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By Ginny Shearin Chapter 4
Early in the night he became uneasy, his nightmares seeming to return.
He moved around restlessly in the bed, again mumbling things Catherine
couldn’t understand, as if he were arguing with someone. Catherine would
hold his arm a little more firmly and talk to him soothingly when it
woke her; and he would gradually calm. Eventually the restlessness
passed, and they both fell wearily into a deep sleep.
Vincent woke up slowly, feeling surprisingly well rested and more at
peace than the day before. He looked for Catherine and realized it was
the first time in days that he didn’t wake to see her moving around his
chamber and smiling when his eyes opened. He had begun to wonder if it
had all been a dream when he became aware of the warmth under his hand.
Turning to look at her without disturbing their linked arms, he tried to
avoid waking her; but she woke anyway.
“Are you okay? Is anything wrong? Do you need something?” she mumbled,
raising slightly on her elbow. He placed his other hand over hers and
soothingly encouraged her back to her pillow.
“No. Nothing. Rest a little longer.”
She let her head fall back to the pillow and smiled, her eyes still
closed.
“Is it morning?”
“Yes,” he answered with a slight chuckle.
“We’ve both slept a little late. Father will be here soon.”
“Thank you, Vincent,” she murmured, squeezing his arm lightly before
letting it go to sit up.
“For what?” he asked, feeling a small sense of loss where the warmth of
her arm had been.
“For helping,” she smiled.
Catherine sat up on the cot, trying to pull herself into orderly
thought.
Vincent just watched quietly, enjoying the picture and committing it to
memory for times when she wouldn’t be there.
Realizing she was the center of his attention, she laughed lightly and
ran her hands through her hair to fluff it a little.
“I must look a mess!” she said self-consciously.
“You’re beautiful,” Vincent answered, smiling.
“You are obviously still ill;” she replied, going directly to her hair
brush, “but still entirely a gentleman.”
The easy exchange between them continued while Catherine found clean
clothes for herself, moved the cot out of the way and straightened its
covers, and put water in the teapot to heat while she was gone. By the
time those tasks were accomplished, Father was calling them; and
Catherine excused herself to clean up and bring breakfast.
Watching Vincent watch Catherine leave, Father smiled. “You’re looking
quite content this morning,” he observed, starting their morning
routine.
“I like waking to her smile, Father,” Vincent admitted.
“Have you told her that?” Father asked, taking out his stethoscope.
“Not in words,” Vincent answered, “but I’m sure she knows.”
“Have you learned nothing about women?” Father quipped.
“No,” Vincent reminded him pointedly, “I don’t believe either of us
thought it would become an issue.”
Vincent decided to keep his restless dreams between himself and
Catherine. He had recovered from the dreams rather well this time, and
there was nothing Father could do except worry.
Catherine returned with the breakfast tray, and Father stayed for tea
and a little more of a visit.
“After breakfast why don’t we try to help Vincent walk a few steps?”
Father suggested. “He can’t stay in that bed forever. He might even be
ready for a few short visitations.”
“That would be good for him,” she replied. “He’s probably getting a
little tired of only my company.”
“Somehow,” Father remarked, “I don’t think that has been a significant
problem.”
Vincent’s smile acknowledged the truth in Father’s comment, and
Catherine’s heart smiled with him.
She held out Vincent’s robe. “Here,” she said, “Put this on before you
sit up for breakfast. I don’t want you to catch cold before you have
time to recover.”
Knowing what she was doing made Father love her all the more.
When the breakfast dishes were out of the way, the three of them worked
out a balancing act that would help Vincent start moving his long unused
muscles. With their help he managed to walk around his desk, farther
than Father had expected for the first trip. They were all relieved to
get Vincent back in the bed. He was exhausted, and holding up someone as
large as Vincent was no minor task. Father began to make mental note of
which large, muscular visitors he could schedule. Still, they had given
Vincent a sense of mobility, something he had been without for too long.
The movement seemed to trigger a desire in Vincent to be back on his
feet. He asked Catherine to call Father that afternoon so they could try
again, and wanted to walk again before dinner that evening. Each time he
moved a little farther.
Catherine had the feeling that Father had probably done a little
physical therapy with Vincent while she wasn’t around to watch; but they
never mentioned it, and she didn’t ask. Whatever he was doing was
alright with her as long as it worked. She just wished that Vincent
would feel comfortable enough with her to let her be a part of it.
Father sat a short while to share some of the news he thought they might
have missed.
“Kanin will be coming home tomorrow,” he told them with a slight air of
amusement. He’s been given early release, but the prison authorities
apparently let him go reluctantly. It seems he was given the nickname
‘The Peacemaker’. They moved him several times after finding that
wherever he was seemed to take on an atmosphere of calm and cooperation.
The accident victim’s mother seemed to have accepted that Kanin had paid
enough of a price to allow her closure, and she offered no protest to
the early release. She also seemed to appreciate that his gift for
stilling conflict might save another mother the loss of a child. In the
hope of holding on to some of the spell he seemed to cast, the prison
staff insisted that he return periodically to visit. Some of our helpers
have promised their assistance in the visits. We’ll give him a day or
two of quiet time with his family, then maybe he can help with some
physical therapy.”
Catherine knew about the early release, having had a small quiet
involvement in it. She had also visited him during his incarceration,
her guilt gradually easing with his assurances that this had been for
the best. It gave him the release both from his own guilt and from a
life of constantly looking over his shoulder.
“Has he worked out the details of his parole situation?” Catherine
asked.
“We’ve made arrangements with a helper to provide a room and an address
and messages to let him know when he needs to appear to live there,”
Father told her. “Helpers do this periodically for our people making a
transition to or from jobs and lives above. Some of them have been in
the same situation.”
During the morning Catherine and Father let it be known that, starting
the next day, Vincent could have a few visitors for a short time in the
afternoons. Vincent and Catherine spent a quiet day reading to one
another, playing cards, playing chess, and talking. The book of art
prints provided another opportunity for Catherine to tell Vincent about
trips and museums where she saw the original works. That night when
Catherine started to move the cot, she stopped next to his bed.
“Are we going to argue about this tonight?”
“No,” he answered.
She settled into bed; and, in an unspoken agreement, he linked their
arms and they slept peacefully.
***
The following morning Vincent was far more anxious for exercise than
breakfast. Father and Catherine helped him, and found that it was easier
this time. He was visibly stronger. When they helped him back to bed, he
was tired from the exertion; but he had enjoyed it as well. He was
accustomed to a lot of physical activity. He was now missing it, and
willing to endure whatever it took to regain it. Determination was
taking over.
To Father, who had watched him over the years recover from various
accidents and illnesses, that was a welcome development. Peter’s
observation that, to a certain extent, Vincent had always been his own
physician had been true. There would be a period of rest followed by a
period of determination and then the real healing would begin, usually
rapidly. He smiled, feeling that his son was finally on the road to
complete recovery. He would have to share that thought with Catherine
sometime soon.
Vincent had insisted on breakfast at the desk, and wanted to sit there
for a while afterward. Catherine had cleared the dishes and he was
writing in his journal. She took the opportunity to change the sheets
while he wasn’t in them. She stood with her back to him, smoothing the
top sheet. When she bent to tuck in the last corner, she realized she
was being watched. She stood and looked over her shoulder with a
mischievous smile.
“Enjoying the view?” she asked.
Surprised and a little flustered, Vincent started to answer with an
apology.
“Catherine, I . . . .”
Suddenly feeling guilty, she laughed and went to give him a quick,
reassuring hug.
“It was a joke. I’m flirting with you, Vincent. Something else you might
as well get used to. And you might as well enjoy the view,” she
continued, placing a hand on each arm of the chair and leaning closer to
glower at him with feigned severity, “because I don’t ever expect to
catch you with that look on your face over anyone else.”
“Never!” was his immediate response, and he even managed a charming
smile.
Catherine laughed and seemed pleased with that answer, leaving him still
smiling.
He continually had trouble accepting that a woman who was a confident,
independent, wealthy, well-respected attorney in her world seemed so
content to be in his - changing sheets and taking care of his smallest
needs. Of course, typically, he was trying not to admit to himself just
how much he had been enjoying the view.
She was back at her task now, smoothing the quilt and gathering the
sheets she had just removed from the bed. Going to place them at the
doorway to attend to later, she nearly ran over Father as she rounded
the screen.
“I’m sorry to break your visiting hours dear; but I thought the two of
you should know that the first visitors will be a small contingent of
the younger children who insisted strongly that they needed to see
Vincent first. Knowing the whirlwind of energy that accompanies small
children, I thought you should be forewarned.”
They all laughed knowingly, and Father was thanked for his thoughtful
warning.
“Mary has enlisted some of the older children to help and has promised
to keep the visit short.”
“It’s time for lunch, Father. Why don’t you stay and visit while I go
and bring it back. Shall I bring something for you, too?”
“No thank you, dear,” he answered. “Let Vincent eat and rest a little
after lunch so this visit won’t take too much of a toll. Go ahead. I’ll
get my visit in now, before he’s too tired to care that I’m here.”
She chuckled as she left. Physical therapy was one stress. Small
children were quite another.
***
Catherine was quickly learning where everything happened in the tunnels,
how responsibilities were handled, how the jobs were done. The
government bureaucracy she worked for would have this world turned
upside down in a couple of weeks, she thought; yet these people had
things running like clockwork. If they were scheduled for a job, it was
done - None of the “This isn’t my job.” or “My union won’t let me handle
this.” that her world dealt with all too often. In spite of some obvious
inconveniences, this was definitely a much more pleasant way of life.
She delivered the sheets to be washed, stopped to talk to some of the
community members she met in the hall, and stopped in the kitchen to
pick up a lunch tray.
“Unless you’re helping out more than it looks like you are, young lady,
I guess you’re finding out about that boy’s appetite,” William pointed
out as he filled the tray.
“I don’t know, William,” she answered with a grin, “maybe I was just too
busy mooning over him to notice before.”
“Then he’s a lucky man,” William responded with a gruff sort of smile.
“You make sure he lets you have your share.”
“Yes, sir,” she smiled over her shoulder as she left.
***
The children appeared at the door at mid-afternoon, bringing books,
notes from some of the older children, and pictures they had drawn as
get-well gifts. There were about eight four, five, and six year olds of
various sizes and ethnic origins, all looking at Vincent as if he might
break. They had obviously been told that he was sick and they were to be
on their best behavior. Kipper and Samantha had come along to help Mary
if they got out of hand - and to have a few minutes of their own with
Vincent.
“What are all those things in your hands?” Vincent asked them.
“They’re for you, Vincent,” answered the youngest girl, Teresa, looking
up shyly with big brown eyes. “These are from the big kids.” She handed
him the notes.
That was all it took for the others to lose all semblance of decorum.
They all started talking at once.
“Yeah, that’s ‘cause we get to see you before they do.” “I have stuff,
too.” We made you some pictures.” “Will you hang them up somewhere?” “We
miss you.” “Are you better yet?”
“Wait,” Vincent smiled, as patient with them as ever, “You should take
turns so I won’t miss anything. Now, may I see those pictures?” The
tallest boy, Tommy, handed him the pictures; and Vincent looked at each
of them, finding something to praise in each one. “Since the notes are
from the ‘big kids’, I’ll read them after your visit.” He took a moment
to hand the notes to Catherine. “What else do you have there?” Vincent
asked. “It looks like you brought books.”
“We’re going to read you a story to make you feel better,” answered
Jennifer, who had one of the books. She was nearly jumping up and down
in anticipation.
“Well, since I can’t come down there today, I guess you’ll have to come
up here with me so I can see all the pictures,” Vincent told them quite
seriously.
His bed was immediately full of excited children, all clamoring for the
best spot. Catherine, Kipper and Samantha held a couple of them back
briefly in regard for Vincent’s safety, and helped arrange them in some
reasonable fashion. He pretended to be afraid at first and chuckled as
they gradually settled down around him. They had chosen The Little
Engine That Could, one of the books Catherine had brought at
Christmas the year before. Mary thought the reading might go a little
easier for all concerned since the younger children had most of it
memorized. Catherine and Mary sat in the chairs near the bed, spoke
quietly now and then, and enjoyed the scene. Kipper and Samantha settled
on the foot of the bed and watched. The children took turns reading.
They all chimed in on “I think I can,” and conscientiously showed
Vincent all the pictures.
Looking at the second book and imagining how slow some of the “reading”
might be, Vincent offered to read to them. They had a book of children’s
poems, so each child was allowed to chose a favorite. After the poems
were read, Mary and her assistants announced the end of visiting hours.
The children climbed all over Vincent giving him hugs and kisses before
scrambling down from the bed, then the chaperones gathered their small
charges to go. Teresa, no longer feeling shy, ran back to the side of
the bed.
“Can you get better now, Vincent?” she asked.
He leaned over toward her with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I think I can, I think I can,” he said in a stage whisper, playing to
his appreciative, giggling pint-sized audience. As Mary led them out,
Catherine accepted hugs from each of them. Their laughter and chattering
voices drifted back into the room from the passageway.
Kipper and Samantha had asked permission to stay for a few more minutes
since their jobs here had been accomplished.
“Do the two of you plan to read to me, too?” Vincent asked them with a
smile. “No!”
Kipper shot back immediately. “You’ll have to get Catherine to do that.
You make me do enough of that in class.”
“I’d read to you if you wanted me to, Vincent,” Samantha told him, “but
Catherine is much better at it.”
“If everyone is leaving the reading to Catherine, then perhaps you would
tell me what you’ve been doing,” Vincent suggested. “I’ve missed most of
the news lately.” They
talked about their classes. Olivia had taken some of them swimming,
bribing them with cookies to take Luke in the water so she didn’t have
to get wet. Kipper teased Samantha about being in love while Samantha
denied it vigorously and threatened revenge at the earliest opportunity.
Then Kipper finished by saying, “and I went above to do some errands for
Catherine.” Kipper was suddenly very quiet and Catherine said nothing;
so Vincent, in spite of his curiosity, simply thanked him.
“I’m sure that Catherine appreciated your help.”
Sensing that Kipper might have fallen into uncomfortable territory,
Samantha put her need for revenge on hold and reminded him that Vincent
needed his rest.
“I enjoyed our visit,” Vincent told them, Thank you for your help with
the younger ones.
“Sure, Vincent,” Kipper answered.
“Any time you need us, let us know,” said Samantha as they stood to
leave.
“You have the patience of Job,” Catherine chuckled, standing next to the
bed when the two children were gone. “You must be exhausted.”
She was amazed to see that, rather than exhausted, Vincent seemed
energized. It was clear how much he had missed seeing the children.
Catherine smiled down at him, squeezed one of his shoulders and left her
hand resting there. He smiled and shook his head, remembering the
wiggling, giggling mass of miniature humanity who had just bounced into
his bed and back out of his chamber.
“Something like a summer storm, weren’t they?” he said with a small
chuckle, “Blowing in, roaring a little while, and blowing out again.” He
looked up at Catherine and placed his hand over hers.
“They love you, you know. You’re wonderful with them. You always know
what to say to make each one feel special. That’s a rare gift. You think
of them almost as your own, don’t you?”
“I suppose I do,” he answered. “I used to feel like an older brother;
but since Laura left us the lines have gradually begun to blur.
It was difficult to let her go.”
“They couldn’t ask for a better big brother - or a better father
figure,” she said, intending nothing beyond a compliment.
Vincent’s hand slid away from Catherine’s, and he lost the buoyant
bearing he had just moments before. Even though he understood her intent
quite clearly, he thought maybe this was the right opening to face
another truth head on. Catherine needed to understand this clearly, too.
“That’s all I can ever allow myself to be, Catherine - a father figure.”
He emphasized the last word. “Even if I knew it possible for me to
father a child, I couldn’t allow it. I couldn’t be so unfair as to
intentionally create a child who might be confined to a life like mine.
I know that child would have me for guidance; but I’ve lived this, and
guidance isn’t enough. Even if the first child didn’t look like me, the
next ones might . . . or their children. Regardless of their appearance,
I would have contributed genetically. The consequences of that
selfishness on my part would leave generations in its wake - young
people afraid to have children for fear they might look like this.
“Those children would be loved and respected in this community. I know
that. They would be safe in my world; but if anything happened to this
community, there would be no safe place for them. All it would take is
another
“I know all that,” Catherine said softly, sitting on the side of the bed
to face him, “and I will agree to it.”
He took her hands in his.
“I know you want children. I can feel it when you’re with them. I’ve
felt the longing in you when you see one of the women here announce her
pregnancy. It pains me to know that I can’t give you that.” He took in a
breath and released a deep, sad sigh. “I know you would want my children
and love them as unconditionally as you love me, but I can’t give them
to you. I won’t. You have to understand. There can be no compromise in
this. To have a life with me you have to accept that, and you shouldn’t
be confined to such a promise.”
She touched his arm gently. “But I have chosen to be confined to that
promise. If I did have children, Vincent, whose would they be? When
accepting one kiss from Elliott hurt you so deeply, how could I possibly
allow myself to create a child with someone else? I could never do that
to you. I could never do that to us. I make decisions for myself,
remember? This is my choice, too; and you have to accept that.”
She moved her hand to touch his face, stroking her hand across his
cheek, pleased that he allowed it so easily.
“The fact that you exist at all is a miracle. The fact that I’m alive to
appreciate your existence is a miracle. The fact that you found me and
saved me, that this bond exists between us, that we share this kind of
love, that either of us have lived through the dangers of the past
couple of years . . . all of those things are miracles. The birth of a
child . . . . How many
miracles can two people expect in one lifetime? Maybe we’ve simply used
up our share. To ask for that much more would surely be tempting fate.”
She rested her hand on his shoulder again.
“As for leaving no trace of yourself when you go . . . .
You already have traces of yourself all over
That night Vincent’s nightmares returned. Catherine woke to find him
thrashing back and forth, moaning, “No! No!” His voice was getting
louder, and she suddenly felt the overwhelming torment of his dreams.
There was a roar building in him that would not only wake Father, but
frighten half the tunnels as well; and she intended to take care of him
herself. She scrambled into his bed and grabbed his shoulder, shaking
him and calling his name.
“Vincent, it’s alright. You’re just dreaming.” He began to calm a
little, and she shook him again. “Wake up. It’s only a dream. I’m here.”
She knew it must have been frightening. His face was damp with
perspiration and she could feel his heart racing.
Vincent opened his eyes, looked around and sat up. He put his hands to
his face, and took in a long breath, trying to collect himself. When he
released the breath, it transformed into the word, “Catherine.” To her
surprise, he pulled her tightly into his arms, repeating her name.
“What frightened you so?” she asked, returning his embrace just as
strongly.
“The dreams,” he answered, still feeling their full effects, “Like the
ones I was having before.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“There’s no need to concern you.” he answered shakily.
“Talk to me. Don’t close me out,” she pleaded. He hesitated, then the
words poured out through unsteady breaths.
“I had lost you. You were
gone. Our bond was gone, and I couldn’t find you. You died . . . because
of me.”
“Did you think you had hurt me?” she asked, stroking his hair.
“No. They hurt you because of me,” He shook his head slightly. “The
unspeakable things you endured because you dared to love me.”
She pulled away to look at him. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” he answered, but he hesitated again.
“Tell me,” she insisted. “We’ll face our fears together from now on.
Promise me that.”
“Catherine . . . .” he began, trying to dissuade her.
“All our fears, all our concerns . . . together,” she insisted. There
was another hesitation, then with another rush of words he answered her,
his head down, unable to look at her.
“They took you because you carried my child . . . They killed you and
took our son. I had lost you, and I couldn’t find our child.” He took
her in his arms again, almost as desperately as he had the night she
nearly drowned. “Hold me, Catherine.”
She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could. He had finally
asked for her care instead of just accepting it when it was offered. She
wondered if, in his present state, he could realize how much that meant
to her - to them.
She woke sitting propped against his pillows, his head on her shoulder
and his arms still around her waist. Her cheek rested on his hair. One
of her arms was protectively around his shoulders, and the other rested
on his upper arm. She smiled and nuzzled his hair, imitating the habit
she loved in him. Thinking back to the agony he was in during the night,
she wondered how many times he might have had such dreams while he was
ill. Their conversation after the children left had apparently dredged
up other reasons to worry about her safety and for not allowing himself
the joy of being a father. After the dangers they had both endured in
the past two years, she had to admit they were valid concerns. She
pulled her arm around him more tightly and softly kissed the top of his
head. She didn’t want to wake him, just to know he felt safe and loved.
When Vincent finally opened his eyes, his first words were an apology,
concerned for the burden his weight must have been.
“I’m the caregiver right now,” she smiled down at him, not willing to
let him go quite yet. “It’s all part of the job - and one of the more
pleasant aspects of the job, I might add.”
“I can’t imagine that pulling me out of a violent nightmare could have
been all that pleasant,” he answered, sitting up slowly and feeling a
little self-conscious about his response to his dreams.
“Not the nightmares,” she agreed, “but I like that you talked to me
instead of keeping it locked in. You can tell me the rest later when it
doesn’t seem quite so close. And holding you under any circumstances”
she smiled, “the pleasure was all mine.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he answered, glancing at her with a slightly
self-conscious smile, still looking a little uncomfortable with all this
truth. “Thank you,” he added, reaching to cover her hand with his.
She decided getting out of his bed would be wise. It was getting more
difficult not to think of pinning him to the bed and ravishing him right
then and there.
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