BEYOND BEGINNINGS - BOOK TWO
Linda Barth

Chapter Five

They might have been content to stay as they were forever, but the rest of their world was not in agreement, and it fell to Samantha to be its instrument of change. All too soon, they heard the familiar sound of skittering feet and a lilting voice growing louder, as the young girl composed her own musical accompaniment to a poem she had learned in Father's literature class earlier in the week.

"We must not hope to be mowers,
And to gather the ripe gold ears,
Unless we have first been sowers
And watered the furrows with tears.
It is not just as we take it,
This mystical world of ours,
Life's field will yield as we make it
A harvest of thorns or flowers."
 

Vincent gently ended their embrace, but stayed where he was at Catherine's side and kept her hand clasped tightly in his. The look they exchanged seemed to be serene and soothing, but both sensed the undercurrents in its depths.

"Hi, Vincent! Hi, Catherine! Can I come in?" Bouncing on her toes in the chamber entryway,

Samantha politely waited for permission.

"Yes, of course, Samantha," Vincent answered, as she bounded into the room, her glossy brown hair flying about her shoulders. "Do you have a message to deliver or have you come to visit Catherine?"

Her bright smile made her dark eyes sparkle. "Well, it's really both. Mary wanted me to tell you that the buffet supper will be ready in Father's chamber in ten minutes. We're having it there sort of like a party 'cause Eamon's visiting, you know. But Mary said if you want, she'll bring a tray here for Catherine and you."

He turned to Catherine, and again the look they shared said far more than mere words could convey.

"Catherine, what would you like to do?"

She wavered for a moment, and then made the choice that, at present, would be best for both of them.

"I think I can hobble that far if Vincent will help me," she answered. "And if we start on our way in a few minutes, we might even get there on time."

Samantha giggled. "Sometimes I'm late for things, too. Like certain chores and certain classes. And if Father's there, he always gives me one of those looks. You know the one -- like this!"

Her imitation of Father's raised eyebrow glare was near perfection, and her small audience found they could not suppress their appreciative grins, although Vincent tried his best.

"Samantha, we heard you singing on your way to Vincent's chamber. You really have a lovely voice," Catherine said, much to the child's delight. "I'll bet you could be a wonderful actress. Is the theatre something you're interested in?"

The young girl's radiant smile lit up her whole face. "Yes, I am! We're going to study Romeo and Juliet in the fall, and when we act it out, I want to be Juliet."

"You don't think you're a still a bit young for the part?" Vincent teased her.

With a dignified straightening of her shoulders, she gave him the expression of world-weary maturity she usually saved for Kipper's less flattering comments. "Perhaps, but a truly talented actress can make the audience believe anything. Father said so."

A familiar evening message rattled along the pipes. Vincent smiled at her before replying, "Well, I think you're about to have an opportunity to practice the part of the penitent twelve-year-old. That was the signal that everyone on this week's dinner crew is expected in the kitchen chamber -- now."

Her eyes widened, but in an instant her nervousness vanished as her mouth curved in a satisfied smile. "If I run into Father, I'll tell him I was delayed on an important errand -- delivering a message to you." She shrugged as her smile grew. "And if that doesn't work, then I'll just have to -- what do you call it?"

"Improvise?" Catherine suggested.

"That's it!" Samantha ran toward the chamber entrance in spite of her brave words. "I'll tell everyone you're on your way, okay?"

"Thank you, Samantha," Vincent called, but she had already vanished. Although he went to great lengths to give equal amounts of attention to all the Tunnel children, there had always been a few who were his favorites. Often they were children whose bright, eager minds and quirky creativity might have tried another's patience to the limit, but to him they were a great joy. He never realized how like these children he had been at an early age, despite the trials he had endured, and how like them he still was.

He looked at Catherine for a long moment. "Are you certain that you want to join the others?" he asked, unsure of which answer he hoped to hear.

"No, not entirely, but I think it might be best right now."

He nodded, letting further explanation go unspoken as he rose to his feet.

Catherine watched as he circled the room, extinguishing all but the candle nearest her, which continued to burn brightly within its clear, glass-globed holder. "You're very fond of Samantha, aren't you?" she asked softly.

He paused for a moment and glanced at her. "Yes. I love all the children, but with some, it's as if there is a special bond of sorts between us."

"I know," she agreed. "Sometimes when you share certain experiences or a way of looking at things, you can't help but feel that way. It's how I’ve felt about Geoffrey ever since we discovered that we'd both lost our parents. And that we'd both found a family Below."

Her last comment drew a nod of understanding, but when he did not pursue it, she continued. "The song Samantha was singing, do you know what it is?"

His task completed, he moved closer, and sat against the edge of his writing desk a few feet away from her. He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back, but his face was relaxed. "I think she may have made up the melody herself, but the words are from a poem by Goethe that Father recently taught in his literature class. He's asked the children to memorize it, and I believe the song is Samantha's way of making it her own."

"Did you listen carefully to the last line?" she continued.

"'A harvest of thorns or flowers'? Yes, I listened to it." Pushing himself to his feet, he slowly approached the bed and looked down at her, his face a blending of uncertainty and determination.

"And?"

"Flowers, Catherine, always... roses."

Without hesitation, he leaned down and sliding one arm behind her knees and the other around her waist, he lifted her up, cradling her against his chest. Immediately he felt her arms encircle his neck and heard her soft sigh of satisfaction as he carried her toward the chamber entrance.

"Vincent, I could probably walk at least part of the way," she offered. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

A low huskiness warmed his voice. "Father's chamber is not far. And yes, I'm sure."

A few minutes later they reached their destination, and, much to Catherine's surprise, Vincent did not put her down. Instead, he carried her into the crowded room, and did not let her go until he had seated her comfortably at the place that had been saved for them, side by side at a small trestle table.

"Catherine, I'm glad you're feeling better," Mary said, sliding along the bench to make sure Vincent had enough room. "It's good to see you up and about again, isn't it?" Her comment caught the attention of a small boy who had darted up to their table.

"Yeah, she really was up!" Danny laughed loudly at his own joke. "Way up! Would you give me a ride on your shoulders later, Vincent?"

"You'd better go eat your dinner, Danny," Jamie interrupted, knowing where the five-year-old's priorities rested. "Or you might miss out on dessert." She turned toward Vincent and Catherine. "Are you coming to Eamon's concert later on?"

"Yes," Catherine answered. "Vincent has told me a lot about the Carricks' music and I'm really looking forward to it."

Her immediate response warmed Vincent's heart, lifting his spirits like nothing else could. He touched her arm and nodded toward a slight, red-haired man who was standing by a long serving table, deep in conversation with Father and William. "That's Eamon over there. I'll introduce you to him afterwards."

Jamie glanced over her shoulder before turning back toward them. "They're probably planning tonight's program. Eamon asked if I'd play the guitar for some of his songs. I'm still not that good at it, so I hope I don't mess things up!"

"I heard you practicing the other day, Jamie, " Pascal offered from his place next to her. "You sounded great! You don't have a thing to worry about." He turned toward Catherine and picked up the thread of Jamie's conversation. "Usually Eamon plays whatever people ask for and any new songs he's picked up since his last visit. Anyone who wants to can either play one of the traditional instruments or sing along. But William always likes to make sure all his personal favorites are included. Wait 'til you hear him sing!"

"William has a very impressive voice," Vincent commented. He continued to look across the table toward Jamie and Pascal, but he cast a quick sideways glance at Mary. "Are you planning to ask Eamon to play something special for us this evening, Pascal?"

"I hadn't thought about it," he replied, his eyes glinting with humor. "Are you going to?"

"Perhaps I will," he answered. "It's been quite a while since we've heard from Red-Haired Mary."

"Oh, don't you dare!" Mary cried, shaking her finger at both men. "I had quite enough of that last time." She looked at Catherine who had watched the exchange with amusement. "It's a rather risque song, you know. And I'm sure you're going to hear it tonight. It was weeks after Eamon's last concert before people finally stopped asking if I was still sleeping in Murphy's shed."

Catherine laughed with her. "Now I'm looking forward to the concert more than ever. It sounds as if there are a lot of your old favorites that I'll have to catch up on." Suddenly her gaze caught Vincent's and they shared a small, secret smile.

Dinnertime conversation ebbed and flowed around them, and moments later, Catherine found the opportunity to ask the question she had almost forgotten. She leaned closer so that only he would hear. "Vincent, you never did tell me about your favorite song."

He looked down at her through a fringe of tousled hair. "No, Catherine, I didn’t."

She couldn't tell if he was still reluctant to share this information with her or was just enjoying teasing her a bit, and the even tone of his voice provided no further clue. Nevertheless, she decided to persist just a bit longer. "Well, will you tell me?"

She tapped her fingers against the worn surface of the old oak table, as he methodically buttered a slice of William's freshly baked rye bread.

"Yes."

Looking up at him expectantly, she waited for the answer that never came. Instead, he rose from his place next to her and began helping some of the others clear away the empty dishes.

Catherine smiled and shook her head as she reached for her mug of hot tea. Sometimes she was sorry she had ever given in to the temptation to occasionally tease Vincent. He not only enjoyed it; he was fast becoming a master of the art.

Realizing that only Mary and she remained seated at the small table, Catherine turned toward the older woman. "This is so nice." She gestured toward the convivial group. "I'm really enjoying it."

"Are you, dear?" The slight inflection in Mary's voice gave her seemingly casual words a deeper meaning.

Catherine smiled gratefully. "Yes, I really am. Somehow I think everything will be all right."

Mary patted her hand affectionately, and then rose to her feet and gathered their remaining dishes onto a serving tray. "I'm glad then, and remember you can come to me anytime you need to."

"I will. And now I wish there was something I could do to help, instead of just sitting here like this."

"Don't worry," Olivia said, joining them just in time to hear Catherine's last comment. "Once you're back on your feet again, we'll be able to find plenty for you to do!"

"Yes," Mary agreed. "There's always something around here that needs attending to." She deposited the laden tray into Olivia's outstretched hands, and then scanned the crowd for some of the older boys who were to help carry the tables away in order to make room for everyone who would attend the concert. "Now where have those boys gone to? Excuse me, Catherine."

Olivia started to follow Mary's path through the lively group and then paused to smile over her shoulder at Catherine. "I'll try to find Vincent for you, okay? See you later."

Catherine had long felt a sense of deep contentment in the midst of her chosen family, but now there was something more. Sometime during the past several months, she had truly become part of the Tunnel community, and her presence there was not only accepted, it was expected and enjoyed. She closed her eyes for a moment as once again she envisioned herself standing at Vincent's side while endless pathways full of light opened up before them, inviting them forward as if anything was possible.

"Catherine?"

His voice flowed over her like warm, thick honey, and when she opened her eyes to him, they shared a look of sweet longing and promise. How could anything be more right than this, she wondered, what more could I ever want?

Gently breaking the spell, he reached for her hand. "I've arranged a place for us where you’ll be comfortable during Eamon's concert. If you’ll lean on me, Catherine, I’ll help you make your way there."

A single word -- always -- seemed to flutter through the bond from her heart to his and back again. Always.

Moments later Catherine settled back against the cushions of a small sofa as Vincent crouched down to prop her injured foot on an ottoman. Earlier he had dragged the two pieces of furniture part way into the alcove beneath the spiral staircase leading to Father's book-lined loft, and had secured Mouse's help to make sure no one else claimed the site before he returned with Catherine.

"All set, Vincent!" Mouse proclaimed with satisfaction. "Some little kids wanted to sit here, but I told 'em no. Just for Catherine and Vincent. No one else."

"Thank you, Mouse." Rising to his feet, Vincent clasped the younger man's shoulder in his warm grasp. "I -- we -- appreciate your help."

"Yes, we do," Catherine echoed. "Thank you, Mouse."

"No problem! Vincent needs help, Mouse is there." His smile broadened as he looked back and forth from his two beloved friends to the crowd milling about the spacious chamber and spotted the rapid approach of Eric, Danny, and Geoffrey. "Uh-oh, still need help. Good thing you've got Mouse!"

Vincent and Catherine exchanged an amused look as their guardian angel herded the noisily disappointed children off to another part of the room.

"I'm glad Mouse takes his responsibilities so seriously," Catherine commented happily. "I love the children, too, but for once it's nice to have you all to myself. Arranging this spot for us was a wonderful idea!"

For a moment, his face flushed with color and he bowed his head shyly before looking down at her. "We’ll be able to see and hear the concert clearly from here, but I wanted to make sure no one would cause you further injury." His voice was carefully even.

Catherine grinned up at him. "Well, I suppose that's important, too."

He couldn't resist returning her smile, and its warmth and meaning gleamed in his eyes. Unaware of anyone but each other, they were startled when a warmly melodic voice drifted over them.

"Now that's quite a pretty picture the two of you make. It's enough to inspire me to break into song on the spot!"

Vincent whirled around to meet the smiling face of Eamon Carrick. "I'm sorry, Eamon," he apologized. "I didn't know you were there."

The musician's sky blue eyes twinkled as his gaze darted between his old friend and the woman he obviously adored. "And there's no surprise in that, is there, Vincent, me lad? When you've something so fair and lovely to look upon to your heart's content, what should you be wanting with a poor old wandering troubadour!"

Shaking his head, Vincent turned back toward Catherine. "I would advise you to ignore him," he began.

"But it wouldn't do you a bit of good now, would it?" Eamon interrupted, depositing himself on the sofa next to Catherine. "Because she wouldn't listen to a word of it."

Smiling, Catherine offered him her hand. "My name is Catherine. It's a pleasure to meet you, Eamon. Vincent has told me a lot about you."

"And he's told me quite a lot about you, darlin', whether he knows it or not." Eamon was clearly enjoying himself. "My people have the gift of second sight, you know, and there's little that's kept hidden from us for long."

Raising her eyebrows pointedly, Catherine played along. "And what does your second sight tell you about Vincent and me?"

As he was about to reply, William's voice boomed toward them from across the room. "Hey, Eamon, we're all waiting for you! Let's get this show on the road!"

With a dramatic sigh, Eamon released Catherine's hand. "It seems the Muse calls and cannot be kept waiting, even for the sake of such a beauty." He rose from his place next to her and then gave Vincent a push in that direction. "You shall have to be content with this great lout instead, but I won't forget what you asked of me, darlin' Catherine. You'll have your answer soon enough!"

As he made his way through the excited group, Vincent carefully lowered himself to sit beside Catherine on the small sofa. Before he could warn himself to think better of it, he slid an arm around her shoulders and edged closer until their bodies relaxed into each other, nestling comfortably side by side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he'd purposely chosen the sofa more for its size than any other attribute, and he couldn't suppress a shy smile as he looked down into her upturned face.

"Eamon is quite a character, isn't he?" she commented with a laugh.

"He certainly is. Although that was mostly for your benefit, Catherine. After all, he spent more years in the Tunnels than he did in the old country."

"Well, I enjoyed it anyway," Catherine told him warmly. "And now I can't wait to hear his songs." She cuddled a bit closer and rested her head against his chest, just beneath his shoulder.

Seconds later, he gasped softly as he felt her hand settle upon his thigh, but he did nothing to disturb the warmth rippling through him. After all they had so recently shared, the pain of exposure and the healing of love, it simply felt right to be with her like this in the midst of his family and friends. The thought that anyone else might think otherwise never entered his mind.

For more than two hours Eamon entertained them with his music, blending old favorites with new songs he had added to his repertoire since his last visit to the Tunnels a year earlier. William had ample opportunity to join in on his favorites; all of Mary's "children," young and old, delighted in teasing her with Red-Haired Mary; and even Pascal's clear and surprisingly strong tenor carried several songs. Many had enjoyed clapping their hands and tapping their feet in time to the music, wishing there had been room to dance as well.

More than once, Catherine had stolen a surreptitious glance in Father's direction and had breathed easier when she found him involved in enjoying the evening's entertainment. Since he had last checked on her injuries at noon, they had managed to avoid each other, and she surmised he was as pleased with that circumstance as she.

Without changing position, she carefully glanced up at Vincent and found he had closed his eyes while he listened to Eamon sing a bittersweet Irish love song, as Jamie offered a haunting accompaniment on the guitar. Unconsciously, as if needing to assure herself that all was well, Catherine looked back toward Father once again, and felt her breath catch as she met his steely blue-grey gaze. For several moments neither would look away, and in that time Catherine thought she saw not the anger or resentment she might have expected, but instead a quivering of fear and profound sadness he could not hope to hide.

As if suddenly aware of what was happening, Father forced himself to break their strange connection. There would be time enough for the confrontation that would surely come, he told himself, but not yet, not now. As he tried once again to concentrate on the lovely ballad drifting around him, an icy shuddering passed through his soul. And with effort he managed to convince himself that it was caused by nothing more than the damp chill of a stray breeze that passed through his tunnel world and would soon be gone.

Sensing the unexpected rush of unquiet emotions within their bond, Vincent's eyes opened suddenly, and his calm demeanor vanished. "Is everything all right, Catherine?" he whispered, his intent gaze searching her face. "I thought I felt something unsettling from you, as if for a moment you were frightened or unhappy."

Without hesitating, she smiled up at him, hoping to reassure him, while within her heart she unknowingly echoed Fathers' words. Not yet, not now.

"I'm fine. Maybe it was just the song Eamon was singing. It was so sweet and so sad." She hated lying to him, but for now there was little choice.

"Yes," he agreed, visibly relaxing once more. "There is so much emotion in the words and in the music, it's impossible not to be moved by it."

As she murmured in agreement, Eamon began to make an announcement to his family and friends. "Before I end tonight's concert and sing you off to pleasant dreams with our old favorite All Through the Night, I have the pleasure of honoring one final request. An old and dear friend, who shall go unnamed, has asked for a very special rendition of a song I first shared with all of you last year. It's a fine Scottish tune with a bit of a laugh to stir your soul and much love to touch your heart."

He paused dramatically as several people eagerly called out to him, correctly guessing the title of the song. "Right you are, it's called The Queen of Argyll, and it tells the tale of a rare beauty who might have her pick of any of the village boys. But there is one among them who so desires her, that he begs the other lads to stand aside so that he might have a single chance to pluck this lovely rose for his own. Ahh, you may well ask, is he successful in his quest? That remains to be seen! But now if I might ask my darlin' girl Jamie to join in on the guitar and Cullen, you on the bodhran, we'll make a bit of magic and see if we can help a certain lad's fine dreams come true."

While the three readied themselves, a murmuring rippled through the audience as many tried to guess the identity of the person who had requested the song. "Eamon does love to be mysterious," Mary commented to Elizabeth. "He's quite a showman."

"He certainly is," the older woman agreed. "And inspiring, too. I'm thinking of doing a painting of tonight's concert on that section of wall that Mouse helped me prepare last week."

"That's a wonderful idea!" Mary did not mean to be inattentive, but her natural curiosity got the best of her. "But I wonder who requested Queen of Argyll. What do you think?"

Elizabeth chuckled knowingly. Her decades as an artist had honed her powers of observation to a fine art in and of itself. "I don't think, Mary, I know. Look over there." With a quick nod of her head, she directed Mary's attention toward the couple seated half in shadows in the alcove under the stairs.

Their heads bent close toward one another, Vincent and Catherine were deep in conversation, virtually oblivious to everyone and everything else. When the announcement had been made, Catherine had scanned the group, expecting to see some gesture or expression that would easily reveal the identity of the person to whom Eamon had enticingly alluded. But when she found no answer at all, she had turned to Vincent, expecting him to join in the game.

"Who do you think he means?" she'd begun, only to find the inconsequential words fading to nothingness when she saw the look in his eyes and heard the tone of his voice.

"Do you remember when you asked about my favorite song, Catherine?" he whispered, his husky voice as soft as velvet and as strong as steel.

She loved the waves of excitement that rippled through her at the implication in his words. "Yes," she whispered back, her fingers pressing reflexively against the hard, denim-covered muscles of his thigh. "I remember."

He hesitated, feeling the heat of her hand through his clothing almost as if she had at last bared his willing flesh to her eager caress. He knew he should stop, but he did not want to. "It’s this song, the one I asked Eamon to sing for you...for us. When he first sang it at last year's concert, I thought immediately of you, of how I so often feel about you. Catherine, you told me not to be afraid to want...certain things...for myself. You know that I do not wish to ever control your life, to make decisions for you, but sometimes..."

His voice faltered, but then the fire in his eyes burned higher. "Sometimes I feel an overpowering need within me, and I know there are things I want…for myself."

For several moments the erratic pounding of Catherine's heart seemed to rise above any ordinary music. And then the words she might have spoken were lost, as the rhythmic strumming of a guitar joined the measured heartbeat of a drum, underscoring Vincent's message in Eamon's song.

"Gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you of one beauty,
Though I'd ask of you a favor not to seek her for a while.
Though I own she is a creature of character and feature,
No words can paint the picture of the queen of all Argyll.

And if you could have seen her, boys, if you had just been there.
The swan was in her movement and the morning in her smile.
All the roses in the garden, they bow and ask her pardon,
For not one could match the beauty of the queen of all Argyll.

On the evening that I mention, I passed with light intention
Through a part of our dear country known for beauty and for style.
'Tis a place of noble thinkers, of scholars and great drinkers,
But above them all for splendor shone the queen of all Argyll.

And if you could have seen her, boys, if you had just been there.
The swan was in her movement and the morning in her smile.
All the roses in the garden, they bow and ask her pardon,
For not one could match the beauty of the queen of all Argyll.

So, my lads, I needs must leave you, my intention's not to grieve you,
Nor needs would I deceive you, oh I'll stay with you a while.
But I must find some way to gain her, to court her and to tame her.
I fear my heart's in danger from the queen of all Argyll.

And if you could have seen her, boys, if you had just been there.
The swan was in her movement and the morning in her smile.
The roses in the garden, they bow and ask her pardon,
For not one could match the beauty of the queen of all Argyll."

The song ended in a flourish of guitar and drum. The smiling audience applauded enthusiastically, as Eamon skillfully carried them away from any further contemplation of the lovers' identity and into the sweetly stirring lullaby with which he would say farewell.

Quiet voices joined gentle melody, but the calm serenity was lost on Catherine. Through the bond, Vincent could feel the flood of her emotions, a wellspring of happiness, blending pleasure and humor and love. And when she turned to face him, her smile was incandescent.

"Vincent, I loved it! It's a wonderful song! But why wouldn't you tell me about it before? Is it because I do endanger your heart?"

He could not resist a quick, almost shy caress of her face, letting his fingers trail through her hair to lightly graze her softly glowing skin. Then, as he spoke, he reached for her hand and gently entwined their fingers. "If you do, then it's a danger I don't want to save myself from. And, Catherine, I'm glad you liked the song. I wanted to tell you about it before, but somehow I couldn't find the words."

"And now you can?" she pressed gently.

"Yes, now I can." His smile, once all too rare, sent a sensual shivering down her spine. "So often you have brought light and happiness into my life. You have truly given me 'the morning in your smile,' and with it you have shown me that even the deepest desire, the wanting for one's self, is not part of the darkness. It is only another part of love."

His fingers tightened on hers, and he felt the immediate answering grasp of her hand and her heart reaching for him, claiming him.

"Catherine, I want to keep your light within me always. If you ever wish to leave me, to live another life, I would not try to stop you. But I am no longer afraid to tell you that I want your love, I want you, for myself. Forever."

The elation that flared through her like wildfire made her so lightheaded that she could do nothing but wait for its blazing flames to subside to a gentler glow. Finally, with an involuntary trembling, she answered him, her voice and her smile simmering with suppressed passion. "Vincent, I think you know much I've wanted to hear you say those words to me, but I really wish you'd picked a different time and place."

He tilted his head, anticipating the pleasure he would find as she continued. He didn't have long to wait.

She leaned infinitesimally closer, then closer still until the radiant warmth of their bodies seemed to shimmer between them in palpable waves. "And if I didn't think half the Tunnel community would pass out in shock, I'd show you how much I loved hearing them -- right here and now."

Though low and throaty, his vibrant laughter drew admonishing hushing sounds from those closest to them. "I'm sorry, Catherine. What can I do to make amends?"

Her smile brightened until it lit up her entire face, but even that could not match the fire in her eyes. "I'm sure I'll think of something," she purred. "In fact, I already have."

With that she leaned back against him, savoring his quick intake of breath and the rapid beating of his heart. For all appearances, they had returned to their earlier pose of relaxed and affectionate companionship, but the pulsing surge of emotions racing through their bond was irrevocable proof that they had taken yet another step forward on the path that would change their lives forever.

Unable to resist, she tilted her head back again and met the gaze that had never left her for a moment. "Vincent," she whispered. "I love what you've done for me tonight. It means everything to know that at last you're ready to accept my love, to claim it -- to claim me -- as yours, as I've always dreamed you would."

His response was as soft as the final strains of the music that floated all around them, but within it was a strength and courage that defied all odds. "I know now that we have dreamed the same dreams, Catherine. And we can make them come true."

Color My World

 Peggy Garvin     

Rock walls do sometimes, in my case,
A prison make.
Where greens and blues and reds do blend
To shades of grey.
And choices are afforded all
Save me, alone;
A brother to the darkness, I;
It is my way.
I've yet to feel the sun's sweet kiss
Upon my face.
My skies are not of blue and white
But only stone.
Yet I no longer crave these things
Since she has come
And brought with her the light of love.
I'm not alone.