Chapter 6

Father congratulated himself. Eric had proven to be a quick study and the previous day, had been dashing about on errands various and numerous. The boy had been almost wearisome in his eagerness, but had proven to be observant as well.

Jacob did not use the pipe communication system much, preferring to listen and send his own messages by hand. Some things were just too complicated to transmit in the shortened code they used on the pipes – and really, that should be used for reports, not personal messages. He’d have to talk sternly to everyone again. Some day, a really important message was going to get lost among the picayune details of everyday living. Well, not lost, perhaps – Pascal would never allow that - but delayed.

In the meantime, life had settled down again in the tunnels. There were no major projects to undertake and no crises had emerged. Vincent and his family had now been gone an entire week. William seemed unusually quiet lately, and the Council meeting the day before had ended after only a few minutes. No one had anything to contribute. Father struggled to remember why he had called it – and failed. Maybe he had just wanted to connect with his peers. Everyone seemed to be apart, as if the glue which held them together was drying out. Even the children were subdued.

It was the lack of Vincent, of course. His presence was missing, his large form, his quiet voice – and yes, his hugs. He almost ached for one of those himself.

The community seemed to be in limbo, waiting. It couldn’t go on, Father decided. Vincent was important, yes, but they must get used to his being absent. Perhaps they needed some entertainment. He wracked his brain for something that would brighten spirits, but finally admitted to himself that he was not the best person to organize such things. Vincent had been far better at it – and moreover, knew what talents everyone had. Jacob admitted to himself that he was somewhat uninformed these days.

That gave him an idea. After a quieter-than-normal breakfast, he had Eric take a clipboard and pad and begin a poll of everyone in the community. It was time they had a formal list of everyone’s hobbies and talents – musical, sports, crafts – whatever. It had never been done, as far as he knew. Relying on memory was just not good enough. This would get everyone thinking and might give him some inspiration. He’d better do something soon. Vincent must return to a serene community – but not the despondent one they had now. He had to get a grip on things – and quickly.

…

Vincent woke to the smell of damp earth and the smell of bacon frying. He had slept in!

He rose quickly and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around himself as he padded to the bathroom. It was chilly this morning. He glanced at the kitchen and gave Catherine a grin. She looked triumphant, as well she might. He couldn’t remember her ever being up in the morning before him.

Jacob was sitting on the floor stroking Bo. The dog looked up at him with an expression that seemed to say "well, it’s about time."

Vincent quickly emptied his bladder and had a shower. He dried carefully, and then padded back to the closet for something to wear. He clambered into a pair of combination underwear, before putting on a clean coverall. No shorts today, he thought regretfully.

He turned to the table, just as Catherine brought plates of bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages and tomatoes to it. The smell made his stomach rumble and he lifted Jacob off the floor, took him into the bathroom for a quick hand wash, and then sat him on his well-cushioned chair. Catherine sat beside him.

"Sleep well, Vincent?" she asked innocently.

"Very. Obviously."

He said no more but tucked into the food.

"Where did all this come from. Last time I looked, we had cheese and granola."

"Agatha brought it about an hour ago. She has a rain cape that would cover all of us. She left us a couple, in case we want to go out. I didn’t bring any raingear, other than boots for Jacob. Never occurred to me."

"Umph. Well, that is not surprising. Weather is not something I think about much either – unless I go Above. I try not to do that when it’s raining. My cloak gets waterlogged.

"This is delicious, Catherine. Everything tastes so much better here."

"Yes, I think it’s a combination of country air and lack of candle smoke," Catherine commented.

"And don’t forget our love nest," Vincent reminded her. He did not want to think that candle smoke got into the food Below, but Catherine was probably right. Well, that was reality. He had lived with it all his life. Still, a change was nice.

"How is your leg," Catherine asked.

Vincent had to think back to realize what she was asking. So much had happened. He had never realized how full the days could be Above - or in the country. He reached down and felt his calf. There was no pain, just a small bump that was the scab.

"I just have a small scab, Catherine. No pain at all."

Something else came to him then. "Where’s the crossbow?"

"I put it in your backpack and hung it on a high hook in the cupboard."

"You have been busy this morning," Vincent commented, a little wryly.

"Do you realize we’ve been gone a week, now?" Catherine asked.

"Yes. It has gone quickly. If I remember rightly, Agatha will be sending a shipment Below in two days. We should help her get it packed. She mentioned picking some vegetables. Tomorrow, we’d better do that. I’ll ask her."

"We can go for a walk later and see what she needs doing. I’m sure she’ll want us up there for dinner again. Wonder what she’ll give us this time?"

Vincent laughed.

"You are still eating breakfast and already you are thinking about dinner? Catherine, you are becoming fixated on food!"

"Like you, you mean."

Vincent grinned. "Yes. I admit it. But there is more of me to feed. You could live on a sip of water and a knock at the cupboard door – as one helper used to say."

"An exaggeration, Vincent, but I take your point.

"By the way, we need to do some laundry. We’re all down to our last outfits. Jacob has dirtied all his bibs too. I think I’ll take it all up to Agatha after breakfast and ask to use her facilities."

"Good idea, Catherine."

Something was nagging at Vincent, and suddenly he realized what it was. His journal. In all the excitement, he had not thought about writing in it. He must do so today, before he forgot everything.

"Um, I have some work to do here," he remarked.

Catherine looked at him. He had to be referring to his journal. She knew he wrote in it often, but never when she was around. Perhaps she distracted him, or what he wrote was personal. She never peeked, nor did she begrudge him this privacy.

"I understand," she whispered. "I’ll take Jacob with me to Agatha’s and give you some time alone."

Vincent looked at her then, realized she knew exactly what he wanted to do, and sighed.

"Thank you," he said softly. Really, she was amazing. There was almost no need for words between them.

"I’ll do the dishes, if you want to leave now. I think it’s stopped raining."

Catherine looked out the window. It had indeed – but the sky was dark and threatening. Yes, they’d better go now.

"All right, Vincent. Thank you."

She rose and moved to him, bending down to meet his lips.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you with all that I am."

Catherine sighed. Those words from his lips never failed to thrill her. She looked into his azure eyes and saw a matching flame. He rose to hug her to him.

"Ah, Catherine. Parting is such sweet sorrow."

"I know. But the reunion is sweeter yet."

"Yes."

Jacob suddenly made a yell of frustration. He hated being left out of hugs. Catherine reluctantly extracted herself from Vincent’s warm embrace and went to lift Jacob down. She hugged him to her.

"There, there, Sport. We have some work to do. Can you get his boots on while I collect the laundry, Vincent?"

"Of course."

Catherine found a clean burlap sack in the cupboard and loaded it with their soiled clothes, then their bed sheets and pillow cases as well. Might as well do it all.

She found Jacob ready and Bo standing expectantly, looking at her. She quickly pulled on a pair of rubber boots over thick socks and grabbed one of the rain capes. It was big enough for herself, Jacob and the dog, she thought.

Vincent gave her a quick kiss and opened the door for her.

"Can you manage?" he asked.

"Oh, sure." She threw the bag over a shoulder and took Jacob’s hand.

"See you later. Be good. I’ll ask about the vegetable picking."

"Yes. Good idea. Give Agatha my thanks."

Catherine gave him a smile and marched down the wet road. Jacob let go of her hand quickly and ran ahead, jumping in every puddle. She sighed. That coverall would need a wash before they arrived at Agatha’s. Maybe she had something he could wear while it was in the laundry.

They knocked on the back door and heard Agatha’s "Come in" from inside. They entered, and Catherine took off their boots, then followed the sounds to the kitchen. Agatha was making cookies and it seemed had been doing so for a while, judging from the delicious smell coming from the oven. Ginger, she guessed, her mouth watering. Jacob crowed as he realized it as well.

"We thought today might be a good day to do laundry," she remarked, watching in awe as Agatha formed the cookies with factory efficiency.

"Good idea. Your little man looks a little grubby."

"He was clean when we left," Catherine said wryly. "Now he’s in his last outfit. He’ll have to spend the next little while in nothing but his diaper. Serve him right!"

Agatha laughed,

"Oh, I might have something you can use. I always kept some old children’s dungarees around when I had the little hands-on farm. People never seemed to realize that little girls in frilly dresses and pumps can’t commune with horse dung and chicken feathers. It saved awkward scenes to make wearing one of the overalls part of the experience."

Catherine laughed. "Agatha, that’s brilliant. Where are they? I’ll dig them out and get started on the laundry, if that’s okay."

"You’ll find a wicker trunk in the laundry room. They’re all in there, clean, but not ironed."

"That won’t matter. I never iron anything anymore. My mother would be shocked."

"I only ironed for the tourists. They seem to equate lack of wrinkles with cleanliness."

Catherine joined Agatha’s long hoot of merriment. She lifted Jacob onto a chair so he could watch the cookie making, then carried her bag into the laundry room. She found the trunk and extracted a much-patched, but serviceable coverall. It was probably a little big, but she could roll up the sleeves and legs. She carried it back and lifted Jacob to the floor, ignoring his protest.

"Be still, Jacob. You got dirty, so now you need clean clothes."

She quickly stripped him and put on the clean coverall, then lifted him back to the chair.

"I hope you don’t mind an audience," she remarked.

"In about five minutes, that audience can have a sample," Agatha remarked.

"Oh, my. I’ll have to hurry and get the laundry in. I love hot cookies."

Catherine left to do just that. She found the washing machine to be a big one and decided to do just one load. She never worried about colours. Everything they had was much-washed. She put in the soap and clothes and set it to a warm wash. Then she returned to the kitchen, to find Agatha removing a large tray of cookies from the oven, and then a second. She put them on a rack on the counter. Jacob’s eyes had grown very large.

"They just need to sit a minute before I can take them off," she remarked. "But we can eat one right away."

She extracted three on a spatula and put one on the table in front of Jacob.

"Mind, it’s hot," she told him. He touched it tentatively and looked at Catherine.

"Hot."

Catherine giggled and juggled the one Agatha gave her between her hands until it cooled enough to hold. Then she took a bite.

"Delicious! Vincent will be so jealous."

"Where is he?" Agatha asked.

"He likes to have privacy to write in his journal. He’s been writing in them since he was a boy."

"A man of many parts, is your Vincent," Agatha commented, with a wink and a grin.

"Oh, yes – and all of them wonderful," Catherine replied, smiling suggestively.

"He wanted me to thank you for the wonderful breakfast supplies, by the way. You know, I don’t think he’s ever slept in like that before. He’s usually up long before me."

"I’ll take that as a sign he’s finally relaxed and on vacation," Agatha commented.

"Yes, good point. It’s good for him to have nothing on the schedule. It might be the first time in his life."

They were silent for awhile, all eating their cookies. Jacob clambered down to the floor and sat next to Bo, who was regarding the cookies on the counter with a doleful look. Agatha laughed and got them all another one – and gave one to Bo. The dog ate it in one gulp.

…

The poll had gone well and Eric had proven adept at questioning every tunnel inhabitant about their skills. Father was pleased. He started a ledger and began compiling the information Eric had collected. Rather than try to do these records alphabetically, by person, he had decided instead to make a list of skills and record names under them. He added that day’s date as well. He soon found that the community boasted a staggeringly large number of multi-talented individuals. He himself was one of the few who could boast only one or two.

He devoted one page to those who were good organizers and coordinators and put Vincent’s name under that category. Those skills were rare. He himself, although one of the founders, could not claim to be much of an organizer. What organization they had, had been created over time and of necessity – the sentries, the work crews, laundry day, education, foraging parties, and so on.

Medical skills. He put himself under that category, along with Mary, Rebecca and others who were occasional nurses. Samantha was already taking nursing training Above, but would return to the tunnels.

Father began to cough. He had spent too much time in his library, he thought. The dust was affecting him. Perhaps he should try and clean it up a bit before Vincent returned. He needed some air.

He rose and hobbled out of the chamber and down to the Whispering Gallery. The breeze was light, but the fresh air was invigorating. There were not many sounds, but he reflected that it was very early in the morning.

A coughing fit shook him and he grabbed onto the rope railing for support. The echoes of the coughs shocked him. He really should do something about it. Doctor, heal thyself, he thought sternly.

He left hurriedly and went to the clinic. Quickly, he found his home-made cough remedy and gave himself a generous tablespoonful. The liquid soothed his throat, but a few minutes later, he was coughing again, a horrible bark that did not bode well. Surely, he could not have caught any bug. No one had been ill.

Mary came in as he sat and coughed, no longer able to stand up. She took one look at him and tapped on the pipes for Pascal to send a messenger to Peter. Father looked at her, and said nothing. He felt terrible, and was beginning to sweat.

"Come, Jacob. You should be in bed. I think you’ve been working yourself too hard these last few days. Let me help."

Father staggered to his feet, letting Mary help him back to his chamber. His breathing was bad, he realized. He managed to mumble a thank you and then pointed at the ledger.

"That’s what I was working on. Eric is gathering information."

"Yes, I know, Jacob. He’s quite an interrogator. But he’s discovered skills I bet some of us had forgotten about.

"Now you undress and get into bed. I’ll bring Peter when he arrives."

Mary left him and returned to the clinic. She was worried. Jacob obviously had a fever and that cough was nasty. She suspected the worst. She tried to remember the last time he had been ill and failed. He shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard. He was not young anymore. He had always been reluctant to delegate. Vincent, had quietly taken most of his responsibilities, without him noticing, mainly by bypassing the old man. It wasn’t good that they were so reliant on one man. Vincent had his family to think about. Well, that would stop now. She and some of the other women were quite capable of organizing work parties and taking reports. With Eric’s help, they should be able to spread the responsibilities around more. It was long overdue.

Peter rushed in as she was preparing a list of jobs that needed doing. He looked a bit flustered.

"Where is he?"

"In his chamber, Peter. I think he has pneumonia. He’s been working too hard – trying to do all those jobs Vincent was doing. I’m going to organize some of the women to do some of that work. You just make him well."

"Good idea, Mary. But don’t tell him yet. He’ll just worry. I’ll go along and see him now. Oh, by the way, do you have any antibiotics down here?"

"Some, Peter, but perhaps not the right ones. They’re in the cabinet over there."

Peter took a look in the cabinet and the meagre supply of medicines. He sighed. Most of them were now kept in the brownstone clinic, but he didn’t want to take Jacob up there. It was too far to go. Well, he could send one of his trainee nurses to get what he needed. He went along to see Father and frowned when he saw the old man. He was very flushed and his eyes were glazed.

"Jacob?"

He was greeted by a fit of coughing that gave him even more concern. This was bad. He began his examination and soon confirmed what Mary had suspected. He reconsidered. The chamber was damp and smoky. Father needed to be Above, in the brownstone’s hospital room, where the air was clean and warm. He quickly left and went to find Mary. She was still in the clinic.

"Mary, we need to get Father to the hospital room in the brownstone. I can’t treat him properly under these conditions. He has pneumonia – and I’m not sure which kind without tests. Can we get a stretcher crew organized?"

"Certainly, Peter. Just a moment." Mary went to the pipes and tapped out a brief message. She got an acknowledgement from Pascal and waited while he sent out a call for a stretcher crew. Four men arrived quickly and assembled the stretcher. They went to Father’s chamber and over his weak protests, got him onto the stretcher and then followed Peter down the long route to the brownstone. Peter was glad that they’d decided to convert part of the basement into a hospital room for the tunnel community. It had only two small high windows in rain wells, but it was bright and clean, and best of all, didn’t require them to haul the stretcher up steep stairs to the main floor.

With the men’s help, Peter got Father comfortable and put him on an antibiotic drip. He took a blood sample and went upstairs to the lab to examine it. Mary came in shortly afterwards and asked if she could help.

"We’ll need someone here all the time. Is Samantha free, do you know?"

"She’s been volunteering in one of the downtown clinics. Her classes are over for the term. I’ll get a message to her."

"Thank you, Mary. Do you think we should inform Vincent and Catherine? I can call Agatha, if need be."

"How serious is it, Peter? I’d hate for us to trouble them if we don’t have to."

"Well, it’s serious enough, but let’s see how he responds in the next few hours. Vincent will never forgive us, you know, if we don’t tell him. When are they returning?"

"They didn’t say. I know that William has sent a crew out to collect some vegetables from Agatha. They’ll be two more days getting to the warehouse. Perhaps, after she’s given them the supplies, Agatha can drive Vincent and Catherine to a closer tunnel entrance in her truck. That would get them home faster – if you think it’s urgent."

"I’ll watch Jacob until Samantha arrives, and let you know later today. Let’s say nothing at present. We have two days to decide. I can call Agatha as soon as we know.

"In the meantime, perhaps you could have William send up some plain broth – a meat one, not a vegetable one. We need to keep Father’s strength up."

"I’ll do that," Mary said and left hurriedly. She berated herself for not keeping a better watch on Father. Now their favourite couple might have to cut short their first vacation. It was too bad.

…

Vincent was enjoying recording the events of the last few days in his journal, although it wasn’t the deeds, so much as his impressions he recorded. He had experienced so many delights that his heart was bursting with joy. He could feel the happiness of Catherine and Jacob along their bond and that brought him contentment as well. They were obviously having fun with Agatha. He suspected he was missing out on some treat, but was also sure he would get his share in time. Catherine never forgot him.

He wrote quickly, occasionally looking out the window, watching the rain fall again. After long pages, he looked up again to see that the sun had found an opening in the sky, even though it was still raining. That meant only one thing. He went outside and looked around.

There, over Agatha’s house, was a rainbow, so brilliant that he could see the secondary one. He had never seen a complete rainbow before and stood entranced, oblivious to the fact he was getting wet. It faded as the sun went behind a cloud and Vincent sighed and went inside. His hair was dripping, so he found a towel and roughly dried it, then put the towel over his shoulders. His coverall was damp, but he had no other, so he couldn’t change. But he did have his cloak. He stripped off the coverall and hung it in the kitchen, where the gas pilot light provided what heat there was. He still had on his combination underwear, fortunately not damp, and went to the closet to find his cloak. It was lightweight wool, where it wasn’t leather, and quite warm. It felt good to put it on, he reflected. Like an old friend.

He returned to the table and quickly finished his journal entries, not forgetting to mention the rainbow. He sat back and stretched out his legs, gazing out the window.

He was about to get up and make some tea for himself, when he felt suddenly uneasy. He tried to pin down what was bothering him and failed. Perhaps he was having some kind of premonition. Maybe there was a thunderstorm brewing. He often felt uneasy when one threatened. He shook his head and got up to make tea. Then, with a conviction he had come to recognize, he had the answer.

Father! Was he injured, sick? The latter, Vincent thought. What should he do? He knew that if it was anything serious, Peter would phone Agatha. In the meantime, he shook off his unease before Catherine could detect it. They must continue their vacation. There was work to do tomorrow. They owed it to Agatha to help. If necessary, they could return with the crew in two days’ time.

Vincent would have liked to have gone up to the house, but didn’t want to do so with only long underwear under his cloak. He felt the coverall. It was damp, but not really wet. He looked around. There had to be a way to dry it. He made his tea, and then turned on the oven. The heat soon spread around the small nook and Vincent puttered about, putting away the washed dishes and taking an inventory of their supplies. He found a couple of forgotten cookies and went back to sit at the table, contentedly munching and drinking tea. Patience, he told himself. If there was trouble back home, he would find out soon enough.

He added a couple more paragraphs to his journal, reflecting that he seemed to have lost his customary literacy. How could he describe this vacation? It was completely outside his experience. His senses were overloaded and he had only now begun to separate out the various influences. He had never been so aware of smells and sights – and even the feel of dampness on his skin and the sounds of insects and birds. It wasn’t really silent here, he mused, but it seemed so, compared to the endless rattle of trains in the tunnels, the pipe communication – and the traffic and bustle that was New York. Here there was the quiet of a natural world that moved independent of man, oblivious. It was a completely impartial quiet. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy what his senses told him.

He must have dozed off briefly, because suddenly his nose told him something was overheating. The oven! He rushed to the kitchen and turned it off. It was very hot in the kitchen now. His coverall was dry, and the bottoms of the legs were curling up. He shook them off the line quickly and examined them. Fortunately, they hadn’t burned. Catherine would never let him forget that! With relief, he put them on and returned his cloak to the closet.

He was wondering whether to go up to the house when he heard the gong sound. Was it dinner time already? He guessed it was mid-afternoon, but it was hard to tell, it was so dim outside now. He grabbed the other rain cape, put on a pair of rubber boots and tramped up to Agatha’s back door. It was pouring and now the wind was blowing as well. He knocked on the door and heard a hallo from inside. He left the rain cape and boots next to Catherine’s and padded in stocking feet into the kitchen. The counter seemed to be piled high with cookies of various types. His nose picked out ginger and cinnamon, peanut butter – and chocolate. Catherine and Agatha were busy near the stove and just waved at him.

Jacob ran to him and hugged him around the knees.

"Da."

Vincent lifted his son up and gave him a kiss.

"What have you been doing? Did you make all these cookies?"

"Cookie," Jacob repeated and held up all the fingers on one hand. "Lots."

"You ate five?" Vincent tried to sound shocked, but succeeded only in sounding envious.

Jacob laughed and hugged him around the neck. He smelled of peanut butter. Now Vincent could feel his stomach rumbling. He looked over at the stove. What on earth were they doing over there? He moved to find out and suddenly Catherine turned and came towards him.

"Come into the dining room, Vincent. We’ll be serving in a minute."

Vincent followed her obediently and put Jacob in the high chair. Then he pulled Catherine to him and gave her a hug.

"Had fun?" he asked, unnecessarily.

"Oh, yes. And Agatha is teaching me some tricks even William doesn’t know."

"So we are having a tricky dinner, I take it."

"Especially tricky," Catherine agreed, pulling his head down for a kiss.

She pulled him to the table and they sat down. A moment later, Agatha entered with a platter piled high with something Vincent couldn’t identify, except that it seemed to include cheese and fish. He stared at it as Agatha put it in the middle of the table, followed by two bowls of salad – one which seemed to be an aspic and the other tomatoes and spinach.

"Those are my own greenhouse veggies," Agatha said, indicating the salad.

"The ones we have to pick for the delivery?" Vincent asked.

"Yes, but there’s plenty more. We can do that tomorrow. It’s supposed to clear up later."

"And what is that?" Vincent finally asked, gazing at the platter, since no one seemed to want to enlighten him.

"A soufflé," Catherine told him, grinning from ear to ear.

"It looks delicious. I have never had one."

"I was pretty sure of that," Catherine remarked. "It’s all part of your vacation education."

Vincent grinned at her. Agatha began cutting up the soufflé and he helped himself and then gave some to Jacob and Catherine. He took some of the salads as well for himself and Jacob. There was silence for some time as everyone concentrated on eating.

The soufflé was delicious, but Vincent felt as if he’d eaten not much more than a large cream puff. He wondered if he was going to feel hungry again in a couple of hours. Then he remembered the cookies. Probably not, he concluded.

Agatha had made them coffee and tea and they moved to the sitting room to enjoy their drinks and some cookies. Vincent tried one of each kind and then went for seconds. Jacob, who had climbed onto Vincent’s lap, seemed content with one. He must have had a lot of them already, Vincent supposed.

"I saw a rainbow, earlier," he commented as he finished the last cookie and emptied his cup of tea. He was feeling uneasy again and wanted to distract himself. He didn’t want to dampen the happiness he could feel around him.

"Oh, we missed it," Catherine wailed. "I’ll bet it was splendid without anything to block it."

"Yes. It was magical – a double one too. Another first for me. I don’t know how many more delights I can stand."

He looked down at his son, the greatest delight of his life, and realized he was asleep. He looked over at Catherine and exchanged a look with her. Catherine stood up.

"I think we need to get our son to bed, Agatha. He’s used to having an afternoon nap."

"You go and do that," Agatha boomed. "I’ll give you a garbage bag for your laundry. It’s still blowing out there. Or would you rather stay here in the house? I have plenty of room."

Vincent thought about that and looked at Catherine. What he saw there told him that she had other plans – ones that needed privacy. He smiled at Agatha.

"Thank you, but we have become rather fond of our little cabin. Besides, we have to pick up the mail. I’ll do that on the bike again."

"Good heavens," Agatha exclaimed. "You used one of those old things? I think they go back to the war years."

"I thought as much, but it was quite serviceable."

"Well, you come up here after sunset and I’ll give you a supper basket. Then tomorrow, if you can help me pick the vegetables, we can get the delivery order packed for the warehouse."

"We’d be happy to, Agatha. It is the least we can do to thank you for your hospitality. Truly, it has been a wonderful vacation," Vincent told her. Privately, he wondered if this wasn’t their last day of innocence, but he said nothing.

They all clambered into their rain gear and Vincent carried Jacob while Catherine picked up the plastic bag of clean laundry. The wind blew the door open and pushed them down the path to the cottage.

"Whew, that was wild," Catherine commented as they hung up their dripping raincoats in the porch. She carried the boots inside and left them near the door.

"It’s certainly warm and dry in here."

Vincent carried Jacob to his bed and laid him down. He didn’t wake up.

He looked around the room, chose a battered but well-stuffed couch, and flopped down on it. Catherine joined him, snuggling up to him in the dim cabin.

"I think we could use some light," she commented at last. "I want to hear you read more of that poetry book."

Vincent got up and found a lantern in the kitchen. He shook it and guessed it had enough gas to last a few hours, so he lit it and carried it to a small table near the couch. He found his book and sat down again, riffling through the pages. His mood was a little sombre tonight, and suddenly a stanza by T S Eliot caught his eye. He began to read.

"Garlic and sapphires in the mud

Clot the bedded axle-tree.

The trilling wire in the blood

Sings below inveterate scars

Appeasing long forgotten wars.

The dance along the artery

The circulation of the lymph

Are figured in the drift of stars.

Ascend to summer in the tree

We move above the moving tree

In light upon the figured leaf

And hear upon the sodden floor

Below, the boarhound and the boar

Pursue their pattern as before

But reconciled among the stars."

He paused and Catherine looked at him, sensing something that worried her.

"What is it, Vincent? You’ve been quiet for hours now. Is something wrong?"

He hugged her closer and kissed her forehead. He sighed. There was no keeping his unease from Catherine anymore. Perhaps that was best. The burden was too heavy and needed to be shared. He spoke quietly.

"Earlier today, I became uneasy, without knowing why. Then I realized I was sensing that Father is not well. I know that Peter will call Agatha if need be, but I am concerned, nevertheless. Our holiday may have to end rather sooner than we hoped, Catherine."

She stroked the big hand around her shoulder and squeezed it.

"Vincent, we have already had a wonderful vacation. If it has to end, if we’re needed back home, that’s all right. We can come again, perhaps in the summer – or even the winter. Next time, Jacob will be older too.

"Don’t be sorry. It isn’t your fault."

"I suppose all idylls must end. I had hoped ours would end the normal way, with a calm return trip."

"We’ll know soon enough. Try not to worry. Father will be well cared for. All we can do is wait. Peter wouldn’t dare not keep us informed."

Vincent’s lips quirked. "Yes, I know.

"I’m not really in the mood for reading, do you mind? I should go and get the mail. Then I’ll pick up the supper basket from Agatha."

"I wouldn’t take the bike. Riding in mud is horrible even on a good bike. Which that isn’t."

Vincent laughed.

"I think I’ll put on a cape and run there and back. I need to stretch my legs. I sat down too long today. I’m not used to being sedentary."

"Too bad it’s a bit damp, or you could run naked," Catherine commented. "I don’t think I’ll ever forget that image. It’s definitely one I’m taking home with us – in my memory."

Vincent hugged her.

"One of the many joys of these last few days."

He rose and looked outside. The daylight was fading and it was raining softly. There was no wind now. He looked at the rubber boots and abruptly decided they would be a hindrance. He took off his socks, and on impulse, stepped out of his coveralls and underwear as well. He put on the cape. It was long enough for modesty but would give him the freedom to run. He looked over at Catherine, who was grinning.

"Couldn’t resist, eh? Just don’t forget to come back here and get decent before you go to Agatha’s."

"Catherine!"

She laughed and he left quickly.

The run was pleasant, despite the rain. The road had softened and Vincent could feel cool mud squishing between his toes, another new sensation he found delightful. He picked up speed and ran carefully down the middle of the road, not daring to risk his bare feet in among the ruts and rocks. He could see well enough to avoid anything painful. He reached the mailbox, tucked the contents into the inner pocket of the cape and headed back. Really, he decided, this was the best way to be out in the rain. No clothing to get dirty and everything easily washed. He found the sensation of the rubber cape against his skin almost erotic. By the time he got back to the cabin, he was aroused and realized he was feeling Catherine as well. He extracted the mail and left the cape on a hook in the porch.

Inside, Catherine stood waiting for him and was as naked as he. She pushed her warmth against him and he sighed in delight. She began to play with his testicles and he grunted, wondering what to do next. His feet and lower legs were filthy. He didn’t want to dirty the mattresses.

Catherine had not ceased her ministrations and suddenly he realized he was not going to be able to hold on much longer. He looked around. There was only one place to go. He scooped her up under her lovely rear end and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her into the shower stall and leaned her against the wall. She found his mouth and began a lip massage that set his groin aflame. It had been some time since they had made love in a shower stall, but he remembered that first time vividly. He captured her mouth and moved to position himself, felt her fire answer his as he found her warm channel.

The joy of that intimate contact made them both sigh. Their bond flared and their climax came quickly. Vincent, his legs suddenly weak, sank to the floor of the stall and leaned against the side, bringing Catherine with him. She stroked his face and chest, finally leaning against him as he began to purr.

"Oh, Catherine."

"I know. We’re incorrigible."

"I was going to say insatiable."

"That too."

"Will you join me for a shower?"

"What do you think?"

Vincent rose and turned on the shower. It was barely warm, but perhaps that was best, he thought. They washed each other with great economy and rinsed carefully, managing to finish before the water became really cold.

Vincent carried Catherine out, pulled a towel from the pile and rubbed her dry. She did the same for him and they felt their fires rise again. They reluctantly banked them and left the bathroom to get dressed again. Vincent gave her a kiss, then put on his boots and cape and left to pick up the supper basket.

It had stopped raining and he looked up to see a few stars peeking through the night-dark clouds. It was very quiet now, as if the whole world was sleeping. He knocked on Agatha’s door and she came quickly to let him in.

"Ah, I see it’s stopped raining. That’s good. Come in. I have a basket, and some news for you."

"News? About Father?"

"How did you know? Peter said you might. Yes, he’s got pneumonia. Peter says he’s responding to medication, so not to worry, but he’ll need a lot of rest. Samantha is caring for him in the brownstone’s hospital room. Peter suggests you might want to return. I can drive you to a city tunnel entrance after we deliver the vegetables day after tomorrow. He predicts that in two days, Father will have to be convinced to stay put. Your strength – and the power of your persuasion - may be needed."

Vincent smiled wryly. Father was the worst possible patient and a truly abominable invalid. He had not been ill for a long time, but the stories were almost legendary.

"I think that’s an excellent suggestion, Agatha. Catherine and I agreed earlier that this merits cutting our vacation short. We have no regrets. It has been a wonderful experience."

Vincent hugged their hostess and Agatha sighed.

"You are most welcome, Vincent. We’ll pick the vegetables tomorrow and get them to the warehouse first thing the next day. The crew is already on their way, so we won’t have to wait for them."

"Thank you, Agatha. We are in your debt. I hope you will visit us soon."

"Oh, I’d love to – as soon as I figure out how to care for the animals while I’m gone."

"Nothing could be simpler. We will send someone here to take your place. We must have someone Below with farm experience. You can bring Bo and stay with us."

"Very well, Vincent. I guess you’ve made a case. I have no more excuses."

"Good, and thanks again for the food. See you tomorrow morning. I think the rain is over."

"Yes, tomorrow will be fine – take it from me. At least you’ll see sunshine for one more day. Have a good evening, Vincent."

"You too."

Vincent carried the heavy basket back to the cabin, wondering what on earth Agatha had packed for them this time. It smelled wonderful.

He put the basket on the table and began to unpack it while Catherine roused Jacob. Then he remembered the remaining bottle of beer in the cooler and added it, with a bottle of milk, to the collection. Agatha had packed more milk in the hamper, which Vincent put into the cooler. Best drink the oldest first, he thought.

They found several kinds of meat sandwiches, large dill pickles, apples, a wedge of creamy cheese and a container of devilled eggs. A brown bag held a large selection of the day’s cookies.

"How does she do all this on such short notice?" Catherine asked. "I’m going to miss her cooking."

"I too – but I think Jacob will miss her cookies most."

They looked at their son, who had eaten one sandwich and now made a grab for the brown bag. Catherine helped him extract a cookie.

"Cookie," he crowed.

"Well, he may not have much of a vocabulary, but he knows what he likes. Like father, like son."

Vincent chuckled, then grabbed another sandwich and took a long pull of beer.

Suddenly, he realized he had not told Catherine the news.

"Agatha has heard from Peter. Father has pneumonia. He thinks we should return the day after tomorrow, after Agatha’s made her delivery. She can drop us closer to the home tunnels."

Catherine nodded, not surprised.

"I’ll bet Peter needs some help keeping Father in bed," she remarked.

"Exactly. He must take it easy for some while. I can sit on him," Vincent promised.

They finished their meal in relative silence, then played with Jacob for a while, until he started to yawn. They put him to bed and then took to their own bed. Both were tired. Catherine spooned herself against Vincent’s back and was asleep in minutes. Vincent followed her soon after.