Above, still enveloped in a haze of wondrous pleasure, Catherine undressed and fell into bed, reveling in feverishly beautiful dreams until morning. Everything she had hoped for at last seemed to be within their reach – a future free from fear and harm, a life full of all the love that was meant to be.

Below, Vincent had wandered through the tunnels for well over an hour, lost in his remembrance of their time together. Coherent thought all but deserted him, leaving him free to bask in the deeply stirring sensations that surged through him. At last he reached his chamber and after quickly exchanging his clothing for his usual warm, flannel nightshirt, he climbed into bed, hoping to fulfill Catherine’s wish that he dream sweet dreams of her.

Many minutes passed and Vincent still lay awake in the darkness, unable to quiet his pulsing awareness of Catherine long enough to fall asleep. He knew she slept and had begun to dream of him, as always unafraid of exploring all the wonders she believed were possible for them. In the past, he had shut himself away from her dreams, unable to bear the torture of feeling through her desires all the things he knew could never come to be. But now, tonight, he did not turn away and instead recalled the unbelievable words she had whispered to him. "I want you so much…"

Their bond seemed stronger and richer than ever, and for long moments he allowed himself the freedom to enter into Catherine’s dreams. Yet all too soon, he knew that the throbbing emotions he sensed in her only fueled his own and would never let him rest. Reluctantly he forced himself to narrow the channel of their miraculous connection.

But it was no use. His large hands still tingled with the feel of her – plush velvet dress, satiny hair, petal soft skin so warm to his touch. His tightly closed eyes saw only her – smiling in delight at something he had said, swaying gracefully closer in the shimmering candlelight, reaching eagerly for him in anticipation of his kiss and his caress.

Moaning softly, Vincent tossed and turned beneath his layer of woolen blankets and patchwork quilts. His whole body seemed alive with sensations of Catherine. He remembered the wild moments when he had dared to lean over her, pressing his taut body to her soft and supple curves, imprinting upon himself the memory of their touch as they had drifted toward the cavern floor. Restlessly, Vincent licked his dry lips and tasted still the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. Never before had anyone kissed him as Catherine had, and he knew he would live for the moment when he would know that joy again.

He took several deep breaths, hoping to calm the delicious turbulence before it surged beyond his control. But it seemed the very fragrance of her was all around him and with each shuddering breath it filled him like a powerfully addicting drug. Almost in desperation Vincent rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillows, attempting to shut out by force the seductive awareness of all that was Catherine, the song and sight and scent that threatened his self-control.

He thrust his hands beneath the pillows and clutched at the worn sheets. Instead of the familiar cotton fabric, he felt crisp paper. In surprise he pulled it toward him to discover that a small, oddly shaped parcel had been hidden in his bed. As he sat up, he reached for a box of matches he kept on his bedside table and lit a candle to help him in examining the little package. He knew immediately that it was from Catherine. The flowery fragrance that clung to the smooth, white tissue paper belonged only to her, and Vincent raised it to his face, never tiring of its beauty, never feeling he could have enough.

Slowly, savoring the unexpected pleasure, Vincent unwrapped the mysterious package, carefully peeling away layer after layer of translucent paper to uncover what lay inside. When at last he held the small silk and lace heart in his hand, he felt warm tears fill his eyes, and he pressed Catherine’s gift to his wide chest, holding it over the rapid beating of his own overflowing heart.

"Oh, Catherine, my own sweet Catherine," he whispered aloud.

He lowered his hand to his lap and gazed at the frilly object he still held. He had recognized at once the remnants of the dress Catherine had worn on the night of their first anniversary, a night filled with dancing light. With wonder, he traced the tip of one claw over the small, heart-shaped pillow, gently outlining the swirling floral pattern of the fine lace. He turned it over and found their initials entwined within another smaller heart that had been embroidered on the peach silk.

The heat and pressure of his hand released more of the evocative flowery fragrance and it seemed to float in the air all around him. How, he wondered, had she duplicated the scent so perfectly? It was as if she had somehow captured something of her own essence within the silken casing.

Suddenly Vincent’s eyes focused on a small, pink envelope that had been hidden among the folds of tissue paper. Carefully setting aside the little pillow, he reached for it and found his name written on it in Catherine’s flowing script. After running a clawed nail under the envelope’s edge, Vincent pulled out two folded sheets of paper. One was Catherine’s familiar stationery and the other was a small piece of ivory shaded parchment.

Turning first to the pale pink note, Vincent read the message she had left for him.  
   

My dearest Vincent,

I wanted to give you a very special gift for Valentine’s Day, something that would give you pleasure whenever you see it. I searched for a long time, but nothing seemed right until I finally realized that what I really wanted to give you was a part of my world and a part of myself. It seems that everywhere I go, I find beautiful and wonderful things that remind me of you, and I thought you would like something that helps you think of me, too, especially when we must be apart.

I know you will recognize the lace and silk, but I can just picture you now, wondering how I managed to find the potpourri inside the heart. There is a magical, little shop in Soho and it’s run by an amazing woman named Giselle Delacroix. It was she who made the potpourri for us. As you can tell, she was able to identify all the elements of my perfume and shampoo and then blended the right ingredients to match their scents, creating the fragrance I know you love. She also told me a lovely story about the flowers – did you know each one has its own romantic meaning? I feel sure you would like Giselle as much as I do. Maybe someday the two of you might meet. And, Vincent, that’s not as impossible as you might think. Giselle even knows Kristopher…

My only regret is that I cannot be there with you when you find this gift where I have hidden it in your bed. With all my heart, I believe the day will come when we will not have to part, when we will awaken every morning in each other’s arms. Until then, Vincent, I will think of you always, and tonight I will imagine how you will look and what you might say when you discover my Valentine gift beneath your pillows. And just in case you’re puzzling over my choice of hiding place, read the sheet of parchment paper. And then, my dearest Vincent, I wish you pleasant dreams…

Happy Valentine’s Day, my love –

Always, your Catherine

After reading her note once again, Vincent shook his head slowly in heartfelt amazement. It is almost as if she truly in here with me, he told himself bemusedly. She has anticipated my every thought, even my slightest reaction. How well she knows me… and how much she truly loves me…loves me.

Willingly lost in Catherine’s gift of love, Vincent almost forgot about the second sheet of paper. As he caught sight of it again, he picked it up, eager to discover what other captivating surprises Catherine might have in store for him. The parchment crackled slightly as he unfolded it to read the enchanting legend described within. 

To My Dearest Vincent,

Within the silken heart you hold in your gentle hand are many special flowers. Each one brings to you a message of love –

I give to you lemon verbena for fidelity, acacia for purity, cape jasmine for joyous rapture, and honeysuckle for the bonds of true love.

I send to you vetiver for security, and blue sage for serenity, eternity, and esteem.

I offer to you wild thyme for courage and freedom from bad dreams,

And roses – white as a messenger of love only for you, red for passion, and both as a symbol of unity in love.

And finally, my dearest love, I give you yarrow’s magic to protect you as you sleep and to help you dream sweet dreams of your one true love.

Just as the flowers in this lace heart speak of love, my heart is filled with love – now, forever, and always – only for you.

Catherine
 
 

Vincent’s hand shook as he carefully refolded the paper together with Catherine’s letter and returned both to the envelope. Again he picked up the little heart-shaped pillow and cradled it for a moment in his large, gentle hands.

"That she would do all this for me," he murmured. "It is beyond anything I might have dreamed."

Although Vincent knew in his heart that Catherine truly loved him, he had never expected to be given any tangible symbols of her feelings. With every precious gift she’d offered him, he had known great joy and gratitude, but had never fully believed he was worthy of receiving them and all they represented. It had been beyond belief that she would seek out ways to show not only him but also members of his family, his friends, their whole shared world, that she loved him so deeply and so well. He could comprehend intellectually the wondrous concept, but on a deeper, more emotional level, he had felt he must deny it, even when its truth had been shown to him time and time again.

Yet now this one small, silken gift began to reach him with its message, telling him of all the beautiful things Catherine had for so long tried to help him accept as the truth they had always been.

Snuffing out the candle’s small flame, Vincent lay back down in his bed, still grasping the little, lacy pillow in his hand. Over and over he recalled the words she had written to him. Joyous rapture, bonds of true love, courage, purity, fidelity, passion, only for you…

He pictured her delight in discovering the little shop and the charming woman who had helped bring her gift to life for him. He imagined her taking precious time to create the love-filled offering with her own hands, knowing that with every stitch she was bringing him closer to a dream come true. And he realized how she longed to show him the depths of her love, the love that was only for him, the love that he had once believed he would never know.

Filled with quiet joy, Vincent at last drifted to sleep, holding all of Catherine’s gifts close to his heart.
 

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

One by one the weeks passed, with February giving way to March and winter’s frigid bleakness yielding slowly to the promise of spring. With the turning of the seasons, Vincent and Catherine’s lives took on a new direction, their worlds inexorably revolving closer as the thawing city earth spun toward the nurturing sun.

While their individual responsibilities Above and Below still kept them apart, often for days at a time, they found they were growing increasingly skilled at discovering ways to thwart the efforts their worlds seemed to make to limit their time together. Now Catherine spent almost every weekend Below, exploring its natural beauty, visiting friends, learning more about the ways of Tunnel life, and simply being with Vincent. No longer was she willing to let her job devour her energy and free time; and while the world Above still was full of lovely things to see and do, some of which she knew would always be part of her life, they did not call to her and could not offer her the deep and wondrous fulfillment that awaited her Below.

On a Friday in early March, New Yorkers awoke to find that the histrionic forecasts of several local TV weather reporters had come true, and the city was virtually paralyzed by snow, sleet, and hurricane force winds. At six a.m. the persistent clamor of Catherine’s bedside phone pulled her from a dream of dancing in Vincent’s arms and, disoriented, she groped for the receiver.

"Hello?" she muttered groggily, eyes still clenched shut against the icy grey dawn light.

"Cathy, is that you?" The voice on the other end was disgustingly alert and cheerful.

"Joe?" she croaked. "What do you want? It’s still the middle of the night."

"Not quite, Radcliffe. What’s the matter – were you out ‘til the wee hours, dancing at one of those high society get-togethers or something?"

The mention of dancing reminded Catherine of the lovely dream Joe’s phone call had effectively shattered, and the reminder did nothing to improve her state of mind.

Rolling onto her back, she flung her free arm over her eyes, determined not to actually wake up until she had to. "What do you want, Joe? You have exactly three seconds and then I’m going to hang up and go back to sleep – something everybody in their right mind is still doing!"

"The ones who aren’t outside shoveling anyway."

She groaned. "What are you talking about?"

"I take it you haven’t looked outside in the last couple of hours, huh?"

"No, I haven’t, Joe, possibly because I’ve been sound asleep!" All at once his comments and her own increasing awareness sent messages that made her sit up and look toward the French doors which led to the balcony. The odd greyish white glow and the threatening howl of the wind flinging icy pellets against the glass could mean only one thing. "Hang on a minute," she muttered, dropping the receiver onto a pillow and rising from the bed.

Catherine pulled back the heavy winter drapes to find the outside world frozen into an ice-covered state of inertia. Nothing moved except the furiously wind-driven snow. She dropped the curtain back into place and hurried back to the warmth of her bed to retrieve the receiver from where it had fallen between two fluffy pillows.

"Wow, it looks awful out there!"

"Yeah, the reporters got it right for once," Joe agreed. "Nothing’s going to be moving out there for quite a while, Cathy, so don’t try to come in to work today. With all this ice, you know it’ll be next to impossible to get around, and besides it’s just too dangerous. So stay put, okay?"

"I won’t argue with that," she replied happily. "But what about you? You’re not going to try to get in to the office, are you?"

"Not unless it clears up later on. I’ve got plenty of stuff I can work on right here. But what I’ll need is the research on the Fitzgerald case. I don’t suppose you brought it home, did you? I could probably manage to come over and get it later this morning."

"No, sorry, Joe. It’s right on your desk where you asked me to put it. It’s been there since, oh, about five of ten last night when I left the office."

"Point taken, Radcliffe," he commented dryly. "I guess it can wait until Monday. And, seriously, thanks for taking care of that one. I know it was a lot of work."

"That’s okay, Joe," she answered warmly. "It’s part of our agreement, and you’ve been great about sticking to it. The day could come when things will change again and when it does we’ll have to talk about it. But for now I want you to know how grateful I am that you haven’t asked me to go back into street investigation."

"Don’t worry about it, kiddo. So, what are you going to do with all your free time? Go back to sleep, read trashy novels, watch one of those talk shows? I hear there’s a good one on today – Cross-dressing Alien Terrorists Infiltrate the Fast Food Industry."

"And I was worried I might be bored!" Catherine laughed appreciatively. "See you Monday, Joe. And thanks for calling."

After replacing the receiver, Catherine propped several pillows against the bed’s headboard and leaned back against them, sighing happily. She had worked late almost every night that week in order to insure that her weekend with Vincent would not be threatened. Now the severe storm had given them a wonderful gift of time.

"And I’m not about to waste it," she said aloud, throwing back the covers and nearly jumping out of bed.

Little more than an hour later, Catherine was on her way Below. As she descended the metal ladder, she began to realize that she might have been too impulsive. It’s only seven-thirty, she told herself. I’ve rarely been Below this early on a weekday. Most people are probably just getting up.

Immediately, a vision of Vincent came into her mind. A warm and sleep-tousled Vincent, a drowsy half-smile on his lips, his magnificent body nestled beneath a feather comforter, one bare, steel-muscled arm reaching out across the bed’s expansive width as if reaching for something or someone.

An exquisite trembling rippled through her body and she faltered, nearly losing her footing on the cold iron bars. Gasping, she dropped her suitcase and grabbed at the bars with both hands in an attempt to regain her balance. All at once, she felt great gentle hands grip her waist, their strength supporting her weight and carefully lowering her to safety.

In delight and relief she turned and threw her arms around her rescuer, hugging him tightly before leaning back to look up at his face. His expression was a mixture of worry and elation, like a little boy who has been given a long sought-after gift, only to find it might easily break.

"Are you hurt, Catherine?" His voice was low and raspy, and he tightened his hold on her slender waist. "You almost fell!"

She smiled at him. "I know. Pretty silly, wasn’t it, considering the number of times I’ve climbed up and down this ladder."

"But you’re all right now?" His gaze searched her face for reassurance.

"Now that you’re here. I’m always all right when I’m with you." She clasped her hands around his neck and then stretched upward to quickly kiss his mouth before stepping out of their embrace. Then she reached for his hand and twined their fingers together in a familiar melding of smooth softness with fur-silkened strength. "Are you surprised to see me here so early?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered as he looked down at her. "I was just waking up when I sensed your presence and realized you were coming Below."

She looked up at him, at last fully noticing the way his thick hair, still somewhat ruffled from sleep, tumbled over his wide shoulders, and the hint of bronze curls that peeked through the untied laces of his nightshirt. Letting her gaze drift lower, she saw that he had tucked the ends of the shirt into a pair of well-worn jeans, the tight-fitting denim hugging his thighs before disappearing into suede-fringed boots. In his haste to reach her, he had even left his cloak behind. Catherine sighed softly. The reality of the man standing next to her, enfolding her hand in his, was far more glorious, more alluring than her imagination’s most fervent wanderings could ever be.

"Catherine?"

His husky voice stirred her to awareness and she raised her eyes, noting even in the dim light the slight blush that colored his finely chiseled face. They both knew where her thoughts had led her. For a moment Vincent was torn by the urge to turn away and somehow try to hide himself from her and the desire to pull her into his arms again, to revel in the feeling of her body pressed to his, knowing that without his usual layers of clothing he would feel her soft, lithe curves molding to every inch of him.

Taking a shuddering, deep breath, Catherine managed to speak at last. "You said you were just waking up?"

Unable to trust his own voice, Vincent nodded and waited for her to continue.

"Oh, Vincent, I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I didn’t think about it being so early before I started out."

"Please don’t worry, Catherine," he reassured her, his voice low and husky with suppressed emotion.

"But you need your rest!"

He stilled her protest with a smile and a slight squeeze of her hand. "As you do," he chided gently. "What brings you here so early?"

His gaze swept over her, taking in for the first time the suitcase lying in the dust at her feet and the clothing she was wearing – sneakers, sweats, and a warm jacket. Puzzled, he tilted his head toward her. "Won’t you have to be on your way to work soon?"

Her delighted laughter rippled through him. "No, I don’t have to go in today! There’s a terrible snowstorm Above and Joe called early this morning to tell me to stay home. And that gave me the chance to come Below now instead of having to wait until tonight. I suppose it’s selfish to be so happy when so many people will have to find a way to go out in that horrible weather, but –"

He knew it was dangerous, but he could not resist. Bending forward, he interrupted her eager words with a warm, lingering kiss that took their breath away. Then he forced himself to pull back but looked deeply into her sparkling eyes. "I think for once, Catherine, we will be forgiven if we decide to be selfish."

For several moments they looked happily at each other and then, as one, they turned in the direction of the home chambers. Vincent reached for the tapestry suitcase and swung it easily into his strong grip. "Have you had breakfast yet, Catherine?" he asked as they began to walk deeper into the Tunnel world. "Father will be up by now and we often eat together in the morning."

"No, I didn’t bother with it. I guess I was too anxious to come Below before Joe changed his mind and decided we should try to shovel our way downtown."

"Do you mean you didn’t even take the time to make coffee?" he joked, knowing she often said she could not face the early hours without it.

"No, not even that," she answered as she shook her head.

"Then I am honored you would choose coming to see me over such a basic necessity of life," he teased, glancing down at her smiling face.

Catherine narrowed her eyes and answered in deliberately sultry tones. "Vincent, there is nothing in the world – not air or water or even caffeine – that I need more than I need you." She could not keep from grinning in satisfaction at the enigmatic look, part panic and part pleasure, that crossed his face. "Of course, when I fall asleep in about an hour, you’ll have to administer massive doses of hot, fresh coffee. Or I guess you could always just carry me off to bed and tuck me in for a nap."

Vincent took a deep breath. "Yes, I suppose I could… Catherine, did I tell you that some of the children will be entertaining many of us this evening with a small concert? I believe they’ll be presenting a recital of pieces they’ve recently studied. It should be very enjoyable."

"It sounds lovely," she replied, content for now to help him maintain their normal conversation until they reached Father’s chambers, knowing that each tiny inroad was leading them closer and closer to the life they both longed for.

Upon greeting the surprised older man and explaining her unexpected presence, Catherine sat down to wait with Father while Vincent took her things to the guest chamber, a room everyone now considered hers, and then went to change into his usual clothes. After accepting a steaming mug of tea, Catherine listened as Father told her of the time Vincent, Winslow, Devin, and many of their friends had decided to transport several wagon-loads of snow Below so that they could build their own private snow forts that would last through the winter.

"And, of course, it took nearly a week to bail out all the slush when their little project melted and threatened to flood an entire level of tunnels!"

Catherine’s laughter reached Vincent’s ears as he reentered the large chamber. It warmed his heart to see the two people he loved most sitting together under such convivial, good-natured conditions. Perhaps, he told himself carefully, it is possible that everything we hope for might truly come to be. I could ask for nothing more…

"Ah, Vincent," Father called to him. "Come have breakfast with us. I was just telling Catherine about the time you boys brought all that snow below and nearly drowned us with it."

A pleasant hour sped by until, with great reluctance, Vincent knew he would have to leave to attend to his work assignment for the day. When Father left them to return their tray of breakfast dishes to the kitchen chamber, he turned to Catherine and told her of his duties.

"I’m sorry, Catherine, but it cannot be helped," he apologized.

"Please, Vincent, don’t worry. I know you have work to do, and I wouldn’t have come Below if I thought my presence would interfere with your responsibilities. Is it something I can help you with?"

His heart swelled with happiness at her words. It is almost, he thought wonderingly, as if we truly are together, here in the world Below, like any other… couple… Shaking his head slightly to regain his focus, he answered, "No, not today. Usually on Friday mornings I teach the younger children’s literature class. Brooke has been my assistant, and I promised her that today she might try it on her own. She is quite serious about becoming a teacher, and I think she’ll benefit from this experience."

"Do you think that in a year or two she’ll want to go Above and take some college courses, maybe at NYU or Pace?"

"She has mentioned it, yes, and I think she’d greatly welcome that opportunity. We’ll have to discuss it when the time comes."

Catherine carefully stored away the information, adding it to the ever-growing collection of facts and ideas she harbored that might support her plans for the future.

"Since you’re not teaching this morning, what will you be doing instead? Are you sure I can’t help you?"

Vincent grimaced slightly as he answered. "It’s not that you can’t help me, Catherine, but rather when I tell you what my task is, I think you’ll be glad I haven’t accepted your offer. Do you remember my gift to William – the one that amused you so?"

"You mean your Secret Valentine present?" She grinned up at him. "Yes, I remember."

"Well, I will be spending the day, shall we say, processing recycled agricultural resources."

Catherine couldn’t help laughing. "In other words, you’ll be chopping up left-over vegetables and carting them down to the new garden."

"Yes." Vincent nodded in agreement. "That’s what I’ll be doing this morning and probably most of the afternoon as well."

"Then on second thought, I’m sure I can find something to keep myself busy until you’re finished," Catherine replied hastily. "Maybe I can visit Pascal and work on practicing some of the pipe codes. I brought the book he gave me, but I haven’t made much progress with it yet."

"I think you’ve done beautifully with it, Catherine. Remember, you’ve only been studying the codes seriously for a few weeks, while most people Below have known and used them every day for many years. Their use will come easier to you in time."

"Yes," she agreed softly, as his unspoken message passed between them. "I believe they will."

They looked longingly at one another, and it was only Father’s sudden reappearance that kept them from each other’s arms.

"Still here, Vincent? I thought that by now you would be knee-deep in that pile of muck or muddle or whatever it’s called."

"Mulch. I’m just on my way, Father," he replied. "And I’m glad it has afforded both of you such enjoyment."

Catherine and Father exchanged broad grins. "Our pleasure, my boy, our pleasure," Father announced. "Off with you now! I expect we’ll see you at dinner."

Smiling, Vincent nodded and started up the stairs toward one of the entrances to the chamber. "Vincent," Catherine called, waiting as he paused and looked back at her. "Listen to the pipes later. Maybe if I can figure out how to do it, I can send you a message."

"I will," he promised. "And I trust that your message will make my task more palatable." Seconds later he had disappeared into the well-traveled tunnel.

"Did Vincent inherit that sense of humor from you?" Catherine asked amiably.

Father looked at her appraisingly. "Yes, I suppose in a way he did. Now what have you planned for the day, my dear, since Vincent will be busy?"

For a fleeting moment Catherine thought she had heard the smallest trace of satisfaction in the older man’s voice. "Well, first I’m going to go and unpack my things," she answered evenly. "Then I thought I might visit Pascal. You know he gave me that book of pipe codes on Valentine’s Day? This could be the perfect opportunity to practice them."

"Yes, well, that is a good idea, Catherine. And perhaps later you might like to join me for tea and a game of chess?"

"Yes, I’d like that," she answered warmly, setting aside her earlier misgivings.

"Fine. Let’s say about four o’clock, shall we?" he replied as he seated himself at his desk and reached for a sheaf of maps. "Of course, if there’s anything you might need in the meantime, you’ll find me here."

"Thanks. I’ll see you later then," she told him and then left for the guest chamber.

On her way she stopped to greet several Tunnel residents and to explain her early arrival on a weekday. Deeply pleased by the genuine warmth of each response, Catherine entered the little chamber that had become something of a home away from home for her. In no time at all, she put away the items she’d brought with her and then headed for the Pipe Chamber in the hope that Pascal would agree to let her study with him for at least a few hours. As she walked, her thoughts turned again to Father and his contradictory reactions to her presence Below.

I think he was truly glad to see me, she mused, yet on the other hand, he was almost nervous, as if he’s afraid of something, maybe of trusting me. Every time I come to visit, he seems a bit more willing to accept my being with Vincent. But that doesn’t stop him from being relieved, almost pleased in a way, when we can’t stay together, particularly when we can’t be alone. Even after all this time, nearly three years and especially the months we worked together when Vincent was so sick, he still can’t bring himself to accept me. What will it take to change his mind, to make him see that Vincent and I are meant to be together, that we will be together…

Realizing she had reached the Pipe Chamber, Catherine sighed and pushed away the disquieting thoughts, determined not to let anything harm a moment of the time she could be a part of this world. The answers were not yet theirs to take, but she knew the time would come when she would talk with Father and try to help him understand the truth of all that could be.

Catherine entered the huge, cavernous chamber and gazed around in awe. It was filled with intersecting pipes of all sizes, crossing and twisting over one another in seemingly endless contortions. The metallic clanging produced a fascinating, unique music that could be found nowhere else in the world. Upon listening very carefully,
Catherine discovered she could discern many different rhythms and tones, and she knew each one conveyed a message all its own.

Unable to see Pascal among the twisting, turning pipes, Catherine moved farther into the chamber and called his name hesitantly. She knew he might be somewhere within, concentrating on a particular message, and she didn’t want to interrupt him unnecessarily. Seconds later she watched with relief as he emerged from behind an intricate web of copper pipes several feet to her left. His forehead was lined in concentration as he waved to her, indicating that he would be with her in a few moments.

As Catherine waited patiently, she continued to look around the vast chamber that had long served as the Tunnel world’s center of communications. She was so intent on listening to the sounds traveling through the pipes all around her that she did not hear Pascal approach.

"Catherine, it’s good to see you here," he said in his quiet voice.

She spun toward him and gestured at the inner workings of his world. "This is fascinating, Pascal. I’ve only been here once before with Vincent and then I only got as far as the doorway. I had no idea this was all so huge and complex."

He smiled, shyly pleased by her astonishment. "It’s really not as complicated as it looks, once you get used to it. Can you stay a while? I’ll be glad to show you around."

"Yes, thanks, that’s what I was hoping for," she answered with a smile. "But I don’t want to interfere with your work."

"It’s no problem, as long as you don’t mind my stopping the tour every so often so that I can process someone’s message. Most of them can just be sent on their own, but some need assistance of one kind or another. I usually have an apprentice or two working with me, but I’m on my own this morning."

"I don’t mind at all," Catherine replied. "Actually, I was hoping to have the opportunity to see if I could interpret some of the messages, too. I’ve been practicing with the code book you gave me, and although I’ve got an awfully long way to go, I think I’m ready to try a few of the basics."

"That’s great, Catherine! But how did you manage to practice Above?"

She smiled self-consciously. "Promise not to laugh?" When he nodded reassuringly, she continued, "I went to a hardware store and bought three different hammers and a few feet of every kind of pipe they sold. I’ve been banging and clanging away on them every chance I’ve had, just to try to get a feel for the rhythms and different amounts of force needed for various tones. I tried to follow some of the basic codes in your book, too. I know it isn’t the same as using the pipes here, but I was the best I could do. I can’t imagine what my neighbors have been thinking!" She laughed and shook her head. "I guess the whole thing was kind of crazy, but I didn’t know how else I could practice Above."

Pascal’s solemn face broke into a delighted grin. "I don’t think it’s crazy at all. It shows how serious you are about learning the codes, and I think you have every right to be proud of yourself for coming up with the idea."

"Thank you, Pascal. Coming from you, I really appreciate that," Catherine answered happily "And I can’t wait to try it here, where it really counts."

She followed him deeper into the chamber and saw that a few yards from the entryway the ceiling was much higher and there were several loft-like platforms and catwalks reachable by a series of ladders and ramps almost as elaborate as the pipe configurations themselves. "This is truly amazing! Was it your father who had the original idea for all this?"

"No, that was Paracelsus. He and many of the others contributed to the development of the original codes, but it was my father who perfected the system," Pascal replied. "He had a brilliant mind and the most sensitive ear of anyone who’s ever lived Below. Over the years, the system has changed and evolved, but it would never be what it is today if not for his ideas."

"You must be very proud of all he accomplished in his lifetime," Catherine offered.

"I am," Pascal replied with a nod. "Everything I know, I learned from him. See this stethoscope? It was his. Of course, the tubing has been replaced once or twice, but the instrument itself belonged to my father and was passed on to me a long time ago. Come on, I’ll –"

He broke off abruptly and tipped his head to one side, listening intently. Reaching for a length of steel pipe that hung from his wrist on a leather thong, he quickly tapped out a rapid rhythm on a nearby pipe and then turned back toward Catherine who had watched him closely. "That was Rafael checking in. He just took over sentry duty near one of the Central Park entrances," he explained. "All the sentries report in periodically as a safety precaution."

He continued around a network of smaller pipes with Catherine following carefully behind. "Pascal, Vincent is working on the vegetable garden project today. Do you think it would be possible for you to show me how to send a message to him later? I told him I’d try, but I know I can’t do it on my own yet."

"Sure, I’d be glad to! Just let me know when you want to give it a try. Now, see that big pipe up there, the one with all the scratch marks on it? That’s one of the oldest pipes in the whole system, one of the originals."

Several hours passed with Catherine an enthusiastic pupil to Pascal’s instruction. During a lunch break, they had a chance to talk and get to know one another better, as Pascal answered questions and related stories of many events that had occurred long before Catherine had known of the Tunnels’ existence. When she glanced at her watch, she was surprised to find that it was well after three o’clock.

"This has been great, but I’m going to have to leave soon. Father asked me to join him for tea and a game of chess at four o’clock."

"You can come back anytime, Catherine," he assured her. "You made a lot of progress today, and that’s important now that you’re really a part of our world."

Unexpected tears misted her eyes. "Thank you, Pascal," she said softly. "That means a lot to me."

He smiled back at her. "But before you go, do you want to try sending that message to Vincent like we practiced?"

"Okay, but only if you promise to help!" She picked up the short length of steel tubing he had given her and followed him toward the appropriate pipes.

All throughout the day as he had labored at the last of his three promised work details on William’s behalf, Vincent had thought of Catherine. He was filled with contentment knowing she was safe and happy in his world, and several times he had reached out to her through their bond just for the sheer pleasure of sensing the steady, pleasant thrum of her emotions. Pausing to lean on the long wooden handle of the steel-pronged rake he had been wielding steadily for the past hour, he easily gave in to the temptation to experience that enjoyment once more.

Instead of feeling a loving warmth suffusing his heart, Vincent was startled back to awareness of his surroundings by a slimy coldness invading his old leather work boots. With a harsh gasp, he looked down to see a decidedly nasty-looking substance leaking into the sole of one boot through a patch that had finally given way.

"Is something wrong, Vincent?" called a voice from a few feet away. "What happened?"

Vincent grimaced in disgust and pointed to the torn boot. "It’s this old boot. The patch has let go and some of this – this – stuff we’ve been standing in is now inside it, oozing around my foot."

Jamie couldn’t help laughing at his affronted expression. "I’m sorry, Vincent. I know how much you hate being dirty, but I wish you could see your face. You look like you’d rather be anywhere else right about now!"

"And, Jamie, to be honest, that’s exactly how I feel," he answered, mustering a sheepish grin. "How about quitting for the day? I think we’ve done enough for now, don’t you?"

"Definitely! It seems like there’s enough mulch for a dozen gardens, what with all the scraps and stuff we’ve been dragging down here for the past few weeks. We’ll probably be dreaming of it – and even smelling it in our sleep!"

"Then let’s just hope everyone else doesn’t as well."

"Ugh, I hadn’t thought of that," Jamie answered, wrinkling her nose. "I know it’s really worthwhile and all, but I’m glad neither of us will have to take this work assignment again for quite a while. How did you stand it – taking your own turn and then three for William? He really owes you big for that!"

"No." Vincent shook his head. "He owes me nothing. I offered to do this as my gift to him."

"Well, I don’t care," Jamie protested. "I think I’ll let him know that at the very least he ought to cook all your favorite meals for a week!"

Vincent chuckled appreciatively. "Come on. We should go and make sure we can find two unoccupied bathing chambers, or we might find ourselves permanently banished to the lower tunnels."

Shouldering their stained rakes, they started for the entryway to the little chamber near the vegetable garden. As they did, a halting metallic tapping on the pipes attracted their attention and they stopped to listen.

"Gee, whoever’s sending that message doesn’t sound like they know what they’re doing," Jamie commented.

Vincent tilted his head in the direction of the sound and raised a hand to still Jamie’s voice. A slow, delighted smile lit his face. "It’s Catherine," he whispered. "She has done it after all."

The message was brief and hesitant, but it sped its way to Vincent’s heart. "Vincent, hope all is well. Am with Pascal but leaving now to see Father. Will see you at dinner. Enjoy your bath. Be well. Catherine."

A flurry of Pascal’s rapid tapping followed Catherine’s first official Tunnel message, and the two friends laughed together as Jamie repeated it out loud. "Enjoy your bath, too, Jamie, and take your time. Best wishes from everyone at your dining table."

"I guess we haven’t got much choice," Jamie said as they squished their way through the layers of damp substances to reach drier ground at the entryway. "Not that we’d want any!"

"No, indeed," Vincent agreed as they left their work behind for the day.

While Vincent washed away the remains of his labors, Catherine joined Father in his study. As they sipped tea together, they began a game of chess, and to Father’s great enjoyment, he quickly bested Catherine.

"Well, I certainly need more practice developing strategies," Catherine commented. "But you’re very good at the game, Father. Why does everyone tease you about it?"

"Probably because I insist on challenging our best player time and time again," he answered as he carefully stored away the chess pieces. "It’s a rare day that anyone can beat Vincent, but nevertheless I can’t resist giving it a try."

Catherine smiled in understanding as they settled themselves in more comfortable chairs near a glowing heater. "Vincent seems to become quite an expert at nearly everything he tries, doesn’t he? I wonder if there’s anything he can’t do well."

"Yes, I wonder," Father repeated thoughtfully. "Of course, it’s quite sad to think there are many things he will never have an opportunity to attempt. But I suppose that can’t be helped, and there really isn’t anything we can do about it, is there?"

Don’t be so sure about that, Catherine thought vehemently. Careful not to let her facial expression reveal her inner reaction, she smiled pleasantly at Father. "Yes, I guess that’s true for some things, but then again, who can really say what the future might hold? Well, other than Narcissa, of course. Have you heard from her lately?"

As Father answered, Catherine breathed a small sigh of relief that her impromptu diversionary tactic had worked. Their conversation continued pleasantly and uneventfully for several minutes until Mouse bounded into the chamber.

After quickly scanning the room, he turned to Catherine and Father. "No Jamie? Thought she might be here. Not back from vegetable garden yet. Oh, well, can’t help that. Do it all myself then!"

"What’s the matter, Mouse?" Father asked quickly before the young man vanished again. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong. Not right. Just need some help, that’s all."

"I’ll be glad to help you, Mouse," Catherine suggested as she rose from her chair.

"Okay, good – better than good! Let’s go!"

"Wait one moment," Father called sternly. "Mouse, go along and find someone else to help you. Catherine is our guest."

Catherine looked from Father’s severe expression to Mouse’s disappointed face and then back again. "It’s all right, Father. Really, I don’t mind. I’d like to help Mouse." She started toward the doorway where Mouse hovered expectantly.

"Now, Catherine," Father repeated firmly. "You are our guest. You mustn’t feel you have to work."

Pausing at the top of the little staircase, she turned to face the older man. When she spoke, her voice was politely firm, but laced with a trace of wistfulness she found she couldn’t disguise. "Thank you, Father. I appreciate your concern for me, but I don’t want to be just a guest here anymore."

Her simple yet eloquent words seemed to echo in the still air long after Father had been left alone.

The Heartbeat of the Tunnels
 
Peggy Garvin

The pipes are like the lifeblood of the Tunnel World’s domain.
Every tap is understood by the souls who must remain
Safely hidden ‘neath the street, engulfed in the warm embrace,
Absorbed in a life complete in this caring, unique place.
Cries for help, sounds of alarm, daily communication,
Joyful news, warnings from harm, and useful information.
All this and more the pipes give in the hand of those who know
How precious it is to live in this magic world Below.