Two of A Kind

Part 19

By Rosemarie Hauer

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"'I brought you the moon, Little Bear,' said Big Bear. 'The bright yellow moon and all the twinkly stars.' Little Bear didn't say anything, for he had gone to sleep, warm and safe in Big Bear's arms."

One glance at the little girl nestled in the crook of her arm told Catherine that there was no such luck where Amy was concerned. The child had been clinging to her throughout the entire weekend, desperate not to let her out of sight. She had even thrown quite a tantrum, something she didn't normally do, when Catherine had prepared to return to her apartment on Saturday afternoon in order to shower and change her clothes. So they had spent the night sleeping side by side in Vincent's huge bed, because Amy had refused vehemently to be put into her crib in the nursery. Fortunately Catherine had been tired enough to get a good night's sleep, despite the child's restive kicking and fidgeting at her side.

Now, on Sunday evening, Catherine had volunteered to put the little ones down for the night. Martha's eyelids were beginning to droop already, and Timmy's head sagged repeatedly as the story progressed. Only Amy was wide awake, never taking her eyes from Catherine's face.

"Big Bear carried Little Bear back into the Bear Cave," Catherine read on, "fast asleep, and he settled down with Little Bear on one arm and the Bear Book on the other, cozy in the Bear Chair by the fire." Pausing in order to show the appropriate picture to the children, Catherine saw that Martha had secretly nodded off, while Timmy was inching closer, placing his head on her knee. Shutting the book and setting it aside, Catherine lifted Amy from her lap, putting her to her feet. When Amy started to protest, she silenced her by a stern shake of her head. "Don't you see that I have to help these two into their beds?" she whispered.

Amy waited patiently until that task was accomplished, but when it was her turn, her features crumpled and she began to cry. But Catherine was adamant. She had to go Above and straighten out a couple of things, before returning to work on Monday morning.

"I promise to be back tomorrow evening," she said, extending her arms to hug the child to her. But Amy pulled back, tears spilling from her eyes.

"No, you won't," she cried. "You won't come back. Like Vincent."

A jolt of panic rushed through Catherine. Amy hadn't mentioned Vincent's name during the whole weekend, and Catherine was glad to let it go at that, knowing there wasn't much she could tell her anyway. And now she realized that the child had only been steeling herself against the devastating possibility that Vincent might not return. How well she could understand Amy's feelings! She had harbored the secret hope that Vincent would be back before she had to return Above, but obviously that was not to be. She had struggled all the time to fight back her anxieties concerning Vincent's safety. She knew that he would sense them, helpless to do anything to alleviate her fears. But now the child's words had torn open all of it, and she felt herself teetering on the verge of tears.

"He will come back, darling," she said firmly. "He will." But Amy just shook her head vigorously, withdrawing to a corner of the room and refusing to be touched.

A soft voice came from the entrance. "I will take care of that," Mary said quietly. "You go on, Catherine. She will calm down eventually."

"Thank you, Mary," Catherine said without taking her eyes from Amy whose jaw was set stubbornly while her eyes were shimmering with uncertainty. At that moment she looked so much like Vincent that Catherine's heart constricted with longing to hold them, both of them, in her arms again.

"Be well, Amy," she whispered helplessly and then turned to leave, hoping that Mary was right and Amy would be able to sleep peacefully after all. Amy's sobs followed her down the corridor, and finally she didn't make any effort to hold back her own tears any longer. "Be well, Vincent," she prayed silently as her footsteps echoed along the winding passages of the tunnels.

*

The hours at the office dragged on endlessly. For what must be the thousandth time Catherine found herself staring out the window, unable to concentrate on the work before her. She could feel Joe's concerned glances in her direction, but he didn't ask questions, for which she was deeply grateful. Despite the incessant intrusion of images and thoughts that revolved around Vincent, Catherine did manage to get some work done after all, and when she finally left the office, she felt a vast sense of relief.

The possibility that in the meantime he might have returned and was waiting for her at the entrance in her basement, sent her heart racing. She wondered how it would be to face him again, to look into his eyes and glimpse all that they had shared in their sensitive depth.

After showering and throwing together a quick meal, she dressed hastily and left the apartment, eager to get Below. When she descended the ladder, the realization that Vincent wasn't there, that he wouldn't come, clamped like a fist around her heart, and she gasped under the force of her disappointment. Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, she squared her shoulders and ducked into the opening which led to the tunnels beyond.

While Catherine was walking along the dimly lit passageways, pictures of Vincent filled her mind, of the vulnerable expression on his face as he had looked down on her after their lovemaking; of him standing in the daylight, gloriously naked, his chest heaving and his eyes so fragile that she had hardly been able to contain her need to pull him close again, holding him, loving him, protecting him to her last breath.

Catherine's steps faltered under the onslaught of emotions those memories evoked in her, and she briefly had to lean against the rough, cold wall, fighting to calm her wildly beating heart.

Suddenly an unbearable apprehension overtook her. What if he regretted the step they had taken? What if all the time he'd had for reflecting and brooding had led him to the conviction that it was wrong for him to love her that way? What if he thought he must never touch her again?

"Oh, Vincent," she sighed desperately, flinching at the sound of her own voice as it reverberated through the corridor, and she thought involuntarily that she could never have embraced this world of empty silence and unbroken grayness, if not for Vincent's presence in it. The thought shamed her and she became painfully aware of how much it would hurt him. This was his world, the only place he could live in, a safe place for many, a place that taught people the true value of light and warmth. Maybe that was why they had so much of it in their hearts, she mused.

The sputtering flame of a torch ensconced in the stony wall above her head brought her back to the here and now, reminding her of how tired she was. She longed for the soft glow of the amber light in Vincent's chamber. To her, his chamber was the heart of his world as he was the heart of his community, a heart that suffused the vast system of tunnels and caverns and their inhabitants with strength and life, no matter how hard the darkness pressed in on their souls or how heavy the rock that separated them from the world Above, weighed on their minds.

Pushing herself from the wall, Catherine resumed her way home.

*

Rebecca was sitting on a rug in the middle of the nursery, helping the children build a tower with colorful, wooden blocks when Catherine arrived. She didn't have to ask, since the expression on Rebecca's face was eloquent enough to tell her that Vincent had not yet returned. Joining the others on the floor, she grabbed a yellow cube and put it on top of the unfinished tower. Her thoughts were with Vincent and the question whether Amy's remark that he wouldn't return might have been some kind of premonition, when a young voice protested vehemently against her intrusion on their game.

"Not here," Timmy repeated when she looked at him, startled. "This one belongs on top, but not yet," he explained, brandishing the block in question before her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she managed, realizing that the rules of the game were entirely beyond her grasp. Suddenly a small, furry hand stole into hers, and she squeezed it gently.

"Will you read to us?" Amy requested, leaning her head against Catherine's shoulder.

"Of course," she replied, moved beyond words by the child's tender action, and with a glance at Rebecca she asked, "Is it time yet?"

"That depends on the length of the story," the young woman responded, smiling.

"The Velveteen Rabbit," Martha suggested enthusiastically, ignoring Timmy's immediate protest.

"Yes, please, the Velveteen Wabbit," Amy piped in, jumping to her feet in order to get the book, while Catherine tried to console the sulking little boy.

"May I join you?" Father's voice came from the entrance, and she nodded, indicating for him to take a seat. As the story unfolded, several of the older children dropped in to listen as well, and every time Catherine looked up from the book she was touched by the solemn attention and expectancy she found on the faces of her young audience. One time her eyes strayed to Father, and his faraway look told her that his thoughts where somewhere else, or rather with someone else she suspected. She found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the story herself when every word reminded her so much of Vincent, of the way his voice had sounded when he had read this same story to the children, of what he had told her about the disillusionment it had once caused him when he was a child. But she managed to finish the story and helped to put three unresisting, sleepy little children to bed. When she bent over Amy to tuck her in, the girl's arms snaked around her neck, pulling her close while she nuzzled her furry little nose against Catherine's cheek.

"I love you, too, Sweetheart," Catherine whispered and kissed the frown on the child's forehead.

"Will you come tomorrow?" Amy asked.

"I will," she promised, pressing a final kiss on the child's cheek, before she straightened and turned towards Rebecca. "I could sit with the little ones for a while," she offered, but the young woman declined.

"You'll have to work tomorrow. You'd better get some sleep," she said.

"Rebecca is right," Father interceded. "But I would like to talk to you if you have a minute."

Catherine thought that he must have noted the apprehension that flickered across her soul at his words, for he hastened to reassure her. "It's only about something Kipper told me this afternoon," he explained. "The boy actually managed to find out the name of the woman who was said to have had a..." He hesitated briefly before actually saying the word Kipper had used, "...cat-child." Gallantly offering Catherine his arm, he suggested, "We better go to my chamber and talk about it over a nice cup of tea."

*

"The woman's name is Olivia Foster," Father began as they sat in his chamber. "At least that is what Ted's grandmother told the boys in the end. Anyway, when Sammy heard the name, he remembered that there had been a boy in his class, a certain Jeremy Foster, who had left school around the time when you found Amy near the park. Jeremy had told his friends and his teachers that he and his family would move to Chicago. So, assuming the story is at all true, we may be talking about Amy's family here."

"They probably left New York to make a new life someplace else," Catherine mused, "and they left the baby behind. I must say that everything seems to fit quite nicely."

"I have to admit that I wish the story were true," Father confessed quietly. "That would mean that Amy is safe, that no one will come to look for her."

Catherine nodded her agreement. "I just wish I could talk to that woman," she said, stirring her tea for what must be the tenth time.

"Please, don't even think about it," Father implored her. "We should leave everything as it is."

"But what about Vincent?" Catherine demanded. "Do you really think that he raped that woman? And if you don't think so, as you once said, would you want him to believe it for the rest of his life?"

"No, of course not," Father replied, " but maybe there is some other way to convince him..."

A swift footfall from outside the chamber interrupted what he had wanted to say, and Pascal burst into the chamber. "Zach just received a message from Vincent," the pipe master panted. "He has reached the pipe levels and should be here in a few hours."

Catherine released a gasp of relief and before she could even think of what she was doing she found herself impulsively hugging a suddenly very self-conscious Pascal.

"I'd better return to the pipe chamber," he stuttered, "before I miss anything." On leaving the chamber, he collided with William who, too, was on his way to break the good news to them. During the next twenty minutes, half a dozen people assembled in the study to wait with Catherine and Father for Vincent's return. As much as Catherine would have preferred to be alone with him when they first met again after all that had happened, she realized that this was a rather selfish wish. It touched her to see how deeply Vincent's family cared about him and how much all of them had missed him.

They passed the time discussing the cave-in in the maze and whether they should reopen that passage or not.

"We should have sealed those tunnels long ago," William said firmly, glaring at Winslow who shook his head in disagreement.

"Know a way to clear those tunnels quickly," Mouse offered eagerly.

"No doubt about that," Winslow replied wryly. "The question is if anybody would survive it."

There was not the slightest sound that could have betrayed Vincent's arrival, and yet Catherine turned toward the entrance exactly at the moment he appeared on top of the stairs, his heaving shoulders betraying that he must have run at least the last part of the way. His tangled hair was a soft halo around his head as he froze and looked down at her, his eyes gleaming preternaturally in the amber light of the torches and candles as they bored into hers. She thought fleetingly that there couldn't possibly be a more beautiful sight than Vincent standing there motionless, the expression on his face one of silent longing and eloquent intensity.

Catherine felt her eyes brimming with tears as she pressed one hand over her mouth in order to stifle a sob of relief. She couldn't help but wish fervently that Vincent's return might go unnoticed for just another second, lest she have to share him with the others in that first fragile moment of their reunion.