BEYOND BEGINNINGS - BOOK TWO
Linda Barth

Chapter Ten

Upon awakening in the second floor guest room, Catherine reached for the off button on the clock radio, silencing the sound that blared at her from the bedside table. For once she did not resort to her usual practice of slapping frantically at the snooze button, but instead sat up and stretched quickly before almost jumping out of bed in eagerness to get on with her plans for the day. Alone in the peaceful, spacious house, Catherine could hear little save the muted sounds from the street below. With a happy sigh she noticed the sunlight streaming in through the shutters of the windows opposite the bed. It was a beautiful spring morning, perfect for the projects she had planned.

With his flight to London scheduled to depart from JFK at 8 a.m., Peter had decided to spend the night at a hotel near the airport, not wanting the added stress of having to fight early morning rush hour traffic. He and Catherine had said their good-byes the night before and he had secured from her a promise that she would call him if any emergency arose.

As she quickly showered and then dressed in a light sweater, soft, flowing challis skirt and flat suede boots, Catherine thought about their conversation, smiling as she realized there were times when she was still something of a child to Peter. The idea did not offend or annoy her because she knew of the love that prompted it; and in the back of her mind there was an awareness that she might need his paternal help and support before long.

After a quick cup of coffee and a toasted bagel hastily prepared in their new kitchen, Catherine grabbed her jacket and shoulder bag, making sure her list of errands was in the outside pocket, and headed for the door. Moments later she paused on the top step just outside the brownstone's carved oak door. She could feel the April sun touch her face and hair as she took in the view of the street before her. This, she told herself, was what she would see from now on whenever she entered the world Above from her new home. Not the noisy, traffic-laden avenue and often crowded sidewalk she normally encountered as a uniformed doorman summoned a cab for her, but instead a quiet, tree-lined side street filled with two facing rows of elegant old brownstones.

She descended the steps to the sidewalk and turned left, walking quickly to the end of the block, where she knew she could easily find a cab on Central Park West. There were shops in her new neighborhood that she would visit later in the day, but her first stop was much farther downtown. Upon reaching the corner, she paused for a moment before hailing a cab and giving the driver the address of a shop in Soho. A smile teased her mouth as she looked across the wide street at the park where the morning sun had begun to chase away the night shadows. Although her move had placed her somewhat farther away from the drainage tunnel entrance than she had been before, it was still close enough to be useful; and there were other hidden tunnel entrances in the park, at least one of which was only a short walk away near the carousel.

Catherine leaned back in the cab as the driver began to weave in and out of traffic as if accepting a self-issued challenge to set a new personal best in some urban road race. Ordinarily the potential danger would have made her nervous, but now Catherine barely noticed it at all. As they jolted into the street that looped around Columbus Circle, she glanced back at the park, sending a loving thought to the man who was a part of its secret world. She wondered if he, too, had come Above early in the morning to stand at the threshold to this world. Yet unlike the bright sunlight that had blazed down upon her, Vincent would have felt only a faint hint of the sun's rays as they filtered through the leafy new growth of the trees to touch his face in the lightest of caresses.

Soon, she vowed, we’ll share the same world. And whether we feel sunlight or firelight on our skin, we will be together. When we come Above or when we go Below, we will be together, Vincent, together. Nothing can change that now.

Sighing softly, she wondered if her heartfelt emotions had touched him through their bond, and because she had no other way of knowing, she decided to simply trust that they had. Lost in thought, she was somewhat startled to find that several minutes had passed and the cab had pulled up in front of the small shop that belonged to Giselle Delacroix.

Catherine walked down the three steps to the doorway and pressed the buzzer. Moments later heard she footsteps approaching from within and saw the smiling face of her elderly friend peering at her from behind the lace-curtained, heavy glass panel in the door. After unlocking the security bolts, Giselle flung open the door and ushered Catherine inside, excitedly greeting her in heavily French-accented but fluent English.

"Catherine, I am so glad to see you once more! Come sit!" Giselle indicated the two matching spindleback chairs that stood on either side of a small, unlit fireplace. "I was just having my early morning coffee. You will have a cup, will you not?"

"I'd love one, thanks," Catherine answered as she seated herself and shrugged out of her jacket. Taking a sip of the sweet, strong coffee, she glanced around the crowded shop, seeing its familiar baskets of dried herbs and flowers, and shelves overflowing with tiny vials of essential oils, boxes of candles, cakes of scented soaps, and bottles of herbal lotions. Old bookcases were filled with row upon row of books and manuals, all about the flowers and the many procedures, as well as legends, surrounding their various uses. Several large glass jars held colorful, finely ground powders and others nearly overflowed with chips of aromatic woods. Sweet and pungent spices were stored in cork-topped apothecary bottles, their faceted sides reflecting elusive hints of light. And in the farthest reaches of the room was Giselle's worktable, its worn surface almost hidden by the various tools of her trade. Catherine could see a brass balance scale, a wooden mortar and pestle, silver scissors, and small paring knives among the clutter.

"Your shop is just as I remembered it," she commented. "It makes me feel as if I've stepped into a magical workshop in a fairy tale."

Pleased with the image, Giselle returned Catherine's warm smile. "Perhaps it is just that," she agreed, her dark eyes twinkling. "And I am the Fairy Godmother waiting to do the bidding of the princess and her enchanted prince."

A tiny shiver ran up Catherine's spine. "Giselle, I know the last time I visited, you told me you did not have psychic powers, but I'm still not sure I believe you."

The older woman shrugged as she leaned forward to set her fragile porcelain cup on a nearby gateleg table, but it did not appear as if she would offer any further comment. Then straightening again in her chair, her gaze locked with Catherine's. "There is an old saying from my country, Catherine. That it is a terrible foolishness to believe only what one sees with the eyes. And you are not a fool. You have a great belief in what you see with the heart."

"Yes," Catherine agreed softly. "And I think you do, too."

Giselle laughed, the light, bell-like sound floating on the fragrant air of the little shop. "But of course I do! Now, tell me what it is you wish for this time, my dear."

Catherine hesitated for a brief moment as a vision of Giselle draped in mysterious robes and brandishing a magic wand in an Arthur Rackham illustration flitted through her mind's eye. "When I was here before, I noticed your scented candles and soaps. And I hoped you might have some in the same flower fragrances that you used when you made the potpourri for me."

Giselle's smile widened, indicating her enjoyment of any sort of challenge to her creative abilities. "I think that is possible," she answered, tugging a small, thick spiral-bound notebook from a pocket of her linen smock. She flipped the pages quickly and ran a delicate finger down the length of one page, murmuring softly under her breath as she surveyed the list. "Ah, yes. Some of the more unusual ones I will not have on hand, but most, yes, it can be done. Come with me."

Rising, Catherine followed her into the depths of the shop, watching with interest as Giselle unerringly located several candles of varying scents and hues and added them to the growing pile in the basket she had put in Catherine's hands. Soon oval cakes of soap had been placed in the basket as well, and Giselle looked up at her young friend with satisfaction.

"There you are, my dear, your candles and soap. Roses, honeysuckle, and lemon verbena. Wild thyme, cape jasmine, blue sage, and acacia. I'm afraid the yarrow will be impossible this time, but then again, it is not the most pleasing scent for soaps and candles…and perhaps it is no longer needed."

Catherine had not forgotten the significance Giselle had ascribed to the use of yarrow blossoms. "Yarrow is the one that heals and protects, isn't it, and makes someone dream of his one true love?"

"You remember it perfectly, Catherine," the elderly woman noted with approval. "And am I correct in guessing that perhaps soon you will move from a life of dreams to, one might say, a world of dreams come true?"

Ignoring the lightheaded sensation Giselle's words evoked, Catherine smiled in agreement. "Yes, but I have a strong feeling that you're not guessing at all. You're seeing with your heart."

Again, there was an enigmatic shrugging of her small shoulders as Giselle tilted her head to look up at Catherine. "Who can say…who can ever say?" she murmured, her softly lined face and dark brown eyes seeming to glow with their own inner light.

Catherine followed her to the counter at the back of the shop. She reached into her shoulder bag for her wallet as Giselle wrapped her purchases in layers of tissue paper and placed them carefully in a small shopping bag. "I wasn't sure your shop would be open this early, and I guess I really should have called first," she commented. "I'd nearly forgotten that most of the others in this area don't open until 10:30 or 11." She glanced at her watch. "And it's only 9:30 now."

Giselle handed her the package. "I am here by 10 most mornings," she answered. "But when I awakened today, something seemed to tell me I should come early to the shop."

Catherine's expression was incredulous. "You're not saying that you knew I'd be here today?"

Giselle laughed, her face crinkling in amusement. "No, Catherine, I must confess to you. Once a month on a Thursday I receive a shipment of supplies from Grasse, and the delivery van always comes early from the airport. In fact, just moments before you arrived, the last box was put in the storage room."

Catherine sighed in relief. "It's just as well. I need to hold on to some of my certainties."

As she found herself repeating the words she had once said to Vincent, she remembered the other reason she had come to the herbary that morning. She pulled a small book from her bag and handed it to Giselle. "I wanted to return The Language of Flowers. Thank you so much for letting me borrow it -- it was fascinating! But I forgot which one you said was Kristopher Gentian's favorite flower. Has he stopped in for a visit lately?"

Well aware of Catherine's lingering disbelief, Giselle quickly paged through the little book and turned it in the younger woman's direction, looking up at her pointedly as she did. "Why, yes, he was here only yesterday. What a shame for you to have missed each other!"

"Yes, that seems to happen a lot with Kristopher," Catherine answered, leaning forward to decipher the tiny, cramped writing on the page Giselle had indicated. "Green locust tree? Is that the one?"

"Read it, Catherine, and then tell me what you think."

"'Green locust tree: Affection beyond the grave,'" Catherine read aloud, hearing a tremor run through her voice. She looked up at the older woman's expectant face and then sighed as she felt her lips curve in a smile of surrender. Shrugging her shoulders in unconscious imitation of Giselle's habitual response, she shook her head lightly. "Please tell him I said hello next time you see him, will you?"

Giselle accompanied her to the front of the shop. "But of course! And he will be delighted that you wish to be remembered to him."

Catherine paused in the doorway, feeling the warm morning sunlight against her back as she turned to look back into the hazy recesses of the shop. "Thanks very much for your help, Giselle. I hope to see you again soon."

Giselle's smile was warm, yet seemed to hold a faint hint of sadness. "I hope so, too, Catherine, that it will not be long before we meet again. Until then, be well."

Those familiar final words in an unfamiliar setting should have been somehow disturbing, but their warmth reassured her instead. "Be well," Catherine echoed as she turned away and heard the door click shut behind her.

The hours that had stretched out before her when she had arisen early that morning were quickly consumed by the challenge of completing a long list of errands in a city as busy and crowded as New York. It was late afternoon when Catherine was finally able to return home, very tired but satisfied by the day's accomplishments. There was one final task awaiting her attention, but first she carefully put away her purchases. Soon the refrigerator held the various foods she had selected for their anniversary dinner, and a bottle of champagne sat waiting to be chilled and opened. Ordinary candles, slim tapers and rounded globes, were placed in the living and dining rooms, but the flower-scented ones had been saved for the bedroom on the third floor and, along with dozens of white votive candles, for the skylit room above. Throughout the house she placed several crystal vases filled with roses. Their lush, velvety petals were still tightly furled, but the warmth of the house would coax them open to spill forth their fragrance before the following nightfall.

Catherine glanced at her watch. She knew it was almost the hour at which dinner was usually served Below, the perfect time to approach her final task of the day. Wiping her hands nervously on the soft folds of her skirt, Catherine took a deep breath and tried to calm the sudden racing of her heart. In the kitchen, she pulled open a drawer below a stretch of glass-fronted cabinets and withdrew a large flashlight. After flicking it on and off a few times to reassure herself that it worked properly, Catherine crossed the tiled floor. Her boots made a sharp, tapping sound that seemed to echo the thud of her heart.

As she neared a sturdy oak door, she reached into her skirt pocket and withdrew a ring of keys. She knew which one fit the lock in front of her, and moments later she was on her way down a flight of plain wooden steps that led to the basement. The light from four uncovered bulbs, suspended at various intervals throughout the room, helped her wind her way around the many cartons and remaining pieces of furniture the movers had left there at her request. Peter had also stored some of his possessions in the room, and a worktable had been placed against one wall.

Catherine approached the table and smiled as she looked at the results of a project she and Peter had completed early the previous evening, shortly before he had left for the airport. They had arranged boxes of nails, a small metal case of drill bits, and various repair manuals on the surface of the sturdy table and then had filled its attached pegboard with a selection of hammers, wrenches, and other tools whose names, as well as functions, were a mystery to her. They did not expect many people to ever have a need to enter the basement, but they were satisfied that to even a careful observer, such as a repairman, the work table would seem to be a normal part of a room such as this, rather than the diversion that it truly was.

As they had worked, both Peter and Catherine had wondered self-consciously if perhaps they were not being overly cautious, but upon voicing their mutual concerns, they had concluded that they had made the right decision. If the brownstone were to serve the purpose of which Catherine dreamed, and that Peter fully supported, then the need to consider every aspect of safety and security was a vital one.

Bypassing the worktable, Catherine made her way to a small, locked door in the center of the basement's rear wall. With her free hand she reached again for the ring of keys, and, upon opening the door, she turned on the wall switch that was just inside. A muted shaft of light revealed yet another set of stairs and she descended them quickly into what appeared to be an ordinary wine cellar. The room was the size of a very large walk-in closet, and its four walls were lined with wine racks, all filled with bottles in various stages of dust-coated preservation.

The collection had belonged to the brownstone's previous owner, Peter's colleague Jack Farrell. Jack had felt it unwise to try to move the collection to his new home in Key West, so he had offered to sell it to them at an extremely reasonable rate. It had been an investment Peter and Catherine had eagerly made, knowing it would save them countless hours reconstructing such a perfect camouflage for what lay behind the wooden racks.

Carefully setting aside her flashlight, Catherine reached out with both hands and gripped the middle rack of shelves on the farthest wall. As she pulled it forward, the entire set of shelves swung forward, moving smoothly and easily on silent wheels whose steel bearings were securely recessed in the base of the structure, entirely invisible to prying eyes. Neither Dr. Farrell nor his wife had any idea that their wine cellar had come equipped with the potential for constructing such a special feature; through careful questioning Catherine and Peter had made sure of that. Only by weeks spent examining countless blueprints and plans of buildings currently for sale, had they been able to find such a perfect site for their new home -- and for its unique purposes. The necessary information had been supplied by a city realtor who had been a Helper for over twenty-five years, and that the house had been owned by a colleague of Peter had streamlined the transaction. That final bonus had seemed like a sign, as Peter had declared, proving this was the perfect choice.

As soon as they’d given the brownstone an initial inspection, Catherine and Peter had gone Below to further verify the information provided to them by the realtor's documents. They had found Jacob in his usual place, working on research in his study. He seemed to welcome the interruption provided by their arrival, and happily settled down to tea and conversation with his visitors. Several minutes later, on the pretext that he needed to speak with Kanin about some renovations for his office, Peter had strolled away to find the master craftsman, promising that it would not be long before he rejoined Jacob and Catherine. When Kanin and he had entered the study an hour later, the looks on their faces said everything, although no one had could have noticed except Catherine.

Only a few weeks later, Kanin had finished what had been for him a relatively simple construction project. The wall behind the wine cellar provided access into a rarely used tunnel, which by way of an un-complicated route, connected with the main passageways. Traveling from the brownstone to the hub of the Tunnel world took about fifteen minutes, slightly less than the same journey from the sub-basement of Catherine's former apartment building. With the addition of wall torches and some minor repairs to the flooring, the route could be easily and conveniently traveled.

Readily sworn to secrecy, Kanin had not mentioned a word of the project for several days. Then his anticipation of the excitement and happiness its revelation would provide had proved the better of him, and late one afternoon he’d found himself whispering of it to Olivia. At that evening's early dinner when the couple had learned of the new item on the agenda for the Council meeting, Olivia had decided that it would be in everyone's best interest if only one of them attended the meeting, knowing that they might run the risk of betraying their friends' trust despite their best efforts. With the easily accepted excuse of fatigue, she had excused herself from the meeting, and her husband had arranged a quick meeting with Vincent and Mouse.

Knowing that Catherine intended to bring Vincent to the house for the first time on Friday, it had been prearranged that Kanin would meet her at the threshold the night before to confirm that all was going as planned. They had chosen to meet just before the dinner hour since it was a busy, bustling time when he might easily get away for half an hour without arousing anyone's notice or suspicion.

In the wine cellar Catherine looked at her watch once again, smothering a nervous laugh as the image rose in her imagination of herself as a master spy intent on some elaborate undercover mission. Pushing once again on the shelf, she moved it back until it could go no farther. There in front of her was a final locked door and in her hand she held one last key. She turned it smoothly in the lock and then retrieved her flashlight before pushing open the door. Flipping on the switch, she shone the beam in a careful sweeping arc before her, sighing with relief as its gleam fell upon Kanin's smiling face.

"Catherine, you made it! This is great!" He hurried forward and enveloped her in a quick bear-hug.

"I know," she answered, hugging him back. "I can't believe we did it. Everything is perfect!"

Releasing her, Kanin made a quick confession. "I have to tell you that Livie's in on the secret now. I didn't mean to tell her, but I was so wound up about it that somehow I just did. Don't worry, though, she won't tell anyone!"

"It's all right," Catherine answered. "It's just that I didn't want to take any chance of Vincent finding out before tomorrow night. But I trust Olivia and I know she won't say anything about it."

"No, she really won't," Kanin promised. "But I'm sorry anyway that it happened. Hey, Peter took me on a tour of your house a few nights ago. It looks great. I'll bet you can't wait until Vincent finally sees it!"

"Where is Vincent right now? Is he on his way to dinner with everyone else?"

Boy, I can't wait until tomorrow night is over, Kanin told himself with a slight frown, hesitating before answering her. I’m glad I can help both of them with their plans, but juggling all these stories is just asking for trouble.

His thoughts rocketed back to the Council meeting and to the rumors that had raced through the tunnels like a tornado shortly afterward. That unexpected development, followed by Vincent's decision to embark on a one-day journey deep into the lower reaches of their world, had effectively skewed what Kanin had expected would be a fairly straightforward set of plans.

"Yeah, I think so," he replied aloud, knowing full well that nearly everyone Below was aware that the dining chamber was precisely not where Vincent could be found. "He almost always has dinner with the rest of us."

"But you're not sure you saw him there tonight?" Catherine persisted worriedly.

"Well, pretty sure," Kanin wavered. "But don't get upset about it. I don't think he's about to come strolling through this tunnel anyway."

Nerves on edge, Catherine's voice held an uncharacteristically impatient tone. "Just in case you're wrong, I’d better go back Above right now before he sees us here together!" She paused, hearing the harshness of her own voice. "I'm sorry, Kanin," she apologized quickly. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Everything has worked out so well, but I’m just anxious for it to be over now. And I am grateful for all you've done for me…for us. I'll never be able to repay your kindness."

Kanin's smile was grave, but his expressive eyes were full of warmth and understanding. "You already have, Catherine, both you and Vincent. Back during my troubles, I wanted to blame you at first for making me have to face the truth. But it didn't take long for me to realize that what you did was for the best. I knew I couldn't go on much longer with what I did on my conscience, but until you helped me, I couldn't find the strength to do the right thing.

"And Vincent has always stood by me. He's a true friend -- you both are -- and I know Livie feels the same way. So I don't want to hear any talk of apologizing or of repaying me for helping you now. There's no need for it, no need at all."

Catherine smiled back at him, feeling a lingering shadow lift from her own heart. "Thank you, Kanin, for everything."

She turned away, but before she had taken more than a single step, she remembered a final request she needed to make of him. Reaching deep into her skirt pocket, she pulled out a small pale blue envelope addressed to Vincent.

"Could you see that Vincent gets this sometime tonight?" She placed the note in Kanin's outstretched hand. "It's really important."

"Sure, Catherine, no problem," he answered, tucking it into a pocket of his tunic. "And good luck breaking the news to Vincent tomorrow night -- not that you're going to need it. He's going to love what you've done for him."

Catherine's luminous smile was answer enough, and moments later the two friends parted, each returning to their own worlds.

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Early that morning as Catherine had begun her trip to Giselle's shop in Soho in search of small luxuries for Vincent, he had embarked on a journey of his own in search of a gift for her. Ever since Catherine had shown him Giselle's book on the romantic significance of various flowers, he had been intrigued by the idea, and during a visit to check on Elizabeth a few weeks later, he had mentioned it to the artist. She had known of the charming legend, and had told Vincent that various gemstones and minerals also were said to have special, rather mystical attributes of their own.

Having never heard of this, Vincent became intent on investigating the subject further, and when he'd had a few free hours one Sunday afternoon, he'd made a thorough search of Father's extensive library, hoping to find more information. Eventually he had found exactly what he had been looking for and an idea had taken hold of him, one that his demanding work schedule had prohibited until now. By managing to rearrange some of his duties, he was able to secure two free days, Thursday and Friday, and before anyone could find a way to rearrange them once again, he left to explore the possibilities presented to him by Elizabeth's comments.

By late Thursday afternoon, Vincent was several miles out of reach of the home tunnels. His brisk, eager pace had brought him farther than anyone else might have gone in such a short period of time, and, well satisfied with his progress, he stopped to rest and eat a very late lunch by a small lake he had often visited in the past. The lake was surrounded by a beach of silt and sand, and Vincent lowered himself to its soft surface. He had obtained two torches from a way station he'd passed minutes earlier, one of many set up at various points throughout even some of the farthest outlying areas. He lit one torch with a match from his pack and secured its base in the sand several inches away from his outstretched legs. The other he would save in case he needed it for later use.

He relaxed against the rounded base of a granite boulder and began to eat his meal of cheese, crackers, and fruit. But the clean, fresh taste of the simple food went unnoticed as he opened the drawstring of a canvas pouch and carefully dumped its contents onto a large muslin handkerchief he had spread out at his side. The steady light of the torch gleamed and sparkled on a small pile of stones as Vincent held them up for his inspection. He knew each one was a miniature work of art, perfect in its own natural beauty. Yet he continued to sort through them with painstaking care as he admitted to himself that he wanted only the best for Catherine.

He set one aside, a sparkling, multi-hued tourmaline of pale translucent green and clear rose. It was a particularly beautiful stone, and he had felt a thrill of surprise when he'd found it, as if it had been waiting for him in a section of metamorphic rock near a pile of rubble from an ancient rock slide. Vincent ran a finger along its smooth surface and then wrapped the stone separately in a piece of flannel before placing it for safekeeping in a metal box he’d brought with him. This stone would be saved for a very special celebration, one he hoped with all his heart would come to pass someday…someday soon.

Without opening the reference book he’d carried with him, Vincent recalled the enchanting properties attributed to this kind of tourmaline, the special qualities that made it perfect for his cherished dream. Tourmaline, he remembered, was said to touch places in the heart, symbolizing the great depth of love that flowed between two kindred souls. It helped to heal forever past hurts and sorrows, and expressed an eternal sharing of love in its fullest, most beautiful sense. Someday he would give this stone to Catherine and tell her of its lovely symbolism for the two of them, but that day was still a precious secret of his heart.

Sighing softly, he continued to inspect the other stones he had gathered, now conscientiously checking the meaning of each in the guidebook, wanting to make sure the gift he would prepare for their anniversary would offer an unmistakable message to Catherine. Again he smiled, and a small self-conscious laugh echoed in the stillness of the cavern. Catherine knew his heart. There was no need to offer a tangible message to underscore what she had already embraced as immutable truth. And yet he wanted to please her, to delight her with something special from deep within his world.

Less than an hour into the journey Vincent had come across several stones he'd recognized as geodes. He’d selected several, and with a small rock hammer he had cracked them open, knowing upon the third try that he had discovered a perfect one. It was filled with easily extractable violet-colored crystals that now glittered brightly in the torchlight as he held them up for careful inspection. According to the book, amethyst represented healing, protection, and spiritual insight, especially to those about to embark on a journey or transitional period of life. This stone would be the one he would show her first, for its message seemed designed not only for an expression of his devotion, but also as a symbol for the beginning of their new lives.

Next Vincent took a closer look at a beautiful, deep red garnet, its warm color seeming to glow from within. It would need polishing, but still it was lovely just as it was, and its meaning of profound love, faithfulness, and peaceful dreams was lovelier still. With great delicacy and care that belied his obvious physical strength and power, Vincent touched the remaining stones, sometimes whispering their names aloud -- citrine, smoky quartz, nephrite jade, rose quartz, topaz, aquamarine. The words sounded almost musical in the murmuring of them.

Bemusedly he cupped a final stone in the palm of his large hand. It was a sparkling, multi-faceted piece of sky blue celestite, its largest crystal the size of his thumb. With his free hand, he flipped through the pages of his book but was unable to find a meaning ascribed to this stone. Somewhat disappointed, he decided to keep it anyway as part of Catherine's gift, knowing she would find it as beautiful as had he.

"It almost looks like a piece of the sky," he said aloud. "Clear and untroubled."

Realizing that the afternoon was rapidly blending into night and aware that he had a journey of at least four hours ahead of him before he would reach the home tunnels, Vincent packed up his treasures and the remains of his meal and stored all of it in his backpack. Then with meticulous care, he made sure he left the area just as he had found it, clean and unspoiled. When he reached the small way station several minutes later, he returned the unused torch to its storage place, but kept the other lit to guide him on his return trip.

As his long-legged strides consumed the miles, myriad thoughts of Catherine kept him company with every step he took. It seemed there was nothing that did not call her to his mind and to his heart. The cool breeze lifting his long bronze mane as he walked became her hands playing lightly through its tangled length; the occasional sound of water trickling across hidden recesses within the fissured rock echoed her lilting laughter as it rippled toward him. The honey amber shade of a glistening expanse of sandstone seemed to him the color of her hair; a spray of maidenhair fern near the damp surface of a limestone outcropping appeared to be the color of her eyes, soft and full of love for him.

His entrancing reverie helped more than two hours pass effortlessly. Realizing that the homeward journey was now half-completed, Vincent decided to take time to rest briefly by a small but powerful waterfall which spilled into a sparkling lake. He took a long, cool drink of fresh water and let his tongue run over his lips and teeth, instantly remembering the delicious sensations of the kisses he had shared with Catherine. The memory of the moist, sweet taste of her was intoxicating in its intensity. He gazed out over the foaming spray, feeling it rain upon his face in tiny, tantalizing explosions of sharp, cool moisture. But whenever Catherine touched him, he felt as if he'd been touched by sunbursts and his skin would burn with the sensation. His thoughts carried him onward and he could not resist wondering what it would be like when her small hands, her silky hair, her soft, eager mouth touched him everywhere. Again he recalled the way she had caressed him so intimately on the night-swept balcony…and dreamed that next time he would feel her touch upon his unclad skin.

Shuddering, he forced the thoughts aside, striving to control his yearning body before he surrendered to its building demands. Seeking to turn his thoughts in a less arousing direction, but unwilling to cease thinking of Catherine, he focused upon the gift he would create for her. He would, he told himself, clean and polish the stones just enough to further enhance their natural beauty, and then he would place them on the velvet lining of a carved wooden box that was now in a trunk in his chamber. When Catherine opened the box, he would tell her of the stones’ meanings, savoring the pleasure he knew she would derive from his unique message of love and devotion. When two years earlier he had given her a sparkling piece of his world, a clear crystal suspended from a delicate golden chain, she had loved every aspect of the gift, its physical beauty and the profound symbolism of its deeper, inner beauty. Vincent knew she treasured his gift, seeing it as an eternal part of his world -- and of him -- that she could always keep close to her heart.

With a sigh, Vincent realized it was time to move on. The pace he had kept had begun to tire him and his body was uncomfortable with sweat and grime from his exertions. He stood up and slung his pack over his shoulder, but then looked back toward the waterfall. He knew from previous visits that the lake would be cool and invigorating, and the thought was a very inviting one. Making a quick decision, he set down his pack again and began to strip off his clothes, intending to take a few minutes for a refreshing swim before completing the last portion of his trip.

After leaving his dirt-streaked clothing in a heap near his pack, Vincent entered the lake, moving forward until the rippling water reached the midpoint of his chest. To his overheated flesh, the water felt colder than he had expected, but he knew it would help subdue the inner heat that continued to rise in him with each thought of Catherine. For so long he had smothered those thoughts each time they had flared within him, but now, no matter how strong his effort to do so, it was an impossible task. With a swirling blend of awe and anticipation, he knew their growing physical closeness had provoked this change in his iron-clad will, and he wondered with a sense of embarrassment if he ever would be able to think of Catherine again without a flare of heated longing arcing through him. And with a boldness that shocked him, he wondered if she, too, often thought of him in that same way.

With smooth, even strokes he swam the length of the lake several times, consciously seeking to out-race his compelling thoughts. As he did, he felt a sensuous satisfaction in the way his strong, supple muscles tensed and relaxed rhythmically with each measured movement of his powerful arms and legs. Despite the adolescent humiliation he had known when with the others, Vincent had always loved to swim, finding it to be a natural outlet for his energy and strength. Now as the water rushed over and around every part of his body, he realized that the deeply sensual aspects of it might have appealed to him even more.

Minutes later, still caught up in his contemplation, Vincent emerged from the lake, his body refreshed and energized, and his mind intent upon completion of his journey. He stood at the edge of the water, hands on hips, gazing out over its undulating surface toward the foaming base of the powerfully rushing waterfall. The sight and sound of the water seemed to echo within and around him, almost as if he were looking into some strange, entrancing mirror.

He shook his head and felt the dripping ends of his hair slide and catch against his wet skin. Crouching down, he reached into his pack for an extra length of flannel he had not needed to use for packing and protecting Catherine's gift. Upon straightening to his full height, he quickly rubbed the soft material over his hair, squeezing out as much water as possible, and then used what little unsoaked areas remained to dry the rest of his body. As he shivered slightly in the cool air, Vincent shook as much dirt and dust from his clothing as he could and then pulled on his pants, socks, and boots, but as he reached for his shirt and sweater, he paused and looked down at himself instead for several long moments. Then, before he could think better of it, he turned back toward the crystal clear waters of the lake and moved quickly to its edge. He knelt and gazed at its surface, searching for a reflection of himself.

Dawning awareness of the dangerous impetuosity in his actions caught him off-guard, but he ignored the warning. All his life he had done everything he could to avoid seeing his own image, but the need to do so now was so sudden and compelling that he could not resist it. Leaning forward, Vincent sighed roughly as he looked deep into the natural mirror, and then with a sharp, rasping gasp, he jerked away from the graphic sight before him and surged to his feet. He struggled to breathe, feeling his chest rise and fall rapidly as his rational mind sought to penetrate his terror. Long moments passed until his thudding heartbeat gradually slowed and he realized that the distorted image he had seen had been caused by nothing more than the rippling surface of the water, not the reality of his own face. Yet it had been enough to surge riptides of self-doubt through his burgeoning confidence and, like a drowning man, he felt himself start to surrender to the past.

Shuddering, he raised a hand to touch his face, tracing its contours and textures as if his fingers were those of a sightless stranger. They skimmed over the wide expanse of his forehead and along the arching brows above his deep-set eyes, then touched the crest of his high cheekbones and moved inward along the length of his lightly furred nose. Without stopping, his fingers descended to the curving cleft and velvety softness of his unique mouth, and then beyond to the firm strength of his jaw and chin. It seemed to him that the tactile sensations of his moving fingertips had created a visual image in his mind's eye, like a blind sculptor seeking the reality of his art.

In recent days, he realized with a mingling sense of horror and wonder, it had been surprisingly easy to forget, to believe for just a little while that in some ways he had become what he'd always longed to be -- simply an ordinary man with no reason to deny his normal, all too human emotions. For one brave, defiant, hope-filled moment he allowed himself to question if what he had just felt with his own hands could possibly be real -- even while knowing that it was, and that once again he’d allowed the intoxicating torment of dreams to overcome him. The strange, improbable features he’d examined had been his own, and he had found so very little in them of a normal man.

The urge to run from the devastating truth was strong in him, and Vincent began to pace the shoreline of the small lake in forceful, barely controlled strides until he reached a rocky outcropping several yards away. He closed his eyes and leaned forward against its rough, uneven surface, breathing heavily as he faced the realization that he could not escape from himself, not even for one desperate, dream-filled moment. That painful knowledge was as hard and certain in him as the reality of the stony surface beneath his body.

With an anguished cry, he turned and pressed his back into the unyielding rock, his hands grinding into fists at his sides. His thoughts mocked him, taunting him with the foolish, reckless daring it had taken to even attempt to question unalterable truths. He knew it had been an act of madness, even as his heart told him it had been an act of hope. The undeniable presence of the flesh and fur beneath his fingertips had proved that while the vision in the tumbling water had been a distortion, the reality of it was as abnormal as its twisted image.

Vincent raised his hands to his chest, his fingers splaying out across heaving muscles and damp, golden hair, wrenching upward with uncaring force to press against his face and rip through his long, tangled hair, before thrusting downward again in bruising strength against his thighs. Words emerged from the chaotic feelings within him. Was this the body that he'd dared to reveal to Catherine's eyes, the face he'd turned toward her trusting gaze, the lips and mouth he'd allowed to touch her? How could he have done such a thing -- and how could he ever face her again?

A tormented moan thundered over the sound of the waterfall and in it echoed the answers to his horrified questions, telling him that it had been sheer depravity to have inflicted such a thing upon her, and insanity to have dreamed that it would happen again. His eyes filled with hot, bitter tears, and they spilled from beneath his tightly closed eyelids, forcing them open with a stinging pain that was less than nothing compared to the agony in his heart. He dragged his fists across his face, crushing away the tears, and looked out across the lake, expecting to see in its barren expanse the reflection of the bleak and empty life that would be his future.

Yet as his tear-clouded eyes cleared to focus on the forbidding sight, he found himself instead seeing an image of Catherine, her eyes alight with emerald fire and her smile aglow with love as she opened her arms to him, reaching for him, wanting nothing but him. He flinched and raised his arms instinctively as if to cover himself from her sight. And he froze at the sound of her voice, its music so real that for a confused moment he panicked, shaking his head violently from side to side, imagining she had somehow truly come to this faraway chamber, drawn by the power of his torment. Then the beloved sound of her soft voice and the miracle of her words surrounded him, making him forget everything else.

I know you are beautiful, Vincent. I’ve always known. You have nothing more to fear.

I will always love everything about you...I love the way you look and the way you feel...I love the touch of your hands and the taste of your kisses...I love the strength and gentleness of your arms when you hold me...You feel wonderful, Vincent, like silk and steel...I will love the heat and hardness of your body when you make love to me...You have nothing more to fear...nothing more to fear...I love you...I'll always love you.

As her voice and her image faded away in a cloud of lustrous light, Vincent felt his entire body shudder convulsively and once again tears filled eyes, yet this time they were tears of heartfelt joy and relief. It was Catherine, always and only Catherine, who would be his mirror. In her eyes he truly was beautiful, and if she believed it so, then how could he ever again doubt that truth. Those were the words she had spoken to him and they were the words of her heart, a heart so true and full of love for him that it seemed a miracle.

A sense of shame swept through him for questioning everything she had tried so hard to prove to him. But he forced himself to face that shame and then set it aside, knowing that the devastating uncertainties and fears, the excruciating self-doubts and denials that had plagued his entire life would sometimes haunt him still, but now with Catherine at his side, they could never destroy him.

A sense of calmness suffused him at last, working to soothe away the torn and ragged relics of his pain. He turned to begin retracing his steps, but some small, insistent thought clawed at him, refusing to let his heart and mind rest fully at ease, and he hesitated, needing to find an answer to this final question. A small, flat boulder about two feet to his right made a natural bench in the chamber wall, and Vincent lowered himself onto it. He tried to lean back against the smooth stone surface of the wall, but he could not relax and instead leaned forward, pressing his forearms against his thighs and gripping his hands together between his outstretched knees. He tried to concentrate, to find words to give meaning to the disturbing confusion left within him. The fact that he found the task so difficult told him in minutes exactly what it was.

Vincent had known almost from the very first moment of their meeting that he would love Catherine, that the love he would feel for her would be everlasting and that it would change his life forever. It had taken precious little time for that knowledge to become the deepest and truest part of his life. And now no doubt remained in him of Catherine's love. He believed with all his heart that she loved him, and he knew that even beyond that miracle, there existed another -- the undeniable truth that she was in love with him, only with him, that she loved him in every way a woman might love a man. Yet he continued to find it all too easy to question one final facet of that love.

It was a simple thing to recognize Catherine's physical beauty as something desirable and stirring. It was quite another to recognize that same quality in himself. Despite everything Catherine had said and done to prove that fact to him, he continued to find it almost impossible to believe. There had been moments, each more beautiful and wondrous than the ones that had come before, when he had been able to set aside his disbelief and revel in the physical delights of their love, eagerly giving those pleasures to Catherine and willingly taking them from her in return.

But, Vincent forced himself to admit, in that aspect of their love, their progress had been brief and measured. There was still so much more to come, but time and again his own uncertainties had returned to enchain them both, even while they longed desperately to break free.

And if it was truly what they both desired, then why was this final intimacy so difficult to attain, Vincent asked himself. Why, even now, did he hesitate when there seemed to be no reasons left to do so?

Vincent's analytic mind struggled to dissect the riddle, hoping that by examining each and every piece of it, he might better understand its mysteries. He reflected upon the many steps forward he and Catherine had taken. In his mind he saw images of the two of them together, holding one another in lovingly close embraces that were never close enough, revealing long-repressed fears and banishing at last their terrible dominion, speaking of cherished dreams and finding ways to make them real. Through the tremendous power of their love and the miracle of their bond, their hearts and minds were as close as it was possible to be. Sometimes it seemed as if their very souls touched.

The understanding Vincent sought came to him then, and although to some it might have been readily apparent and easily realized, to him it was a true revelation, full of wonder and fears and misgivings. When Catherine and he had found each other, they truly had found the other half of themselves, and with that wondrous discovery came the undeniable need for unity, the creation of a beautiful symphony of heart and mind, soul and body. They were a part of one another now in every way but one, and the compulsion to surmount the final barriers to their completion had become an unendurable, driving force within both of them. Catherine possessed no lingering doubts about the rightness of their being together in every way; yet after all his years of tormented abstinence, the anticipation of their physical union had become a such storm of desire and despair within him that he still could not relinquish one final fear.

What would it take, he wondered, his expression one of desperate introspection, to overcome my last doubts, to free myself of the terror that once we become more physically intimate, Catherine will find I'm not what she expected, not the man she longed for after all? That I cannot fulfill her dreams as she fulfills mine?

In one erratic, pounding heartbeat, Vincent knew the answer to his fervent questions. There was only one solution and on the surface it appeared to be simplicity itself, but for him it was filled with equal measures of danger and delight. The only answer, Vincent acknowledged, his mind and body churning with trepidation and excitement, was to try. If his greatest fears were realized, then together Catherine and he would do whatever they could to salvage their love and go on, not as before but still, he was sure, there would be something left, something for them to build on and endure, despite the sorrow and pain that was sure to follow. But should the imagined horror of that nightmare not unfold before them, then all their beautiful, eternal dreams might come to life at last.

He forced himself to speak aloud, needing to hear the power and promise of the words themselves, and the sound of his voice assured him with its certainty and strength. "It’s the only way. It’s what we both want, what we have wanted for such a long, long time. When Catherine and I at last...make love… then we will have our answer, the answer to our final question. If it is all we've dreamed of, then there will be no more barriers between us, and we will have our life together, a life complete in every way...And if it is not, then somehow we will survive."

Coldness trembled through him as age-old fears conjured up dark images, but his courage and their love had made him strong enough to push them aside, to concentrate instead on the lovingly erotic dreams that had delighted and disturbed him for so many long, impossible months.

Filled with tumultuous possibilities, Vincent was suddenly consumed with a longing to move forward, to return home, to return to her. With swift, long strides he returned to the edge of the lake where he’d left his backpack and remaining clothing. Just as he had done before, he looked down at his bare chest and arms, but this time he tried to see his body as Catherine saw it, as sensually beautiful in its virile masculinity and extraordinarily desirable. With a growing sense of embarrassment, he forced himself to gaze down at his wide chest and tapering waist, his powerfully muscled arms and strong hands, making every attempt to look at himself through Catherine's eyes. A small, wry smile unexpectedly curved his mouth. He was not at all surprised to find this task he'd set for himself to be a disconcerting and difficult one, but he knew that didn't matter at all as long as Catherine found it amazingly easy.

He shook his head, trying to make sense of all his racing thoughts, as he reached for his shirt and sweater, pulled them on quickly, and then strapped on his pack, more eager than ever to return home. Even when the ways changed, his heart would always find its way back to Catherine, just as hers would to him; no matter what else might happen, Vincent knew that to be true.

As his rapid pace brought him homeward, he thought ahead to the following evening, the night of their third anniversary. Their first had been met with a world of dancing lights and their second with a nightmare beyond belief; yet both had marked turning points in their relationship, moments when they had moved closer and deeper in their abiding love. Vincent smiled a soft and secret smile, one that only Catherine would ever see. He was filled with dreams of everything that might come to be when they celebrated the best parts of the year just ending. They would lay to final rest its days of danger and darkness, and then together they would look ahead to all that waited for them, ahead to their happy life.
 

From "Atalanta in Calydon"

Algernon Charles Swinburne 

Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man
Time, with a gift of tears;
Grief, with a glass that ran;
Pleasure with pain for leaven;
Summer with flowers that fell;
Remembrance fallen from heaven;
And madness risen from hell;
Strength with hands to smite;
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light;
And life, the shadow of death

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For winter’s rains and ruins are over,
And all the seasons of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.