A Dark and Stormy Night (3)

The next morning, as Catherine was about to leave for work, Vincent took her hand. "Would you mind staying alone tonight? There are ... things I need to take care of Below that will take me far from the central chambers. It would be difficult to make the journey in a single day."

Catherine smiled at her husband. "It wasn't that long ago, dear heart, that seeing you two days in a row was heaven. I don't want to be selfish, or have our family Below think I'm monopolizing you too much. If you have things to do, now is actually a pretty good time--I'm trying to get as much work done as possible right now so I can relax over Thanksgiving. I'll spend the evening in the study slaving over legal briefs--and Bulwer will keep me company."

"You are a most understanding wife, Catherine."

"We aim to please ... but there's one thing you have to do first."

"And what might that be?"

"Give me a goodbye kiss that'll keep me going for two days."

Vincent smiled as he drew her face toward his. "We aim to please."

As he made his way Below, Vincent felt more than a little uncomfortable. He hadn't exactly lied to Catherine, but had let her assume that his absence would be due to some work that needed to be done in the Tunnels. He began to brood, not for the first time, over the unequal burden their bond placed on Catherine. She did not have the luxury of hiding her feelings from him completely, since the act of doing so was revealing in itself. She sacrificed so much to love him--even the privacy of her own emotions. Did he have the right to ask her to sacrifice motherhood as well? But the alternative might mean the sacrifice of her very life. When he reached the hub, Vincent sought out Father, relieved to discover he had not yet gone to breakfast. "Father, may I speak with you a moment?"

"Of course ... have you eaten? We could have breakfast here, or join the community..."

"No--I came to tell you I won't be able to teach today. Is Rebecca free to step in for me?"

"I'll ask, but I'm quite sure she would be happy to; she quite enjoys teaching." He looked at Vincent sharply. "Is something wrong? Is Catherine ill? I could--"

"No, nothing like that," Vincent hastened to reassure him. "I just need to ... get away for a while."

Father leaned against the table and regarded his son with concern. "This wouldn't have anything to do with what we discussed last night, would it?"

Vincent nodded. "I'd like to leave as soon as possible, to avoid questions."

Father approached Vincent and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I understand, my boy. Why don't you take what you need from your chamber, and I'll get you some food from the kitchen. Don't worry about your class; if Rebecca can't take it, I shall."

Vincent placed his hand over Father's in wordless gratitude. After some hesitation, he spoke again. "Catherine has a great deal of work to occupy her right now, so I doubt you'll see her, but ... she assumed I would be away on some task for the community."

"And you failed to correct that assumption."

Vincent nodded his bowed head, lifting it only at the sound of his father's chuckle.

"Good heavens, Vincent, you look as guilty as if you'd committed adultery! Total honesty in a marriage, or any relationship, is not always the best policy. I presume you had a good reason for your silence."

"I know that Catherine and I need to talk about this, but it doesn't seem fair to bring it up when my own feelings are in such confusion--it would only upset her to no purpose. I know what she wants. I don't know yet what I want--or if what I want is what I should have."

"I wish I could give you your answer, Vincent."

"But you cannot, Father. I must try to find it for myself."

A short while later, Vincent moved quickly through a maze of lesser-used passages, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the most densely inhabited part of the Tunnels before the day's activities began in earnest. One of the disadvantages of living in a community that was more like a large extended family than a village was the relative lack of privacy. Sometimes he felt like the last few years of his life had been played out on a stage for the amusement and edification of his friends and family. He was more pleased than he liked to admit that Catherine had managed to provide a place for the two of them to be alone together, a place not totally a part of either her world or his.

Vincent smiled. More than once, he and Catherine had spoken with wry amusement of the symbolic burden their love seemed to have acquired over the years. Even if the path to true love was traditionally uneven, theirs had been strewn with particularly large boulders and deep abysses--and every up and down, every twist and turn, was avidly followed by a disconcertingly attentive, though loving, audience. When he had finally found the courage to consummate their love almost a year ago, the more astute inhabitants of the Tunnels figured it out almost at once, and within days he and Catherine found idiotic grins bestowed on them everywhere they went. Their wedding a few months later acquired an aura that made the most historic royal nuptials look pale by comparison.

Shifting the pack on his back as the route became steeper and rougher, Vincent thought of Winslow. As if it were only yesterday, he could see his friend's dark face in the light of the fire, speaking his heart in a way he had never done before. The love of himself and Catherine was important enough to Winslow that he was willing to give his life to preserve it. Time and again, Vincent had sensed that same feeling in others, though never stated as clearly as Winslow had. Without realizing it, the community had come to believe that as long as he and Catherine were together, anything was possible—the reconciliation of Above and Below, the reality of "happily ever after," love itself. If any force, internal or external, destroyed their union, it would break hearts in a way much deeper than personal sorrow ... it would be as if the universe itself had betrayed them, and Vincent feared they would never again dare to dream.

Would a child be the fulfillment of their dream, or its destruction? Over the past year, and especially since the wedding, Vincent had noticed many a speculative glance in Catherine's direction, most of them directed toward her middle. Whenever Catherine played with the children--which, he realized with a pang, she did more and more often--Mary would look from her to him in a way that could have only one interpretation. Lena, too, and many another young parent or prospective "aunt" or "uncle" exhibited the same mixture of indulgence, curiosity, and discreet speculation. Only four people knew that he and Catherine were preventing the conception of a child, and two of them had been told only because of their status as physicians.

No matter how curious their friends were, Vincent knew they would never ask, too sensitive to the possibility that conceiving a child might simply be impossible for them. "The children that are yet to be born" ... It still pained him to remember that night. When he had closed the Tunnel door against Catherine's tearful face, he was sure he had destroyed any possibility of happiness for himself, but given her back the future she deserved. He shook his head. It was difficult now to remember how he could once have believed her love for him could have been so easily set aside. After their joyous reunion, she had given him the barest account of the events at Nancy's. It was enough, however, to tell him that Catherine had had within her grasp exactly the kind of life she had always thought she wanted, and fled from it in the middle of the night to come back to him. It was clear to her then, although not yet to Vincent, that no life without him could be a happy one for Catherine. If the price of that were the dream of children, so be it.

His head spinning with questions, Vincent vowed to push them all from his mind until he reached his destination--the distant waterfall where he had gone that night to contemplate the unbearable bleakness of future without Catherine in it. Between the relentless pace he set himself, and the strain of not thinking about the problem that consumed him, Vincent arrived at the falls feeling hot, disheveled, and grubby.

Setting his gear in a protected cavity in the rocks, he quickly stripped off his clothes and began to climb. When his body split the water in a graceful dive, the cold revived him and he began to swim back and forth across the large pool, slipping into the familiar rhythm without the need for thought. He enjoyed the sensations of his powerful muscles as they propelled him through the water; of the warming blood pumping faster; of the air filling his lungs deeply as he swam.

For too many years his physical strength and power had been something to be feared, the beast that emerged after Lisa's flight always lurking in the shadows, threatening his control. It had been Catherine who first realized, after the horror of Paracelsus' bloody end, that Love was stronger than Death. Carefully, slowly, she led him to discover on his own that wholeness lay not in destroying that dark side, but embracing it. Only after that had he found the courage to love her, and what a glorious world had opened up then. To know his body not as a source of fear, or shame, but as a source of pleasure--not only for himself, but, wonder of wonders, for her. He continued his rhythmic stroking, memory and and present sensation flowing together to create a delicious feeling of warmth. At first his exertions banished the chill, and he continued swimming for hours, back and forth, until the cold once again asserted itself.

As he emerged, dripping, he began to shiver. Drying himself off with his shirt, Vincent was glad he had thought to bring a spare. He smiled a wry and faintly bitter smile. No matter how much he might resemble certain large felines, he lacked the ability to shake off water as easily as they did. This strange body of his might grant him strength and stamina most men would envy, but not the least of its disadvantages was excessive drying time ... gradually his smile took on a very different character. Catherine had certainly found ways to make that particular disadvantage less onerous. Suddenly he stopped the mechanical action of rubbing and stared at the leg he was drying as if seeing it for the first time. Damp fur clung closely to the corded muscle of his thigh, and Vincent contemplated it for a long time before picking up his cloak and moving to the other side of the pool, far from the waterfall.

There, removed from the force of the falling water and protected by an outcropping of rock, was a smaller pool whose surface was relatively still. Spreading his cloak on the pebbled ground, Vincent knelt and leaned far over the water. Only a little distorted by an occasional ripple, his reflection stared back at him. Was this a monster? "I have never regretted what I am ... until now." Very poetic, but hardly true. In the years that led up to that remarkable time he had managed to forget, conveniently, any number of regrets. There was the time Devin had taken him to see the moon, and a little girl had cried at the sight of him, shattering his youthful innocence forever. When he was older, the obligatory swimming lessons all the Tunnel children had to take--only the elusive Mouse had managed to escape--caused him pain all the more acute for being kept hidden.

Among a gaggle of playmates as sleek and smooth as porpoises, he felt keenly the difference of his already-furred small body. And Lisa--no regrets? Only an unspoken conviction that the physical expression of love was impossible for him, a conviction strong enough to deny him that pleasure for almost half his life, and cause Catherine years of unnecessary pain and longing. Catherine ... what a miracle she was. Never, in all the years they had been together, had he detected the slightest trace of disgust or even distaste at his strangeness. When she flung a plate at him the first time she saw his face, he had fled in unthinking misery, until he realized what the strange new bond with her was telling him. Her horror had been a reaction not to the sight of him, but to her own ravaged face. When she lifted the concealing hood away and looked at him, the combination of her physical proximity and her emotions almost drove him to flee again in confusion. Not disgust, not fear--only wonder, curiosity, and the beginnings of what she would eventually come to recognize as love. Vincent pondered his reflection for a long time, but the discomfort of his leaning position finally forced him to move. Sitting back, he wrapped himself in the cloak and remained in that spot for hours, staring unseeing at the waterfall until sleep claimed him.


* * *


"... let us be thankful."

"Amen."

"Before we attack this exceptional bounty..." Vincent raised his head as Father continued beyond the traditional Thanksgiving ritual. "I feel more than the usual degree of gratitude is in order. Never since the founding of our community has a single year given us so much to be thankful for. " Releasing Vincent's hand, he turned sideways and raised his glass. "To Vincent and Catherine, who this year made their dream, and ours, come true."

Recognizing Vincent's mild discomfiture at being the center of attention, Catherine squeezed his hand before releasing it to pick up her glass. Turning to Father, she smiled with disarming sweetness and raised her glass to him in turn. "I'm so glad it's turned into 'our' dream--I remember, not too long ago, when it was your worst nightmare."

William let out a belly laugh of such magnitude—considering the size of the belly in question--that a lesser assistant than Brooke might have dropped the massive turkey she was carefully lowering onto the well-laden table. As laughter rippled around the tables, Father protested feebly while several people gleefully repeated some of his more ill-advised remarks concerning the potentially disastrous consequences of his son's relationship with a particular Topsider. Having set the pigeon firmly among the cats, Catherine sat back with satisfaction and began helping herself to stuffing.

Vincent leaned over to kiss her ear before whispering into it. "Remind me to give thanks that I married such an intelligent and thoughtful woman."

"Of course, dear." She patted his knee. "I didn't get into Columbia Law School just because daddy could afford the tuition."

As Catherine pressed huge amounts of food on him, Vincent looked around the room with profound gratitude. Sebastian was making exaggerated faces at one of Peter's notoriously bad jokes; Pascal was eating as fast as he could so he could return to the pipe chamber; Lena was unsuccessfully trying to convince little Cathy that cranberry sauce was more effectively eaten with a spoon than with the fingers. The past year had certainly been the happiest of his life. Within a few months of last Thanksgiving, he had managed to acquire a lover, a home, and a wife. It was also the most peaceful year he had spent since meeting Catherine. Between her insistence on transferring to a less dangerous section of the DA's office, and the acquisition of the house that was such a safe haven, even Father could find little to complain about these days--at least as far as his son was concerned. For so long the future had been something to contemplate with trepidation, wondering what new obstacle the Fates would place between them and happiness. But now, for the first time in years, it seemed appropriate to face it with anticipation.

It seemed hours before the meal was finally over. Ever since Catherine had become a Helper, their Thanksgiving feast grew more massive each year. Father was suspicious, but William was decidedly un-forthcoming on the source of such increasing bounty. After the last of the clean-up detail made off with the remnants, guests and residents began to move around the room, talking and greeting old friends.

Catherine gravitated immediately toward her tiny namesake, sweeping a happily shrieking little Cathy off the floor into a huge hug while her indulgent mother looked on. Vincent watched, saying little, as Catherine and Lena became involved in an intense conversation about Cathy's cleverness, attractiveness, and precocity. After a while, he let the ebb and flow of people carry him away, until he was captured by Elizabeth.

"Vincent, my sweet boy, how nice to see you." She patted his cheek and fixed him with a steady gaze. "You look quite well, dear--marriage must agree with you."

"Completely." He smiled at her. "I only wish I had come to that conclusion earlier."

"Things happen in their own time, Vincent," Elizabeth insisted, taking his hand. "Catherine told me just last weekend she's afraid to wish anything had happened earlier—because everything was so wonderful now, she wouldn't dare wish for things to have happened differently."

"She said that?" Vincent whispered.

Elizabeth smiled at the awestruck look on his face. "Oh, she goes on and on about what a perfectly wonderful husband you are. I'm surprised your ears aren't burning all the time."

Vincent ducked his head and sought for another subject of conversation. "I didn't realize that Catherine visited you so frequently."

"Oh, yes, dear, she visits me quite often when you're busy. She loves to see the Painted Tunnels."

"A great compliment to your work."

"Tush! Remember, dear boy, those are the only wedding pictures she has."

"Of course ..." A fleeting look of sadness passed over his face. "I never thought of that."

"And," Elizabeth grinned mischievously, "they're the only pictures she has of her handsome husband, except that lovely thing of Kristoffer's. She particularly loves the one of you as a baby."

Vincent's head rose. "How do you know?"

"Why, it's obvious. Every time she comes to the Painted Tunnels, she has to touch that one of Father holding you ... and she has the sweetest look on her face when she does. It makes me wish I'd done more pictures of you, but that wouldn't have been fair to the others, would it? Of course, you were special..."

"So are you, dear Elizabeth. And so is Catherine."

"Yes, indeed, Vincent. Now I must find Mouse. I'm almost out of burnt sienna..."

Vincent watched Elizabeth as she moved away through the crowd. For a long time he stood, an island of stillness in a sea of movement and laughter. Finally, he went in search of Peter Alcott.

"Vincent!" William's homemade ale seemed to have made Peter more ebullient than usual. "I hope you're taking good care of my Cathy, or Charles will come back to haunt me. I promised him a long time ago if anything ever happened to him, I'd do my best to see that she was happy." Peter looked Vincent in the eye. "He would have been surprised at you, no getting around it. But he would have approved when he came to know you. I'm sure of it."

"I made him a promise, also," Vincent replied softly, "although I'll never know if he really heard it. I shall always regret that I never had the opportunity to really know him--I owe him so much."

"He certainly raised a remarkable daughter," Peter nodded.

"She deserves all the happiness you've given her."

"I think," Vincent sighed, "she deserves more than I've given her." Peter's look of skepticism was almost comical. Vincent took a deep breath. "Peter, you knew me as a baby; Father told you about how I was found--what do you think happened to my mother?"

At first, Peter looked puzzled at this unexpected turn of the conversation, then the light dawned. "There's no evidence that your birth harmed her in any way."

"Nor is there any evidence it didn't."

"There are times when I regret Jacob taught you logic."

"Peter--what do you think I am?" Vincent's implacable face made it clear he would brook no evasion.

"Oh, Vincent ... I wish I could tell you. With the advances in genetic engineering I've seen in the past few years, anything seems possible in the future--but thirty-five years ago? No one then could have approached even the primitive skills we have today ... at least not in this world." Peter laid his hand gently on Vincent's arm. "I've always seen you as a miracle ... a gift."

As if by agreement, both pairs of eyes turned toward the room to seek out Catherine. Lena had taken baby Cathy off to bed, and Catherine was now attentively listening to Maria and Teresa as they reported at length the results of their extensive survey of all the residents Below on the care and feeding of kittens. Finally tearing his eyes away from the sight, Vincent addressed Peter again. "I have been given one great miracle in my life, Peter. Perhaps I'm afraid to ask for another."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Peter replied, "if a lot of people in this room were already asking in your behalf."

Finale

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