Chapter 5

Vincent and Catherine woke to find the horizon lightening and quickly went into the cabin to wash, dress and have breakfast. Jacob was jumping around in glee long before they were all ready, and Catherine wondered how she was going to keep an eye on him and weed at the same time. Then she remembered Bo. She knew the dog had followed Vincent on his run during the night. She hoped Agatha was right. Jacob needed a babysitter. She hadn’t thought of that aspect of their working holiday.

It was going to be less hot today, Catherine thought. It was a little overcast and she wondered if there would be rain. Nevertheless, they all wore overalls and hats. The weather could change and they didn’t want to be running back to the cottage for anything. She had put a piece of string on Jacob’s hat so that it would always be around his neck, even if it fell off. She had put a cord on Vincent’s and her own straw hat as well. That way they could fling it onto their backs if they didn’t need it, cowboy style.

They trotted to Agatha’s house, Vincent breathing deeply. He thought he scented rain, but with so many smells around, he couldn’t be sure. At least there were no gasoline fumes here. The lack was delightful.

They found Agatha waiting for them by the back door, a pail in one hand. Bo was standing close by, as if waiting for orders.

"I thought I should get some hay cut in the far field. Then I’ll bale and stack it. The barn needs to be swept first and I have to check out the horse gear.

"Catherine, it’s a good day for weeding. It might even rain a bit later, if my nose tells me the truth. Bo here will keep an eye on Jacob. We can tie his rope to Bo’s collar. I have a few toys from the old days he can play with. There’s an old sandbox near the garden. He can’t get into much trouble there."

That said, she showed Catherine the vegetable garden and they saw Jacob and his toys to the sandbox. Vincent followed Agatha to the barn. They went into the tack room, and Vincent breathed in the lush smell of oiled leather.

"All the plow horse tack is on that wall," she told him. "Just check it out to make sure there are no weak sections and grease anything that looks dry. There’s a big pot of grease in that cupboard there, along with rags. We have lots of spares, so pick out the best harness and a couple of collars. Oh, and check the traces – those long reins at the end. I’ll go catch the horses and groom them."

Vincent looked at the complex array of straps and buckles and felt completely out of his depth. He decided the only way to do the job was to start at one end of the wall and work across. He found the grease and put the pot at his feet. He tucked a spare rag into a belt loop on his coverall.

He had made it across half the wall, testing, greasing and rubbing, wiping the metal parts, when his sharp ears caught a rustling noise. He stopped and listened. He was immediately sure it was a rat. He waited, ready to pounce on it as soon as it ventured close enough.

He heard the little feet come closer and poised himself. He could see the beast, a large one, out of the corner of his eye. It was examining the grease pot now. He was just about to pounce when he felt danger above and behind him. Before he could turn to look, something excruciatingly sharp stabbed him in the calf and he yelped loudly in shock and surprise. He knew Catherine had felt his pain along the bond, but thankfully, Jacob had not. He and Catherine had become adept at keeping their bond with their son restricted to special times – and ongoing monitoring.

He looked down to see a shaft sticking out of his leg, into the meaty part his calf, and yanked it out without a thought. He looked at it. Despite the short metal end and a small blunt point, the arrow was obviously a toy. It was fletched with plastic ‘feathers’, although it must have been shot from something powerful. A red stain was spreading on the leg of his coverall. Vincent sat down on the floor with a whuff of expelled air, suddenly weak with shock. He looked up and realized the arrow must have come from the hay loft.

There was a yell of "Vincent!" from outside and Catherine came running in, closely followed by Agatha. Agatha took the sight a glance, found the first aid kit and gave it to Catherine.

"Where?" Agatha asked.

Vincent was temporarily mute as he tried to dampen his pain along the bond, but pointed the arrow he was holding at the hay loft, where wisps of straw and dust were now drifting down.

Agatha walked to the loft and looked up. She obviously saw someone she recognized, because her body relaxed slightly. Her face, though, was thunderous.

"Come down from there, you terrible child," she bellowed. The miscreant nearly fell down the ladder and Agatha grabbed a boy of about nine years old by the collar and hauled him across the floor to confront Vincent. He held a small metal crossbow, but was trying to hide it behind him.

"Now look what you’ve done," she berated him loudly.

Catherine, meanwhile, had cut the leg of the coverall to expose the injury. She quickly spread some alcohol on a cotton ball and dabbed at the hole, wincing with Vincent, and then put on a compress and held it there. Her face was pale and she rubbed her hand up his thigh in sympathy. He groaned, now fighting both arousal and pain. He brought his uninjured knee up to hide the former and looked up at Agatha and the boy, suddenly feeling both ridiculous and exposed. Catherine’s sympathy along the bond, when he allowed himself to open it up, calmed him somewhat.

The boy was staring at him in wonder. Vincent sighed.

"What is your name?" he asked, finally finding his voice, since the child seemed tongue-tied.

"His name is Cor, and if he doesn’t tell me what he’s doing here, sneaking around with a crossbow, I’m going to make him wish he’d never been born." Agatha’s voice was deep with fury. The boy cringed.

"I … I … saw the rat and was trying to kill it. I missed. I’m sorry, Mister."

"And why are you here in my barn?" Agatha persisted.

"It’s … there’s no school. The teachers are having a PD day. I … wanted to try this out."

He dropped the offending weapon behind him with a clatter and flushed.

"I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to hit you. Who are you?"

That last question meant that he was recovering nicely from his guilt and Agatha picked up on it immediately.

"And just what right do you have to question my guest, especially one you almost killed?"

The boy hung his head and spoke in a small voice.

"I couldn’t have killed him, Miz Agatha. Not even if I was closer."

"That may be so, Cor, but what are we going to do with you now? You’ve seen a very dear, very special friend. We can’t let you return home and blab about him to everyone. Maybe I should let him take you to his dungeon and leave you there until you turn to string and dust."

The boy’s eyes widened, but his curiosity overcame his fear and Vincent felt a smile quirking his mouth.

"You have a dungeon? Where do you live? In a castle?"

Vincent’s winced. Catherine had finished tying on a compress and the pain was at last bearable. He looked at the boy and framed his answer carefully. He was in great danger, and everyone knew it – although Agatha was trying not to sound concerned. He knew enough about small boys to know they could be trusted with secrets, if handled correctly.

"Well, no. I don’t live in a castle, but in a very special place. It IS very large and made of stone. As you see, I’m different. My name is Vincent. I don’t leave my special place very often. It’s dangerous for me to be seen. People fear what they do not understand."

The boy’s eye’s widened.

"I … I won’t tell anyone, I promise. My mother would kill me if she knew I had this. I bought it with my paper route money. If she found out I’d hurt someone with it …"

The boy’s voice trailed off and he hung his head.

"What is your full name?" Vincent asked.

"Cornelius," the boy answered in a small voice, then turned beet red. "I hate my name. Everyone except Miz Agatha calls me Corny."

"Not very flattering," Vincent agreed. "But I could call you Neal. Would you like that? It means ‘champion’."

"Could it be my secret name? Just for when I visit."

"Yes, Neal. But there is something else. Because I live in a secret place, with my family, there are special people who help us. We call them helpers. They would die before they told anyone about us, or me. Do you think you could be a helper? It is a very great responsibility. We might need you to do something special for us sometime, but you would never be able to tell anyone about it. Can you keep a secret that big?"

Neal approached Vincent and held out his hand. It was soon enveloped in Vincent’s big hairy one, and the boy was grinning from ear to ear. He looked down at the hand which held his, completely unafraid, but obviously very curious. However, he knew he would be unable to demand more answers just then. He felt Vincent shudder as Catherine continued her ministrations.

"I swear never to tell anyone, anything about you, ever," he intoned.

Agatha put her hand on the boy’s shoulder.

"Well then, that’s all very fine, but we have work to do here. You’ve already wasted our time and injured one of my workers. I think you should help Vincent check and grease the tack, since it’s difficult for him to stand up," Agatha boomed. "What about that ... um … Neal?"

"Sure," he said. "I know how."

"Well, let’s get Vincent a proper chair to sit in and you and he can work together." She trudged off and returned with a high-backed wooden chair so splotched with paint that it was impossible to tell what colour it had been originally.

"This is a real antique," she told Vincent, with a grin. She helped Vincent to the chair and he sat down with relief.

"How bad is it?" Agatha asked Catherine.

"Oh, not too deep, but it’ll bleed if we don’t keep a pressure bandage on it for a while. He heals quickly. Luckily no vein was hit."

"What about the hay?" Vincent asked Agatha.

"Well, I don’t really need any help today. I’m just going to cut the field. It has to dry for a few days before I can bale it. You just sit there and be good."

Suddenly, there was a series of short, sharp barks from outside, followed by a very human howl. Catherine and Vincent looked at each other.

"Jacob!" Catherine gasped and ran out of the barn.

"Is there something wrong?" Agatha asked Vincent.

"No, he probably just wonders where everyone went."

Catherine returned quickly, carrying Jacob and followed by Bo. The dog immediately went to Vincent and sniffed his injured leg. He flopped down on the floor beside the chair, his tongue lolling out.

"Well, I think I’ve lost my babysitter," Catherine commented.

Agatha chuckled. "The weeds can wait for another time. I think you all need take it easy.

"Um, Neal, why don’t you check the tack and give anything that needs greasing to Vincent. Then you can sweep up all the hay you dropped on my barn floor. After that – well, I’ll think of something."

Neal looked abashed and hung his head.

"I can’t miss lunch or my mom will wonder where I am," he said finally, hopefully.

"Oh, I’ll call her and tell her you’re here helping me and that I’ll give you lunch. What do you say to that?"

"Yes, Miz Agatha. Thank you."

"And what are you going to do with that deadly weapon?"

Neal looked over at the crossbow and winced. "I never want to see it again."

Vincent took one of the boy’s hands again.

"Neal, we have sentries where we live. I know someone who might like that crossbow. It looks pretty special. It might be good as a training weapon. Would you be willing to give it to me to take home?"

Neal looked at Vincent with obvious relief.

"Yes, Vincent. I haven’t showed it to my mother. Can I visit you sometime?"

Vincent looked at Agatha and caught her slight nod.

"Agatha might be able to make arrangements for you to visit us – we live in New York - but you couldn’t tell anyone where you were going."

"Maybe I can say I’m going to the Bronx Zoo," Neal suggested, with a look at Agatha.

"Now, that’s the smartest thing you’ve said," Agatha commented. "You and I could go together. I think I should visit that brother of mine too. What do you think, Vincent?"

Vincent laughed, suddenly feeling a lot better. He owed William a surprise or two.

"I don’t know if he’d let you in the kitchen, but I’m sure he’d love to see you. You could bring some more spoons – and maybe an elephant-sized apron."

Agatha gave a roar of laughter, then looked around at everyone.

"Well, this has been … interesting, but I have work to do. All set, Neal?"

"Yes, Miz Agatha."

"Right, see you all at lunch." She grabbed some of the greased tack and left the barn.

Jacob started to fuss, so Catherine put him on Vincent’s lap and took over the greasing duties. When she looked at the pair of them after greasing the last reins, Jacob was asleep and Vincent leaning against the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

"I think we can get Vincent back to our cabin, if you help," she told Neal. "I’ll need you to bring Jacob along."

Catherine kissed Vincent awake, and lifted Jacob to the ground. Bo immediately got to his feet. She handed Jacob’s rope to Neal and put her shoulder under Vincent’s arm.

Vincent winced, but got to his feet, leaning on her, but not heavily.

"I’m fine, Catherine. I can walk, just not quickly."

"Very well, Vincent, but the path is a bit rough. Just hold onto me. Don’t be stubborn."

They made slow progress back to the cabin, Vincent was very glad when he could sit down. The injury was throbbing. The pain seemed out of all proportion to the damage.

Vincent captured Catherine’s arm as she walked by.

"Catherine, this leg hurts abominably. Is it infected, do you think?"

"No, Vincent, the hole isn’t very deep, but there’s a lot of bruising. It hit you right in the muscle, next to the bone. It may have grazed the shin. Those arrows are blunt instruments. Don’t worry. This happened to me when I was about 10 – some rotten little kid at a picnic in Connecticut. The point didn’t break the skin in my case – it was fired from too far away, but it hit my ankle bone and made one heck of a bruise. It was sore for weeks. I’ll see if I can find something to take down the swelling.

"Neal, maybe you should go back and sweep the barn, as Agatha asked. I think it’ll be lunch soon. Could you tell her we’ll eat here?"

Neal nodded and ran off to do as he was told, followed by Bo.

Catherine found a bottle of witch hazel and poured a little over the compress. Vincent sighed as the cool liquid penetrated. He hugged Catherine to him and soon Jacob joined the hug too, carefully avoiding the injured leg.

"Oh, Vincent, you frightened me when I felt your pain. I couldn’t think what had happened – what could happen, out here."

His mouth turned down. "I should have felt that boy’s presence. I have become careless."

"Nonsense, Vincent. It was just a boy, not a real danger. We have days ahead of us and there’s no hurry to do anything. I think Agatha is just trying to make sure we don’t get bored. She doesn’t realize that boredom is a luxury we’ve never had."

"Do you think so?" Vincent asked.

He had never considered that Agatha thought they needed to be entertained – even if it took the form of work. He reflected that she spent most of the year alone in her home and her most regular visitors were probably the tunnel farm crews. Well, Neal must be a regular too. It seemed a very lonely life to him. Why didn’t she move Below during the winter? Someone could come up and take care of the animals, so she could have a break. He was sure that even Bo would be permitted on a temporary basis. The cats and the other animals just needed to be fed. It would be a good thing for some of their teens to get experience outside the tunnels. He’d have to ask Agatha about that. He guessed she had never been Below. He couldn’t remember her ever visiting. Well, maybe he could change that. No one should be alone, unless it was by choice.

Catherine saw the pensive look on Vincent’s face and guessed he was thinking of Agatha. There couldn’t be a lot of work to do on this farm now – and from what she had been told, most of the heavy work was handled by the crews from Below. Maybe they needed to come more often. Agatha was not getting any younger and Catherine didn’t like the idea of her being alone and working heavy machinery. What if she had an accident when no one was around? She would discuss that with Father when they returned. Someone should be here with her at all times – or perhaps she’d like to spend the winters Below. The suggestion would have to be made very diplomatically. Maybe William could do that when Agatha visited them. They would have to press for that to be soon – the sooner the better.

"Catherine, I need to … um …" Vincent looked embarrassed.

"Oh, sorry. I was woolgathering. Do you need help?"

"No, but I think I’d like to sit out on the porch for awhile. Maybe you can join me. I think Jacob could use a rest."

Catherine took the hint and carried Jacob to his bed. He was very tired and nodded off almost immediately. She moved one of the big rattan couches near the door and found a foot rest. Vincent should keep the leg raised, she thought. He would have to be careful. A hole like that, in a place where there was not much flesh, might take a while to close properly.

"Catherine," came his voice behind her, as his strong arms pulled her to him. She could feel his arousal.

"Vincent … you must take it easy. That wound is no joke. It’ll be sore and I don’t want it to start bleeding again."

"Then we will have to get creative … later," he whispered into an ear. "Come, sit with me. I will read us some more poetry. I have the book."

Catherine settled against right side and Vincent put one arm around her, using his left to open the small book on his lap at random.

"Um … here’s a beautiful one by D H Lawrence ... "Moonrise"

"And who has seen the moon, who has not seen

Her rise from the chamber of the deep

Flushed and grand and naked, from out the chamber …"

Vincent cleared his throat, his arousal now pushing against the coverall.

"Perhaps this one would be better read later … tonight."

"No!" Catherine protested. "It’s beautiful. Keep reading … please."

He read the next few lines and paused again. Catherine waited. She didn’t know the poem, but she was sure Lawrence would continue in this vein.

"That perfect, bright experience never falls

To nothingness, and time will dim the moon

Sooner than our full consummation here

In this odd life will tarnish or pass away."

"Yes," whispered Catherine, turning to meet his kiss. He put aside the book and deepened it.

Unable to resist, she undid Vincent’s coverall fly buttons and put her hand inside to stroke his aroused manhood. They both sighed in delight as their bond opened up. Vincent put his injured leg on the footstool and leaned back, unable to speak. Catherine’s hand on him was nothing short of heaven. His breath began to rasp in a rough purr.

Vincent purring never failed to make her core ache with desire. Catherine abruptly decided to get closer. She shifted so that she was sitting on Vincent’s thighs and replaced her hand in its favourite spot. He looked at her then, his eyes burning turquoise and undid her coverall buttons so he could slip his hand around her belly, and then down to where her womanhood was throbbing and hot. She threw back her head as he found her eager nub and she squeezed his penis, hearing him groan. Then, before they could do more, they both exploded into orgasm, Vincent’s juices soaking them both. They removed their hands and met for a kiss that left them both breathless.

"I think we needed that," Catherine mumbled.

"I always need that," Vincent remarked, hugging her to him.

"We also need a shower now, my love. And you need a fresh coverall. This one’s not going to be useful anymore."

"I could cut it down to shorts," Vincent suggested. "I have never worn those."

Catherine looked at him. She had never even thought of that, despite having done exactly that with many of her older jeans – well, some time ago. No one wore shorts in the tunnels, so she had few now. What would he look like in shorts? His legs were hairy, no question about it, but no worse than some men she’d seen. His hair was almost blonde in daylight – and he did have wonderful muscle tone.

"You know, that might be best for your wound," she said at last. "It needs air. If we keep it covered, it’ll just take longer to heal."

"Then, I think we should bathe and see if we can find a pair of scissors, Catherine."

Catherine clambered off the couch and stood by, waiting to see if Vincent needed help. He winced as he put his weight on the leg, but moved with barely a limp into the bathroom. They showered together and Catherine dressed in a clean coverall while Vincent dried himself. She looked at the damaged coverall. Shorts were all very fine, but one whiff told her this coverall needed a wash, just as her own did, and for the same reason. She found some soap powder under the sink, then decided to cut off the legs around the knee first and did so. She gave it a good wash and rinse, then hung it over a line on the porch. When she got back inside, Vincent was standing naked in the middle of the room, looking puzzled. She sighed at the sight. He was one man who could wear absolutely nothing and look dressed. She went up to him and hugged him. He was still a little damp, but he began purring lightly as she ran her hands up his chest.

"I had to wash the coverall, Vincent. It stank of leather and grease. How’s your leg."

"Just a little sore. The bandage fell off in the shower, but I don’t think I need it."

She hunkered down to look at the calf, and realized she would have little nursing to do. The hole was nicely scabbed and the area around it much less swollen.

"Well, then, I guess you just need a clean coverall. I hung them all up in that closet there."

Vincent picked out another coverall. He stepped into it and shut off her favourite view. He turned to look at her, sensing her disappointment.

"Later," he promised. "Lunch is coming, I think. Just in time."

Catherine hadn’t noticed anything, but now she heard a noise and went outside to look down the road. Vincent joined her and hugged her to him. Heading towards them was a large wheelbarrow propelled by Agatha. It seemed to be loaded with baskets. Neal was trotting alongside, carrying a huge thermos and another basket.

When they arrived, Agatha greeted them with a big smile.

"Well, since you couldn’t come to me, I decided to bring the whole kit and caboodle to you. Do you mind company? I think the table’s big enough. I have some soup to heat up, fresh bread, cheese, ham, a lot of muffins and some big cookies. Can we come in?"

Vincent laughed.

"Agatha, as if we could refuse such bounty. Welcome."

They helped her unload the wheelbarrow and then laid all the various items onto the table. Agatha took a large container into the kitchen, emptied the contents into a pot and turned on the heat.

"Just a few minutes," she told them.

Catherine went to wake Jacob, who sat up quickly when he smelled the soup – something fragrant with herbs and spices. Like Vincent, food was never far from his mind. He was big for his age and seemed likely to be tall as well.

Neal was talking to Vincent about his school project when she brought Jacob to the table. They seemed to be fast friends now. She was glad.

They all sat down, Jacob on several pillows between Vincent and Catherine. They made short work of the food and were almost finished with the muffins and cookies when Agatha began to hum a tune. Catherine picked up the old Stephen Foster song and soon the cabin was ringing with what she thought of as "away" songs. Vincent, she was amazed to learn, had a soft bass. She had never heard him sing and wondered why. She looked at him. He rolled his eyes. The singing drifted into silence and Agatha coughed and poured everyone a glass of apple juice.

"Musicians are given priority, " Vincent explained. "Few of us have good voices, but everyone can play something. My voice is not dependable – and not strong. It fades quickly. We like everyone to be involved and learning rhythm is important."

"Well, I’ll drink to that," Catherine said, and did so. Agatha and Neal laughed. Agatha looked at the boy, as if just realizing he was still there.

"Young man, I think you should go home. Your mother probably needs your help with chores."

"Yes’m. When can I visit Vincent?"

"Well now, my guests are here for a couple more weeks on vacation. I’ll be taking them home, then we’ll see what can be arranged. It might take a little while. Okay?"

"Okay. Good-bye." Neal ran off down the long laneway to the road and was soon lost to sight.

Agatha looked at her guests again.

"I’ve decided to do no more work today. We do need something for dinner, though. How about a fishing trip? There are trout and bass in the pond. Two or three should do us."

Vincent looked up and smiled. Fish! It was one of his favourite foods. They did not get much of it Below, except as soup.

"That would be wonderful, Agatha. I guess we need rods."

"Oh, there are some in the other cabin. Think you can walk there, Vincent?"

"Yes. My leg is not painful. I think the exercise would be good for me after all this food."

They all left the cabin and Agatha ran ahead to the other cabin, emerging with three fishing rods, a bucket and a large net. They continued down the road to the pond.

"You go sit on the end of the pier and I’ll get us some bait," she told them. She pulled a hand hoe from the bucket and scrabbled under a nearby tree.

"Wrong time of day for good wrigglers, but these should be ok," she remarked, as she joined them and fixed a small worm on each hook.

"Keep your shadow off the water," she warned Vincent as he shifted to put his legs over the side. "These are smart fish. Some are very old and big. It was stocked in my grandfather’s day."

They huddled into the centre of the plank walk. Vincent let Jacob sit between his legs and hold the rod. The boy watched the float bobbing on the water intently.

While they sat, they chatted quietly. Vincent asked Agatha about life on the farm and in return he told her about events in the tunnels. They traded stories about William.

The afternoon waned and the sun came out occasionally. The buzz of flies and the swooping of dragonflies made the scene surreal to Catherine. She had never felt so relaxed. She barely listened to the soft conversation beside her and let her mind go blank.

She was reminded of her fishing rod when it nearly jerked out of her hand. She clutched it reflexively and noticed that the float was bobbing. She looked at Agatha, trying not to yell in excitement. Agatha nodded, and Catherine began to reel in the line, slowly, as her father had once taught her. There were definitely tugs of resistance, so she was not hung up on a weed. The line pulled taut and she had to struggle to bring it in. She wrapped a leg around the pole and kept on winding. Gradually the float reached the dock and she looked over into the water. Something large was thrashing around, but was disturbing so much mud that she couldn’t see what it was. She reeled in very carefully now, afraid that the fish was so large it might break the line. Agatha joined her, poising the net just above the water. With a whoop, she captured something that fought hard to escape, then brought up a lot of mud - and an enormous trout.

"Whew, this must be 15 pounds," she gasped at Catherine. "You’ve caught one of the patriarchs. I think this will be more than enough for all of us today. We’d have to let the mud settle anyhow. The fish will be wary now."

Vincent was too amazed to be disappointed he hadn’t caught anything. He looked at the long silver fish and held back Jacob, who was trying to escape his arms.

"Look, Jacob – a big fish! No, stay here."

Agatha brought over the fish in the net and let Jacob touch it. He crowed with delight, stroking it as if it were a kitten, looking up at his father with shining eyes.

"Fiss. Big."

"Yes, big fish," Vincent corrected and looked at Catherine. She was smiling in delight. Jacob’s vocabulary was definitely improving. Perhaps he would be talking before they returned home, as Agatha said.

They gathered up the fishing equipment and began to make their way back to Agatha’s house. The sun was setting.

"I can’t believe we sat there so long," Catherine commented. "It was so relaxing."

"You’ve the right attitude for a fisherman," Agatha laughed. "Well, I’ll take this on up to the house and start on some dinner. If you come up in about an hour, I’ll have a meal ready."

"Agatha, you shouldn’t do this alone. We can help," Catherine protested.

"Nonsense. I never have company and this gives me a chance to show you I can beat William at his own game."

Vincent chuckled. "William has never presented a trout dinner to us, Agatha. We have pretty plain fare Below – mostly soups and stews. This will be a treat to remember."

She left them with a smile and Catherine took Jacob to the porch and sat down.

Vincent got a thoughtful look as he looked along the lane and walked around the back of the cabin. There was a small lean-to there and when he opened up the rickety door, he found what he expected, a couple of battered bicycles. They needed to pick up the mail, so this seemed the ideal vehicle with which to do so.

He wheeled a bike to the front of the cabin and took a good look at it. He didn’t know much about them, but Devin had once found a small one and he had ridden it in the larger tunnels, until his whoops had attracted the attention of a sentry and he had been reprimanded. Vincent had never had a turn. What had happened to that bicycle? He couldn’t remember. Probably quietly returned Above.

The tires on this one were solid rubber and the bike an ancient, very heavy model with a wicker basket. He may not have ridden before, but he knew the theory. He looked over at Catherine, who was staring at the contraption.

"Are you sure that thing will work, Vincent? It must be a hundred years old!"

"It seems to have all the necessary parts. It is a bit rusty, but solid. I want to get the mail."

"Damn, I forgot all about that!" Catherine exclaimed. "Some guests we are. One job to do and we can’t remember it."

"I remembered – finally," he corrected her with a grin. "Now to try this machine."

Vincent put a leg over the frame and tested out the seat. It was quite low and his legs were going to be very bent as he rode, but he decided to use it anyway. Later, if it worked, he would try and find a wrench to raise the seat – and oil as well. The bike creaked, but the pedals seemed to move, if a little reluctantly. It was a standard model, with no gears and just a back pedal brake, just like the one Devin had found.

Holding onto the handlebars, Vincent put a foot on a pedal and pushed himself off. He immediately tried to get some speed, realizing that the bike would not balance unless he did so. He then found that the bike seemed to have a mind of its own and wanted to tip sideways. He quickly moved the front wheel to compensate and then shifted his weight to the other side. The bike obediently shifted and he almost toppled over. Vincent put a leg on the ground to catch himself and the bike stopped. He had gone only a few yards. The road was rough, but there was a convenient rut he could ride along, if he could get the bike under control. He started up again, finding his balance and finally able to get some speed going. The bike was stiff, but seemed otherwise all right.

Vincent clattered noisily down the lane to the mailbox. He quickly emptied it and put the letters into the basket. He was somewhat exposed, but did not feel endangered. He looked down the road and saw nothing at all – not even a light. The darkness was falling quickly and he stood for a moment, savouring the absolute quiet. No even insects were buzzing at the moment.

He turned the bicycle and began the ride back, enjoying the feeling of speed, something unknown to him before this. He reached the cabin somewhat breathless. It had been hard work keeping the bike on track. He braked the bike and it skidded a short distance on the sandy path.

Catherine and Jacob ran to meet him. Jacob raised his arms to Vincent and was hauled onto his father’s shoulders. Vincent leaned the bike against the side of the cabin.

"It badly needs some oil, but I think I will take over the mail duties from now on, Catherine. I have never ridden a bicycle before – and may never again, once we return."

"I had never realized how many things you’ve missed out on Below, Vincent. Shorts, fish, a bicycle …"

"And don’t forget fresh country air and being able to run … um ... unencumbered," Vincent reminded her.

"Yes, that’s a sight I’ll never tire of," Catherine sighed. She hugged him. Jacob crowed from Vincent’s shoulders and they both laughed.

"I think we should clean up a bit and head to Agatha’s," Catherine declared. She took down the coverall shorts, which were dry, and looked at Vincent.

"Tomorrow," she told him, "I want to see you model these."

They washed the dust from themselves and made good use of a brush. Jacob’s hair, despite being fairly long, was obedient, but Vincent’s hair was in tangles. Catherine sat him down and carefully drew first the brush, then a comb through it. Jacob clambered onto Vincent’s lap and sat quietly. She could feel the happiness of both her men and was sure Vincent was purring. His long amber waves were so soft, she put her face to his head and kissed it, as he often did hers. He smelled of fresh air and sunshine, she thought, a far cry from the usual candle smoke.

"Um … you smell and feel wonderful," she told him, nuzzling a hidden ear.

There was a loud clang from outside and they realized the dinner gong had sounded.

"I think that’s our cue," Catherine remarked, as she rose and picked up the bundle of mail. "Let’s go."

They walked slowly up to the house, breathing deeply. Jacob held onto Vincent’s hand, occasionally taking a swipe at a flying insect.

Not far from the door, they all stopped as they smelled the aroma of grilled fish. Vincent closed his eyes. Surely, nothing could taste as good as that smelled! He looked at Catherine and grinned.

"Oh, Vincent. You’re in for a treat. We’ll have to get a barbecue for the brownstone. You are being terribly spoiled – but I’ve been lazy and deprived you of something special."

"No, Catherine, you have not. I have been enjoying our meals here, but I do not want to duplicate them at home. As I understand it, a holiday is best remembered – including the food. I suspect we may be returning."

Catherine looked up at him in amazement. That thought had been in the back of her mind since she hatched her vacation plan, but she had not expected Vincent to come to that conclusion. He was so fixated on doing his work in the tunnels. He had seldom gone anywhere, except to think.

He caught her surprise and hugged her.

"Catherine, this fresh air has not gone to my head. I realize now that our son will need this break as much as I. And I do want to be with him, experience with him. I had feared I would never be able to do so in this way."

They said no more and quickly made their way to Agatha’s back door. The front door, they had decided, was too formal. Agatha was watching for them.

"Well, I hope you brought your appetites."

Vincent laughed. "Always, Agatha."

They all arranged themselves around the table, Jacob again in the high chair between his parents. The centre of the table was fragrant with potato salad, pearl onions and a variety of obviously home made pickles. Catherine found her mouth watering.

Agatha carefully placed a huge platter in the middle of the table. The trout had been split and roasted in lemon, butter and herbs. Catherine’s eyes widened at the size of it. She glanced at Vincent and could have sworn he was almost drooling in anticipation. His hunger could be felt along their bond. Jacob was bouncing up and down in the high chair making happy sounds.

"Well, don’t just sit there like a lot of hungry robins. Eat!"

Vincent politely took the serving fork Agatha gave him and gave Catherine and Jacob a serving, then himself. He did the same with the potato salad, then noticed that Catherine had given herself a selection of pickles and did the same for himself and Jacob.

When he finally had everything on his plate, Vincent paused, but hunger won out and he carefully picked up a piece of the trout and put it in his mouth. Immediately, the subtle flavours captured him and he chewed daintily and then swallowed with a sigh. When he looked up, he saw that Catherine and Agatha were watching him and smiling.

"Well, I think he likes the fish," Agatha commented.

"I’d say he loves it," Catherine agreed.

Vincent returned to his meal, his face warm. Nothing was going to distract him from this meal! Let them laugh.

Jacob meanwhile, was gobbling down everything on his plate, using a small spoon that Agatha had found for him. Catherine found herself staring at her son in amazement. She forced herself to concentrate on her own meal. Vincent had given her generous portions, but she managed to eat it all. Before she finished, Jacob was howling for more. Vincent admonished him sternly and he quieted. Catherine gave him a smaller portion of everything and noticed that Vincent seemed to be working on second helpings as well – either that, or he was an even slower eater than herself. She hadn’t seen him take them. He grinned at her.

They finished their main meal and Vincent sat back and sighed.

"Agatha, that was marvelous, but do not tell William I said so, please. He will make my life a misery for a month."

"Really, Vincent? What would that brother of mine do?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and interrupted.

"Agatha, Vincent and William are always playing jokes on each other. I don’t know when it started, but they’re like small boys – always trying to do one better. Any excuse will do. Often it’s just verbal jibes in the dining hall, but at Winterfest and other occasions, their jokes become more … material. I don’t know half of them. They’re very secretive."

Agatha laughed.

"I never thought of my brother as having much of a sense of humour, but I’m glad he’s happy."

Vincent cleared his throat. "Agatha, William could live nowhere else. He loves all of us and truly, he is a great cook. He produces wonders with limited resources. His humour is … dry. He and I are well-matched – and no one else will joke with us, except Catherine. No one else dares – I don’t know why."

Catherine snorted.

"Yes, you do, Vincent. Your tongues are barbed. The rest of us are in awe – and appropriately cautious. William allows me some leeway, because of you, but my digs are mild compared to yours – or his."

"Well, now, that would be worth a visit," Agatha commented. "And here I thought life in the tunnels was all sweat and rock dust."

"There is plenty of that, Agatha," Vincent remarked. "But just as surely, we need our diversions. We are a close community – in all ways. Humour is a great stress reliever."

"Speaking of relief – I think we need a little dessert. I thought you might not want anything too heavy, so I made something light."

She got up, quickly moved the mostly empty serving platters to the counter, then reached inside the fridge. When she put the plate on the table, Vincent and Catherine broke out laughing.

"What’s so funny?"

A mountain of cream puffs, with chocolate tops, now dominated the table.

"Oh, Agatha, these are Vincent’s favourite dessert. William is always teasing him about them."

"Well, then, enjoy. Let’s make sure Jacob gets a couple before Vincent eats them all, though."

She carefully extracted two and gave them to Jacob, whose eyes had grown big with anticipation.

Catherine, watching her son, sighed. It was obvious that he shared more than his hair with his father. She carefully took a cream puff from the pile, just managing to beat Vincent, who looked at her sideways, as he took two. They had disappeared before she finished hers.

Agatha laughed.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen two disappear so quickly. Your husband is a magician, Catherine."

"Oh yes, Agatha, he is – but not a very good one. Once these disappear, they’re gone for good."

Undaunted, Vincent purloined another. Jacob had eaten his as well, so Vincent gave him one too, before making his own disappear again.

"Three!" he chortled. "William has never allowed me three in my life! Another first. I am forever in your debt, Agatha."

"And I shall think of some way to collect that," she remarked, with a grin. "Perhaps another hug."

Catherine pretended shock. "You mean, he’s already given you one? Didn’t wait long, did he?"

Vincent’s hugs were legendary in the tunnels, as Catherine had discovered, long before she married him. She thought back to the very first one, that first time he had taken her to her threshold, after he had saved her life. Yes, even then, she had known she would do almost anything for another. His hugs were as addictive as cream puffs – and almost as rare.

Vincent looked between the two women and wondered at their obvious sincerity. It was true he liked to hug people on special occasions – anyone – and that no one ever objected. His differences at those times didn’t matter – and the comfort went both ways. But that someone should actively seek one of his hugs was something of a surprise. He’d assumed Agatha had been joking, that first time.

Catherine caught his surprise and wondered at it. Could he possibly not know how highly his hugs were valued? Vincent was an affectionate man – and sensed when a hug was needed. They were healing, almost.

Agatha, to give her credit, seemed to sense the emotions in her two adult guests. Jacob had gone quiet and seemed to be listening closely. She realized that this holiday was an education on several levels.

"I think I’ve put my foot in it," she remarked at last. "I’m sorry."

Vincent looked at her and abruptly got up and walked around to her.

"Come," he said, quietly.

Agatha got up from her chair and was enveloped in a hug that would have left her weak, had it gone on for much longer. Vincent released her and took her hands.

"Agatha, nothing you do or say could possibly be offensive. We are a little like city mice in the country. The fault is ours."

"Nonsense, Vincent. Anything you wish is yours while you stay with me. I love seeing you all enjoy yourselves. As I told you, I don’t get much company. Your lives are so different, that it’s I who is the odd person out. Don’t be afraid to tell me if I step over a line."

"You never could, Agatha," Catherine assured her.

Jacob suddenly gave a huge yawn, another feature that reminded her of his father – only without the canines.

"I think our little man is tired," she remarked. "We’d better get him, and ourselves, to bed, if we’re to be any help tomorrow."

"Well, now, I’ve been thinking about that last," Agatha declared. "There is no need for you to do any hard work. This is supposed to be a holiday. As it happens, I think tomorrow it’ll rain, so if you want to, you can come up here anytime you wish, and we’ll just visit."

"That would be wonderful, Agatha," Vincent told her, then moved to pick up Jacob, who was nodding in the high chair.

"You take him back to the cabin, Vincent," Catherine said. "I’ll stay and help Agatha get the food put away and the dishes in the dishwasher."

"Yes," Vincent replied, and with a smile at Agatha, left with Jacob.

"That isn’t necessary, you know," Agatha protested.

"Yes, it is," Catherine insisted. "I know there isn’t much left, but the plates can’t go into a dishwasher like this. Even I know that."

The two women quickly cleaned off the plates and Agatha filled a small dish with the remains of the fish and potato salad.

"For my late night snack," she remarked.

Catherine looked at the clock. It was only seven o’clock. It seemed much later. She sighed.

"I don’t care about time here, but I’m still shocked at how it flies – or doesn’t," she said.

"Ah, that’s the secret to country living," Agatha told her. "Make hay while the sun shines and grab precious moments of relaxation when it doesn’t.

"And I think your time of relaxation is now," she concluded.

Catherine gave the older woman a hug.

"Thank you for everything. Vincent is already talking about our next visit."

"I’m glad. I’ve never met anyone who so deserved a holiday."

"Yes, he works hard. I’m betting that Father and the others are missing him in ways they never expected. And not his hugs either!" she laughed.

"Perhaps not, but I’ll bet those will be the most welcome on his return," Agatha laughed.

"Now you get along to your men – before it starts raining."

"Good-night, Agatha."

"Sleep well, Catherine," she chuckled suggestively.

Catherine grinned and felt her face flush. Agatha grinned.

"Ah, young love," she said, and turned to load the dishwasher.

Catherine trotted back to the cabin, feeling the first sprinkles of rain. Rain! She seldom thought about it in New York – and never in the tunnels. What would they do with themselves? She knew what she wanted to do, but that would not be practical with Jacob nearby. She sighed.

When she got back, she saw that their love nest had gone. Vincent had moved the mattresses back into the cabin and laid them near the back window. Jacob was already asleep. Vincent had rigged up a curtain across the cabin, from two top bunks, giving them some measure of privacy. He stood waiting for her where two blankets met, completely naked and obviously ready for love. Catherine wasted no time getting her clothes off and moving into his embrace. There was no need for words as they lay down in their new nest.

Soon the sound of rain on the roof accompanied them as they made love. Afterwards, they both lay contented, cooling to the softly-damp breeze coming in the small window, bringing with it the scent of wet fields and wood. They both sighed and moved into one of those special Vincent hugs. They fell asleep, tangled in each other’s limbs. Sometime during the night, Vincent must have pulled up a blanket, because Catherine awoke to a delicious warmth and the softness of him spooned against her backside. She didn’t remember turning over, but wouldn’t have wished him anywhere else for the world. She went back to sleep with his breath softly caressing her neck hair.