Exhausted, Vincent fell into his bed before nine o’clock, his last waking thought being one of thankfulness that Father had approved the suggestion to give everyone on the work crew a day of rest. He was asleep almost immediately and drifted into dreams of Catherine and the future that might somehow, someday come to be so much more than just a cherished fantasy.

While Vincent slept, Catherine spent the evening working on the gift she would bring to him on Valentine’s Day. She knew she could not be with him in reality this night and so she resigned herself, at least for a while, to finding contentment by being with him in her thoughts.

As soon as she had arrived home, she had prepared a quick, light supper and listened to her phone messages. She returned a call to Jenny, agreeing to meet her close friend for brunch early the following afternoon at Tavern on the Green. It was one of their favorite restaurants, and somehow Jenny always managed to secure last minute reservations. Catherine then turned to the day’s purchases and tackled the final steps in preparing Vincent’s gift. Several hours later she looked with satisfaction at her accomplishments.

Resting on her dining room table, which now resembled a craftsman’s workshop, was a small, heart-shaped herbal pillow. Catherine smiled as she imagined Vincent holding the delicate creation, noting that it would probably fit snugly in the palm of just one of his large, gentle hands. She picked it up and held it close to her face to breathe in its lovely fragrance, marveling once again at the accuracy Giselle had achieved in blending potpourri to match her perfume and shampoo.

Catherine carefully placed the pillow into a nest of fresh tissue paper and slowly smoothed her fingers over its delicate covering of pale peach silk and ivory lace. I’m so glad I kept the remnants the dressmaker gave me, she told herself happily. The fabrics were perfect for this! I know Vincent will recognize them immediately, even though it’s been almost three years since I wore that dress on the night of our first anniversary.

Without conscious thought, Catherine raised a hand to the crystal that she always wore, gently touching its radiant strength as she recalled the night Vincent had lovingly placed it around her neck. He had told her without words how beautiful he found her, standing before him in a drift of pale silk and lace, a tiny glowing piece of his world nestled near her heart where it rightfully belonged.

Wrenching her thoughts back to the present, Catherine found new pleasure in thinking of her plan to present Vincent with her gift. I only wish I could be there when he finds it. She smiled despite the faint sigh that escaped her. Maybe with the strengthening of our bond, I’ll be able to sense at least some of his reaction, she told herself hopefully. And just maybe, next time we’re together, he’ll find the words to tell me.

Catherine rose to clean up the mess she had made, quickly restoring order to the small dining alcove. She carefully packed away the remaining ounces of potpourri blend, storing it in an air-tight, opaque container as Giselle had advised her, for she knew she would find some future use for it. Then, after gathering parchment, pens, and ink, she went to her writing desk to begin the final portion of her Valentine surprise for Vincent.

Months earlier on a whim, she had purchased a set of calligraphy pens and the appropriate papers and line grids for their use. She had found she enjoyed experimenting with various alphabets and layouts and was now especially happy she had developed some skill with them. Upon opening the book she had borrowed from Giselle, she turned to the section on roses and started working. The hours sped by until, finished at last, she went to bed, fighting the urge to count the minutes until her gift would find its home in Vincent’s chamber and within his heart.

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

While Catherine lingered over brunch with Jenny, Vincent, after having risen much later than usual, joined several members of the Tunnel community in Father’s chambers for an afternoon of relaxation and quiet conversation.

Father’s voice gently intruded on his son’s wandering attention. "Vincent, can I lure you away from that book for a game of chess? It will help put your mind to better use. You haven’t turned a single page for the past five minutes."

Smothering a yawn, Vincent raised his head to look in his father’s direction. "I must admit you’re right," he answered good-naturedly. "I’ve no idea what I’ve been reading." He set his book aside to stand and stretch lazily. "Do you think it’s possible to get too much sleep?"

"It’s simply that you’re not accustomed to sleeping for several hours at a time without interruption," Father replied, eagerly reaching for his chess set. "But never fear, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with a little challenge that will wake you up quickly enough!"

"I suppose that could be a pleasant diversion," Vincent answered, his voice deliberately serene.

Father bristled immediately at the underlying tone in his son’s voice. "Now see here," he warned as he watched Vincent settle his large frame in the chair across from his own. "Don’t you think you’re being rather overconfident? Remember, I was the one who taught you how to play chess in the first place!"

"Then, Father, you should derive satisfaction in seeing the results of your excellent instruction."

Grumbling under his breath as he heard Vincent’s satisfied chuckle, Father quickly prepared the game board. He reached for two pawns and concealed them in his closed fists. To his growing irritation, Vincent chose the hand holding the white piece, and within seconds had opened by sacrificing a pawn. Before Father could reply, he game was interrupted by the arrival of Brooke and several of the younger children she had been tending for the afternoon.

"Excuse me, Father, I’m sorry to bother you," she began, "but we’re working on our valentines, and I wanted to show the children the antique ones you have, you know, to give them a little inspiration. Did you find them?"

"Yes, Brooke, I did. Do you see that box on my desk? If you’ll bring it to me, we can take a look at them."

"But, Father," Eric exclaimed, "we don’t want to ruin your game with Vincent. Want us to come back later?"

"No, my boy, that’s all right. I promised Brooke I’d show you the valentines, and promises must be kept. If they’re not, then there’s no sense making them in the first place, is there?"

"No, I guess not," the young boy agreed, joining the other children as they seated themselves on the carpet at Father’s feet. "Anyway, I did sorta want to see the old valentines. I can’t come up with any ideas on how to make a good one."

"Then I shall help you," Father replied genially. "Many of the other children have yet to see the collection, and I think they’ll find it interesting, too. You don’t mind, do you, Vincent? We’ll have our game another time."

"Not at all, Father," Vincent replied agreeably. "I haven’t seen the collection myself in many years."

Noriko settled herself in her familiar spot on Vincent’s lap. "Brooke says the valentines are real, real old. How old are they, Father? More than this many?" Noriko held up four chubby fingers. "That’s how many I am now!"

"That’s right, Noriko, you just turned four. But these valentines are much, much older than that."

"Even older than Father," Jamie called out from the loft as she descended the stairs to join the little group. "Can you imagine that?"

"Wow, that’s pretty old," Danny answered, suitably impressed. "Is that the truth, Father?"

"Yes, it is the truth," he replied, shooting a withering glare in Jamie’s direction. "And we must all take great care with them. The materials are fragile and could easily be ruined by rough handling."

Samantha gasped as Father lifted the lid of the box and took out the first valentine. "Oh, it’s so beautiful! May I hold it? I’ll be very, very careful!"

With outstretched fingers she reached for the valentine and held it up daintily, being sure to keep it out of reach of the youngest children. It was constructed of glossy pressed paper cut in the shape of a heart and trimmed with row upon row of ivory lace, tiny silk flowers, and a cupid whose wings were made of real feathers.

Amid comments and cries of admiration, Samantha painstakingly opened the tiny folded heart the cupid held in one hand and found a verse engraved inside. "What does it say, Samantha?" Meggie asked eagerly as she peered over the older girl’s shoulder. "Read it out loud!"

"The writing’s so small, it’s awfully hard to see," Samantha answered, squinting at the miniature message. "But I think I can make it out. It’s a little poem.

Thou art all the world
To this heart of mine;
Life and its tender hopes
Are thine – and only thine.
Ah, love, wilt thou to me
Be more than Valentine?"

"I don’t get it," Danny announced with a frown. "What does it mean?"

"Aw, it’s all that mushy, lovey-dovey stuff," Kipper answered. "It doesn’t make any sense to me either!"

Samantha rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. "Well, I think it’s just beautiful. I hope someone sends me a valentine like that someday!" To her left, but wisely out of reach, Kipper whispered to Eric and the two snickered loudly.

"Let me read the next one," Brooke offered, anxious to forestall the commotion that threatened to arise from her well-intended diversion for the children. She hoped someday to become a teacher in the Tunnel community and decided to regard the moment as on-the-job training.

She reached into the box and withdrew one of the largest valentines, holding it up for the others to see. It was made of heavy embossed paper in the shape of a Victorian Era house, covered with garlands of paper rosebuds and silk ivy that entwined around its miniature chimney. Fancy gold paper formed the rooftop and tiny doves were suspended so as to mimic flight. Even Kipper was impressed with the meticulous workmanship that allowed doors and windows to swing open at the touch of a finger.

"Read it, read it!" Noriko cried excitedly.

"May I?" Mary asked, leaning forward to take the intricate creation from Brooke. "This has always been one of my favorites.

"Home is where affections bind
Gentle hearts in union,
Where voices all are kind,
Together holding sweet communion."

"I get what that one means," Eric volunteered. "It’s like being here at home in the Tunnels." He glanced around at the others to see if he had guessed correctly and was surprised to see a few of the older children looking at him with new respect.

"That’s right, Eric," Father said warmly. "And I think we all can understand why it’s one of Mary’s favorites."

As the box was passed around the group and various valentines carefully removed and examined, several others took turns reading verses aloud or pointing out particularly lovely or clever decorations. After many minutes had passed, nearly everyone had found a favorite, some from among the sweetly sentimental cards and others from those that were humorous and silly.

"Hey, look at this one," Kipper called, holding aloft a valentine in the shape of an elaborate sailing ship, complete with lavishly dressed couples strolling the flower-strewn decks while over their heads cupids and doves swung from masts made of gilded cord and streamers of tiny silk forget-me-nots. "Even the poem on this one isn’t so bad," he added with a grin. "It’s kinda funny."

"Where did they come from, Father?" Brooke asked as she began to collect the valentines and return them carefully to the box for safekeeping. "I don’t think you mentioned it when you told me about them."

"They belonged to a gentleman named Frederick Miller who lived here many years before most of you were born. He had been a history professor Above, and his specialty was the Victorian Era. That’s when sending valentines first became popular, you know, and all the ones in his collection are from that period."

"Where is he now?" Meggie asked. "Did he move back Above?"

"No, he stayed with us," Mary replied. "And he was very happy here, but he was quite old and during his second winter Below he became very ill with pneumonia and passed away. We thought about sending his collection Above to a museum, but we’ve always felt that since it was one of the few things he had wanted to bring here to his new home, that perhaps he had meant it to stay here with us."

"Over the years, we’ve taken the valentines out from time to time," Father added. "And we think of our old friend as we enjoy the legacy he left us."

"Just like this one," Brooke remarked as she retrieved the small valentine that had been the last to be put away. "Look, it’s a bouquet of forget-me-nots. It says

Forget me not!
No other heart
Can ever be more
True than mine.
Though many loving
Friends surround
Thy sunny path,
My Valentine.

"That’s a lovely thought, dear," Mary said approvingly. "Now if you’d like, I’d be glad to go with you and help the children make their own valentines."

"Yes!" Brooke answered immediately. "Thanks, Mary, I’d like that a lot."

"I’ll help, too," Jamie offered. "I was supposed to work on a project with Mouse this afternoon, but I don’t have any idea where he’s gone off to."

"Okay, guys, let’s go then!" Brooke said. The children followed along, busily chattering about their plans for creating their own valentines, and in minutes the cheerfully noisy chamber returned to an atmosphere of quiet repose with Father and Vincent as its only occupants.

Father returned the box to a cabinet behind his desk and then settled back in his chair. "You were rather quiet through all that, Vincent," he commented. "Is something troubling you?"

Shaking his head, Vincent rose to his feet. "No, not at all. I enjoyed seeing the valentines as much as anyone. The workmanship is quite impressive and they’ve been kept in excellent condition."

"Yes," Father agreed, trying unsuccessfully to determine if there were messages hidden within his son’s noncommittal response. "Well then, would you like to resume our chess game?"

"If you don’t mind, Father, I think I’ll go for a walk, perhaps to the Mirror Pool or maybe as far as the Falls. I feel I need some exercise after all this relaxation."

Vincent had averted his head as he spoke, and it was this characteristic gesture that further fueled Father’s sense of uneasiness. "Yes, well, of course," he replied quickly. "I shall see you at dinner."

"Yes." The single syllable seemed to linger in the still air several seconds after Vincent had departed, leaving Father alone to brood on his son’s unusual behavior.

Now what’s all this about, he wondered. Something’s not right… Still I can’t go on interrogating him as if he were a child. I suppose I’ll just have to be patient and wait to see if he tells me on his own.

Having made his decision, Father reached for a nearby book, intending to enjoy what was left of the day of rest. He had only opened the volume to the title page when he heard rapid footsteps nearing his chamber and looked up in surprise as Vincent strode forward to reclaim the chair he had very recently abandoned.

"Vincent, is something the matter? I thought you said you were going for a walk."

"I still intend to, Father, but there’s something I need to ask you first."

For several moments Father waited patiently and then prompted, "And what is it you wish to ask me?" To his astonishment he noticed a faint flush of color rise in his son’s face. Oh, dear God, now what? he wondered as he watched Vincent spring to his feet and begin to pace rapidly.

"This is not easy for me to talk about," Vincent began abruptly as he forced himself to return and sit opposite his parent. "I have little experience in these matters, and I know well that such things are not expected of me. I don’t know where to begin."

"Then perhaps you should wait for another time," Father suggested.

"No, it cannot wait. It must be now."

A minute passed in silence, followed by several more until at last Father demanded, "What is it, Vincent? You’re putting my nerves on edge!"

"I’m sorry, Father," he answered. "My behavior is – ridiculous, and I apologize for it."

"Go on."

Vincent’s voice was so low that Father had to strain his ears to hear the deceptively simple request. "I would like to ask you if I might have one of the valentines so that I can give it as a gift to Catherine."

"Oh, good heavens, is that what this is all about? A valentine?" Father’s normally dignified voice rose an octave. "All this fuss for only that?"

Vincent slowly raised his head and looked directly at the older man. "Yes, Father, that’s what all this fuss has been about – only that and nothing more."

"Then why didn’t you simply ask me for it without all this great mystery and confusion? Of course, you can have one. Take whichever you’d like."

Shaking his head slightly, Vincent studied his father’s puzzled expression. "Do you truly not understand?" he asked quietly. "How can it be that you would not know how difficult such a request would be for me?"

Father closed his eyes in sudden realization, ashamed at the careless words that had added to his son’s pain. "I’m sorry, Vincent," he murmured. "I should have known." His eyes snapped open again as Vincent responded with a harsh laugh.

"I suppose I should be happy that you didn’t find my request so strange…but that was only because your attention was diverted by the oddness of my behavior." Wearily, Vincent rubbed a hand across his eyes before continuing. "But it wouldn’t be difficult to understand that my request would come as a surprise, Father. Why should someone such as I need a valentine, unless it was as an object to study or admire? Why should I need one to send as a message of love, like any other man?"

"Vincent, I am truly sorry. I spoke without thinking."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It is I who must apologize for causing you this concern. Please, let’s not mention it again." Vincent rose and turned toward the chamber entrance, only to be brought to an abrupt halt by the sound of his father’s voice.

"Don’t go, Vincent, please. There’s something I would like to say to you."

Vincent hesitated for several long moments, and then pivoted slowly to face his father. "What is it?" he asked, his face a mask of hard-won control. "Tell me."

"Vincent, not so very long ago, I promised you that I would try my best to overcome the concerns I have about your relationship with Catherine. And although we haven’t talked about it since, I want to assure you that it has occupied my thoughts. Now, mind you, I’m not saying that I’ve changed my mind completely, but I have come to one or two conclusions, rather difficult ones, I might add.

"As you so eloquently pointed out, you are no longer a child. You are a man, free to make your own decisions about how to conduct certain aspects of your life. It isn’t easy for me to give up the role I’ve had in your life for thirty-seven years, but I am trying – and you are not helping when you create situations such as this!"

"Go on, Father. I’m listening."

The older man’s voice was gentle as he continued. "I do know how difficult your request was, how uncomfortable it made you. And I have apologized for my unthinking words. But, son, you must not be afraid to bring up such matters with me, no matter how uneasy it might make you at first. If we are not honest with one another, then how can we expect our relationship to change as it must – as it should?

"Your honesty when you helped me to better understand your feelings for Catherine, took tremendous courage, as did my words to you on that night and as they do now. If we are to move forward, Vincent, we must be strong. We cannot turn away from one another and ignore what needs to be said."

Vincent released a heartfelt sigh and pulled Father into a gentle hug before stepping back to look at his parent with new understanding. "Father, your words – that if we are to go forward, we must be honest with one another – Catherine has told me much the same thing. And in those words I have head the truth from her heart and from yours."

Father smiled. "Hmmm, she said that, did she? Perhaps Catherine and I have more in common than either of us realizes."

"You may be right," Vincent agreed. "I’ll have to suggest that idea to her and hear what she has to say about it."

"Now that will be an interesting conversation, I’m sure." Father made his way behind his desk and once again removed the box of antique valentines. "Here, Vincent, take these with you and choose the one you feel is best. It is right – and perfectly understandable – that you should want Catherine to have such a beautiful token of your feelings. I’m sure it will mean a great deal to her."

Vincent took a deep breath before answering. He knew how difficult that acknowledgement had been for the older man. "Yes, it will mean a great deal to Catherine, just as your words tonight have meant to me."

Smiling, Father gestured him away. "Go on now or Valentine’s Day will have come and gone, and you’ll still be deliberating over which is the perfect one for Catherine."

Vincent’s steps were almost light as he climbed the short flight of stairs to the chamber entrance and disappeared into the dusky light, leaving his bemused parent to ponder the new directions their lives seemed destined to follow.

A Gift

Peggy Garvin 

I want to give him something
To hold near when we’re apart,
Yet I cannot decide since
I already gave my heart.

I want to give her something
To hold when she is Above,
Yet I cannot decide since
I already gave my love.