BEYOND
BEGINNINGS -
BOOK
ONE
Linda Barth
Chapter Eleven
"Absolutely never again! Why I ever agreed to this in the first place is totally beyond me! How did you ever talk me into it, Cathy?"
"Talk you into it?" Catherine laughed. "And exactly when did you start doing what other people tell you to do?"
Jenny found herself unable to suppress a smile. "Well, I suppose you’re right about that. But really, how does Nancy stand it? Another hour with those heathens and I’d have gone absolutely insane. Someone should tell their parents to teach them some manners."
"I have a feeling the look on your face got the message across to most of them."
"Maybe," Jenny agreed, "although a few years in a nice, military preschool would do most of them a world of good. Or better yet, a month or two with my Grandmother Sherwood."
"Jen, didn’t she live with your family the whole time you were growing up? I can’t see that she had any lasting effect on your ladylike behavior," Catherine observed with a grin. "Weren’t you the one who was placed on probation in college for that little episode with Professor Davison’s new Mercedes and a litter of piglets?"
"That was entirely different," Jenny protested. "I was simply making a statement about his anti-feminist ranting, not terrorizing a roomful of innocent adults at the toddler party from hell."
Catherine glanced sideways at her friend’s indignant expression. "The children really weren’t so bad, were they? Just excited about the birthday party. And after all, most of them were only four or five years old. You can’t expect them to sit quietly and play parlor games."
"I didn’t expect them to play dress-up with my new suede jacket either," Jenny retorted. "And look at this sweater! One of the little rugrats managed to grind a handful of chocolate frosting into the sleeve. The dry cleaner will never be able to get it out."
"Well, you should have known better than to wear cashmere and suede to a party for children," Catherine answered. "And besides, little Jessica didn’t do it on purpose. She was really just trying to get your attention."
"Well, she should have finished the cupcake first." Jenny eyed Catherine’s denim skirt and sea green cotton sweater. "And since when did you become an expert on child development, may I ask?"
"I do have other friends with children," Catherine replied carefully. "And I have to admit, they’re all much better behaved than most of the kids at that party."
"Now didn’t someone just say they weren’t misbehaving, they were just excited?" Jenny’s dark glossy curls bounced as she shook her head at Catherine. "I’m sure I heard that somewhere – and I think it was right here in this car!"
"Guilty as charged," Catherine admitted as she flipped the turn signal for the entrance to the East River Drive. "Oh great, look at this traffic!"
Jenny gave only cursory attention to the long lines of cars creeping along the highway. "It’s like this every Sunday about this time," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Of course, workaholics who never go anywhere for fun anymore wouldn’t know these things."
"Are you saying you had fun at the Tuckers’ after all?"
"Don’t get cute, Chandler! That stuff only works in the courtroom. This is me – Jenny – remember?" Jenny’s grin faded as her tone turned more solemn. "Seriously, Cath, are you sure you’re not working too hard? We hardly ever get together anymore."
"I know and I’m sorry about that. Joe’s been really terrific about endorsing all those changes with my job that I requested, but it was up to me make them work. Now things finally seem to be getting under control."
"Then why are you still never home? I get your answering machine almost every time I call, and then half the time you don’t get a chance to call me back. I’m not trying to pry, but I can’t help worrying about you."
Catherine turned toward her friend for a moment and smiled gratefully. "I really appreciate your concern for me, Jen, but I’m fine."
Jenny’s worried expression relaxed somewhat. "You know if you want to talk, I’m always available, don’t you?" When Catherine nodded in agreement, she continued, "So were you surprised to see Buddy at the party? Or had Nancy told you he’d be there?"
"No, she didn’t tell me," Catherine answered quietly, "but I wish she had. He’s called a few times when he’s been in the city, but I haven’t seen him since that party Nancy and Paul had for Rebecca a year and a half ago. It made me really uncomfortable to see him unexpectedly today."
"He seems like a nice guy. Maybe you should give him a chance."
Although Catherine shook her head and didn’t elaborate further, Jenny added teasingly, "Or is the Mystery Man still taking up all your free time?"
A small, secret smile played across Catherine’s mouth, and then to her chagrin she felt her face reddening as images both sweet and stirring flashed through her mind.
"Cathy, you’re actually blushing!" Jenny’s voice was full of surprised amusement. "All right, let’s have it. Come on – I want the whole story, every last fabulous detail!"
"There’s nothing to tell," Catherine demurred, trying to look as if she were concentrating on the virtually motionless traffic. "Really."
"Oh, right. That ‘nothing’ explains why you’re blushing like a teenager on her first date." Jenny sighed dramatically. "But if you don’t want to tell me, it’s all right. Don’t worry about hurting your best friend’s feelings."
"You are totally incorrigible," Catherine replied with a fond smile. "It’s what I like best about you." Her voice took on a serious tone. "And, yes, the Mystery Man, as you call him, is the person I’ve been spending all my time with…Jenny, I really wish I could tell you more about him, but I can’t. Not yet. I hope you can just accept that and know that I wish it didn’t have to be this way."
"It’s all right. I’m not sure I do understand, but I won’t push you. I have a strong feeling that someday I’ll be able to meet him and we’ll become great friends. When the time is right, we’ll know it."
Catherine spoke before she could stop herself. "That’s just what Vinc–"
Jenny smiled. "So, can I at least start referring to him by his real name?"
What harm would it do, Catherine asked herself. Even though it’s such a small step, isn’t is part of what we’ve hoped for – a chance to bring our worlds closer together? And of all people, I think Jenny would understand. No, I know she would. And someday she and Vincent will be friends.
She took a deep breath. "His name is Vincent," she said softly, unaware that even in the mere utterance of his name she revealed a world of love and devotion. "He is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. More loving and compassionate and generous of spirit than anyone could imagine. He has a brilliant mind and, I’m discovering, a wonderful sense of humor. He’s kind and sweet and very, very brave. And he makes me happier than I’ve ever dreamed possible. He is the miracle of my life, Jen."
Catherine felt a tremendous sense of lightness. That she could share with her old and dear friend even a small part of her life with Vincent filled her with elation. It gave a greater sense of reality to the faith and hope she had in the future of the dream that was slowly, beautifully coming to life at last.
"And I think that someday you and Vincent will meet and become great friends," she added. "I feel sure of it."
"I hope so, Cath, I really do," Jenny replied, fumbling in her over-sized shoulder bad for a tissue. "God, why do conversations like this always make me teary? It must be PMS or something."
Catherine shook her head. "No, it’s just you and that big, soft heart you try to hide sometimes."
"Stop it or I’ll be crying all the way to 82nd Street," Jenny warned as she began replacing some of the many items she’d removed from her bag during her search. "Oh, great – I forgot all about this!"
Catherine glanced over to see her friend brandishing an audio cassette as if it were the most hateful object she had ever seen. "What’s wrong?"
"I was supposed to listen to this over the weekend. I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow to discuss a new book about Broadway show music from the fifties and sixties. Most of the songs the book deals with are on this tape, but I haven’t listened to a single one."
"And that’s not exactly your area of interest, is it?" Catherine joked, knowing that Jenny’s taste in music, while eclectic, had never included any affection for show tunes.
"Not at all." Jenny sighed heavily. "In fact, I truly loathe most of them. But do you mind if we listen to part of the tape before you drop me off? I can take some notes for the meeting. It would really be a big help."
"It’s fine with me," Catherine replied. "Actually, I like that type of music. Some of the songs are probably from shows my parents saw when they were first married. I remember my mom playing original cast albums when I was just a little girl."
"Well, I’m glad someone will enjoy this," Jenny muttered as she popped in the cassette and adjusted the volume.
In moments Catherine’s small car was filled with the sounds of well-known songs from a variety of famous productions. As they played one after the other, Catherine found that her enjoyment helped dissipate some of the stress of driving in heavy city traffic. She knew that Jenny, however, did not share her enthusiasm, and was not surprised to see her snap her notebook shut several minutes later and reach for the eject button just as they finally turned off the highway into the East 80’s.
"Oh, Jen, wait a minute," Catherine said. "Don’t turn it off yet. I’ve always liked this one."
"All right, but this is the last one." Jenny smiled indulgently and added, "Thank goodness we’re only a few blocks from my building!"
The familiar strains of a song from "Kismet" floated from the speakers, the soprano’s voice telling tales of the wondrous man she loved, and as Catherine listened to the evocative lyrics, she found they had taken on a very personal meaning.
"Dawn’s promising skies,
Petals on a pool drifting.
Imagine these in one pair of eyes,
And this is my beloved.
Strange spice from the south,
Honey through the comb sifting.
Imagine these in one eager mouth,
And this is my beloved.And when he speaks,
And when he talks to me –
Music, mystery.
And when he moves,
And when he walks with me,
Paradise comes suddenly near.
All that can stir,
All that can start,
All that’s for the heart’s lifting.
Imagine these in one perfect one –
And this is my beloved."The lovely song ended just as Catherine found an unexpected parking space right in front of Jenny’s building. Still lost in the music’s enchantment, she automatically pulled into the space and sat very still, smiling bemusedly and staring at nothing at all.
"Cathy?" Jenny’s knowing voice broke into Catherine’s alluring daydream. "Did you just hear some amazing subliminal message in that song, or can I safely assume that your Vincent has gorgeous blue eyes, a sexy voice, a fabulous body – and he’s one hell of a world class champion kisser?"
Catherine turned to her friend, the slightly wicked smile on her lips and the sparkle in her eyes providing an unmistakable answer. "All that, Jen, and much, much more."
"Well, no wonder you want to keep him all to yourself. I’d do the same thing!" Jenny laughed appreciatively. "And if a silly, old song can get to you like that…" She got out of the car and then turned back to add, "Call me later in the week, okay, or whenever you make a decision about your apartment and the brownstone Peter’s showing you. I have to admit I was a bit skeptical at first, but you know, I think it would work out really well for all of us. I know I’d love to move out of this place! Just let me know how everything goes, will you?"
"I will," Catherine promised. "Take care."
Jenny paused on the sidewalk as she watched her friend maneuver the small car back into the traffic that still moved steadily even through the quiet residential neighborhood. Now I really can’t wait to meet Vincent, she told herself. And when I do, maybe some of those odd dreams I’ve been having about Cathy will finally start to make sense. With that thought she walked toward the front door of her apartment building, an enigmatic smile lighting her face.
This weekend has gone so well, Catherine reflected as she finally turned onto her own street and drove down the ramp to the underground parking garage. It’s been nearly perfect.
After carefully setting the alarm and locking her car, she headed toward the elevator that would take her up into her building. As she glanced at the antique watch on her wrist, she was surprised to find that it was only six o’clock. Quickly making her decision, she pushed the button for the sub-basement, and moments later her quick footsteps led her unerringly into the tunnel world.
Although she realized that by now Vincent would be far away from the home chambers, Catherine found her heart racing with anticipation as she made her way deeper into his realm. Moments later, she met the expected sentry and greeted him warmly. "Hi, Matt! How are you?"
"Catherine! It’s good to see you, but I’m kind of surprised. You knew Vincent was taking some of the kids on a camping trip with Jamie and Mouse, right? They won’t be back for a couple of days."
"Yes, I knew about it. But this time I’m here to see Father. He’s not expecting me, but I had some free time and there’s something I want to discuss with him. Do you think he’ll be in his chamber?"
"That’s probably where he is, but there’s one way to find out for sure," Matt answered agreeably as he pulled a small piece of copper tubing from his tunic pocket. "We can send him a message on the pipes and say you’re on your way to see him."
"No, don’t do that!" Catherine said hurriedly. "I think I’d like to surprise him this time."
"Okay," Matt answered, trying not to look as bewildered as her response had made him feel. "My shift here is over, so I’ll walk part of the way with you, if you’d like."
Catherine smiled her agreement, and they continued onward in pleasant conversation until they reached the juncture in the network of tunnels where Matt would turn off. He paused to ask, "Can you find your way all right from here? It’s not far now – no more than a five minute walk – and if you get confused, you’re sure to find someone who can help."
"I’ll be fine," she assured him. "I know where we are. It was nice having a chance to talk with you, Matt."
"Same here, Catherine. Maybe I’ll see you again before you leave."
As Catherine followed the familiar rock and brick passageways, she found herself slowing her steps as small but insistent spirals of doubt invaded her enthusiasm and determination. This probably isn’t the smartest thing to do, she worried belatedly. I promised I’d have all my plans organized and that I’d go over them with Peter and Vincent before approaching Father.
Nearly at the entryway to Father’s study, she stopped and leaned against the rough wall. I’m not going to do this. Not now. If I just rush in there full of indefinite ideas, I’ll spoil any chance I might have for him to consider my plans seriously and calmly. For once, I’ll just have to be patient. It’s for the best.
Surprisingly, Catherine had not met anyone in the tunnels since she’d left Matt, and now she glanced about to see if anyone else had become aware of her presence there. She felt a rush of relief to discover the area was deserted, and then smiled as she realized that, unlikely as it seemed, for once she was eager to leave the tunnel world. With a quick turn, she began to retrace her steps and then made a quick decision to take a side tunnel she knew to be a shortcut. She veered off down the appropriate corridor – and within seconds came face to face with Father.
He gasped in surprise. "Catherine! This is quite unexpected. What brings you Below this evening? Vincent is away on that camping expedition, you know."
"Yes, I know. He told me about his plans. It sounded very enjoyable," she answered, playing for time. "He’ll be back in a day or two, won’t he?"
"Not until Tuesday," Father replied and then added hastily, "Not that I intended to imply that you’re welcome here only at Vincent’s invitation, of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you, my dear."
Catherine struggled to keep the turmoil in her heart from being reflected in the expression on her still smiling face. Father’s unexpected words of welcome had disconcerted her further, and for a moment she hesitated, uncertain of what to say in response. Making a lightning-quick decision to take him at his word, she summoned her original feelings of courage and conviction. "Actually, Father, I came to see you."
"To see me?" His eyebrows rose in surprise before he quickly regained his usual composure. "Then come along. We’ll be much more comfortable in my study." The even tone of his voice revealed none of the trepidation that he felt stir to life within him.
After accepting a cup of fragrant, steaming tea, Catherine seated herself opposite Father at the little table typically used for games of chess. Once again her doubts seemed to scream out a warning, but she struggled against them, searching for the words which seemed frustratingly out of reach. Caught up in the growing turmoil of her thoughts, she was unaware she was being covertly observed.
How like Vincent she appears, Father mused uneasily as he stirred his tea and pretended not to notice her uncharacteristic behavior. What can it be that disturbs her so, and why does it concern me instead of my son?
The tension between them grew in palpable waves, prompting Catherine to turn toward Father and speak at last. "Father, there is something I’d like to discuss with you, but I have to admit I’m not entirely prepared for it. I’m afraid my enthusiasm got the best of me, and I came here without thinking it through thoroughly enough. Maybe it would be better for everyone if we let it go for now and talked about it another time."
He forced a quick, tight smile. "Now, Catherine, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Surely you don’t intend to simply leave it at that?"
To cover her dismay Catherine tried to return his smile. Wishing she had never followed the impulse to come Below this evening, she answered, "No, I suppose not. And despite what you might think from the way I’m behaving, I have given this subject a great deal of thought. I had intended to wait until I could present something to you in writing, offer some well-organized plans for you to consider. I really shouldn’t just talk to you about it like this before the time is right."
"Forgive me, Catherine," Father broke in with a frown. "But I have absolutely no idea of what you’re trying to say."
This time her smile, although small, was not forced. "Which is perfectly understandable since I haven’t made myself clear at all." She paused and took a deep breath. "What I’m finding so difficult to say is that I would like to take on a more active role as a Helper to everyone Below. I have some ideas which – with your approval and that of the Council, of course – could ease some of the problems you’ve been having."
Although he realized he could not yet know the path her words would follow, he felt icy shards of fear slice at his outward composure, a purely visceral reaction that circumvented all his intellectual fortitude. Aware that Catherine was awaiting his reply, he forced himself to speak calmly. "I’m sorry, my dear, but I still don’t follow you."
Taking another deep breath, Catherine continued, "You’re probably aware that I’m fortunate to be very comfortable financially. My father invested his money wisely, and I’m his only heir. There’s a sizable income that could be – that should be – put to better use than simply collecting interest and making a profit for the people who manage it."
She paused and in the ensuing silence found it impossible to assess his reaction to her words. "Father, I would like to offer some financial support to your community. I haven’t yet worked out the details and I still need to meet with my attorneys to draw up a written proposal, but I do have several ideas about it. I’ve talked with Peter and he seems to think they might be workable." She waited once more, and felt his ominous silence set her nerves on edge and begin to erode all her newly regained strength and spirit. "I realize it’s all just in the beginning stages right now, but may I tell you about some of my ideas?"
"No." The ice-sharp bite in his voice underscored his frigid stare. "No, you may not."
"Father?" The rush of fear in her voice made it sound foreign to her ears. "But why not?"
In an instant the implacable ice in his eyes was consumed by flames. "Why not? You dare to ask why not?" he hissed. "How can you even think of such a thing!"
Catherine had expected him to be taken aback, initially displeased and even resentful at first of her generous offer, but this seething anger held an irrational edge she had not anticipated, one that she found more frightening than she could have ever imagined. Keeping her voice deliberately soft and calm, she began again. "Father, I didn’t mean to upset you. I–"
It was as if she had not said a word.
"Who do you think you are to come to me with ideas such as these! Do you think we have existed all these years only waiting for someone like you to come Below and try to alter our lives? To question all we have achieved on our own, simply because you have the power to offer material riches?" His eyes had darkened to the color of icy seas, infinitely deep and dangerous. "We have no need of your money – nor of you."
The terrible cruelty of his words brought sudden tears to Catherine’s eyes. She felt the burning sensation reach straight to her heart, and it suddenly roused in her a fiery anger equal to Father’s cold rage.
"You misunderstand me, Father. Although perhaps that in itself is quite deliberate. You must know I have no wish to impose my ideas or my will on you. I have seen the hardships you’ve faced, especially this winter, and whether or not you choose to believe me, I want only to help you, to make life a bit easier for those who need assistance."
"No one has asked for your help, Catherine."
"You’re right. No one has," she acknowledged with an abrupt nod. "But I am offering it. Isn’t one of the basic principles of this community to give and accept help when it’s needed?" She gasped harshly and fell silent, horrified to realize her own words had provided him with the one weapon that could inflict the greatest damage on her heart and soul.
His smile transformed his familiar face to that of a stranger, sinister and menacing. "That is correct, Catherine. It is a basic principle of our community to give and accept help as it is needed. What you seem to have forgotten is that you are not truly a member of our world."
Fresh tears welled in her eyes and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. Shuddering, she tried to find the words she needed, but none would come. Then without warning, the bond that joined her heart so miraculously to Vincent’s gave her the answer she sought. So clearly that it almost seemed he stood beside her and spoke the words close to her ear, she heard his voice and absorbed the courage he shared with her.
Then, suddenly realizing that the terrible turmoil of her emotions has rushed toward him through their bond, she summoned a further strength of will, and when she spoke again, her voice was calm and steady. "No, Father, what you seem to have forgotten is that I am a member of this community. You proclaimed it yourself at Winterfest over a year ago." She raised a slightly trembling hand toward him, as much to forestall his reply as to shield herself from the heated anger that still burned in his eyes. "But let’s not play word games any longer. Neither of us will gain by them, and we’ll only hurt each other more. I’m sorry that I upset you. That was not my intention when I came here tonight. I only wanted to extend a gift to you, but I can see that this is not the time to discuss it."
She sighed, suddenly terribly tired. "Maybe it is all my fault. I knew this wasn’t the right way to go about it, but I got carried away by what I thought could be something very positive and welcome. I spoke without thinking, and for that I do apologize." She gazed steadily at him and waited for his response. It was not long in coming.
His voice sounded old and worn. The fire that had raged so harshly had disappeared entirely, leaving ashes in its place, cold and dark and grey, without power or weight. "I, too, am sorry, Catherine. I had no right to attack you as I did. Your words…
frightened me. They touched upon things you have no way of knowing, and I was blinded by my anger and pain. But that is no fault of yours, and I must ask your forgiveness for my actions and for my words. I did not truly mean what I said."
"Of course," she answered softly, as her mind raced with new depths of awareness. I understand more than you realize, Father, she told herself in sad silence. I think I do know how deep your fears reach and how horribly you’ve been hurt. But I’m not like the one who hurt you. I’m not like her.
He had turned away when he’d finished speaking but now forced himself to look back at her, despite knowing his eyes still revealed the fractured emotions that clawed at his heart and soul. "Perhaps, Catherine, we can speak of your ideas at another time," he suggested quietly.
"Yes, I’d like that very much," she answered. She found her hurt and anger had ebbed almost entirely as she took in his painfully tattered composure and saw the vulnerability he worked so hard to disguise. Trying as best she could to further dissipate the dense cloud that surrounded them, she added, "I see I really should have listened to Peter. He told me the best way to approach you would be with sheets of facts and figures, not tentative ideas."
Father smiled gratefully. "He said that, did he?"
"Well, maybe not in those exact words, but that was his point. And, as we both know, I chose to ignore it." She managed to return his smile. "Do you think I should take his advice next time?"
Father nodded briskly, regaining some of his familiar control. "Yes, I think you should. And, Catherine, I want you to know that I am not entirely averse to your notions. I am willing to at least listen to your presentation of the specific plans. When we sit down and discuss them calmly, I feel quite certain that I shall find they have some merit."
She smiled inwardly. Now that sounds like the Father I know, she told herself.
Catherine rose and set down the teacup she hadn’t realized she’d still clutched in her hand. "I’d better be going now. I have some work to do tonight and I should get started on it."
"Very well, my dear. Shall I call someone to see you out?"
"No thanks, I’ll be able to manage." Catherine felt a subtle pleasure in being able to provide that answer with confidence. "I’ve followed that route so many times with Vincent that I’ll be fine on my own."
Father nodded. "I’ll say good night then," he said, and then called out to her as she turned to leave. "Catherine, about Vincent…"
"Yes? What about him?" she asked, on guard once again.
"These ideas you began to broach with me this evening – have you spoken of them to Vincent?"
Although very tempted to lie, Catherine answered truthfully, "Only to a certain extent."
"And, if I may ask, what was his reaction?"
She looked steadily at him. "Father, I feel uncomfortable discussing Vincent’s opinions and ideas without him being here – but I can say that he was very supportive of everything I’ve told him so far."
The older man knew immediately that she would say nothing further and he surrendered with grace. "Well, then I won’t pursue it. In truth, I should not have asked. However, I do think it best if we do not share tonight’s conversation with him for the time being. It would only upset him unnecessarily, don’t you agree?"
Catherine frowned and shook her head. "I’m not sure I can agree with that. Vincent and I do not keep secrets from one another."
"Not even when it would be for his own good? Surely you can make an exception for his well-being. I’m not suggesting that he never be told, but rather that we wait until the time is right."
Right for whom? Catherine asked silently. I don’t like this at all, but I suppose he’s right. Vincent needs time to think about the things we discussed last night, and this turmoil between Father and me would only force him to take sides. I’m not entirely sure of Father’s motives just yet, but it seems we each have reasons for withholding this from Vincent. But only for now.
"All right," she answered, "but only on the condition that as soon as possible, we will tell Vincent everything, and we tell him together."
"Certainly," he agreed with forced cheerfulness. "Now are you quite sure you don’t need an escort to find your way home? The ways change, you know."
Gritting her teeth, she managed to smile with some degree of sweetness. "I’m very sure, Father. I can find my way. And really, you shouldn’t worry about me. I’m very adaptable. Good night now. I’ll probably see you this weekend."
"Good night, Catherine. Safe journey."
Long after the last vestiges of Catherine’s simmering emotions had hurried her pace through the tunnels and up to the home she still possessed Above, Jacob Wells sat in unquiet contemplation, trying desperately not to face the deep and destructive fears that had assaulted him for more than forty years. Finally, against his will, he moved to the old wooden cabinet that shrouded the remains of another world, concealing them from the life he’d been forced to choose.
His hand shook slightly as he withdrew a tarnished silver frame that housed a faded photograph. Neither the film of dust coating the glass nor the tears that filled his eyes could obscure the image in that aging print. And when he spoke aloud, his voice was so muffled with pain and grief that he heard the word only within a heart that had never truly mended.
"Margaret."
////////////////////
Deep within the earth, near the shores of a subterranean lake, a party of campers rested for the night, tired but content. Having made a final check to be sure everyone was safe and accounted for, Vincent stoked the glowing coals of their waning campfire, and then he, too, settled in for the evening. Thoughts of the night just passed warmed him at once, and as he drifted toward sleep he did not resist the desire to reach out to Catherine, trusting that while their bond could not assuage his restless aching for her, it would at least assure him she was well.
He focused his awareness on her and for many moments felt her emotions flow through him, ebbing and surging over one another with such speed and force that he was left shaken and confused. Lying very still, he deepened his concentration, and found he had to fight with all his strength the urge to run to her and shield her from such terrible turmoil. His breathing grew harsh and irregular until the cruel sound rasped through the damp, silent air to invade Geoffrey’s sleep as he lay curled up nearby.
The child’s soft whimper diverted Vincent’s attention only for a moment, yet it was enough to help him regain a sense of control. Again he focused on Catherine’s emotions and to his vast relief found that the storm had abated, leaving in its aftermath a gentle rippling rhythm. Gone were the bolts of pain and anger that had hurled through him along the channels of their bond, and in their place he found a resurgence of courage and strength. She was well again, and as he felt his heart began to calm and beat in gentler cadence with hers, he let himself relax and float into peaceful repose. His last conscious thought was to reach out to her in reassuring waves of love and understanding, knowing that she would share everything with him upon his return.
////////////////////
A week passed with the lovers kept apart by worlds that seemed to turn in discrete circles, wheeling close only to pivot apart at the last moment. Finally the time came when the force of their love could bridge the expanse between two disparate places, allowing them longed-for moments together. Joyfully, Catherine entered Vincent’s world once again and knew herself to be welcomed and cherished there beyond measure.
Yet all too soon their time had passed, racing out of control, leaving them with so much left undone and unspoken. It was late Sunday afternoon, and as they relaxed together in his chamber, both Vincent and Catherine steadfastly ignored the inexorable ticking of the small mantel clock that rested on a cluttered shelf, its face half-hidden but its voice as loud as thunder.
Catherine snuggled deeper into the pillows at the head of Vincent’s bed and sighed contentedly as she listened to him read aloud a chapter from Dicken’s David Copperfield. She hadn’t opened that particular book since high school and was now enjoying the chance to revisit the well-loved characters as Vincent brought them to life. As she listened, she wondered if he, too, had read the book as an adolescent, perhaps finding in the quiet sorrow of Agnes’s seemingly hopeless love for David a parallel to his own unrequited feelings for Lisa. Her heart ached for the pain he had suffered and she felt a surge of gratitude that the renowned Victorian writer had ended his story with happiness and hope, a hope that had been denied in the story of Vincent’s life until now.
I love the final chapter, she remembered happily. The "beautiful serenity." And to hear Vincent read those words…
Smiling, she turned her attention back to the resonance of his voice as it stirred her imagination and heart. Yet despite all the pleasure she always found when Vincent read to her, she felt herself drifting far away from Canterbury and young David’s search for his Aunt Betsey. Instead her thoughts were filled with images and impressions of the man before her. The way the light from the Tiffany lamp brought out gleaming strands of gold in his thick, tawny hair. How his elegant hands carefully held the old leather-covered volume. The mellow rhythm of his voice as it rose and fell with the story. The graceful controlled strength of his body as he shifted slightly in the great carved wooden chair across from the bed.
Inevitably their bond began to ripple with Catherine’s emotions until Vincent could no longer pretend he did not feel them as strongly as she. A familiar sensation of desire and trepidation washed over him as he looked up from his book to find her staring at him, her expression dreamy and soft but unmistakably eloquent. He was achingly aware that their time together would be over very soon, and he did not want it to end with a confrontation that might spoil the peaceful pleasure they had found in each other. Yet even his ever-present fears could not be subdued by his yearning to stay for just a moment longer within the warmth of her loving thoughts of him. Torn, he watched uneasily as she smiled at him, her mouth a tender messenger, and he somehow spoke without thinking.
"Catherine, what is it?"
Already he regretted his action and wished he could call back the poignant yearning he knew she’d heard in this deceptively simple question.
There was no hesitation in her smile, nor in her answer. "You are so beautiful, Vincent. So very beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life looking at you and never tire of it."
He tilted his head to one side and returned her gaze, torn between the desire to believe her and the denial he’d known all his life. "There are very few who would agree with you, Catherine," he murmured.
"Then the loss is theirs," she answered, her voice a low, throaty sound that sent shivers along his spine. "I know there are people who would not find you beautiful, and I pity them for their own foolish blindness."
His heart filled with hope and for just a moment it was reflected in his eyes. Yet in a heartbeat it was smothered under the weight of his disbelief, and he turned his face away from her, deliberately letting a veil of hair obscure that which she cherished.
Catherine breathed a soft sigh of dismay. "Vincent, look at me. Please. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. I never meant to. It’s just that I do love the way you look – and I love looking at you. It gives me a great deal of pleasure, and then when we have to be apart, I can remember and hold your image with me. You truly are beautiful, Vincent…You always were."
He heard the truth in her voice and before he could stop himself he responded to her, expressing another facet of that truth. "Catherine, that’s only because – " At once his ironclad self-defense descended and muffled his reply.
Catherine leaned a bit closer. "Tell me. Please, I need to hear you say it."
There was still so much he felt he could not give her. He would not deny her this. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers, and the look that passed between them became a merging of all the hope and truth they’d kept imprisoned for so long.
"You see me as beautiful because you love me."
She nodded in confirmation, and then her smile widened as she added, "But there’s much more to it than that. I love you for all the beauty you possess, within and without, the light and the dark. There is no part of you – your face, your hands, your heart and your soul – that is not precious and beautiful to me."
She rose from the bed and walked toward him as he watched her in stunned silence. He knew the words had come from her heart to fulfill yet another of his most treasured dreams. Beautiful. She truly found him beautiful in the truest sense of the word. How could he ever find a way to tell her what it meant to him?
Unable to speak, Vincent did not resist as Catherine reached down to pull the heavy volume from his grip and set it aside on a table, only to replace the book in his lap with herself. As if in a dream, he felt her slender arms encircle his broad chest as she cuddled against him, nuzzling her head beneath his chin and sighing with pleasure. His arms slowly rose to cradle her and he let his head rest tenderly against hers. He closed his eyes, dizzy with the sounds of her words still reverberating in his heart, the feel of her soft body pressed against his, the scent of her hair filling his every breath with her warm, enticing essence. Ever so gently, he pulled her closer and reveled in her immediate response as she nestled further into his embrace.
Vincent hadn’t known if hours or only minutes had passed when he became aware of Catherine whispering to him with quiet insistence. "Vincent, I think we have a visitor."
His eyes flew open to encounter the highly intrigued look on the face of the slight, rumpled figure that stood before them. Mouse, having entered the chamber silently so as not to disturb his friends, now waited with thinly disguised impatience for Vincent to speak. Trying to sit up straight without dumping Catherine onto the floor, Vincent struggled to find a new place to put his hands, hands which at the moment still held Catherine firmly against his chest. He felt his face begin to redden as, with a somewhat suggestive snicker, she tightened her hold on him, moving only enough to turn her head and look up at his stricken expression.
Vincent’s mouth opened and then immediately snapped shut again without his having uttered a word. Feeling him flounder in growing embarrassment, Catherine quickly smothered the desire to laugh and greeted their unexpected guest.
"Hello, Mouse. Did you need us for something?"
The shaggy hair bounced as the younger man nodded vigorously and responded in his own unique fashion. "Dinner. Father sent me. Called you from the doorway. Called you twice, but no one answered. Thought maybe you were asleep, so here I am. Shouldn’t be late. Father gets mad if you’re late." His worried tone indicated personal experience with his last comment.
"Well, ummm, thank you, Mouse. That was most, uhhh, most thoughtful of you. We – Catherine and I, that is – will be along in a minute." Although Vincent had finally managed to find his voice, his very atypical expression only brought a wider smile to Mouse’s now beaming face and released a soft flurry of laughter from Catherine.
"Okay, good. No problem. Go tell Father. Don’t want him to yell at Mouse’s best friends." He bounded down the connecting passageway, only to return in a split second. "Better idea! Better than better! Father won’t be mad if he knows you were taking a nap here in Vincent’s chamber. Just waking up. That’s what Mouse will tell him." He grinned at his friends, pleased to have solved their problem for them. "Be at dinner in a few more minutes," he added helpfully before disappearing again.
"No, Mouse!" Vincent yelled, jumping up and heaving Catherine to her feet. "Wait!"
Catherine leaned against the large chair and took a deep breath. "It’s too late, Vincent," she said, her voice still shaky with suppressed mirth. "He’s gone."
Vincent turned back toward her, the anxious expression on his face escalating rapidly to one of near panic. "Catherine, I’m so sorry!"
"For what?" she asked, quickly sobering as she took in the depth of Vincent’s apprehension. "What’s wrong?"
"What’s wrong?" he echoed incredulously. "Catherine, right now Mouse is undoubtedly telling the entire community that he found us – that we were – "
"Sleeping together in your chamber?" she asked, unable to disguise her softly amused smile.
"Catherine! How can you take this so lightly?" he rasped, entirely disconcerted by her casual dismissal of their problem. "What will people think about us? What will they say?"
"Oh, Vincent," she replied with a gentle sigh. "Half of them won’t say a word because it’s what they assume we’ve been doing all along, and the others will probably want to congratulate us and say it’s about time!"
"No," he whispered in shock. "You can’t mean that. It can’t be true."
His distress drove him to pace rapidly to the chamber entrance and then back toward her over and over again, until at last he forced himself to stop. The expression on his face erased all traces of humor from Catherine’s heart and filled its place with sympathy, wistful disappointment, and a softly throbbing pain.
We’ve come so far, she told herself, and still his fears can consume him so easily. What will it take to prove to him that he has nothing to fear from our love?
She approached slowly and managed to look up at him with a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, Vincent. I’m sure everything will be all right. You know Mouse – by the time he reached the dining chamber, something else had probably caught his attention and made him forget all about us. I'm sure he didn’t say a thing. And even if he did, no one would take him seriously. They’d have assumed he was mistaken or that he meant something else."
The sound of her voice gradually filtered through Vincent’s panic and embarrassment. "Perhaps you are right," he said finally after careful consideration of her words.
"Of course, I am," she answered quickly. "Now don’t worry about it anymore. Let’s just go right now and forget all about it, all right?"
She slipped her hand in his as they walked quickly through the corridors toward the big, brightly lit dining chamber where the members of the tunnel community always met to share their Sunday evening meal. As they neared the entrance, they could hear the hum of pleasant conversation and the clinking of plates and glassware from within. But before they could step over the threshold, Catherine tugged at Vincent’s hand, halting his movement.
"Vincent, I’m sorry for teasing you a few minutes ago. I know how things like this upset you, and I shouldn’t have been so careless with your feelings. Please, will you forgive me?"
Resisting the urge to hug her, he squeezed her hand and managed a slight smile. "Always, Catherine, if you will forgive me. Perhaps I did overreact to the situation. It’s just that I would never want anyone to think of you in…ways that they should not." His voice trailed away uncertainly.
Her voice was warm and even as she answered him. "Come on then, let’s go join the others." But in her heart the quiet ache remained, warning that the road ahead of them remained rocky and full of risks.
"Vincent, Catherine!" Mary called to them from a nearby bench at a long, crowded table. "We’ve saved places for you here."
"Thank you, Mary," Vincent answered gratefully as he helped Catherine climb onto the low wooden seat and then settled himself next to her. "I’m sorry we’re late."
He glanced around cautiously and heaved a sigh of relief as he realized that no one in the busy room seemed to be giving the couple a second look. Maybe Catherine really was right, he told himself. Mouse probably never even mentioned he’d seen us.
"Well, it’s about time you two showed up!" William’s booming voice startled the pair as he approached them from behind and lowered heaping plates of hot food to the table in front of them. "Thought you’d forgotten all about us!"
"Now, how could you think such a thing?" Catherine joked quickly. "You know how I look forward to your delicious meals!"
William grinned his appreciation for her compliment before hustling off toward the kitchen to check on the pies he’d prepared for dessert, leaving behind the normal undercurrents of dinnertime conversation.
"See?" Catherine whispered. "I told you no one would be concentrating on us. William always makes comments when people are late. It doesn’t mean anything out of the ordinary."
Vincent cast her a grateful sideways glance and finally relaxed enough to begin eating his dinner. Then a cold warning sensation seemed to prickle along his spine as he became aware of the man eyeing them appreciatively from across the table.
"Yeah, glad you could make it," Cullen drawled, lazily raising one eyebrow as his grin widened. "We all figured you couldn’t take time out to eat. I know those poets you like probably wouldn’t agree with me, but, hey, you can’t live on love alone!" Chuckling at his own joke, he winked broadly at Vincent. "Gotta keep your strength up, you know."
Immediately realizing that Vincent’s fragile, newfound composure had just been effectively shattered, Catherine started to reply to Cullen’s pointed comments. And instead watched in amazement as the man’s smirk was transformed to a grimace of pain.
"HEY! Why’d you do a thing like that, Jamie!" he cried out as he rubbed the place in his ribs recently vacated by the young woman’s sharply jabbing elbow.
"Don’t you have any manners, Cullen?" Jamie demanded fiercely. "Catherine and Vincent are in love. They have every right to spend their time together without you making comments about it!"
Cullen glared at her but remained silent as Mary joined in. "Jamie’s right – although I can’t say I approve of her technique in expressing those sentiments." The older woman smiled indulgently. "And I think it’s just lovely that Vincent and Catherine read those beautiful love poems to each other. Not that it’s any of my business, of course, but that’s just how I feel."
"I certainly agree with you, Mary," Olivia offered. "Even when we were kids, Vincent could put more life and feeling into a story or poem than any of the rest of us could." She looked at Vincent with an open, friendly smile. "And besides, it’s all so romantic." She sighed, tilting her head toward her husband who sat next to her, trying to keep their son from squirming out of his high chair.
"You really think so, Livie?" Kanin asked with sudden interest. "I wouldn’t mid reading to you once in a while, if you’d really like it. Say, Vincent, could I borrow a few of your books sometime? And maybe you could give me a few pointers while you’re at it."
"Yes, fine," Vincent replied dazedly. "Certainly."
"Thanks!" Kanin answered Olivia slid a bit closer to him on their bench. "Kind of gives a whole new meaning to the words ‘bedtime story,’ doesn’t it, and I won’t forget about that!"
Catherine had remained silent as the delightfully unexpected conversation flowed around them. Acutely aware of its wonderfully welcome implications, she searched her overflowing heart for an adequate response. But before she could say a word, everyone’s attention was captured by the patrician tones of the older man who had observed the entire exchange from his place at the head of the table.
"Catherine, Vincent, I’m pleased you could join us for dinner this evening. I trust you have been enjoying your visit Below, Catherine?"
Knowledge of their last meeting and its ensuing uneasy truce had not been shared with anyone, and both Catherine and Father had worked hard to maintain its cordial veneer. However, something in his frosty words provoked Catherine and she found she couldn’t resist a small counterattack.
"Oh, yes, Father, I certainly have!" she replied enthusiastically. "Everything has been wonderful. I really can’t remember when I’ve had a better time!" Realizing that not only Vincent had begun to look inquiringly at her, Catherine reigned in her urge to needle Father just a bit more. "Thank you for asking," she added with a polite, demure smile.
Although he was clearly aware of Catherine’s deliberate teasing, Father chose to ignore it for the present. "And, Vincent," he continued evenly, "I had hoped to speak with you for a moment before dinner, but since you were otherwise engaged, perhaps afterward will have to do just as well."
"Yes, of course," Vincent answered. "I’m sorry we arrived somewhat late. We had been reading in my chamber and evidently we lost track of the time."
"Yes, so it appears," the older man commented before turning toward Mary who was earnestly trying to direct his attention elsewhere.
Throughout the adults’ conversation, the only child, in addition to baby Luke, who was seated at their table, had not said a word, but he had listened to everything with great interest, trying, as was his way, to make sense of it.
"But, Catherine," piped a voice to her left.
"Yes, Eric, what is it?" she asked, glad for the diversion the boy provided.
"I thought I heard Mouse say you guys were late because you were taking a nap together in Vincent’s chamber, not ‘cause you were reading."
She heard Vincent’s harsh intake of breath and quickly grasped his hand under that table, fearing that despite all that had just transpired to give him strength, the child’s words would force him to bolt from the chamber at any second.
Telling herself to remain calm, she responded to the innocent comment. "Yes, that’s right, Eric. Vincent was reading to me, but I guess I’ve been enjoying myself so much this weekend that I got really tired and I fell asleep. You know how it is sometimes when you just can’t keep your eyes open no matter how hard you try?"
"Yeah, that happens to me sometimes, too." He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "In Father’s history class. Don’t tell, okay?"
"It’s a deal," Catherine promised solemnly. "If you don’t tell the other kids that Vincent’s reading put me to sleep."
Eric laughed and nodded his head. "No one would believe me anyway! We love it when Vincent reads to us."
"Come on, Eric," Jamie called from a few seats away. "It’s your turn to help clear the table." She looked at Catherine and smiled as she shrugged her shoulders in silent commiseration. "Let’s get moving."
Catherine glanced quickly at their nearest dining companions as she turned back toward Vincent. Except for the hint of a smirk returning to Cullen’s face, everyone seemed to be oblivious to the existence of any problem, busily involved in their own conversations or the last bites of dinner. But she knew in her heart that Vincent was far from convinced that they were not thinking what he would consider the worst of them.
She stared to lean closer and was blocked by a hefty arm depositing plates of warm apple pie in front of them. "Here you go, right out of the oven only an hour ago," William announced with satisfaction. "I made them with the apples we’ve been keeping in cold storage, and from the comments I’ve been hearing, they came out fine. You know, I’ll have to see what I can do with some of that citrus fruit Peter’s been having shipped to us. What do you think, Catherine, want to give me a hand with that?"
Almost frantic with her need to talk to Vincent, she swung around toward the imposing figure grinning broadly behind her. "Yes, sure, I’d be glad to," she blurted.
Misinterpreting her reaction, William was quick to add the reassurance he thought she needed. "Hey, now don’t go getting all nervous about it. I know you’re still not much of a cook, but since you seemed interested I thought you’d like to give it a try."
"Yes, yes, I would," she replied, still surreptitiously clutching Vincent’s hand. "Thank you."
"I’ll be glad to have the company," William answered cheerfully. "Say, how did that recipe work out – you know, the one for the honey walnut cake? Did you have any trouble with it?"
"No, none at all. It was great," she answered, mustering as bright a smile as she could, while praying silently that he’d leave. "Your directions were perfect."
"That’s great. I’ve got another one you might want to try. This one’s for a spice cake. I’ll write it down for you later, but now I’d better go get the rest of the pies out here. This crowd can turn mean if they don’t get their dessert," he joked. "See you later."
"Okay, thanks," Catherine replied, and then leaned quickly toward Vincent once again. "Are you all right?" she whispered.
Only silence answered her from beneath the golden curtain of hair that hid his face from her. She gripped his hand tighter. "Vincent, answer me!"
Long seconds dragged by as the friendly crowd carried on around them, completely unnoticing of the turmoil the couple suffered. Feeling herself on the edge of panic, Catherine’s heart raced as at last Vincent raised his head toward her, only to find that the look she saw on his face shocked her more than she would have believed possible. Instead of the devastating pain or all-consuming fear she had fully expected, she saw laughter sparkling in his deep blue eyes.
"Vincent?" she whispered again, afraid that the stress he had undergone was pushing him into hysteria. "Tell me. Are you okay? Do you want to leave?"
He shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "It’s all right, Catherine. Truly, I’m fine." He began to smile at the incredulous expression on her face. "You were right after all."
"What are you talking about?" she hissed. "I thought you’d be in a panic about what Eric said, and here you are laughing! I don’t understand. I was right about what?"
"About not having to worry about what other people think. Our friends have found happiness in the love that we share. It’s what I had hoped for, but until now I could not truly believe it." He tilted his head toward her, wishing with all his heart that he possessed the courage to take her in his arms and kiss her right then and there in front of everyone.
"And, Catherine, you were right about something else as well," he continued, his husky voice warm and endearingly shy. "You have been right all along. I was foolish to get caught up in fearing what others might think of us, of our relationship. On one hand, there’s nothing I can do about it anyway. And on the other, half of our friends probably do think we were – I mean, that we have been – "
"Yes?" Catherine prompted, her voice quavering with relief and delight. "And the rest?"
"The rest don’t seem to think it’s such a bad idea either."
Catherine leaned into his shoulder as their quiet laughter warmed them. There is a reason to hope, after all, she told herself in contentment.
Then, unable to resist, she rose up slightly and whispered in Vincent’s ear. "Then I think we should consider the principle that says the majority rules, don’t you?"
He felt an increasingly familiar tension flash deliciously through him as he stood to reach for their untouched dessert plates. "I think I’ll go help with the dishes."
Smiling tenderly, she watched him leave. The powerful grace of his body as he moved through the crowded room brought tiny shivers of delight to her. With a little sigh, she turned to talk with Olivia who was still seated several feet away, carefully helping Luke balance tiny bites of stewed apple on his little spoon. And neither Catherine nor Vincent noticed that Father had not missed one moment of the undercurrents that had passed between them.
////////////////////
Little more than an hour later, the two approached the threshold beneath Catherine’s building, a place that brought them joy with each meeting and terrible pain with every parting. And while their happiness increased with each new day together, so did the grief they felt when the time inevitably came that they must tear themselves from each other’s arms.
"I wish I didn’t have to go, Vincent," she murmured softly, her face pressed so close against his chest that she could hear his heart beat. "I wish I never had to leave you."
His arms pulled her impossibly closer. "It is my wish as well, Catherine," he whispered, his voice full of the longing he made no further attempt to hide. "It is my most cherished dream that we might be together."
Her heart pounded wildly at the sound of his words. "Truly together, Vincent?" Her voice was a prayer and a promise, and she leaned back just far enough to look into his eyes, searching for what she had known only in her dreams.
This time she found what she had sought. All the possibilities that to her had always been their destiny and to him a beautiful but unattainable dream.
"Yes, Catherine, truly together."
The kiss that sealed their pledge was at once passionate and gentle, incandescent heat and tender warmth, a fiery glow that would guide them onward thorough any darkness that might still linger.
"Our life together, Catherine, now it truly begins."
She smiled tremulously, moved to the soul by the wondrous courage and joyful conviction in his voice and in his heart. And when she answered him, his heartfelt promise echoed in her words.
"Vincent, I believe our life together began a long, long time ago. And now we can go beyond the beginning, into a beautiful life filled with happiness. The life that was always meant to be."
Circle of Love
Peggy Garvin
My soul longs to hold her
And never let go.
My heart beats so fast that
It just will not slow.
The line that I’ve drawn in
Defining our love
Is harder to maintain
When she is Above.
And I am bound daily
To wait for nightfall
To go to the woman
I love above all.
Why does the world try to
Keep lovers apart?
Yet how can I presume
That we play this part?
We are kindred spirits
With every heartbeat
And in all ways save one
That circle’s complete.
She’s my life and my light;
It’s harder each day
To keep from fulfilling
Our love in all ways.
References used for Beyond Beginnings – Book 1:
Forget-Me-Nots: A Victorian Book of Love by Cynthia Hart, John Grossman, and Tracy Gill; Ebury Press, London, 199l.
The Language of Flowers by Margaret Pickson; Michael Joseph Ltd. Publishers, England, 1968. Distributed in the U.S. by The Yeoman Group, New York, NY. Available from the book shop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC.
Rodale’s Illustrated Encyclopedia of Herbs (edited) by Claire Kowalchik and William H. Hylton; Rodale Press, Emmaus, Pennsylvania; 1987.
"Atalanta in Calydon" by Algernon Charles Swinburne, 1865.