Chapter Three

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Resigning when she did saved her from having to make so many explanations. Even though she was only three months along, she couldn’t fit into any of her clothes. She had resorted to wearing elasticized sweat pants and sweaters until she was able to get to NYC and could buy several sets of maternity clothes. The baby was developing rapidly. This child would not take the usual nine months to grow. She really wasn’t surprised, after all, this was Vincent’s child.

"Miss Cathy, Jenny Aronson is on the line." Her housekeeper, a bosomy, mothering individual of unspecified age with twinkling brown eyes and a large laugh handed her the phone. Agatha Merriwether was an unsophisticated treasure that she had hired shortly before moving to Connecticut. She shamelessly mothered Catherine, who gratefully fell under her spell. It had been a long time since anyone had taken care of her as thoroughly as Agatha did.

"Thanks, Agatha." She turned her attention to the cheerful voice she heard coming from the phone.

"Hi, Cath. Whatta ya doing?" Jen’s happy voice was a delightful intrusion into her lazy afternoon.

"Agatha’s got me resting every afternoon in the solarium." Catherine replied.

"Good for her! I was wondering if I could invite myself for a visit this weekend?"

"You don’t need an invitation, Jen. I’d love it. Would it be all right if I give Agatha the weekend off and it’s just us girls?"

"That would be great. Anything I can bring?"

"Just your wonderful self." Catherine’s grin traveled to her friend through her voice.

"Ok, see you Friday afternoon. Bye, Cath."

"Bye, Jen."

She loved having Agatha around, but it would be fun to spend the weekend alone with Jenny. She needed the fun and frivolity that her long time friend would bring.

*

Jenny’s visit was all Catherine hoped it would be; relaxing, fun, and comforting. They laughed, tried on new makeup, tried new recipes, and giggled the weekend away. Through Jen’s perspective she finally came to grips with all that had happened to her and Vincent since his illness. She told Jenny all she could about her pregnancy, without revealing too much about Vincent. She wasn’t happy, but she was resigned and accepting of her situation. For her child she must be as happy and content as she could possibly be.

The time for Jenny to leave came all too soon, and Catherine wished that she could stay longer. Jenny pulled back from the hug she was attempting to give her best friend and, failing miserably because of her friend’s increased girth, to look at her intently. "Are you all right now?" she asked.

"No," she responded honestly, "but I’m better, thanks to you."

"Cathy, you’re a smart woman, and you would’ve arrived at these conclusions yourself. I just helped you see them a little sooner, that’s all. Love ya, Cath."

"Love you, too. Be careful on your way back, ok? I can’t afford to lose you. Call me when you get in."

Jenny nodded and walked out the front door. With a happy smile, she greeted Agatha who was coming up the walk

"How is she, Miss Jenny?"

"Oh please, Agatha, call me Jenny. I’m not used to being called Miss anything." Smiling at her, Agatha nodded her agreement. "Better, I hope. Maybe she won’t be so sad now."

"I hope so. Drive safely." Agatha liked this breezy, down-to-earth friend of Cathy’s, and she was certain that Jenny was just what she had needed this weekend.

"Thanks. Take care of her; she’s a very special person."

"I’m well aware of that, Mi . . . Jenny, I’ll do my best. Bye."

Agatha passed through the door that Jenny had left open for her.

Pensively, Jenny walked, head bowed, to her car. All the way back to the City, she thought of Cathy and wished she knew more of her situation.

*

As happy as she was to be carrying Vincent’s baby, Catherine spent a very lonely and unhappy winter alone with Agatha. Peter invited her to his home for Thanksgiving which she gratefully accepted, then regretted when she was surrounded by his happy family. All she could think about was how much she missed her tunnel family, and try as she might, she just couldn’t get into the holiday spirit. Vincent was constantly in her thoughts, and she was reassured when Peter told her that he was doing well. That he had regained his health and strength. But even he had noticed that Vincent seemed to be a changed man.

The tunnel community’s Thanksgiving was somewhat subdued this year even though everyone was happy that Vincent had survived his illness. Still, there was something wrong and they felt it, especially Mouse who was very intuitive where his best friend was concerned. Vincent had always been a solitary person until Catherine entered his life, but now he was almost a recluse. It wasn’t that he actively shunned his friends and family, he willingly performed all the duties and chores assigned to him, but rather that spark or energy to actively participate in tunnel activities was gone. As Mouse so succinctly put it to any and all who wondered about Vincent’s lack of enthusiasm and joie de vivre, Catherine could fix it. She could fix anything that was wrong with Vincent. Father continued on either unaware or blithely ignoring what everyone else could see, that Vincent was not a whole man, and they all knew the solution: Catherine.

*

Catherine knew she shouldn’t feel sorry for herself, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Winterfest was the hardest to get through. She remembered her joy and pride at being the woman who walked beside Vincent and then waltzed with him after everyone had left. For the first time in months, she cried herself to sleep and dreamed of dancing the whole night through with him.

Vincent left the party early that night. He couldn’t bear to watch the happy couples laughing and dancing together. He felt empty and alone, more alone than he had ever felt before. His dreams that night were filled of visions of him dancing with someone, but when he tried to see her face, she faded away. Once again, he awoke to the sound of a name dying even before it could reach his ears. Why couldn’t he remember? Why? Father was no help. He just said to bide his time. That if he was meant to remember, he would. And he couldn’t bear to ask the other members of the community. It frightened him too much.

*

Christmas was spent quietly at home. To witness the joy that her friends were feeling at this happy time was more than she could handle. When New Year’s Eve arrived, she sat alone in front of her fireplace with a large glass of milk to see the new year in, pledging that she would be stronger and more in control than she had been. All her good intentions flew out the window when January 12th arrived. Father had assigned this day as Vincent’s birthday, and she thought that she would die of loneliness that day. Once again, her pillow was wet with the tears she cried before falling into a restless sleep.

Below, Vincent was experiencing the same emotions, but could not understand why. He was unable to feel any enthusiasm for the holidays and was grateful when they finally ended. His birthday was a total shambles as all he wanted to do was be alone, and the party Father had for him taxed him to the limit. Finally, he was able to escape and he fled to the nameless river to be alone.

*

But regardless of how Catherine or Vincent was feeling, the baby continued to grow. The way he was growing it would not be long before he would be here; for some reason she always thought of the baby as a boy. It was the end of February and spring was fast approaching. For once, the day was bright with sunshine, and Agatha was spending the day shopping in the city. Then she was going to her daughter’s house for dinner and would be late getting home. Catherine had insisted that she take a little time for herself as she had not had a day off since Christmas. Reluctantly, Agatha had agreed, but made her promise that if anything went wrong she would immediately call her.

Catherine levered herself out of her chair and carried her breakfast dishes into the kitchen. As she turned from the sink, she felt a deep, dull ache begin in her back. Oh joy, just what I need. Not only do I feel like a beached whale, now I have this lovely backache. Nothing she did, no way she sat or laid eased the ache. At last, it eased and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her relief didn’t last long as she was suddenly hit by a rolling wave of pain in her stomach. What was that? A contraction? She noted the time and settled down to see if there would be another. Half an hour had passed, and she was beginning to relax when another contraction began. Dialing Peter’s service, she left a message for him to come as soon as possible. The helpful and friendly woman who answered for the service told her that Dr. Alcott was on another case, but that she would see that he got the message as soon as possible.

To keep herself busy, she waddled around the bedroom getting it ready for the birth. A rubber sheet followed by a cotton sheet was put on the bed after she stripped the spread and blankets off. Towel, baby blankets, umbilical clips and scissors were next. The plastic bags were placed on the floor near the bed. Suddenly, she felt a flow of warm fluid run down her leg. Her water had broken. She changed into an old nightgown and bathrobe, and taking her copy of home childbirth, she settled on the bed to refresh her memory. The contractions were coming at regular intervals, and she pulled a chair next to the bed and placed a basin of water, a pitcher of ice, and a glass on the seat.

Peter finally returned her call, and she told him that the contractions were two minutes apart. "This baby seems to be in a big hurry, doesn’t he?" Peter responded with a chuckle. "I’m leaving now. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Lie down and rest until I get there."

Personally, Catherine doubted if he would make it in time. "All right, Chandler, you can do this. Just calm down. This would have been just another incident in an otherwise ordinary day for your great-grandmother," she mumbled as she attempted to find a comfortable position. She tried to remember all she had read about breathing, but it was becoming difficult to concentrate on anything but the pain. It was almost constant now and she had a terrible urge to push. Pillows bolstered her at the head of the bed, her body one quivering mass of pain. She held off pushing as long as possible until she felt as if she was coming apart. Unable to contain herself, she finally screamed and pushed with all her might. Panting from the exertion, she reached between her legs and felt the crown of the baby’s head. She took one more deep breath and pushed for all she was worth. The baby’s head freed itself from her body, and following the book’s instructions, she positioned her hands under him, prepared to catch him as he twisted. As the child slipped out and she gathered its little form into her hands, she couldn’t contain the laugh that erupted in pure joy. Quickly cleaning his mouth and nose, she watched him take a shuddery breath and begin to wail lustily. She couldn’t help but laugh once more in triumph; she held Vincent’s son in her hands and he was beautiful. Laying back on the pillows, she laid the baby across her stomach and checked him over. He was perfect in every way.

At this time Peter came roaring up, flung the car door open, and dashed into the house. He came to a sudden halt when he saw her with the child laying on her stomach. "Cathy, my god, you did this?"

She grinned at him, "Yeah, I sure did," happy for the first time in many months.

Panting and out of breath, he gasped, "Is he all right?"

"See for yourself. He’s perfect, just perfect."

He cast a jaundiced eye in her direction, "You’d say that even if he wasn’t."

"I know, but he is perfect, Peter."

"Well, let me take care of the umbilical cord and get him cleaned up," he said as he took the slippery and bloody child from his mother.

After this was done, he returned the baby to Catherine who nursed him, amazed at the strength of his sucking. It was painful at first, but soon the pain dispersed, and she was left with the joy of knowing that she provided the sustenance that he would thrive on. With the first pull of his lips, she felt a minor contraction, and after a few more, the afterbirth was expelled. Peter wrapped it in one of the plastic bags then stitched the tiny tear that was made as the baby entered the world.

"He is all right, isn’t he, Peter?" She asked a mother’s common question.

"He’s beautiful, Cathy. More than beautiful. He’s unusual. As I was cleaning him, he opened his eyes and looked at me . . . he actually looked at me! No baby has ever done that before. He’s totally aware of his surrounding. I had the strangest feeling that he knew me. He closed his eyes; he trusted me. He wasn’t afraid."

Catherine laughed lightly, "Why should he be afraid? He’s Vincent’s son."

Peter joined in her delighted laughter. "That, if nothing else, proves he’s Vincent’s son."

A look of sadness passed over her face and she sighed, "Yes . . . Vincent’s son. I wish he knew he was a father. He loves children so much and to have one of his own . . ."

As he cleaned up after the birth, he said, "Hopefully the time will come when he will know." He glanced at her, noticing that her eyes were getting terribly heavy and that she was barely awake.

"Mm . . . mmm," she mumbled, then slipped into a deep sleep.

Peter searched the rooms and found the nursery. He took the crib and placed it beside the bed, then put Catherine’s son in it. The child settled down after Peter patted him on the back a few times. Setting the plastic bags that contained the soiled sheets, pillow cases, rubber sheet, and afterbirth outside Cathy’s bedroom, he decided that was enough for the night. Fighting the yawns, he undressed down to his underwear, and fell into bed in the bedroom across the hall and was soon sound asleep. The last thought he had was, I’m getting too old for this. I need to slow down.

*

He was in a dense fog following the cries of a baby in the throes of agony. The air was filled with the crying sounds and seemed to surround him. Suddenly, silence descended. He spun around, searching. "Where are you?" he shouted.

"Vincent, come to us. Come home." The hauntingly familiar voice echoed around him.

"Oh please, I want to, but I am lost. I can’t find my way. Help me." Spinning around, he searched vainly through the fog, hoping to find the woman who called to him.

"Only you can help yourself. You must find your own way. We await you." Her voice reverberated around him then drifted into silence.

"No, don’t leave. Wait. Come back." Wherever he ran there was silence. At last, he stopped, and throwing his head back, he roared the name that he tried so hard to remember. It faded away as he surged awake, and he dropped his head on his raised knees in defeat.

*

Peter awoke to the sound of humming in the kitchen, and the smell of bacon frying. He hadn’t eaten since the late lunch he had had with an old colleague of his, and he was ravenous. Donning his rather rumpled clothing, he wandered into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Doctor Alcott," Agatha said. "I see we have a new resident." She smiled happily at him. "When I came back last night, I heard a baby crying, and I just had to see him."

"Did Cathy tell you she delivered him herself?" Peter asked, taking the cup of coffee she handed him.

"Yes. I knew I shouldn’t leave her, but she insisted. He’s a couple of months early, isn’t he?" She flipped two eggs, turned the bacon and got Peter to butter the toast.

"There must have been a mistake in determining the gestation period. That happens frequently," he answered, hoping to steer her away from a dangerous subject.

"She’s a remarkable woman. And that baby! He’s marvelous. I’ve never seen one so aware of his surroundings." She handed a plate to Peter, "Dig in, Doctor. I imagine you’re hungry."

"I sure am," he mumbled around a bite of bacon. A few minutes later he was sopping up the last bit of egg yolk with the last bite of toast. He popped the bite into his mouth and leaned back rubbing his belly. "That was great, Agatha. You’re a good cook." She beamed at him, glowing from his compliment.

While he was eating, Agatha had prepared a tray for Catherine. When she started for the door, Peter asked, "Let me take it, please? I need to get back to the City and my other patients. Thanks for the great breakfast." He took the tray from her and briskly walked out of the kitchen.

*

The baby was sound asleep in Cathy’s arms. She bent over him, intent on his tiny face and form, and she couldn’t seem to get enough of him. Totally unaware of Peter’s entrance, she jumped when he called out, "Breakfast, Cathy. You need to keep your food intake up if you’re going to be successful at breast-feeding."

"Oh, Peter, you shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that," she grinned at him. After laying the baby in his crib, she settled back against the pillows.

Peter placed the tray over her legs. "Didn’t sneak. You were too busy admiring your baby."

Her stomach rumbled at the aroma rising from the tray. "All of a sudden, I’m starved," she stated, smiling broadly. At this time the baby grunted, and both of them glanced over at him. "Isn’t he marvelous, Peter? He has Vincent’s eyes and he’s so beautiful."

"I can see that. Listen, honey, I have to get back--my other patients are calling. By the way, what are you going to name him? Vincent?"

"No, I’ve been thinking about that since I found out I was pregnant. I’ve decided on David Vincent. It’s a good strong name, don’t you think?" She looked up at Peter for his reaction.

"It’s a very good name, honey." He bent and kissed her on the forehead then patted the baby, "See you in a month, Davy."

"David," Catherine corrected him. "No nicknames."

"Excuuuuse me, DAVID," he laughed and left with a flourish.