BEYOND BEGINNINGS BOOK ONE
Linda Barth

Chapter Two

Flickering candlelight glinted on the lenses of Jacob Well’s wire-rimmed glasses as he shook his head impatiently at his inanimate yet powerful opponent. He knew he was losing the battle with the obstinate enemy that sprawled in arrogant disarray across his old mahogany desk. Feeling his unruly temper rising at an alarming rate, he slammed shut the offending ledgers, hiding away at least for the moment the disturbing columns of figures. As he rose stiffly to his feet, he reached for his favorite antique walking stick, knowing he would need its support as he moved to a more comfortable chair.

He eased himself down onto the worn tapestry cushions and rubbed a weary hand across his face. He hadn’t slept well the night before, the chronic pain in his hips aggravated by the constant chill Below and by too much exertion on the long walk to the Painted Tunnels to monitor Elizabeth’s recovery from a bout with the flu. Closing his eyes, he sighed quietly and wished that just once he might give himself the luxury of believing his distress was caused by only physical problems.

Against his will, he found himself staring back across the chamber toward the ledgers waiting on his desk. They held inescapable proof that a serious problem existed, a problem the Tunnel community had always worked diligently to avoid. And, with very few exceptions over the years, they had managed to remain successful in their struggles – until now.

Maintaining adequate food supplies had always been a great challenge, especially in the early years of the Tunnel society when their numbers had grown so quickly. Everything was in its earliest stages then and all needs cried out to be met at once – adequate living and working space, heat and light, ventilation, sanitation, safety and security, a governing body, and, as always, food and water. As more and more of its citizens turned to him for guidance, Jacob Wells found himself evolving from a lost, disillusioned scientist and husband to a visionary, pioneering leader and Father.

From the start it was obvious that the new community would need to rely on the world above for some of its resources. Although it was often difficult to accept, the Tunnel dwellers began to develop workable means to find what they needed form the world they had abandoned, the very place that had turned its back on them.

Before he could stop himself, Father let his thoughts carry him back nearly forty years into the past, and once there he found himself a captive of his memories.

It had been Devin’s mother, Grace, who had first suggested the concept that had become the Helpers’ network. Having spent most of her life in hardship, Grace fully understood the practicality and value in knowing when to seek and when to offer help. One of the first to live Below, she watched as John Pater began to show early signs of madness, signs as yet unnoticed by the rest who had become caught up in their daily struggle for survival. She listened as Jacob cried out in his sleep, consumed with worry for those who looked only to him for answers and with even deeper fear for the health and safety of herself and their unborn child.

Sometimes during those dark hours of the night when they huddled together against the cold, he would whisper to her of his life Above, of the good and bad, the beauty and the horrors. It was in this way that she learned of the love and respect Jacob still held for the man he considered his only friend from that other live, fellow physician Peter Alcott. When the time had been right, Grace, in her forthright and warm-hearted way, had convinced Jacob of the good sense in contacting Peter for assistance. And with their initial success, the model for the Helpers’ program was born.

Father sighed again. Dear God, he wondered, what has prompted all of this now? I haven’t thought of those days in so very long. Grace and John. Baby Devin. Back when it was all so new…

Suddenly growing impatient with himself, he straightened in his chair and focused again on the problem at hand. The food supply. Even with meticulous planning, he knew they were falling dangerously short of the amounts they would need to see them safely through the remaining winter months. Although, as always, their Helpers had been very generous, life Above had become increasingly precarious for a great many of them and their own limited means had left them with little to share with their friends Below. Winterfest, despite very careful management on everyone’s part, had taken its toll and their reserves were severely depleted.

I’ll speak with William, Father decided, allowing himself a tiny glimmer of hope. He’s always been quite resourceful. Perhaps he has managed to come up with an idea.

Knowing the burly cook to be an early riser like himself, Father reached for his cane, pushed himself up, and started for the large kitchen chamber. He hadn’t gone more than a step or two when he looked up to see Mary entering his chamber, her presence at once a calming ray of sun to his stormy troubles.

"Mary," he called out, his cheerful tone surprising himself more than a little. "What brings you here so early?" He looked up at her as he dropped back onto the cushions.

"Early?" she questioned with a gentle smile as she placed a pot of freshly brewed tea on the small marquetry table and settled onto the chair opposite him. "I’ve been up for hours. Everyone has. Why, it’s nearly noon."

"Noon?" Father sputtered. "It can’t be! I’ve only been awake an hour or two myself, going over a bit of paperwork at my desk."

"Nonsense. You’ve been torturing yourself over those ledgers since dawn. So come now, it’s time you took a little break. Here!"

Father accepted the steaming mug she slid toward him across the polished tabletop. As he slowly sipped its contents, he felt himself gradually begin to relax. Resting the mug on the arm of his chair, he looked at his companion with gratitude.

"Thank you, Mary. I’ve been so caught up in these matters that I didn’t even notice the time passing."

"What is it, Father? Still no solution to the problem with the food supply?" she asked as a frown creased her forehead. At his reluctant nod, she continued quietly but firmly. "Then don’t you think it’s time you stopped trying to find the answer by yourself? You can’t do it all on your own. And no one expects you to."

She reached across the table to pat him reassuringly on the arm, and he covered her soothing hand for a moment with his own.

"You’re right, you know," he agreed dejectedly. "I will call a Council meeting for tomorrow night. It’s just that I had hoped to keep this problem from the others. They have concerns of their own – Luke’s fever is down but surely he’ll give the flu to his baby sister, Mouse still hasn’t adjusted that new security scheme of his, the work crew will need at least another day just to clear the earthslide near the 14^th Street entrance, that –"

Father’s gloomy forecast was abruptly cut short by the unexpected pressure of Mary’s fingers digging into his forearms.

"That’s enough, Jacob! Enough!"

For a moment the two old friends stared at each other in astonishment. In all their years together, Mary had been known to raise her voice only on the rarest of occasions. The shock value alone was worth all the gold Paracelsus had ever coveted.

Suddenly they both began to laugh, the warm and vibrant sounds growing in volume until they reached the ears of the younger man who stood watching them in amazement from the small iron staircase across the room.

"Father? Mary? What’s all this?" Vincent’s husky voice held a trace of amusement, as the laughter surrounding him became contagious.

Together they turned toward the man both, one secretly and one avowed, looked upon as a son and watched as he strolled toward them. Finding it impossible to reply, Mary leaned back in her chair and wiped her streaming eyes as her laughter slowly subsided. Taking pity on his bemused son, Father drew a deep breath and managed a coherent response.

"Mary was just teaching me a lesson, son, one that I must admit has been long overdue."

Raising his elegantly curved eyebrows, Vincent regarded the pair indulgently. "And that is?"

"Not to take myself so seriously, and not to assume that I can solve all the world’s problems single-handedly." Father turned pointedly toward Mary for confirmation and received in the decided nod of her head.

"Well, Father, it seems you’ve take the lesson to heart." Vincent observed.

"I certainly hope so," Mary agreed as the three shared a companionable smile. "And, I hope, too," she added, growing more serious, "that you will go ahead with the plan to call a Council meeting, Father. It really can’t be avoided any longer."

Immediately picking up on the undercurrents that stretched between them, Vincent asked, "What will the meeting be for, Father? Our schedule doesn’t call for another one until next week. Is there an emergency of some sort?"

"Yes, I’m afraid there is," the older man replied wearily. "Sit down, Vincent. As Mary has pointed out to me, I’ve tried far too long to solve this by myself, and it’s time the Council members learn of its full impact."

Vincent drew his chair closer and reached to clasp his Father’s hand in his. "Tell me."

"It’s the community’s food supply. It’s rapidly being exhausted and I’m afraid we can’t rely solely on the resources we have used in the past. There’s no immediate danger, but unless we take measures very soon, there certainly will be."

"Then, of course, Mary is right, Father. No one would expect you to solve such a crisis alone. Surely we call can find ways to help."

Father’s steel blue eyes softened with heartfelt gratitude for his family’s understanding support. "Yes, Vincent, surely we can…but let’s leave it for now and address it at the Council meeting that I will arrange for this evening. After all, I’m quite sure we won’t starve in the next few days."

All three managed slight smiles at Father’s dark attempt at humor.

"And with that," Mary commented, "it’s time I see to the nursery. I left Brooke and Samantha in charge, not that I don’t trust them, mind you. They do a fine job, but still they’re young and I don’t like to leave them on their own for too long."

"Certainly, Mary, certainly," Father agreed as he watched Vincent carry the tea tray to the chamber doorway for her. "You don’t want to take any chances with the little ones. But, Vincent, I thought we might talk for a while. You’re not leaving just yet, are you?"

"No, Father, not yet," he replied as he settled himself in the large easy chair just vacated by Mary. Although, he admitted silently, I’d certainly like to.

Although Vincent was well into his thirties with responsibilities and commitments often far exceeding those of his contemporaries in the world Above, he knew Father alone had the power to make him feel like a boy of ten again – uncertain, self-conscious, impatient, defiant. And he was well aware that this meeting between them had the potential for all for that and more.

Taking another sip from his mug of tea, Father looked expectantly at Vincent. His sharp eyes observed the expression of discomfort on the younger man’s face, and he knew in an instant that his usually eloquent son once again was struggling to find the words to reveal something he believed his father had no desire to hear. Just like when he was a boy, Father mused silently. Some things haven’t changed a bit it seems, even after all these years. Hmmm, perhaps I should test my theory.

"Well, out with it, my boy! What is it you don’t want to tell me this time?"

Vincent’s head snapped up in astonishment. "How did you know?" he murmured uncertainly.

Father chuckled in genuine pleasure. It wasn’t often he found himself able to surprise Vincent. "How did I know? You’ve had the same look on your face since the time you were three, whenever you had trouble telling me about one of your exploits. It didn’t matter if you were trying to explain why it had happened or trying to justify why it was about to occur, either way your expression always gave you away. So, come on now, out with it. Which is it – a confession of past indiscretions or advance notice of impending disaster?"

Vincent did not suppress a wry smile of appreciation for his father’s accurate assessment of the situation, and inwardly he hoped the older man’s mood of self-satisfied good humor would be to their mutual advantage.

"As you know, Father, Catherine has been unable to visit us Below for quite some time. The case she has been involved with at work has been very demanding," Vincent began carefully.

"Yes," Father agreed. "I’ve missed seeing her. It’s been at least two weeks, I believe. Will this be going on much longer?"

"Thankfully, no," Vincent replied. "Catherine feels that the situation will be settled out of court, possibly as early as this afternoon, and that she will have the weekend free."

"That is good news. Then will she be able to come Below for a nice, long visit, perhaps stay for dinner one evening?"

"If all goes as planned, her visit will be somewhat longer than that. Father, I have asked Catherine to be our guest Below for the entire weekend. I will be meeting her at her basement entrance late tomorrow evening." Vincent waited with guarded patience for his father’s response. In his heart he remembered his promise to Catherine, and he knew he would fulfill it, yet the love and respect he had for his parent made him pray that in doing so he would not hurt him.

Several moments passed before Father spoke. "Vincent, are you sure this is wise? I know you miss having Catherine here with you Below. We all miss seeing her. But an entire weekend together? Perhaps a whole day might be enough?" As soon as he heard his own words, Father wished he could withdraw them. But it was much too late, and he winced in anticipation of Vincent’s justifiably harsh reply.

The words, when they came, were spoken in a low, sorrowful tone that nearly broke Father’s heart.

"A day? A year would be too short, Father. A lifetime could not be enough."

As if suddenly realizing just how much his heartfelt reply had revealed, Vincent began to lower his head and turn away. Then just as suddenly, he stopped and turned his gaze toward Father.

"I love Catherine. I will always love her. I need to be with her, to know she is safe here in my home. And she needs to be with me." His voice was firm and steady as he continued. "You accepted Catherine being here when I was ill. You welcomed her help. She stayed Below for weeks at a time when I was lost in those fevered nightmares, only returning Above when my recovery was certain. Together the two of you saved my life. But I cannot help regretting that the longest times she has spent Below have been born of pain and suffering. Yes, there was healing, too, and comfort. But, Father, what of the joy? Are we never to have even a few stolen days? Do you still believe this is the life that can never be?"

All at once Vincent’s voice was torn with a ragged breath, the tattered edges of a smothered sob, and he held out one hand to forestall is father’s reply.

Once again his voice became strong and full of conviction. "Since my illness I have thought a great deal about my life with Catherine, what might be, and, yes, what can never be. She told me once that there are no lives without limits, but that until we try we have no way of knowing what our own limits might be. And we must try, Father. We must.

"You know that when I was lost to all of you and to myself, my mind was tortured by horrible, unspeakable nightmares. I remember little of them now, few details, but their message stays with me. That Catherine was…gone, gone forever, and that there would never be another chance of our life together. All possibilities, all hopes were utterly and completely destroyed."

"But, Vincent," Father interrupted in concern, "you needn’t speak of that now. It was only a terrible dream, nothing more."

"No, Father. I believe it was more than that. Those dreams showed me that it is insanity to ignore the possibilities life offers us. I have been given a gift I never dared hope I would receive – the gift of Catherine’s love. How can I turn away from what I want more than life itself?"

Father’s eyes brimmed with tears as he listened to the words that flowed from his son’s heart. They were words he’d never truly heard before, and the brilliance of their truth and beauty filled him with awe.

"Father, know that I do not wish to do anything that might hurt or disappoint you, but I won’t compromise or apologize for the feelings Catherine and I share. Your support means a great deal to me, but with or without it I must and I will follow my heart."

Several moments passed before Father was able to speak. "Vincent," he began quietly, "I never meant to hurt you, either of you. What I’ve done, I’ve done out of love. Surely you must know that." He looked at Vincent, trepidation etched on his face as he waited for his son’s reply.

"Yes, Father, I know that. Always you have done what you felt was best for me, and I have been grateful for your help and guidance. But now it’s time for you to trust me to determine these things for myself."

Father exhaled a tremulous sigh. "I suppose you’re right. Your words, the things you’ve shared with me, have given me much to think about. I only want what’s best for both of you, and I will stand by you. Catherine is a rare and wonderful person. I have known for a long time that my initial fears about her were unfounded. But it isn’t easy to forget those fears, to change the habits of a lifetime. I can only promise that I will try – as long as you promise you won’t expect me to change overnight."

Vincent chuckled softly. "Come now, Father, I never said I expected a miracle."

Father narrowed his eyes as he glared at his son over the edges of his glasses. "There’s no need for sarcasm, my boy. I said I’d try and I will."

"And that’s all I can ask," Vincent replied, as he rose from his chair and leaned down to wrap an arm around his father’s shoulders. "Thank you for that."

Father reached up to pat his son’s tautly muscled arm and smiled as he felt a gentle kiss pressed against his head. Straightening, Vincent looked down at his parent and rested one large hand on the older man’s shoulder. "Michael is visiting Below today and he will be taking my afternoon literature class with the older children. I think I'll go and check on the work crew at the 14^th Street site and then perhaps spend some time near the Falls. I have much to think about."

"Yes, I think that’s a wise idea," Father replied evenly. "But, Vincent, about Catherine staying Below this weekend – "

The words halted Vincent’s movement toward the staircase. "Yes, Father, what about it?" he asked with studied caution as he stared straight ahead toward the chamber entrance.

"I meant no harm by what I said earlier. Of course, Catherine is always welcome here, whatever the circumstances. I simply felt it might be stressful for you, now that you’re well again and able to spend time with her without worrying about various problems and concerns. I thought perhaps such a long period of free time might prove to be more…uncomfortable than you might have expected." Father’s slight frown underscored the fears he still possessed despite his earlier words.

Vincent gripped the iron railing with his left hand and paused before looking back over his shoulder at his father.

"Don’t you think I’ve thought of that myself?" he replied in a voice low and harsh with feeling. "Don’t you realize that my dreams and thoughts are filled with little else?" He sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. "But that is something I must deal with on my own. There is nothing that will keep me from reaching out for this chance to know the happiness of being with Catherine. Nothing, Father, not even myself."

With those words Vincent continued up the staircase and away from his father’s chamber. As he watched him go, the older man’s thoughts were full of conflict, for while he hoped and prayed for his son’s happiness, he still feared in his heart that it would never come to be.

"Safe journey, my son," he whispered into the silence.

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

It was late afternoon before Vincent finally entered the Chamber of the Great Falls. Although he had intended only to monitor the progress of the construction crew, once at the site he had immediately pitched in to help in their strenuous efforts to repair the damage caused by a collapsed wall. Finally, dirty and tired, the men had quit for the day and Vincent had at last made his way to the place that had so often in the past offered him sanctuary and solitude.

As he settled down on a small rocky ledge directly across from the midpoint of the falls, he gazed out upon the natural beauty before him and immediately felt at peace with its power and magnificence. Knowing he must soon return to the home chambers to wash and prepare for dinner and the Council meeting, Vincent fought off the desire to close his eyes and drift into sleep. The events of the past two days had begun to take their toll on even his formidable mental and physical stamina.

Sighing, he leaned his head back against he smooth, damp rock wall. In a heartbeat, his thoughts were filled with the blending of happiness and fears, doubts and desires, all the dreams and possibilities that were Catherine. The knowledge that in little more than twenty-four hours she would be with him Below filled him with elation and he smiled as he pictured her descending the ladder, her arms eagerly outstretched to him as she emerged from the misty blue light like a beloved and welcome angel.

Instinctively he raised one hand toward his face and carefully touched his mouth. The work-roughened pads of his fingertips were a poor substitute for Catherine’s warm, soft lips. The memory of their touch continued to tantalize his every waking hour and to haunt all his dreams, but now the sensation was more than mere imagining. It was a memory, warm and real, and, he admitted longingly, it was a cherished hope, perhaps even a promise.

All his life Vincent had craved physical contact with those he loved. By nature his was a nurturing, loving spirit, at ease with the gentle touches and warm hugs that conveyed comfort and friendship. As a child he loved nothing better than being cuddled by Mary as she soothed hurt feelings or scraped knees, or snuggling into Father’s lap for a bedtime story or just some quiet time together. As he grew older, even the awareness of his obvious differences did not preclude his spontaneous offering of a supportive arm around a friend’s shoulder or a comforting hug to a sobbing child. It was all simply a part of Vincent, one that his family expected and welcomed and one that he gave freely.

Yet as time passed, there grew in his heart a longing he would hold secret, a deep and desperate dream to be held safe and warm in the arms of someone who would love him, all of him, the dark and the bright, forever. Someone who would not leave him, who would see into his very heart and want nothing more than to share with him all the love that slumbered there. Someone who would both give and take from him the wild, sweet joy he hungered for. And yet even then he knew that dreams were all he’d ever have.

With Lisa there had been for just a moment the possibility that somehow this secret dream might come true. Yet in a heartbeat that hope had been torn apart by a young girl’s uncertainties, a boy’s misunderstandings, and a father’s dark fears. Since that time Vincent had locked away his yearnings, their implacable truth too unbearable to contemplate by light of day. At night, however, when his mind and heart were left unguarded by his ironclad control, the dreams would return to taunt him, leaving him to wake with an aching hunger and an unimaginable pain. Sometimes it seemed to him that he had spent most of his life in a struggle to accept what the world told him was his fate, while his heart persisted in whispering that it might not be so.

In all other ways Vincent’s life had been happy and fulfilling. As much as was humanly possible, he had come to terms with its most obvious limitations and was grateful and satisfied with the rest. The dreams continued, but only as nameless, shadowy longings until an April night when his life was changed forever. Since that time all his hidden longings, every silent, secret prayer and deepest dream had but a single name – Catherine.

Vincent’s thoughts wandered back to those April days nearly three years ago. Just before they had parted for what he had then believed was forever, he had told her that he had never regretted what he was until then. Even as he uttered the words he had known that they were not entirely true. He had known regret and despair at other times in his life, times when doors were closed to him, when possibilities vanished almost before they had been conceived, and all because of who and what he was. When those moments had occurred, they had been truly devastating; yet when compared with all that he now had and all that he might lose, they were as insignificant as one grain of sand on a vast, windswept beach.

For perhaps the thousandth time Vincent wondered how it had come to be that he had been blessed with Catherine’s love. He knew that no matter what the future might hold, he would forever treasure every minute they had spent together. He thought back to his words to her just before his final spiraling descent into madness and pain. "Whatever happens, whatever comes, know that I love you." How he wished he had been able to tell her, to speak those words to her long before such desperation had spurred him to it. And how glad he was that he had somehow found the courage to say them at all.

Even so, he told himself with complete faith in the knowledge, Catherine always knew. I’m grateful that at last I found a way to give her that precious gift of words, but I know that ultimately they did not change anything. Catherine has always known my heart.

And now, he continued in quiet contemplation, what will the future hold for us? I sense in Catherine the same hunger that I live with night and day, and I can no longer deny its reality. I know it’s her desire for me, for a physical expression of the love we have for one another. I feel it could complete us so beautifully, in such a wondrous way…and yet I am afraid. Do I have the right to bind Catherine to me in this way? There can be no one else now for either of us, and yet perhaps if we do not attempt to take this final step, it won’t be too late for Catherine to try and build a life with someone else, someone who can give her so much more than I.

Even as the words formed in his mind, Vincent knew them for what they were and cursed himself for his foolish yet very real fears. He knew he would sacrifice everything, even his life, for Catherine’s happiness. And while he believed and trusted in the strength of her love for him, he still could not fully accept that she wanted him, every part of him, forever. That he was her most treasured dream incarnate, just as she was his. With one hand he pushed her away for what he still believed was her own sake, while with the other he clung to her as his lifeline to all that was beautiful and worthwhile.

"What shall we do now, Catherine?" he murmured aloud, his voice a raspy counterpoint to the distant roar of the falls. "I want what is best for you, and I cannot believe that you would find it with me. And yet I know I can never leave you. I would die without you… Where will this journey take us, my beloved Catherine, and to what end?"

With a deep shuddering sigh, Vincent pushed himself to his feet. There were no answers here, only question after question. He knew they must trust in one another and in their love to bring them through this labyrinth and, he hoped with all his heart, into the light.
 
 

The Chamber of the Falls  
   Peggy Garvin

With one I share this perfect place
Where water falls with pow’rful grace, Enveloped in a peacefulness
We share a hesitant caress.
Then shadows mask his eyes of blue;
No words of mine can change his view.
"A life that cannot be," he sighs,
And then tears well up in our eyes.
Oh, Vincent, we must share this fight
And struggle ‘til the time is right.
I’ll treasure every moment spent
With you whose love is innocent,
And wait with patience for your heart Must know that we can never part.