Candle To Candle (6)

Catherine sat at her kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea as she gazed dreamily at the tiny garden. It was definitely starting to feel like spring. Even though this winter had been a remarkably mild one, and an even more remarkably happy one, she was still glad to see the change of seasons. Only spring could due justice to the feelings of rebirth and renewal that made her feel too full to hold any more. For two years she had been planting seeds of hope in Vincent's disbelieving heart--at last, it was time for their love to bloom.

She stretched luxuriously. It really was time to be getting upstairs and back to work, but it felt too good to sit here. Weekends were usually spent Below. Only the need to get ahead at work so she could take a week off this month kept her nose more or less to the grindstone. Joe probably thought she was going to the Bahamas or some such tropical paradise. She had implied she was going out of town, after all, but had otherwise ignored her boss's unsubtle attempts to learn more. Catherine rested her chin in one hand and smiled. She certainly wouldn't be getting any tan where she was going; not many people spent their honeymoon underground.

The ring of the telephone startled Catherine out of her reverie. Normally she would have let the answering machine pick it up to see who was calling, but she jumped at the chance to avoid facing the pile of work in her study. Vincent was busy preparing their new chamber, so she couldn't count on him to rescue her for some time.

"Cathy!" Jenny began eagerly as soon as Catherine said hello. "You've got to get down here right away."

"What? Jenny, where is 'here?' What's going on?"

"I'm at that antique shop in the Village, the one you told me about. Where you bought Vincent's Winterfest present, remember?"

"Of course I remember," Catherine replied. "But why are you there? Why do I have to come all the way down there now? Jenny, are you in trouble? Is something wrong?"

"Heck, no! I just saved your buns, that's all. You know how you've having fits because you haven't found the perfect wedding present for Vincent? Well, I'm looking at it."

Catherine didn't hesitate. "I'll be down there as soon as I can get a cab."

Jenny laughed. "If you can't get one to stop, pull out your gun and commandeer one. But hurry--if I have to stay here much longer, my VISA bill is on your head."

Catherine had lived in Manhattan long enough to know how to get a cab without resorting to firearms. Before Jenny's will power could break under the strain, Catherine entered the shop she had stumbled across last December. Spotting Jenny in a corner, she rushed to her eagerly, wondering if her friend's intuition was correct again.

Jenny grabbed Catherine's arm as soon as she was within range, pointing to the wall. "Well, is that it?" she asked. Catherine was silent as she read the words, then gingerly took the frame off its hook and moved to where the light was better. After looking at it carefully for several minutes, she sighed. "Oh, Jenny, this is most definitely it. Bless you-- you've done it again."

Jenny grinned happily. "Hey, when I'm a Maid of Honor I don't fool around; all part of the service. Have you ever seen such beautiful calligraphy?"

"It's exquisite," Catherine breathed. "And Vincent loves John Donne. I'm glad whoever did this used the Elizabethan spelling; he'll like that too."

"Look at the design of that border," Jenny pointed out. "It looks like Arts & Crafts period. It might have been made about the same time as the furniture in your house."

"Or earlier, if it's English." Catherine turned the frame over, but the back yielded no clues. Turning it over again, Catherine shook her head in wonder. "This was obviously done with a great deal of love, as well as talent. I wonder how it got here? How could anyone bear to part with it?"

"Would you like to know?" Catherine and Jenny both turned to face the tall, soft-spoken man who appeared behind them.

"This is your shop, isn't it?" Catherine asked. "I remember you from when I was here before Christmas."

The man nodded in agreement. "Jonathan Sykes of Sykes and Moore, Inc., at your service. Ah, I remember you now--the nineteenth-century bronze of Sekhmet."

"I'm impressed," Catherine admitted as she shook his hand. "You have a remarkable memory. Especially since it wasn't even you who waited on me."

"I imagine it was your unusual reaction to the statue which caused me to remember," Mr. Sykes mused. "The lion-headed goddess is a powerful deity. Most people react with derision or awe, depending on their attitude toward other people's religions. I can recall no one else who grinned."

Catherine looked uncomfortable and Jenny suddenly became fascinated by a Victorian chamber pot. "You know the story behind this piece? I'm surprised anyone would let it out of the family."

"It belonged to my late partner," Sykes explained. "He had no close relatives to will it to."

"He didn't leave it to you?" Jenny asked.

Catherine winced. "Jenny, that's none of your business."

"Sorry," Jenny apologized. "I'm a hopeless romantic."

Jonathan Sykes only smiled. "Mr. Moore was my business partner only, and my good friend. He did have a companion of many years, but that gentleman predeceased him."

"Still ... " Catherine looked at the beautiful poem again. "I would have thought he would rather have left it to a friend than have it sold."

"Patrick Moore was convinced it would find its proper owner," Sykes explained. "It was made by his grandmother for his grandfather. There was considerable family opposition to the marriage. His grandmother was a descendant of English aristocracy--no doubt disreputable younger sons who fled to the New World--but aristocracy nonetheless. They wouldn't hear of her marrying a poor Irish immigrant. But she did."

Catherine and Jenny both stared at him in fascination as he continued the narrative. "Then Patrick's father carried on the tradition by falling in love with a black woman. His grandparents didn't object, but most of the world certainly did back then. Patrick's mother and father passed this on to him, and he carried on the tradition in his own way. He had an almost mystical belief that whoever bought this would be led to it-- would be someone who appreciated its history."

When he finished, Catherine was too stunned to say anything for a moment. Sykes wondered if she realized that she was clutching the poem so close to her chest she looked like she would kill anyone who tried to take it away. Finally, she found her voice. "Believe me, Mr. Sykes--there isn't anyone in New York who could appreciate this as much as I do."

"I had a feeling that was the case," he admitted. "I'm sure Patrick would have been very pleased. And please call me Jonathan."

Catherine was still dazed as they left the shop, the precious parcel well wrapped and held tightly in her arms, but not too dazed to thank her friend. "Jenny, I owe you one--I owe you ten! First, I'm taking you home in a cab, then I'm taking you out to dinner. Name the place, I'll get reservations if I have to bribe someone."

"Whoa," Jenny laughed. "I'll take you up on the cab ride, but just drop me at my place--which used to be your place not too long ago. I'll take a rain check on dinner. There's somebody I have to see tonight."

"Oh?" Catherine pressed. "Business someone or pleasure someone?"

"Business, and none of yours. You concentrate on where you're going to hide that present until the wedding."


***


Jenny was so eager to get back to her apartment she let Catherine refuse her contribution to the cab fare without an argument that would take time she couldn't spare. Jenny hadn't been raised by a Jewish mother for nothing. Invite a man for dinner, even strictly a business one, and certain standards had to be upheld. She grabbed an apron and faced the kitchen like a general preparing for battle.

By the time the doorman announced her visitor, the smells that filled the apartment were enough to make strong men weep with anticipation. Checking the peephole, Jenny determined that her visitor was the one she expected. Even though Catherine claimed security in this building was much improved, Jenny was dubious. Despite the "Aaronson" prominently displayed on the directory downstairs, Jenny kept expecting anyone from wandering gypsies to voodoo cultists to crooked cops dropping by unannounced. Undoing various locks and deadbolts, Jenny opened the door. The man's grin didn't quite disguise his curiosity. "Hi, Jenny. You know, I've never actually been in this apartment before? Although I did end up butt-first in the elevator once."

Jenny smiled as she motioned him in. "I know, Cathy told me that story. Come on in, Devin."

As they worked their way through appetizers, dinner, and a bottle of wine, Jenny and Devin traded stories about Vincent and Catherine as well as each other. As the level in the wine bottle got lower, the stories got funnier. There hadn't been much time to talk during Devin's grand homecoming the previous weekend, but what little Jenny was able to observe told her Devin had a definite way with words. By the time they had polished off dessert, both were weak with laughter.

After a short, comfortable, silence, Devin set his coffee cup down firmly and faced Jenny. "So, what's this all about? You told me you were going to make me an offer I couldn't refuse. While women have often found my body irresistible, something tells me that wasn't the kind of offer you meant."

Jenny's grin matched his. "You're right about that. Besides, wouldn't it be incest or something?" She leaned forward on the sofa, fixing Devin with a semi-serious look. "Have you gotten Cathy and Vincent a wedding present yet?"

Devin looked suddenly unhappy. "No--I was hoping I'd get an inspiration once I got to New York." He sighed. "I'm not exactly flush right now. Taking care of Charles is more expensive than I anticipated ... and there aren't many opportunities for getting rich in the depths of the Adirondacks-- unless you already happen to own a nice lodge or ski resort."

Jenny looked pleased with herself. "What I've got in mind won't take much money--but it will take time, ingenuity, and some persuasive talking. I can tell you've got all it takes of the last two."

"If this idea is as good as you think it is, I'll make time. Everybody's concentrating so hard on entertaining Charles or preparing for the big day, they'll never miss me."

Jenny nodded. "OK. Here's my plan ... "


***


While Jenny was unrolling her lengthy plot to Devin, one of the objects of that conspiracy was wandering around her dressing room, poking and prodding in drawers, making mental lists. What to pack for a honeymoon spent crawling around in an underground kingdom that still seemed half-mythical to Catherine at times? She knew poor Vincent was still fretting about their limited possibilities for such an important occasion. No matter how many times she told him she'd be happy to spend her honeymoon in a dumpster as long as it was with him; no matter how many stories she told him about outdoorsy friends who went camping on their honeymoons, he was still unhappy, reminded once again of the limitations his differences placed on their life.

Catherine sighed. As if such unimportant things mattered to her, measured against the glorious prospect of a life spent with him. Clearly this was one battle that would have to be fought again and again. Maybe in a decade or so she'd get him to really believe it didn't matter. At least the wedding night would be spent in this house; the nightgown she'd bought for the occasion should dazzle her groom enough to last through a week of jeans and sleeping bags. And the crystal cavern--if that really was as beautiful as Vincent described, it should be pretty romantic even if it was a bit rustic.

Wandering into the bedroom, Catherine pulled out the crystal that hung from its gold chain around her neck. It would be nice to see the place this came from. She sat on the bed, lost in memories. The dress she had worn the night Vincent put this around her neck almost two years ago had looked almost as much like a wedding dress as the one she would wear in five days. There was a promise made that night, though never stated. Through all the two-steps-forward, one-step-back progress of their relationship, through all the doubt and despair both of them had suffered, this indestructible crystal lay over her heart. Its silent message of endurance, of hope, had kept her own determination alive through the darkest times. And now ...

Catherine looked up as the wall panel opened and Vincent stepped into the room. The look in his eyes as he saw her sitting there dangling the crystal in her hand was worth enduring anything. Wordlessly, he knelt before her, taking the crystal from her and kissing it before letting it slide back under her shirt to find its home between her breasts. Catherine wrapped her arms around Vincent's neck and rested her cheek against his hair. They held each other in silence for a moment. As they separated, Vincent rose and held out his hands to Catherine.

"Are you ready to go Below, my love?"

Catherine took his hands and stood. "I'm ready to go to the ends of the earth with you, any time." Such a remark clearly deserved a kiss, and Vincent was eager to oblige. Eventually, they made their way Below, not quite missing dinner. William had to restrain himself from complaining, knowing he would immediately be jumped on by a small army of romantics who were indulging the wedding couple shamelessly these days.

Catherine felt almost guilty for stopping to eat at all. Mouse had obviously wolfed his meal down early, and was almost bursting with eagerness to show Catherine and Vincent his surprise. Even Jamie had only limited success in curbing his obvious impatience. Wilting under Mouse's implacable scrutiny, the two lovers decided they could always sneak back later for more to eat, and made do with an abbreviated meal. When Catherine and Vincent rose, Mouse burst out of his chair like a rock from a catapult, leading them toward Cullen's workshop at a pace more suitable for a track and field competition than for navigating the Tunnels. Jamie pretended to be disgusted, but Catherine could tell she was really as excited as Mouse.

When the rest of the party arrived in Cullen's workroom, they found Mouse looking like the cat that had swallowed the proverbial canary--several canaries. Cullen was grinning his usual sardonic grin, and even Jamie looked unusually smug. The three conspirators--it was now obvious they were all involved-- faced the future bride and groom as Jamie began to speak.

"Cathy," she began, "you remember I told you not to worry about the wedding rings, that I'd take care of it?" Catherine nodded, noticing Vincent's head turn to her in surprise as Jamie continued. "Well, when I went to ask Mouse for his help, I found that Mouse had already promised Vincent the same thing."

Now it was Catherine's turn to look at Vincent in surprise. "Great minds think alike," Mouse offered. "Heard Father say that once."

Cullen handed a small carved wooden box to Jamie, who handed it to Mouse. Suddenly shy, Mouse offered it to Vincent and Catherine. As Vincent accepted it, he and Catherine looked at the intricate carving. What had seemed at first a complicated abstract pattern resolved into their entwined initials. Catherine reluctantly lifted her head. "It's beautiful! Is it your work, Cullen?"

Cullen nodded. "Mouse and Jamie are idea men--and women," he added hastily at a glare from Jamie. "They came up with the notion and provided the material, then roped me in for my special talents. So it's a present from all three of us."

"Open," Mouse commanded. "Hurry up!"

As Catherine lifted the lid, she and Vincent looked into the box. Nestled on dark velvet, two silver rings glowed in the soft light of Below like captured moonlight. After a moment of absolute stillness, Vincent reached inside and gently removed the smaller of the two. The delicate band revealed itself as a circle of carefully carved Celtic knot work, a pattern weaving in and out of itself seemingly without beginning or end. What looked like separate strands at first proved to be so intricately interwoven they formed a single entity. Catherine held the second ring, as beautifully carved as the first but sized to fit Vincent's larger hand.

Unnerved by the lengthy silence of his friends, Mouse began to explain. "Sorry they're not gold--gold's not easy to find or take--not a good idea, either." Mouse pointedly avoided looking at Cullen, who bowed his head at a suddenly painful memory.

"Silver's easy to get," Jenny broke in. "People are always losing earrings and rings in grates, and Mouse finds lots of bits of forks and spoons all the time. I knew he'd have plenty for rings."

Catherine finally found her voice past the lump in her throat. "They're wonderful--they're perfect!"

Vincent agreed. "This is great gift to us. We will both be proud to wear them."

"Don't mind they're not gold?" Mouse beamed but was still not quite convinced.

"You know," Catherine replied, "gold stays shiny even if you neglect it, that's one of the reasons people value it ... but I don't think that's a very good metaphor for a marriage."

Catching Catherine's train of thought, Vincent nodded. "Silver requires care, and attention, to remain at its best. Its beauty cannot be taken for granted."

Catherine moved to hug Cullen, Jamie, and a flustered but delighted Mouse. "I think you've made a perfect choice. These are the best presents you could possibly give us." Reluctantly putting the rings back in their box, Catherine handed it to Jamie. "Technically, it's the Best Man and Maid of Honor who are responsible for the rings," she explained. "But under the circumstances, I don't think Devin or Jenny will mind if we give that honor to you and Mouse."

Mouse looked like someone had just presented him with a lifetime supply of the finest tools and gizmos, and Jamie looked equally as happy. Cullen smiled on the whole gathering like a benevolent if slightly disreputable uncle on his best behavior. Vincent suggested they all repair to the kitchen to celebrate the occasion. Catherine grinned to herself as her unsatisfied stomach rumbled in happy anticipation. How clever of her to marry a man who was smart as well as handsome.


* * *

Part Seven

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