but felt wonderful on his feet. He lay back on the planks and stared at the sky, panting a little. He felt as if he had been let out of prison. He could never have imagined such a wonderful sensation. To run fast, to lie in the open, naked, without a care in the world, was beyond his wildest dreams.

Catherine sat up and watched Vincent run down the path. She always knew when he left her, although she tried to mask her reaction. She felt his exhilaration to her bones, even as the sight of his receding behind aroused her. She clamped down on that too. He deserved this experience without her.

She waited patiently. When she caught sight of him running back, she gathered up a blanket to cover herself and waited outside. She strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of that part of him she considered wholly hers. How did it feel to run with it flopping around, she wondered. Even though Vincent’s organ was sheathed more than most men’s, it still hung down. The thought aroused her again and this time she let him know it. She felt his humour as he slowed, then stopped in front of her, panting. He gathered her to him and hugged her close inside the blanket. She let it fall away as his hands lifted her under her buttocks so he could kiss her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and snuggled into his chest. When he spoke at last, it was in a throaty whisper.

"Oh, Catherine, I’ve never known such joy – to be able to run, really run, in the open – and naked. I may have to swear off teasing William for the rest of my life, in gratitude."

Catherine chuckled. "My love, William needs you just as you are. Even a great cook needs distractions. I think you give him something to anticipate, besides the stew pot."

"I will have to think of some way to thank him. I am ashamed I did not think of Agatha and her farm before."

"Vincent, you have not been encouraged to go Above, for any reason. I think the time had come, that’s all. Even Father can’t be worried about you here."

"Yes, of course. I wonder how they are getting along? In about two weeks, we may find out. Agatha will be sending another shipment of food next week, then a week after that, a crew will come to help harvest the early crops. We could leave with them."

"Oh, Vincent, don’t talk of leaving. We’ve only just arrived. It’s bad luck. Let’s just take every day as it comes and see what the days bring."

"Yes. I am so used to a life bounded by work rosters, that the concept of a vacation had never occurred to me. It was a wonderful idea, Catherine. Thank you."

He stopped and dropped Catherine to the ground. She sensed another emotion, amazement, as he turned her around.

"Look!"

She looked where he pointed her and saw an arc of large yellow moon rising over the fields. They said nothing as it rose further, shrinking as it did so. She realized Vincent would never have seen a moon like this, above a horizon without buildings.

She heard him sigh as he held her to him.

"Slowly, silently, now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon."

"What’s a shoon?" whispered Catherine.

Vincent chuckled into her hair. "I presume some kind of chemise, but even the Oxford dictionary does not know. Maybe it was slang. It makes a good rhyme."

His voice changed and she felt him come back to reality.

"There are no words, Catherine, for the blessings I experienced today. We had better return to bed, though, or we may be cursed by Agatha tomorrow."

They returned to their love nest and lay down. Vincent’s joy became a calm serenity that Catherine felt melt into her. He held her close and they fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

…

Father grunted as he prepared for bed. His leg was unusually stiff. He had walked around a lot more than was normal for him, but all in all, the day had gone reasonably well.

There had been a few pursed lips when he had rotated some of the teenagers into nursery duties and set the rest to scouring the dining chamber. He had decided to leave the Great Hall for another time. He wanted everyone under his eye for a few days, until they all settled down. He’d had to speak to Pascal and ask him not to broadcast his ad hoc code for marking every day Vincent was away. It was hardly fair to Catherine and little Jacob anyway. It wasn’t as if it was the first time. Vincent had been away from the hub before – but previously, he had been either on one of his trips to the deeps, or in their brownstone.

He himself had had to take over Vincent’s classes. He’d forgotten that his son had been teaching history as well, until the children filed into the library. He’d had to devise an impromptu lesson. He’d have to find Vincent’s notes on what he had been teaching. Then there were the swimming lessons. Jamie had taken over those.

Tomorrow was laundry day. Without Vincent’s strong back to carry the baskets of wet laundry to the drying chamber, he didn’t know what they would do – but he was determined they would find a way. Perhaps the produce trolleys could be utilized. Yes, that was the obvious solution. If the floor was uneven, they’d have to struggle, but he’d have a work party do something before the next time. Some stone chiseling would remind them that hard work had to be spread around.

The day after tomorrow, they would start laying the ceramic tile. That would give it a week to cure before the next laundry day – supposing they had enough. He had looked at the stack of battered and very heavy boxes, and was certain there would be sufficient. Kanin had declared there would be enough to do some other small projects as well.

Vincent would be surprised when he returned. Father smiled to himself. He enjoyed surprising Vincent. It happened far too rarely. His son seemed to know what was going on almost before it happened. That explained why he was such a good chess player. Father closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

After breakfast the next day, the community got on their wet gear and gathered in the laundry room. Father had to firmly remind himself that Vincent would not be walking through the doorway in his coverall this time. He would be enjoying his first morning on the farm. Laundry would not be on his mind.

Father had William haul out the trolleys from the storage room and they had tested the route to Annabelle’s drying chamber. It was very rough, but they guessed it was do-able with one man pulling and another pushing. Of course, the weight of the laundry might make more manpower necessary. So be it – there would be no complaints when he organized the work party to smooth out the tunnel floor.

All went well until the last load of laundry had to be transported. Everyone was eager to get the task finished and the trolley was perhaps a bit overloaded. Several men pulled and pushed the balky trolley down the passage. One wheel found a dip and the front axle suddenly snapped in two. The sudden jolt sent the back wheels flying off. One wheel went down a floor vent and disappeared to the groans of the men. The other hit Cullen in the shin and made him yell in pain. He sat down and rubbed the spot furiously, until an egg-sized lump made him curse roundly and fluently. William hauled him into the kitchen and gave him an ice pack and a shot of brandy. Quick reflexes and three banged heads had saved the laundry from spilling onto the now muddy floor, but Geoffrey and Kanin had got scraped and very muddy in the process as well. Still, it could have been a lot worse, Father reflected. They might have had to wash that laundry again. Then there would have been a mutiny.

It had taken two men apiece to get the last of the heavy laundry baskets to the drying room, where several women waited to hang it up. Kanin and Geoffrey had had to have an immediate bath, removing them from the work party, and Father had to minister to their injuries. Fortunately none were serious, but both men needed bandages.

Dinner that night was quiet. No one said anything until William reminded everyone that the trolley would have to be fixed before the next produce shipment in a week’s time. The missing wheel had disappeared and even Kanin, who had carved the vents, had no idea where to look for it – or whether it could be extracted if he did. Cullen thought he could straighten the axle, but warned that it might be too weakened to last for long.

Mouse, who had been rolling his eyes at all the gloomy words, spoke up.

"Mouse can help. Know where there are wheels and axles too. Plenty of them."

That got Father’s attention. He didn’t like Mouse exposing himself to danger Above. There was no Catherine to rescue him this time.

"Where, Mouse?"

Mouse gave a sideways grin. "Old metal scrap yard. No one there now. But have to be quick. Big billboard with picture there, like that other time. Have to work fast."

Cullen looked up, forgetting his pain.

"WHAT? Mouse, how long have you known about this? Why didn’t you tell us?"

"Never asked. How would Mouse know what Cullen wants? Take you there tonight if you want. Lots of good stuff. Free. Need lots of bags. Can’t take cart. Uphill and then steps and then manhole."

He pulled out a handful of assorted steel balls and put them on the table with a smirk.

"Ball bearings?!" Cullen bellowed. "Ok, that does it. Let’s go. Never mind the R & R. I don’t need any. Anyone with me?"

Father sighed and broke in. "This will be a long night and we’ve all worked very hard. I declare tomorrow a holiday. Everyone sleep in. William would you be able to prepare a brunch for around noon?"

There were tired cheers and a grunt of acquiescence from William. Several men stood, a little stiffly, but obviously game to scavenge metal. It was dark enough Above to begin. They grabbed very large canvas bags from the storage chamber and followed Mouse.

Several hours later there was a horrendous metallic clatter as a series of bags were hauled along the rough tunnel floors to Cullen’s workshop, which was near the laundry room. Father hoped they had got everything they wanted because he didn’t think his aging ears could stand that racket again.

Sitting on his bed after what seemed like a very long day, Father reflected that the loss of one man had forced him to re-do his work roster, yet again. This time, not only had they lost a trolley because Vincent had literally not shouldered the burden, but fixing it required a special scavenging run and a day’s holiday for everyone. The tile work would have to be rescheduled again. He’d also have to assign a crew to smooth out that tunnel floor between the laundry room and the drying chamber. First it would have to be cleaned of all the mud. Maybe a couple of energetic teenagers could do that. Perhaps they should tile that section of floor. Yes, that would certainly avoid any concerns about spilled laundry in the future. He’d have to ask Kanin to see about a proper floor drain as well.

Father consoled himself with the thought that not much more could go wrong. He touched wood superstitiously, just the same.