BEYOND BEGINNINGS - BOOK ONE
Linda Barth

Chapter Ten

"Now don’t forget, Peter, you have to be there no later than eight-fifteen. The first session starts at eight-thirty, and I don’t want us to miss any of it, okay?" Catherine’s voice was warm and pleasant but held a definite undercurrent of tension.

"Don’t worry, honey, I’ll be there. The Hilton, right?"

"Yes, and I’ll meet you in the conference room. If one of us is running late, it would be pointless to wait in the lobby."

Peter chuckled. "Cathy, don’t worry. I will be there. This must really be important for you to be so concerned about punctuality."

"Very funny," she retorted good-naturedly. "Keep it up and you can forget about our bargain!"

"On, no you don’t. I’m going to hold you to that one. I’ve already made reservations for lunch at the Russian Tea Room. I’ll bet you haven’t been there in ages."

"That’s not fair, Peter! When I promised that we could leave the seminar at one o’clock if it didn’t seem to be worthwhile, I didn’t say anything about accepting bribes as an encouragement."

"Just hedging my bets, Cathy," Peter answered with a laugh. "I’ll see you in the morning. You said ten o’clock, didn’t you?"

"Eight-fifteen!"

"Good night, Cathy."

"Good night – and I’m going to call you at six a.m. just to make sure you’re awake!"

Peter smiled as he hung up the phone. Since the time Catherine had been a little girl, he had enjoyed teasing her, but he had never let it get out of control, nor had he taken advantage of her trust and vulnerability. Peter and his wife Janine had been close friends of Charles and Caroline Chandler, and the daughters of the two couples had attended elementary and high school together. Now Susan Alcott was married and living in Santa Fe, and Caroline, Charles, and Janine had all passed away. It was natural that Peter and Catherine regarded each other as family, and during the past year he had come to think of her as a second daughter.

He remembered a recent phone call from Catherine to tell him about seeing a notice posted at work which advertised a seminar on the basics of investment and estate planning, one she was very eager to attend. Although she knew she could rely on the services of her own attorneys, she wanted to provide herself with a rudimentary understanding of the pertinent issues before she met with them. Peter knew of her growing desire to use her inheritance to do something of value for the tunnel community, which might in turn also benefit the city itself. Her enthusiasm and conviction had touched him deeply, and he had volunteered to be a liaison for her between the worlds Above and Below. So when Catherine called him with information about the seminar, he had agreed readily to accompany her.

I certainly admire her determination, Peter reflected as he poured himself a last cup of coffee. When Cathy really wants something, she does everything she can to make sure that nothing stands in her way. Look what she wants to do for the tunnel community. For over twenty years, I’ve been toying with ideas of helping out more, but I’ve never done much about it. She’s known about their existence for barely three years, and she’s already working out actual plans, plans for things that can really make a difference. And I know she’ll succeed, one way or the other.

Shaking his head fondly at the visual image of Catherine convincing Jacob to accept her ideas, Peter strolled back into the living room. He picked up a book he wanted to finish and settled down on a comfortable leather couch. As he opened to the last chapter, his mind lingered for a final moment on Catherine. I can’t wait to tell her about the brownstone, he thought happily. Her face will light up like a Christmas tree! He chuckled softly, remembering her warning to be on time for the seminar. But I’d better start reading if I want to finish this book tonight. I’ll be getting up very early for a Saturday.

In her own apartment across the park from the elegant pre-war building where Peter lived, Catherine also decided to make it an early night. It was only ten o’clock, but the week had been a hectic and demanding one at work, and even the weekend was fully scheduled with activities which wold leave her with very little free time just to relax. As she prepared for bed, she admitted to herself another and probably more valid reason for turning in at what was for her an unusually early hour.

I know if I stay up one more minute, I’ll find a way to convince myself it’s all right to go Below, just for a little while. Then I’ll end up staying for hours and I won’t be able to keep my eyes open during the seminar tomorrow.

With a small, wry smile curving her lips, Catherine climbed into bed and reached out to flip off the light on her bedside table. With every beat of her heart, it seemed her longing for Vincent increased, and it was only with great effort that she calmed the swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her in the otherwise peaceful darkness. And I will see him soon, she told herself joyfully. In less than twenty-four hours, he’ll be here. I just hope he’ll be happy with my plans for the evening…that they won’t make him uncomfortable or upset…

As she drowsed halfway between sleep and waking, Catherine’s thoughts turned toward the previous weekend, to the night of the children’s concert and the following day’s visit to the Chamber of the Falls. In moments the memories had stirred her to full wakefulness. Vincent’s willingness to reveal so much more of his inner self to her. His words, his actions had meant everything. In a few brief hours they had taken tremendous strides forward toward their dream’s fulfillment, and her joy was flawed only by the undeniable possibility that, as was Vincent’s way, their wonderfully satisfying progress could well be met by a time of maddeningly frustrating abeyance.

But maybe that won’t happen this time, she told herself with renewed hope. Vincent has changed. He’s becoming more accepting, more sure of himself, of our being together. And more comfortable expressing our love in ways beyond words..

She smiled and felt her heart begin to race as she recalled the sensation of waking in his arms and the soul-stirring wonderment of his words to her, words that until then she had only been able to dream he might someday say. She had savored those thoughts countless times during the long week they’d spent apart, and it was with reluctance that she forced them from her mind now, knowing that if she didn’t, she might never fall asleep.

Sighing, she rolled onto her stomach and nuzzled her head into the pillows. Yet sleep eluded her. I’ll bet Father was extremely pleased not to see me for an entire week, she reflected as her thoughts took a dark, unwelcome turn. Wait until he finds out I won’t be Below during the weekend either. Everyone in the tunnels will hear him screaming with joy when he gets that bit of news.

Catherine flopped onto her back restlessly and stared up into the shadowy darkness as her thoughts continued. I know I’ll have to find a way to talk to him soon. And it won’t be easy. It’s not as if I don’t have any understanding of his feelings, but how do you explain to someone that what they’ve believed to be the truth for more than thirty-five years, is simply no longer valid, that it never really was… And if the things Vincent has already told him and everything he’s seen with his own eyes haven’t convinced him, then what chance will my words have? But I know I have to find the courage to try – for Vincent, for myself…for all of us…

Sighing once again, Catherine snuggled down into the warmth and comfort of her bed and let her thoughts return only to Vincent. As they surrounded her with love and light, she willingly, eagerly let them lead her into enchanting dreams and peaceful sleep at last.

Below, in his own quiet, dimly lit chamber, Vincent had sensed the provoking undercurrents rippling through Catherine’s heart and mind. He had found them confusing, the alternating waves of elation and dismay, anticipation and apprehension, serenity and uncertainty. The strength of her emotions told him without a doubt that he was at their heart, and several times he had thought to go to her, to discover the cause of her unrest, and offer his help in finding the sense of peace that eluded her. And yet he did not, telling himself that it was obvious she needed to sleep and that he would be with her in just one more day.

Vincent unclasped his ebony cloak and hung it in its usual place in the huge, carved black walnut armoire that stood in an alcove of his chamber. Then upon seating himself at his writing desk, he reached for his journal and pen, opened the well-used book to a blank, white page, and found himself staring distractedly at the flickering shadows cast by candlelight against the rocky walls. His thoughts, as always, hastened to Catherine, but the words seemed beyond his reach.

He missed her terribly with a soul-deep yearning that begged to be fulfilled by seeing her lovely face smiling just for him, feeling her lithe body trembling with desire only for him, hearing the sweet words of love she would whisper to no one but him. And he knew that the real reason he had not gone to her stretched well beyond the honest reality of not wishing to disturb her sleep.

What they had shared at the Chamber of the Falls had both terrified and elated Vincent. Although several days had passed, he still found it astonishing that he had been able to find the words to tell her of his feelings and the courage to risk everything should she have reacted with horror or disgust. He had known deep in his heart that she would not be offended or repulsed by his confession, and yet until her own words had been spoken, he had suffered a torment greater than any other life had inflicted upon him.

He could hear her words still, had heard them reverberating with rapturous joy within his heart since the moment she had uttered them. Smiling, he closed his eyes, envisioning Catherine as she had been that day, living again the incredible glory of her precious declaration.

"In your arms is where I’ll always want to be…I’ve come home, where I’m meant to be…I give you the right…I long for the day when I can hold you and watch over you while you sleep…the joy…safe and content…when we share everything life has to offer…"

Sighing restlessly, Vincent rose to his feet, abandoning his journal for the time being. His gaze flickered once again toward the entryway to his chamber, and he knew it would take only the slightest increase in provocation to send him racing through the tunnels and Above into Catherine’s world, into her welcoming arms. He strode swiftly to the large chest of drawers next to his armoire and withdrew a soft flannel nightshirt from the bottom drawer.

Although he was accustomed to the constant chill of the tunnel air, Vincent always hurried to remove his outer garments and then drop his nightshirt over his head, quickly covering his body from neck to mid-calf. There were no mirrors in his chamber, nor had there ever been. He had lived his entire life in uncompromising awareness of his physical differences. He had no desire to confront the constant reminders he would find thrown back at him by his own inescapable mirror image.

And yet tonight, as he laced the nightshirt closed over his tautly muscled chest, he could not help thinking of Catherine and wondering, should the moment ever come to exist outside his own tormented dreams, what she would truly think upon seeing his body revealed to her. Vincent knew she liked to touch his face and hair and even his hands, that she welcomed his embrace, and enjoyed – even seemed to crave – his kisses. But the reality of his entire body, of all his physical being bared to her trusting eyes, surely, he told himself, she could find no pleasure in that.

As the familiar melancholy thoughts erected their somber fortress around his heart, Vincent, for the first time, found in their once impenetrable mass a single fissure of doubt. He remembered Catherine’s unmistakable happiness when she had awakened in his arms, finding her body entwined with his on the stony cavern floor. Surely then, he realized, she had felt nothing but pleasure. Maybe it could be the same if…

In a heartbeat, Vincent’s tentative happiness faltered, and he felt the old familiar walls of fear regain some of their solidity and strength. Fully clothed, he told himself coldly, my body is not so different from any other man’s. Catherine would find little wrong with that. But for her to see me as I truly am… No, that cannot be. It must not be.

Yet even as he forced himself to accept that terrible promise, he could not ignore the small but unyielding glimmer of hope that told him maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.

Rousing himself from his reverie, Vincent carefully put away his clothing, folding and hanging the garments that could be reworn and depositing those that needed cleaning in a nearby wicker laundry basket. He extinguished all sources of light save for the candle on his bedside table, and then stretched his tall, powerfully built body under layers of blankets and quilts on the spacious bed and settled down to sleep.

At once, Vincent was stirringly aware of Catherine’s gift kept safe beneath the pillows mounded in profusion at the head of his bed. Its fragrance, at once subtle and compelling, never failed to fill him with complex feelings, some easily identified and others less readily understood. Burrowing one large hand beneath the pile of pillows, Vincent withdrew the lacy, heart-shaped object, careful as always not to spoil its delicate beauty with his sharp claws. He held it to his face and breathed deeply of its essence, of its scented voice that whispered "Catherine."

As he had each night since he had first received the treasured gift, Vincent searched for words that could express how deeply moved he had been by Catherine’s cherished offering of love. He remembered how happy she had been when he had thanked her, stumbling shyly over his words in his attempt to convey everything it had meant to him. He had wanted to say so much more, but he could not find the words.

Now as he lay in his bed, cradling the silken pillow in his hands, he looked deep within himself, letting the thoughts of his mind drift free to meld and merge with the voice of his heart. No longer did the words escape him. They sang within him, ready to be offered to his beloved Catherine.

Vincent sat up and gently set the little lacy heart on the bed next to him. He reached for the black and gold lacquer box he kept on a shelf of his bedside table. From within it he removed sheets of writing paper and an old, favorite fountain pen. At once he began to write, and found that the words poured from him so quickly that he could barely inscribe them on the ivory surface before others rushed forward to join them.

An hour passed and Vincent sighed with grateful satisfaction as he read what he had written. At last he had found the words that might help convey the fullness of his heart to the woman he loved more than life itself. He folded the pages of his letter carefully and, after sealing it within an envelope addressed simply "To Catherine," he placed it on the little table, ready to be taken to her the following evening.

A look of quiet contentment relaxed Vincent’s features as once more he settled down to sleep. The night candle on the bedside table had burned low, and its light faltered as the wax guttered and melted away. Lying on his side, Vincent watched as the glow before his eyes flickered and died, its fragile life only a mere fragmented reflection of the flame that would burn forever in his heart.

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

Catherine watched as the clock’s hands inched their way once more around its plain, institutional face. I’ve had about all I can take of this, she told herself decisively. At the next break, I’m definitely leaving, and I doubt very much if Peter will object.

She nudged his arm surreptitiously and leaned a bit closer. "What time are our reservations?" she whispered, trying to smother a smile as the lecturer, only a few feet directly in front of them, cast a reproachful look in their direction.

The woman’s frown did not intimidate Peter in the least, and he turned toward Catherine with a grin. "One-thirty," he whispered back. "I wanted to make sure we avoided the matinee ladies, but it looks like we’ve got one all our own right here."

Shaking her head in mock disapproval, Catherine forced herself to try to pay attention to the droning voice of the investment counselor. If her goal is to make this as boring as possible, Catherine thought, she’s certainly doing an excellent job. Thank goodness the earlier presenters were better. I’m pretty sure I have enough basic information now to help when I meet with my attorneys.

She glanced up at the clock once again. Forty-five minutes to go. I think I can just about last that long – and not a minute longer. A sidelong glance at Peter’s expression told her he undoubtedly shared her thoughts.

The forty-five minutes dragged by until at last Catherine and Peter were able to make their way down to the crowded lobby and out onto the street. "Thank God that’s over with," Catherine said as they headed up Sixth Avenue. "One more minute and I would have fallen fast asleep or started screaming uncontrollably."

"You mean you don’t want to go back after lunch for the afternoon sessions?" Peter teased. "I’m planning on it."

"Well, then you can give me copies of your notes," Catherine answered with a laugh. "Besides, it’s too nice out to even think about staying trapped inside for the rest of the day."

"It is, isn’t it?" Peter agreed, taking in the blue sky and crisp, chilly breeze of the mid-March afternoon. "You can really smell spring in the air."

"I remember my mother saying that when I was little," Catherine replied, "but I was never really sure what she meant. Then, as the years passed, it eventually made sense to me and I knew what she was trying to tell me. She meant that I should be open to everything around me and to learn from even the smallest and most subtle things."

"She was right," Peter told her with a fond smile. "And so are you. You’ve grown up to be a very special lady, Catherine."

"Because I’ve had lots of help," she answered softly, returning his smile as they rounded the corner and turned west onto 57^th Street.

A few minutes later, they were seated at a banquette in the Russian Tea Room, relaxing over white wine while they discussed the menu offered by the colorful, ornate restaurant, and decided from among their favorites. Then, as they enjoyed their lunch, Catherine outlined her plans and asked for Peter’s feedback.

"Your ideas make a lot of sense, Cathy," Peter commented appraisingly, "but how do you plan to present them to Jacob? If you need help, I’d be willing to go with you when you talk to him."

"Thanks, Peter. I appreciate the offer, but I think this is something I should do on my own. I’m not going to say anything at all until I meet with my lawyers and have some tangible information to offer him. I was thinking of giving him several options and getting his ideas about which ones might be most effective. Then, if there are one or two he feels are workable, I guess the next step would be to present them to the Council members for their opinions. I don’t want Father to think I’m trying to force myself on his world, although I suppose that’s exactly what he will think, at least at first."

"That seems like a sound course of action," Peter replied. "When faced with change, Jacob has always been more comfortable if he has all the facts and figures in front of him before he takes any steps. I think you’re wise to approach him in a very practical, straightforward way and to show respect for his position of authority. He’s sure to appreciate that."

"I’m not trying to find ways to manipulate him, Peter," Catherine protested. "I do respect him, and anything I hope to accomplish is going to depend on his acceptance and involvement. I have no illusions that it can be done in any other way."

Peter nodded. "Have you discussed this with Vincent?"

"Only in very vague terms." Catherine sighed and toyed with her empty wine glass. "He knows I have plans that involve my helping others, plans that might exclude my job at the DA’s Office. But beyond that, no, the opportunity to talk further never seems to present itself."

"You’ll need to talk with him before you meet with Jacob," Peter advised gently.

"I know." Her voice trailed away.

"What is it, honey? Is there anything I can do?"

Catherine sighed again. "No, I don’t think so, but thanks… Actually, things have been going really well for the past few months. Vincent and I are closer than we’ve ever been. But I just can’t predict how he’ll react to all this. Somehow I’ll have to find the right time – and the right words – to tell him."

"You will, Cathy," Peter assured her as he reached across the table to pat her hand. "Look at all the two of you have overcome. I hardly think this will stop you."

Catherine smiled tentatively. "I hope you’re right. I know Vincent will see the practical value of my ideas, but they also touch one of his deepest fears – that it isn’t right for me to bind my life to his in ways that would be permanent." She shrugged her shoulders as her smile faded. "Forever exists only in his dreams. He doesn’t see that it has any place in our real lives, in a life together."

"I can’t believe he doesn’t accept the feelings you have for each other," Peter exclaimed, "especially after all you two have been through!"

"That’s not it," Catherine replied quickly. "The problem is that he can’t let go of the belief that a love like ours – all that it is and all that it can become – isn’t meant to be a part of his life." Hesitating, she averted her gaze, nervously twisting the silver bracelet on her wrist.

"Cathy, we don’t have to talk about this if it makes you uncomfortable," Peter offered gently. "I didn’t mean to pry."

"No, it’s all right." She forced a slight smile as she shook her head. "I need to talk to someone like you, someone who knows. I don’t often have that chance."

"You can call on me for that anytime, Cathy. I’ve watched Vincent grow up from the time he was a tiny baby, and I’ve known Jacob longer than just about anyone else I can think of. Now I’m not claiming to be an expert, but whatever I can do to help, you just let me know."

"Thank you, Peter," she replied gratefully. "It really means a lot to me to know there’s someone Above who understands."

Peter’s smile widened, softening his chiseled features. "Will you ever forget the time we discovered that we both were Helpers?"

"Never," Catherine laughed. "I can still see the expression on your face when we met in that warehouse."

"I probably looked just as shocked as you did!" Peter answered as he signaled for the check. "And how about at Winterfest when you had to use that old story about our first meeting so you could prove I was really myself and not Paracelsus in disguise. I have to admit I sometimes enjoy ruffling Jacob’s feathers like that."

Still enjoying their reminiscing, the two old friends left the restaurant and paused for a moment on the sidewalk outside.

"Thanks again for coming with me today, Peter. I wanted you to be sure you had an idea of the responsibilities you offered to take on before you made a full commitment to them. And when I have something definite outlined, I’ll talk with you about my plans before I meet with Father."

"That’ll be fine, Cathy. I’ll wait until I hear from you, and in the meantime if I come up with any ideas, I’ll give you a call. I think it’s a wonderful thing that you’re doing, and I’ll back you up all the way."

They smiled at each other, sensing the warmth that filled their hearts despite the rapidly cooling wind that swirled around them. "What happened to that spring afternoon?" Peter asked with a shiver. "It almost feels like snow."

"I hope not," Catherine answered, casting a worried look at the silvery grey clouds stretching across the pale blue remnants of the late winter day.

"Expecting company tonight?" Peter asked with a knowing twinkle in his eye. Taking Catherine’s grin as a definite yes, he added, "Would you like me to take you home?"

Catherine glanced at her watch as the cab Peter hailed screeched to a halt at the curb. "No, thanks, I think I’ll walk. It’s not that far and I have a few stops to make along the way. I’ll call you soon, Peter, and thanks again – for everything."

"Anytime, Cathy," he reassured her, as with a quick hug, he turned and climbed into the waiting cab.

Catherine waved back at Peter as the cab merged into the rush of traffic, and then she hurried down 57^th Street with thoughts of the evening to come filling her with eager anticipation.

As the cab cut down a side street and turned onto Central Park West, the thought that had been hovering in the back of Peter’s mind throughout the afternoon finally surged into his consciousness. Oh, great – I forgot to tell Cathy about the brownstone! Well, maybe it’s for the better. I can go take another look at it and call her later. We shouldn’t rush into anything prematurely, but the seller is getting anxious and with the real estate market the way it is, there’s no sense in waiting unnecessarily either. And who knows when such an ideal situation will come along again?

Peter leaned forward to speak to the driver. "Sorry, but I’ve changed my mind. Will you drop me off at 74^th Street instead – the northwest corner?"

"No problem," came the laconic reply. "Whatever."

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

On her way home Catherine stopped at a small grocery store and florist in her neighborhood. She had purchased most of the supplies for Vincent’s visit the day before, but found she needed a few last minute items. Laden with a small shopping bag and an unwieldy armful of red and white roses, she waited for the doorman to come to her rescue and let her into the apartment building.

"What beautiful roses, Miss Chandler," he exclaimed as he walked through the lobby with Catherine. "Nothing like fresh flowers to make you think of spring!"

"I know. I couldn’t resist them," she replied with a smile when he held open the elevator doors until she was safely inside. "Thanks for your help."

"That’s okay. Have a nice evening."

I certainly hope to, she thought happily, knowing that any time spent with Vincent had the potential to be so much more than merely nice.

Once in her apartment, she glanced at her watch and noted that she had little more than an hour before she could expect Vincent to arrive. She quickly arranged the roses in two large vases and then headed to the bedroom to shower and change clothes. Just as she was emerging from the bathroom, her wet hair wrapped in a pale blue towel, she heard the phone ring, and, lunging across her bed, she grabbed the receiver.

"Hello?" Her voice was somewhat strained.

"Cathy? It’s Peter. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything."

"No, not really. Vincent will be here in about half an hour, so I was just getting ready. What’s up?"

"I won’t keep you, but I had some important news for you today and – I can’t believe it myself – I completely forget to tell you about it."

Her voice rose in excitement. "Peter, it’s not about the house, is it?"

He laughed softly. "That’s exactly what it’s about. A colleague of mine, Jack Farrell, has had his place on the market for about six months now. It’s a beautiful building, but he was asking way too much for it. Now the thing is, his retirement starts next month and he and his wife already have their new home down in the Keys, so they’re getting anxious. A few days ago he told me that if I’m still interested, he’d be willing to drop the price quite a bit. I stopped by on my way home to take another look at it, and, Cathy, I think this could be it. Do you want to go and see it sometime soon?"

"Yes, I do! But, Peter, all of a sudden everything seems to be happening so quickly. I’m not sure I’m ready, and I know no one else is. I haven’t even mentioned it to Vincent yet."

"Well, there’s no time like the present. And he’s coming to see you tonight."

"Yes, but – "

"Look, Cathy," Peter broke in. "I don’t want to pressure you into making a quick decision if you’re uncomfortable with it. If you’re not sure about this yet, we can wait. Something else will turn up."

"No, that’s not it. I am sure. And if this house seems to be a real possibility, I don’t want to let it slip by for either of us. Why don’t you tell me more about it?"

"It’s just about perfect for our interests. Three floors of living space, plus an attic, a full basement, and a smaller sub-basement below that. There’s a walled garden in the back with some beautiful old trees and rose bushes, even enough room for a couple of small flower beds if we wanted to put them in."

Lingering traces of hesitancy faded from Catherine’s voice. "I love it so far. Where is the building located?"

"On West 74^th between Central Park West and Columbus, close to the park with other brownstones on all sides of it. We’ll have to have an inspection done, of course, but it looks as if it’s in excellent condition. All the floors and woodwork were sanded and refinished a few months ago. There’s a complete security system that we could easily adapt for our specific needs, and the heating and air-conditioning system is brand new. Jack always was a perfectionist and it shows. So, what do you think?"

Catherine sighed softly. "It does sound perfect. I’d love to see it. What night would be good for you?"

"The Farrells are going away for a few days, so how about Wednesday after work? If you’d like, you can come here and I’ll fix us an early dinner. Then we can walk over and meet Jack at the house."

"It must be fate after all." Catherine’s smile was in her voice. "I’ll be in court until one or two on Wednesday, but the rest of the afternoon’s virtually free. I can be there by five-thirty."

"Great!" Peter answered. "But now, Cathy, I want you to be happy with whatever we decide. If you find you don’t like this building, we’ll keep looking until we find one we’re both satisfied with. Don’t go ahead and agree with this one just because you think it’s what I want."

"I won’t," Catherine promised. "And thanks for being so understanding. If this brownstone really is as perfect as it sounds, then we have to give it serious consideration. It’s not the house I’m having doubts about – it’s that I’m not sure how or even what to tell Vincent. He’s just begun to feel comfortable being in my apartment. And the balcony – that’s where we’ve met for over two years. It’s been a very special place for us, somewhere between his world and mine. We’re going to miss it very much."

"There are always risks inherent in any change," Peter answered softly. "But think of all you might gain by this. It could open up whole new worlds for both of you."

"I know." Catherine sighed again, impatient with herself. "Everything you’ve said is true, and I have thought about it a lot. But I still haven’t figured out the best way to tell Vincent what we’re planning."

"Just tell him you’re going to move in with a dashing older man," Peter joked. "That should get an interesting response!"

Catherine laughed, feeling her tension ease somewhat. "Yes, I’m sure it would. And if I don’t hurry, he’ll be here and I’ll still be in my bathrobe with a wet towel wrapped around my head. That's not exactly the look I had planned for tonight."

"I’ll let you go then, and I’ll see you on Wednesday. But seriously, honey, if there’s anything I can do to help, just give me a call."

"I will, Peter, thanks. And I just thought of something else. Jenny is going to drive up to Westport with me tomorrow for the birthday party Nancy and Paul are having for their daughter. I can find out if she’s really serious about her interest in my apartment. Isn’t it strange the way everything seems to be falling into place?"

"It sounds to me like it’s one of those things that’s meant to be," Peter agreed. "Now have a nice evening. Tell Vincent I said hello."

"I will. Good night, Peter."

For a long time Catherine remained where she was, lost in contemplation of what might come to pass. Finally she jumped to her feet and hurried to finish her preparations. "I’ll find the right words somehow," she murmured aloud as she opened the closet door and reached for the clothing she had planned to wear. Minutes later, clad in a sweater dress of soft periwinkle blue angora, she entered the kitchen with Peter’s words echoing in her mind. She spoke them aloud, taking strength from the sound of her own voice repeating the words as if in prayer. "One of those things that’s meant to be…"

As she carried a picnic basket into the living room, she paused and looked toward the glass doors that led to the balcony. Beyond the open curtains she could see the sky had darkened to night, and she knew that in brief moments Vincent would be there. She completed her final tasks quickly, then looked in satisfaction at the candlelit room. Only one last thing remained to be done, and just as Catherine set a match to the kindling in the small marble fireplace, she heard the soft, familiar tapping that to her was sweeter than all music.

"Vincent!"

She ran to the glass doors and flung them open. The cold wind rushed in, billowing his ebony cloak around his body and flickering the flames of the glowing candles Catherine had placed about the room. As if suspended in time, they gazed at one another, mesmerized by the sight each found more beautiful than any other imaginable. At last Vincent stepped forward to cross the threshold into Catherine’s world. Reaching back to pull the doors shut behind him, he forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, and then found himself entranced anew by the sights before him.

Soft firelight cast quivering patterns of light and shadow throughout the rose-scented room, at once illuminating and concealing the soft down comforters and richly textured pillows Catherine had arranged on the floor by the fireplace. Candlelight glimmered like starbursts from innumerable points around them. From tabletop and mantel, book shelf and floor, each small flame mirrored and reflected light within its crystal holder, transforming the elegant simplicity of the room to a world of enticing expectations, a place where promises both familiar and as yet undiscovered beckoned and invited them in.

Catherine looked up at him, her heart racing as she saw the awe and delight in his eyes, and found she could no longer bear to be even a heartbeat away. She reached out, drawing their bodies together in perfect and gentle harmony, and felt his arms encircle her, cradling her as if he held an exquisite treasure in his arms.

Vincent’s gaze flickered from the glimmering room to Catherine’s glowing eyes, and he felt each spark and surge of light feed the fire he held within. "It is so beautiful, Catherine," he murmured. "All of this and you…a world of dancing light."

Infinitely pleased by his reminiscent words and evident happiness, Catherine tilted her head back, inviting his kiss to her parted lips. With an excruciating slowness that left her weak with wanting, Vincent lowered his mouth to hers, taking them to a place where only heat and light and softly whispered words of love existed. Yet all too soon they moved apart, trembling slightly at the sensations that had quickly fanned to flaring life within them.

Vincent’s powerful hands shook as he reached to unclasp his cloak. As it slid from his body, he watched Catherine gather the heavy fabric into her arms and unconsciously nuzzle her face into its wool and leather folds, breathing deeply the evocative scent of the garment that was so much a part of him. Her instinctive action stirred him, sending heated filaments of pleasure vibrating through his body, its restless energy racing outward from his heart to spark responses that both scared and excited him.

He turned away from her for a moment and drew in a deep, cool breath of air, hoping to feel its shuddering waves soothe him. When he looked back at her and began to speak, his voice was low but controlled, revealing little of the sweet chaos that still simmered in his darkened eyes.

"Catherine, all you have done – it is…amazing."

Smiling, she draped his cloak across a couch and then led him to the place she had arranged for them before the fire. In a graceful motion, she knelt upon a thick comforter and offered her hand to him, drawing him downward to sit next to her. As he leaned back slightly against a pile of velvety cushions, she reached for a large, covered wicker basket that had rested nearby but unnoticed.

"I thought we could have a picnic tonight, Vincent, an indoor picnic to celebrate the arrival of spring."

"Yes," he answered softly, forcing himself to relax as he watched Catherine take several items from the basket and arrange them within their reach.

Catherine unwrapped a linen napkin to reveal several small slices of moist, golden brown cake, and then placed them next to a fluted glass bowl that held a glistening mound of fresh, ripe strawberries. From within the cool depths of a clay container, she withdrew a chilled bottle of white wine and poured the gleaming liquid into a pair of crystal glasses. Reaching into the basket once again, she removed a thin volume of poetry and smoothed the glossy ribbon that trailed from between its pages, marking a passage she wished to share with him, before setting it aside near the fire.

Her preparations completed, Catherine looked up at him. Her expectant, tremulous smile made her appear unexpectedly shy, and the endearing sight filled Vincent’s heart both with thankfulness and a fierce desire to cherish and protect her all the days of their lives.

Catherine leaned forward to pick up the wine glasses and offered one to him. He held it carefully in his large hand and then, mirroring her gesture, tilted its rim to touch her glass with a tiny clinking sound.

"To us, Vincent," she said softly. "To our happy life."

He nodded solemnly but a small smile softened his mouth. "To our happy life."

Catherine felt her heart beat hard and fast at his obvious enjoyment and acceptance of her plans for the evening. Knowing he would find the intimate atmosphere both pleasing and disturbing, she’d worried that he might make excuses to leave, denying them any and all possibilities the night might bring. Now with him sitting close enough to touch, sipping wine and gazing into the fire, she let herself believe that everything might be all right after all.

She reached into the basket once again and withdrew two small, white porcelain plates. After putting a slice of cake and several strawberries on each, she handed one to Vincent. She smiled as she watched him take a bite of cake and then comment that it tasted delicious.

"Does it taste familiar to you?" she asked.

"Yes, it does," he answered, "but I can’t identify it. Is it something I should recognize?"

Her smile widened. "Well, I’d hoped you would because then I’d know that I’d made some real progress in my cooking skills."

"It really is delicious, Catherine," he reassured her quickly. "And you made it yourself?"

Her smile became a laugh as she nodded her head. "Yes, I did. And I don’t blame you at all for being surprised. I got the recipe from William. He told me it was one of your favorites and he explained the directions to me, but I still wondered if it would be recognizable after all."

"You asked William for a special recipe? You would do that for me…"

The incredulous pleasure in his voice brought a glistening of tears to her eyes. "Yes, I did it for you. And I would do so much more if you’d let me."

He bowed his head for a moment, shaken by all she had offered and all he wished he could accept. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers. "Thank you, Catherine," he whispered. "Everything you do, everything you are, is a gift beyond measure."

Without further thought, they moved closer together, resting against the pillows side by side. For many minutes they enjoyed their light meal and shared quiet conversation, content to bask in the nurturing warmth of their love. Sensing the time was right, Catherine gathered her thoughts to tell him of the changes she’d planned for her life, changes that could bring greater happiness than either had ever known.

She set their plates and glasses to one side and sat up a bit straighter to look into his eyes. "Vincent," she began carefully, "do you remember several weeks ago when I started to tell you some of the ideas I have about making changes in my job?"

A small, enticing smile curved his lips. "I remember everything you have ever told me, Catherine, but even if we hadn’t talked at all, I will never forget that night."

Instantly sharing his memory and meaning, she raised her hand to trail one finger along his full lower lip. "Neither will I," she answered, her voice soft and warm. "Never."

With a final light caress, she let her hand drift back to her side, knowing that if they continued, she might easily set aside all the things she longed and needed to tell him.

Unaware of the deep breath she took, she began again. "Vincent, I know you understand how important it is for me to use my training and skills to help people in need, people who could benefit from some of the things I’m able to offer them." She paused as he nodded his agreement. "Since the focus of my job was altered, I’ve been able to do this to a far greater extent, and it’s been very fulfilling. But for quite a while now, I’ve felt that my skills might be put to better use outside the confines of the DA’s Office."

Vincent listened carefully, trying to follow the tenuous thread of her words, but he could not ignore the flicker of fear that haunted him still. His voice held a forced calmness. "You would like to make greater changes to your job, Catherine? Perhaps find another position elsewhere?"

She was quick to reassure him. "Yes, but not away from New York. I won’t leave you, Vincent. Never again."

A shuddering sigh escaped his lips and he leaned closer to her. "Then your plans would keep you here, close by in the city?"

She smiled. "Yes, very close. I have a lot of ideas – not all of them fully thought out yet – but what I’d like to do is leave the DA’s Office and offer my services instead to your world, to work together with all of you to help support the wonderful community you have created." She waited for his reaction, which came in an instant, full of complex undercurrents within a wave of transparent joy that even his innate sense of caution could not fully contain.

Vincent swallowed hard. "What are these plans that would bring you to my world, Catherine? Will you tell me of them?"

"Yes, of course, I will, although I still need time to work on them. Basically, I’d like to help out more Below in many ways. I thought I could teach a class or two on a regular basis, maybe help Father with his research and record-keeping. But beyond that, I hope to offer some financial support, such as a scholarship fund to aid the older children and the children of Helpers who want to go to college but can’t afford the tuition and fees."

Her jade green eyes gleamed with enthusiasm that Vincent, despite all his misgivings, found impossible to resist. "And I thought, too, that I could set up a series of investments, channeling the profits into a kind of trust fund that could provide money for special materials or emergencies, like the recent problem with the food supplies. I wouldn’t be on my own in this. I’ve talked to Peter and he’d love to help out, especially as a liaison between Above and Below."

Vincent took a deep breath, hearing his own voice ask straightforward questions in a surprisingly calm, even voice, while within his heart he felt a storm of conflicting emotions. "Was that your reason for attending the seminar with Peter yesterday? To obtain more information about this?"

"Yes," Catherine replied. "We had to get some basic legal and financial information in order to start working on the proposals. We don’t want to make any mistakes…which brings me to a question I need to ask you. Do you think any of this will be acceptable to the Council – and to Father?"

"It’s difficult to say," Vincent answered carefully. "Your ideas certainly have merit, and Father will appreciate that. But perhaps it would be best if all your plans are organized and outlined before you mention them to anyone else."

Catherine laughed in agreement. "Peter said the same thing! I know Father will have some serious doubts and concerns about my ideas, but I hope more than anything that he will accept at least some of them. Do you really think it’s possible?"

For just a moment hope overrode all doubts and fears. "Anything’s possible, Catherine."

Even as she returned his quiet smile, she knew she had to voice an even greater fear. "And you, Vincent, how do you feel about it? Are you willing to have me as a part of your life in this way?"

Conflicting emotions collided in his heart and mind, making speech impossible, and for many moments he hesitated. Then looking carefully into her eyes, he began to speak. "To have you with me in my world is more than I have ever hoped for. Every moment that we share is a precious gift, and to think that we might work together, side by side, for days at a time, is almost unimaginable. The joy I feel tells me to do everything I can to help you – to help us make this dream come true. Yet underneath the joy, I cannot help but hear the questions and the doubts."

With a harsh gasp, Catherine reached out to him, impulsively grasping the edges of his leather vest tightly in her fists. "You can’t doubt my love for you!"

"No, Catherine," he answered immediately, his voice rasping across her nerves but soothing her nonetheless. "Never that!" With gentle strength he reached for her hands and drew them to his mouth, calming her turmoil with a tender kiss to each palm before lowering them to rest in her lap, their fingers still entwined. "What I doubt isn’t our love, but the wisdom and rightness beyond your beautiful and generous dream. Is it truly right – is it truly what you want – to further bind your life to my world, knowing that in doing so you will exclude possibilities open to you in the world Above, in your rightful world?"

His resonant voice grew deeper still. "It doesn’t matter whether or not I want this. You must not think of me, Catherine, you must do what is right for you. I will never deliberately try to control you or direct your life…but if this is truly what you wish, then I will do everything I can to help you attain it. Still I beg you to consider my words carefully. Look deep into your heart before you take this step."

Her reply was unhesitating, her voice full of certainty and love. "I do look deep into my heart every time I look at you. I want nothing more than to join my life more closely with yours. Everything your world stands for seems so right to me. It’s the way I long to live. Those are the possibilities I seek. And as for my rightful world – it exists with you. Wherever you are, that is my world, Vincent, only with you."

Overwhelmed by words he’d dreamed of, yet never truly expected to hear, Vincent was willingly lost in a new world of light and wonder. For now his fears and doubts held no power at all, and their screams of warning were silenced. The voice of Catherine’s heart was all that mattered.

Pulling her into his arms, Vincent sighed, gliding his mouth across the shining softness of her hair. "Oh, Catherine," he murmured, "Catherine…" No other words were needed, and for many minutes they lay quietly nestled together, feeling their hearts beat in perfect harmony, carrying them closer to the dreams they cherished.

With a contented sigh, Catherine leaned away slightly from Vincent’s embrace and stretched out an arm to reach for the little volume of poetry she had removed from the picnic basket. "Vincent, I found a poem I wanted to read to you tonight. But now I’m not sure if I really want to bother with it if it means I have to move." She smiled at him as she pushed herself into a half-sitting position, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction at his hesitation before he let her go.

Despite his reluctance to be separated even slightly from Catherine, Vincent felt an underlying sense of relief as well. While he had basked contentedly in the glowing warmth of their bond, he had become aware of another wave of heat suffusing his body with increasing insistence. And although he could admit secretly to that its allure enticed him strongly, he was still disturbed by deep-rooted doubts and fears that such feelings were not right for someone such as he. Deliberately pushing the thoughts aside, he concentrated on Catherine and the poem she wished to share with him.

She had found the pages marked by the silken ribbon but then hesitated, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. It was such a reversal of roles for them, she realized. He had so often sought a poet’s words to convey his feelings for her, while she had always found it far easier than he to simply speak aloud the words of her heart. Yet this poem was perfect, its voice so attuned to her own that it was impossible to ignore.

Knowing he was waiting for her to go on, she looked up from the pages and began to speak. "It’s a poem by Amy Lowell, but I feel as if I could have written the words myself. It shows the way I always feel when I have to leave you and return to this world alone. As soon as I discovered the book in Mr. Smythe’s store, I knew I had to share it with you." She tilted her head at him as an amused smile teased her mouth. "And to be perfectly honest, I intended to use it to help convince you if you’d disagreed with all my new plans."

Vincent had followed the rippling currents of Catherine’s emotions within their bond, but in listening to her words, he found himself filled with an even deeper understanding of just how much this all meant to her. More than anything he wished he could do far more than offer his support to the plans and ideas she had revealed to him. With a depth of feeling that shook him to the soul, he realized he wanted even more from himself – and from her. He longed to ask her to come and live with him, to stay with him in his world, transforming it to a new and beautiful world they could share forever. And in the deepest reaches of his heart, he knew what her answer would be, should he ever find the courage to ask the question.

Twice Catherine had asked that he let her come to live in his world, and twice he had refused her. For this most precious of dreams to someday become a beautiful reality, their wishes must be transformed into words, and he knew the words must come from him. Yet he knew, too, that they might remain forever unspoken.

Suddenly realizing Catherine was awaiting a response from him, he managed to find his voice. The poem. It might be a beginning… "Catherine, will you read the poem to me?"

She nodded and sat up a little straighter against the mounded pillows. "It’s called ‘The Taxi,’" she told him softly and then began to read.

"When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?"

Her eyes were clear and glistening with tears as she looked up at him. "It’s a question I ask myself every time we part. Why should I leave you, Vincent, why?"

"Oh, Catherine…Catherine…" His voice was husky with suppressed tears. "Like you, the poet’s words echo in my heart each time we’re torn apart."

She dropped the slender volume to cradle his beloved face in her hands. "Then we must answer her question. And there’s only one answer that makes any sense at all. I can no longer find any reason for us to be parted, Vincent, no reason at all… Can you?"

"No," he whispered, aching to believe the truth in that simple word and all the possibilities it implied. "At night," he continued softly, treasuring the sensation of her hands gently touching his face, "when I am alone, there is hardly a moment when I don’t think of you, dream of you. And your gift to me, the scented pillow you made for me, I keep it close always when I lie in my bed, and your essence fills my heart and my dreams."

As he spoke, Catherine had continued to stroke her hands across his cheekbones and forehead, into the rough silk of his hair. But with each word he spoke, she felt her hands tremble, and with a soft moan low in her throat, her fingers tightened convulsively in his honey bronze mane and she began to urge him closer.

For just a moment he hesitated, ablaze with the desire to gather her tightly in his arms, and then he reached gently for her hands and pulled back slightly. Trusting she would understand his struggle to maintain a sense of control, he continued to speak. "But, Catherine, I’d never found the words to tell you what your gift has meant to me, until last night when I wrote them in a letter to you. I would like to read it to you."

His hope, his dreams were revealed in his eyes in an unguarded rush of need, and Catherine gasped at the intensity he had seldom let her see. "Yes, Vincent, please," she whispered breathily.

Without moving farther from her side, he reached into an inner pocket of his vest and withdrew a small sheet of fine ivory vellum. "I’ve written many letters to you, Catherine, letters I’ve never let you see because they reach too deeply into my heart and soul. But now I think I’ve been…wrong to withhold them from you. I hope someday to place each one in your hands…"

He looked down at the paper he’d unfolded in his hands, and sensed the tears that filled Catherine’s eyes as he began to read aloud the words and wishes of his heart.

"My dearest Catherine,

For many weeks I have searched for words that would express the feelings that your beautiful gift has evoked in me, feelings of deep and profound gratitude and love. It is beyond all belief that you have created such a gift for me, a gift whose voice speaks of things I’d never thought to hear, never expected to know except in my most secret dreams. For that alone you would possess my heart as surely as I treasure this silk and lace symbol of all I hold dearest in the world.

Yet, my dearest Catherine, you must know that in giving this most precious and intimate gift, you have also offered me entrance to a world of sensation beyond all my imaginings. As I dream of you each night, I am surrounded by the fragrant memory of you, and it calls from me a longing as unstoppable as the tides, a longing to touch you, to hold you in my arms, to cherish and adore you forever. And with every breath I take, I pray that someday we will move beyond dreams to share the joy that you offer, the joy that I long to accept.

 
Forever,

Vincent"

The little sheet of paper was lost in crumpled disarray, crushed between their bodies as they came together in a heated rush fed by long-held desires that had at last been given voice. Their kisses grew more passionate than ever before. It was as if there had never existed a whisper of doubt or denial, but only a soul-deep belief in the rightness of the desire that was so much a part of their love for each other.

Parting only long enough to draw a frantic, shuddering breath, Vincent stared into Catherine’s eyes, then recaptured her mouth, reeling with the sweet, moist heat and rhythmic pulsing motion. He knew he could drown in the taste of her, eagerly opening his lips to the almost frantic movement of her searching tongue, and urging her deeper, closer with his mouth and hands and heart.

Clinging to his hard-muscled strength, Catherine rolled onto her back, effortlessly pulling him with her. She moaned as for the first time outside her dreams, she felt the welcome weight of him pressing against her softness. She knew he realized at once that the low, throaty sounds she made were born only of passion and desire, and she trembled deliciously as she heard an answering groan from deep within him.

Again and again, she swept her tongue over his smooth lower lip and up into the uniquely sensitive cleft above, deepening her insistent probing as the delight of their shared sensations burned hotter and higher. She took her breath from the steamy heat of his mouth and then gasped with pleasure as she felt his tongue caress her full, quivering lips and then thrust deeply into her hungry mouth. Over and over he entered her, instinctively foreshadowing what must someday come to be.

The provocative sensations were more than either could withstand, and as one their bodies surged closer together, his pressing downward as if to capture and imbed himself within her, hers arching upwards striving to surround and consume him, both with a single, all-encompassing desire for a union of body and spirit. And as they began to move together, the instinctive heated rhythm became a powerful catalyst that left them trembling on the edge of fulfillment or denial.

With the tattered remains of rational thought, Vincent realized that in moments a decision would be made for them, one he was not yet ready to accept despite his frantic desire to do just that. A groan was torn deep from within his inflamed body and soul as he dragged himself away from the heated haven of Catherine’s body. He lay beside her on the rumpled comforter as their heaving breaths and pounding hearts still raced in unison toward the completion that must remain for now only in their dreams.

Long moments passed until at last they turned toward one another, breathless and shaken, hesitant to join even their trembling hands lest they become lost once again in the passion that promised to await them. Then slowly, gradually, they came together, this time holding one another in sweet and quiet stillness. They knew their time would surely come, and in that precious moment they would be lost and found in one another forever.   

The Essence of Catherine
Peggy Garvin