"I'm sorry, Tom, but I can't." With a sigh of exasperation the young woman listened to the insistent voice on the other end of the phone.
"Catherine, you promised to accompany me to the party," Tom all but shouted into the receiver. "I told you not to make any appointments for April 12th. It's important."
"And I am telling you now that I can't," Catherine replied impatiently. "I'm sorry, but for once you'll just have to accept the fact that..." Staring at the suddenly quiet receiver, she shrugged and put it back on its cradle. It was not for the first time that Tom Gunther had hung up on her, but for the first time she felt relieved rather than annoyed.
"...I do have another appointment tonight," she finished quietly to herself, glancing over to the basket where her tiny "appointment" was fast asleep. Pensively, she walked over to the makeshift crib and gently adjusted the blanket over the baby's softly heaving shoulders.
"You're turning my life upside down, little one," Catherine whispered with a tender smile as she looked down at the sleeping infant, still marveling that something as unique as this could possibly exist. The hard thing was that she couldn't tell anybody about it. If she could only tell her father why he'd hardly been seeing her at the office lately. But the less people knew about her unusual foundling, the bigger the chance to keep her from being harmed. It was not that she thought her father would pose any threat to the baby, but he would definitely try to persuade her to go the legal way and surrender the poor little mite to the proper authorities. That would be bad enough for a normal child, but for this one it would mean hell. Catherine could just imagine the public reaction to someone like her. It was not even certain that they would regard her as human, although one only had to look into those amazing gray eyes to know. They would point at the cleft upper lip, the unusual nose, the tipped nails, and the soft amber down that covered the tiny body and put those differences above everything else which was normal about the child.
Catherine remembered her own initial reaction when she had unwrapped the face of the whimpering bundle after finding it in the shrubbery lining the park. She had been absolutely dumbfounded, staring down into delicate, catlike features that crumpled and wrinkled comically as they were touched by the light of the street lamp overhead. And then the tiny creature had opened its eyes, blinking at her with an astonishing degree of intelligence and vulnerability that instantly captured her heart. Looking about her furtively to make sure she hadn't been watched, Catherine had tucked the quivering infant inside her coat and hurriedly headed for her apartment. The first few days had been hard, and she had constantly had to fight her doubts and weigh her anxieties against the love she felt for the small being. Love had won out, and once she had made up her mind to keep the baby, Catherine had decided that only as few people as possible should know about the child.
Although not being able to confide in her father made her sad, Catherine did have two confidants after all. Dr. Peter Alcott, an old friend of the family, because she needed a physician to make sure that everything was all right with the baby; and then there was Emily, the elderly woman who cleaned the apartment and stayed with little Amy as often as Catherine needed her to. Both were sworn to secrecy, and she trusted them implicitly.
She didn't recall when and why she had begun to call the baby Amy. At some point it had just happened, and Amy it had been.
"Don't worry," she said softly to the small baby girl who stirred slightly, clutching her pillow with one tiny fist. "No one will hurt you, darling. You're safe with me."
*
"I feel badly about this, Jacob. I gave my word that I wouldn't tell anybody," Peter Alcott said, pacing restlessly in front of the huge desk behind which the other man was seated. Suddenly he stopped and, bracing his hands against the tabletop, searched for Jacob's eyes. "For heaven's sake, the child looks like Vincent! I didn't quite trust my eyes when Cathy handed me the small, squirming bundle. I felt like I had suddenly jumped back 35 years. You must know that I've known Catherine practically all her life. Her parents were good friends of mine. Her father still is. Cathy has a kind heart and wants the best for the baby, but I'm afraid that she's not aware of what she's gotten herself into. She made me promise that I tell nobody, and she is right to be careful, for we both know what would happen to the child should she be discovered."
Jacob winced and nodded with a heavy sigh. "Of course I know, Peter. As well as you know that her secret is safe with me."
"You won't tell Vincent, will you?" Peter asked softly, and it was more of a statement than an actual question.
Jacob shook his head. "No. It would only drive him Above in search of the baby. Which would be perfectly understandable, considering that he believes himself to be the only one of his kind. But I hate to think of the dangers he might encounter up there."
"And the dangers it could mean for your world down here," Peter added sympathetically.
Nodding, Jacob dropped his eyes to study his hands. "This is the only place where Vincent can live, Peter. We must not take any risks."
Peter extended one hand and squeezed his friend's shoulder affectionately. "I know that," he said quietly. "I just thought it might be the only safe place for the little girl as well. Eventually."
Jacob looked up doubtfully. "From what you told me, the young woman seems bent on keeping her little foundling. What makes you think she would surrender it to us?"
"She won't," Peter replied, "not anytime soon. But she may realize, one day, that it's for the best."
"So you leave me enough time to sleep it over," Jacob teased wryly.
Relieved, Peter straightened and smiled down at his old friend. "She is a perfectly healthy baby girl, about six weeks old, although very tiny. Remember Vincent as he was a few weeks after he'd been brought to you. That's about what she looks like."
Neither of them noticed the silent shadow outside the chamber entrance that retreated soundlessly into the tunnel.
***
Back in his chamber, Vincent dropped heavily into the chair in front of his desk. He had not meant to overhear the conversation between Father and Peter. He knew he should have announced his presence, but Peter's words that there was someone who looked like him had stunned him into silence before he had been able to even consider it.
His mind reeled at the implications of what he had just
learned, and secretly it annoyed him that Father didn't intend to tell
him about something this important. His heart went out to the little girl
who bore the same fate as he did; who had to be hidden from the world above
in order to be able to live some kind of life at all. For being regarded
as an abnormality, a monstrosity, was no life at all.
He marveled at the courage of the woman who had taken
in the child and cared for her, very much as Father had done with him.
And silently he blessed her kind and loving heart.
Maybe Peter was right and it would be best for the little girl if she came to live Below. He wondered briefly how he would cope with looking daily into the mirror image of himself and see his own childhood repeated before his eyes. Quickly pushing the thought aside, he rose and retrieved his cloak. Father was certainly right about one thing: He would go Above to find the child and try to watch over her as best he could.
***
Catherine cradled the crying infant against her chest, rocking her gently and humming a lullaby in order to soothe her. But the child resisted her attempts with flailing arms and kicking legs, apparently trying to fight off something very disturbing.
"There, there," Catherine breathed against her ear. "Uncle Peter will be here shortly. He'll know what to do."
Usually a rather complacent child, sleeping a lot and when awake contentedly playing with her own chubby fingers, Amy had been restless and upset for two days in a row now. And for two nights, Catherine added ruefully. She was at a loss as to what to do. Amy had been living with her for almost three months now, and Catherine had had enough time to adjust to taking care of a baby. She'd have liked to think that she'd become quite accomplished at it. Until two days ago...
First Catherine had thought that it was just a recurring case of colic. That, she would have been able to handle, though. She'd had enough practice at that. But nothing she tried met with any success. So she finally contacted Peter, although she was loathe to appear the hysterical mother who called the doctor every time the baby suffered from wind.
Amy let out an accusing wail and Catherine shifted her to an upright position, patting the small back reassuringly. When at last the doorbell rang, Catherine hurried to answer it, casting Peter a look of utmost relief.
"How's our little sunshine today?" Peter inquired cheerfully.
Sure enough, Amy had stopped crying the moment Catherine opened the door. Now she was looking up at Peter with huge eyes, obviously assessing the situation and deciding that the distraction was a pleasant one. Catherine sighed and handed the little tormentor to Peter who carried her over to her crib and unwrapped her carefully in order to examine her. Needless to say, little Amy endured the whole procedure with stoic silence, occasionally trying to grab the fascinating things Uncle Peter produced from his bag with her lively clawed fists.
"I can't find anything wrong with her," he said finally.
" I'm so sorry for calling you unnecessarily, Peter, but she had me quite worried when she wouldn't stop crying, no matter what I tried."
"They do have times like that," the doctor explained.
"It means that they are growing either physically or mentally. Babies don't
grow continuously. Sometimes they awake and the whole world seems strange
to them, because something happened within them practically overnight.
No wonder they react in such a disoriented manner. But it was right of
you to call me, Catherine. Never hesitate to do that."
"Thank you, Peter, that was very reassuring, but what
do I do when she reacts like that?"
"Do whatever you know she finds soothing, and if nothing works then it may even be best to let her cry herself out."
"But what if she's really sick and I don't realize it? Imagine if I let her cry and cry while there is something wrong with her and..."
"If something's wrong with her," Peter interrupted her by gently squeezing her hand, "you will know. Believe me. Now give her a warm bath and maybe something to drink, and you'll see how tired she'll become. Babies can't cry forever. They do sleep eventually, even though sometimes one would doubt it."
Catherine nodded gratefully and cast a disbelieving look at the child who had finally fallen soundly asleep.
"I don't believe it. Now I know whom I must call to send her to sleep," she said with a teasing smile.
Peter laughed. "But now you go and get some sleep yourself, young lady," he demanded while he was packing away his things. "Doctor's orders. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir, and thanks again," Catherine replied when she let him out of the apartment.