I AM THE ANSWER
Part 4

Joan Stephens


In the elevator Catherine used the emergency phone to call the building concierge. After he had gotten over the shock of hearing her voice, she asked him to meet her at her apartment door.

Austin was a true gentleman of the old school and slipped only once when he first saw her. A small startled intake of breath was his only reaction to his first glimpse of her face. After that he kept his experienced, understanding eyes focused steadfastly on a point just to the right of her right ear. "You said you lost your key?"

"Yes, can you open the door for me?"

"Of course." He inserted the key and unlocked the door.

"Please don’t distress yourself, Austin," she said kindly. "I know how awful I look." She attempted a small smile when he forced himself to look directly at her.

"I’m so sorry, Miss Chandler."

"So am I, but everything will be all right," she assured him, entering her apartment. As she started to close the door, she asked, "Can I depend on your discretion? I don’t want anyone to know I’m back until I call a few people."

"Certainly. No one will hear anything from me." He prided himself on being the soul of discretion. He had never betrayed a confidence, and there had been plenty of times when he could have. Oh, the stories he could tell. Some day he might just write a book.

"Thank you, Austin." The door closed with a solid click.

Shaking his head, he returned to his station. What a shame. She was one of the nicer tenants with her friendly smile and cheerful manner. She never failed to speak to him when they met, and her Christmas check was always substantial. He sincerely hoped that everything would work out for her.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Catherine stood in the middle of her living room, feeling like a stranger in her own life. She had to remind herself that this was her home and that she was surrounded by her own things. Had she changed that much in ten short days? Apparently she had.

The light on the answering machine was blinking furiously. So many phone calls . . . too many to answer tonight. She shut the machine off, and hesitating ever so slightly, she picked up the phone. Whom should she call first? Joe? He would want immediate details, and she wasn’t prepared for that. Her father? How could she handle his fulsome love and care? She honestly didn’t know. Jenny? She was the logical choice as she had always been a tower of strength ever since their days together at Radcliffe. But her father would be devastated if she called anyone else first; so, she dialed his private number and barely breathing, waited for him to answer. She had told herself that she wouldn’t cry, but when she heard his voice, she began to blubber. "Daddy?" she got out before she was unable to go on.

"Cathy!? Honey, is that you?" he cried out in relief.

"Uh huh. I-I’m home. Oh . . . Daddy," she wailed. At this instance she was back to being Daddy’s little girl, needing him to take care of her. Vincent was far below in the tunnels and for a moment her courage faltered.

His heart throbbed with tenderness as she called him Daddy, something she hadn’t done in a long time. "Don’t move, stay right there. I’m calling the police."

The mention of the police was like a dash of cold water and swiftly brought her emotions under control. "No, Daddy, not yet. I can’t face the police. Just you, Daddy. And Jenny."

"Ok, honey, I’ll call her and come right over."

He hung up, leaving her with a phone dangling from her hand. Slowly, she replaced the handset onto the cradle. She sat there for a while, numb and dazed. It had all crashed down on her as she had spoken with her father. Basically, she was alone in this. She had her friends and her father, but none of them knew or could understand what had happened to her with the exception of Jenny, and even she couldn’t be told the whole truth. Her father would move heaven and earth to make things right for her, but he would never understand what she had gone through. She had to rely on the strength that Vincent had told her dwelled deep inside of her.

With a weary sigh, she slowly got to her feet and wandered into her bedroom. The mirror of her dressing table drew her like a magnet but repulsed her at the same time. Unwillingly, she sank onto the satin padded boudoir chair and, leaning forward, studied the ruined face reflected back at her. Her nose had a definite bend to the left, her right cheek was caved in, and the ghastly ragged gashes on her cheeks made it difficult to convince herself that the face in the mirror belonged to Cathy Chandler. She studied that strange face from every conceivable angle. It was her face, but it wasn’t. She was thankful that Father had let her see her ravaged countenance while she was with Vincent. He was the rock upon which she was grounded and had given her the courage to return Above but, oh, how horrible she looked. Succumbing to tears, she dropped her head onto her arms that were folded on top of the dressing table. She wept until all the rage, fright and uncertainty had been washed away. The catharsis had been swift and brutal, but she would face this calamity straight on and overcome it as Vincent had overcome his differences. She would be worthy of his friendship.

Heavy banging on her apartment door hurried her from her bedroom, and as she flung open the door, her father shouldered in followed closely by Jenny Aronson. They hadn’t had time to notice her face, and she kept her back to then as she closed the door. Braced for their reaction, she slowly turned to face them. She could have predicted her father’s reaction, but Jenny simply took her into her arms, holding her tightly. Her father was rooted, speechless, to the spot in shock and horror. His eyes grew large and filled with tears as he cried out, "My god, baby, what have they done to you?" The tears flowed down his cheeks as he wrestled her from Jenny’s comforting embrace and held her to him. "Oh, baby, baby," he moaned. "Don’t worry, Cathy. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll get the best plastic surgeon in the world. We’ll have you back to normal in no time."

Jenny couldn’t help but notice that Cathy was not sobbing in her father’s arms. She was calm and in total control. "Cathy, can you tell us what happened?"

"Yes, where have you been? What happened?" a distraught Charles Chandler demanded.

Cathy pushed out of her father’s embrace. Calmly she asked if they would like some coffee.

She is totally in control, Jenny thought and offered to make the coffee. In the kitchen she could hear a frustrated Mr. Chandler repeatedly question Cathy, who declined to answer until Jenny could hear her tale.

At last, they were seated in the loveseats, each holding a cup of hot coffee. "Well, Cathy . . . ?" Charles Chandler was impatient to hear what had happened to his daughter. He blamed himself because he had left her behind the day of her attack, and he needed the absolution that only she could give. He had to force himself to look directly into the wreckage of her beloved face. It brought back all the guilt and shame that he had felt when they had found her purse lying in the rain-soaked alley.

She knew she had to be careful. Her father as an attorney was accustomed to ferreting out the lies that clients’ told him, and Jenny had a psychic ability that was truly frightening when you couldn’t tell her the complete truth. She had to be as truthful as possible. "Well, I don’t remember much at all. I remember being attacked from behind and struggling with him. He started to beat me and I lost consciousness. Then, I vaguely remember coming to in some place where I could hear a group of people. I think they were homeless, living in some ruined building. The next time I woke up my head was covered by bandages, and I couldn’t see a thing. Whoever they were, they took good care of me: fed me, kept me clean. I think one of them had some medical training, because he or she sutured the cuts."

"Didn’t they say who they were?" her father asked.

As Cathy told of the good care she had received, Jenny saw the soft look that came over Cathy’s face, which Charles was too agitated to notice. There was more to this story than the bare facts that Cathy was recounting.

"No, they never told me, and I never asked. They never used any names when they were around me. Well, once they slipped and called someone Mouse."

"How did you get away?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, I didn’t escape."

"You didn’t?" Charles Chandler asked, astonished.

"No, when I was strong enough one of them, a man . . ." Cathy’s face took on a soft glow again, ". . . brought me to the basement here and took off the bandages." Jenny knew she wasn’t imagining that look, and she hoped Cathy would tell her about it sometime.

"Did you see his face?" Charles wanted to know.

"No, he told me to keep my eyes closed for a few minutes, and when I opened them, he was gone."

"They never asked for a reward? I’m sure they could tell that you had money." Her father fully expected anyone that did anything for him to ask for a reward. It was one of the penalties of being wealthy.

"No, they didn’t want anything for themselves, only that I help the homeless in someway," she answered.

"How odd," was his comment.

"Oh, Cathy," Jenny sympathized.

"No, no, I’m just glad to be alive," Cathy stated. And something more, Jenny thought.

Charles jumped to his feet and declared, "You’re coming home with me."

Cathy almost declined then changed her mind. Her father had been through enough these last ten days without adding to it by refusing to go home with him. "Ok. Jenny will you help me pack some things?"

"Sure." She followed Cathy into the bedroom.

While his daughter and her friend were in the other room, he called Lt. Herman and told him that Cathy had returned. He related her story to the relieved detective and told him that she would not be available for questioning until after plastic surgery. Cathy, dressed for travel, and Jenny came into the room as he hung up the phone.

"Who were you talking to, Dad?"

"Lt. Herman."

"I didn’t want the police to know until I had talked with Joe."

"I’m, sorry, honey, I thought it best."

Cathy quickly dialed Joe’s number and got the same reaction from him as she had from her father. After he calmed down, she told him she would be at her father’s if he wanted to see her.

"If I want to see you?" he fairly shouted. "Of course, I want to see you, the sooner, the better."

"Ok, how about tomorrow?" She chuckled at his enthusiasm.

"I’ll be there. I’m glad you’re ok, kiddo."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." She hung up and turned to her father. As if to reassure himself, he caught her in another bear hug. "Oh, honey, if I had lost you . . ."

She patted him on the shoulder. "But you didn’t, Dad. Thanks to some wonderful people."

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

The next day was spent in dodging phone calls from inquisitive reporters and discouraging friends from visiting. She talked with Nancy Tucker, relating the same story that she had told her father. Along with her father, Jenny, and Joe, Nancy was the only other person she regretted being less than honest with.

Ushered into the sitting room of Charles Chandler’s spacious townhouse, Joe bounded in with a huge, happy grin on his face. He grabbed Cathy in a fierce bear hug then kissed her with a fervor that left both of them shaken.

"Why, Joe," she demurred, pushing out of his arms.

Mortified, he wanted to flee but was rooted to the spot by his intense relief that she was back safe and relatively sound. "I know. I shouldn’t have done that," he said with an abashed grimace crossing his handsome face. "But, damn it, Radcliffe, I’m so glad you’re alive."

"Even looking like this," she murmured, glancing at him shyly.

"Hell, woman, you’re beautiful, you’re alive," he rhapsodized. "I was afraid you’d end up like Diana."

"Not quite, Joe. I was lucky."

"What happened, kiddo?" he asked as he eased down on the couch that she had settled in.

She told him the same story that she had told her father except that she admitted to Joe that she couldn’t remember the attacker’s face. "My doctor--Peter Alcott, you remember him, don’t you?--says this is a common occurrence and that with the proper stimuli I should remember. But it’s not a certainly. It was when he knew that I had seen his face that he became really violent. He meant to kill me."

"Thank god, he didn’t," Joe said fervently. "What about the people who cared for you? Did you ever find out who they were?"

"No, I never did."

"They should be rewarded, Radcliffe."

"I know, but they don’t want a reward, just that we take better care of all the homeless, and I intend to do just that."

"Yeah . . . well, if you need any help . . ."

"I’ll call on you." A silence descended between them that was both comforting and companionable. Joe was thinking how grateful he was to whatever gods there be that she was safely sitting beside him, and Catherine’s thought’s drifted to Vincent and then to Diana. Her thoughts of Diana brought her back to the present and she asked, "Anything more on Diana’s murder, Joe? Or Judge Sotherby’s?"

"No," he said dispiritedly. He jumped to his feet and stalked to a nearby window. "I keep wondering who’s next. It’s like he drops off the face of the earth, then surfaces for a few hours--just enough time to do terrible things to women--then vanishes again. We simply can’t find him."

"I wish I could help, Joe, but it’s going to be at least two months before I can come back."

"I know kiddo. But I’ll expect you to make up for all this time off by working a lot of overtime," he said, jokingly.

Laughing, Cathy rose and walked over to him. "I seem to remember someone who would go home before I did. I was thinking of cutting back on my hours."

"You wouldn’t do that to me," he gasped. When she grinned at him with an impish look in her eyes, he recovered his composure and replied, "Don’t do that to me. You know I’d be lost without you."

Seriously, she agreed, "I know." Hugging him lightly, she thanked him for caring about her. "You’re a good friend, Joe."

"I don’t want to lose you, Cathy." He looked so serious that it brought a smile to her face.

"You won’t," she assured him.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

The following day in a room full of flowers that she couldn’t see, Cathy awoke once again to find her head swathed in bandages. Slightly disoriented, she called out, "Vincent."

"Cathy, it’s Dr. Sanderle. It’s all over." He had just finished examining her bandages and was pleased that she had awakened.

"I’m in the hospital?" she mumbled.

"Yes, and you’re going to be fine." He took a deep breath. "You must have been through something terrible but whatever it was, it’s behind you. If there’s anything you want to tell me or talk about, anything I can do, let me know." He patted her hand resting on top of the coverlet.

As he went through the door, she whispered, "You could read me the last chapter of ‘Great Expectations.’"

In the silence of her hospital room, she thought back over the meeting with Dr. Sanderle and of his assurances that her face would show no sign of the attack. He had told her that during surgery they would rebreak her nose and cheek, reset them, and then carefully repair the gashes on her cheeks. Next there was the ride--half-awake--on the gurney to the OR, watching the ceiling tiles glide by, and then the dream she had of Vincent. She dreamt of the partygoers at Tom’s reception laughing at her and of then being chased down a dark alley by the van. Next she dreamt of the time she spent Below in Vincent’s big bed, and the strength she felt flowing from him to her. During those ten days, he had become the most important person in her life, and she hoped that she would see him again soon.

Vincent was experiencing all that was happening to Catherine. Since they had become good friends, he had decided that the bond needed to be at full strength. She might need him sometime. How much of this decision was due to The Other’s influence was hard to tell, but to Vincent the decision was his alone. When Joe had kissed her, he had felt her temporary confusion and embarrassment. A feeling of intense resentment had flooded through him and The Other had whispered, That should be us she’s kissing. Before Vincent could reply, he was gone. But the man felt like a voyeur, intruding on her thoughts, and decided to erect walls around her very personal feelings. The Other was furious. It’s my bond, he shouted. You can’t do that. "But I did," Vincent replied. "She deserves her privacy." How are we to know what she feels about us? The Other wailed. "I don’t need to know. She is my friend and that is all I need to know. Go away," he ordered. The dark one retreated to the dark recesses of Vincent’s mind.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

On December the third, the body of Estelle Fuentes, a highly regarded defense lawyer, was discovered in her bedroom. The maid, who found the body, was hysterical at the thought that she had been in the house with a killer and was of no help whatsoever. Once again there were no clues. The city braced for another two month siege. Then, inexplicably, the murders stopped.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

The day after she had celebrated the incoming New Year with her father, Catherine had moved back to her apartment over the vehement protests of her ever doting parent. During the time she spent with her father, she set about finding a good self-defense instructor. It was time she really learned how to defend herself. The self-defense taught by the N.Y.P.D. had not been enough to help her when she needed it. Actually, it was Edie who helped her find the man she required. The gregarious, young black woman had finally found the man of her dreams, and as it turned out, he taught self-defense, but it was New York street fighting, down and dirty. Catherine made arrangements with him to start her training as soon as she was well. She looked forward to her first session next Wednesday with Isaac Stubbs. The name had a strong masculine ring to it; she was sure she had made a good choice. If he was as great as Edie said, she knew he would be gentle with her until she was fully healed.

With the proper makeup, she was able to go wherever she pleased, but she usually stayed in her apartment, hoping Vincent would visit her. He visited her balcony two or three times a week, always at night. On one of those nights, she had given him Diana’s journal. They had many varied and interesting conversations and read constantly to each other. She thought the silk and gravel cadence of his voice the most beautiful sound in the world, and he loved to hear her cultured, soft voice read poetry with an amazing insight into what the poet meant. She waited, expectantly, for him to ask her to come Below. As the nights passed and there was no invitation, she began to question their so-called friendship. Maybe it had been a mistake to give him the journal.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

It was cold on the balcony, but Catherine had bundled up in a warm down parka and stood with Vincent looking at the city lights reflected in the snow that mantled Central Park. Diamonds seem to sparkle everywhere, even on her terrace. Vincent sensed a resolve in her that frankly had him puzzled. He knew it had something to do with him but would probe her feelings no further.

A deep sigh shook her slender body, and with frosty breath, she asked, "Vincent, why did you make an entrance to the tunnels below my apartment if you intended to deny me the comfort and friendship of your world?" It had taken several aborted attempts to get the courage to ask him. His apparent lack of interest in her return to his home had hurt her deeply. She had kept it from him until this last incident. Tonight, he had told her of the entertaining play the children had written and how wonderful they were in it. How they had made all the costumes and painted all the scenery by themselves. In short, they had produced the entire play with little or no help from the adults of the tunnel world, and she hadn’t seen any of it.

"Deny you? I would deny you nothing, Catherine." Surprised, he gaped at her.

"Well, that’s what I feel," she stated categorically.

Stammering, in his confusion, he attempted to cover for Father. How could he tell her that Father had specifically told him that she was not to come Below again? "I-I’m sorry, Catherine. I assumed you wouldn’t want to return to dark, stony caverns."

She turned away from him, hurt even more by his seemingly thoughtless statement. "What you must think of me," she breathed. Suddenly, she was on fire, angrier with him than she had been with anyone in a long time. She took exception to his remarks. "How dare you think that I believe myself too good to visit your home," she exploded, poking him none too gently in the chest. "I may be rich, but I have feelings like anyone else." Each word was punctuated by a nasty fingernail jabbed into his chest. "We are friends, are we not?"

He nodded dumbly; he had never been the target of her temper before and found it fascinating that she would loose it upon him.

"Well, friends invite friends to their homes," she continued.

When her boiling sea green eyes locked with his laughing cerulean eyes, he began to chuckle. "I didn’t know you had such a temper," he commented dryly.

"You ain’t seen nothin’ yet," she quipped, relaxing as a slow grin spread across her face. She couldn’t stay mad at him; she loved him dearly. He was such a good friend. Laughing lightly, she leaned against him, hugging him. "But, truly, Vincent, I would like to meet the rest of your family and see your home." After all, Diana did, she thought, jealousy stirring in her heart.

What Father wanted didn’t seem to matter as much as what Catherine wanted. It warmed his heart that she wanted to know his family and world. "You are welcome in my home at any time, Catherine; I never meant to hurt you." This was a big step. Only one other person had been brought Below by him.

Eagerly she asked, "What about Saturday?" She wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass.

"Saturday at one, I’ll be at your basement threshold," he agreed, smiling soberly. Father would be incensed, but he would do this for her. When he had agreed to the order, he had never thought that she would be this hurt. Her feelings ran deeper than he had let himself discover.

"Oh, thank you," she said, flinging her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. Was it her imagination or did he briefly clasp her a little bit tighter then abruptly release her? Her woman’s intuition told her he was beginning to feel more than friendship for her. But she also knew he was fighting it, trying to remain loyal to Diana. She would have to go slow if she wanted a deeper relationship with him, and she didn’t even know if it was possible.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Later that night after spending a pleasant and relaxing evening with Catherine, he stopped in Father’s chambers. The golden candlelight spilling from the entrance told him that his worried parent was still awake, awaiting his safe return. To Father he would always be the little wayward boy intent on causing as much trouble and worry as possible to his aged parent. He smiled softly.

"Father?" He announced his presence in the familiar tunnel greeting, gliding into the chamber.

Disapproval radiated from Father’s eyes and grim statement. Stiffly he began what had become almost a routine lecture, "How can you be so selfish and careless of the safety of this world? Your world that protects you that you seem determined to destroy."

"I only want a little freedom," Vincent demurred.

"Freedom! Is freedom worth your life or worse? Is it worth the destruction of this world and all your friends?"

"I am very careful and I vary the route of my return," he stated defensively.

"There is always the chance of accidental sighting. There is no safe place for you Above."

"But there is, Father. Catherine’s balcony."

"Where?"

"Catherine’s balcony. I was there this evening."

"How long has this been going on," an incensed father demanded.

"Since the night I took her home."

"My god, Vincent, what are you doing?"

"Nothing, Father. Catherine is a good friend, and we enjoy many of the same things. We enjoy each other’s company. Nothing more."

Shaking his head, Father groaned, "I don’t understand you."

"What is there to understand?" Vincent asked. "Catherine and I are friends."

Earnestly, his unhappy parent said, "Are you so sure? Look into your heart, my son. I don’t want you hurt again. She will only bring you pain. Do you honestly believe a woman like that will remain your friend? She will tire of you then move on."

"It is a chance I am willing to take," Vincent replied, striding to the small metal stairs. "I will enjoy her company until that time. Oh, Catherine will be visiting us this Saturday."

"You asked her to come Below?" Father blustered, thunderstruck that Vincent had invited her after he had made it quite clear that she was never to come Below again.

"Yes."

"How could you . . . ?" Father sputtered.

"Very easily, it seems. It is what Catherine wants: to meet all my friends and family and to see the beauties of our world."

He used the only weapon he knew that would keep her from coming Below, "You know the council must first approve this decision."

Calmly Vincent answered, "I didn’t think it was necessary as she already knows of this world."

"It is always necessary. We barely have time for a council meeting."

"I will go to each member personally and ask for their approval." With a resentful gleam in his eye, he looked at Father, "I will not ask for yours."

"You’re being unfair, Vincent. If the majority approve, I will gladly welcome her." Vincent’s careless comment had cut him to the quick.

Vincent caught the flicker of pain in his father’s eyes, and regretting his harsh words, he returned to his father’s side, bent down and kissed the wrinkled forehead, "Forgive me, Father?"

Shaking his head sadly, Father turned away. In a glum voice, he said, "Of course, I forgive you. You are my son." He walked into his bedchamber, letting the dropped curtain put an end to this unresolved conversation.

Standing irresolutely, Vincent finally left and returned to his own chamber. He regretted his hasty words, but he had promised Catherine and nothing must stand in the way of fulfilling that promise. Even Father could not sway him.

The next day Vincent talked to all the council members and got their unanimous approval for Catherine’s visit Below. Everyone wanted to meet her.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Saturday finally came. An excited Catherine awoke from a dream of what it would be like in the tunnels. She knew her dream would not even approach the wonders she was to see today. As all good guests do, she went shopping for something to take with her as a thank you gift for letting her come Below. She decided on foods, drinks, and confections that she thought they would have very little of Below. She had never enjoyed grocery shopping as much as she did on this day.

Struggling into her apartment with an armload of bags, she set them on the counter of her kitchen, trying to decide how she was going to get all this food Below. Suddenly, she was sure that she had overdone it. She wanted to win their friendship, not impress them with how much she could do for them. That would come later. She sorted through the bags and decided on the things she was almost certain that they didn’t have: candy for the children, eclairs for the adults, and hard to find spices for William, the cook. She wanted to thank him for the special nutritious soups he had fixed for her while she was Below healing.

Not wanting to be late, she left early, and being careful not to be seen, she opened the basement threshold and descended into Vincent’s world. Breathlessly, she turned to find him waiting for her. He hurried to her, and taking the bag from her hand, he asked, "What do we have here?"

She smiled up at him and his heart skipped a beat. "Just a little thank you gift for inviting me to your home."

"May I peek?" he asked. He loved any and all surprises and was deeply touched that she had been so thoughtful.

"Don’t you think you should wait until all of your family could be present?" she teased.

He glanced at her through his bangs. Was she teasing? Yes, she was. He slowly shook his head. "I can’t wait," he said with an expectant little boy look on his face.

"Oh . . . very well, go ahead," she answered, giving a sigh of false exasperation.

He delved into the bag and chuckled appreciatively, "These are wonderful gifts, Catherine. Thank you."

"I have a lot more sitting on my counter. I’m afraid I went overboard and bought way too much. Now, I have to find a way to get it down here without anyone suspecting." She gave him a conspiratorial wink, "Do you know anyone who could help me?"

Placing his forefinger against the side of his head, he cocked his head, saying, "Hmm, let me think. I think I can find someone who would be willing. Really, Catherine, it is not necessary that you bring gifts. My family and I welcome you as you are."

"I know that but I enjoy bringing gifts and had so much fun shopping this morning. Ordinarily, I hate grocery shopping, but thinking about what I could bring Below made it so pleasurable that I’m going to do it again." At his look of protest, she said, "Now, don’t try to stop me. I can be very stubborn when I want to be."

"All right," he laughed. "Come," he took her hand and led her into his world.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

"Welcome back, my dear," Mary gushed, hugging her tightly. She was the first tunnel dweller they chanced upon. "I was despairing of ever seeing you again."

Embarrassed for Vincent, Catherine murmured, "Uh . . . I’ve been really busy . . ."

Vincent cut in, "Actually, it is my fault, Mary. I neglected to ask her." He would not tell Catherine that Father was the cause of his tardy invitation. He wanted them to become friends.

"Well, it doesn’t matter now; she’s here finally. Oh dear, I must run. I’m teaching Rebecca how to knit."

"Maybe you could teach me?" Catherine asked. "My mother died before she had a chance to teach me."

Patting her on the arm, Mary agreed, "Anytime, Catherine, anytime."

Next, Vincent took her to the pipe chamber where she met Pascal, the diminutive, balding pipemaster. She watched him scurry about transferring messages to every part of the tunnel world. Fascinated, she listened to his tale of how with Father and a man named John Pater, his father had invented and refined the pipe codes. Thanking him for taking valuable time away from the pipes to talk with her, she promised to return.

Then Vincent introduced her to Rebecca, Olivia and Kanin, Cullen, Winslow, Jamie, Sarah, John, Mouse, and so many more that she couldn’t remember all their names. Mouse was a revelation in nervous energy, and she paid great attention to his inventions and gizmos, endearing her to his simple, loving heart. The children delighted her the most. They were happy, bright-eyed and a joy to be around. Lastly, she met William, arguably one of the most important members of the community. He was a product of his own cooking; his girth proved it. "So, you’re the one that loved my soup."

"Oh yes, the best soup I have ever eaten," she enthused.

"You have good taste, young lady, very good taste, indeed." He winked at her before returning to his work. She would give him the spices when she gave everyone else their goodies.

Her musical laughter drifted back to him as she and Vincent left the kitchen. That one is not so standoffish as the other, he thought.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

"Are you ready to beard the proverbial lion in his den?" There was a twinkle in his eye as he escorted Catherine to the Common Room. Completely serious, she met his gaze and nodded her head. They stopped just outside the entrance. "Father?" Vincent called, "I have a visitor who would like to see you."

"Come in," the gruff voice instructed.

Taking a deep breath, Catherine preceded Vincent into the chamber. "Hello, Father. Thank you for allowing me to come." She knew that it was only by his good graces that she stood here in his chamber. If he had forbidden it, no one would have dared to defy him. She wondered if Vincent would have. Father interrupted her thoughts.

"It isn’t as if you don’t know about us. Welcome, Catherine." He took her by the hand and led her to a chair beside his desk. Gracefully she sank into the overlarge chair. She looked like a small, bright-eyed little girl lost in the enormity of the imposing chair. "What do you think of our little world, eh?"

"It’s wonderful. What you have built here must make you very proud. It’s an amazing feat you have accomplished."

Father couldn’t deny the glow of pride that washed over him, and he visibly thawed under Catherine’s blandishments. For the next hour he regaled her with stories about the founding of his world. At last it was dinner time, and the pipes rang with the news. "Will you stay and take dinner with us, my dear?"

A slight nod from Vincent told her he was amenable to the suggestion. Happily she agreed. Dinner was delicious, and the company; scintillating. During dinner, she asked to become a Helper, and in his mellowness Father agreed.

At midnight, Catherine and Vincent were walking back to her threshold. "Thank you for a wonderful day, Vincent."

"I’m glad you enjoyed your visit."

"The Chamber of the Falls has no rival in the world Above. It is magnificent. And there is no counterpart in my world that equals The Whispering Gallery. And the Cave of the Winds! Oh my, I could hardly stand up. I’m glad you were there to keep me steady. Your world has beauties beyond compare, Vincent."

He chuckled at her almost girlish enthusiasm. "There are other wonders that I have not shown you. Another time, perhaps?"

"Oh yes, Vincent, please."

"We will always be here for you, Catherine. If ever you need sanctuary, you will be welcomed here."

"Even for just an afternoon?" she asked joshingly. At his happy nod, she laughed merrily. Then, earnestly she stated, "Vincent, if there is anything I can do to make life easier in your world, please tell me. I want to help. I really do want to be a Helper, in any way I can."

"Father has strict rules on how much help we will take from our Helpers, but I will," he said as he gathered her into a friendly embrace. "Good night, Catherine."

Squeezing him tightly for a second, she replied, "Sleep well, Vincent."

His eyes followed her up the metal rungs and through the door, safely into her basement. He let loose a happy sigh. Today went very well, very well indeed. It was wonderful to have a friend like Catherine. He was truly blessed. Vincent had no idea how blessed he was.