phoenix10c2

When the Phoenix Sings ~ 10

          On Wednesday evening, Vincent's tales of the river proved a great success, and Catherine's reputation as a teacher was confirmed.
          Following the class, he had walked her home, and she had been genuinely concerned about the fatigue in his eyes.

          When Catherine arrived for her second session of candle making the following Saturday, Rebecca was eager to share stories she had heard from the children about Catherine's class.
          "Now you have a standard to meet, Catherine."
          Catherine was hanging a set of candles which had just received their last layer of color. She smiled, "It was all Vincent. I didn't do anything but maneuver him into giving my lesson."
          "I wish I'd been there. I don't hear Vincent's stories often enough any more."
          Catherine nodded, then grew quiet. "I haven't seen him since Wednesday, Rebecca. Is he all right?"
          Looking up at the unexpected question, Rebecca paused over the wicks she was trimming.   "He was fine at breakfast. He was going down to give a final check to the lower chambers, and then he was going to spend some time with Mary Beth in his chamber. He said to tell you he'd meet you here before we get through. Why do you ask?"
          "I've been afraid he isn't getting enough rest."
          Rebecca frowned. "I don't understand."
          Hesitantly, Catherine asked her friend, "Has he said anything to you about his recent dreams?"
          The blond curls shook. "With all the Winterfest preparations, Vincent and I haven't talked much in the past few weeks. What sort of dreams?"
          "Bad dreams." Catherine paused, fingering a candle. "Nightmares about fire."
          "Fire?"
          She nodded. "He's dreamed it over and over. He's afraid there'll be a fire...either in Father's study or in my apartment building, and he's spent hours watching over Father and coming to my balcony in the middle of the night."
          Rebecca remained strangely silent.   At last she looked up. "That's peculiar."
          "What makes you say that?"
          She replied slowly. "Twice in the past ten days I've had people tell me they smelled smoke in the tunnels...but there was never any evidence of fire."
          "Where did it happen? Was it near Father's study?"
          "No." Rebecca shook her head slowly. "It was down by the Serpentine."
          Catherine suddenly felt strangely cold.
          Some time later, when the last of the new candles had been trimmed and carefully placed in baskets, Catherine found her thoughts moving eagerly to Vincent. She'd hoped he would have arrived by now.
           As the women stood back admiring their work, Rebecca assured Catherine that she preferred to clean up alone.
           After she left the candle chamber, Catherine walked rapidly through the tunnels, expecting to encounter Vincent along the way, but as she neared his quarters there was still no sign of him.
          At last she stood just outside his chamber, pausing to listen, unwilling to interrupt his moments with Mary Beth. Inside, she heard nothing but silence.
          Finally Catherine stepped across Vincent's threshold and reacted in quiet surprise at the sight that met her there. Vincent and Mary Beth were lying on his bed, Vincent's broad back resting against the mound of pillows. Mary Beth was tucked warmly under his right arm, her auburn hair spilling across his shoulder. His big furred hand rested at the child's side, enfolding her as she lay against him.
           As Catherine stepped into the chamber, one set of blue eyes met hers. Mary Beth was gazing at her, holding a book to her chest and remaining perfectly still, obviously content to be the silent companion of the man who lay beside her.
          Catherine greeted the child with a quiet nod. Then she moved her gaze to the leonine head resting upon the pillows. Vincent's face was turned away, partially hidden from Catherine's view, but she could see that his mouth was slightly open, his breath passing across his parted lips, his chest slowly rising and falling.
          He slept...his sleep dutifully guarded by the tiny child who obviously adored him.
          Catherine memorized the scene, certain that he had never been more beautiful.
          Mary Beth hadn't taken her eyes from Catherine, and at last the child seemed to make a decision. Taking great care not to disturb him, she eased herself from Vincent's side and slid slowly down the edge of the bed, finally touching the floor with her toes. Then she quietly stepped across the chamber moving into Catherine's arms as the woman bent down to meet her.
          Catherine gave her a brief hug, then straightened and led the child into the outer passage. Outside, she turned with a smile and said softly, "Hello, Mary Beth."
          The child whispered, "Hi, Catherine. Vincent's asleep."
          "Yes, I saw that. He must be very tired."
          "He is." She paused, then frowned in concern and added, "Vincent has bad dreams."
          It seemed a very large proclamation for such a small child. "Did Vincent tell you that?"
          "No," she shook her head. "I heard Father and Mary talking about it." She continued rapidly, as if defending Vincent's actions. "He's so tired, he fell asleep while I was reading him a story."
          Catherine glanced down at the book which was firmly clutched in Mary Beth's hand.
          "Is this the book you were reading?"
          The child shook her head again. "This isn't a reading book. It's a coloring book."
          Catherine looked at the book more closely. She was mildly surprised to see a cover which reminded her of her own childhood. The freckled, red-headed character on the front was dressed in a checkered shirt, blue jeans, and a red bandanna around his neck. The words "Howdy Doody Coloring Book" were arched in brilliant colors across the page. The book appeared to be in mint condition.
          "Did Vincent give you this book?"
          The curls wagged from side to side in silence.
          When no further answer came, Catherine rephrased her question.
     "Where did you get this book, Mary Beth?"
          The girl looked at her for a moment, then replied very softly, "The picture man gave it to me. He gave me this, too." She held up her other hand, revealing a box of eight large crayons. "He said it was a secret."
          Catherine frowned. She knew of no one in the tunnels who was referred to as "the picture man". She asked carefully, "Did he say why he was giving it to you?"
          Mary Beth nodded. "Uh-huh. He said it was because the other kids wouldn't let me come with them when they go down. They think I'm too little. They said I couldn't keep a secret."
          Catherine's heart lurched. She remembered Vincent's concerns that something or someone was involved with the children in the deep places around the Serpentine. Here was evidence of mysteries much closer to home. She forced herself to ask her next question calmly. "When did he give it to you, Mary Beth?"
          "Just a while ago."
          "Where were you?"
          "I was right there." She turned and pointed back in the direction of the chamber they had just left.
          "In Vincent's chamber?"
          She nodded again, and Catherine felt a cold prickle across the back of her neck.
          "Mary Beth, did he say anything else?"
          Suddenly the child hesitated, a tiny frown forming between her brows. Her eyes flashed back toward the chamber, and at last she muttered, "I think it's supposed to be a secret."
          Catherine answered softly, "This could be very important to Vincent, Mary Beth. Sometimes you need to share a secret with someone you trust. Do you trust Vincent and me?"
          The curls bobbed up and down.
          "What else did he say?"
          Softly, the child answered, "He said it's okay to color outside of the lines."
          Now it seemed as if Catherine's heart stood still. Forcing her voice to remain level, she put her hands on the child's shoulders. "I think you better go and find Mary now. It'll be time for lunch soon."
          The young voice asked uncertainly, "Do you think it'll be okay with Vincent if I keep the book and the crayons?"
          Catherine nodded. "I'm sure it'll be all right."
          Mary Beth reached up, hugging Catherine around the waist, and then darted away down the tunnel.
          Catherine turned back toward Vincent's chamber, standing in the entrance watching him as he slept. She debated whether to wake him.
     He needed the sleep, but her mind was full of questions.
          The decision became unnecessary when Vincent stirred and slowly rolled over onto his right side. The rhythm of his breathing changed as Catherine moved to his bed, and the golden lashes fluttered when she seated herself next to him.
          "Catherine?" He murmured her name as he woke, as if the word had been part of his dreams.
          Leaning forward, she rested her hand on his chest and tenderly bent to kiss the corner of his mouth. "It's me."
          His eyes opened, suddenly darting around the chamber. "Mary Beth..."
          "I sent her to Mary." Catherine gently pushed him back down as he started to come up from the pillows.
          Surrendering to the pressure of her hands, he lay back, looking up at her with a sleep-tousled expression. "How long have you been here?"
          "I just came in. You looked so peaceful, I hated to bother you."
          He murmured, "I owe an apology to Mary Beth. The last thing I remember is listening to her reading the book I assigned her." His left hand fumbled among the bedcovers and pulled out a reader.
          Catherine let her fingers play with the leather lacings of his vest. "She didn't mind. We had a chance to talk, and she told me she knew you were tired."
          Mild confusion darkened his eyes. "But you said you just now arrived."
          She shook her head. "A few minutes ago I found Mary Beth watching over you. She and I went out into the tunnel together."
          Vincent frowned. "You were here, and I didn't awaken?"
          "You were tired." She ran her hand across his vest, smoothing the nap of the fabric. "I'm glad you could sleep. You know I've worried about you."
          His hand came to hers and caught it, enfolding it against his chest. "You can surely find more important things than my sleep habits to worry about." He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
          Suddenly she remembered why she had disturbed him, and a swift shadow crossed her eyes.
          Seeing the new concern in her gaze, he gave her hand a questioning squeeze. "What is it, Catherine?"
          She responded slowly. "It was something Mary Beth told me."
          He waited in patient silence.
          She continued, "Vincent, have you ever given Mary Beth a coloring book with Howdy Doody on the cover?"
          "Howdy Doody?" He shook his head, bewildered.
          She added helpfully,   "He was a character on a children's television program in the 50's...a puppet. I can barely remember him when I was very young."
          "And what has made you think of this character now?"
          Catherine stroked her fingers across the back of his hand. "He was very popular with children. The toy stores back then were full of Howdy Doody merchandise -- toys, lunch boxes, books." She looked at him
     meaningfully. "Mary Beth just now showed me a brand new Howdy Doody coloring book and a box of crayons."
          He frowned. "Where could she have gotten such a book?"
          "That's what I wanted to ask you. She said someone gave it to her...here in your chamber, just a few minutes ago."
          Vincent moved his head slowly from side to side.   "That's impossible. I was here the whole time."
          Rising from his bed, Catherine ran her fingers through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. At last she turned to look back down at him. "Could someone have come in while you were asleep, even for just a few seconds?"
          "I can't remember a time when anyone was able to come upon me in my chamber without my knowledge. I've always been able to sense when someone is near."
          She shook her head, reminding him, "But you didn't wake up when I came in for the first time a little while ago...and Mary Beth was able to crawl off your bed and come to me without disturbing you. How do you explain that?"
          Vincent sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I can't explain it. Perhaps you are right, and I have allowed my dreams and lack of sleep to make me careless."
          Watching him, Catherine frowned. It only worried her more to hear him admit the possibility.
          Quietly he added, "Still, I think we must remember that Mary Beth is very young...and she has an active imagination."
          "But the book is real. I saw it myself. She didn't imagine that." Catherine paused, studying his face as she sought a logical explanation. At last she sighed. "How do you think she got the book?"
           "I don't know."
           "Well, it can't just have appeared from out of nowhere."
           Out of nowhere. Catherine didn't want to deal with the memories those words recalled. She stepped across the chamber, turning and retracing her steps, unconsciously emulating Vincent's habit of pacing.
     Her thoughts went to a time when she had been plagued by a young man who had frequently appeared from out of nowhere. She had never abandoned her conviction that all things have a rational explanation.
     One only needed to know all the facts...and that had been a time when facts had been strangely elusive. She wondered...
          "Vincent, she called him 'the picture man.' You don't suppose..."
          His eyes told her that he was following her thoughts. She also knew that magic was not as impossible in Vincent's world as it was in her own. He shook his head once, but she was uncertain whether he was denying her suspicions or denying her certainties.
          His words did little to settle her doubts. "Catherine, if there was a person besides Mary Beth and myself in this chamber, I had no sense of him."
                                   * * *
          A series of questions and a minor investigation turned up nothing. No one had seen anyone come or go from Vincent's chamber, and the older children insisted that they knew nothing about Mary Beth and her coloring book. There were no further reports of unusual events, and the smell of smoke seemed to have disappeared from the tunnels. Within a few days the flurry of Winterfest preparations had taken precedence over any other activities or concerns.
          Peter finally gave permission for Father to be carried to a couch for short stays in the outer study. From there, Father was able to issue instructions and oversee the Winterfest activities. However, Mouse and Cullen were still finishing the new bookshelves, and the smell of varnish was quite strong. When the fumes made Father light- headed, he chose to retreat to his bedchamber.
            "Catherine, is this your sweater?"   Rebecca held up a soft blue cardigan which had been thrown on a table near the staircase in the Great Hall. "We're getting ready to move this table to the other side of the hall."
          Catherine nodded, looking up from a small cardboard crate. "If it's in the way, just throw it over the banister...I'll get it later."
          Rebecca and Catherine were in the Great Hall a week before Winterfest. School classes had been canceled until after the holiday, and Catherine was free to help Rebecca unpack the candleholders and to place candles in the candelabras.
          Several of the young men were practicing raising and lowering the overhead chandeliers, double checking the systems of ropes and pulleys.
          "Not too fast, Matthew," Rebecca cautioned. "If you raise it too fast, some of the candles might go out." She turned to Catherine,
     "Where's Vincent? He usually comes down to run a safety check on all the ropes."
          Catherine reached into her apron pocket and removed her small shears. She had found a box of candles with wicks which hadn't been trimmed. "He said he'd be down in a little while. He was going to help some of the younger children deliver candles to the helpers in Chinatown, then he'll help carry down the tables."
          Rebecca nodded and moved away to supervise the relocation of the table.
          Catherine smiled as she watched her friend. Holidays had always been special to Catherine, and this was the first year that she had had an active part in preparing for Winterfest. She genuinely felt like part of the community. In fact, she was actually taking satisfaction from the fact that William, the cook, had yelled at her earlier in the morning for leaving the lids off two of his storage barrels. Vincent had once told her that William yelled the loudest at the people he liked most. If that was true, then William must like her very much.

          Vincent strode rapidly into his chamber. The Chinatown deliveries had taken longer than he had anticipated, and he was overdue in the Great Hall.
          Catherine was below, radiating pleasant anticipation through their bond.
          He sensed her with unusual clarity these days. Sometimes the bond had become so intense that he knew more than her emotions. There had been moments when he had wondered if he were reading her thoughts, seeing through her eyes.
          Inside his chamber he moved to his wardrobe. He was wearing one of his better shirts, and it was unsuitable for the work which waited for him below. Pulling off his vest and laying it on his bed, he unlaced his shirt.
          Something rippled through the bond, and Vincent became aware that Catherine was thinking about William. The vision was puzzling, because he had the impression that William had lifted his voice to Catherine, and Catherine's reaction to the memory was a wide smile.
          Vincent pulled his shirt off over his head and stood in his long sleeved thermal undershirt, centering his thoughts upon the woman he loved. He could feel her...she was standing alone, trimming candle wicks in a corner of the Great Hall. Then her emotions changed, and Vincent felt himself in her mind.
          He shook his head lightly, resisting the impulse to pursue her feelings. When the bond hummed this clearly he feared that he might invade Catherine's privacy, and he considered that to be a violation.
     Even though Catherine had assured him that she welcomed his presence in her mind, Vincent was a man who valued privacy and he had no desire to...
          Fire. His thoughts were aborted in an instant surge of heat and flame...flames growing, claiming something that Vincent held dear.
          He shook his head violently, fighting against the image. It was enough that his dreams were consumed by flames. He refused to lose his wakeful concentration to the same insidious nightmare.
           Fire. In Father's study.

          The image centered itself in Father's chamber. For an instant longer, Vincent resisted the impulse to race to Father's side. In that moment he wondered at his own sanity. Dreams were common enough, but this delusion was beyond the confines of rational thought.
          But then his resistance was snatched away by the echo of his father's voice, urgently calling his name.
          "Vincent!"
          Grabbing his cloak from his bed, Vincent tore from his chamber, racing through the distance which separated his quarters from Father's. Emerging into the study, he needed only an instant to grasp the reality of his fears.
          Mouse and Cullen were gone, but an open can of varnish attested to the fact that they had been here. The container sat on a wooden shelf, next to a burning candle. Time had shortened the height of the candle, lowering the flame to the open mouth of the can, and now the varnish was ablaze, spreading its flames to the shelf above, threatening to spill to the floor where the liquid flame would find ready fuel in the shelves which wrapped the length of Father's study.
          "Father!" Vincent called, even as he flung himself down the short flight of steps, charging toward the rapidly growing fire.
          "In here, Vincent." The old man had glimpsed the flames through the entrance of his private chamber, and he was struggling from his bed, trying to pull himself upright. "The fire..."
          The heavy cloak in Vincent's hands soared above the flames like a great bird, descending upon the fire, smothering, obliterating...
          Vincent's shoulders heaved, his muscles straining beneath the thin cotton of his shirt as he snatched the cloak upwards, bringing it down time after time, beating the flames into submission...until moments later nothing remained of the fire but blackened tongues across the new
     shelves and a puddle of hot steaming varnish.
          "Vincent."
          "It's over, Father." He called, standing above the extinguished fire, his eyes searching for any evidence that the danger still lingered. "It's all right."
          When he was convinced there was no longer a threat, he moved rapidly into the next chamber to Father's bedside with his cloak still in his hands. "Father, are you all right?" Vincent eased the old man back onto his pillows, holding the trembling shoulders firmly.
          "Did you see?" Father rasped. "I told them to keep the varnish away from the candles." He gasped breathlessly, "Mouse and Cullen know how flammable it is. I heard it when it ignited." His hands grasped Vincent's. "I looked up and saw...but this damned hip...I couldn't..."
          "I know, Father. It's all over." Vincent glanced down the length of Father's body, seeking assurance that he was unhurt. "Are you all right?"
          Finally the old man relaxed, no longer straining against Vincent's grasp. With a deep breath, he nodded. "Yes...yes...I'm fine."
          "You didn't hurt your hip?"
          "No." He closed his eyes for an instant, appraising his condition. "There's no harm done...I'll know better once my heart stops this infernal pounding." His eyes opened, and he looked at Vincent. "Are you all right?"
          Vincent nodded, releasing Father, and unobtrusively pulling his scorched cloak around his own shoulders.
          "Are you sure?" Father frowned. "Let me see your hands."
          Vincent dutifully extended his hands, submitting to his father's close examination. Then the old man put a hand to his son's chin, turning the leonine face first to one side, then to the other. "You're sure you aren't burned?"
          "You can see for yourself, Father."
          The old physician sighed. "Thank God." Shaking his head, Father muttered, "Do you know what fire could do in that study right now?
     With all that fresh varnish...and the piles of books behind the shelves?"
          At that moment several people arrived at the study entrance, their noisy concern distracting Father's attention from his son's face.
          Vincent was nodding. He knew only too well what such a fire could do. He'd seen it time after time...almost nightly...in his dreams.