The move from his bed was not an easy one. When Winslow heard of the plan he insisted upon being present, and with his help Vincent finally sat in the chair, wrapped in his robe and with his right leg extended on a stool in front of him. Father stood by, clucking words of caution and apprehension, scolding himself and Vincent for rushing this decision. At last he satisfied himself that no harm had been done, and he sent word to the children.
Catherine watched Vincent carefully from her spot near the ladder as Mary led the children through their formal instruction. Vincent had quietly assured the children he was going to be all right, but their concern had shown on their faces as they had difficulty concentrating on Mary's words. Vincent was their rightful teacher, and they were very much in need of reassurance that he would be returning to them soon. A lovely dark-haired child named Samantha settled herself protectively at Vincent's right side, guarding over his leg. Catherine smiled to herself as she saw Samantha's hand slip around his right arm. The bandages around his head held a sort of fascination for the smaller children, but Samantha almost refused to look at them, as if she knew of Vincent's sensitivity.
When the lesson was over, the children asked Father for a story, and he read to them briefly from a colorful tale of Theseus and the Minotaur in the Labyrinth of Crete. When they asked for a second story, Father glanced at Vincent's strained face and shook his head. "No, that is quite enough. It is getting close to supper time, and I am sure Mary has other things for you to do." After the children filed from the chamber, Vincent gasped a great breath and let his head fall back on the high back of his chair. Father did not miss the gesture, and he and Winslow helped Vincent back to bed as Catherine stood nearby.
Father smoothed the blankets, then stood watching his son. "Thank you, Vincent. I know that was not easy for you, but the children needed the reassurance."
Vincent shifted his weight painfully. "It was a fair trade, Father. I needed out of this bed."
"Yes. I can see that. We will do it again tomorrow...if you feel up to it."
Vincent reached out and sought Father's arm. "And tomorrow you will take these bandages off my eyes."
Frowning, Father shook his head. "Vincent, I..."
"Father, I have to know. Please try to understand...I have to know."
The older man put his hand over Vincent's and sighed. "All right. Tomorrow...but don't expect too much. It's very soon, and I fear the...disappointment."
"That may be so...but at least I will know."
That night Father refused to let Catherine sleep in the loft. Fatigue had made dark circles under her eyes, and he warned her he did not need another patient. After Winslow promised to spend the night with Vincent, she finally allowed herself to be led to the guest chamber. She slept all night, but her dreams were wild and disturbing...filled with images of muted laughing faces and cruel taunts...and the smell of stale beer.
"All right, Vincent. I want you to hold very still. Mary, dim that light, will you?"
Vincent could hear the snipping near his temple, and the bandages loosened. Father was making motions Vincent could not follow, then there was coolness on his face and a feeling of release.
"Now I want you to take your time. Don't force this...and whatever you do, don't touch your face."
Catherine held his hand more snuggly in her own.
The medicated pads came away, and Vincent felt the cool sting of fresh air on skin made sensitive by freshly healed burns. Father dabbed carefully at the excess salve, then he pulled back.
Keeping his eyes closed a moment longer, Vincent blinked once. He chewed his bottom lip, then held his breath and opened his eyes. The room was dark, and a thin film of medicine floated across his vision, blurring the candlelight before him. The cool air stung even more, and tears came to wash away the film. Then wonderfully the candle shimmered, and the lines of its edges coalesced into a fine sharpness. Vincent slowly turned his head toward Catherine and blinked again. Removing his hand from her grip, he touched one finger to her cheek and touched a tear. "Catherine, I can see."
The return of Vincent's sight brought new strength and healing powers with it. By the second day he was walking about his chamber with halting steps. Father was still unwilling to give him free use of his left arm, but he finally released the tape and agreed to a sling. That made it possible for Vincent to get fully dressed again, and the moment Catherine walked into his chamber after Vincent's morning bath and saw him standing before her in his favorite shirt and vest she knew she was no longer needed in the loft.