Beyond Beginnings Two

BEYOND BEGINNINGS - BOOK TWO
Linda Barth

Chapter 14

Vincent and Catherine approached Father's chambers in silence. As they reached the top of the small metal staircase, they could hear the sound of voices coming from Father's private sleeping chamber. They were familiar voices painfully raised in unprecedented anger, making them exchange worried looks as they hesitated, not wanting to intrude but unable to turn away.
"I don't think you should be left alone like this, Jacob!"
"Why? Am I so incompetent, so frenzied, that you think I might lose control of my senses? You know me better than that, Mary!"
Her voice lowered, but those who were forced to be witness to her words could hear them all too clearly. "I used to think I did! But you are not yourself -- you're acting like you're --"
"Mad?" he interrupted, making no effort to soften his tone. "Is that what you all think of me now? Then get out. I don't need you -- I don't need any of you!"
Catherine clutched Vincent's hand tighter. "We have to do something -- now!" she whispered tensely.
"I know. Come with me." They started toward the tapestry curtain that could not conceal the bitter, hurtful words the two old friends continued to hurl at each other.
"I told you to leave, Mary. What are you waiting for?"
She paused, and when she spoke her voice was full of sorrow. "For you to come back to yourself, Jacob, to come back to us. And you can't do that, can you? Not until you let yourself be healed -- but maybe that's become impossible, too."
"You don't know what you're talking about," he retorted, the quaver in his voice undermining his cruel bravado. "There's nothing wrong with me! And I don't need you standing there, accusing me of things you cannot understand."
"Then I won't stay," she answered quietly. "If you decide you want my help, you know where I'll be."
She watched him turn his back on her and then, letting the hand she'd reached toward him fall limply at her side, she hurried from the chamber. As she entered the study, she was aghast to find Vincent and Catherine only a few feet away, and with one look at their horrified faces, she knew they had heard every word.
Mary raised a trembling hand to wipe away the tears that had begun to spill from her eyes, and as she did, she brushed away the words of sympathy she knew she would hear, understanding that someone else needed them more than she.
"Go to him now. No matter what he says, he needs you." Then in a swift rustling of skirts and the smothered sound of tears, she was gone.
Pushing aside the heavy curtain, Vincent led the way inside. "Father, you wished to see me? I am here now."
Wheeling around, Jacob turned on his son, and although they'd half-expected it, nothing that had gone before had prepared Vincent or Catherine for the old man's unbridled fury. Its very coldness was far more horrifying than any fiery rage could have been.
"So you've decided to come home at last, have you, Vincent? How very good of you. And, of course, you've brought Catherine with you." His eyes flickered over her, narrowing in concentration. "Get out. You have no business being here."
Vincent's harsh intake of breath preceded the vehemence of his words. "I will not allow anyone to speak to Catherine in that way, Father -- not even you."
Jacob's head swung in his son's direction. "And what do you propose to do to stop me? Although that certainly is a moot point as I have no intention of continuing to converse with…her. You and I have much to discuss, but as for Catherine, I have nothing more to say."
Dismissing her as he might an outmoded concept that meant nothing to him, Jacob started to turn away, his shoulders stiffening as he clearly expected her to comply with his orders. After all, he told himself, he was the leader of the entire underground community, and this woman was only another unwelcome interloper who needed to be dealt with swiftly and removed from their world.
Yet little in all the grief and anguish of his long life had prepared him for someone like Catherine. He waited, but he knew she had not moved, and with a riveting sense of disbelief he pivoted back toward her, staring at her as if she were someone whose existence he never could have imagined.
Catherine's feelings for Father did not approach the complexity of his for her, but they were diverse enough, and the events of the past several minutes had pushed her close to the breaking point. As she opened her mouth to speak, she hoped with all her heart that her underlying sympathy and still nascent love for this man would temper the fiery steel of what she must say.
But before she could begin, he spoke to her once more, ignoring his son's directive and her defiance. "How dare you stay after I've asked you to leave! You have no place here and you have nothing to say to me!"
Catherine settled her gaze on his irate face. "I do have something to say to you, Father, and you must know that when I'm through, our lives can never be the same." She looked up at Vincent who stood at her side, shuddering inwardly at the heartsick expression on his face, but taking further strength from his unspoken encouragement. She knew she had to do this for both of them.
"I think we should sit down," Catherine suggested, feeling a sense of shock when Jacob silently complied by taking his place at a small table littered with old journals and papers. She settled herself stiffly in the chair Vincent had pulled forward for her, and when he came to sit in a chair next to her, she reached for his hand, needing that tangible lifeline in such a turbulent place.
At once the façade of Jacob’s acquiescence shattered as he turned ominously glittering eyes toward Catherine and spoke to her with exaggerated patience just as he would address a recalcitrant child. "I have expressed my wish to speak with my son. What he and I have to say to one another does not in any way concern you. I fail to see why you cannot understand this simple statement, Catherine."
She sighed softly. "I do understand, but you do not, or perhaps you've chosen not to. I think I know what you wish to say to Vincent, and I know, too, that it does concern me. You want to send me away, but Vincent and I have chosen to build a life together. We have made that decision, and nothing anyone says or does -- anyone, including you -- is going to change that." She shook her head at the older man’s outraged expression. "I'm not trying to threaten you. We just want to tell you what we have decided -- and what will be."

His voice was razor-sharp as he turned away from her to stare at his son. "Is this true, Vincent? Have you finally gone against everything I've taught you, everything I've done for you all your life? How can you think of such things!"
"I can think of them, Father," he answered, his voice strong and hard, "because they are the truest part of me. You have taught me well, but there comes a point when the student, the child, most go beyond the time of teaching and guidance to find his own way. I will always love and respect you, but I am not a child anymore. I will live my own life, and my life is not only with you and with my family Below. Above all else, it is with Catherine."
"With Catherine," Father repeated mockingly. "With Catherine, is it? And how do you propose to accomplish that, may I ask? Next I suppose you'll be telling me that you plan to go Above and live in the city among the topsiders."
"No, Father," Vincent answered. His tone was low and controlled, making the cautionary message in his voice unmistakable. "Catherine will come Below and live here with us. We will petition the Council at the next meeting, but I am sure there will be no question of her being accepted as a permanent member of our community."
Their bond resonated with the deep emotions his words inspired. Hearing them spoken somehow made them even more real, and gave Catherine the fortitude to continue. "You should know, too, that I have bought a house Above, a brownstone near the park, and that it has access to the Tunnels. It is entirely safe, and Vincent and I will go there as we wish from time to time."
The older man still did not look at her, instead focusing entirely on his son. "Is that true, Vincent?" There was a faintly plaintive note underneath the scornful anger that still held him prisoner. "You will do this?"
"Yes, I will. There is nothing to fear. As Catherine said, the house is entirely safe, and we will be able to spend time there together without any threat of endangering the tunnel community in any way." Unaware that a small smile warmed his face, he continued, "That’s where we were last night and we were perfectly safe."
His son's final comment threw kerosene on an already raging inferno. "So your foolishness, your completely thoughtless behavior has taken you even farther than I'd feared! How could you be so reckless, Vincent? This – this madness – it’s all Catherine's doing, I've no doubt of that!"
Vincent surged to his feet. "Do not speak of Catherine in that way, Father! I'm warning you."
The old man looked up defiantly. "You don't scare me, Vincent. Not even you can hurt me now."
The pain his father's words inflicted ripped into Vincent's gentle heart and left him stunned and silent. Catherine could endure no more of it and she reached up for him, urging him back to sit beside her. Then she turned to the older man who glared bitterly at them in seeming satisfaction.
"How can you speak to him like that!" she began. "Vincent has spent his entire life following your teachings, respecting your every wish, no matter how misguided some of them have been. How can you treat him this way now? I can't believe you intend to be this cruel."
"What do you know of Vincent's past?" Father asked her, his voice tight as he fell upon her words like a hawk upon a sparrow. "What do you truly know of his differences and the restrictions they impose upon him? You know nothing."
Catherine reached for Vincent's hand, holding tightly to him before she began to speak. "We all have differences, no two of us are alike in every way. Yes, Vincent's differences restrict his life, but that is through no fault of his. It's because most people in the world Above are unwilling to take the time to truly know him, to understand and appreciate the beauty they would find in him."
"And that is your world, Catherine," he reminded her, his lips drawn in a tight grimace. "Let us not forget that fact."
She shook her head. "No, that was my world. Now my world is here with Vincent. He has come to terms as best he can with the restrictions imposed upon him, and he lives a rich and full life. I should think you would admire him for that, Father, as I do, as so many others do. And as for the rest, I know you see the same differences in him that I see, and they're the qualities that we love most of all. His intellect and strength of character, the compassion and sensitivity he has toward others, his courage and the greatness of his heart. These are Vincent's true differences, the things that set him apart from others. He is the best of what it means to be human, and the only tragedy is that the rest of us are not more like him."
When Jacob did not answer her immediately, Catherine began to hope they had progressed beyond their point of argument; but in a heartbeat, she lost that hope as well.
"Will the others whom he might encounter in that house of yours hold the same opinion?"
"Vincent won't encounter anyone who would hurt him," she answered, quickly glancing at the silent man next to her, his continued stillness setting her further on edge.
"And who will make certain of that -- you?"
She could not withstand the urge to accept his sneering challenge. "Yes, Father, I will make certain of that. And I’ll have help. The house doesn’t belong just to me. It's Peter's, too."
"Catherine, don't!" But Vincent's warning came much too late.
Father's eyes grew wide and his voice took on a tone of undisguised shock. "Peter Alcott?"
Catherine instantly regretted what she had done. "Yes. We bought the house together. He wanted to tell you about it himself, and he was planning to speak with you when he returns from London next week. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it without his being here."
For long moments Jacob sat in hurt silence, seeking the warped simplicity of accepting his old friend's actions as a further act of betrayal by those closest to him, and yet still too rational to blindly take up that option. Then he nodded curtly and simply muttered, "I see."
"I'm not sure you do, Father," Vincent replied gently. "Do you truly understand that with or without your acceptance, Catherine and I will be together? Whether it’s here in our community or Above, we will build a life together. We know that this is very difficult for you, but please try to see that your resistance is very painful for us, too. Can't you find a way to let us show you that this can work, that everything will be all right?"
For several long, nerve-wracking minutes Jacob Wells sat in silence, his head averted from the couple seated before him, as if lost in long and painful contemplation. And when at last he focused on them again, they found the cruel fury of the recent past entirely gone and in its place a heartfelt sympathy that was somehow even more difficult for them to bear.
Jacob straightened in his chair, settling on his weary shoulders the mantle of leadership he'd worn for so many years and with it taking on a familiarity that should have been reassuring. "Vincent, there's something I find I must say to you, although as I mentioned in our recent talk by the Mirror Pool, I'd always hoped to shelter you from it. Now I see that hope is an impossible one."
Before he could continue, Catherine gestured with one hand as if to stop him. "Then perhaps I should go now," she offered, her eyes flickering from one man's face to the other. "I don’t want to intrude if this is something only the two of you should discuss."
The love in Vincent's eyes was eloquent enough, and his firm, quiet words only served to make it stronger. "I want you to stay."
They both turned toward the older man. "Certainly, by all means stay, Catherine. This concerns you as well." He hesitated for only a moment. "And you must not take undue offense at what I am about to say. As you mentioned earlier, one cannot be held at fault for certain things. You cannot avoid being who and what you are, and I accuse you of nothing other than that which you cannot help."
The words uttered in such unrelenting conviction stunned Catherine into silence, but their effect on Vincent was entirely the opposite. "Father, I will not ask you again to refrain from speaking to Catherine like that. You owe her your respect and an apology."
"Fine, fine," Father replied, scarcely bothering to look at her. "You will forgive me, won't you, Catherine?"
She nodded briefly, still unable to find words of her own, dreading the ones he would say next.
Jacob settled back in his chair and looked at them, his gaze sweeping first to one and then the other, as if determining an audience's readiness to be addressed. Then he took a deep, deceptively even breath and began.
"Of course, you both know of my relationship with Margaret at the time of her death and even something of our earlier life together. You know that her father severed our marriage when the House Un-American Activities Committee began to investigate my work in research at the Chittenden Institute. And that until we were reunited with your help, Catherine, we had not seen each other for a great many years. In fact, I had assumed we would never meet again."
He paused and looked at them expectantly, continuing only after they had nodded their acknowledgment of the facts as he had presented them.
"I loved Margaret more than I believed it was possible to love anyone," he continued, his voice softening only the slightest bit. "My life here in America was full of promise and opportunity, full of hope. And when I saw her for the first time, it was like seeing a dream come true. I thought she was the most beautiful woman on Earth, and somehow I knew we would be together, that she would be the best part of my wonderful, promising life… And for a little while she was. When at last we actually met, we fell in love almost immediately. In one of those odd little coincidences life hands to us, we found our fathers had been acquainted for a brief time at Oxford many years earlier. Margaret's father approved of our match, and when the proper period of time had passed, we became formally engaged and set our wedding date. We even began to travel to Long Island on weekends, looking for the perfect house where we would raise our family and have our happy life together."
Once again Jacob paused and looked at Catherine and Vincent, assessing their reactions to his story. Seemingly satisfied in his own way, he went on. "But then everything changed. It was known as the McCarthy Era. I began to have serious doubts about the validity of my work, my research on the effects of radiation and the way tests were being conducted on uninformed, innocent people."
"And you were right to speak out as you did," Vincent interjected. "You had no choice."
Jacob's abrupt laugh was a hard, harsh sound. "No, in that I had no choice, and because of that choice my medical license was taken away. I think I could have borne even that, the loss of my profession, of years of work, if Margaret had stayed by my side. But then she was gone, too, and I had nothing left. Nothing at all."
"But you said that you forgave Margaret," Catherine reminded him gently. "That when she told you she couldn’t stand up to her father's demands, you understood and let her go. Things were so different then for women of her background. She didn't mean to hurt you as she did, but she truly believed she had to bow to her father's wishes. And you forgave her for her own weaknesses, knowing that she truly loved you but that she felt had no other choice."
Jacob's smile was as ominous as a distant roar of thunder on a summer day. "That’s right, Catherine. She couldn't help being who and what she was."
Vincent felt the shudder that chilled Catherine’s heart. "But still you loved her, Father, and you understood that she never meant to hurt you."
Jacob turned the oddly disquieting smile toward his son. "We oftentimes love the things that will destroy us, Vincent. Think of Rolley. He loved his music, but he loves the allure of drugs even more and soon they will destroy him. And John Pater. Think of his love of gold and power and the destruction those distorted affections have wrought on all of us."
"But Margaret was not like Rolley or Paracelsus," Vincent protested vehemently. "Rolley's addiction is a physical weakness that eats at him beyond his control. Paracelsus was insane, deranged with his own selfish needs. Yet in the beginning each acted of his own accord. They made their own choices. Margaret had choices imposed upon her. Her only weakness was that she could not withstand their force, could not rise above that weakness to do what she knew in her heart was right."
"You prove my point, Vincent," Father answered with more than a trace of satisfaction. "She could not be anything more than what she was."
Catherine shook her head in disagreement. "But that's not all she was, Father. You're not being fair to her memory or to the love you shared. You're thinking only of what she couldn't be, and not of all that she was to you."
"That's not true, Catherine. I am thinking of all that she was," he replied, his voice full of certainty. "She was a sweet, lovely woman, coddled and pampered by a world of riches and privilege, never having to make her own decisions or earn her own way in the world. She was kind and gracious, and in the end quite selfish and very, very careless. Dangerously so. I loved Margaret, and in some ways I always will. But it was my love for her, for her weak and careless beauty, that ruined me. Just as my son's love for you will destroy him."
Catherine had long suspected Father's aversion to her had its roots in his own tragic situation with Margaret. And yet to hear the devastating words, spoken with soul-deep conviction, left her in shock. "I'm not like her," she whispered. "I'm not Margaret."
Jacob nodded, a venerable sage bestowing wisdom. "Oh, but you are."
Vincent felt himself filled with a thousand dark emotions, rage and fear seething against horror and revulsion. "Father, you’re wrong! Catherine has done everything she possibly can to keep me safe. She changed the course of her job, and now she is even resigning from it. Because of her love for me, she is altering her entire life to come and live Below where I am safe. And even when she stays Above, it will be in a home that I can go to without fear. She has done everything conceivable to protect me. And she has done these things because she loves me…How can you say that she will destroy me? It is impossible!"
Jacob shook his head sadly as he reached out to pat Vincent's hand. "Margaret thought so, too, and once so did I. But a woman such as she cannot be fully trusted. An ill-timed confidence, an indiscreet comment, these are things that can so easily lead to betrayal. And for someone who has never had to deal with the harshness of life, with its consequences, well, a person like that is so apt to become careless with the safety, with the very lives of others. They simply do not know better. That's why I've always tried my best to protect you from involvement with any women from the world Above. You don't know that world and its people like I do, and I've always wanted to shield you from that. I’ve never lied to you, although I did withhold some of the truth for your own good. But now you -- both of you -- leave me no choice."
He reached for the pile of letters on the adjacent table and riffled through them before removing two folded sheets and handing them to Vincent. "I am ashamed to reveal to you things that were done to me because I know they will sadden you. Yet do not think of me. What is in the past cannot be changed. And if these long-ago atrocities will at last serve to convince you of the truth in what I've said, then being forced to bare them to you is a very small price to pay." He gestured impatiently toward the pages clutched in Vincent’s hands. "Now please, read the letters. Read them together. You both need to know the truth."
Heads bent toward one another as much for emotional support as for ease in complying with Jacob’s wishes, Vincent and Catherine began to read a letter written in Margaret's hand, nearly forty years earlier.

Dearest Jacob,
Can you ever forgive me for what I've done? I know I'll never forgive myself. I deserted you when you needed me most. You must know that more than anything I wanted to stand by you, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I was so confused and afraid. All my life I've done what Father asked of me. I don't know any other way to live. I don't know what else to do.
It breaks my heart to tell you that he is having our marriage annulled three days from now. There is nothing I can do to stop him. I've begged and pleaded with him, but he refuses to listen. He will do what he pleases, I've no doubt of that, and I am powerless against him.
My maid Patrice has told me she's heard rumors that he plans to send me Abroad very soon. I'm quite sure she is correct, for that is the type of plan Father would devise, thinking it was for my own good. I wish I could promise that someday we will be together again, but I think we both know that can only be a dream.
I will always love you, Jacob, and I hope that somehow you will still love me, at least a little. I'm so sorry. I never meant to cause you such pain.
Please don't try to contact me for a while. It's no use. I will write once more before I'm sent away.
Forgive me, my darling.
All my love,
Margaret

Vincent and Catherine finished reading the letter together, and through their bond shared their pain at having once again delved into Jacob’s private tragedies, understanding that to now comment to him on the contents of this particular letter was almost unthinkable. Then they looked up at the older man, each searching for the right words, knowing that there could be none, but that they must try.
"Father," Vincent began gently. "I understand the pain you must have felt when you received this letter from Margaret."
"But that's just the point," Jacob interrupted. "I'd wanted to spare you having to understand that pain. That's why I've tried so hard to discourage your relationship with Catherine, so that the time would not come when the kind of pain I've lived with all these years would become yet another burden for you to bear."
"It won't," Vincent insisted, his voice taking on a hard and increasingly desperate edge at what appeared to be his parent's unrelenting descent into deeper delusion. "What happened to you was tragic, and if it were possible, I would take that pain away from you and bear it myself. But you must not fear that it will happen to me. Catherine and I are different. Our lives, our worlds, are not the same as yours and Margaret's were. With Catherine, I am safe and loved, as she is with me. There is nothing that can alter that truth."
"Vincent's right, Father," Catherine told him. "I will never betray his trust, nor will I betray yours. I love him with all my heart and I always will. And I'll do everything to keep him safe and happy. Think of all we've endured. We’ve survived everything, and I feel certain there is no force that can tear us apart now. Nothing that anyone can say or do will ruin what we have together."
Vincent nodded quickly, reaching out to grasp Jacob's hand in his. "What Catherine has told you is the truth. You must try and set aside these fears for me, for us. It’s not our destiny to follow the same tragic events that destroyed the life you and Margaret hoped to have together. It will not happen to us. I believe that with all my heart, and now you need to try and believe it, too…Do you think you can?"
For several seconds Jacob was completely silent, yet he continued to gaze at his son's face with an unreadable look, and again both Vincent and Catherine dared to hope that at last he was willing to attempt to change his old beliefs and set aside his old fears. But when he answered them, they knew with growing dismay that they were still lost together in the labyrinth of Jacob's pain.
"Why is it that the two of you believe that you can escape? Do you feel the love you share is stronger and better than the love Margaret and I once had for each other? Even when I knew every bit of the truth, I loved her still. I never told her the worst of it, even at the end, those last seven days when she came Below and we made our peace with one another. I swore almost forty years ago that she would never know how she destroyed me. I would protect her from that horrible truth. That's the true power of love, isn't it, and equal to yours." Before they could answer, he bade them read the second letter. Written just after Margaret's, it was from his friend and lawyer, Alan Taft.

Dear Jacob,
Even after all the horrors we've been through together, this one somehow seems even worse, and I hate like hell to have to be the one to tell you. But you asked me to look into this matter, and I only wish I'd refused when I had the chance.
There's no easy way to say this. All your suspicions were right. It was Margaret's father who turned you in. Evidently he was saying some pretty rough things about you to Margaret -- that you were taking the easy way out going into research instead of being a "real" doctor, that you couldn’t make it in the medical profession on your own and it wouldn’t be long before you were out of a job, unable to support a wife and family -- you know the kind of stunt he'd pull. He was so possessive of his daughter that no one ever would have been good enough for her, no matter what kind of front he put on in public. He was never going to let her go. It was pretty sick when you stop and think about it. Anyway, she thought she was defending you and in the heat of their argument she let a few things you'd told her slip out. Things like how you were concerned about the innocent people being used as guinea pigs and that you had a lot of ideas about the dangers of nuclear weapons development; that you had theories you weren't afraid to make public and that you had enough proof to back them up.
Well, that's all he needed. A few well-placed comments in the right ears and you were up on Communist charges. And "Daddy" had his little girl back again, all to himself.
I'm really sorry about this, Jacob, and like I said, I wish you never had to know. Why the hell did you make me promise to dig the truth up for you? No, don't answer, we both know why. There is one other thing though, and maybe it's that so-called saving grace. Margaret has no idea that her father is the one responsible for what happened to you. She's a good woman, Jacob, but I don't have to convince you of that. For the rest of her life, she'll live with the tragedy you two share and her guilt for not standing by you. As a friend, I think you should leave it at that.
I don't know what will happen now -- who does with the way the world's going? But if there's ever anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask. You still have friends in this insane world, and don't ever forget that.
Take care of yourself,
Alan

Vincent pulled the letter from Catherine's hands and returned it to Father. Then without hesitation, he reached again for the older man's hands and enfolded them in his strong grasp. "Father, I'm so sorry. I never knew." His deep voice was full of pain and sympathy. "I don't know what to say to you except that I admire more than ever your strength and courage. You were right to keep this terrible secret from Margaret. It would have done no good to add it to the burdens she had to bear, but the cost to your own soul was great."
Catherine leaned forward and tentatively touched Jacob's arm. The gentle gesture immediately drew his attention toward her. "How difficult it must have been for you to share your secrets with us. I know you did it in the hope that we would learn from it, and --" she paused and looked at Vincent who nodded his encouragement, knowing exactly where her words were leading. "We have learned from it, I'm sure of that. We've learned that you are a very brave and caring man, even more so than we already knew, and that you have spent a great many years suffering alone with no one to help you ease this terrible pain. But you have Vincent and you have me, and never again will you have to face this alone."
For long, hollow moments Jacob stared at them in appalled silence as if he thought they'd both gone insane. Then, in a voice torn with anger and disbelief, he struck out at them with the bitter weapon of his words. "This -- this is what you have learned from all my pain! I opened my heart to you, humbled myself before you. I told you of my shame, my degradation, and all you do is pity me." His entire body tensed and his hands clenched the arms of his chair so hard his nails left scars in the old wood. "You’ve learned nothing -- nothing! I tried to prove to you how dangerous, how wrong your love is -- how that love will destroy you as it destroyed me. And still you will not see, you will not understand!" Chest heaving, he leaned back in his chair, still staring at them with disquieting intensity as if gathering his strength for another attack. Then his voice rasped hard and hoarse. "You wish to comfort me. But this is not what I wanted -- not what I intended!"
The gentle firmness of Vincent's voice stilled the dissonant pain of his father's. "We both know of your intentions. And at heart they were honorable ones. No son could ask for greater care than you have offered to me all these years. But your intentions were based on the hurt and the sorrow you have endured in your own life, and you never considered that other possibilities that might have existed in mine, even with all its limitations. For so many years, you have blinded yourself to the truth. And when Catherine came into our lives, it seemed to you as if all your fears were becoming real. But Catherine is not Margaret...and I am not you."
Jacob drew in a harsh, painful breath, and then slumped in his chair, as if collapsing inward upon himself. Instantly, Vincent was at his side, but the older man waved him away, and averted his gaze, staring out at nothing, lost in darkness. For long tortured moments, he wished for the eternal comfort of oblivion. But in his heart he knew there would be no escape for him. He had to face the terrible truth in Vincent's words and with it the hideous, unavoidable realization that all those long, sorrowful years of his son's life, the countless days and nights filled with Vincent's stoically endured grief and despairing dreams, it had all been of Jacob's creation.
He had saved the life of a tiny, abandoned baby, a child's whose strength and spirit had given him new hope. After he'd allowed the anguish of unresolved rage to nearly destroy his own life, he had turned his efforts toward his son, nurturing his entire existence, while distorting it at the same time. Jacob had told himself it was all an act of love, but now in agonizing retrospection he was made to face the truth. There had always been love, but almost as powerful had been his need to emerge the victor over an unforgiving world, to command where he had been dominated, to create where he had been destroyed. He had lost everything at the hands of the world Above, the world he had trusted only to watch it betray him in every way possible. In the small child, brutally rejected by the same world that had turned against him, Jacob had seen his last chance for survival, and as he’d raised the boy from infancy, in effect he gave rebirth to himself. He would trust the child to no one else, for then no betrayal could ever bring the boy such unspeakable pain as he himself had known. At last, through his son, Jacob would know what it was to be spared from any possibility of hurt or horror. No price was too great to pay for that supreme victory. Not even the other possibilities a life might hold, not even the as yet unborn dreams of hope and happiness in the heart of his tiny, innocent son.
It had been only seconds, but the time Jacob had spent confronting the spectre of himself had seemed like an eternity. He turned back to Vincent and held out one trembling hand to him.
"I never meant to hurt you, Vincent. I never truly understood how I was destroying you by trying to keep you safe. I can never forgive myself for that…never."
Vincent crouched by his father's chair and took the old man in his arms, tenderly caressing his rumpled hair and murmuring softly to him, as he might comfort a heartbroken child. "You must learn to forget, Father, and beyond that to forgive yourself. I don’t blame you for what you've done. You knew no other way. But it is all in the past now, all the pain and sorrow. You must try to open your heart and let it go. Only then can you begin to heal."
Jacob eased himself slowly from his son's comforting embrace and waited until the younger man had returned to sit beside Catherine once again. Then, to their shared gratitude and relief, Jacob sighed heavily but managed to summon a small, sad smile. "I'll try," he promised, feeling suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever been but at the same time sensing small sparks of renewal begin to flicker within him, giving him hope that his long, weary nightmare might be ending at last. "I can only promise to try."
"And we'll help you," Catherine reassured him. "We'll always be here for you."
Jacob raised guilt-stricken eyes to her. "How can you offer such kindness, Catherine, when all I've done is try to destroy your happiness? When Margaret came Below those last seven days, I told her that I'd let go of all my anger toward the world Above because I knew of someone else who had every reason to feel cursed and punished, but who instead embraced all that life had to offer with gratitude and love. From the moment he was brought to me, Vincent changed my life. He saved me, and set free the best part of who I am."
Jacob paused, blinking away a sudden tear. He reached out a tentative hand to touch his son's face and then let it fall back against his lap. "What I told Margaret was true, but it wasn't everything. To some extent I had dealt with my anger and hatred for the world Above, but I had never come to terms with the hurt and anger I felt toward her. All the pain that was left in me became focused on her, and it made Margaret a symbol of everything that had ever tried to destroy me. All that poison stayed inside me until it began to take away my reason. I knew it was happening, but I couldn't stop it. Even when I seemed most myself, the horror was growing inside me, and it terrified me because I believed in it so deeply. To me it had become the truth. And I never resolved those feelings, not even at the end of Margaret's life." He looked away for a moment and shook his head.
"You must give yourself time," Vincent said, his voice rich and warm. "Be honest with yourself, but have patience as well."
"As I've had with the two of you?" A harsh, self-deprecating laugh echoed in the chamber. "Especially you, Catherine. I let the lies and anger I still felt build up inside me until every time I looked at you, I saw Margaret. In my heart I knew you weren't the same, that you wouldn't do what she did, but I couldn't help it. It hurt so much to admit to myself that I hated Margaret's foolishness, her selfish, unthinking ways, her frivolous life, almost as much as I loved the beautiful, sweet, and gentle girl she truly was. And it nearly killed me to learn that because of that tender, loving part of her, she had been the one to betray me.
"At first it was all too easy to dislike you, Catherine." He continued his confession with a tight, embarrassed grimace. "I'd spent so much of my life waiting for someone like you to come and take my son away, destroying him like Margaret had destroyed me, and all in the name of love. But then I became fond of you in spite of myself, and that only frightened me more, knowing how I'd both loved and hated Margaret. For a long time, I've known how deeply you love my son and how greatly he loves you. But my safe existence had begun to change because of your love, and the idea of it both terrified and angered me until all I could do was strike out. And when I wasn't trying to drive you apart, I simply forced myself to ignore the whole issue as best I could."
He paused and bowed his head for a moment, seeming to study his hands as they clenched and unclenched in his lap. Then sighing heavily, he straightened his shoulders and raised his head to look sharply at Catherine. The set of his chin and the intense look in his eyes prophesied the return of the man the tunnel world called "Father," and yet they knew something deep inside him was changing forever.
"Catherine," he went on, his voice more resolute and clear, "I was never fair to you. I could not allow myself to consider all the good you've done for us and how happy you have made my son. I want you to know that in my heart I've always known that you've changed our lives for the better."
Moved almost beyond words, Catherine offered him a tremulous smile and murmured, "Thank you for telling me now, Father."
As he had during their talk by the Mirror Pool, Vincent reminded Jacob of his own long-ago words, knowing that Catherine needed to hear them, too. It had been a truth confessed in another time and place when Father and he were trapped and frightened in terrible darkness, a time when Catherine had saved them from certain death, restoring rather than stealing away their lives.
"Then, Father, you still believe that the love Catherine and I share touches the best in others." Jacob frowned at him for a moment. "Sometimes I curse that memory of yours." Then the frown disappeared, leaving in its place a small, tender smile. "But not now. The love you two share truly is something beautiful and rare. I've always known that, even when I couldn't accept it, even when I did everything I could to keep that knowledge hidden from you. And, whether or not you can believe it, I am glad that at last I can, as you so aptly put it, Vincent, begin to open my heart. Perhaps now there is a chance the healing can begin." He sighed heavily, as if releasing some of the darkness within himself to the light of their love. "Your love truly a miracle. And that you are willing to extend a part of it to me is more miraculous still…Can you ever forgive me?"
Catherine's eyes shone with tears. "Of course, Father." She waited while Vincent echoed her words, and then she continued, needing to say something more to the older man, knowing that the long night of his torment could not be ended in a single day. "You spoke of miracles. Once Vincent said that when he found me, it was a miracle, the answer to a dream and a prayer. It was that way for me, too, because it brought me here to a love I'd never dreamed possible." She sighed softly. "It brought me home."
Rejoicing in Catherine's every heartfelt word, Vincent never hesitated, and, leaning close, he kissed her tenderly before turning back to Father. "And Catherine truly is my miracle, Father. The gift of her love is my light, my life."
Father nodded, quietly brushing away a tear. "And you're sure there's enough love left over for a foolish old man?"
The echoing of his earlier remark left no doubt in anyone's mind of his need for reassurance, a need that would not be easily assuaged. For all the long years of Jacob's life, Vincent had been the only one to offer him love that was completely unconditional, and despite all that he'd now learned and begun to accept, Jacob could not set aside the fear that he might lose some of his son's love to Catherine.
"There's more than enough, Father," Vincent answered, his voice deepening with emotion. "You will always have our love."
Jacob pushed himself to his feet, waiting while Catherine and Vincent rose to face him. Then he reached up and gently kissed his son's bowed head, before turning to Catherine, opening his arms to her in a tentative embrace of reconciliation. She held him tight for a moment and whispered close to his ear so that only he could hear. "I won't take him from you, Father, I promise."
Releasing her, Jacob looked from one to the other, and his smile was bittersweet. But when he spoke, they heard again the familiar sound of Father. "I'm sure you both have much to do, plans to make and what have you. And even though it can't be more than mid-afternoon, I need to rest for a bit." He faltered, his voice roughening with remorse. "And then I must find Mary and try to apologize to her as well."
"I'm sure she'll understand," Catherine replied. "She knows you so well, she'll have realized you didn't mean what you said to her."
Jacob sighed. "I hope you're right. Then I shall see you both later, I trust, at dinner."
"Yes, you will," Vincent answered, taking Catherine's hand. Then a boyish smile curved his mouth as a long-ago image surfaced in his mind, and he hoped the sharing of it could further ease his father's despair. "But I have a suggestion to make. It might be difficult for you to fall asleep at this time of day. Would you like me to stay and sing to you for a while?"
Catherine looked up at him curiously, but Jacob's laugh this time was full and warm. "You couldn't possibly remember that, Vincent!"
"No, probably not," he admitted. "But I've heard the story often enough to imagine that I do."
"Then you must tell Catherine about it, but tell her elsewhere. Contrary to your kind suggestion, I'm sure I'll have no trouble at all napping for a bit."
Chuckling, Vincent looked down at Catherine's upturned face and then began to pull her gently in the direction of the chamber entrance. Just as he reached to push aside the tapestry, Jacob called to them.
"Wait, take this with you." He held out a large piece of drawing paper, wrinkled around the edges and a bit smudged. "It's the poem Samantha and Kipper once wrote for Winterfest. I believe Michael had a hand in it as well, but still it's quite good for children so young. Of course, they are extremely bright, perhaps you might even say gifted, given the quality of the work."
"Let's not overdo it, Father," Vincent commented, reaching for the paper. "Although it is very good and shows a wisdom far beyond their years."
Still smiling, Catherine and Vincent left Father to his requested solitude. The older man did not immediately seek the comforting renewal of sleep, however, but instead reached for a small book, needing to read another poet's words before he could try to rest.
He turned the pages quickly, knowing where the lines would be found, and then in a quiet, wistful voice, he read them aloud:

"O purblind race of miserable men,
How many among us at this very hour
Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves,
By taking true for false, or false for true;
Here, thro' the feeble twilight of this world
Groping, how many, until we pass and reach
That other, where we see as we are seen!"

With a quiet sigh, he set aside the well-worn volume of Tennyson's Idylls of the King and turned toward his bed, realizing he had at last begun to see himself for the man he had always been, neither good nor bad but only human with all the inherent strengths and weaknesses that state imposes. And hoping that his long, grief-filled years spent wandering in twilight would lead him now to the light of a new day.

For Father at Winterfest
From Samantha and Kipper
Winter's Tale
Peg McNabb

Father, Father would you please
Tell us of that winter freeze
When our Vincent once was found
And brought to you all tightly bound,
Wrapped in ragged, dirty cloth.
You bathed him, clothed him, fed him broth.
Entranced, you gazed upon his face,
Beholding strength, yet humble grace.
This babe, not needing map or chart,
Had found his home within your heart.
He cried for three straight days, you said,
And you were worried; then the thread
Of sweet relief as lullabies
From "Father" finally closed his eyes.
"My son," you whispered, staking claim,
And there both lives forever changed.
And in his bundled, dreamless sleep
With terror stilled, contentment deep,
A wee clawed hand wrapped round your thumb,
Rewarding thus your soothing hum.
And so we sit, our hearts enthralled,
Imagining our Vincent -- small.
The one that fate had set adrift
Instead bestowed on us a gift.
That tiny bundle in the snow
Began the magic here Below.
And, Father, there's just one more thing,
We never knew that you could sing...