When the Phoenix Sings ~ 9 Catherine could remember a time when Saturdays meant little more than the opportunity to sleep late, clean her apartment, and to spend the evening out with casual friends. But now the day had taken a whole new meaning. Weekdays had become chunks of time, marked off on the calendar until she could descend into the tunnels and resume her real life. Thanks to her class, she had been able to add Wednesday evenings to that life. And in her heart she had to believe that she would soon find a way to live every day in the tunnels...or at least every night.
But for now, she had a Saturday class to teach...and candles to make. Knowing that Vincent would be working in the flooded chambers with his crew, Catherine had arranged to spend the morning with Rebecca, learning how to give the Winterfest candles the rich colors which had earned Rebecca her reputation.
Armed with her lesson plans and notes on Father's findings, Catherine had entered the tunnels through the park entrance. She had walked alone, greeted along the way by smiles from some of the tunnel residents, and practically ignored by those who were so accustomed to her presence that she no longer distracted their attention from the chores at hand.
Following the scent of hot wax as she approached the craftsmen's section, she found Rebecca in a large chamber stirring a steaming kettle. Almost every spare inch of the chamber was occupied by fresh white candles, dangling in pairs by their long wicks from light ropes strung across the area.
As Catherine entered, Rebecca looked up, smiling through a lock of golden curls which had fallen over her eyes. Pushing her hair back, the young woman nodded in welcome. "Good morning, Catherine. You're here even earlier than I expected."
Catherine came nearer, peering into the container. "Well, I knew you'd be starting early, and I didn't want to miss out on anything."
"There's an apron on that rack over there. Put it on, and I'll introduce you to the world of candle making."
As she wrapped the long strings of the apron around her and tied them in front, Catherine looked about the chamber. "Is it just you and me? I thought you'd have a whole committee working down here."
Rebecca shook her head, "Over the years I've learned that hot wax and large groups of people don't go together. I've already made the basic candles out of plain white wax, and I'm ready to start dipping them in colors." She added a small cake of bright yellow dye to her kettle. "The children love this part...but they have a tendency to muddle the colors, or to leave the candles in the hot wax too long. Mouse has been known to melt an entire candle, waiting for it to turn yellow."
Catherine laughed. "I hope I don't disappoint you. I can't promise that I'll be any better at it than Mouse."
With a grin, Rebecca said, "I'm willing to take that chance." She handed Catherine the spoon. "Here, if you'll stir this, I'll go start another pot."
For the next several minutes, Rebecca explained the candle making process and instructed Catherine in the techniques.
Finally, Catherine pulled a pair of candles from their last coat of the hot yellow wax. Their lower two-thirds glistened in the lantern light, developing a warm satin sheen as they cooled in the tunnel air.
"Good." Rebecca looked over her shoulder. "These are beautiful." She took the candles from Catherine and draped them over the nearest drying rope. Then she reached for her coil of candle wicking and clipped off a piece about four inches long.
Catherine watched as Rebecca tied the short cord in a hard knot onto the wick of the candles she had just made. She tilted her head in curiosity, "What's that for?"
Rebecca smiled. "These are your first Winterfest candles. We have a tradition here in the tunnels that a person's first candles are special...when they are cut and separated, the candle maker gives the best of the pair to someone she loves."
Catherine responded with a slow smile, pushing her hair back behind her ear.
Rebecca continued softly, stirring her kettle and giving Catherine a sideways glance, "I assume that it won't be necessary for me to make a candle for Vincent."
Lowering her chin, Catherine grinned. "It's a lovely tradition, but Vincent sits at the head table right next to Father. Are you sure my candle is good enough?"
She was answered with a nod. "It's perfect. He's going to be very proud of you." Then Rebecca indicated the long string of waiting candles, "Now, your lesson is over. It's time to do some serious work."
While Rebecca worked a few feet away, Catherine bent over her pot of yellow wax, carefully dipping candles as she inhaled the warm steam. There was something especially satisfying about watching the thin yellow coat thicken, growing more vivid with each dipping. It pleased her to imagine these candles in the hands of the helpers at Winterfest.
This year she would watch the ever widening circle of candlelight, knowing that she had made her very own contribution to the ceremony.
Intent upon her work, she was barely aware when a splatter of hot wax caught her finger, leaving a red scald mark.
She was holding it to her mouth when Rebecca looked up. "How bad is it, Catherine?"
"Not bad."
"I should have warned you. My hands are covered with little scars from wax burns. Do you want Father to see it?"
Catherine shook her head, "Of course not...it's nothing. I have something at home I'll put on it later. In fact, I'll bring the salve down for us both the next time I come. It's wonderful on burns."
"If you think of it, you might bring down your own scissors, too. I always carry a pair in my apron pocket for trimming wicks."
Catherine smiled with a nod and returned to her work.
Some time later, as she added a pair of candles to the nearby rope, she realized that she had filled the space almost to capacity. Pushing her hair back again, she straightened, gently massaging the small of her back. "There are so many. Will there really be this many people at Winterfest?"
"No, probably not. But we send candles to everyone who has been important to us and to everyone who has ever lived in the tunnels. Some of them will be sent far away. For the past few years we even sent a pair to Papua New Guinea to friends who work in the Peace Corps there."
"I had no idea." Catherine blew a strand of steam-dampened hair out of her eyes and pushed it back behind her ear again.
Rebecca noticed the gesture. "Come here a minute, Catherine." She took a length of dry wick. "Turn around." Pulling Catherine's hair back and combing it with her fingers, she used the wick to tie a crude pony tail at Catherine's neck. "There. That should be better. Now you can see what you're doing." She secured the wick in a bow. "Back when we were younger, I tied Vincent's hair back every year."
"Vincent made candles?"
The blond woman nodded. "He helped me while I was training with Franklin. Franklin was the first one to make candles for the tunnels. He was a perfectionist. At first he wouldn't let anybody help, but finally he got so old that Father told him he had to pass his craft on to someone younger. He died over ten years ago. I've been making the candles ever since."
Catherine returned to her dye pot and resumed working. "You must have been very young."
Rebecca nodded, dipping candles into her orange wax. "Franklin said I had a natural talent...actually I think it's not so much talent as patience. Vincent and I seemed to be the only ones who would stick with the work and not get in a hurry."
Rebecca fell silent. Catherine dipped another set of candles, her mind wandering back to an earlier time. She tried to imagine Vincent as a youth, standing here with Rebecca, tending these same pots. "What was he like then, Rebecca?" The question came out almost unintentionally, an extension of her silent thoughts.
Rebecca smiled gently. "Vincent has always been special."
"How long have you known him?"
"Since he was twelve and I was nine. I came to live in the tunnels after my mother died. When I first came, I was very quiet and I wouldn't eat. Vincent was the only one who would just sit with me...who would just be with me and not try to force me to talk. He'd tell me stories and share a sandwich or an apple with me while I was too wrapped up in his stories to refuse to eat. Sometimes he would tell me about Devin, and I'd talk about my mother. I don't know how I could have survived without him. He was the big brother I'd always longed for."
Catherine smiled. "I wish I could have known him then."
Rebecca nodded thoughtfully. "I wish you had. If he could have always known you, things would have been so much easier."
Looking up, Catherine asked quietly, "What sort of things?"
Rebecca shook her head slowly. When she spoke, she sounded strangely sad. "I believe somehow your bond with Vincent must have existed even then, Catherine. I think that he was needing you...searching for you...from the very first. The rest of us could love him, we could be with him and share with him. Sometimes we could even make him laugh. But we could never bring peace to his eyes. It was as if something inside him was missing..."
"...like a piece of yourself has been lost..." Catherine's voice was so quiet, it wasn't meant to be heard.
Rebecca nodded. "Vincent was so strong and so bright...I don't think very many people realized how he really was. Father and I knew. But it wasn't until after..." She paused, frowning. "...after Lisa..." She looked up uncertainly, meeting Catherine's gaze.
Catherine nodded solemnly. "I know. He told me everything."
"Then you know how much she hurt him." Catherine could hear the distaste in Rebecca's voice. "After Lisa left, Vincent had a time when he was terribly sick. And when he finally got well..." She went on softly, "After that...nobody could make him laugh any more."
Catherine's breath caught. He was the most sensitive and unselfish person she had ever known, and more than anyone, he deserved the joy of laughter. Her chest tightened with a fresh rise of bitterness toward the woman who had once stolen it from him.
There was a long silence, and at last Rebecca spoke again. "I remember the first Winterfest after she was gone."
Another silence followed...so lengthy that Catherine wasn't certain Rebecca was going to continue.
The young woman's blue gaze was clouded with a memory that esisted words. At last she muttered. "She'd been gone a few months, and Vincent had recovered physically. He wouldn't talk about her, but I knew how he felt. She was very beautiful and he had adored her, but she didn't care about anything except her ambition to dance. I had tried to tell him...but Vincent wouldn't listen." Rebecca smoothed a blemish from the candle in her hand and paused. "He's always refused to
believe anything bad about anybody he cares for." After a moment, she began again, "He had told me he wasn't coming to Winterfest that year. He hadn't been in the Great Hall since...since she had left. I said if he didn't go I wouldn't either, and he told me I should go without him. He knew I had a terrible crush on one of the helper's sons...a boy named Steve."
She paused. "On the night of Winterfest, Vincent was in his chamber alone when I left for the Great Hall, so I was really surprised when I looked up late in the evening and saw him...far back in the shadows on the upper level under the tapestries, at the end of the balcony where it attaches to the wall. He was sitting on the balcony floor with his legs hanging over the edge. It was so dark up there, I couldn't see much more than his boots."
Catherine bit lightly at her lower lip, seeing the image clearly in her mind.
"I went to get him a piece of cake, then I started up the stairs to go up to him, and for just a second I was afraid he was going to leave...but he stayed. I sat down beside him, and he asked me about Steve. I told him how Steve had been ignoring me all evening. And then for a long time, we just sat there. He ate the cake while we watched the people dancing and talking down below. Finally I asked him why he'd come, and he said he had thought that maybe she would be there."
Rebecca hung several pairs of candles to dry. The orange wax glowed in warm contrast to the white and yellow bands as she reached for the rope which bore Catherine's candles.
She continued after a moment. "Then while we were watching, Steve went over to meet a really pretty girl who arrived late, and Vincent and I saw them kissing back behind a tall case in the corner. Vincent said he was really sorry...and he truly meant it. He started trying to make me feel better." Rebecca frowned slightly, looking up. "You know, Catherine. I think the only times I've ever gotten mad at Vincent were the times he'd insist that everybody else's pain is more important than his own."
Catherine remained silent, determined not to let Rebecca lose the moment.
At last, the narration began again. "Anyway...we sat up there a long time, feeling outcast together. Eventually, we moved off the edge of the balcony and slid back to a place further back in the darkness where we had a perfect view of the tapestries." Rebecca paused. "I guess somehow it was easier to watch the people in the pictures than it was to look down at all the people at the party. I can remember telling Vincent my fantasies about the beautiful ladies in the tapestries...I told him that sometimes I wished I was pretty so I could be rescued by a handsome prince. He told me I was prettier than any of the ladies in the pictures. I was fourteen, and I knew I wasn't...but it was wonderful to have him say so. Then I told him he was handsome." She frowned, almost cringing from the memory. With a whisper, Rebecca took her candles from the wax and met her friend's eyes, "Catherine, I never meant it to hurt him, but suddenly...even though I couldn't see him in the darkness...I knew he was crying." Rebecca shook her head, "I meant what I'd said...to me he was the handsomest of all the boys. He was tall and strong, with the prettiest eyes I've ever seen. Somehow his differences just didn't matter. He was Vincent..."
Catherine's voice finished, "...and Vincent is beautiful."
Rebecca nodded. "I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn't listen. I couldn't bear it, that I'd made him cry...so I asked him to make up stories about the tapestries. Vincent's stories were always a wonderful way to escape when anything was too painful." She began again to dip her candles, her voice softening, "He said he liked to imagine that the tapestries were like magic windows where he could step through and pass into another world. He pretended we lived in the enchanted kingdom, and he told me wonderful tales about princesses and dragons and brave knights. But then as the evening grew later, his stories changed. They weren't so mystical. They were stories of ordinary
lovers...of men and women who loved and needed each other. I asked him why he had stopped telling magical stories, and he said that to him...those were the most magical stories of all...because they would never happen to him. I promised him that some day he would fall in love with someone who would love him in return, and that's when he said Father had told him that that kind of love could never be, for him."
Rebecca looked deeply into Catherine's eyes. "Catherine, I love Father, but he had no right to tell Vincent that."
Catherine looked away. Her feelings about this act of Father's were still raw. She would never understand how Father could love Vincent and continue to deny him his rights as a man. Sometimes she wondered if some part of Father still doubted Vincent's humanity. The old man had once told her that "part of him is a man"...the inference being that part of Vincent was not. Father's belief had cost her over two years of frustration. And now, even though Father was willing to accept her in Vincent's life, the lingering effects of his teachings were still an obstacle between her and the dream she wanted to share with Vincent.
Then Rebecca's voice continued more quietly. "And that was when he told me about his dreams."
Catherine stood very still. "His dreams?"
The blond head nodded. "He phrased it so that the dreams were happening to a boy in the tapestry, but I knew he was talking about himself." She almost whispered, "He said that after the boy had lost his love, he began to dream...not of a girl, but of a woman. A woman who would hold him in her arms and stroke his hair, who would love him as he loved her, who would dream of him as he had dreamed of her." She fell silent.
At last Catherine whispered, "And did that story end with 'happily ever after'?"
Rebecca shook her head, seriously searching Catherine's face. "He never finished that story, Catherine. Somehow I had the impression that whether they finished the story together or apart...the ending was too frightening for Vincent to face."
As Catherine stood staring at Rebecca in silence, she heard the sound of youthful footsteps in the outer passage. Someone was coming, and the mood was broken.
Samantha and Geoffrey entered the candle chamber, full of questions about their upcoming class. Catherine greeted them with a smile, but her thoughts were still with the long ago dreams of the special boy who was to become the man she loved. Catherine knew it was up to her to write the ending to the story of Vincent's dreams.
She had hoped Vincent would return for the noon meal, but she ate alone with Father and Mary, listening for footsteps which didn't come.
Following lunch, she set up her classroom in Vincent's chamber. He had suggested that his stained glass window would make a fitting background for the children's presentations of their assignments. Catherine hung her Tiffany poster on the front of Vincent's wardrobe and arranged the table and chairs. Standing back, she surveyed her classroom and nodded in satisfaction just as the first of the children arrived, and soon the room was filled with enthusiastic activity.
After Catherine greeted her class, she turned as a straggler entered. Lucas was small and dark, and Catherine knew already that he possessed an active imagination. The boy seemed unusually quiet as he muttered, "Hi, Catherine."
"Hello, Lucas." She smiled, watching the boy scoot back across Vincent's bed, giving space to the two girls who already sat there.
"How did your writing go?"
He shrugged. "It was okay."
"Do you want to read yours first?"
Changing his shrug to a shake of his head, he puckered his face, "Not really."
Samantha chimed. "Go on, Lucas, read it." Her dark eyes turned to Catherine. "He let Amanda and me read it, Catherine. It's really good."
Catherine smiled and seated herself in Vincent's chair. "Will you share it with us, Lucas?"
He shook his head again. "It's dumb."
"No, it isn't." The voice belonged to Amanda, the oldest student in the class. "It really is good. He's just saying that because Zach told him it was dumb to pretend that flowers can talk. Lucas is afraid we'll laugh if he reads in flower voices."
Smothering a smile, Catherine nodded her head encouragingly. "Lucas, would it help if someone else read it for you?"
With a slow nod, he shrugged. "I guess."
He selected Samantha to read his poem, and the dark-eyed girl presented the work with a dramatic flair that defied anyone to laugh.
One by one, the children volunteered until every selection had been shared and discussed. When they were finished, Catherine suggested that they bind the stories and poems into a book, preserving them for display at Winterfest. As an afterthought, she asked if anyone would be interested in illustrating the book.
She was bewildered by the silence that followed. Strangely evasive glances passed between the children. Some of the young faces remained blank and unreadable, but others grinned self-consciously. At last she was able to get two of the younger children to agree to draw pencil drawings to accompany the poems.
It was at that moment that Samantha leaned forward asking, "Catherine?"
"Yes, Samantha?"
"I was wondering about the poem I showed you...the one I couldn't understand. You said we might talk about it today."
Catherine nodded, reaching into her bag. "I have it right here. Would you like to read it aloud to the class?"
In her crisp young voice, the child read the illusive poem, lingering over the final passages. When she finished, Samantha looked up with a mystical light in her eyes.
"Thank you, Samantha." Catherine took the paper, scanning the poem once more. "I talked with Father about this. He said it's from a poem by D.H. Lawrence called "Bavarian Gentians"...at least some of it is. He said the last part must have been written by someone else." She looked pointedly at Samantha. "It would be a lot easier to find out who that person was if Samantha would give us an idea of where she found the poem."
Apparently still unwilling to give that information, Samantha flashed a quick visual plea to Amanda.
The older girl intervened immediately. "I really like it, Catherine. It makes me think of the tunnels."
Zach complained, "It's got all kinds of weird words. I know what a Phoenix is, but what's a Gentian?"
"I asked Father about that," Catherine explained. "He said that the Gentian is a flower that's shaped like a torch."
Zach made a face. "But a flower can't light up a tunnel."
"Zach," Samantha scolded, "it's symbolism. Stop being so dense."
Amanda smiled mysteriously. "I think it's romantic."
Zach responded, "Well, if he wants to talk about a torch, why doesn't he call it a torch?"
Catherine smiled. Obviously, romance and poetry were not among Zach's favorite things.
Freddie added his voice, "It says he uses a torch to go where Persephone goes...who's Persephone?"
Geoffrey frowned at him. "You remember...Father told us that story a long time ago. She's the one that got kidnapped and had to go live six months below and six months up top every year."
Catherine noted his use of the familiar tunnel terms.
"Yeah," Paul replied, proud of his knowledge, "the guy took her away kicking and screaming...and her mother wandered around crying all the time hunting for her."
Amanda shook her head. "That's not the way I think it was at all."
Catherine looked at the girl curiously. "How do you think it was, Amanda?"
Amanda tilted her head. "I think it was terribly romantic. In the story, the king of the underworld went up top once because somebody was threatening his world, and while he was up there Cupid shot him with an arrow and made him fall hopelessly in love with Persephone. He wanted to love her and make her the queen of his world. Personally, I think she wanted to go with him. She just put up that big fight because she was trying to impress her mother."
Catherine was very interested in Amanda's reasoning. "Impress her mother in what way?"
"The mother was an important, powerful woman. I bet Persephone knew her mother wouldn't give her permission to leave...so she pretended to get kidnapped. It made everything a lot easier."
Catherine grinned, deciding she definitely liked the idea. "...so you think Persephone was really happy living in the underworld."
Amanda nodded. "Sure, because they loved each other. I always thought the king must have been a lot like Vincent. Really big and strong...living Below all the time. And falling in love with a lady from Above. I think the only time she was sad was when she had to go back and live with her mother every six months."
Catherine felt a lovely warmth. She had sometimes wondered if the children were aware of the love she shared with Vincent, and Amanda had just answered her question with a nearly perfect summary of the past three years of Catherine's life.
Zach shook his head, raising his voice. "Amanda, you're changing the whole story."
Amanda frowned, throwing him a glare. "Well, sometimes stories need to be changed. And I don't think there's anything wrong with giving it a happy ending. In Samantha's poem they go down where Persephone goes and find a whole new life, just like a Phoenix bird. I think that's romantic."
"That's girl stuff." Zach slouched deeper into his chair. "Who cares about the poem anyway? I think it's stupid."
For a moment there was silence, then a new voice rumbled softly across the chamber.
"Zach, when something is difficult to comprehend, perhaps we should try to understand it before we pass judgment upon it and give it a label."
Catherine's eyes flashed to the doorway. The rich velvet words had come from the shadows, and as she turned, a huge figure separated itself from the darkness.
Her heart leaped unexpectedly, and she wondered if there could ever come a time when she wouldn't be astonished by the overwhelming beauty in his voice and face.
"Vincent," Zach didn't seem to share her awe, "you just say that because you're really smart. Nothing is hard for you."
Vincent crossed to the boy and tousled his hair gently. "Zach, when I was your age I found many things very, very hard." He rested his furred hand on the thin shoulder, "It is for you to decide what is valuable enough to be worth the effort, and someday you may discover things weren't as difficult as you thought."
Catherine watched them for a moment, then turned to the rest of the class. "Samantha, did we help? Does the poem seem any clearer now?"
"Mostly. Parts of it are still strange, but I think that's okay. Maybe it's supposed to be that way. Maybe it's more important to know how the poem makes me feel than it is to understand every word."
Catherine nodded. "I believe you may be right." Rising from Vincent's chair, she added, "I think Vincent would like his chamber back. Does anyone want to add anything before we dismiss class?" She waited a moment, then added, "If not, I guess we're finished."
Almost as one, the children rose, muttering among themselves as they filed out of the chamber. When the children were gone, Vincent moved to Catherine's side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Embracing her gently, he kissed the top of her head and murmured into her hair, "You are a good teacher, Catherine."
She shook her head. "I wasn't teaching...I felt more like a referee. For a minute there I was afraid the whole discussion was going to get out of hand."
"You made them think and gave them the opportunity to share their thoughts with others. That's what a good teacher does."
She smiled, ducking her head almost shyly in response to his praise.
Her mind raced over the finer points of the children's debate, and she wondered if Vincent had heard Amanda's analogy. "How much did you hear?"
"I heard enough to know that Amanda is a budding romantic and Zach is a confirmed realist."
He had heard...she was certain of it. And she was just as certain that he didn't want to discuss Persephone's choices. Following his lead, she said casually, "I guess I thought there was only one philosophy in the tunnels."
He shook his head slowly. "Sometimes Father would prefer it that way, but we are individuals...with our own thoughts and opinions."
With a smile, she gazed up into his eyes, wishing she could read all the thoughts there. She decided to risk one question. "And what is your opinion of Persephone?"
He returned her gaze, answering slowly. "I think Persephone was a fictitious character, invented by the Greeks to explain the seasons."
She punched him lightly in the chest, giving him a teasing frown. "Realist."
He smiled at her for a moment, then his huge hand came up behind her head, moving gently against the hair at the nape of her neck.
Something slipped free, and Catherine's hair swung forward, loosely falling around her shoulders. Vincent's hand came away, grasping a short length of white string. "And I think you have spent the morning over a pot of candle wax."
Catherine laughed, taking the wick from him. "I completely forgot that was there. Rebecca..."
"...tied back your hair. Yes, I know." He rumbled gently. "I remember." With both his hands he smoothed her hair, caressing her cheeks. After a silence, he whispered, "Did Rebecca tell you...there is a tradition involving a candle maker's first pair of Winterfest candles."
She pressed herself against him, holding him as she answered, "The new Winterfest candles are still drying in Rebecca's workroom, but my first ones are marked with a length of extra wick." She lifted her head, looking up at him. "Vincent," she asked solemnly, "will you carry my candle to Winterfest?"
Slowly he bent, slipping his fingers under the angle of her jaw, bringing his face near hers. His eyes danced with the reflection of candlelight. "I would be very proud to carry your candle, Catherine." And he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly.
For a moment she was breathless, surrendering to the captivating softness of his lips. Then when she finally inhaled, she marveled at the fragrance of musk that surrounded him. He'd been laboring hard below and hadn't had time to bathe. She found a special pleasure in the unique scent that was Vincent's.
She sighed, enveloped in the absolute security of his arms. "I've missed you. When you didn't come home for the noon meal, I didn't expect you back until later this evening."
"I felt you here..." He paused. "I suggested to the men that we work through the mid-day break so we could return early."
"I'm glad. I've been busy all day, but without you close by nothing seems right. I'll be glad when you don't have to spend so much time below."
He muttered softly above her, "It won't be much longer. We're almost finished. There are some minor details to attend to, but we hope to have the project completed this week." He added, "At least the chambers are finally dry."
She smiled. "I could tell. This is the first time you've come up from there without being covered with mud."
"I'm very grateful for that. I've never enjoyed dealing with mud."
"Not even when you were a little boy?"
He shook his head. "It always seemed to take me much longer to clean up than it did the other children."
He had made the remark casually, but something in his words tugged at Catherine's heart. For a second she had a clear impression of a little furry boy trying to wash mud from his thick golden mane while all the other children had long since found a new activity to pursue without him.
Suddenly she took her arms from his waist and flung them around his neck, pulling him down into a second kiss, much more ardent and impassioned than the first. Although taken by surprise, Vincent gave himself willingly to her fervent embrace.
When she finally released some of the pressure against his neck, she pulled back to look into his eyes. Still holding him, she said with emphasis, "I love you, Vincent."
He returned her gaze with a curious, amused tilt of his head. "I know that." He smiled. "But I'm not certain I understand what happened just now."
Her grin returned. "I just wanted you to know that I love you."
His eyes sparkled enchantingly in the candlelight, their blue depths unusually brilliant.
A mellow huskiness was finding its way into her voice, "Sometimes the words just don't seem to be enough. It's so easy to say them, and the feelings I have for you are so much more than I can express."
For a fleeting instant, she saw something in Vincent's eyes that echoed the feelings in her heart...and she believed she had glimpsed the other side of his walls and limits.
But then the moment was gone.
"Catherine, I believe we aren't alone."
Her eyes clouded.
Softly, he whispered. "Someone is in the outer passage."
At that moment, Zach appeared at the entrance, hesitantly taking a slow step forward as his face twisted with an indecisive frown.
Vincent released himself from Catherine's embrace, but his arm remained at her waist. "Yes, Zach?"
With a glance first at Vincent, then at Catherine, the boy muttered, "Amanda says she thinks I messed up your class, Catherine.
She said you might not come back and teach us anymore." He paused painfully, his words coming with difficulty. "I thought I better come tell you...I didn't mean to ruin the lesson, 'cause I'm really glad you're our teacher." He paused, looking at her miserably. "I'm sorry I called the poem stupid, Catherine."
She smiled. "That's all right, Zach. Some of us just aren't meant to be literary critics. And you definitely didn't ruin the class. You contributed to a lively debate...Vincent told me just a while ago that he approved of our discussion."
The boy looked up, flashing a glance at Vincent. "He did?"
Vincent nodded. "Never be afraid to state a valid opinion, Zach. You have the right to share how you feel. Still, it was very thoughtful of you to come back and express your appreciation to
Catherine."
Relief passed across the boy's face as he sighed deeply.
Catherine smiled. "Thank you for coming back, Zach. It means a lot to me."
His feet shuffled across the stone floor. "That's okay." Looking up with a slightly contorted smile, he mumbled, "Well, I guess I'll see ya'."
She nodded. "Next Wednesday. I thought we might talk about Huck Finn." Her eyes moved up to meet Vincent's. "If Vincent isn't busy, maybe he would come and tell us about the time he and Devin made a raft and sailed it on the underground river."
"Gee...cool." The boy's face brightened. "Can I tell the other kids?"
"Sure."
Almost instantly he was gone.
Vincent looked down at her in amusement. "You realize, of course, that you have just obligated me without any advance warning."
She nodded with an unrepentant smile. "A good teacher makes the most of her resources."
"And Zach and I agree that you are a very good teacher." He waited a moment with several varied expressions playing across his face, then abruptly he took her hand.
"Come with me, Catherine. There is something I want you to hear."
Curious about his change of mood, she followed as he led her into the outer tunnel. "Where are we going, Vincent? What is it?"
He put his fingers to his lips, silencing her. "It's something I heard on my way to see you. It stopped for a while, but it's started again. You'll see in just a minute."
Certain that they were headed for Father's study, Catherine watched with curiosity as Vincent led the way. He was almost never so secretive.
Then, when they were a few yards from the study entrance she heard the first faint echoes of a most untunnel-like sound. Exchanging looks with Vincent, she frowned in amused disbelief. As they drew closer, she shook her head in amazement. Once in the study, she had no doubt about the source of the sound.
Creeping to the doorway of Father's chamber, they flattened themselves against the wall, listening. Then Catherine ventured a quick glance around the corner and confirmed her suspicions.
There in his bed lay Father with his eyes closed and his hands beating time upon his blanket -- while at his side, the tape recorder...adjusted to a discreet volume...played a lively rendition of
Louis Armstrong performing "The Darktown Strutter's Ball".