Chapter Two
Two months had passed and still Vincent had not regained his memory of the last three years. And to Catherine, the few times she had seen him, he was not the same man. Father was confident that he would become the man he had been, but she thought it was more wishful thinking than anything else.
But for Catherine, there was a big change. When she missed her period the past month, she put it down to stress, but when she missed this month, she dashed out and bought two home pregnancy tests. If the results were right, she was pregnant, so she took time off from work to see Peter Alcott, her family physician and godfather. Waiting for the results of the blood test he had ordered, she sat in his well-appointed office leafing through an ‘Our Family’ magazine. Glancing up from the page she was reading, she caught his grim expression as he entered and carefully closed the door.
"What is it, Peter? What’s wrong?"
He looked at her unhappily, "It seems you are right, Cathy. You are pregnant."
She clapped her hands happily, "Oh, that’s wonderful, that’s marvelous."
"You’re happy about this?" he questioned, surprised at her reaction as he settled behind his enormous desk, one of his idiosyncrasies.
"Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?" She couldn’t understand why he was so troubled about her pregnancy.
"Well . . . ah . . . I know you’re not seeing Vincent . . . How unhappy you’ve been. I thought. . . well . . . I thought there might have been another man."
Leaping to her feet, she loomed over him. And an angry Cathy could loom. "How could you think that of me?" she demanded, furiously.
"I’m sorry, honey, but what else was I to think?" Leaning far back in his chair, staring into her stormy eyes, he almost fell over backward.
"That I could turn my back on Vincent and our love because he doesn’t remember me?" Her voice rose in anger. "I thought you knew me better than that. Vincent is the father." Tears of frustration began to fill her eyes.
Astounded, Peter asked, "But how?"
She shook her head to regain her composure and moved to the window of his office. Pensively, she gazed out, noting the sun tinged clouds scudding behind the tall buildings. "Remember when he was so ill and I went in after him?"
Peter’s eyes widened as he remembered that terrible time. "Then?" he whispered as he sat up with a jolt.
She turned and, half sitting on the window sill, raised her chin then said, "Yes. We made love in that dark cavern, and it was the most wonderful and fulfilling experience I have ever had." Once again, she was close to tears; a natural state of affairs, lately. "But he doesn’t remember any of it, and I miss him so much." Unable to control the tears anymore, she began to softly cry.
Peter was up and out of his chair, enfolding his unhappy goddaughter in his arms. "There, there, everything will be all right. Vincent will remember, you’ll see." He handed her his handkerchief and held her to him. She sniffled a few times and shook her head.
"I don’t think he will. Father really doesn’t want him to remember."
"That may be true, but I think Jacob’s afraid to push him too hard, afraid that he will truly lose him then. The time may come when he cannot prevent it."
Catherine smiled mistily at him, then hugged him tightly. "We must make plans for this child."
"Yes, there is a possibility he or she could look like Vincent." Scrutinizing, her face, he stated, "But you don’t really care if it does, do you?" He grinned at her.
"Nope, but that’s what we need to make plans for," she grinned at him in return.
"Can you forgive me for what I thought?" Peter pocketed the damp handkerchief she had returned to him. "We are all human, and I thought that maybe you had turned to someone else for solace."
"Peter, I don’t think anyone knows the depth of change that Vincent has caused in me. The old Cathy would have done just that very thing. But I’m not her anymore. Vincent showed me how to tap into that inner core of strength that I have, that everyone has. I’ve been using that strength a lot lately." She smiled at him fondly. "Of course, I forgive you. I love you."
"I love you, too, honey," he said in relief and admiration.
*
Leaning against the doorpost, her arms crossed at the waist, Catherine watched with amusement as a very frazzled Joe Maxwell pawed through a messy stack of unruly files. Serves him right for all those times he dumped a load of files on my desk with a smirk and a jaunty wave of his hand as he walked away. "Joe, may I talk with you for a few minutes?" She was about to put her plans into motion.
"Sure, Radcliffe, come in." Joe leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced behind his head, glad for the temporary reprieve. "What can I do for you?" The look on his face was quizzical and a little fearful.
This was the hardest part of her plan, leaving this dear man who had become so special to her. "Joe, I have to resign, effective in thirty days or sooner if you find a replacement."
He sat forward with a bang. "I knew it! I knew it was bad news. What’s up, Cathy? You can’t pull something like this out of thin air without an explanation? What gives?"
"I’m pregnant and . . ."
"Pregnant?"
"Yes, and for reasons of my own, I don’t want anyone else to know about it. If you won’t let me resign, I’ll just quit right now." The defiant way she stood told him she meant every word.
"Whoa! Calm down. I’ll do what I can. I’ll tell John right away but don’t be surprised if he tries to change your mind." She ducked as a rubber band went flying by her ear and hit the dart board. He grinned apologetically, "I’m really going to miss you, Radcliffe."
"I’ll miss you, too. You’ve been a great friend." Joe noticed the beginning of tears. "After all, who’re you going to use for target practice?" she asked through her tears.
"Is there anything I can do? Help you in anyway?" She shook her head, dabbing at the tears with a handkerchief she pulled out of her pocket. "What about the father? Can’t he help?" He had a sudden inspiration when she shook her head even more violently. "Is the father the one you told me was so ill?" She nodded. "Has he gotten worse or . . . died?"
"He’s not dead but he might as well be. He has amnesia and doesn’t remember me." His old leather couch caught her as she collapsed into it, sobbing.
"Gee, Cathy, what are you going to do?" He quickly settled beside her and took her in his arms, letting her cry on his sturdy shoulder.
"I’m going to have this baby, that’s what!" she resolutely stated through her tears.
*
The next step in her plans was to open the house in Connecticut. She had decided that she would have the baby there with Peter’s help. On a warm autumn day in October, she aired out the house, took the dust covers off the furniture, restocked the kitchen and pantry, and began to turn one of the bedrooms into a nursery. After that was done, she assembled all the necessary equipment needed for a home birth.
There was one other matter to take care of Below before she started to show, because according to Peter, this baby was growing faster than usual. She had to tell Father of her decision to leave the tunnel community and the city and move to Connecticut.
Arranging to meet Father when Vincent was working in one of the lower chambers, she entered the tunnels with trepidation; afraid there was a possibility that she would meet him. If she saw him, she knew she would not be able to leave, and it was necessary that she go. Thankfully, she traversed the tunnels, meeting only Mouse and Jamie. Pausing before the entrance to Father’s chamber, she called softly. "Father?"
"Come in, Catherine," he answered. She entered his chamber to find Mary sitting opposite him by his desk. They both smiled at her as Father motioned her to the other chair beside Mary. With a physician’s practiced eye, he noted how thin she was and the shadows under her eyes. He had expected her to recover from the loss of Vincent long before this and was shocked to see her in her present state. Could it be? Was he wrong? Mentally shaking his head, he decided no, whatever the cost to her, his son had to remain safe, and he would jolly well see to it.
"How are you, dear?" Mary asked, shocked at the unhappiness that radiated from the once buoyant and vibrant young woman.
With a deep sigh, Catherine answered, "I’m all right, Mary. I’ll survive. As long as he’s safe and content." She noticed a strange look pass between them and a thrill of fear ran through her. "What is it? He’s not sick or hurt, is he?"
Father undertook to assure her, "No, no, he’s fine. He is just a little restrained, that’s all. A reaction to all he’s been through, I’m sure."
Releasing the breath that she had unknowingly been holding and with her hand pressed against her heart, she said, "You scared me. I thought . . ." She shook her head. "Well, to get back to why I’m here." Pausing to collect her thoughts, she continued, "I’m leaving New York and moving to Connecticut."
"Catherine!" Father and Mary chorused; Mary dismayed, Father astounded.
"I’m sorry, but I just can’t stand it any longer. To see him and have him look at me the way he does is breaking my heart. Hopefully, I can handle this easier if I’m not so close."
"I don’t know what to say, Catherine. Are you sure you want to take such drastic actions?" As much as he hated to see her go, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she would not be here to raise specters of the past.
"Yes, Father, it is something I must do." But not for the reason you think was her thought.
"We’ll miss you, . . . I’ll miss you, dear." Mary told her. "But I understand."
"Don’t worry; I’ll keep in touch. I’ll write to you every week." Standing, Catherine gathered Mary into her arms. "Please tell the others I haven’t deserted them. That I still love all of you, and if you ever need anything, please let me know." She kissed Mary then said, "I love you, Mary. You’re like a mother to me. Take care of him for me, please."
"I love you too, child, and I’ll take good care of him, you can be sure of that." Patting Catherine on the shoulder, she hurriedly left, wiping at her eyes.
Father gathered her into a tight bear hug. "We shall all miss you. He will too even if he doesn’t know it. When are you leaving?"
Catherine stepped away from Father, fighting to hold back the tears. "As soon as Joe gets a replacement for me."
At this moment, Vincent strode up to Father’s chamber. He stopped when he heard voices coming from the interior, one of them Cathy’s voice. Not wanting to intrude, he leaned against the tunnel wall, crossed his arms then dropped his head trying not to listen. They seemed to be talking about her never returning. Somehow, it didn’t seem right, but the more he thought about it the more agitated he became, and he backed off turning his thoughts to the problems he had come to discuss with Father.
With abandon, Catherine threw her arms around Father’s neck and buried her face in his shoulder, weeping wholeheartedly. He had dealt with many unhappy women through the years and knew it was best to let them cry until they were finished. After all, eventually she would forget about Vincent and go on with her life. Of this, he was certain. "Keep me informed about yourself, please." He felt she was holding something back but was too polite to pry.
"Write and tell me how he’s doing. Take care of him, Father," she whispered as she pulled away from his arms and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. "I’ve got to go. I’m due in court in as hour. I’ll write, Father. Take care."
She had to leave before she blurted out her secret, and she fled the chamber not noticing Vincent standing in the shadows.
So, she was leaving. He would miss her bright smile. He pushed away from the wall and entered the chamber. "I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Cathy is leaving us? I shall miss her," he stated, settling in the chair Catherine had vacated.
Father wiped a stray tear away and looked at Vincent suspiciously. "Why?"
"She has been a valued helper, and she has such a beautiful smile," he answered calmly. "I shall miss that smile. But why was she crying?"
"She is leaving someone she loves." Trying to divert him from what Father felt was a dangerous line of thinking, he asked, "How are the lower chambers coming?"
All thoughts of Cathy fled as he readied to answer his father. "That is what I have come to discuss with you. We have a problem."
Father breathed a sigh of relief and patted Vincent’s shoulder as he walked by him on his way to his chair. He sat down and waited for Vincent to relate the problem.
*
Catherine had one more week before she left and was busy breaking in her replacement. He was a tall, rail-thin, likable young man from the plains of Kansas with red hair, blue eyes, and freckles. She had taken an instant liking to him and was doing her best to teach him all she knew. For his part, he appreciated everything she did for him and, like a sponge, soaked up all that she taught him. This was Monday and Friday was her last day. Hopefully, she had enough time.
She knew they were planning a going away party for her. It was going to be rough saying goodbye to everyone but particularly to Joe. His friendship was very precious to her. And on Friday they did have the party, replete with champagne punch and a big cake. There was even a friendship card from Edie telling her if she was ever in the Detroit area to stop by and visit her. Between laughter and tears, she didn’t know which one would have the upper hand. Thankfully, most of the cards were humorous, and she could laugh through her tears. One by one, everyone came to say a personal goodbye until she and Joe were the only ones left.
An exhausted duo sat in his office reminiscing. They had laughed and cried until they were worn out. Catherine sighed contentedly, "How did you know I needed a new set of luggage?"
"Shoot, Radcliffe, everyone can use luggage," he answered proudly.
"Oh Joe, I’m going to miss you." She laughed, leaning back in his old leather couch. "Can I take my shoes off? My feet are killing me. Whoever invented high heels should be shot."
"Then why wear them?" he asked, snapping a rubber band around his index fingers. Before she could reply, he answered his own question. "I think I read somewhere it has something to do with making the legs look sexier."
"Why, Joe," she threw him a mischievous look, "I had no idea you were interested in things like that."
He grinned wickedly. "Well, a guy has to keep up on these things you know. You never know when you might need that bit of information in court."
Her musical laughter pealed forth. "I’ve never heard a better excuse in all my life. Joe, you’re incorrigible." She bent to retrieve her castoff shoes. "Well, I guess I better be going."
"Cathy, would you have dinner with me?" This would be his last chance to be with her, and he took it.
She gazed at him for a few seconds then smiled sadly. "Why not? But only if it’s my treat."
"All right, if that’s what you want, you’re on," he agreed breathlessly. Free dinner? Hey, his Mama didn’t raise no dummies.
"May I leave the luggage here in your office? I’ll pick it up later after dinner." She had her coat on and was waiting for him at the door.
"Sure thing," he said, as he took her elbow and steered her out of the office on their one and only date.
*
Vincent tossed and turned lost in the grip of a feeling of desertion such as he had not felt since he was a small child and realized that he had been abandoned by his mother. Begging and pleading, he beseeched someone he couldn’t see, someone who was walking away from him, "Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Please." He mumbled these appeals over and over again, tangling himself deeper and deeper into his blankets. As he roared a name that instantly faded as smoke in the wind, he awoke to a feeling of such desolation that he wondered if he could even continue. Why couldn’t he remember her name? And as he tried to remember, the terror returned to press in on him again, to take his breath away with fright. What had happened that was so terrible that he couldn’t face it? The one person that could help him was the one he couldn’t remember. The one who knew it all.