The Fire and The Rose (3)

The year continued its downward turn into the dark, and Catherine's life moved quietly along. Her new work was rewarding, but emotionally draining. She was still seeking a balance between the demands of all the people seeking her professional help and the needs of those who had become her true family. Especially the one who had become the center of everything. Vincent made no more references to what had happened on Samhain, and she did not press the issue. What she had planted would flower in its own time, or not at all.

Many people had invited her for Thanksgiving, concerned about how she would feel on the first such holiday after her father's death. She was touched by their caring, and assured them all that she would be spending the holiday with some good friends. Everyone took this at face value, except Jenny. After the episode of the watcher, Catherine found it increasingly difficult to keep things from Jenny, beginning to suspect that it was more than the demands of her double life that had kept her from seeing more of her old friend in the past two years. She remembered just how frighteningly intuitive Jenny could be. Jenny was understandably curious about the mysterious stranger who stayed with Catherine the night she was rescued from her nearest brush with death. Gradually Catherine told Jenny a version of the story she had given Nancy Tucker-vague enough to protect Vincent and his secrets; detailed enough to satisfy Jenny's curiosity and assuage her concern. Catherine had no illusions Jenny would be satisfied with that forever. Given her friend's track record, Catherine half expected a phone call any day, and Jenny's voice telling her about a remarkable dream ... Catherine half feared an event like that, and half hoped for it.

The rain and cold of a New York November meant that Catherine spent a lot of time Below. When Vincent came to her, needing to escape, he no longer confined himself to her balcony. Those three days spent inside her apartment-though he remembered only fragments of that time-seemed to have broken the spell at last. Tentatively at first, then with increasing ease, they spent many evenings by her fire. They talked of everything from Jung to Asian music to the oscillating universe. She shared with him the pain of all the wounded families she dealt with in the course of her day, and his quiet sympathy helped her bear all their sorrows. Despite the strange feeling of being suspended, waiting for something to happen, in many ways it was the happiest time of Catherine's life.

Thanksgiving Below was quieter than Winterfest, and less elaborate, but very moving to Catherine. Although there was no denying she missed her father terribly, she had but to look around her to be reminded how much she had to be thankful for. Her family now was actually bigger than she'd ever had before, and no less loving for the lack of any ties of blood. Father regarded her rather speculatively when Mouse commented-in his inimitable way-on the unusual bounty of this year's dinner. Catherine had wondered how she could bring that about without being too obvious about it. In a moment of inspiration she enlisted William as her secret ally. It had been like offering Michelangelo some choice pieces of marble. What artist could turn down the means to outdo himself?

Vincent seemed to be inundated by children for most of the day, more so than usual. Catherine thought she understood why. The Tunnel children were a part of the community in a way few children of their age in her world were. They knew only too well, she was sure, how close they had come to losing their favorite teacher, confidante, and surrogate big brother ... or perhaps surrogate father would be more accurate. Many of the younger children could easily have fathers Vincent's age. At that thought, Catherine had to look away and steel herself against the emotions she could feel welling up from the deep place where she kept them hidden.

As each day grew darker, the city became more dazzling, adorning itself for all the festivals of light that converged at this time of year. Catherine had never enjoyed Christmas shopping more. Santa Claus was going to be exceptionally generous Below this year if she had anything to say about it, and hang the consequences. Father would probably lecture her afterwards about spoiling everyone, but that would come later. After all, how could he possibly criticize Santa Claus in front of the children?

For the most part, she tried to choose gifts that were beautiful and meaningful without being too impractical, hand-carved knitting needles for Mary, paints and brushes for Elizabeth, a glorious variety of "gizmos" for Mouse. She tried not to think too much about what he might concoct out of them. Practicality went out the window in an obscure little shop in the Village, where she found a gift for Vincent she was unable to resist. As Catherine went about her holiday business with a growing sense of joy and anticipation, the wheel turned inexorably until it was the longest night of the year.


* * *


"Peter! Come in--I'm almost ready; I just need to give my cloak a good brush and get my candle, and Vincent's present."

Peter Alcott looked at her appreciatively. "Cathy, you look lovelier every time I see you, but tonight is exceptional. That dress is spectacular."

"Do you like it? PannŽ velvet does seem to be a Tunnel kind of fabric, doesn't it? And this color made me think of snow by candlelight-very appropriate for Winterfest."

"It will certainly put Vincent in the holiday spirit," Peter chuckled.

"Peter, if you say anything embarrassing in front of him I'll never forgive you. It's bad enough when you tell everybody that I was naked when you first saw me ..."

"Just part of my persona as the quaint old family physician," Peter insisted.

"I shudder to think what you and Father say about us when we're not around. No, don't say a word, I'd rather not know."

"Cathy," Peter said as he helped her into her cape, "I have told him more than once that he should never underestimate you. I wish I'd been there to tell him from the beginning. When I think of you carrying that secret all alone for so long ... "

As the left the apartment, Catherine tucked her arm in Peter's. "I'm just glad I finally did find out that you were part of it too; I only wish we could have made the discovery under happier circumstances. It's been wonderful to have someone from my own world to talk to, especially since..."

"Especially since you couldn't tell Charles?"

"Yes. I'll always regret he never really got to meet Vincent. I'll never know for sure what he would have thought," Catherine said sadly.

Peter patted the hand that rested on his arm. "Knowing my old friend Charles, I'm sure he would have accepted anyone his daughter loved so much. Of course, he might have been a bit startled at first."

"Might have been?" Catherine laughed.

"All right, would have been," Peter admitted. "But Charles could recognize quality when he saw it. After all, he married your mother."

Catherine smiled gratefully. "Yes, he did, didn't he? And he certainly had good taste in friends."

Catherine and Peter had decided to use the basement entrance and find their own way. The Tunnel community would be spread thin, preparing for the party and escorting Helpers Below. By now Catherine knew this route by heart, and could find her way around most of the Tunnels unaided. She never even thought about it anymore. As they approached Father's chamber, they encountered more and more people busily moving about. Some carried musical instruments, others platters of food; festively wrapped bundles poked surreptitiously out of many a pocket. Catherine and Peter found their journey took longer the closer they got to the central chambers. One of the original Helpers in the company of the almost legendary Catherine could not be allowed to pass by without effusive greetings.

Catherine and Vincent arrived in Father's chamber at the same time from different directions. Although both were greeted with holiday wishes from the small crowd assembled there, neither could have repeated a word that was said to them to save their lives. Catherine was aware of nothing but the look on Vincent's face when he saw her, and the look of Vincent himself. He wore the ruffled "special occasion shirt" she loved, but everything else seemed new-or as new as anything ever got Below. His pants were a green so dark as to be almost black, the fabric softened by many washings. The black boots were ones Catherine couldn't remember having seen before; they were lighter than those he usually wore-dancing boots, she hoped. The most impressive item of his new wardrobe was a long vest made of a velvety fabric that had probably begun its life as curtains or upholstery. Time had mellowed the red and gold pattern to a muted richness that would make anything new look garish.

The effect of all this on Catherine was sufficiently obvious that the greetings of those assembled soon tapered off and changed to ill-concealed grins. It wasn't until Vincent approached her and took her hands that she realized they were the center of attention.

"Vincent ... you look ... wonderful," she managed to stammer.

"Thanks to my Winterfest gifts," Vincent said with amusement. "Mouse claims he found the boots quite legitimately, and I have not been willing to ask him any questions. The rest is from Mary, who insisted I needed something more festive for such occasions." Vincent held Catherine a bit away from him, drinking in the sight of her like he could never get enough. "I'm glad she did-though it still makes me barely worthy to escort such a vision."

"If you two are through discussing which of you is the more dazzling," Father chuckled, "we should start toward the Great Hall now."

"We'd never agree, anyway," Catherine admitted. She turned back to Vincent. "I thought I'd wait until Christmas to bring my presents, but I couldn't wait that long for yours. Could I just put it in your chamber for now, and we could exchange gifts after the party winds down?"

"I was about to suggest the same thing myself," Vincent agreed. "But you must promise not to examine my gift to you too closely. No unfair advantages in guessing."

"Vincent, passing up an unfair advantage goes against all my legal training. But I promise."

Catherine had been enthralled by her first Winterfest. There was a power in the ritual that seemed to tap the very roots of meaning, roots that reached back to the first time humans watched the sun dwindle and prayed for its return. Above, that primal meaning barely survived under layers of superficiality and commercialism; Below, it was stripped to its essentials. This year it seemed more powerful than ever. As Vincent took her hand to lead her into the dark, she could not help but remember leading him out of his own ... and she knew he was remembering too. Sitting at the great table, Catherine held her breath, waiting for Father's voice to emerge from the gloom.

"The world above us is cold and gray. Summer-a distant memory. Our world, too, has known its winters. So each year we begin this feast in darkness, as our world began in darkness ..." The words seemed to bore into her. The memory of this particular summer would stay with her forever. Her world had almost ended in darkness; without Vincent life would be cold and gray forever. Catherine had absorbed more losses in her life than she would have believed she could bear, and they had only made her stronger in the end. But that was one loss she knew could not be borne. As Vincent took up the ritual, she let the sound of that matchless voice wash over her, and found comfort in the sight of his face emerging in the candlelight.

As Father, Mary and Vincent spoke the familiar words and the light grew around her, Catherine marveled at the difference a year had made. At the last Winterfest she had been overjoyed because it seemed to signify a new degree of acceptance of her, a public recognition of her Helper status. Now, her life was so interwoven with this world its very center had shifted Below. Especially since her father's death.

"We are all part of one another. One community. Sometimes we forget this, and so we meet here, each year, to give thanks to those who have helped us ... "

Lifting her head, Catherine saw that Father's eyes were on her. "And to remember: even the greatest darkness is nothing, so long as we share the light."

Catherine had loved last year's Winterfest, despite Paracelsus' attempts to ruin it, but this one put it to shame. The sense of joy and freedom was almost palpable. Although no one said it so many words, Catherine knew why. With Paracelsus' death, a threat that had hung over this community for over thirty years was gone. He still had followers, but without his brilliance to organize them and his obsessions to give their malice direction, they were only a minor worry. All knew who was responsible for lifting that threat, and they knew what it had cost him. Everyone seemed to be taking the opportunity to shower Vincent with love and attention. Catherine came in for her share of attention as well. Most knew what she had risked to save Vincent, and recalled how many other risks she had taken over the years to keep their world safe. From the beginning she had been an object of consuming interest as "Vincent's Catherine;" now she was loved and honored as their Catherine.

It seemed that every male Tunnel resident taller than her waist wanted to dance with Catherine, and the female contingent was equally attentive to Vincent. Since his stamina was greater than hers, Catherine felt only a little guilty abandoning him to his fate temporarily and joining the spectators on the stairs. The scene below her made her think of Fezziwig's warehouse. The candlelight, the music, the dancing all conspired to give the scene the feel of something from another time. Catherine smiled. Vincent, of course, made it seem even more magical than that. His golden hair seemed to pick up all the light in the room as he swung a worshipful Samantha around the floor. So entranced was Catherine she didn't realize anyone was beside her until a delighted baby-shriek brought her out of her reverie.

"Lena! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were there." Catherine smiled apologetically. "It seems little Cathy is enjoying her first Winterfest."

"Little Cathy is so excited she may never calm down. Sarah said she'd put her to bed for me so I could stay at the party. I hope she doesn't change her mind," Lena said mournfully.

"Sarah's got a low tolerance for large parties, according to Father," Catherine reassured her. "He said she never stays very late at Winterfest. It was nice of her to do that for you, though."

"Yeah. I thought Sarah was pretty scary at first, but I figured out she just likes to look that way. She's really nice underneath."

"I'm glad you'll have the chance to stay till the end, especially since it's your first one. Winterfest is wonderful," Catherine said enthusiastically.

"I'll bet you'd say the same about National Pickle Day as long as you got to spend it with Vincent," Lena laughed.

"Is there really a National Pickle Day, or did you make that up?" Catherine retorted. "Besides, I hear you may have ulterior motives for spending a lot of time at this party ... like dancing with Julio all night?"

Lena looked a little flustered. "I guess it's pretty hard to keep secrets in this place. He's wonderful, Cathy. He loves the baby, he doesn't care about my past ... and he loves me. I just can't believe it all. After all the trouble I caused you, all the bad things I've done ... how can I deserve to be so happy?"

Catherine put her arm around Lena's shoulders and hugged her fiercely. "Lena, you had the courage to change your whole life because you loved your baby, and wanted things to be better for her. And as for loving Vincent ... well, I've never understood why there wasn't a line down the block ... or down the Tunnel, in this case."

Lena turned serious. "I'll bet Vincent had a lot to do with that. You know, at first I thought it was your fault that you and Vincent weren't together. But I've learned a lot since I've been down here. I guess it's a lot more complicated than I thought."

Catherine sighed. "Complicated is one word for it."

"Mouse told me all about that Burch Tower stuff, how you got him out of trouble. And I heard a lot of other things, too. I guess it's pretty important to everybody Below that you are where you are. You can help them a lot more up top than you could down here." Catherine nodded, but said nothing. Cautiously, Lena went on. "You even helped Lisa."

Catherine turned her head sharply to look at Lena. "How did you know about that?"

"I talked to her a lot while she was down here. Nobody would tell me much about her, but I kind of got the idea Vincent, uh... liked her once. Guess I was curious."

"What did you talk about?" Catherine asked carefully.

"Well, she mostly liked to talk about herself," Lena admitted. "And she liked to talk around things, if you know what I mean. But she said enough to make me think maybe Vincent's the one who's keeping you and him from getting together."

Catherine stared at the dancers below her in eloquent silence.

"Cathy, I know it's none of my business, but after all you did for me, I really want you to be happy. And I still love Vincent a lot-he's my best friend. I want him to be happy, too."

"Well, that makes two of us," Catherine said ruefully. "At least."

Lena turned as she spotted Sarah in the distance, coming to take the baby. "I just wanted to say you shouldn't give up. Vincent's been real quiet lately, like he's thinking hard."

Catherine took Lena's free hand and squeezed it. "Thanks. It means a lot to me, that you care so much." She watched as Lena moved away to meet Sarah. Lost in thought, she turned her eyes to the revelers below without seeing them, until she realized that Vincent was coming up the stairs toward her. Reaching her side, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

"I have felt less exhausted," he complained, "after carving out chambers."

"You do seem to have a full dance card," Catherine laughed, taking his arm. "The stairs are apparently recognized as a sanctuary, though. We should be safe if we stay up here."

"I had hoped to dance with you once in a while," he said hopefully. "Just for the novelty of doing it to audible music." Both smiled at the memory of last year's silent waltz.

Catherine leaned against Vincent as he put his arm around her. "Soon the children will be herded off to bed," she announced. "Maybe once the competition lessens I can get you to myself. Right now, it's nice just to watch everyone being so happy. I know this is only my second Winterfest, but somehow it seems-special."

Catherine turned toward Vincent for confirmation and found him looking down on her with an unreadable expression on his face. "Indeed," he agreed softly. "I think we shall remember it for a long time."

For the rest of the evening, Vincent stayed close to her, fending off his remaining admirers as best he could. They moved through the crowd, talking to the many people they knew, sampling the food, admiring Sebastian's new tricks, even getting a chance to dance together now and again. This year's festivities lasted far into the night; no one seemed willing to let it end. Finally, though, Catherine found herself in the circle between Vincent and Father, hearing words that were now burned into her soul.

"Darkness is only the absence of light ... and all winters end."

Part Four

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