Part Two

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

Diana drove up to the front of Joe’s apartment building. She looked back. Catherine was still sleeping soundly. She jumped out and ran inside the building, fidgeting in the elevator until it came to a standstill. When she got to his door she didn’t even bother with the door bell. She pounded on his door instead. Joe came running.

"What? Diana, you’re back!"

"I’m back! We’re back! I’ve got her Joe. She’s downstairs in the truck."

"Alone?"

"Yes. She’s asleep. I didn’t want to wake her."

Joe wrapped his arms around Diana, giving her a tight squeeze. "Give me thirty seconds."

Joe threw on a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt and raced back downstairs with Diana. They opened the rear doors. He turned and looked at Diana, tears running down his face.

"It’s really her."

"Yes. It is." She grinned.

"What happened? Did Vincent find her?"

"Yes. He did." Her grin was even wider.

"Tell me everything." Joe led Diana to his stoop. They sat and talked until they heard movement from within the truck. Joe went around to the back. Catherine was sitting up, looking around her.

Joe stood there blinking in the sunlight which was filling the morning sky. "Cathy."

She smiled at him.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself, here, let me help you."

"We’re in New York?" Catherine asked as Joe assisted her in sliding to the edge of the truck bed.

"We sure are, Kiddo. Take a look around you. This is home."

She laughed. "It does feel like home. And thank you... for saving my life. I don’t know how you managed to be there just at the right time."

"Who me? No, Radcliffe, you have me confused with somebody else."

Diana stepped forward. "Joe is your boss, Cathy, the District Attorney."

"Well, I guess it’s nice to meet you then." She turned to Diana "And your name was...?"

"Diana.

"Diana. I know you were there last night."

"Yes, I was."

"The other man, the one who pulled me out..." Catherine looked around her.

"Oh, he’s an under cover. He doesn’t like his name given out."

"But surely...I just want to thank him."

"Perhaps he’ll contact you himself."

"And my baby..."

Joe made a face. "We’re looking for him Cathy. I’m sure..." Diana grimaced at Joe. She had forgotten to tell him about Jacob.

"Looking for him? I thought..." Catherine faltered.

"We know who he is with." Diana quickly told her.

Joe turned to Diana, "We do?"

"Yes, we do." Diana told him.

"Was he kidnapped too?" Catherine’s voice rose in panic.

"Originally yes. But the man responsible for that is dead now. Your son was found and kept by a very decent family of people. He’s been well taken care of and they have every intention of returning Jacob to you as soon as they are able."

"Jacob...Jacob." she said the name to herself. "But I don’t understand."

"Neither do I." Joe said. He always knew Diana had known a lot more than she had ever told.

"Look, it is a very long and involved story. And we’re standing in the middle of the street." Diana looked around. "I haven’t called any of this in yet. Don’t you think we owe John a call."

"Yeah, of course. Come on upstairs ladies. I’ll make some coffee." Joe stopped, looked at her. He opened his arms to Catherine. "Could I?"

She laughed, a deep throaty laugh. "Sure."

Diana had dodged a bullet on that one. She made sure she was on the phone as soon as they entered Joe’s apartment. What was she going to tell Catherine about Jacob, when Vincent had told her not to tell Catherine about him?

In the mean time Joe began to relate to Catherine everything that he knew about Gabriel and his abduction of her. Catherine could only shake her head. It was an unbelievable story. She was almost glad she couldn’t remember any of it.

Diana’s call to her lieutenant resulted very quickly in a large number of various agency people descending on Joe’s apartment. Diana took the opportunity to duck out unseen. She would have to report to Headquarters to file a preliminary report anyway. Then she would visit the tunnels, ask Vincent how he intended to tell her who he was.

***

Vincent was in a daze as he passed through the junction door. He heard the sentries tapping out his arrival. He picked up a stone, tapped out a message himself.

‘Have found Catherine alive...she is home.’

He continued on to Father’s chamber where he knew everyone would congregate. Father was waiting with open arms, Pascal and William soon joined them.

"She’s alive, Father. I just left her above, in the park." Vincent turned from Father and lifted Pascal up off his feet, hugging him too; then he turned to William.

"I hope you don’t think you’re going to pick me up?" William protested.

Vincent laughed and embraced him as well. The other tunnel dwellers started pouring in. Vincent waited until they were all assembled.

"Thank you, all of you. It is good to be home, especially with such a greeting. Catherine is home and safe. She is not altogether well. She does not remember me, she does not remember her own name."

"She has amnesia?"

"So it would seem. I really cannot tell you much else right now. I am weary; we’ve traveled a long way. I’d like to see my son."

Vincent struck out for his own chamber, Father at his side.

"Do you have any idea what could have caused her condition?" Father wanted to know.

"No."

"You did say there had been heavy doses of narcotics administered to her?"

"Yes. Is it possible that could have caused her memory loss?"

"Depending upon what was given to her and how much, certainly."

Vincent briefly related the circumstances of Catherine’s rescue. "What I really need more than anything is to be alone, Father, I need time... to think...I’m not sure...How is Catherine to be told?"

"Yes, yes I understand. It is a difficult situation. Well, the important thing is that she is alive. Everything else will eventually fall into place."

"Thank you." Father hugged him, left him at the entrance to his chamber.

Mary was there, holding Jacob. Vincent took him from her, sat down, Mary placed her hand on Vincent’s shoulder; there was really nothing to say.

Vincent looked up at her and then down at his son. He held him close, "Catherine, your mother...she has returned to us. By tonight... she will be holding you in her arms. You cannot know yet, Jacob, what this will mean to you."

***

Diana spent the morning filling out reports and ignoring Joe’s phone calls. Catherine was anxious to see Diana again, ask her all her unanswered questions. But Catherine had little time to think really, she was extensively questioned herself – then brought to the hospital for a full examination. The day was passing quickly by them all.

***

Diana was tearing up the room, marching from one side to the other.

"This is insanity, Vincent, pure insanity. You can’t give up your son."

Diana had finished at Headquarters and then had immediately headed down to the tunnels. She was anxious to know what Vincent intended to do. His decision made her feel ill.

"Diana, have you ever loved someone enough, enough to sacrifice your own needs to theirs?" he asked her quietly.

She stopped in her tracks; stood looking into those blue eyes. He didn’t say it out loud, he knew he didn’t have to. She had pulled out all the stops to bring Catherine back home. She would have traveled to the very depths of Hell itself if need be in order to give Vincent back his Catherine; even though she loved him too – because she loved him too. Because that’s what love is – real love. Diana knew that. It was the kind of love that Vincent had for Catherine. She came and sat down beside him. He took her hands in his.

"Catherine, for what ever reasons, is unable to remember me. You cannot know, Diana, that before there had been obstacles; so many difficulties, that stood in the way of our love. She had always been torn, torn between our world and her own. There were always so many sacrifices she had been forced to make. And now, now Catherine has the opportunity to start fresh, unburdened..."

"Unburdened? Is that what you are, a burden?"

"No, no. It’s..." Vincent leaned back in his chair, sighed. "Diana, I believe I could continue to explain my reasons for the rest of the afternoon, but you would still not understand. So I won’t ask you to. I only ask that you take our son to her – please, Diana."

Diana stood up. "I won’t. I won’t be a party to this. He is everything to you."

"So is Catherine. She needs to have her son with her, they need each other."

"You’re his father. He’ll miss you."

"Perhaps, but I don’t imagine for long – not with his mother caring for him."

"But what about you?"

"It will be painful, yes. Yet I will rejoice in the knowledge that they are reunited. I cannot think of myself now. Catherine has suffered enough."

"And you haven’t?"

Vincent heaved a deep sigh. "Perhaps, at some future time, we may meet again, form a friendship. Who can tell? I want to give her this chance, Diana."

Diana glared at him. "Friendship? I don’t believe what I’m hearing. You can’t do this! You can’t." She swung around and strode out of his chamber. Vincent looked after her, then leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the rough stone ceiling above him, wishing he felt as certain as he had tried to sound.

Diana was almost to the junction when she heard the sound of footsteps, someone running, behind her. She turned and saw Jamie.

Jamie came to a panting halt. "Did he tell you?" She demanded. "Did he tell you what he intends to do?"

"Yes. Does everyone here know of it?"

Jamie nodded. "He told Father. Then Father called a meeting and told all of us. You can’t let him do this. He respects you. He’ll listen to you."

"I’m afraid not. I just tried to talk him out of this, but he is determined."

Jamie was struggling against the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Please, Diana, please. You have to do something. Father won’t. He says it is Vincent’s decision."

Diana stood staring off into space. Then she smiled.

"Jamie, you’ve taken care of Jacob, haven’t you; him, and others as well?"

"Of course. We all do; we all care for the younger ones here."

"I thought so. Catherine doesn’t have any family. She is all alone. She’ll need some help, she’s a new mother after all. She’ll need to hire someone."

Jamie smiled through her tears. "Oh, Diana, that’s a fantastic idea."

"Let’s hope so. I can recommend you. But you’ll have to get some other references. Are there any helpers we can ask, ones who we can trust not to tell Vincent or Father?"

Jamie thought a minute. "Yes! Lynn and Henry Pai. They’ll feel the same way about this as we do, I know they will. And they have a little girl already and another baby on the way."

"Good. Get in touch with them, and any others who you believe will write a letter of reference for you. We’ll have to think up something to tell Father. He won’t object to your getting a job above, will he?"

"No. Father always says we must each find our own path. He’ll worry, he’ll fuss even, but then he’ll let me go."

"All right then, give me a little time to work this all out. You’ll have to contact me. Vincent can’t know we are in communication with each other."

Jamie put out her hand to Diana. "Thank you Diana. I feel so much better already; just to be doing something."

"Believe me, Jamie, so do I."

***

Diana caught up with Joe at St. Vincent’s Hospital, Catherine was undergoing a thorough examination.

"You’ve known all along, where Jacob is, haven’t you?" He asked. Diana just nodded. "What’s going on Diana, we can’t keep stalling her."

"No. We can’t." Diana sighed. "Joe, Vincent wanted me to bring Jacob to Catherine."

"Well, where is he?"

"I refused to do it."

Joe gaped at her. "For what possible reason?"

Diana stood up, started pacing. "You don’t understand. He wants me to give her the baby so he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t want Catherine to know about him."

"You’re right. I don’t understand."

"He thinks Catherine will be better off without him in her life. He wants her to be happy, truly happy. And he has this idea in his head that what would make her happy is some well respected CEO or stock broker for a husband and a big house on the North Shore like Frick’s, with a three car garage and a sophisticated alarm system."

"And that is something he can’t give her. I guess I can see his point."

"Do you? I don’t. She wouldn’t either, if she knew. She can never be happy without him. I don’t see how he can’t see that. He knows her. How can he be deluding himself like this?"

"Don’t you think it’s about time you told me the truth about Vincent?"

Diana sighed, sat down again. "He’s different, Joe. He looks different...and...he is different. He is larger and much stronger than the average man. His face...his hands...they’re..." Diana shrugged, sat back.

"He can kill a man, easily, with his hands."

"Yes. I know, you’ve seen the damage he can do with just his hands. But there is so much more to him than that, Joe. He is kind, and noble, and compassionate and just. He is intelligent and brave and fiercely loyal. He loves books, and music, and poetry and art. But most of all, more than anything, he loves her. He would lay his life at her feet without a second’s doubt or hesitation." Tears were starting up in Diana’s eyes. "And he intends to give up his son for her, the only child he will ever have, so she can have a ‘normal life’."

Joe put his arm around Diana. He wondered how she would describe him to others; certainly not like this. Whatever Vincent’s troubles were, Joe couldn’t help being envious.

***

Catherine finally reappeared in the hospital waiting room. Joe stood up.

"I was beginning to think you disappeared again, Radcliffe."

"Radcliffe. Why do you keep calling me that?"

Joe laughed. "Just a nickname. I keep forgetting you don’t remember." He searched her face. "So what did they tell you about that?"

"They said it was most likely the drugs. As far as they can see from the tests they performed the doctors say I have sustained some minor damage to certain areas of my brain."

"Is it reversible?"

"They really don’t know. They told me the brain is still mostly uncharted territory; a mystery. But the damage didn’t seem too extensive. They are optimistic. They said now that I was back in familiar surroundings, I might begin to remember more. Odors, sounds, landmarks, might trigger memories – of course, they might not."

"That’s helpful." Joe took her by the arm and started leading her toward the exit. She couldn’t help laughing at his exasperated face.

"I know. Did you manage to get a hold of Diana?"

"I did. She was here. She wants me to bring you over to her place."

"And Jacob?"

Joe stopped. They were standing in the parking lot. "You’ll have him back very soon. That was all she would tell me." He started steering her again toward the car. "Cathy. I wish I could tell you more. But the problem is this..." He held the car door open for her. "There’s a lot I don’t know."

Joe came around and got in beside her and instructed the driver to take them to Diana’s loft. He sat back and turned to Catherine.

"Catherine, you always kept your private life private. I knew very little about what you did when you left the office. When Diana first started working the case she told me you had a kind of secret life that you led. Then suddenly she stopped telling me much of anything, she became very guarded in what she revealed to me. And I couldn’t even resent it. Because I got the distinct feeling that she was protecting you somehow, even though, well, we both believed you were dead. It just got to the point where I felt that I had to trust her. Cathy, we all have things about ourselves that we keep to ourselves. And we should be able to. Unfortunately, the lives of murder victims often come under minute scrutiny. That becomes necessary during the course of the investigation. But out of respect, Diana kept your secrets. And out of respect for both you and her, I let her.

So this is the thing. There are a lot of blanks in your life that I won’t be able to help you fill in. I hope you don’t resent that."

"No, Joe. I’m sure you were right in whatever you did. And I’m sure Diana will tell me what she knows." Joe wasn’t. But he left that to Diana.

***

Diana had gone below again after leaving the hospital. Vincent wasn’t there. She talked to Father instead. He told her that Vincent had already left the tunnels with Jacob. She argued with him about his decision to support Vincent. But it was as fruitless with him as it had been with Vincent. Father too, felt Vincent’s decision was hasty and not well thought out. But it was Vincent’s decision. And to a certain extent he understood and concurred. Catherine was coming back in what was probably a very fragile condition. Vincent’s unusual biology could very well be shocking to her, especially given the evidence (Jacob) of how far their relationship had progressed. Diana left even more frustrated than when she had entered the tunnels.

She arrived back at her building just as Catherine and Joe were pulling up also. She inserted the key in her lock and let them all in. They took the ride up to her apartment in silence. They all seemed to be waiting for something. And they weren’t disappointed. On the floor of Diana’s apartment, by the white and red rose bush, was a large wicker basket.

Catherine ran to it as soon as they entered. She just knew. He was wrapped in blankets. He smiled when she took him into her arms. A letter had been tucked in beside him. It fluttered down into the basket when Catherine picked him up. Joe retrieved the letter.

"He’s so beautiful. Look at him." She smiled, never taking her eyes from Jacob’s face.

Diana led her over to the sofa. "Sit down, Cathy." Catherine let herself be led. She looked up at Joe and Diana and then back down at him.

"I can’t believe this is real, but he’s really mine. I know it."

"Shall I read the letter?" Joe asked. Catherine looked at him for a second, uncomprehending.

Diana excused herself, said she had to attend to the plants in her roof top garden. Catherine was too absorbed in Jacob to question the oddity of her timing. But Joe turned and stared at her. She shrugged at him and hurried outside.

He was standing there, just as she knew he would be. His face held the same expression it had the night before, when he was holding her in his arms – enraptured, transported, elated.

She moved toward him, touched his arm. He was breathing in gasps.

"I can feel her again. It’s back... our bond. When she took our son into her arms, I could it feel it. I can feel her joy." Tears were streaming down his face.

Diana stood back and watched him for a moment. Then she approached him again.

"Come in with me, Vincent. Tell her, tell her who you are."

"No, no Diana. There is no need. Her presence is in my heart again. It is enough."

"No, no it isn’t, not for you, not for her. She needs you, Vincent."

He shook his head. "Catherine has her own strength. And her son, her son will give her fortitude beyond any she has ever possessed before." Vincent leaned back against the building, savoring the feelings that were coursing through him.

"So you’re actually going to go through with this?"

"Yes," he said softy, regretfully, "I must. And Diana, you must promise me. Promise me you will not reveal anything about me to her. She must not know."

Diana wanted to cry. Instead she just told him, "I promise."

Diana went back inside. Catherine seemed to be oblivious to anything but her son. She was examining fingers and toes. She looked at his attire curiously. "He’s wearing cloth diapers, and his clothes, they look hand sewn."

Joe still had not read the letter. He knew Catherine was barely even aware that he was still in the room. He opened the envelope. The hand writing was neat, ornamental and old fashioned.

"Shall I?"

"Oh, yes, please do," she looked up just long enough to tell him. Diana and Joe shared a quick exchange of eye contact. Then Joe read:

"Dear Catherine,

It is with incredible joy that we have received word that you are alive and mostly well. As you know, unfortunate circumstances led us to believe that you were no longer with us. In view of those circumstances we took it upon ourselves to care for your son. Be assured that it was a labor of love. He has been given the name of Jacob. We hope it meets with your approval.

Unfortunately, for reasons that I cannot go into, I am prevented from bringing you Jacob myself, or otherwise making myself known to you. We, our community, have reasons known only to ourselves that prevent us from making extensive contact with the world at large. For ourselves, we say goodbye to Jacob most unwillingly; but for your sake, we give him up with unreserved gladness. We know you will raise him to be a man that we will all be proud of. Please know that both of you are in our thoughts and hearts always.

Dearest Catherine, we wish you a full and speedy recovery.

With sincerest regards,

Jacob Wells

 

Catherine looked up at Diana and Joe. "What a strange, but very kind, letter. Jacob Wells. Do you know who that is?"

Joe hesitated. "Just barely. He came to me when we were searching for the man who ostensibly killed you. He gave us information which led to Gabriel."

"But the baby was gone when you got to the house?"

"Yes."

"Then Jacob Wells got there first. He must have taken my son before the police arrived."

"I’m not sure he could have. Jacob Wells is an elderly man who needs a cane to walk."

"Oh, this is all so odd. Well, in the letter, he kept saying we, there must be others who helped him." She looked down on Jacob. "He certainly looks healthy and happy. And my Jacob must be named for Jacob Wells. I wonder why all the secrecy? Diana, do you know?"

Diana sighed. "I wish I did. Cathy, I’m afraid I won’t be able to enlighten you much further."

Catherine studied Diana. Was she telling the truth? She could understand it if Diana had been uncomfortable telling Joe all of her secrets, but why would she keep them from Catherine herself? It didn’t make any sense. But then she looked down at Jacob. Right now he was her main concern – her only concern really. Somehow, she couldn’t worry about anything else.

Joe stood up. "You know Jacob will have to be examined at the hospital. I suppose that can wait for the morning though."

Diana opened her eyes wide. She hadn’t thought of that, obviously, neither had Vincent.

"Oh, Cathy doesn’t want to spend the whole day in the hospital again tomorrow. What about that doctor, Peter Alcott? He delivered you, Cathy, he was your general practitioner your whole life. I interviewed him when...well, you know when. We should bring Jacob to him."

"I don’t want to go back to the hospital, you’re right about that. And if he was my family doctor maybe he could tell me things about myself, about my family too, that no one else could."

"Yeah," Joe had to agree. "I remember him. He was a witness in a big case of ours."

Diana stood up, visibly relieved. "I’ll call him right now."

"Is that necessary?" Joe wanted to know.

Diana felt it was. She didn’t want anyone getting any other ideas about hospitals into their heads. Diana got his answering service when she dialed Peter’s office. She told the operator that she had to contact him tonight. "Tell him it’s about Catherine Chandler," she instructed the operator.

He called back one minute later.

"Diana Bennett?"

"Yes, Do you remember me, Dr. Alcott? I’m sorry to bother you at this hour. You do know about Catherine Chandler’s return?"

"Jacob sent me a message, I went below immediately."

"I have her here, and she has her son with her, a five month old infant, we were wondering if you could examine him. The police are going to need a medical report on him. "

"Fast thinking, Diana. I’ll see Cathy in the morning. Bring her and Jacob by around eight. I’m mostly retired now but I still see some of my old patients. God, it’ll be good to see her. Jacob told me about Vincent’s decision."

"Did he? And what do you think about it?"

"That it’s a huge mistake. But no one asked me for my opinion, Diana."

Diana hung up. "We have an appointment in the morning, first thing. He’s thrilled about seeing you so soon, Cathy."

"Well, I’ll let you ladies turn in." Joe said, rising from his seat. "You’ve had a long day. I’m sorry about your homeless situation, Cathy. Mark Coleridge didn’t waste any time disposing of your assets."

"You can stay here as long as you like, Cathy. It will be nice to have the company, both yours and Jacob’s"

"Thank you, Diana. And your sofa does look comfortable."

"You’re taking the bed, Cathy."

"No. You’ve been on the road looking for me for days. You need a good night’s rest. And anyway, I never sleep well no matter where I am. I’ve been suffering from insomnia, well, for I don’t know how long."

"You slept pretty soundly in the truck, but I guess that was exhaustion."

"I suppose it was. It was the best sleep I’ve had since I can remember." she smiled to herself, she couldn’t have said why. "Now, where’s the linen closet?"

Diana and Catherine made up the sofa for Catherine. They placed Jacob’s basket along side the couch and she lay down, smiling down on him, her hand placed upon his chest.

Diana went in to her own bed. She tossed and turned for a while before falling asleep. But Catherine drifted off almost immediately, a smile still on her lips.

Vincent waited. He waited until all was silent within. He quietly glided into Diana’s apartment and stood over Catherine and his son. She still had her hand on Jacob’s heart. The sight brought tears to his eyes. He stood for a long time. At last he quietly exited through the full length windows that led to the roof . Then he halted, looking back on them.

"Know this Catherine, know that you and Jacob are my life, my whole life. And no distance in miles, no years in time, can ever divide us again. We will be together always, in our bond, in our son, and in the love that we once shared. That bond, which was born of our love, our dream, is no longer lost to me. I’ve found it again. You brought it back to me, my gift for loving you through death just as I had in life. And I vow, I give you this my solemn oath, I will never let this bond be torn from me again. I will watch over you and Jacob, I will protect you, and shield you from all harm, and be a part of you both. For where ever you are, and where ever I am, we will always be as one Catherine, whatever happens...whatever comes."

He walked back; he gently kissed her hair, just brushing his lips lightly against. He touched his sleeping son, then rose and walked slowly toward the roof top terrace. But as he reached the windows, he turned...he thought he heard...he looked back at her. No, he’d imagined it. He thought he had heard her whisper his name.

And what he wouldn’t give for that, what he wouldn’t give to hear his name spoken by her voice, and to have her look into his eyes, even if it were just for one last time. He leaned against the window jamb. What he wouldn’t give to go to her now, and tell her everything, and ask for her love again. He turned and left her.

***

The name Peter Alcott hadn’t meant anything to Catherine. But when she arrived at his office it seemed familiar.

He greeted her with open arms. "Cathy, Oh, Cathy, it is so good to see you."

"It’s good to be here." She looked around. "Didn’t you used to have a jar of lollipops right here on your desk?"

Peter laughed. "I certainly did. Very good, Catherine, you’re remembering already. I picked up a copy of your chart when I did rounds this morning. But I guess I’m supposed to be looking over little Jacob today."

Peter grinned at Jacob, who didn’t protest when he brought him over to his examining table.

"He looks fit as a fiddle, Cathy." He pronounced when he had finished examining him.

Diana took Jacob from Peter’s arms. "Why don’t I go out in the waiting room and let you two get reacquainted for a bit?"

"I think that’s a good idea." Peter put his arm around Catherine and led her to a chair by the window. He sat down opposite her. "Tell me, how you are? How are you feeling?"

"It’s hard to put it all into words. Joe and Diana have told me all the terrible things that happened to me. And those things, well, I think I might be better off not recalling them. But other things, I wish, I wish I could remember my mother and father better; also, my job with the DA’s office, my friends, who Jacob’s father was. I suppose it was Elliot Burch, but I really can’t know that for sure, can I?"

Peter sat back. "No, you can’t. But I wish you would try not to worry. I suspect things will come back to you slowly. Probably childhood memories at first, like the lollipops, and then other things as well. Just let it come to you. And I’m here. I mean that sincerely. My door is open to you any time of the day or night, for any reason. And Cathy, this is important. If Jacob ever needs medical attention, I want you to let me know immediately."

"Why, I thought you said he was fine, do you suspect something might be wrong with him?"

"No, no, he is fine." Peter had no choice but to lie. "When you were a child you sometimes had unusual reactions to medications. He might have inherited that from you. I’m familiar with your family history. I just want to be careful, is all."

"Oh, Okay," Catherine answered. Peter walked her out to the reception area and asked her about her intentions for the future. Catherine took Jacob from Diana’s arms. She was glad he wasn’t a fussy baby. He didn’t seem to object to any of them holding him.

"She’ll be staying with me for the time being. Her condo has been sold," Diane interjected.

"Catherine, I just had a thought, I know of a townhouse in this neighborhood that is going up for sale. It belonged to a patient of mine who passed away recently."

"I’m sorry."

"She was eighty six years old. She lived a nice long life. I had been visiting her once or twice a week for years. Both of her sons live out of state. I believe she died in her sleep. Her letter carrier notified me that she hadn’t taken in her mail for two days.

Anyway, the place would be perfect for you, Cathy. Most of the townhouses in this area have been divided into separate apartments. But Annie Schwartz lived there for over sixty years. She insisted on keeping the whole place to herself. Would you like to look at it? I still have the keys, I have been keeping an eye on it for Annie’s sons until they can sell it. We can go over right now."

The building was in the upper seventies, several blocks west of the park. The townhouses were sandwiched together along a quiet block. Each had a different facade, some simple, some embellished with intricate stonework. The first floor of all of the buildings was half recessed into the ground, the second floor was just above street level; all of them had flights of stairs going up to the front doors. Every first floor window on the street had bars over the windows, and most of the second floors as well, a concession to New York City’s crime rate. But the upper floors had unsecured windows. Many had narrow balconies on the third or fourth floors, mostly made of wrought iron, a few of stone.

The one Catherine was looking at was one of these, a stone balcony outside of the top floor ran the length of the house fronting the street. It was four stories in all, comprised of a pale tan colored stone with ornate decorations carved into the front facade. Small trees surrounded by miniature iron fences lined the street which was quietly tucked away from the noise of the avenues.

It was perfect. Catherine fell in love with the outside immediately. The inside wasn’t as inviting. The kitchen and bathrooms were old and outdated. But it had hardwood floors and huge full length windows. An elevator had been installed in the back kitchen when Annie Schwartz could no longer manage the stairs. Of course, anything not to her liking could be re-done. To her surprise both Diana and Peter seemed more interested in the recessed first floor than any other rooms. They walked around it, feeling the walls with their hands, examining the floor.

But Catherine liked the fourth floor best. It was the one with the balcony. It had two large rooms divided by a narrow hallway. A marble bathroom as large as a normal sized room was at the back end of the house. It was perfect for her and Jacob’s bedrooms.

The purchase was conducted quickly. Annie’s sons were delighted to have the matter so easily settled. One of them even remembered Catherine, she had gone to school with his son. The transaction would be all in cash, ensuring a quick sale. They told Catherine she could move in as soon as the estate dealer cleared out the house. This was done two days later. Catherine was a new mother and a home owner all within one week.

She was very happy, or she would have been, if either she or Jacob could get a decent night’s sleep. But they were both disaffected somehow, never staying asleep for long, either one of them. One or the other of them would wake from fitful slumber, sometimes unable to return to sleep until almost morning. Catherine wondered if she had somehow transmitted her own insomnia to her son. It made her feel terrible. Of course, he could be missing his former care givers, that didn’t make her feel much better.

She thought once they settled into their new home the problem might be resolved. But each night it seemed to worsen. Jacob was becoming increasingly fretful. By the end of the second week she made an appointment to see Peter.

He advised the usual remedies, a long walk every afternoon, hot milk before bedtime, a warm bath. Catherine had already tried all those things. Peter assured her it was just temporary. He told her he knew that within a day or two, her problem would be solved. She was surprised at how certain he was of this. He walked her out of his office, seemingly anxious to be somewhere else.

***

"You do know they’re not sleeping, either one of them?"

Vincent turned away. "I know."

"What do you intend on doing about it?" Peter was unusually impatient with Vincent.

"I’ll think of a way. I was hoping once they had the opportunity to become adjusted..."

"Cathy’s adjusted. She loves her new house. She is having a wonderful time planning the remodeling. All her old friends are coming to see her. Joe Maxwell has offered her a job whenever she’s ready – part time only, flexible schedule. She has hired a mother’s helper she is very pleased with. There is only one thing missing now."

Vincent wouldn’t look at Peter.

"You. You’re what’s missing from both their lives. You’re going to have to go to her, Vincent. I’ll pave the way if you would like, explain to her about you."

"No. No, there must be another way. I’ll take care of it, Peter...somehow. But thank you for coming. If I need your help, I will contact you."

"Vincent, I never in my life thought I’d have cause to say this to you, but, you are a fool."

Vincent swung around now, truly startled. No one had ever before said a thing like that to him. Peter turned away and stalked out of his chamber. Vincent just stared after him.

Was he really being a fool?

He’d kept watch from the beginning. He was never more than a few blocks away come night fall. He was taking no chances. They had not yet apprehended Darren Holbrook. And anyway, this was a dangerous city.

But now he quickly and quietly slid down from the roof top, to the balcony that bordered Catherine and Jacob’s bedrooms. Jacob’s crib had wheels attached to the bottom, sometimes she pushed him into his own room, sometimes she had him sleep in hers. She kept experimenting, hoping that each new night would bring them the rest they both needed.

Tonight he was in Catherine’s own room. Catherine had just dropped off to sleep; Jacob was still staring up at the ceiling. Vincent slipped in silently. Jacob already knew he was there. He began to gurgle excitedly. Vincent quickly stepped over to his crib and lifted him in his arms. He had to stand a moment, take a breath. It felt so good to hold his son again. Then he quietly backed away into a dark corner, his eyes on Catherine. She was tossing and turning at first. But Vincent smiled down on a delighted Jacob and gently started to rock him. Jacob drifted off into contented slumber and Catherine soon followed, burrowing into her blankets and sighing as she fell into a deep sleep. He stayed until the hour before dawn. Then he reluctantly replaced his sleeping child in his bed, and took a long look at Catherine before disappearing into the shadows outside her windows.

And so it went. Every night he was there, watching, guarding. Jacob’s crib was now permanently installed in his own room. They both slept soundly through the night, except Jacob would always awaken when his father lifted him from his cradle. Jacob would grasp his fingers, look into his eyes, sometimes even flail his arms in excitement. But he would soon return to the land of nod, his eyes closing with the sight of his father’s compassionate face, his head resting against his father’s strong arm, his ears listening to his father’s dulcet voice against his cheek.

***

Now that she and Jacob were sleeping through the night Catherine developed a routine. She accepted Joe’s proposal of working two days a week. She wanted to be sure she could get her skills back. It was somewhat difficult at first, but she had an understanding boss. Slowly the details of researching a case came back to her. She worked in the office only, no field work. She sometimes had reason to speak with Diana. Theirs was an uneasy partnership. Diana had not been forthcoming with her about her past. They had argued about it. This made working with her awkward. She couldn’t understand why Diana was holding out on her. Yet, she had to admit; she had a feeling it was for her own good. And Diana had saved her life. She didn’t want to be ungrateful. But still, she couldn’t understand why Diana would lie to her.

Of course, she would never be doing this, going back to work even, if Diana hadn’t found her such a competent mother’s helper. She was given good references. Lynn Pai came in person. She was not only was bubbling with praise for the girl but she also told Catherine about their previous encounter. She said that her husband had killed someone in self defense and Catherine had convinced the District attorney’s office not to press charges. She said she was forever grateful and if Catherine ever needed anything she was to call her.

Catherine also got a letter of recommendation from a police officer’s wife, a woman named Laura, who also gave Jamie a very good character. Catherine hired her.

There was something a little strange about her. All of her clothing looked brand new. She did not have a telephone number where she could be reached. She didn’t seem to want to answer many questions either, about her background. She mentioned her family once in a while, but in a very guarded way. When Catherine showed her around the house for the first time, she also seemed to take a strange interest in the furnace room.

Still, Catherine trusted her implicitly. There was something about her that inspired confidence, and Jacob took to her immediately. So much so that Catherine had to count it as another one of the strange things about her. Jenny Aaronson wasn’t as sure about Jamie as Catherine was. She told Catherine she made her a little nervous. Jenny asked Catherine what she really knew about her. Catherine couldn’t answer. She just knew that Jamie was someone who could be relied upon.

Jenny and Catherine had picked up where they left off – instant camaraderie. Catherine was surprised that Jenny didn’t know who the father of her child was.

"You don’t think it could have been Elliot Burch?" Catherine questioned.

"I suppose it’s possible. But why wouldn’t you have told me? There would have been no reason to keep that a secret from me. Truthfully Cathy, I suspected you were going with a married man."

"Would I have done something like that?" Catherine was nonplused.

"I don’t know. I did."

"Oh, Jenny, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to..."

"That’s Okay, Cathy. It was one of the worst times of my life. I was so in love with him. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. It was like being addicted to a drug. But I knew how wrong it was. He had two little girls. I hated myself for it. You saw me through it, Cathy. You helped me to move on, take control of my life again. You stayed up til’ all hours with me, took my phone calls no matter what else you were doing. I’ve never forgotten how you were there for me."

"I’m glad I was." Catherine took Jenny’s hand.

"Me too. But I thought maybe that’s why you didn’t want to tell me anything. I knew there was someone. But I didn’t press. I had to believe that when you felt ready you would come to me."

Catherine nodded. "I wish I had."

All Catherine’s old friends had all begun to contact her again. Marie and Jeff Rosenblum, Margaret Shaw. The last mentioned headed a number of charity committees for the arts: Lincoln Center, the Metropolitan Opera House, and several of the museums in the area. She insisted Catherine become involved again. She told her that for the last couple of years before her disappearance she had been too busy with work to do much else. But now, now she should lead a more balanced life. Margaret had never thought that job with the District Attorney’s office was such a good idea anyway.

Catherine agreed to help her out here and there. Of course, it was a lot easier than it would have been without Jamie. She was invaluable. Babysitting, cooking and cleaning and serving when the women would hold their meetings at Catherine’s townhouse.

One thing though, Jamie always insisted on leaving before dark. Catherine had offered to pay for her cab ride home. But Jamie refused every time, making sure she was on her way as dusk began to settle upon the city.

Catherine would often take Jacob to the park by herself; just the two of them. She enjoyed the walk and it seemed right to give Jamie a little down time during the day, where she could sit by herself and have a cup of tea.

She would take Jacob to the zoo, the play ground, the carousel. He was five months old when Catherine had returned to him. As the spring turned into summer he was growing by leaps and bounds. There were always children in the park. One group in particular she couldn’t help noticing. They were there in the mornings, even on school days. And their clothing was strange. They would often manage to show up where ever she was. It was curious. Once Jacob dropped a toy as she was wheeling him along and a boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, ran after her with it. He insisted on giving it to Jacob himself. It was peculiar. The boy acted as if handing Jacob a toy was the most wonderful thing he’d done all year.

Another time she was pushing Jacob in a swing when some other children ran by and inadvertently but roughly ran into her so hard she fell down. The same boy from the stroller incident and two other children were there in an instant. They stopped Jacob’s swing and took him out of it. They helped her to her feet and insisted they walk with her to his stroller. It gave her the strangest feeling. She felt, well…but if she had known them before wouldn’t they have re-introduced themselves to her?

It was puzzling.

Odd things seemed to keep happening. Peter Alcott stopped in one day and was astonished when he came face to face with Jamie. He said her name but then acted like he was sorry that he had even acknowledged her. They vaguely told her that Jamie was a patient of his. After Jamie left she questioned him about her but he seemed reluctant to answer.

Yet the strangest thing of all came on a miserable, rainy day. It had been raining the whole week; it was an unseasonably chilly July day. Catherine was just finishing getting ready for work. The doorbell rang. Cathy was surprised that Jamie would have forgotten her key.

It wasn’t Jamie. A very strange looking young man was at her door. He had innocent blue eyes and untidy blonde hair. He was dressed oddly, even more oddly than the children in the park. He smiled a shy smile.

"Jamie’s sick. Father wouldn’t let her come. Said rain would make her sicker. Mouse can look after Jacob."

Catherine was standing there with the door wide open, too surprised to move. He came walking past her, into the house. She smelled the scent of smoky candle wax and damp, cool earth and minerals. It smelled like heaven.

It threw her for a moment. She turned open mouthed. But he had spotted Jacob sitting in his walker. Mouse squatted down on the floor and began stroking Jacob’s head, speaking quietly to him.

Catherine came and stood over him. "I don’t understand. You say Jamie is ill?"

"Sneezing, coughing. Father says, ‘stay in bed’. So Jamie told Mouse to come, tell Catherine she couldn’t come today. But Mouse can mind Jacob. Mouse is good at taking care of babies." He grinned up at her. "Better than good, better than better."

Catherine sat down opposite him and stared at him. "Is Jamie your sister?"

Sister?" He was incredulous. He looked down, seemed to be actually blushing. "Jamie not Mouse’s sister. Jamie’s...Jamie is Jamie"

Could it be? Could the pretty, self-contained, naturally elegant girl Catherine had come to know actually be having a romantic relationship with what could possibly be a half-wit? She leaned back on her sofa. Somehow, the answer was yes. There was something about him, something sweet and genuine, and something about the way he said Jamie’s name. He might not be every girl’s dream, but she could see Jamie caring deeply for this boy.

Catherine thought of something else. "Father? Is that your father or Jamie’s?"

"Father, why Father is Jamie’s father, Mouse’s father, Samantha’s, Geoffrey’s, everybody’s."

"I see." Although she didn’t. "And you say you’ve minded children before."

"Lots, lots and lots. Always lots of children below. Everybody’s job. Feeding, changing, bathing. Mouse doesn’t always like it. Sometimes would rather be building, fixing. But Mouse always does his job. Ask anyone."

Below. Of all of the odd things he had just told her, that was the word that stuck in her mind. Below. Below where?

It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to her; that Jamie had taken care of Jacob before she had ever came to work for her. She almost asked the strange young man sitting on the floor in front of her. He had removed Jacob from his walker and was bouncing him on his knee; but for some reason that seemed underhanded. Jamie was a sober, sensible girl. If it were true she must have a reason for not telling Catherine. And it seemed cruel to take advantage of this simple minded young man by asking him questions he probably wasn’t supposed to answer.

"You know Dr. Alcott, don’t you?"

"Peter? Sure. Peter’s a helper; gives us medicine, helps Father if too many are sick."

"I was just going to call him, will you excuse me?"

"Catherine’s not sick?"

"No, no." The concern in his voice was evident. "I’ll be right back."

Catherine dialed Peter’s number, it was the first one listed by her phone.

She explained the dilemma. Peter sounded almost amused. "I know he is rather odd on the surface, especially in the way he speaks. But the fact is he is very well qualified to take care of Jacob. He has had just as much experience with infants as Jamie has."

"And with Jacob himself, doesn’t he? He has taken care of my son before."

Peter hesitated. "Do you remember something, Cathy?"

"No, no Peter, I’m sorry that I don’t, but I don’t. I’m coming over, we have to talk."

"Okay, Cathy. I’ll make you some tea."

"That’ll be fine. And you’re sure it’s Okay to leave Jacob with... Mouse?’

"Perfectly."

"Then I’ll be there in ten minutes."

She hung up the phone and dialed the office. She told Joe’s secretary she would be running late.

She walked back into the living room. Jacob and Mouse were taking turns pulling on each other’s noses, both laughing uproariously.

"All right, Mouse, I’m going now. Peter’s number and my work number are both by the phone. You do know how to use a phone, don’t you?"

"Telephone? Oh, that’s easy. Take it apart, put it back together. Simple, two minutes, tops."

"Well, I can’t see where that would be necessary." Catherine quickly showed Mouse where the items he would need for the day were. She left them, a little reluctantly, but she was anxious to speak to Peter. It was about time someone told her the truth.

***

Peter had the tea ready when she arrived. She waited until they were seated to begin interrogating him. First she explained to him about Diana’s incomprehensible reticence, then about Jamie’s. She told him about the children in the park.

"They are following me around. I am sure of it. I told Jenny Aaronson about it and it made her suspicious, nervous. But that isn’t how they make me feel at all. The truth is, I don’t feel so much watched as watched over." She hesitated. "Peter, I haven’t told this part to anyone. At night, every night, I have this recurring dream, well, perhaps not a dream exactly, more like a vision. I dream there is someone, a man I think, close by, on my balcony, even inside our rooms sometimes. And he does just what the children do, he watches over us, Jacob and me." Catherine leaned forward. "Peter, you have to tell me. What is going on?"

"I can’t tell you."

"But you know, don’t you? Why won’t you tell me?"

"A long time ago, before you were born even, I made a promise. I’ve kept that promise for forty years now."

Catherine heard a voice in her head, her own voice. She was standing in a luxurious office, facing a handsome man who was imploring her to tell him something ‘I can’t,’ she told him. ‘I made a promise.’ Elliot, Elliot Burch. She knew him from the pictures she had seen of him.

"But I knew about that promise once, didn’t I?"

"Yes."

"And now?"

"There are reasons, Cathy, reasons I can’t go into, why I can’t divulge anything further."

"What reasons? Oh, Peter, can’t you tell me anything?"

Peter considered. "Perhaps I can tell you this much...suppose there was a place...a place that took in children that nobody else wanted. And suppose the way they did it wasn’t exactly legal. The people who harbor these children…suppose they didn’t go through the regular channels. No foster care, no adoption proceedings, no red tape, no waiting for poor decision making from a mindless bureaucracy. They take these children in off the streets, out of abusive situations, quietly, and they take it upon themselves to care for them, to educate them, to love them."

"The children, the children from the park."

"There have been many, so many over the years. Let me tell you the story of just one. It’s about a little girl, perhaps six or seven. She was found by two teenage girls, girls who were themselves being brought up in this place. They saw this little girl eating from garbage pails off the street. They questioned her. The little girl told them she didn’t need their help, she didn’t need anyone, she could take care of herself. But they persisted, followed her around. They enlisted the help of the other children. They found things out. Her mother was an addict and a prostitute. She brought men into their home. Finally they got the little girl’s story out of her.

The mother had brought a client home, then had passed out. The man went after the little girl. She locked herself in the bathroom. Someone had left a beer bottle on the sink. The little girl broke the beer bottle, held it out in front of her, and held the man at bay, managing to make her way out of the apartment. Can you imagine that…a little girl, and she did that? She never went back."

"What happened to her?"

"The older girls finally convinced her to come with them. She was raised along with all the others. And a braver, more confident, more industrious young lady you’ll never meet."

A sudden thought struck Catherine; a sudden, horrible thought. She put her hand over her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. "It was Jamie. Oh God, Peter, that little girl was Jamie."

"Yes, it was."

"How awful, Peter. I understand now. I understand why this secret is so important. I won’t question you or Jamie further. I’ll wait. I’ll wait until they know they can trust me again."

***

Catherine worked quickly that day, a little anxious to get home. She had reason to be, she couldn’t quite believe the sight that met her eyes when she turned her key in the lock and opened her front door. Bubbles…soap bubbles floating everywhere through the rooms. The bubbles seemed to be emanating from the kitchen, as well a series of very loud, banging noises. She made her way toward the rear of her dwelling, nearly stumbling over the packing boxes which were lined up in the hallway leading to the kitchen. The boxes had been tied together, drawn on with magic marker, and each one had four pot lids attached to its bottom sides. Her percolator, which a string attached to it, had been attached to the first box. She couldn’t imagine why at first, but then realized she was looking at a makeshift coo coo train.

As she entered the kitchen she was greeted by the sight of Mouse (who was wearing a pot on his head) and Jacob both seated on the floor beating out a tatoo with spoons and other utensils on all the overturned pots and pans. The bubbles were coming from her blender.

Catherine stood there in a state of shock. Mouse looked up, saw her, grinned sheepishly and scooped Jacob up and presented him to her. She took him in her arms.

Mouse began to explain himself. He wasn’t sure Catherine was too pleased with him.

"Rain all day, couldn’t go out, couldn’t go to the park," he smiled, "so Mouse brought the park here. Don’t worry. Mouse will clean up." With this he began scampering about, retrieving her cookware and returning it to cupboards and drawers.

She burst out laughing, laughing in a way she hadn’t in a very long time. Jacob joined in, and soon Mouse did too.

Vincent lowered the book he was reading. He smiled to himself, leaned back his head and enjoyed their laughter. It felt good.

***

Catherine’s friends had been relentlessly seeking to terminate her single status. It seemed everyone had a single friend, cousin, or co-worker. She accepted dates with them half heartedly. Certainly, she was lonely at times. But these men never seemed to satisfy. She always came home feeling a little sad, as if trying to find romance just reminded her that something was missing from her life.

She had convinced Jamie to stay in the evenings now. The truth was, she didn’t like leaving Jacob with anyone else, except for Mouse, of course. It was still odd though, because neither Jamie nor Mouse would set foot upstairs once evening began to fall. Jamie would bring everything she needed down to the main floor before it got dark. And she would invariably still be on the main floor when Catherine returned, often with Mouse at her side.

It was hard to explain to her gentlemen callers about Mouse. Her dates would almost always be disconcerted by his appearance and odd manner of speaking. They would stare at him, then later wonder out loud to Catherine what her reasons were for entrusting her son to such an odd person. To Mouse himself they would act patronizing, not bothering to hide their contempt for him. He in turn, did not try to hide his mutual assessment of their appearance and manners; he would stare belligerently back at them. Catherine resented them for it, and secretly shared Mouse’s appraisal of her suitors when they acted that way. If anyone was expendable in her life it was them, not Mouse. And it wouldn’t take her long to let them know this.

***

The summer was winding down. Catherine was seeing Peter for Jacob’s well check. He was receiving his first immunization. Peter wanted to be cautious. Catherine enjoyed her visits with Peter more than almost anything else in her life. He told her stories about himself and her parents, they had all been friends together: Peter and his wife, her mother and father. They were all gone now, and Peter took just as much delight in reminiscing as Catherine did in hearing him. He also related tales about her childhood, anything he could remember. Sometimes it touched off a bell in Catherine’s head. A piece of a memory would come sliding back into place.

He asked her if she was happy. She had to think about this at first. But she decided she was not exactly happy, the word content was more fitting. She was content with her life. Jacob, her home, her friends, her job were all very satisfying. And yet... and yet.

***

She was dreaming. Dreaming of a silent figure that moved out of the shadow of her building and entered her room. He crossed the threshold and stood over her. He said her name.

"Catherine! Catherine, please don’t be frightened. You have nothing to fear from me." She stumbled out of sleep. "Your son is ill, burning up with fever."

She lay there for a moment. She sat up. She’d been dreaming. She went over it in her mind, what had he said? That her son was sick? She reached over and switched on her bedside lamp. Jacob’s crib was empty. She looked wildly around the room. Then she realized she heard water running in the bathroom. She leaped out of her bed, wide awake now, and stumbled down the hallway in a panic. A night light lit her way to the bathroom where she saw a large, dark figure bending over the bathtub. The taps were running full blast. She noticed Jacob’s pajamas had been tossed aside, they had been torn asunder and were lying crumpled on the bathroom floor. She stumbled forward. The immunization!

"The cool water will bring down his fever, Catherine."

She fumbled for the bathroom switch. "I don’t need the light", the voice told her.

Catherine faltered forward toward him, peering through the dimness to look over his shoulder. The man had both his arms plunged into the water, he was holding her son totally submerged with the exception of his face, which was placidly looking up into the stranger’s. His cloak smelled of burnt candle wax and old leather and fragrant earth.

"Call Peter," he said to her.

Yes, of course! Catherine flew back to her room, shaking, she dialed the phone.

"Peter. It’s Cathy. Jacob is ill. He has a fever."

"Cathy? How high is it?"

"I don’t know. Peter, there is a man in my bathroom. He appeared from nowhere. He is giving Jacob a bath. He said that would bring down his temperature."

"It will. I’m getting dressed as we speak, Cathy. This man, is there anything special about him?"

"Other than he broke into my home to take care of my son?"

"Cathy, please don’t be alarmed...what does he look like?"

"I don’t know. I haven’t seen his face. He’s wearing something long and dark."

"Yes. Cathy, I know who it is. And please, be assured that there are no safer hands in the entire world for your son to be in, than the ones he is in right now. Just let him take care of Jacob and I’ll be right there, and Cathy...."

"Yes?"

"Don’t be frightened; no matter what. He would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know that," Catherine told him. She hung up. She ran back to the bathroom.

"Peter is on his way."

"Good. Jacob’s fever is breaking. He is much cooler already. He is going to be all right, Catherine."

Catherine sighed, sagged against the bathroom wall. She wondered why she wasn’t fighting him; trying to take her son from his arms. It was because she knew what Peter had told her was true. He was going to make Jacob better, she was sure of it.

"I should have taken him to sleep with me in my bed. No, I should never have slept at all."

"You are not to blame; you could not have known."

"Peter told me to keep a watch out for any signs of illness. That’s why I wheeled his crib into my room. But I didn’t think...I didn’t realize...." She paused. "But you knew. How did you?" He didn’t answer. "Who are you?"

She saw his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t turn, didn’t answer her.

"It was you, wasn’t it? You pulled me out of the water in Maryland. Then you held me, kept me warm, all the way back to New York. I thought I’d dreamed that; and I’ve been dreaming of you ever since. But it’s not a dream, because you’re actually here. And you have been standing on my balcony, every night, keeping watch over both of us, Jacob and me. I can’t even explain how I know that. I’ve never seen you, never heard you even. But ...I can feel you there."

Vincent let out a ragged sigh. He couldn’t help it. Their bond, she could feel it again too.

She took a step toward him, but turned when the doorbell rang.

"Peter." He said quietly.

"I’ll be right back."

Catherine bounded down the stairs. She opened the door and then turned back, not even greeting Peter. He came in and followed her up.

"Hey, hey. Slow down. I’m coming."

Catherine stopped, took a breath. "I’m sorry. We can take the lift."

"No, that’s all right, Cathy. I can still manage the stairs."

"He says the fever is breaking."

"Good."

Catherine ran ahead again. She froze when she reached the bathroom. It was empty. She turned and ran to her own room. Jacob was lying in his crib swaddled in a towel.

"He’s gone." She picked up Jacob and looked around the room. "He’s gone, Peter."

"Well, how is Jacob?" He unwrapped him, felt his head and limbs. "Yes. That doesn’t seem so bad. Let’s have a look see."

Peter thoroughly examined Jacob and pronounced him a little worse for wear but in no danger, and Catherine dressed him.

"Would you like some coffee?"

"No, no. I have rounds in less than an hour. I’ll get some at the hospital."

They made their way down back downstairs. Catherine restrained him as they reached the living room.

"Who was that, Peter? What is his name?"

"Catherine. I hate to be mysterious. But I can’t really tell you about him." She studied his face.

"He belongs to that place, doesn’t he? The one you told me about – where they take care of all the children – the place Mouse calls "Below".

Peter hesitated. "Yes."

"I’ll keep their secret. I did before, didn’t I?"

"Yes, you did. And I know you will. But it is not up to me to tell you. I don’t have permission."

"But you could get it. You could ask. Who do you need to get it from, Jacob Wells?"

"Yes, from him. And from the man who took care of your son tonight."

"Surely he’ll give it to you now."

"I’m afraid he won’t. You see, he is the one who decided that for now, you are not to be told anything about their community."

Catherine was astounded. The way his voice sounded, the way he had pronounced her name, it had made her feel... the way it had made her feel.

"I need to go. I’ll be late for rounds." Peter placed Jacob in her arms.

"But one question; there is one question I need answered."

Peter walked toward the door; put his hand on the door knob. "What is it, Cathy?"

"His name; I just need to know his name."

Peter cupped his hand around the side of her neck. "I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I will. Vincent, his name is Vincent." Peter pulled the door open and walked out into the coming morning. Catherine closed her eyes, and she heard...

"I was a baby, abandoned and left to die, someone found me, brought me here, to the man who became my father, he took me, he raised me, he taught me everything, he named me Vincent, that’s where I was found, near the hospital, St. Vincent’s."

"Vincent," she whispered. "Vincent." She buried her head in Jacob’s neck.

 

 

****

Catherine was sitting waiting for Jamie to come. Jamie let herself in with her key, calling out a hello. She saw her sitting in the chair. Jamie came and knelt beside her, sensing trouble.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Jacob was sick last night. He had a fever. I’m staying home today. But I’d like you to stay. I could use your help."

"Of course. How is he now?"

"Better. Vincent was here. He took care of him."

She saw Jamie’s eyes light up. Then saw them cloud with indecision. "Who’s Vincent?" She asked as nonchalantly as possible.

Catherine smiled. She would keep her promise to Peter. "I’m not really sure myself. He came, saved Jacob’s life, maybe, and left again. Rather strange behavior, don’t you think?"

"I guess. But the important thing is that Jacob is all right, isn’t it?"

"Yes, that’s the important thing."

Jamie stood up. "What was he like, this Vincent?"

"It’s hard to say. I never saw his face. But he had this way about him. He told me not to be frightened; and I wasn’t."

"Yes. There are some people; well, you just know you can trust them."

Catherine reached out and took Jamie’s arm. "That’s true, Jamie. You know that about me, don’t you? You know you can trust me."

Jamie smiled, took Catherine’s hand. "I do. I know that."

"Then why doesn’t Vincent?"

Jamie knelt down again, giving up the pretense. "He will. I promise; some day, some day he’ll know."

"I hope it’s soon."

"I hope so too."

***

But it wasn’t. The weeks went by and she heard nothing else about him. Jamie returned to her usual reticence. Catherine just continued with her life; what else could she do? Margaret Shaw was organizing a fund raiser for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was a costume ball, to be held on Halloween night, in the Egyptian wing of the museum itself.

Catherine had gone searching for, and found the costume she and Jamie had seen while unpacking her possessions from storage. It was a colonial style dress, along with an owl mask. She held it up to her. It made her feel lovely, loved. She was going to wear this dress to the fund raiser at the Museum. Jamie remonstrated, however. She told her should wear something new. Jamie volunteered to make her something, something special.

Catherine had already been marveling at Jamie’s sewing skills. They had come across a sewing machine when the two of them were unpacking Catherine’s personal effects. It was a very complicated machine with multiple settings for dozens of stitches. Jamie thought it marvelous. Catherine was still scratching her head as to why she would have purchased such a thing. The idea of long hours spent dedicated to mastering this contraption was not in the least bit appealing. Jamie told her it wasn’t that complicated. They set it up in Catherine’s library on the third floor. Jamie told her she had a machine already, but it was nothing like this one.

Of course, what Jamie didn’t tell her was that her sewing skills were the lie she used to Father to come above. Some of the helpers had already suggested to her that her designing and sewing skills were unique and valuable. They told her she should try and get a position in one of the designing houses. So that was the ruse she concocted for Father. She told both him and Vincent that she had become an apprentice at a fashion outfit in the garment district. They believed her. She didn’t even feel guilty.

Now she was making the most wonderful costume Catherine had ever seen. Nothing rivaled it, not even anything Catherine had seen on the Broadway stage or at Lincoln Center. It was a fairy costume: lighter than air, it had gossamer wings, an iridescent bodice, and shimmering petals which floated in the shape of a skirt.

They had purchased the materials together. Jamie told her she had often made Halloween costumes for the children. But with the salary Catherine was paying her, this was the first year she had the money to actually buy the materials. Before she had always made do with whatever she had been able to scrounge together. Jamie was excited about making this costume for a girl who was turning thirteen in October; it was a special gift. The materials were very expensive, so Catherine insisted on paying for everything herself. And now Jamie was offering to make Catherine her very own costume.

***

They were holding one of the endless meetings that led up to the fund raising event at Catherine’s house. And this gathering would be larger than any of the other ones they had before. All the committees were meeting at once. Jamie suggested they bring in an extra pair of hands to help with the cooking and serving. Just as Catherine had suspected she would, she recognized the girl from the park; she had been among those who had helped Catherine to her feet when she had been knocked over near the swing set. She was also the girl who would be wearing the fairy costume on Halloween. Her name was Samantha.

The other women were all captivated by the dress Jamie was working on for Catherine. Marie even asked Catherine if she could try it on. She had been attempting, unsuccessfully, to convince Jamie to make a garment for her. Several of the women had trooped up to Catherine’s library, which had been temporarily turned into a sewing room. Fabrics were draped everywhere, and the room was littered with sequins and pearls and skeins of silken embroidery thread.

The gathering was well underway when the doorbell rang. Karen, a divorced woman in her thirties, one of the most rambunctious of the group, hurried to answer it.

He walked right past her with a salacious wink. "Hi, how are you – lovely day, isn’t it?" He swept into the room; a hurricane of energy. He walked straight up to Catherine and put his arms around her and kissed her hard on the cheek.

"You’re a sight for sore eyes, Cathy."

"Am I supposed to know you?"

"Oh, Of course; I heard about your memory loss, but really, I didn’t think you would be able to forget me."

"No? Is there some special reason why I wouldn’t have?"

"There is. My name is Devin, Devin Wells."

Catherine had been removing his arms from around her, but she stopped.

"Wells?"

"Are you sure you don’t know me, Cathy?"

"Yes." She shook her head, wondering if she should ask him what his relationship to Jacob Wells was. She decided not to, not at that moment anyway. "I’m just wondering – did I like you?"

"Like me? Why, you loved me. You always said I was the love of your life. But alas, Cathy, I am a man who needs his freedom. I couldn’t commit."

Catherine grinned at him. She suspected that she did like him.

"I’m afraid you came at a rather hectic time."

He looked around the room approvingly. "Seems like perfect timing to me. What are all you lovely ladies doing? Plotting to take over the world?" He addressed the room at large. The women, especially the single ones were all exchanging glances and smiles.

"And if we were, what would you do about it?" Karen boldly asked him.

"I’d let you, of course. You certainly couldn’t do worse than we men have. And anyway, subjugation would be a pleasure to such adorable dictators."

They all laughed.

"Actually, we are organizing a fund raiser for the Metropolitan Museum; A Halloween ball – full costume. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in purchasing a ticket?" Karen inquired.

"Ah, I would. But I have a good idea what you would charge for that ticket, and it is a little too rich for my blood. I’m truly sorry for that, I cannot imagine a more fascinating evening."

"Perhaps Margaret could find an extra ticket lying around. She’s in charge of sales. What do you think, Margaret?" Karen turned to her, "We could always charge the Astor brothers more for theirs. Neither one of them can dance worth a damn. And anyway, they should have to pay extra just for all the shoes they’ve ruined."

"That would be tremendous, Margaret; would it be possible?" Devin turned to her. "I could dance like Baryshnikov himself with such a tantalizing choice of partners."

Margaret smiled, looked down and then up again. "I think we could."

"Oh, you’re a sweetheart." Devin moved away from Catherine and bent over Margaret’s hand, kissing it. She laughed and blushed.

"But could I impose upon your generosity further still? My little brother, he has suffered a romantic disappointment recently. He is quite broken up about it. And Halloween was always a favorite night for us, ever since we were children. I would hate to abandon him to sit alone moping when I was out enjoying myself on such a special night."

"Is he as cute as you?" Karen wanted to know.

"Are you kidding? He’s just as cute as a button, and graceful as a swan."

"I guess it wouldn’t be any more difficult finding two than one." Margaret said shyly, looking down again.

"You’ll have my undying devotion." He bowed low, causing another ripple of laughter to flow through the room. As he dipped himself he glanced up to find Jamie standing by the kitchen, holding a tray, looking uncertainly at him. He straightened up, looked around the room.

At that moment Marie swept down the stairs in Catherine’s dress.

"Another vision of loveliness." Devin gazed up at her.

"Thank you," Marie smiled at Devin, and then looked questioningly at the others. "Unfortunately this dress is Catherine’s. I don’t suppose you’ll change your mind about making one for me?" She asked, addressing Jamie.

"I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have time."

"Is that what you’ll be wearing, Catherine?" Devin looked pleased.

"It is."

He moved closer to Marie, inspecting the dress. "It’s perfect really. Juliet, isn’t it?"

"Yes. You know your Elizabethan costumes," Catherine laughed, surprised.

"Well, I know my Shakespeare, at any rate. Force fed it as a child." Despite the negativity of the words, he sounded fond of the memory. "May I help myself in your kitchen, Cathy? I’m parched."

She nodded, watching him curiously. Devin moved into the kitchen. Samantha looked up from her cutting board and opened her mouth to cry out a greeting. He put his finger to his lips and swung her up in a tight hug. Jamie quickly finished passing out the contents of her tray and returned to the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" She frowned.

"Same thing you are, darling. No kiss for your uncle Devin?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean. You have no more intention of letting him get away with this than I do." He glanced around and then moved closer to her. "I came home this morning and Father told me all about this nonsense of Vincent’s, of giving Catherine and Jacob up; it’s ridiculous. And you’re right about being too busy to make any topsiders a costume. You’re going to sew another one, one for Vincent. I’m sure you know just the one to make."

"Why?"

"Why?" He shrugged his shoulders at Samantha. "She asks me why," he turned back to Jamie. "Because my little brother is going to that ball."

"And just how do you think you are going to get him to do that?"

"You leave that to me. You just get your little fingers busy and conjure up a fitting masquerade."

"Oh, let’s," Samantha cried. "I’ll help. Please Jamie. Vincent just has to go."

"And while you’re at it, I’ll need an outfit myself. Cyrano would suit me quite well, I think."

"Yeah? Well, since you’re so good at picking up professions you’ve never been trained for, you can sew it yourself. It shouldn’t take you long to learn."

"You’re a hard woman, Jamie." He kissed her cheek. "But you’re getting more beautiful every time I see you."

"You can call me the Queen of Sheba; you’re still sewing that costume yourself."

Devin laughed. Jenny entered the room just then. She stared at the three of them. Devin removed his arms from their shoulders.

"I haven’t introduced myself properly. I’m Devin Wells." Devin extended his hand.

Jenny ignored it and walked out of the room.

* * * *

"What do you know about these people, Cathy? Why won’t they tell you who they are?" Jenny began to question Catherine as soon as the last of the women left.

"I can’t explain it, Jenny. But I trust them."

"You trusted Darren Holbrook."

"I don’t think I did, not really. I just kept telling myself I did. But deep down, I think I knew all along."

"Cathy, you know with the kind of money you have you have to be careful... "

"They don’t want my money, Jenny."

"Then what do they want?"

"If I had to guess, I’d say my happiness."

"That doesn’t make any sense."

"It doesn’t, I know." Catherine hesitated. "Jenny, there is a man."

"A man?"

"Yes. His name is Vincent."

Catherine proceeded to explain to Jenny about the night Jacob was ill. Jenny listened wide eyed.

"And you didn’t call the police?"

"The police… no, it didn’t occur to me."

"A strange man comes waltzing into your bedroom in the middle of the night and it doesn’t occur to you to call the police?"

"No."

Jenny shook her head in disbelief. "Cathy, I don’t believe what I’m hearing."

"You don’t understand. He was...he’s...I’m sure I knew him before."

"But you don’t know for certain?"

"No. Not really, but…. Oh, I can’t explain it. It would make even less sense than any of the rest of this has."

"Cathy, did it ever occur to you that all of these people, every one of them, are somehow involved in an elaborate scam to dupe you out of your inheritance? It is possible. These kinds of things have happened before, and with less money involved."

"It isn’t about money. I know it isn’t. And anyway, Peter Alcott knows these people."

"Maybe he is involved too."

"That’s crazy, Jenny. He has known me all my life. He was friends with my parents. And – he loves me. They all do. I can feel it."

Catherine was close to tears. Jenny decided that for now, she would let the matter drop, but she intended to have a word with Joe Maxwell. Maybe he could get to the bottom of it all.

* * * *

"You’ve been back in this City less than twenty four hours and you have already managed to procure an invitation to a party?"

"Amazing, aren’t I? I always have liked making friends above. Do you remember that Halloween party I took you to the last year before I left?"

"It would be difficult to forget."

"Yeah, well, you did win the prize for best costume, didn’t you?"

Vincent let out a brief exhalation through his nose. He scrutinized Devin’s face.

"Yes, and remember the game you neglected to tell me the rules of before we started."

Devin laughed out loud, slapping his knee. "You don’t think I could forget that? The look on your face when the bottle pointed to you and that girl tried to kiss you; I never saw you move so fast."

"Yes, and can you imagine what the look on her face would have been had she realized that this is no mask. If Father had ever found out..."

"I think we would have buried Father long ago if he had known the expeditions we had ventured on."

"Yes, and always under your aegis; you always did have a taste for adventure, Devin."

"And so did you. Admit it. Those times make up some of your fondest memories of our childhood, don’t they?" Vincent had to smile, he was right.

"So come on, Vincent, come with me. It’s just your kind of party –- New York’s intelligentsia: there’ll be poets, and musicians, and artists there. Come with me."

"Thank you, no."

"So, you’re just going to sit here the rest of your life? In this chamber? Don’t you ever do anything for yourself? Do you know what it feels like to watch you do this? Did you ever consider how it affects the people who love you?"

"I’m not sure.... "

"You think no one here worries about you? Father and Mary and Pascal? They are all worried sick. Tell me you haven’t noticed?"

Vincent looked down, heaved a deep sigh. "Father always worries too much; you know that. And he passes his concerns on to the others. They needn’t.... "

"But they do."

"I am not unhappy, Devin. She is content, Jacob is content; so I am, as well."

"Do you even hear yourself? Do you understand what you’re saying?"

Devin stopped speaking, stood regarding Vincent, who became quiet himself. Finally Vincent spoke.

"This means that much to you?"

"It means that much to me."

"Then...I will come with you."

Devin’s face broke out into a huge grin. "Wonderful", he exclaimed. "Now we just have to get Jamie to make us costumes. I was thinking de Bergerac for myself. What say you about that?"

Vincent smiled. "I don’t think you want to know the answer to that question."

Devin laughed, and he came and stood beside Vincent, clapping him on the back.

"It’ll be just like old times, Vincent, you’ll see."

* * * *

Catherine fell asleep on her sofa after everyone left. Jacob was asleep in his playpen across the room.

She was in a strange room, a hospital room it seemed. She had just given birth. They were taking her baby, they were taking him away. She woke up with a cry. "Vincent!"

She started up from the sofa. Jacob awoke, agitated too. She picked him up and carried him upstairs to his crib. When he had settled back into sleep she walked out to the balcony. It was just getting dark.

She sighed, sliding down the wall. She sat staring at the street below.

It was too early for him to come, the sun had just set. But he came anyway, risking being seen. He paced the rooftop above her. What could he do?

Finally, he realized his agitation was probably feeding hers. He settled himself down, and began reciting to himself, to calm his own disturbance:

‘There was a time when meadow, grove and stream,

the earth, and every common sight....’

And as his composure returned so did hers. The rhythm of the words in his head translated themselves into her mind as well. She breathed a deep, lonely sigh:

‘To me, the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts

that do often lie too deep for tears.’

****

Jenny talked to Joe, who talked to Diana, who in turn talked to Jenny. She wasn’t exactly satisfied. Diana wasn’t very forthcoming. But she was very forceful in convincing Jenny that Catherine was in no danger – just the opposite. Jenny had to bite her tongue and accept the situation, but not without a certain amount of irritation. As far as she was concerned Diana was an odd bird as well. But she had saved Catherine’s life. She couldn’t argue with that. Jenny decided the only thing she could do so wait and watch, and hope she was wrong about them all.

****

The day was fast approaching; and then it finally arrived: Halloween.

The entire band of children, the ones from the park, showed up on Catherine’s doorstep to escort them trick-or-treating. They had obviously been enjoined to silence, but the younger ones kept slipping. They talked about Father, and Mary, and, it made her breathing come a bit quicker, they even mentioned his name.

Jacob was dressed as a teddy bear. Jamie had tossed his costume off in a matter of hours. Samantha had helped.

And Samantha was still helping later in the evening. Mouse was there and he was given sole charge of Jacob. Jamie and Samantha acted as ladies in waiting, helping Catherine bath, curl her hair, apply her makeup.

Samantha was a joyous helper, running for any forgotten item, glad to help in any way. But Jamie was a bundle of nerves. It reminded Catherine of the old stories where the servant’s life would be forfeit if she did not please the Queen.

Catherine waited until Samantha had left the room and then she caught Jamie’s hand, forced her to sit next to her. She looked into her eyes.

"You have a lot riding on tonight, don’t you, Jamie?"

Jamie shook her head. "No, not me; but people that I love, they do."

Catherine nodded to her. They sat staring at each other until Samantha came tearing back into the room with Catherine’s forgotten cap.

****

Vincent’s instinct had been to use the back entrance to the museum, but Devin insisted they present their tickets at the door like everybody else.

"Still so shy, little brother? We have nothing to fear. We could go anywhere tonight. Who wouldn’t welcome two of the world’s greatest lovers? Romeo and Cyrano, what more could anyone ask?

Vincent was a little uncomfortable at first, a fish out of water. But the only attention they received were compliments on their costumes. Vincent recognized a favorite musician from a picture in one of his books. Devin’s easy bravado soon had them speaking to people whom Vincent had always admired. He was actually becoming more at ease. They were standing near a buffet table when it happened. He stood up straight, not daring a turn in any direction.

"She’s here. Devin, she is here!"

"Who? Oh, I assume you mean Cathy. Well, it’s a free country, isn’t it? I guess she’s allowed to go to parties just like anyone else."

"I must leave." Vincent’s eyes traveled toward the nearest escape route; it didn’t seem near enough.

"Whatever for? She doesn’t know what you look like. The party is just getting started. Besides, I’m sure she looks lovely in whatever she’s wearing. Wouldn’t you like just one peek?"

Vincent tried to regain his composure, drawing in a deep breath.

"Oh, there’s Margaret. She is the one who gave us these tickets. I’ll bring her over and introduce you." Devin disappeared into the crowd leaving Vincent alone and paralyzed.

She felt him, felt his presence as she moved through the room; and then she saw him. He was standing alone, his back to her. She stopped short. The cut of his shoulders, the way he held himself. She would have known him anywhere. The cloak was different. This one was of purple velvet; the same velvet her dress was cut from. She could just see the strands of golden hair which had strayed from beneath his hood. She moved to where he was standing. She was directly behind him.

He half turned. But then she moved around the table, and came to stop opposite him from across the table. She was staring unashamedly, straight into his blue eyes. He couldn’t look away. Finally she lowered her gaze, pretending to be surveying the food laid out before them on the table.

He knew he should leave. He knew he should take this opportunity to fly to the nearest exit. But she raised her eyes to his again. She plucked one grape from a bunch on the table and put it into her mouth. He couldn’t have moved a muscle if the hounds of Hell were at his very heels.

She came back around the table again, approaching him slowly and standing by his side, almost touching him. He finally managed to look away. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, attempting to catch his breath, which had abruptly fled from him.

She still stood quietly beside him, not moving, barely breathing.

"Catherine!" He said her name out loud. He twisted back around toward her; she was still regarding him, gazing up into his face.

"I have not yet heard a hundred words of thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound." She held his gaze, forcing him to see into her eyes. "Vincent."

"You know my name."

"Peter told me. Don’t look so alarmed, Vincent. He didn’t divulge much else about you. He’s kept your secrets; you’re still a mystery to me."

"I’m no mystery, Catherine. I.... " What could he tell her? He blurted out instead, "Your son, is he well?"

"Thanks to you he is."

"I... I’m glad." He stood still, trying hard not remember how her body felt to his touch. "You are very beautiful in that dress." He looked down at his own garment. "It would seem we have the same seamstress."

"Yes. It would seem so." Catherine looked down at her own attire. They were both dressed in purple and black velvet trimmed with lavender satin. The pearls which crisscrossed her sleeves and cap adorned Vincent’s doublet. The silken, gold embroidery on both outfits was of an identical pattern. "My babysitter made this costume for me; it is lovely, isn’t it?"

"Jamie is your babysitter?" She could hear the incredulity in his voice.

"Yes, and sometimes Mouse."

"Mouse?" Vincent was dumbfounded.

"I know. I was rather incredulous myself at first. But he’s wonderful. And Jacob adores him."

"Yes, I can see where he would be. Yet...I wonder, Catherine, how many other acquaintances we have in common."

"You didn’t know?"

"No, I’m afraid my friends have been keeping me somewhat in the dark."

"Good. Then you know how it feels." Vincent pulled backward, a little startled by her vehemence.

"Vincent, there are so many things I don’t understand. I have so many questions."

"I know."

"You’ll answer them then?"

Vincent looked around them. "Catherine, this is hardly the time or the place."

"No, I suppose it’s not. But you will tell me; promise me."

"Well, look who it is! My two favorite people – but so serious." Devin had swooped down on them, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. He snapped the fake nose he was wearing around his neck onto his face and then pulled his best Richard Nixon imitation, turning down his mouth prodigiously.

"This is a party. Shouldn’t we be having fun? I think you need to lighten up, little brother."

Vincent had his head bent, but he raised his eyes to Catherine’s. "He jests at scars that never felt a wound."

Catherine laughed.

"Now, you see. Better already. Vincent, I’d like you to meet my friend Margaret, we have her to thank for the tickets to this gala event, Margaret, my brother."

Vincent acknowledged her, half bowing.

"Oh Cathy, your costumes are wonderful," she gushed, "You didn’t tell me the two of you were coming as a couple." Margaret turned to Vincent. "Your make-up – it’s professionally done, isn’t it? It’s superb."

"Thank you." Vincent didn’t know what else to say. He turned to his brother. "Tell me Devin, how soon after your return did you and Catherine become reacquainted?"

"Oh, that very night," Devin replied breezily. "You didn’t think I could stay away from my adopted sister for long, did you? And it was the most fortunate timing. Her home was filled with the most charming collection of ladies you could ever hope to behold. And of course, the most charming of all was Margaret, and the prettiest."

Margaret studied her feet, overwhelmed by Devin’s praise of her.

Devin waved his arm. "Garcon, over here, or we will perish of thirst!" Devin took two glasses off the tray and gave Catherine and Vincent each one. He took two more for himself and Margaret. He looked at them both. "May I propose a toast." He held up his glass. "To this night. To All Hallows Eve. Samhain, as the Irish call it. How does that go? Mary used to tell us...When the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest..."

"And Spirits of the underworld walk the earth," Catherine finished for him and held up her glass. She laughed, looking a little embarrassed. "I don’t where that came from." They clinked their glasses.

"I think I might." Devin laughed too. "But listen. There’s music. The orchestra has returned from their respite."

Devin took Margaret’s hand and bowed to her. "Mademoiselle."

"That would be Madam. I was married once."

"Yes. But tonight you are my Roxanne, which makes you a Mademoiselle." She was giggling as he led her away. Catherine turned to Vincent. She looked down, smiling, blushing. Then she looked back up into his face. "Do you dance, Vincent?"

Vincent searched her face. "Catherine...what do you remember?"

"Some things – my childhood mostly – nothing whole. Everything comes in flashes, like a snapshot, just moments in time. It is very frustrating, yet oddly, intriguing too. Have we danced before?"

"Yes, once. Do you know me, Catherine?"

"Your voice, I remember your voice. You used to tell me stories about the stars, didn’t you?"

"Yes."

"That was the thing I remembered first, I believe. When I was out on the boat I used to look up at the stars for hours. I heard your voice, pointing out the constellations, telling me the most wonderful stories. I could still hear it even when I closed my eyes. Sometimes, I could almost believe it was their voice, the stars, I mean. I guess that sounds silly."

Vincent made no answer. He stood gazing at her, his head to one side, his eyes very much resembling stars themselves, all bright blue light, as mysterious and beautiful as the universe itself. She watched the dancers for a moment and then looked back to him, wistful.

He crooked his arm and held it out to her. What else could he do? She smiled and took it, letting him lead her out to the floor.

He felt the music move through him. The other dancers, dressed in their flamboyant finery, floated all around them. He held her hand lightly in his. He stared into her eyes. They, the dancers, began to move in a blur, the room spinning about them. His own eyes began to dim with unwept tears; and all the intervening time and trouble swept away. He was drunk and dizzy and dreaming. He must be. She looked just as she had that night, that night that until now had seemed so long ago: that Winterfest, when he had held her in his arms and they had danced to the music only they could hear. He gazed up at their surroundings, trying to keep his bearings. But the very room in which they moved lent itself to the unreality.

The ancient Temple of Dendur was lit from within, its eerily glowing interior throwing long beams of light, stretching luminous across the floor and reflecting off the walls and the smooth surface of the water in the hushed fountain. The walls and ceiling all of clear, glimmering glass brought the night in and lifted the music and the dancers without. All time and space was a jumble, an illusion. She was looking up at him just as she had then, smiling, her eyes full of love, full of love for him. Yes, he was dreaming; the dream that he had dreamed again and again after he had lost her. He felt his own hand tighten on her tiny waist, and she moved closer, nearer to him, still with her face tilted up to his, her lips slightly parted, her eyes full to brimming.

He could almost feel her lips on his. Those few kisses they had shared; that one terrible moment when she was lying before him cold and still. But she was warm and alive in his arms, close enough now that he could feel her enduring heart beating against him, and her mouth close to his. She extended her neck, closed her eyes.

The music ceased.

He stepped back away from her; shattering the dream, and reclaiming his composure.

She seemed unaware of his agitation. She was clapping; laughing and talking with the other revelers around them. But when the music started again she turned to him with a radiant smile and reached up and replaced her hand on his shoulder. He took her hand in his own again. But he was careful this time. The brief interlude had given him time to collect himself; yet she was so happy. He hadn’t felt this in her since her return. He’d felt her melancholy at times, when she was thinking about her lost parents. He’d felt her frustration when she was reaching unsuccessfully to remember. He’d felt her contentment when she was holding their son. But this elation, this opening herself up to all sensation, he hadn’t felt this in her since before – before he had lost her, before she had lost herself.

It was difficult not to respond in kind; difficult to keep from accepting those proffered lips. But it was one night, he could give her this, and yes, he could give this to himself. One night in which to recapture all that had been lost. One night he could hold to himself when he had relinquished her once more. But he was floating again, he couldn’t seem to help it, he avoided further temptation by halting their waltz, suggesting they get some air.

Catherine agreed readily. They stepped out into the October night air, and with her arms outstretched, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her lithe body twirling gracefully, she danced herself around the garden in back of the museum.

He watched her in fascination. Finally she stopped, giddy and a little dizzy, she came to him laughing, her eyes searching for his. He turned and looked up then, toward the Harvest moon and the glittering stars. It was too dangerous a moment, if he met her glance, allowed himself to surrender into those gray green eyes, who knows what would happen then? All could be lost.

"It is clear tonight; see how many stars there are, Catherine?"

"Yes, they’re beautiful. Vincent, can you remember any of the stories you told me?"

He turned and smiled at her.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!"

She took his hand and held it against her cheek. She gazed at him a moment, then, still keeping eye contact, she turned her open lips and kissed the palm of his hand. Vincent suddenly realized what was happening. He felt has if he was being hypnotized. The night, the stars, dancing with her, it was all taking over – stealing his resolve, his resolution, and sending it soaring into the night just as high as the stars above them.

He removed his hand from her face. He suggested it was getting chilly, and he turned and walked back to the doors which were set into the glass wall. She had no choice but to follow him, a little uncertainly. She had given him several opportunities to kiss her. Why hadn’t he? Of course, he had kept his very existence a secret from her, Peter had said so. It was his decision not to tell her about him, about the children or Jamie, or the secret place they lived in. Why? The way he looked at her, spoke to her, the way his hand had trembled against her cheek. She wasn’t wrong about it. It was evident in every aspect of his face, every movement of his body.

He didn’t ask her to dance again. Instead they moved to the buffet tables, began conversing with others gathered around in groups, talking and eating.

He was fascinating. He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. He spoke easily with musicians and politicians and book publishers. Catherine didn’t talk much herself. She was too busy speculating about the man beside her. And she was beaming up at him with unmistakable pride, glad to be wearing the counterpart to his costume. Catherine heard her name. It was Jenny, arrived at last.

She bore down