BEYOND BEGINNINGS - BOOK TWO
Linda Barth

Chapter Eight

Late at night the Tunnels are a quiet place, their slumber broken by little more than the reports of sentries or the unexpected cry of a child awakened by a frightening dream. The predawn hours of early April were much the same as the days and months that had gone before, their silence disturbed only by the muted clanking messages of watchmen echoing through the twisting network of pipes. Nearly everyone in the underworld community slept peacefully, oblivious to the sounds, save a single person who remained awake to mark their passage.

Several journals now were stacked on the table alongside the first, each painstakingly examined during the long hours Jacob Wells had spent alone with the remains of his memories. A final volume was still clutched in his hands, its pages opened to reveal a poem he had written several months earlier. The words told of a day when Vincent's terrible illness had begun to take hold of him, the time when Paracelsus had embarked on his horrifying plan of destruction and despair. Using the reporter, Bernie Spirko, to initiate his evil attack, Paracelsus had devastated the tunnel community by threatening to reveal Vincent's presence to the world Above. The very real danger in that threat had left Catherine and Vincent no choice but to part, and at the time they had fully believed their parting would be forever. With breaking hearts they had faced the beginning of a horribly barren and desolate lifetime, doomed to be spent imprisoned away from each other.

Jacob had found his son at daybreak by the Mirror Pool, lost in despondency over the terrifying truths he had recognized in a nightmare shared with Catherine. The twisted dream had shown hideous images foretelling what would occur should Vincent's existence become known Above. Despite all the hopes and dreams he’d found with Catherine, Vincent knew the world would not embrace the wondrous beauty of their love, but would instead mock and revile everything they held most dear, destroying both them and the world Below.

Trying to divert his son's dark thoughts, Jacob had grasped at the first idea that had occurred to him. Gesturing toward the waters of the Mirror Pool, he commented on the way the stars of the night sky had been replaced by dawn's first light. Vincent's mournful reply, "No, only its reflection," told him that his good intentions were entirely ineffective; but, with a sigh, he tried again, this time coming closer to the true source of his son's despair.

Pointing out that several days had passed without further upheaval, Jacob suggested that the reporter might have reconsidered his intention, understanding the damage it would have inflicted, and that now it was safe to go on with their lives. No longer able to hide behind false hope, Vincent forced both of them to face the truth. As long as Catherine and he tried to find a way to bring their worlds together, then there would be someone who would not understand, someone who would seek to destroy them. If it were not this man, Spirko, then surely it would be another, and then another, until at last everything was lost.

Jacob had mulled over Vincent's declaration for several long moments and then, without truly considering the consequences, he had fallen back on his own painfully skewed, destructive vision of the world Above. "It's been a wonderful dream, Vincent," he said, never hearing the condescension and censorship in his voice. "But this is your home."

His son's agonized reply had been torn from a shattered heart. "No, Father, it's my tomb." The words had wounded both men with their anger and their truth.

Jacob looked down again at the journal in his lap, reading once more the poem he had written in the hours following the bitter parting from his son at the Mirror Pool. The words inscribed on the ivory pages had come from Jacob's heart, words of understanding, encouragement, and sympathy that he had not been able to say aloud. He had tried to find a way to show the poem to Vincent, wanting and needing to make him understand; but even before the opportunity could arise, Paracelsus had snatched away all possibilities and all hope that might have been offered by the loving words.

"I should have told him these things," Jacob muttered aloud. "Maybe it would have been different if I had."

A small spark of hope flickered to life in the dark reaches of his troubled heart. "But perhaps even now it’s not too late to make amends. I will show him the poem after all. Vincent is a levelheaded young man. Surely he’ll see that I understand his feelings. And I will help him finally accept that his life is here with us. Then, when foolish dreams are set aside, all will be well again."

Wearily, but with renewed strength, Jacob rose to his feet and carefully marked the journal's pages with a worn velvet ribbon before setting it aside. He began to walk slowly toward his bed, but paused to extinguish his reading lamp, leaving only a single candle to hold back the darkness. Securing himself against the tunnels' chill under insulating layers of blankets and quilts, he began to drift into sleep.

"All will be well again," he echoed softly. "All will be well..."
 

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

In her chamber not far from the children's nursery, Mary woke early. She barely noticed the regular half-hourly signal of the sentries tapping rhythmically along the pipes, knowing with the almost intuitive sense of time developed by all long-term tunnel dwellers that it was barely dawn. Stretching slowly, she rose from her bed, still weary after several hours of restless, uneasy slumber, and lit a few candles around her homey, little chamber, pushing back the shadows and wishing that the dark images which had disturbed her sleep could be as easily displaced.

As they had throughout the long, unsettled night, her thoughts flew immediately to Jacob and his recent behavior that she'd found far more troubling than she liked to admit. For a long time, Mary's steadfast optimism had buoyed her hopes that somehow the problems would work themselves out, but now she knew that there was no other choice but to face the difficult situation head-on.

She washed and dressed quickly in the chilled tunnel air and then efficiently brushed and braided her long, silvery brown hair. Suddenly, an image of Catherine's hopeful, vulnerable expression surfaced in her memory, and Mary recalled how she had offered the younger woman a promise of help. It was past time, Mary realized, that she acted on that promise.

"But I can't do it alone," she whispered, a deep frown tensing her normally serene features. "I must talk to Vincent."

Her hands shook slightly as she tied the belt of her muslin apron. She knew it was far too early for Vincent to be awake; it would be at least an hour before he made his way to the dining chamber for breakfast with several other members of their community. For a few ragged moments she considered waking him early, but immediately dismissed the idea, knowing it to be an inappropriate notion born of her growing tension.

Don't be ridiculous, she chastised herself, you'll just have to wait. Heaven knows, the problems will still be with us in an hour or two.

Mary pressed her lips together tightly, as if in unconscious effort to contain her troubled thoughts, and then restlessly swept from the chamber, anxious to begin her day's duties, hoping to find some use for her nervous energy until she could talk with Vincent. She headed for a small adjacent room that currently served as a nursery for two toddlers and an infant, siblings recently brought to them by a Helper who gave evidence that their abusive mother had abandoned them. As she looked down at the small sleeping children, Mary could not help but think back over the long years to the time when Vincent, too, had been a tiny throwaway child in the world Above. She reached out a gentle hand and softly stroked the warm, silky hair of the baby resting peacefully in a clean, cozy crib. Regardless of their laws Above, Mary knew this tiny child would not become another lost, damaged soul like so many others before him. Like the man who had always been the son of her heart, this one, too, would be saved. She would see to that.

As Mary fretfully awaited the time when she could seek counsel for the ominous situation that so troubled her, the two men who filled her worried heart and mind had awakened and were beginning their own days, one far more distraught than she and the other far more serene.

Vincent had slept soundly, wrapped in warm and lovely dreams of a life with the woman he adored. He had awakened well-rested and eager to attend to his work and responsibilities to his community, so that he would have time to follow the ideas and plans of his heart, those which would bring the dreams he shared with Catherine closer to reality.

Jacob Wells, however, had lain awake most of the night, disturbed by thoughts that would not let him rest despite the promises with which he'd deluded himself when he’d finally gone to bed. Now he lay among the rumpled quilts, his head pounding with fatigue and apprehension, as he tried to force himself to rise and get on with his work. For several minutes, he lay motionless, eyes closed against the reality of the day stretched out before him. And then before he could push himself to move, he heard an unobtrusive but familiar early morning sound that effectively stilled all motion save his shallow breathing.

He waited patiently until the hushed sound diminished and then, turning his head on the crumpled pillow, he looked toward the far side of his chamber, squinting his eyes to focus on a narrow, dimly lit opening in the rocky wall that led to a smaller branch tunnel. It was from there that the sound had originated. Jacob knew it had been Vincent quietly making his way to the bathing pool that the two men shared, situated in a small cavern between their individual living quarters and easily accessed from one of the many connecting passages that wound and threaded their way through the main hub. Although he had kept it secret from his son, Jacob had long been aware that every morning for the past few months, Vincent would enter the connecting passageway at his own chamber and then bypass the bathing pool in order to arrive at the threshold to his parent's bedroom. There he would pause for several moments, peering through murky darkness that was eased only by the light of a single, glass-globed night candle on a small table next to the bed. Once satisfied his father seemed to be still sleeping peacefully and was not in immediate need of anything, Vincent would retrace his steps to the bathing chamber to begin his personal preparations for the day.

Awareness of the deep affection that had inspired Vincent's caring actions filled Jacob's heart with a warm glow and strengthened his resolve to do all he could to make a safe and secure future for the son who loved him so. It was his duty, he told himself, as a parent, a duty he would willingly take on and see through to its completion.

Jacob sat up and lowered his feet stiffly to the floor, stretching painfully to reach for his worn leather slippers. Respectful of Vincent's desire for privacy, he decided to go and fetch a cup of tea to warm himself until the bathing pool was free. Then he would wash and dress and make his way to the dining chamber. Perhaps that would be the time for a father-and-son talk, he told himself convincingly, over a nice, hot breakfast. And I'll bring the journal, too, so that Vincent can read the poem. I know it will help him understand. But then, of course, we should discuss this matter privately.

A slight frown of concern shadowed the light that had begun to dawn in his blue-grey eyes; and then just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. "I know," he murmured. "I'll suggest a walk to the Mirror Pool. After all, it was there we first had our talk that inspired the poem. Yes, that's it. We'll go to the Mirror Pool and talk it all out."

He rose and reached for his heavy woolen bathrobe, shivering slightly in the cool air as he pulled it on and knotted the belt tightly around his waist. As he entered the spacious chamber that served as both his personal study and a communal meeting area, he heard the sentries report the hour in quick staccato tapping along the copper pipes.

A small smile quirked his mouth. "Seven o'clock and all's well," he said aloud. "All's well."

An hour later, Jacob entered the vast dining chamber, intent on putting his plan into action, only to find things were not precisely as he had envisioned. Vincent stood to one side of the entryway with his empty plate and cup in hand, deep in conversation with Mary, although clearly ready to leave the area. Jacob hesitated, courtesy warring with need, and then slowly approached the pair just in time to hear the last of their quiet conversation.

"Then you will speak to him, won't you, Vincent -- and soon?"

Vincent nodded his head reassuringly and his voice was low and warm. "Yes, of course I will. And I'm glad you told me of your concern. I've been somewhat preoccupied lately and -- "

Mary's smile was genuine, helping to soften the lines of worry on her face. "And you've no need to apologize for that, so don't even try. You have every right to pursue your own life, too, without all of us running to you for help all the time."

"Vincent?" Jacob's voice held a trace of uncertainty. The sound was readily detected by the pair before him, and it did nothing to allay their growing uneasiness.

"Good morning, Father. I trust you slept well?"

A fleeting thought of Vincent's morning ritual again warmed Jacob's heart and he reached to pat his son lightly on the arm. "Oh, yes, of course," he lied easily, not wanting to reveal his unsettling concerns in so public a place. "And now it's time to face a new day." He frowned slightly as he looked at the empty dishes in Vincent's hands. "But I see you've already had your breakfast. I had hoped we might have our meal together and sit and talk for a while."

"I'm sorry, Father, I didn't know. I have a special class due to start in a few minutes, but perhaps we can have our talk later this morning."

Beside him, Mary cleared her throat lightly in warning. "What class is that, Vincent?" she asked. "Maybe someone else can take it instead."

Jacob's suddenly hopeful look made their hearts constrict. "Do you think that's possible? And besides, don't you usually teach the intermediate level math class early in the morning? What's this about a special class instead?"

Vincent smiled, inclining his head in the direction of two children waiting with obvious lack of enthusiasm in the entryway at the far end of the room. "I do teach that class most mornings at this time, but today the children are having their lesson with Cullen. We've been studying methods of sorting and measuring, and he's going to give them the opportunity to put their skills to work organizing that shipment of lumber and nails that was recently sent down by some of our Helpers."

"You're not going to leave that group alone with Cullen, are you?" Father protested, clearly picturing the exuberant bunch.

Vincent's smile grew and he laughed softly. "No. Jamie and Marta are helping, too, and they can supervise. And in the meantime Eric and Jocelyn will be helping me discover why their recent multiplication tests showed such an apparent lack of enthusiasm for the subject."

"Well, if that's all it is, then I can do it for you." Mary's sudden offer surprised both men and they turned to look at her. "I was always quite good at math when I was in school, and even though that was a long time ago, I doubt whether the rules for multiplication have changed at all."

"That's very kind of you, Mary," Vincent began, "but I don't want to disrupt your own plans and responsibilities."

"Don't worry about that." She waved her hand, briefly and effectively dismissing his concern. "Lena can handle things for a while without me, and David is on the work schedule this week to help us with the younger children, so they'll be just fine." She reached for the dishes still held in Vincent's hands and removed them decisively from his grasp.

"There, that's settled then," Jacob added, reaching for Vincent's arm. "Thank you, Mary. You've been a great help as always."

As she watched the two men she so loved turn and walk toward a small table at one side of the expansive room, she shook her head slightly, unable to suppress a shudder as she wondered if anything she might attempt to do could truly help them now.

Too unsettled to do more than pick at a freshly baked muffin, Jacob soon ended what had become a casual, light conversation over breakfast and suggested they take a walk to the Mirror Pool. Vincent's growing trepidation made him readily agree, and several minutes later they arrived at the cavernous chamber. Jacob settled himself gingerly on a stone bench that been carved by hand years earlier to accommodate visitors to the popular site, and Vincent sat close by on the cool stone floor near the edge of the pool. He looked up at his father, anxious to begin what he knew intuitively would be a difficult discussion.

"Father, was there something you wanted to speak to me about?"

For a moment Jacob glanced away, nervously averting his gaze, and then with an abrupt motion turned to focus on the clear blue eyes in his son's upturned face. "Yes, Vincent, there has been something troubling me for some time now, but I haven't had the opportunity to bring it up."

Immediately Vincent reached up and briefly laid a hand on his father's arm, gently squeezing the tension he could feel through layers of wool and cotton. "I'm sorry, Father. I know I've been very busy lately, and we haven’t spent much time together. It's just that Catherine and I, we -- "

At the mere mention of her name, Jacob's facial expression hardened ominously and the sight sent a bolt of fear jolting through his son, a sensation followed immediately by a white hot flare of anger. The realization shocked him for a moment, but did not stop the words that poured from him, long felt, long overdue.

"Father, we need to talk about this, just the two of us, and then -- sometime soon -- Catherine and I must speak with you as well. There are things that must be said, decisions we have made."

Jacob's voice was harsh, the tone matching the stark look in his eyes. "Decisions you have made -- you and Catherine? And may I ask what those decisions might be?"

Vincent swallowed hard, as if to contain dangerous words that once released could never be recaptured. "Yes, you may ask, and I will tell you, but nothing, nothing will change them." He paused, and when he continued his voice was firm but gentle. "Catherine and I are in love and we wish to find a way to make a life together. Father, you must have known this time would come. I think I was the only one who ever doubted it. It was Catherine whose faith saw us through. Catherine whose belief in me, in us, has made all the difference."

In his mind's eye Vincent saw her lovely face before him, smiling with love and encouragement, and his eyes seemed to take on a luminous glow, reflecting the devotion they shared. The sight caused Jacob's heart to pulsate rapidly, but the turbulent strands of pain and pleasure, fear and joy, were too inextricably tangled to be immediately understood, and he lashed out at his son.

"And I suppose everything I've said, all the things I've taught you, everything I've warned you about -- that means nothing to you!"

"Of course not!" Vincent's words were strong and swift. "No son could have had a better parent. You must know how grateful I am for everything you've done for me!"

Jacob shook his head slowly. "I thought I knew, but now it seems that it was all for nothing."

"How can you say such things?" Vincent replied, the hurt he felt undisguised by his husky voice. "All my life I've lived by your teachings. I’ve tried my best to do what you've asked of me."

"Until now," Jacob interrupted. "Once you were sensible and strong. I thought you understood what your life would be. But now you’re willing to throw everything away -- and all for the sake of a dream."

In an instant Jacob knew his choice of words could not have been more destructive. Before he could restrain the motion, he felt himself flinch, pressing his spine into the cold rocky surface of the wall as Vincent leaped to his feet and stood staring down at his father, a world of pain and anger in his eyes.

"Vincent, Vincent, I'm sorry -- I didn't mean..." The older man's voice trailed away uncertainly as he watched his son pivot away from him to begin pacing the small rocky ledge with swift, measured strides. Back and forth he moved with rapid, harnessed strength until he halted in front of Jacob once again.

The men's gazes met and locked in channels of despair and devotion that were almost palpable. "A dream, Father?" Vincent's voice was low and harsh, but underneath the hurt he knew his father heard the love that still remained. "Look around you." He waved a strong arm before them, the commanding gesture taking in the sparkling waters of the Mirror Pool beneath its lofty stone ceiling and extending beyond their vision to encompass the entire world Below. "Isn't all of this a dream, a dream of your creating? "

Unable to speak, Jacob nodded his acknowledgement of his son's words and then waited for him to continue.

"It was you who helped to make this dream come true, to bring a better way of life to people who had only imagined it might be so." Vincent lowered his hand to sweep closely along the length of his own body. "And look at me. If not for your dreams, where would I be? I would be destroyed. Or lost, not in dreams, but in nightmares."

The cool air between them seemed to tremble and Vincent suddenly lowered himself to sit beside his parent. With a gentle touch to match the now softened tone of his voice, he reached for Jacob's hand and clasped it in his own. "You found a way to believe in a wonderful dream, Father. And you showed me how to believe in it, too. Isn't there room for one more dream, the one that means everything to me now?"

For several long minutes Jacob closed his eyes, needing a respite from the strength of the emotions flowing between their hearts, but when he opened them once again he found, as he had known he would, that Vincent's gaze had never faltered. Silently praying for strength, he began to speak. "I had hoped that my world, this world you speak of would be enough for you. At one time it was...but now I see that things have changed."

"Yes, Father, things have changed. Can you not be happy for me?"

A phantom smile ghosted across Jacob's tense lips and then was gone. "I thought you were happy, Vincent, despite the limitations of your life Below. Have I been wrong all this time?"

Vincent shook his head. "No, of course not. My life has held much happiness. But now I know of other things, things I cannot find in the world Below. And without them my life is incomplete. At one time, I could go on without them, but now..."

Something in Vincent's voice let Jacob grasp at the hope that all was not yet lost. "But I do know that, I do understand. Here, let me show you something that I wrote for you not long ago." He pulled his hand from Vincent's gentle grasp to withdraw the small, leather-covered journal from a pocket of his tunic, and then thrust the book into the younger man's hands. "There, it's the page marked with a ribbon. Please, Vincent, read it. Then you'll see...you'll know."

The fervent tone of Jacob's voice and the look in his eyes sent shivers of trepidation through Vincent's soul; yet he knew he had no choice but to comply with his father's wishes, and he slowly opened the small volume to the designated page. In moments the tears that filled his eyes blurred the heartfelt words.

Vincent raised his gaze to his father's face, feeling his heart constrict with bands of pain and love. "You wrote this just before my...my terrible illness, didn't you? The morning that we talked here in this chamber by the Mirror Pool."

"Yes." Jacob nodded firmly. "But the words are no less true now than they were a year ago. You see, I do realize there are things you've yearned for, but you have always managed to come to terms with what can never be. And I thought you understood that in our world we have the chance to live in ways that many Above long for. They will never be able to find what we have here."

"Father, that is true and I understand it. I think I always have. And once I could have made myself believe that it would be enough."

"But you don’t believe it now, do you?" Jacob's voice held a hint of dawning resignation, but he needed to go on. "Everything changed the moment Catherine came into our lives."

Vincent shook his head wearily. "Why must you blame Catherine for everything? None of this is her fault."

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "Isn't it?"

His son's reply was etched in stone. "No, it is not. There are things I've never told you because they hurt so much that I could not find the strength to speak of them. And I had no wish to burden you further for I knew the pain was mine to bear. But perhaps that time is over now. Perhaps now you need to hear the words."

Vincent paused for only a moment, as if gathering his strength, and then he went on. "This longing I have felt, the pain of such a deep and unbearable need, it was not caused by Catherine's presence in my life. It is Catherine, and Catherine alone, who can fulfill that need, who can take away that pain. That she truly wishes to do so is the miracle of my life." He paused to draw in a long, shuddering breath. "Nearly all my life I have dreamed of finding someone to love as I love Catherine and of being loved as deeply as she loves me. Until she came into my life I had believed with all my heart that this could never be. I had lost all hope and I knew I would always be alone."

He raised a cautionary hand, silently asking Jacob not to speak until he had finished.

"I know, Father, that you did everything in your power to make me feel loved and secure. But there was something you could not do, no one could except Catherine, and that was to take away my aloneness. This is what she has done for me with her love, and I will not -- I cannot live without it."

So tautly drawn was Jacob's voice that it had the sharpness of a razor's edge. "And how do you propose to live with it? Your worlds will never merge. She will not come Below, and you cannot live Above. Have you thought of that!"

Vincent's face took on a tenderness that was so full of strength and purpose that Jacob gasped at the very sight of it.

"Father, once you yourself said that it seemed as if our hearts, Catherine's and mine, in their search for union could transcend time and space, perhaps even circumvent the laws of physics and probability. Do you remember that?"

"I remember. It was when we were trapped in the Maze. But that still does not explain how you and Catherine think you can share a life together. A real life, Vincent, not just the hope of one."

"We will find a way. We will. It’s not impossible," Vincent answered strongly. "You also said that what Catherine and I share touches the best in all of us. Do you no longer believe that?"

A tiny self-deprecating smile flickered across Jacob's mouth. "It's not fair of you to throw my own words back in my face, son. But, yes, despite what I've said today, what I've shown you over the past few years, I still do believe that to be true."

A look of deep sorrow shadowed Vincent's face and darkened his simple, agonized words. "Then why can't you trust us, be happy for us?"

Jacob's eyes filled with tears. "Because there are other things, secrets I've kept from you, from everyone. Horrible, painful secrets of things that happened long before your birth." He hesitated and his voice quavered alarmingly. "You don't understand. You cannot understand!"

Vincent reached out and pulled his father into a gentle embrace. "Then you must tell me, Father, and tell Catherine, too. There is a burden within you that you need not carry alone. We can try to understand, to help you."

For many moments there was only silence, and then Jacob raised his head and pulled away from Vincent to gaze out over the tranquil waters of the Mirror Pool. An errant spring breeze from somewhere far Above found its way toward them, and, as Jacob watched, it sent ripples dancing across the clear surface, reflecting glimpses of hidden sunlight far out of reach.

With a deep sigh, he turned back toward his son. "I've tried to keep this from you, to spare you, but perhaps it is time after all...When will Catherine come Below again?"

With effort Vincent kept his voice even and calm, not wishing to further disturb the composure his parent had fought so hard within himself to maintain. "I think perhaps this weekend, sometime Saturday."

"Then I shall speak to both of you at that time," Jacob replied, the sound of a death knell echoing through his controlled words.

Vincent nodded silently and together they rose from the bench to begin retracing their path to the central home chambers. The consternation Vincent tried his best to hide was a palpable entity between them, and its force prompted the father in Jacob to speak once more.

"You mustn't brood about this now, Vincent. Perhaps you are right after all and we can resolve everything together."

Needing to maintain the charade as much for his own sake as for his father's, Vincent murmured his agreement.

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

The office door flew open a split second after its thin glass and wooden panels had been assaulted by a rapid-fire pounding. "Cathy, I'm going for coffee. Want me to bring you a cup?"

The friendly voice was a welcome intrusion upon the research that had occupied Catherine's attention for the entire day. It was only Monday, but already the week seemed like the better part of a year. Looking up, she smiled but shook her head.

"Thanks, Joe, but it's nearly five, and I'm leaving on time today, remember?" Her voice held genuine warmth, but underneath it was a sense of steely determination. "And if you were planning to ask me to reconsider taking those five vacation days..."

Grinning, he held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, you're out of here tomorrow afternoon and you won't even hear from me until you get back next Wednesday. I'm not trying to get you to change your mind or anything."

Catherine's head was already bent over her work again, but her reply was far from muffled. "Good, because you'd be wasting your time."

Deciding against any further comment, Joe shut the door, but only seconds later pushed it open again and leaned partway into the office. "Hey, Radcliffe, I meant to ask if your ankle was bothering you. I noticed you were kinda limping earlier this afternoon."

She looked up at him through the fringe of her bangs. "It's fine, really. I just twisted it during the weekend, but there's no damage. Thanks for asking, though."

"So, do you have a doctor's appointment?" His voice began to trail away when he noticed the sudden frown on her face, and he realized in an instant that it was not entirely feigned. "I mean, I thought maybe that's why you were leaving early -- well, on time anyway."

Catherine shook her head, her mouth curving into a smile. "No, I've already had it taken care of. I do have an appointment of sorts, but it's with Peter Alcott. We're working on some, well, some investments together, and we have to finalize a few things tonight."

"I should have figured that was the way you rich people occupy your spare time. Must be the life, huh?"

For once, his infectious chuckle did nothing to divert her. "Bye, Joe," she called, reaching for the phone with one hand and flipping through a file folder with the other. "Now make sure you close that door on your way out."

Catherine waited until the door had clicked shut, and then abandoned the file as she quickly punched in the phone number of Peter's office, feeling her impatience grow as the phone rang several times without response. She was about to hang up when she heard a welcome voice in her ear.

"Dr. Alcott speaking."

"Peter, I thought I must have missed you. Where's Sharon?"

"She went home at noon with the flu, and the temporary agency can't send anyone until tomorrow. Luckily, this isn't one of my patients' days and I was just doing some paperwork, so it wasn't the zoo here that it might have been. So, are you ready for our meeting?"

"Yes! It's been almost impossible to concentrate on the research I've been doing today. Are you leaving now?" The nervous excitement rippling through Catherine's voice brought a smile to Peter's lips. He could easily picture the expression on her face, full of hope and eagerness.

Peter laughed appreciatively. "Give me another half-hour here, and that should do it. Let's see, it's just five o'clock now. What time is our appointment -- six or six-thirty?"

"Six. You're not going to be late, are you?"

They both knew he was restraining himself from commenting on the incongruity of such a remark coming from Catherine. "No, I'll be there right on time. I'll grab a cab and meet you at the office. Miranda Stevenson called earlier today and said Jack's lawyer had all the papers delivered this morning, so everyone and everything will be ready and waiting for us. The closing will only take a few minutes and then I thought we could go over to the house. I want to show you what I've done with it so far, and see what you think. Does that sound all right to you?"

"It sounds great! I want to make a few more calls, just to verify delivery of some things I've ordered, and then I'll leave, too. Oh, and the movers called earlier today. They've promised to be at the apartment first thing Wednesday morning. Did everything go okay for you on Friday?"

"Yes, it was fine. I used the same company you hired, the one Jack Farrell recommended," Peter replied. "They did a great job, so you don't have anything to worry about in that respect. The upgrade we wanted on the security system has been completed, too, along with the shutters we ordered for inside all the windows. I ran by the house at noon just to check and everything looks perfect."

"That's wonderful, Peter!" The relief flared in her voice. "But what about the work on the roof? Was there any problem with that?"

"None at all," he reassured her. "They did a beautiful job. Once the installation was complete, I tried the mechanism myself and it works perfectly. You won't have to be at all concerned about privacy or safety."

" This is such good news! I can't believe everything has gone so smoothly. But what about you? Does this mean you're all settled in?"

He laughed gently. "For now. But don't worry, I'm still leaving for London on Thursday. I'm meeting some old friends after the medical conference ends on Sunday and I'll be staying with them for a few days, so you'll have all the privacy in the world -- for a week anyway!"

"That's not what I meant," Catherine insisted, hoping she hadn't hurt his feelings.

"I know you didn't, Cathy," he reassured her, his smile in his voice. "I just couldn't resist teasing you. Actually, I'm just happy everything has worked out so well that I can tease you like this."

"So am I," she agreed. "More than I can say."

"Did you have any trouble getting the time off that you wanted?" he added.

"No. Joe wasn't thrilled, but he was understanding. I told him, too, that when I return, we need to talk about the future, that my time here might be ending soon."

Peter heard the determination in the serious tone of her voice. "Then you've talked this over with Vincent?"

Catherine sighed softly. "No, not yet. I wanted to wait until our anniversary when I show him the brownstone. But I know it's what he wants, just as much as I do."

"There's no doubt about that, honey. And I don't mean to play devil's advocate, but what about Jacob?"

Catherine was silent for several seconds. "I don't know what to say, Peter. He's been unpredictable lately -- sometimes so distant and at other times more approachable, actually very friendly. I should have listened to your advice about not telling him of my plans until they were more certain and organized. I'm sure that's what provoked him this time."

"I wish I could be there to help you," Peter answered. "Why don't I skip the visit and come right back to New York after the conference?"

Her voice was full of gratitude and love for the man who had become a father to her. "No, don't do that. You've looked forward to this trip for so long. I can manage, and by then Vincent will know about everything, too, so I really won't be alone." She managed a small, forced laugh. "And I have a feeling there will still be plenty for you to help with when you do get back."

"You're probably right," Peter agreed, almost disguising the worry in his voice. "Well, look, we'd better get going. I'll see you in a little while."

"Bye, Peter. See you soon."

As the phone line clicked into silence, Peter found himself gazing distractedly into the distance, his thoughts whispering concerns he couldn't bring himself to voice to her. He had known Jacob Wells as a colleague and as a friend for more than half his life. And while in the few brief years of her acquaintance with the formidable man, Cathy had been witness to his forcefulness and strength of will, Peter knew she still underestimated the depth of his power and influence over the others in his realm, especially over his son.

Unhesitating, Peter reached for his Rolodex and then punched in the phone number of a country house in Surrey. As much as he had hoped to spend time relaxing with his friends, he knew he could not stay away those extra days, not when his family needed him.

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

As she knelt on the living room floor, Catherine impatiently pushed a strand of hair behind her left ear, huffing under her breath as it immediately slid forward into her eyes once again. Reaching for a pair of scissors and a large ball of twine, she hacked off a length of the prickly cord and hastily tied her hair back in an impromptu ponytail.

"There, that's much better," she muttered. "Now where's that tape?"

Moments later another carton had been sealed shut, and she knew it was time to take a break. As she threw herself down onto the couch, she sighed with satisfaction. She had only been home an hour and already five cartons filled with her belongings sat in the middle of the floor, taped and labeled for delivery to the brownstone.

A small self-conscious smile flickered across her generous mouth. Catherine knew she easily could have left all the packing to the movers who would arrive in only thirty-six hours, but she had not been able to wait. Full of nervous energy after the efficiently completed closing on the house, followed by Peter's enthusiastic tour of their new home, she had found it entirely impossible to return to the apartment and even attempt to do any paperwork connected with her job.

Her smile widened as she recalled Peter's pride in showing her how much he had already accomplished in the area of the house they would sometimes share. The first floor library, dining room, and living room were now filled with a combination of fine antique furniture and carpets, an extensive book collection, and other assorted belongings amassed during his lifetime. Catherine would add a few of her possessions, pieces from her family home that had been put into storage after her father's death. A fully equipped kitchen overlooked a walled garden behind the house, and the remaining room on that floor would become Peter's study. Essentially the first floor was now completely furnished and ready for their use.

Catherine straightened her legs and leaned back against the cushions of the couch. In her mind she could clearly picture the rest of the brownstone's interior. The second floor housed three main rooms, the largest a master bed and bathroom suite which would be Peter's, two smaller guestrooms that could double as storage space, and a second bathroom. Since that floor would be occupied almost exclusively by Peter, she had spent little time there, pausing only long enough to admire the work he had done in just a few days' time to make the area comfortably habitable.

Then, although she already knew every inch of the place after only two earlier visits, she had nearly quivered with impatience to continue on to the floor above. As soon as she possibly could, she had left Peter sorting through a large carton of linens and had climbed the polished wooden staircase that ended on a small landing. A long, narrow hallway ran parallel to the large single room on this floor, but Catherine did not follow it. Instead, she turned the heavy glass knob on the carved oak door in front of her and then pushed it open to enter the room.

In the pale twilight of the early spring evening, the empty room was shadowy and indistinct, but with her heart Catherine saw it as it would be, aglow with softly muted sunlight gleaming from the windows at either end of the room, warm and cozy with quilts and comforters on a spacious bed and thick woolen carpets underfoot, welcome and reassuring with familiar books and paintings. The white marble mantelpiece over the small fireplace would hold an eclectic melange of mementos from two lives, silver candlesticks and handmade ivory candles, a small globe of brightly colored Venetian glass and a geode from a crystal cavern, a framed invitation to a children's concert and a miniature carousel horse.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she moved forward and paused to pull open the door to a large closet. Immediately she pictured articles of clothing stored side by side, silk and wool, linen and leather. Another door opened easily and she noted with satisfaction the spacious bathroom with its deep old-fashioned, claw-footed tub at one end and a large glass-enclosed shower at the other. The combination of the two should have looked incongruous, but somehow they did not.

Catherine moved on until she reached the farthest end of the room. In her mind's eye she saw her grandmother's maple writing desk nestled between the two tall casement windows, golden afternoon sunlight glinting through the shutters' narrow louvers to touch upon a pair of leather-covered journals. Late on summer nights with the room darkened and the shutters and windows pushed open, there would be a soft, warm breeze. It would rustle the leaves of the trees and send skyward the evocative, drifting fragrance of the roses they would plant together beneath the shelter of latticework in the walled garden. Even in a city the size of New York, a quietly refined residential neighborhood like the one in which the brownstone was located, somehow found a measure of peace and serenity, especially late at night.

With a small, tremulous sigh, Catherine retraced her steps and reentered the narrow hallway, this time walking the length of it until she reached another door at its end. She reached for the plain, brass handle, and at her touch the door swung open on smooth, silent hinges to reveal a narrow staircase leading sharply upward. She flicked the light switch on the wall and then ran up the plain wooden steps. At the top she paused, gasping at the sight before her. This room was just as she had remembered it, but its empty expanse was not what stole her breath away and made her tremble. It was the hope of all it might become that filled her eyes with tears and lent brilliance to her smile.

She reached out to find a small control box recessed in the wall and pushed a combination of buttons on its surface, then heard a soft whirring sound as a section of ceiling panels slid apart and a soft silvery gleam filled the room. Gazing upward through a field of clear glass, Catherine watched as the evening sky darkened and a first few stars glimmered bright and brave, piercing the cloud-reflected neon haze of the city as if to lead her homeward by their light. The sight was breathtaking, but she knew its greatest value would be in the sharing of it.

She reached again for the control box and tested a second function of the innovation she had ordered for this special room. To her relief and satisfaction, a second panel moved smoothly into place beneath the first, effectively adding a layer of opaque glass crisscrossed with narrow lengths of strong wire. During the day the room would be filled with sunlight, yet those within it would be perfectly safe from any risk of the outside world's intrusion.

Raising a hand, Catherine slowly brushed away a lingering tear of sheer happiness. For a long time her dreams had beguiled her with visions of Vincent in the sunlight, his head tilted back and eyes closed as he savored the natural warmth that had been denied him all his life. His hair would gleam golden and bronze in the sun's rays and his skin would be even warmer to her loving touch. And at night they would light dozens of small votive candles, their brilliant light mirroring the starshine above them. Under a moonlit sky they would hold each other, swaying softly to the music in their hearts, drifting down upon soft cushions to make love, sweet and tender, wild and unrestrained. Here in this secret, special place all their own, they would be free.

Catherine's tremulous smile outshone all light, real and still imagined, as she felt her love for Vincent pour through the channel of their bond, knowing it would bathe him in its depthless warmth. Her gaze slowly swept the room a final time, knowing that soon she would share it all with him.

"All will be safe and well here, Vincent," she whispered aloud. "All will be safe and well."

Slowly, Catherine's focus returned to the present and once again encompassed nothing but the reality of her actual surroundings. She glanced about the apartment's living room, wondering what had disturbed her wonderful reverie. Then in an instant she knew, and she jumped to her feet to race toward the gently insistent sound of strong claw-like nails tapping against glass.

As she reached for the handle of the French doors, she hesitated, a look of nervous concern on her face as she glanced back into the room. In her haste to be with Vincent, she had nearly forgotten the need to keep secrets of her own, at least for a little while longer. With a rueful smile, she shook her head and then carefully opened the doors just far enough to edge between them before shutting them firmly behind herself again.

"Vincent."

Even the simple speaking of his name sounded like a prayer to him when the voice he heard was Catherine's. Immediately he gathered her into his embrace, sighing with pleasure when he felt her arms encircle his waist and her head nestle against his chest. They remained as they were for several long moments, and then she leaned back in his arms to look up at him, a delighted smile lighting her face.

"I didn't expect you to come here tonight," she began before rising up on her toes to press a quick, hard kiss to his smiling lips. "But I'm very glad you did."

"Are you?" he teased her gently. "I wasn't sure."

"No? Then maybe I need to give you some greater proof."

Anything else Vincent might have said was immediately forgotten as he eagerly accepted Catherine's offer, willingly losing himself in the sweetness and heat of their kisses. Moments later they moved apart only long enough to settle themselves on the wrought iron bench at one end of the terrace. As Catherine cuddled against him, he drew his arm securely around her shoulders, only to feel her tremble.

"Catherine, you're cold," he began, immediately pulling his cloak up to shield her from the damp air of the April night.

"That's not why I'm trembling," she whispered, delighting in the tightening of his grasp at her response.

He leaned his head against hers in a well-loved, familiar gesture, nuzzling his lips into the silkiness of her hair and breathing deeply of its lovely fragrance. As he did so, he rubbed his large hand over her shoulder and arm in a warm, lingering caress beneath the dark wool shelter of his cloak.

Catherine sighed softly in contentment, and then to her surprise she felt his hand abruptly stop its pleasurable motion. He grasped at the fabric of her shirt, running its soft folds between his fingers as if seeking to identify some unseen quality in its smoothly woven texture. She tilted her head carefully to one side and looked up at him, clearly puzzled by his behavior.

"Vincent, is something wrong?"

He shook his head, a bemused smile curving his mouth as he pulled back from her just far enough to remove the drape of his cloak from her shoulders. "Catherine, you’re wearing my shirt, the one I gave to you yesterday. I didn't notice it before."

She smiled up at him, feeling fingers of fire ripple through her at the heat she'd heard in his hushed voice. "Since I didn't think I’d see you tonight," she paused and shrugged her shoulders slowly before continuing, "this was the only way I could think of to imagine your arms around me or to breathe the scent of your skin and hair. I thought I'd even sleep in this shirt tonight."

His eyes widened as he drew in a gasp of air through parted lips, clearly picturing her in his mind, lying asleep amidst a tangle of sheets wearing only his chambray shirt. Then without warning his imagination took greater hold of him, and he envisioned her stretching and smiling seductively as she awakened, reaching up to welcome someone into her eager arms, inviting him to lie upon the rumpled bed with her. And in a heartbeat he knew that bed was his and the man to whom she beckoned was him.

Although Catherine could only guess at the path Vincent's thoughts had taken, she knew without a doubt its provocative direction. Through the bond she sensed his rapidly growing arousal quickly match her own and felt a sensuous heat suffuse her both within and without. For one reckless moment, she thought to rise and draw him forward to enter the darkened warmth of her bedroom and at last act upon the dreams they had shared for so long.

But before she could move, she remembered the boxes and cartons strewn about the usually neat room. She knew that to reveal them now would spoil all the plans she had carefully constructed for his benefit, and that was something she was not willing to do. Had she been composed enough to be completely honest with herself, Catherine would have admitted, too, that she still harbored hidden fears that all might not proceed as perfectly as she hoped.

Shaking her head, she tossed aside the unsettling thoughts and gazed up into Vincent's mesmerized face, finding there the burning hunger he had always tried so hard to keep hidden. With a low moan, he pulled her into his arms, and lowered his open mouth to hers, savoring the heated sweetness he knew he would find. No longer capable of tentative restraint, he slid his tongue deep into her mouth, sweeping over her smooth teeth and tender skin in slow, searching strokes. And almost immediately he felt Catherine's ardent response in the moist warmth of her tongue entwining with his.

Again Vincent moaned deeply, filling her mouth with his heated breath, and taking hers in return. The sensation stirred him even more than he would have imagined possible, and he felt his heart begin to beat wildly within his chest, its pulsating strength keeping pace with his rapidly growing arousal. A sudden flash of fear flickered through him, and he thought to pull away, to end their passionate embrace before its seductive power overwhelmed them. But before he could even begin to act upon that thought, Catherine swept all memory of it from him.

With firm and tender insistence, she closed her lips on the heated flesh of his tongue, holding him still for a long moment, before running the tip of her tongue against the underside of his with a teasing, tantalizing touch. Then, without warning, she began to pull rhythmically, drawing him closer and even deeper into her mouth, until only the shuddering need for air pulled them apart for a brief instant before they reached for each other again.

For long, lingering moments they lost themselves in that heated pleasure, reveling in deliciously unrestrained sensations of touch and taste and sound. When they finally drew apart once again, Vincent rose somewhat unsteadily from the bench and moved toward the low brick wall that faced the park far beneath them. Catherine watched as he braced his arms against its edge and looked out over the twinkling lights of the city, noting how the heaving motion of his shoulders gradually ebbed as his breathing slowed to a more normal pace. Then she smiled as she realized hers had done the same.

As he turned back toward her, he wrapped his cloak about himself in a quick and careful motion before settling his gaze on her. Then what he saw there so thoroughly unnerved and excited him that he felt he might willingly drown in the sensations coursing powerfully through his body. Although he'd never before allowed himself to stare at her so openly, he was now unable to stop himself. And the intensity of his gaze raced over her in a way that did nothing to ease the fiery craving that still burned in both of them.

As if entranced, Catherine stayed as still as she possibly could, feeling everything Vincent felt as he looked at her, almost seeing herself through his passion-darkened eyes. Her head was tilted and thrown back slightly as she watched him, her glittering green eyes half-closed in an expression of delighted but as yet unsated desire. With her shoulders thrust back, her slender arms had come to rest at her sides, and the flattened palms of her hands were braced lightly against the cushioned seat of the wrought iron bench, as if in readiness to rise and come to him the moment he called to her.

For long seconds there was only silence as Vincent let his gaze travel over the enticing curves of her body. Then he heard the shuddering of his breath deepen to a muffled groan as he tried to call out her name, and he knew in an instant that the very sight of her could easily destroy the remnants of his self-control. It seemed that yet another of his erotic dreams of her were coming true before his eyes, and he felt his body tremble as he watched the quivering rise and fall of her breasts, her rapid breathing once again matching the ragged pace of his own. His heated gaze intensified until it seemed as if he could see past the thin, faded fabric of her shirt to savor the silk and cream of the flesh hidden beneath. Again he heard himself groan as he saw how the hardened peaks of her breasts thrust upward against the soft, worn cloth, as if urgently seeking the touch of his hands and his mouth.

With the greatest of effort he tore his gaze away and then could not resist the urge to let it drift downward, taking in the slim, rounded curves of her hips and thighs clad in a pair of tight-fitting, black pants. In an almost wanton pose melding longing and contentment, Catherine let her legs drift apart just enough to leave her lover not even the slightest hint of doubt as to what she desired from him.

With trembling hands, Vincent gripped the rough edges of the low brick wall behind him, as if that tenuous grasp might keep him from racing forward to take her in his arms. The desperate movement in concert with a sudden, strong gust of wind, ripped the edges of his cloak apart, unwinding the woolen fabric from his massive body to send it swirling outward, revealing his ill-concealed secrets to Catherine's eyes. He knew she would now see the unmistakable evidence of his uncontrolled desire for her, and for several long moments he was unable to face her, bowing his head as he fumbled to cover himself with his cloak once more.

So caught up in his own tumultuous emotions, Vincent did not hear Catherine approach him, and then found himself powerless to prevent her actions. Before he could stop her, she pulled the cloak from his grasp and spread it open once again, firmly pushing its folds back and over his wide shoulders where the now gentle breeze let it flutter slackly behind him. Motionless, he watched as she moved a bit closer yet still did not touch him with her hands, instead slowly lowering her eyes until it seemed to him that his hidden flesh burned under the yearning heat of her gaze.

Vincent felt the hardness of his body increase even further and it was more than he could bear. "Catherine, please, don't do this," he begged her, his voice thick with desire. "I didn’t mean -- I'm sorry --"

Her voice was as warm and sweet as honey and it seemed to flow over him in thickening waves. "Don't be sorry, Vincent, please don't be sorry. I'm not." She shook her head, the satiny strands of her hair lifting on unseen wings of cool night air. "I love that you want me in this way, the same way I want you. Don’t hide yourself from me. It’s what I want…what I’ve always wanted."

When he finally looked into her eyes, he saw the truth beyond words waiting for him there, and he felt his uncontrollable fears begin to melt away. "What you have said means everything to me, Catherine. But there is still some fear in me, fear that my feelings for you are so deep, my -- my need for you so constant and so strong that it will overpower me." He shook his head, as if both stunned and relieved to hear the sound of his own words spoken aloud at last. "I want you so much, it’s as if that’s all I can think of…"

Again he attempted to turn from her, but she would not let him, holding him with the strength of her love as surely as she did with the small hands that cradled his beloved face. "Please, Vincent, don't hide yourself from me. You have nothing to fear from your desire -- from our desire. It’s the most natural thing in the world for our bodies to react like this when we love each other as much, as deeply as we do. You must know how you excite me, how much I want you, how I’ve needed you to touch me like you did. It’s what I’ve wanted for such a long time…it’s what you’ve wanted for a long time, too."

As one their thoughts surged back to their stolen moments by the hidden pool, and Vincent nodded in agreement with her words. "Yes, I know." His voice rasped husky and low. "I have felt those needs as well. For so long I've been able to keep them contained, but I can do that no longer. Catherine, I want you...I need you to...touch me, too..."

Catherine's breath caught in her throat as his heartfelt words burned into her, warming and sustaining her, at once fiercely arousing and sweetly moving in their power and simplicity. With gentle urgency, she slid one hand beneath the tawny mass of his hair to lightly caress the nape of his neck, while at the same time stroking down over the heaving strength of his chest with the other. Unhesitating, she lowered her hand farther until her fingers touched the heated hardness of his erection encased behind a barrier of tautly straining denim. Catherine looked up into his eyes, holding him with her gaze, and then their heated groans echoed in the night air as she began to caress him tenderly.

Torn between exquisite pleasure and pain, Vincent was incapable of uttering anything other than the softly moaned repetition of her name. The sound arced through her, leaving her weak with wanting, wishing that she never had to stop, yet knowing that for both of them, she must. She leaned into him, pressing her mouth to the wildly fluctuating pulse at his throat; and then in one fluid motion, she drew her hand away and slid both arms around his neck, sighing as she felt his arms come around her to hold her close. Leaning the length of her body against his, she rested softly, motionlessly, against him and murmured tender sounds of contentment into the hard muscled depth of his chest, knowing through their bond that the quiet, loving sounds would help ease their racing hearts and calm their turbulent bodies.

For several minutes they held each other in softly sensual silence and then without saying a word, they eased apart until only their clasped hands were touching. Catherine smiled up at him tremulously, feeling shivers of concern when she saw the conflicting emotions in his expression, and she fought inwardly to find the right words. "Vincent," she began, trying to keep the tension from her voice. "You're all right about this, aren't you?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice so low she could barely hear its stirring sound. "But I think we should talk. I still have to explain -- "

"There's no need for explanations, love, none at all. If you want to talk about it, then we can." She shook her head slightly. "But we can also decide just to let this be a wonderful memory of a time when we chose to move toward love."

Vincent remained silent, staring down at her upturned face as he struggled with the choices she had offered him. But within seconds he felt long-held beliefs yield to the reality of their love.

"There are things that I could say to you, Catherine, but I know you do not need to hear the words. You have already heard them within my heart, within our bond. Just know that… I love you."

She felt a sense of happiness and relief fill her completely, leaving her weak with the force of it and yet strangely full of strength. "And I love you," she answered softly. "I always will."

Tugging on his hand, she led them toward a stone bench a few feet away at the opposite end of the terrace, and urged him to sit beside her, unwilling to end their time together, even while knowing it could not last much longer.

Her thoughts drifted back to her earlier surprise at finding him on her terrace. "Vincent, what made you decide to come here tonight? There's nothing wrong, is there?"

The smile he returned to her was soft and sweet, but the look in his eyes grew solemn. "Not exactly wrong, Catherine, but I am concerned about Father. Mary asked that I speak with him, and we had a long talk this morning. I told him that you and I will find a way to have a life together, and that nothing anyone can say or do will change that."

Her fingers tightened convulsively on his. "Did you really tell him that? My God, what did he say?"

Briefly raising their clasped hands to his lips, he brushed a gentle kiss across her trembling fingers before continuing. "Yes, that is what I told him. Father must find a way to understand the strength of our love, and if he doesn’t, then he must at least find it within himself to accept what will be. My love and respect for him are great, but, Catherine, nothing, no one will keep us apart now. Not even Father."

Catherine's eyes filled with lustrous tears, but her voice was sure and strong. "I love you so much. This won't be easy for you." She forced an uncertain laugh. "It won't be easy for any of us. But we'll be together, we’ll see it through, and that's all that really matters."

"Yes," he whispered, leaning forward to tenderly kiss away her tears. "When you're with me, I truly believe that anything is possible."

As he drew away from her, she reached up to touch his face in a gentle, lingering caress. "Shall we talk to him together soon? Maybe it would be better that way."

Vincent nodded. "I hate to put you through this, but, yes, I think it would be for the best. In fact, Father has asked that we talk with him privately this weekend."

Her eyes widened incredulously. "I’m surprised he’d suggest that himself. It's not like him, is it?"

Shaking his head, Vincent looked out over the night-darkened city. "No, it’s not like him at all. It’s much more his way to ignore our love as best he can, not to confront it willingly." His eyes flickered back to Catherine's face. "I'm worried about him, Catherine. He said there are things that happened long before my birth, things I have no way of knowing. Horrible, painful secrets, he called them, secrets he had always hoped I'd never learn. I don't know what he means, but one thing was horribly clear -- that whatever his secrets are, he truly believes they’ll prove why it isn’t possible for us to have a life together."

"Oh, Vincent, no," Catherine whispered painfully.

"Catherine, we will find a way to prove him wrong -- we will, I promise you that. There's something there, some terrible moment in his past, which has forced him to feel the way he does about us. But it is not irrevocable. It cannot be."

She looked deep into his eyes, seeing his faith, revealing her fear. "Can't it? I'm not so certain you're right this time."

"Then I will be certain for both of us," he told her, his voice strong and resolute. "But even if we can’t ease Father's fears, if we can’t find a way to prove to him that we can and will be together, we will go on, we will find our way. I won't lose you, Catherine, I cannot lose you. There is no life for me without you."

Catherine's heart filled with light and love as she heard his unconscious echoing of the words she’d said to Father nearly a year earlier when she began to make her way into a desolate, barren cavern to help Vincent reclaim his life, and to regain her own life as well. She knew that it was now time to say those words to the man she would love forever.

"There is no life for me without you, Vincent. All I want is to be with you always."

"Always, Catherine, always," he vowed, as they came together in a kiss of promise and passion.

Reluctantly releasing her from his embrace, Vincent spoke the familiar words they both dreaded. "I must leave you now."

"I know," she sighed, mustering a small, sad smile. "And the only way I can let you go is by reminding myself that someday -- someday soon -- you won't ever have to say those words to me again."

His deep blue eyes glowed as bright as the summer sky they so often called to her mind, brilliantly clear and full of possibilities. "It's like a dream, isn't it?"

"Only better?" she teased, repeating the familiar response.

His husky voice rumbled low, shuddering thunder and flaring heat lightning across that same summer sky. "Much better, Catherine."

Each time he tore himself away from her was more difficult than the last, but somehow he found the inner strength to do it once more. But just as he was about to climb to the wall to swing himself up to the roof of her building, he felt a small, rectangular object hit against his thigh, and he turned back to her again. Pulling the book from its hidden pocket in his cloak, he held it out toward her with a sheepish smile.

"This is part of the reason I came to see you tonight, Catherine, but I forgot all about it."

She smiled, quickly recognizing the book they'd been reading together on and off for some time. "Jane Eyre?"

"Yes. I knew we had thought to be apart for several days, and so tonight after dinner I began to read Jane Eyre because it seemed that reading a book we shared would somehow bring you close to me."

He looked up at her almost shyly and felt, as much as saw, her unending love for him in the radiance of her smile. "There’s a passage we have not yet read together that I’d like to share with you now. I read it long ago, years before we met, and it spoke to me then of a beautiful, impossible dream. Now, with you, that dream is no longer impossible. You have given me my dreams, Catherine. Only you."

With strong, supple fingers, he opened the book to the designated place and began to read to her. Yet in an instant, he raised his eyes from the printed page and instead spoke the words to her, words he'd once believed would never belong to him, words Catherine had transformed into immutable truth.

"After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love -- I have found you. You are my sympathy -- my better self -- my good angel -- I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you -- and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one...I wanted to have you safe before hazarding confidences. This was cowardly; I should have appealed to your nobleness and magnanimity at first, as I do now -- opened to you plainly my life of agony -- described to you my hunger and thirst after a higher and worthier existence -- shown to you, not my resolution (that word is weak), but my resistless bent to love faithfully and well, where I am faithfully and well loved in return. Then I should have asked you to accept my pledge of fidelity, and to give me yours."

"You have my pledge, Vincent, now and forever," Catherine told him. "We will always be together. Always."

Pale rays of moonlight glimmered through the dark sky, softly bathing the city in its silvery glow, but its luminous beauty went unnoticed by the embracing lovers who would never truly part again.
 
 

Sometimes you touch my shoulders
And I straighten under the weight of life.
Sometimes you touch my eyes
And everywhere I look I see your face.
Sometimes you touch my temples
And all my thoughts and dreams flow happily to you.
Sometimes you touch my chest
And my heart flutters wildly in its cage in its desire to fly to you.
Sometimes you take my hands
And then I know that everything I do, I do for you.
 
  --Rosemarie Hauer