When the Phoenix Sings ~ 12 Catherine's eyes opened at the sound of voices in the outer passage. She must have slept for a few minutes, because the candles on the nearby shelf were shorter than she remembered.
"Freddie, you know you can't go in when there's a lantern on the floor."
"But Father told me to go see if Vincent is okay."
"Well, you can't go in there. Go find Catherine. She'll know how he is."
Catherine lifted her head slowly, looking up toward Vincent's face. He was sleeping soundly, his arm still enclosing her within his embrace.
Easing herself gently from his bed, she slipped to the floor and moved quietly to his chamber doorway. From there, she could hear the children more clearly. With a quick glance at Vincent, she went out to meet them.
Freddie and Paul were standing in the outer tunnel, shifting their weight restlessly from one foot to the other. Holding her finger to her lips, she cautioned them softly, "Shhh, boys, Vincent's asleep."
"Is he okay?"
She nodded. "He's fine, but he hasn't been sleeping well, and I think the fire exhausted him more than he knew." She paused. "Go tell Father that everything's okay, and that I'll be in to see him in just a few minutes."
Looking relieved, the boys nodded and dashed away.
Returning to Vincent's chamber, Catherine moved straight to his bed, gazing down at him, smiling at the look of contentment on his face. He hadn't moved. The indentation where she had lain beckoned, tempting her to return...but she knew the extent of Father's patience.
With a sigh, she picked Vincent's cloak up from the floor and folded it, laying it on his chair. Locating a clean cotton undershirt, she returned to his side and examined his burns one last time. Then gently she spread the soft shirt across his chest and covered him with a large quilt from the foot of his bed.
He stirred, his eyelids fluttering as he muttered her name.
Bending low above him, she said gently, "I'm here." Pulling the cover more snugly over his shoulders, she added with a whisper, "I'm going to see Father...he's worried about you." Her lips lowered to his cheek, "Go back to sleep."
His eyes met hers sleepily, and she kissed the corner of his mouth. As he sighed and closed his eyes, she muttered softly, "Sleep well, my love." She added, "And sweet dreams."
"Catherine!" Vincent bolted upright, his chest heaving. The quilt fell away from his shoulders, and he stared about his chamber...his heart still racing against the impact of his dream. His hands went to his head, pushing against his forehead, pushing away the images which were forbidden, even in his dreams. There had been heat in this dream, but it had had nothing to do with open flames and burning shelves. This dream had been different...an extension of dreams which had haunted him before...but never with this intensity -- with this clarity. Never before so...forbidden.
Coming out of his bed, he found only one candle still burning. In the low light, he sought Catherine's presence, then he remembered her voice and her parting kiss.
Slowly his pulse settled, no longer pounding against his seared chest, finally allowing him to think clearly.
Standing shirtless in the middle of the chamber, he listened...sensing the stillness beyond his chamber entrance, listening to the pipes and discovering that the hour was late. The messages on the pipes spoke of bedtime, calling sentries to their late watches, and
summoning an overdue latecomer.
Vincent returned to his bed to sit. He found a clean white shirt among his covers and pulled it carefully over his head, taking care to avoid the burns on his chest.
Suddenly he knew there would be no further rest for him this evening. He'd slept long enough...perhaps too long.
He couldn't stay the night in this place. He searched the chamber for his cloak and found it folded neatly on his chair, smelling of smoke...and of Catherine.
The Great Hall waited silently for Winterfest, almost deserted in the stillness of the night. In seven days, its walls would echo with music and laughter.
But at this moment, only one silent soul breathed within its walls. High on the balcony, far back in the shadows of the upper level under the tapestries, a figure sat on the balcony floor with his legs hanging over the edge.
In the blackness, the only traces of color were the blue glow of his eyes...and the soft blue sweater which had been taken up from its place on the banister.
He held the sweater gently, taking care to protect it from his claws. Slowly he brought it to his face and rubbed its softness against his nose, inhaling the fragrance of the woman who had worn it.
Above him, the tapestries hung, silent magic windows which had once promised a boy an escape to enchanted kingdoms...and impossible dreams.* * *
On Friday, the day before Winterfest, Catherine had worked late. When she finally arrived at home, she was pleased to find Vincent on her balcony. He kissed her tenderly, accepting her invitation to come inside.
"I can stay only a moment, Catherine. Father has a list of errands for me to run tonight. But I wanted to bring you this..." He reached into his cloak and brought a candle into the light.
She laughed lightly. "A Winterfest candle."
With a nod he explained, "Rebecca told me that you made dozens of them...but as far as she knew, you kept none for yourself."
"I guess I never thought of it. Thank you, Vincent." She accepted the candle and leaned against his chest, embracing him with her free arm. Looking up at him with a smile, she added, "Wait here. I have something for you." She left him for a moment, returning with a parcel wrapped in tissue.
Under her gaze, he loosened the paper and removed a candle almost identical to the one he'd given her. Fingering the knot of extra wick that was tied to the candle, she explained. "It's my first. I hope I make hundreds more over the years...but this one was the very first, and it belongs to you. Will you think of me when you light it tomorrow night?"
Tilting his head with a look of quiet pride, he smiled. "Thank you, Catherine. But if it's all right with you, I think I'll burn a different one tomorrow evening...and keep this one as a remembrance."
Just at that moment, the phone rang, leaving Catherine's response suspended in air. Giving him an apologetic smile, she listened for the answering machine to take the call.
A man's voice came over the speaker asking Catherine to serve as a last minute stand-in on the Saturday evening Crisis Hot Line. The voice explained, "I'm sorry to ask, Cathy, but two of our volunteers have been called out of town, and our call load has been very heavy. I have two people coming in at nine o'clock, but I need someone from five until nine. If you can help, would you please call me at..."
Catherine picked up the phone, still holding her gift. Pulling off her earring, she met Vincent's eyes as she answered, "Hello...I'm here."
"Cathy?" The voice remained on the speaker.
"Yes," she nodded into the receiver. "I'm sorry, Bob. I have a very important engagement tomorrow night. Have you tried calling Phyllis Cunningham? She's substituted several times before."
"I've called the entire volunteer list. If you can't work..."
There was a sigh at the other end. "We can operate shorthanded...we've done it before."
Catherine saw a frown cross Vincent's face.
"How shorthanded would you be?"
"I have one worker on that shift."
"One?" She saw Vincent's frown deepen, and he slowly shook his head.
"Just a minute, Bob. Can you hold? I need to talk with someone."
Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she answered Vincent's look. "Vincent, if I go, I'll be late for Winterfest."
He whispered, "And if you don't go, someone in need will find no one to listen."
"But Winterfest..."
"Winterfest will wait for you. Someone desperate, like Lena, might not."
Catherine's mind flashed back to that urgent call on a night that seemed very long ago. She'd been able to give a new life to a lost and lonely girl. "So you think I should work..."
"I think you should give it very serious consideration."
She sighed. "Hello...Bob?"
"Yes?"
"I'll be there." After a pause, she added firmly, "But I have to leave by nine. I don't want to get stuck past my shift."
Relief colored his response. "Thanks, Cathy. This could mean a lot to somebody. I promise your relief will be on time...if I have to pull them in myself. Good night."
"Good night, Bob."
There was a click, and the line was silent.
Returning the phone to its cradle, Catherine pushed her hair back from her face and gave Vincent a half-smile. "You promise Winterfest will wait?"
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "The people may come and Father may give the opening words...but I will meet you at the threshold at nine thirty, and I promise the celebration will not truly begin until you arrive."
She moved into his arms and hugged him. Carefully holding the candle he'd brought her, she murmured, "Think of me when you light your candle during the opening ceremony...I'll know when you do, and I'll light mine at the same time...wherever I am."
Moments later, he gave her a last kiss and was gone into the night.* * *
Winterfest. Just the sound of the word filled Catherine with warm and sparkling feelings.
As she entered the Great Hall on Vincent's arm, the huge chamber before them seemed to shimmer with golden lights and glittering colors. Dozens of people filled the hall, their laughter and light conversations creating a pleasant chaos. Two fiddles off to the right were accompanying several enthusiastic dancers in an Irish jig.
Peter Alcott was one of the first to greet Catherine, introducing her to the very lovely lady friend who clung to his arm. Catherine smiled warmly, silently promising herself to ask him for details later.
Working their way through the crowd, Vincent directed their course toward Father's couch.
Vincent had explained that he and two young tunnel dwellers had carried Father down on a cot early in the evening. Now the patriarch reclined in a place of prominence, happily visiting with old friends and new helpers. Catherine wondered for a minute if Peter had approved of the mug of ale in Father's hand...then she decided he had probably prescribed it.
"Catherine, welcome." Father offered his free hand to her. "I was beginning to worry that you were going to miss the festivities."
She took his hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "There was no chance of that, Father. I wouldn't have missed this Winterfest for anything."
"Vincent told me you were working on the Crisis Hot Line. I'm sorry you missed the opening ceremony and the children's performance, but I'm certain you were needed Above."
"Yes, actually I was." She looked up at Vincent. "I talked a young runaway into going home."
"Good, good." Father nodded with a squeeze of her hand. "You made the right choice." His eyes moved from her to Vincent and back. "But we missed you. You truly are one of us now, Catherine. I can't thank you enough for all you've done these past few weeks. For me...and for your
work with Rebecca and your classwork with the children. I've seen the anthology of the original work that resulted from your class. I found it very impressive."
She grinned, looking up at Vincent, "Even Lucas's talking flowers?"
"Especially Lucas's talking flowers. By the way...has Vincent shown you the children's tapestry yet?"
Her eyes went to Vincent with the question. "Tapestry?"
The great shaggy head shook slowly. "Not yet, Father. I thought I would let her say hello to everyone first."
"What tapestry is that?" Catherine's interest was aroused.
Father continued, "Well, properly I suppose one should call it a mural since it was done in oil paints, but the children have proclaimed it a tapestry."
Catherine's interest grew. "Oils?"
"Vincent, why don't you go show her?" Even as Father made the suggestion, two helpers approached, eager to pay their respects to the patriarch of the tunnels.
As Vincent led her away, Catherine leaned close. "I thought you were saving the oils until after Winterfest."
"I was...and the children assure me they still want me to teach the workshop."
"I don't understand."
He took her by the hand, a strange light shining in his eyes. "Catherine, two hours ago the children made a rather remarkable presentation to Father...or rather to the entire tunnel community."
More questions shown in her eyes.
He continued, "Come, see for yourself."
Working their way again through the crowd, he guided her to a section of the chamber wall directly across from the large staircase. There, Catherine looked up in amazement.
On the wall, a canvas had been hung. It was large...almost eight feet long and three feet tall. Great spirals and masses of color,
together with delicate details and fine features, filled the canvas with the pictorial history of the Phoenix Bird. At the left, the bird was shown in its later years, drab and weary. On the right, the design evolved into a creature dying within a nest of flames. The third variation was the largest -- a great central panel depicting the young Phoenix rising from the ashes and ascending to the sky.
The mural was simplistic, childlike, but also bold and powerful.
Catherine stared at it in astonishment. She felt she had seen this style before...this powerful use of color and design.
"Vincent," she looked up at him.
"I know."
Her finger touched the lower edge of the decorative border. She pulled it away and looked at the smudge on her hand. "It's the same color I cleaned off your hand when you had your encounter with Geoffrey's dirty cheek."
He nodded and said again, "I know."
Looking up at him, she muttered, "So this is what they were doing down by the Serpentine."
"Yes."
"But they've had no training...You said it yourself. Without guidance and instruction, how could they...?"
"Samantha says they taught themselves, using books and their own inventiveness."
"And you believe her?"
He tilted his head and smiled mysteriously. "Catherine, do you have a better explanation?"
She looked again at the painting. The only other explanation that came into her mind was as unbelievable as the story of the Phoenix itself."Catherine." A woman's voice came from behind them.
Turning, Catherine answered, "Hello, Rebecca."
"I'm sorry you had to be late...you missed the ceremony when we lit all the candles you made."
Catherine smiled, leaning gently on Vincent's arm. "Not really...
Vincent made me feel as if I'd been here." She was still warmed by the message he'd sent through their bond at the moment of the candle lighting.
Rebecca smiled at them both, then added, "William sent me over.
He wants you to help him put together that punch recipe you suggested. He saved it until you arrived."
"He didn't need to do that. He can do that better than I can."
"Catherine," the young woman grinned, "humor him."
Vincent nodded. "It's usually best to let William have his way where food and drink are concerned."
Several minutes later, Catherine was working over the punch bowl with Rebecca when Pascal came to invite Vincent to join him at Father's couch.
Pascal greeted Catherine, then asked, "Vincent, Royce just unpacked all his things. He said he'd promised you he'd wait until you got back, but he's showing them to Father now. You better come on over if you want to see."
Catherine looked up as Vincent shook his head, murmuring softly, "I'll be there in a few minutes, Pascal."
"Vincent," Catherine spoke as she used both hands to pour a bottle of ginger ale into the punch bowl. "Go on with Pascal...I'll be through here in a few minutes, and I'll find you."
He looked from her to the small group gathered at Father's couch. "You're certain?"
She smiled and nodded. "I'll be there as soon as William is satisfied with the punch."
Vincent hugged her gently and moved away following Pascal's lead.As she worked over the punch bowl, Catherine glanced across the room, feeling a warm sense of belonging and contentment.
Winterfest included many new faces this year. Some were familiar to her, and some were not. She was continually amazed to discover that people she had known for years Above were secretly helpers. Peter had been the first, but as she looked around the Great Hall, she found at least two other people whom she had known Above.
She emptied a bag of ice into the large bowl, then stirred the cold punch as she watched the small group that sat around Father's cot across the room. Vincent and Father were in deep conversation with Pascal, Mary, and a stranger.
Catherine watched them a moment, then she asked Rebecca, "What's the attraction over there? Vincent looks like he's hanging on every word."
Rebecca dipped a cup into the punch, testing its flavor. "See the tall man in the gray jacket? That's Royce Sanderson, the portrait artist. Royce was a helper until five years ago when he moved to Los Angeles. His portraits are famous on the West Coast."
Catherine stared at the artist. Something about him seemed familiar, and she struggled to remember if she'd seen him before.
There had been so many art shows and exhibits through the years...there was no way a person could remember everybody.
The group parted enough to allow Catherine a glimpse of canvases and sketchbooks on a table beside Father's bed. Sanderson lifted something from the stack, and Vincent peered eagerly over his shoulder.
Catherine smiled at the look on his face. "What is that they're looking at?"
"When Vincent heard Royce was coming, he asked him to bring some of his early work. Vincent thought Royce could give him some ideas on the oil painting workshop he wants to start. Frankly, I think Vincent just wanted the chance to see some Sanderson originals."
As they watched, Pascal removed another canvas from the collection and handed it to Father. The older man gazed at it intently.
Catherine smiled. "He must be good. Father and Vincent are both very impressed."
"He is. People say his work is almost photographic, but more flattering."
"What pieces did he bring with him?"
"I don't know. His carrying case is lying right there if you're curious. He has an inventory taped to the top."
Sipping at a cup of punch, Catherine moved over to the large empty case in the corner and glanced down the list of various early works.
There were several sketch pads of still lifes dated 1975 and 1976.
Sanderson had itemized several oil landscapes and two more sketch pads, carefully dated. But then her eyes fell on a small entry near the bottom of the list:
Portfolio and Class Final
Life Study 322, Section 1
Spring Semester, 1976
Radcliffe College
Cambridge, MassachusettsCatherine's eyes widened as she searched her memories and calculated that date.
Father was looking at the canvas, and Pascal was reaching for a portfolio at the bottom of the pile. Suddenly Catherine dropped her cup with a crash, and her voice echoed through the chamber.
"Oh, my God!"
Her cry still echoed through the chamber as she ignored the startled expressions on the faces of the people nearby and darted across the room. Snatching the portfolio from Pascal's hands and bumping into Vincent who had risen to his feet, she barely heard Father's voice.
"Catherine..." Father looked up at her in astonishment, "What in heaven's name...?"
Catherine looked down at the first drawing in the folder and released her breath. Then her eyes raced over the other sketches that filled the portfolio.
She gave a deep, grateful sigh. The drawings were torsos...nude, headless torsos. They were beautifully done, gracefully and sensuously drawn. And to her immense relief, not one of them was drawn with a head.
She was almost certain that she had posed for these drawings years ago at Radcliffe...but without the heads, even Catherine herself could not be positive. Nothing in the sketches identified her as the model.
Even headless, the torsos with their firm young breasts and gently rounded hips were more erotic than life study drawings were supposed to be. In one particularly provocative pose the left arm was lifted across the bare chest, one finger touching...caressing...the erect nipple.
Suddenly she became aware of two or three sets of eyes looking over her shoulder as several young male helpers appeared from nowhere.
Quickly, she tucked the sketches back into the folder.
"Catherine, are you all right?" Father was frowning up at her as if he thought she had gone quite mad.
"Yes." She nodded, replacing the portfolio on the table and taking one step backward. With a quick glance, Catherine looked up at Vincent and saw him gazing down at her with an expression that defied description.
She added shakily, "I'm sorry...I thought...I thought there was..."
"Catherine, I don't believe you've met Royce Sanderson." Vincent interrupted her, earning her gratitude.
"No, I don't believe so." Silently she prayed it was the truth.
The artist stood on the other side of Vincent, extending his right hand. "Ms. Chandler. Vincent has told me about you." As she accepted his handshake, she saw him stare intently into her face, and then recognition flashed across his eyes.
Something in her look must have alerted him, because he nodded his head gallantly and his California-tanned face widened into a slow grin.
"Actually, I believe we have met." He shook her hand firmly, giving it an extra squeeze as he released it. "Radcliff College...back in '75 or '76, I think. We...took a class together," he added with an even broader smile.
That grin. She remembered now...that tall skinny boy who always wore black and sat on a high stool over by the window in the studio. The one who always stayed late and loved to tease her about turning blue with the cold.
Father looked up with interest. "Really. And what class was that?"
Before Catherine could reply, Royce's mellow voice supplied, "A drawing class, wasn't it, Catherine? Some sort of figure drawing, as I recall."
"Catherine," Father turned to her, "I had no idea you had taken an interest in art in college. I would have thought your schedule would have been filled with classes which applied to your law degree."
"I..."
"If I remember correctly, Catherine was a freshman that year, Father. And Radcliff has a policy of encouraging its underclassmen to involve themselves in the liberal arts and humanities..." Royce glanced at her with that infuriating grin. "To...expose themselves to elements outside their field."
Catherine gave Sanderson a blistering stare.
Then she realized that an expectant silence had fallen over the group, and all eyes were upon her. Salvaging the situation as gracefully as possible, she forced a smile.
"Vincent told me an artist friend of his was coming, Mr. Sanderson. I'm sorry I don't remember you." Could Vincent detect a lie through their bond? She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, absolutely determined not to blush.
"Oh, I found you very memorable." Sanderson casually picked up a canvas which lay face-down on the table near Vincent. Still holding it with the back side up, he slipped it into the portfolio, tying the folder shut by its long brown strings. Holding the case under his arm, he patted it once, his eyes teasing Catherine as he added, "I believe your favorite color was...blue."
Catherine glowered at him. Up Above she would have had no trouble at all holding her own with this insufferable man, but here in the tunnels with Father and Pascal and Mary hanging on to every word...and Vincent. Something rippled across their bond...something that made her want to blush and smile at the same time. Why did she suddenly have the nagging feeling that she was not the only one with a secret?
"Catherine." Vincent had moved nearer, and she felt his fingers envelop her hand. "Have you met Robert and Sandra yet?"
She shook her head, eager for any change of subject.
Turning to the rest of the group, he said, "If you'll excuse us, I think Catherine and Sandra will find they have a lot in common." With that, he led her away toward a young couple at the base of the stairs.
Catherine threw a parting glance at Royce Sanderson and saw him put the portfolio into the large case.
She sighed and told Vincent, "Thank you."
"What have I done that I deserve your gratitude, Catherine?" Did she only imagine a strange huskiness in his voice?
She walked at his side, feeling her way carefully through her emotions -- wondering how much Vincent knew about what had just happened. "How did somebody like Royce Sanderson ever get to be a helper anyway?"
"That's a strange question, Catherine. Didn't you like him?"
"Of course, I like him." It was the second lie she had told in front of Vincent in the last three minutes. But then she reflected a moment and revised that thought. Actually Royce Sanderson was quite charming. The only thing wrong with him was that he possessed information which could prove...awkward...for Catherine if it became known here in the tunnels. She didn't even want to imagine the look on Father's face if he were ever to see that portfolio, knowing that those firm young breasts and buttocks were hers.
But then strangely, she realized that her embarrassment had centered on the reactions of Father and Vincent's friends. Why was it that she hadn't worried about Vincent's response? If Royce's information was ever revealed to Vincent...she smiled wryly and glanced up toward those blue eyes, realizing that that strange "blush-smiling" sensation hadn't gone away....that was the stuff fantasies could be made of.
As Vincent introduced Catherine to Robert and Sandra Beldin, he explained that the couple had come home from their Peace Corps assignment in Papua New Guinea to spend Christmas with Robert's family in New Jersey.
Then just as he was completing his introduction, someone announced that the dancing was about to begin. The violinists had gathered to tune their instruments, and Vincent and Robert were called to help clear the tables from the dance floor.
Catherine shook the hand of Sandra Beldin, a tiny blonde who was even smaller than Catherine. "I'm glad to meet you. Vincent told me you grew up in the Tunnels."
The smaller woman nodded. "From the time I was seven until I left for college." She motioned toward a small table and two chairs nearby.
"Let's sit. We'll watch the men work." The two women watched Vincent and Robert move the tables against the walls, clearing the floor for dancing. Sandra continued, "It's times like this that I'm willing to play the role of the helpless woman."
Catherine grinned. Sandra Beldin was tiny, but she was definitely not the helpless type. Her arms were firmly muscled, and her hands had short nails and calluses. "I have the feeling you can work with the best of them."
The blonde grinned and nodded. "I'm worth six pigs in Papua New Guinea. A local tribesman made the offer to Robert...in front of witnesses."
Catherine laughed. "Obviously he didn't accept. He must have decided to keep you."
With a shake of her head, Sandra continued, "Not necessarily...he said he was pretty sure he can hold out for ten, the way I've been fattening up over the holidays."
She glanced back toward the men and the musicians, and made a face. "Oh, no."
"What?" Catherine peered in the same direction to see what had drawn Sandra's attention.
Sandra pointed. "See that large man with the big box? That's Charlie Fenster, and he's brought his accordion. You haven't heard anything until you've heard Charlie play Mozart on the accordion."
Catherine laughed again. Then after a moment, Sandra's mood changed as she watched her husband talking with Vincent.
Sandra moved her eyes to Catherine. "Vincent tells me you're a lawyer."
"That's right."
"I always wanted to study law. I worked as a paralegal for three years trying to save enough money for law school, but some things work out differently from what you expect."
"In what way?"
Sandra paused, watching her husband and smiling at him when she caught his eye. "A friend of mine signed up for the Peace Corps, and I liked the idea of seeing places I had only dreamed of. And then while I was in training, I met Robert..."
Catherine smiled. "Sometimes love has a way of changing your plans."
With a nod, Sandra looked more closely at her new acquaintance. "Vincent told me more about you."
"Oh, really. What else did he say?"
"He said you are beautiful, intelligent. More than a helper. He called you his 'special friend'." She paused a moment, watching the slender lawyer. "Now that I've met you I'm beginning to understand the expression in his eyes when he talks about you."
Catherine watched Vincent as he carried a long bench to a remote corner. "The expression?"
"He is very much in love with you."
After lowering her chin for just a moment, Catherine cast a warm smile toward Sandra and bit at her bottom lip gently. "I know."
"And you love him."
"Very much." Catherine felt the rare pleasure of being able to openly discuss Vincent with someone from the world Above.
"How long have you known him?"
"Almost three years."
Sandra frowned lightly. "So what are you waiting for?"
Catherine shrugged with a grin. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you must have worked through most of the problems of being Vincent's 'special friend', or you wouldn't still be around after three years. Why aren't you living with him?"
Catherine pushed her hair back from her face, her lips parting in mild surprise. "You get right to the point, don't you?"
Sandra nodded. "Robert says I sometimes get us both into trouble that way. But actually I find it usually saves a lot of time." She continued, "You do want to live with him, don't you?"
"Of course, I do."
Sandra leaned back thoughtfully. "Let me guess. It's Vincent who's holding things up."
"Something like that." Catherine smiled again.
"What does he say?"
Catherine shook her head. "It bothers him that I come from a place so different from the tunnels. Vincent considers our worlds to be very far apart."
Sandra gave her a patronizing look. "Catherine, do you know where Papua New Guinea is?"
With a shrug, she answered, "Somewhere around Australia, I think."
Sandra nodded. "That's right. Ten thousand miles from these tunnels. When you love a man, you follow him." With a smile, she added, "I followed Robert ten thousand miles, and Vincent considers Manhattan to be far away?"
Catherine gave a small laugh. "It does sound a little lame, doesn't it?"
"Mmmm. What else?"
Smiling and frowning at the same time, Catherine shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know. Lots of things..." She paused, "He thinks that a life for us together would be full of complications...difficult adjustments..."
"Like other people's aren't?" Sandra sighed and settled back in her chair. For a moment she watched the men set up chairs for the musicians, and then she leaned forward, bringing her head nearer Catherine's. "How are you at secrets, Catherine?"
Catherine smiled slowly. These past three years had given her a great deal of experience with secrets. "A lot better than I used to be."
"I'm going to tell you something you can tell Vincent, but nobody else." She paused. "How much do you know about Peace Corps policies?"
"Not much." Catherine shrugged.
Sandra smiled with a small snort. "Well, the work keeps you really busy...in some pretty remote places. So it's a lot easier if the volunteers are single. Still, they try to assign married couples together whenever they can...as long as they don't have kids. You just now mentioned complications and difficult adjustments..."
Catherine waited through a short pause, then Sandra continued with a sigh. "I'm trying to figure out how to tell Robert that this holiday weight I've been putting on is not fudge and fruitcake. I'm nine weeks pregnant."
With a widening smile, Catherine touched the young woman's hand. "Sandra, that's wonderful."
A light ignited deep in Sandra's eyes, and she nodded. "I really want this baby, Catherine. I just hope Robert reacts the way you just now did."
"When are you going to tell him?"
"Tonight...after Winterfest. I thought if I told him tonight, then we could go tell Father together tomorrow."
"Father will be pleased."
"I know. Father is crazy about babies. It'll be fun telling him...Now if I can just tell Robert..." She looked up and saw the men coming toward them. "Anyway...that's my problem. I just wanted you to know that you and Vincent aren't the only ones with complications."
Robert had been talking with Vincent as they approached, and now he came to stand beside his wife's chair. Leaning over to kiss her hair, he offered his hand. "We have the floor cleared, the violins are tuned, Charlie has his accordion, and I've come to ask the prettiest girl in the room to dance." And he swept her away to the strains of the first waltz.
Vincent stood at Catherine's side, watching the dancers move onto the floor.
Catherine felt his hand on her shoulder, and she pressed her cheek against it. Robert and Sandra were soon lost among the other couples, and Vincent stepped in front of Catherine, extending his hand.
"Catherine, will you dance with me?"
She smiled slowly as memories of their first waltz warmed her thoughts. It had been a moment of pure happiness, the two of them gliding across the empty hall to music which seemed borne on the wind.
Accepting his hand, she stood and moved into his arms. Carefully, he placed his hand at her waist as her left hand rested on his shoulder. Then lifting her other hand, he stepped forward and drew her into the grace and beauty of the dance. Within moments, she was caught in the rhythm and motion, and it seemed that nothing existed beyond Vincent's arms. He held her, their bodies apart, his huge hand applying gentle pressures at her waist as he led her through the classic steps.
She smiled. If there had been no other reason for Winterfest, this would have been reason enough.