Candle To Candle (5)

"Well, Vincent," Father observed, "your plans seem to be moving forward apace. William, of course, has been complaining that six weeks' notice was barely enough to prepare for an occasion of this magnitude, but he's exaggerating."

"He usually does," Vincent observed drily. "I was more concerned about Father Atwood being available." "Nigel wouldn't miss the chance to officiate at your wedding if the Archbishop of Canterbury were in town," Father beamed. "I'm very pleased that you and Catherine wanted him."

"Can't get license," Mouse pointed out. "God's better."

Vincent stared at Mouse. Sometimes that young man's insights amazed him. Vincent himself had suspected Catherine had several layers of motivation in her choice of Nigel Atwood; he had not expected to have his suspicions confirmed by Mouse, of all people.

"I find it all too appropriate," Father went on, "that your prodigal brother has decided to arrive on April first."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Father, you're extremely pleased he plans to spend so much time with us, you needn't try to hide it. And he has hardly been prodigal of late."

Father's face softened. "No--his care of Charles has been exemplary. I admit I was worried about his choice to live in a rather remote area, given Charles' medical needs. But Peter's report of his visit was very reassuring. The local doctor seems a good man, and Charles has come to trust him."

"Besides," Vincent reminded him, "didn't Peter say the man's daughter planned to join him in the practice when she finished her residency? It appears Charles will have the best of care."

Mouse spoke from his Buddha-like pose on Vincent's bed. "Glad Charles is coming too. Sorry everybody messed up last time."

"Yes," Father agreed. "There are many Below that feel we could have been more patient, more understanding."

"Charles is calmer now," Vincent added, "more secure. Both Devin and I were guilty of underestimating the burden of fear and confusion he still carried."

"What about clothes?" Mouse interrupted, ready to move on to topics of more immediate interest. "Have to wear fancy stuff?"

Vincent smiled. "Not too fancy, Mouse. Not for you and Devin. I only hope Sarah and Mary practice restraint where the groom is concerned."

"Well," Father beamed, "it sounds like everything is going splendidly."

Vincent nodded, but Mouse's eyes were on his hero's face, and what he saw there gave him concern. "Something else, Vincent. Something wrong."

Father looked sharply at his son. "Mouse is right, isn't he, Vincent? There is something."

Vincent sighed. "A minor thing," he admitted. "I don't know what to do about a ring. The crystal cavern holds many wonders, but gold ore is not among them. Catherine knows we have little of value to her world here Below, and would be uncomfortable knowing we used part of our scarce resources for her."

"Mouse won't get caught. Not again."

"Bailing you out of jail is not the only situation that would require us to use such resources," Father informed Mouse.

"Catherine could certainly afford to provide what was needed," Vincent continued, "but she fears hurting my pride. Rationally, I know her wealth means little to her, except as a way to make life easier for those she loves, or who need help."

"But it still bothers you." Father reaches out to touch his son's bowed shoulders. "Vincent, it's only human nature." As Vincent raised his head, Father met his son's implacable gaze. "Yes, Vincent," he insisted. "*Human* nature."

Suddenly their mutual concentration was broken when Mouse leaped up and began hugging himself gleefully. "OK good, OK fine! Mouse can fix! No problem."

"Mouse, whatever are you talking about?" Father exclaimed in exasperation.

"Rings. For Catherine. For Vincent too. All figured out. Let Mouse do it--OK, Vincent? My present."

"Mouse, what makes you think--" Father stopped abruptly at Vincent's touch.

"Mouse, do you mean you will provide the wedding rings?"

Mouse beamed at Vincent, nodding his head so vigorously his hair fell into his eyes. Vincent thought hard for a moment. To trust something this important to the unpredictable Mouse ... Vincent made his decision. Better for him and Catherine to wear cigar bands for all the years of their marriage than extinguish the light that suffused that young face. "All right, Mouse. And thank you."

Father sank back into the chair, appalled. He hoped against hope that Vincent didn't regret this.


* * *


On the streets of Manhattan, March was trying to decide whether it was a lion or a lamb, and changing its mind frequently. Below those streets, Catherine and Vincent were curled up on his bed, surrounded by piles of books. Catherine rummaged enthusiastically, increasing the disarray. Finally Vincent could stand it no longer. "Catherine, what are you searching for?"

"That book that talked about Quaker weddings. I wanted to check the wording again." She turned her attention to the bookcase next to Vincent's bed, hoping the elusive volume might have migrated over there. Suddenly she reached out and drew something from the shelf, turning to her fiancée with an indulgent smile. "Vincent, I didn't know you brought this down here."

Vincent shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted more time to look at them. When we looked at them together, I found myself too easily distracted from the past by the present."

Catherine opened the photo album with a fond smile. "May it always be so, love," she announced firmly. "I want us to concentrate on present and future ... but it's nice to remember, especially the good parts."

Vincent slipped an arm around Catherine's shoulders. "It gives me great pleasure to see what you looked like as a child. It seems amazing that we shared the same city for so many years, with no idea of what we would be to each other some day."

Catherine turned to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "The fact that we managed to find each other at all is the really amazing thing. I think it happened at just the right moment in our lives. I don't think I could have appreciated you properly when I was younger and even shallower, and I can't imagine you would have seen anything worthwile in me."

Catherine," Vincent admonished, "you have often expressed your concern about my self-image, but you are hardly immune to--"

"Let's change the subject," Catherine interrupted hastily. "What about that book?"

Vincent sighed but began helping her look. In a sudden burst of inspiration, he leaned over the edge of the bed and spied the volume in question resting on the floor in company with several of its fellows. Retrieving it, he handed it to Catherine with a shake of his head. "My love, you are one of the most energetic researchers I have ever known. You must have left your law books in ruins."

"Guilty. I have to restrain myself when the books belong to somebody else, like the library or the DA's office. This feels more like my carefree college days." She flipped through the pages looking for the passage she remembered. "Here it is! All you'd have to do is stand up during the regular Sunday meeting and say, 'Friends, I take this my friend Catherine Chandler to be my wife, promising through divine assistance, to be unto her a loving and faithful husband, until it should please the Lord by death to separate us,' in about fifty or sixty years." Catherine looked at Vincent lovingly. "I added the last part."

Vincent kissed her forehead. "It has a sweet simplicity to it," he agreed. "Would you say the same to me?"

"Suitably adjusted for 'husband' and 'wife,' yes." Catherine sighed. "I'm afraid it's a little too simple. I just liked the part about friends. You were my friend first, after all. Or at least I thought that's all you were at the time." She took Vincent's hand, twining her fingers around his, but didn't look at his face. "When did you fall in love with me? At the very beginning?"

Vincent looked at their entwined hands, speaking so softly Catherine could just hear him. "Yes. I didn't recognize it at the time--after all, I had spent years convincing myself that kind of love was something I would never know. All I knew then was that I couldn't get you out of my mind--literally or figuratively."

"When did you recognize it?"

"When you were falling in love with Elliot Burch."

Catherine blinked back tears as she put her arms around Vincent. "Oh, my love--I can't bear the knowledge that I caused you pain, however inadvertently."

Vincent held her close. "Catherine--dearest--how could you have known, when I tried so hard to convince you, and myself, that kind of love was impossible between us? Part of me wanted nothing but your happiness--but another part screamed in pain at the thought of you finding that happiness with anyone else."

"If it's any consolation, I think it was already too late. I think I fell in love with you as early as you did with me; it just took me even longer to recognize it."

"Catherine, for all those months I kept away from you--you had no reason to believe you'd ever see me again. You must have wondered sometimes if it all hadn't been a dream."

"No. I knew it was real. I doubted I'd ever see you again, and hadn't the faintest idea of how to find you, although I thought of looking more than once. I told myself it was just because I wanted to be your friend, to thank you more for all you'd done ... but I was lying to myself. I never told you before, Vincent, but after I met you I never slept with anyone else. I gave myself other explanations at the time, but now I know it was because some part of me knew from the first there was no one for me but you."

Vincent looked at Catherine in wonder. "I never realized ... when I discovered the bond I had with you, at first I tried hard to ignore it; it felt like I was invading your privacy. I just assumed ... but now that I think about it, I should have known. If you had been with anyone else, I don't think I could have escaped knowing." He shuddered helplessly at the prospect.

"I should have known when everything fell apart with Elliot." Catherine continued. "I turned against him so fast, without listening to his explanations, and he did nothing worse than Tom Gunther or countless others like him did every day. But by then I knew you, and without realizing it, measured every man I met against you. None ever came close."

"When did you realize you loved me as more than a friend?"

"I came pretty close when Hughes captured you, but you'd done such a good job of convincing me that going to Providence was a good idea, I didn't trust my perceptions of what was between us. But when you were in that cave-in, and I thought you might be dead--after that, there was no doubt. It took me awhile to figure out what to do about it, but after that I never again doubted that I was in love with you."

Vincent drew Catherine close again. "Sometimes I think we made the path to true love even rougher than it's supposed to be."

Catherine snuggled happily against him. "Maybe," she agreed. "But who knows? Maybe that's the only path that would have gotten us here--and since I like where we are, I'm not about to quibble over the route. I'm counting my blessings."

They held each other quietly for awhile, each reliving the torturous road that had led them to their present joy. After a time they reluctantly separated to continue their research. There was after all, a wedding to plan. Some time later, Vincent began to chuckle.

"What?" Catherine demanded.

"If you wish simplicity," Vincent grinned, "the customs of the Trobriand Islands should be perfect. It says here that even couples who have been sleeping together for some time are not considered married until they perform a certain act in public."

"What act?" Catherine attempted to look her most seductive.

"Eating yams," Vincent answered, straight-faced. He had only seconds to enjoy Catherine's reaction before the pillow impacted his head. Her attempts to pulverize her betrothed ended when she was weakened by an unavoidable fit of the giggles.

Vincent struggled for composure. "Catherine, we really should keep our minds on the job at hand."

Catherine regarded him indignantly. "You're the one who brought up yams," she reminded him.

Eventually they settled down to some serious research, identifying poetry and other readings for their wedding, taking bits and pieces from various sources to construct as ecumenical a ceremony as possible. When Catherine suddenly frowned, Vincent asked her what was wrong.

"Don't we have the older version of The Book of Common Prayer somewhere?"

Nodding, Vincent dug into the pile and handed her a well- worn volume. "The 1928 edition," he announced. "Father refuses to acknowledge the 1977 revision."

"Really?" Catherine smiled. "Why doesn't that surprise me? Actually my father liked the older version better, too. I can't decide which to use for the exchange of rings. There's a beautiful, straightforward simplicity about the new version ... "

"I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you ..." Vincent quoted from memory, in a voice that caused Catherine to lose her train of thought completely.

"And the old version?" Vincent prompted.

"The what? Oh ..." Catherine tried to collect herself. "I never liked that obey business much," she admitted. "And that bit about endowing with worldly goods seems terribly materialistic. But there's a part they left out that I always loved ... do you think we could combine the two?"

"I don't see why not--it's our wedding, after all." Vincent gently trailed the back of a finger down her cheek. "What part would you like to keep?"

Catherine leaned into his touch, her eyes fixed on his face. " 'With my body I thee worship'--I never understood what it meant--until you."

Like spontaneous combustion, the sudden wave of passion that engulfed them seemed to erupt from nowhere--but in seconds, they were both on fire. Books went flying as they sank into the bed, arms and legs entwined, lips seeking hungrily. As Catherine's mouth opened under Vincent's, his hand slipped under her sweater. As she tangled one hand in his hair, the other began a frantic tugging on his shirt ...

"Vincent, have you--oh!"

Father stopped dead in his tracks, transfixed by the scene before him. Disentangling themselves in record time, Catherine and Vincent stared at him in turn. For a moment, all held still like a Victorian tableau, then all began to talk at once.

"Forgive me, the tapestry was up so I thought--"

"I'm sorry, Father, we didn't expect--"

"We didn't expect to ... I mean, we were just--"

They stopped talking all at once, as if on cue. Choosing the better part of valor, Catherine buried her face in a pillow, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact she was having hysterics. Vincent ran his fingers through his hair, attempting with no more success to make himself look less disheveled.

Recovering first, Father began to appreciate the humor in the situation. He began to chuckle. "Vincent--dear Grace had a favorite expression: 'if you hadn't seen it before, you wouldn't know what it was.' "

"Thank, you, Father," Vincent replied fervently. "We did not expect to need privacy; we only intended to work on the ceremony."

"That should be quite a ceremony," Father observed, undeterred by his son's pained expression. "What account of exotic marriage customs led to such ... enthusiasm?"

Catherine emerged from the pillow. "Actually--" she looked Father right in the eye--"it was The Book of Common Prayer."

Father looked startled, but quickly decided not to pursue this conversation. He began moving toward the door. "Well, I'll take my leave and allow you to continue your theological discussion. Shall I put the tapestry down?"

"Perhaps that would be wise," Vincent agreed. "Father--what were you about to ask when you came in?"

The older man looked puzzled for a moment, then began to laugh. "You know, I haven't the faintest idea! Something seems to have driven it quite out of my head." He was still chucking as he pulled the heavy tapestry down over the open door.

"Oh, my God," Catherine groaned. "I've never been so mortified."

"Look at it this way, Catherine," Vincent attempted to reassure his beloved. "For all those years, Father thought this kind of love would be denied to me, and that caused him great sorrow. He's really very pleased that you and I became lovers."

"I know that, Vincent," Catherine sighed, "and I'm glad. But he seemed willing to accept hearsay evidence. I hadn't intended to give him a demonstration."

"Perhaps," Vincent decided, "this would be a good time to tell you about Rebecca's wedding present."

"Another one? I thought the special wedding candles were her present--that's more than enough."

"Well," Vincent admitted, "the second present is only a by- product of something else."

Catherine tugged on Vincent's hair. "Well, come on, tell me! I'm dying of curiosity."

Vincent capitulated. "Rebecca has decided to move in with Gregory."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Catherine threw her arms around Vincent's neck and squeezed. "I'm so happy for them--they're crazy about each other. Maybe we'll have another wedding Below pretty soon."

"It wouldn't surprise me at all," Vincent agreed.

"But what does that have to do with a wedding present for us?" Vincent was silent, but Catherine's face suddenly lit up as she put two and two together. "Vincent! Rebecca's moving out!"

Vincent nodded sagely. "Moving in with Gregory would entail moving out of her present quarters, yes."

"Which happen to be right next door to yours!" Catherine almost jumped up and down in her excitement. "That means--"

Vincent wrapped his arms around her, partly to keep her from bouncing off the bed, partly because he found it undeniably pleasurable. "That means that within the week I can start blocking the current door to that chamber and carving out a new one that will link it to this. We can make Rebecca's old room our bedroom, and this into an anteroom."

"Hallelujah!" Catherine exclaimed. "Much as I love you, and like staying Below--there are times when this place feels less like the honeymoon suite and more like the lobby." She resumed her interrupted task of removing Vincent's shirt. "Now, where were we ...?"

Vincent slipped his hands under her sweater again. "With my body I thee worship ... "

"Let us worship together," Catherine intoned, just before her mouth found better things to do.


* * *

Part Six

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