Part II
Entering the tunnels through the park would be impossible on a day like this, so she made her way to the sub-basement, careful that no one saw her. As she stepped from the ladder, the warmth of memories surrounded her. So many encounters, joyful and sad: their first embrace, the one chaste kiss she'd given hun in gratitude for helping her through one of the darkest periods of her life. She made her way easily along a route that had once seemed unknowable, the reassuring clanging of the pipes growing louder as she approached the center of the tunnel world. The messages they conveyed were still beyond her grasp, but the discordant rhythm was like a lullaby, comforting and dependable.
Any minute she might round a corner and find him standing there. The connection they shared was still a mystery. When she needed him, he would know it, wherever he might be, but sometimes he wouldn't sense her approach until she was almost there. She suspected it depended on the urgency of her feelings, and she tried hard now to suppress her excitement, hoping to surprise him. Mouse and I like surprises, she thought, just as the sound of voices reached her, and turning a corner, she saw two blond figures struggling with an oddly shaped bundle wrapped in burlap.
“It's not gonna fit, Mouse. We're going to have to take it apart.”
“No, not apart. Tunnel's too small, make the tunnel bigger.”
"That'll take all day, and you know what's going to happen if Father gets wind of it.”
“Hello,” Catherine interrupted. “What's going on?”
“A secret.” Mouse grinned, pulling the bundle close to him. “Nobody can know till tonight. Just Jamie.”
“And Vincent?” Catherine asked, remembering the mysterious project.
“Vincent knows most things. Not everything. Sometimes Mouse teaches him.”
“You just haven't told him, because you know what he might say,” Jamie pointed out. “Maybe we can take it around the back way. It's longer, but there's no narrow places.”
“Excuse me.” It seemed to Catherine that this debate might go on indefinitely. “Do you know where Vincent is?”
Jamie shook her head.
“Nope,” said Mouse. “Know where he's going to be. Know where everybody's going to be.”
“Where's that?”
“Can’t tell. It's a secret, but you can come too. Catherine. Make Vincent happy.”
“You better keep Vincent happy,” Jamie reminded him. “We're gonna get in trouble, if we don't get this thing out of here.”
“Well, thank you,” Catherine inserted, turning to start down the right-hand tunnel to the heart of the complex, although she wasn't quite sure what she was thankful for - that somewhat dubious invitation? Sometimes, coming into the tunnel world made her feel as if she'd stepped through Alice's looking glass. Lewis Carroll must have known somebody like Mouse.
She stopped at the entrance to Vincent's chamber, calling his name. There was no answer, and she stepped inside. It felt empty without his presence, but not lonely or forbidding. The warm light coming through the stained glass window glowed on the things that he cherished. She walked slowly around the room with its strange assemblage of objects, every one beloved to her because it was his. She trailed her hand across a shelf of favorite books, poked a button on the jukebox, patted a statue with affection. So many things the world above - her world - had cast aside, but he had found them, known their true worth, seen the beauty others couldn't see. He brought them here, restored them, gave them dignity. Under his loving care they became treasures, valuable because he recognized their value, celebrated it. And one of them, she thought, was me.
She lingered near the bed where she had spent ten dark and frightening days with only the sound of that remarkable voice as her lifeline. She hadn't realized then how great a safety surrounded her, how profound a love. There was still an imprint where he had lain the night before. She stroked the blanket, as if hoping some vestige of his warmth remained. What kind of dreams did he have here? Were they like her own? More and more lately her subconscious had rebelled at the fight hold she was keeping on her feelings. That those feelings were becoming stronger was proven by the turn her dreams had taken, dreams in which the limits crumbled.
Sometimes they took place in a meadow or a wood, some unnamed spot that was their own. His hair would be glorious in the sunlight, his eyes blue and unclouded by doubts. She would notice every golden hair on his face, the white glint of his teeth that never seemed strange to her because they were a part of him, and he was perfect. He would hold her gently, as he always did, but this time there'd be no need to hold back. All the passion that had built up over the last two years would surge through her to be met by his own long-repressed desire.
The dreams never went much further. as if even in sleep some inner censor was keeping watch. What happened next she never knew, but her body would respond to every unleashed feeling, until she'd wake. damp and trembling, fighting the need for him that she was afraid might rouse him from his own sleep far below. She would lie awake, trying to slow her rapid heartbeat, to focus on something else until her heated flesh had cooled. Was it possible that even in sleep, their connection could make her dreams his own? He never gave any indication that this happened, but then there were so many things left unsaid between them.
There was no sound of approaching footsteps, so she lay down on the bed to wait, conscious of the intimacy this implied and of the faint musky fragrance that still lingered on his pillow. Surely, he'd be back soon, and in the meantime, the comfort of his bed made her feel closer to him. Slowly, she drifted into sleep and then into a dream that was somehow familiar. She knew she'd had it several times before, but in waking it always eluded her.
The scene was her own apartment. It was night, and she could see Vincent moving through the unlit rooms. She watched unobserved as he made his way slowly, ending up at her dressing table where he examined the objects there as though they were precious to him. Suddenly, he turned to see her, and she smiled, willing him to come to her. She felt unutterably happy; this time he would reach out to her; this time she would give him everything....
She awoke with a start, trying to grasp the last pale wisps of the dream before it escaped her consciousness. No use. It had fled, leaving only the familiar warmth and trembling that betrayed its purpose.
Sitting up. she wiped her eyes and smoothed her hair. There was still no sign of Vincent, so she got up and made her way to Father's chamber.
The sound of women's voices greeted her, as she entered the study. There were several of them seated around a brightly lighted table, littered with colored threads and cloth. One glance told her Father was not likely to be among them.
“Catherine, hi!” a younger; woman called. “Come see what I've done.” She held up a square of fabric with a half-completed picture of baby animals. Encircling the scene in delicate embroidery was the name, “Catherine”.
“Why Lena, this is beautiful. You're very talented.”
“Not really.” But the younger woman flushed with pride at the compliment. “Rachel and Mai are teaching me. I could show you, if you'd like to learn. It isn't hard.”
Catherine threw her a rueful grin. “You have no idea how bad I am at this kind of thing. I nearly flunked home ec because we had to embroider our names on an apron, and the teacher insisted that mine said “Clarence. How's the baby?”
“Oh, she's wonderful. She has two teeth now. Mary's watching her while she takes her nap. but she should be waking up before long. Were you looking for Father? I think he's gone somewhere with William; they were planning the food for tonight. There's something special going on”
“So I gathered. Do you have any idea what it is?”
“No, it's something mysterious that the older kids have cooked up, but everyone's invited. You'll be there, won't you?”
“I'm not sure. I hope so. Does anyone know where Vincent is?”
Nobody did, but one of the women suggested she ask Pascal.
“Thanks, that's a good idea.” She told them good-bye and set out for the pipe chamber. She had no clear sense of how much of the day had slipped away, not that the time had passed unpleasantly. The peace and easy camaraderie of the tunnel world always made her feel hopeful about the world in general, but a familiar ache was growing inside, a sure sign that she had spent too much time away from the one person who could make it vanish with a single glance.
She found Pascal at his post. eyeing a pipe as if the message pounded along its length might appear spelled out at any moment. He raised a hand in greeting and tapped a few quick strokes before smiling down at her.
“I’m sorry to bother you. Pascal, but I'm looking for Vincent. No one seems to know where he is.”
“I know where he is,” the little man confirmed with an air of professionalism. “He's down in the quarry with Kanin and some of the others. Would you like me to tell him you're here?”
“No, it's okay. I'm sure he's busy. Do you have any idea when they'll be back up?”
Pascal shrugged. “It shouldn't be too late. Everyone's got to get ready for tonight.”
“Exactly what are they getting ready for? Do you know?”
“Not really. I think Vincent does. He offered to take my place here for a while, so I could go.” He cast a worried look at the pipes, as if already feeling some kind of separation anxiety.
“If you don't know what's been planned. then I'm sure very few people do. Pascal. Thanks for your help. I’ll see you later.”
She skipped back down into the tunnels. At least she knew where he was now and that he'd be back soon, the hollow ache was not so noticeable. It would be selfish to waltz into the place where he was working and expect him to stop what he was doing, though of course he would. After all, he never did anything like that to her; she had a momentary vision of Vincent looming over the desk of a slack-jawed Joe Maxwell, then turned her thoughts to what she should do while waiting for his return. She could rejoin the women in Father's study or take a peek at baby Catherine, but a moment later she was nearly bowled over by two small bodies, hurrying out of a crossing tunnel.
“Pardon me,” piped the older one, who couldn't be more than five.
“Me too.” said the smaller boy.
“It's okay,” she smiled. “You two seem to be in a big hurry. What's up?”
“We're going swimming.” They thrust two rolls of blue terry cloth forward In evidence. “You can come too, if you want.”
“I just might do that. Let's see, you're Nathan, right?” she addressed the bigger boy, whose auburn curls, bobbed an affirmative. “And you're Willy.”
“We know your name, too.” said Willy. who was Asian and appeared to be about four years old. The remark seemed to be more an attempt at good manners than a statement of? fact, as he bit his lip and looked to his companion for inspiration.
“It's Karen, maybe,” offered Nathan for whom the strain of idle chitchat was proving too much. He began to run backwards down the tunnel. “Come on, before the sunshine’s gone!”
“Actually, it's Catherine,” she called, stumbling after him, “but you can call me Clarence, if you prefer.”
“That's silly.” squealed Willy. his face screwed up in a paroxysm of childish glee. Giggling, he grabbed her hand and hurried after Nathan, who was already rounding the bend ahead.
With the innate sense of direction all the children here seemed to share they led her through a maze of passages, some dark, some lighted by torches, to a place she'd never seen and probably couldn't find again. It was a high-domed cavern of medium width. At the center lay a clear, blue pond. surrounded by smooth boulders. Most amazing of all, the area was aglow with sunlight. She looked up, expecting to see the sky. but the formations in the rock above left no discernible hole through which people in the world above might glimpse the one beneath. Somehow the angle of the white rock allowed the daylight to come through and sparkle on the water.
There were several small children already splashing in the pond. which she suspected was not very deep. She waved to three older boys perched on the other side, who were obviously serving as lifeguards, and sat down at the water's edge to watch the fun. Nathan and Willy had already shed their clothes and plunged into the water, which was incredibly cold. She found that out when they paddled up to her with more enthusiasm than style.
“That's a pretty good kick you've got there,” she congratulated them, pulling her wet shirt away from her body. Spurred by her encouragement, they kicked all the harder, and merrily, if not exactly efficiently. soon joined their friends on the other side.
She wondered if any of the children in the park above were quite so happy and at ease with themselves as these. They dipped and splashed, as unself-conscious as wood nymphs. Was this an activity restricted to the very young, or did all the tunnel people practice it? She had no idea. As much as she felt a part of this world, there were still things yet to learn.
She tipped her head back, closing her eyes against the delicious warmth of the light, marveling at the peculiar circumstances that allowed her to be in her adopted world while enjoying the one thing she liked best in her own. It was some time before her peaceful reverie was broken by Nathan who scrambled up on the rocks beside her, hugging himself and dancing from one small foot to the other in an effort to get warm.
“Could you dry me, Catherine?” he managed between chattering teeth.
“0f course, I can.” She scooped up the heavy toweling and wrapped it around the shivering child. “You must be freezing.”
“Father says the water comes from a spring. Springs are really cold things,” he explained helpfully, as she dried his curls and briskly rubbed his back and chest. “I can dry the other parts myself.”
He proceeded to do so with an air of reverence that she thought
must be innate in all males, whatever their culture. She suppressed a smile
and turned to watch Willy, who was demonstrating the fine art of nose-holding,
as he drew himself up into a ball and hit
the water.
“It's just little now, but Father says it'll get bigger when the rest of me does.” Nathan had worked his way down to his toes, but was still reluctant to give up a subject of some fascination. “I wish it would get big as Vincent’s.”
“Really?” she managed, conversationally. “He --his -it's big?”
“Uh-huh.” Now thoroughly dry, Nathan stepped to the edge of the pond. “‘Cause Vincent's big,” he said reasonably and launched himself into a cannonball to rival his friend's.
The resulting splash soaked her from head to foot. I deserved that, she told herself, wringing out the hem of her shirt.
“And,” the little boy continued. popping implike out of the water, mine's gonna have fur, just like Vincent's!”
She cringed to hear her own voice probing, “His has fur?”
“Sure.” The small face bobbed up at her with a barely concealed look of exasperation. “All grownups have fur there. Didn't you know that?”
“I guess I forgot,” Catherine said lamely, but he'd already paddled away, probably in search of more well-informed companionship. She sighed, and noticed that the light had shifted. The cavern grew cooler. There was little hope of her clothes drying now. Rising, she waved her good-byes to the children and started back the way they had come.
It was some distance before she realized she had no idea where to turn at the junction, flopping back against the stone wall, she wiped her nose and pushed the dripping hair from her eyes. “You're really a piece of work today, Chandler,” she grumbled aloud. “Sneaking into his bed to have your lascivious dreams, grilling an innocent child on a topic that could get you thrown in jail. Now you're dripping and freezing and probably getting pneumonia. but it really doesn't matter, ‘cause you're lost anyway.” It took her a moment to realize that someone else was speaking as well.
“Is that you, Catherine?” Mouse and Jamie appeared out of the tunnel to her left,
“Who?” said Mouse.
“What?”
“Who?” Mouse repeated, his eyes darting around the four tunnel openings that came together here.
“He means, who were you talking to,” Jamie translated. “Are you all right? Did you fall In the water or something?”
“Something like that. I was talking to myself, Mouse. This day hasn't exactly turned out the way I'd planned,. and I was just reminding myself that it's pretty much my own fault.”
The young man's face lit tip in comprehension. “Mouse has bad days too. Things go wrong.” His brow furrowed. “Never have to tell me though. Somebody else always tells me - that's dangerous, that's no good.”
Catherine grinned. “Well., you've done a good deed today - you've rescued me. I’m afraid I got myself lost.”
“Not lost,” Mouse argued and pulled a battered compass from one of his many pockets. “Mouse and Jamie came from west. You came from south.”
“How do you know that?”
“Cause south is where water is. Need to go east. Simple. Not lost.”
“I see. Thank you, Mouse. Did you get whatever you were taking to wherever you were going?” The mysterious bundle was nowhere to be seen.
The haystack of hair nodded enthusiastically. “Got it there. Got it up. Got it working.”
“We went the back way,” Jamie said simply, and Catherine sent her a silent tribute of womanly respect. Anyone who could get Mouse to do something the easy way was a person to be reckoned with. “It really is going to be neat, Catherine. You've got to come tonight. We can go back to my chamber, and I'll find you some dry clothes. You can have supper with us.”
“Thanks, Jamie. it sounds great, but somewhere along the line, I really do need to find Vincent.”
“Pretty hard to miss,” Mouse observed, looking past her to
the eastern tunnel. She turned, and her breath caught in her throat. He was
standing just a few feet behind her, the breadth of his shoulders nearly blocking
the passageway. Once he had said she looked like an angel, but she thought
the simile was much more appropriate to him: one of the fierce, warrior angels
of the Bible, burning with a
wisdom and purity more powerful than any evil. The dim light
of the tunnel outlined his flowing hair, the sweep of his cloak, like an angel’s
robe.
“Oh, boy -- am I glad to see you!?
“Hi, Vincent. Come on, Mouse Jamie tugged at her companion's arm, pulling him after her. “Catherine, if you want some clothes, just come to my chamber.”
Vincent stepped back to let them pass, then turned to Catherine who'd never taken her eyes off him. “Are you all right, Catherine?”
“You know I am.” The distance between them closed, and she was in his arms, drinking in the smell, the feel of him, the glorious sensation of being for the moment complete. “I’m no in New Haven,” she said unnecessarily.
“I see that. Catherine, I felt your distress just now. Tell me what's happened.”
“I'm getting you all wet” She stepped back, and he shook his head.
“It doesn't matter, but you're cold.” He reached up with one large hand and swept the cloak from his shoulders, bundling it around her.
“Come, you can tell me on the way. He put his arm around her, and they started back up the tunnel very slowly.
“Well, in the first place, Joe called me this morning. One of the key figures in the case we've been working on decided to cooperate, so there wasn't any point in my going to Connecticut. I came down here in hopes of finding you, and then - and then it was kind of like a trip through a storybook.”
He looked down at her quizzically, and she warmed to her hypothesis. “First, I ran into Mouse and Jamie, and we had a conversation that was about as cryptic as something out of Alice in Wonderland. Then I went to your chamber, and when you weren't there, I took the liberty of falling asleep on your bed.”
“It's not the first time,” he said simply, but she thought she could feel his pleasure. ‘like Goldilocks.”
“Right. Later on I went with some of the children to a beautiful pond. Vincent, it was sunny there, and there were all these little boys swimming around and showing off. It was like the island of lost boys in Peter Pan."
“And you were their mother.”
“Yes, I was Wendy, and then I foolishly tried to find my way back on my own and couldn't figure out winch way to go. No yellow brick road, I guess. That's when you must have felt that I was In trouble.”
“And now?” He stopped to look at her, and his look pierced easily to her very soul.
“And now,” she whispered “I feel like every fairy tale I ever dreamed has come true.” She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her face into the cool softness of his hair. “Oh, Vincent, I wanted to be with you so badly.” Absurdly, she felt like crying from the sheer joy of his nearness.
His arms tightened around her, and he breathed her name into her ear. It caused a shiver to run through her body, and he released her. “Catherine, you'll be ill, if you don't get some dry things.” He took her hand, leading her at a faster pace through the labyrinth.
“How did this happen?”
“There was a cannonball contest to see who could hit the water with the biggest splash.”
“I take it you won.”
She looked up at the beloved profile, but he hadn't changed expression. It had always seemed that the drollness of his humor, like every other facet of his personality, was designed not to hurt anyone. With his quick mind and talent for finding just the right words, she knew his wit could be devastating, if he wanted it to be, but the only person she'd ever seen him direct it on with anything approaching sarcasm was Father. How normal, she thought, remembering her own sporadic attempts at rebellion. How self- satisfied she'd felt; how clever, when she'd come up with some smart-mouthed reply to her father's scolding. Daddy. I hope you know what a better person I am because of Vincent, and how safe he makes me feel.
Jamie was waiting at the door to Vincent’s chamber. “Here, Catherine. I've brought you some clothes.”
“Jamie, could you do one more thing, please? Would you run and bring Catherine some tea?”
“Sure, Vincent. Ill be right back.”
“You really don't have to fuss over me. you know. I feel perfectly fine now.” But, of course, he knew she was enjoying his attentions, and she thought she caught the hint of a smile, as he lifted a soggy curl from her shoulder. It must be true, she thought, that water conducts electricity, when this simple gesture sent a tingle through her. He dropped his hand and turned towards the door. “I’ll get you a towel, Catherine.”
She doubted very much that he needed to leave the chamber for a towel, but she took the opportunity to change into the soft, sweet-smelling shirt and trousers Jamie had left.
When he returned, he approached her and pressed
a soft expanse of thick cloth around her hair. She watched his face, as he
concentrated on the task at hand, rubbing her head, squeezing a strand here,
smoothing one back from her forehead there. He did it the
way he did everything, easily, precisely with a gentleness that
belied his enormous strength. She felt an overwhelming rush of love for everything
that he was. The potency of the emotion must have shown from her eyes, for
when he glanced into them, his hands
slowed, and then stopped altogether.
“Perhaps, you should do this yourself Catherine, I don't want to hurt you.”
“It felt wonderful, Vincent.” she said softly, but she knew he wouldn't resume.
It had always bemused her when people remarked on his leonine looks. She couldn't see it herself. To her he was extraordinary and absolutely unique, unlike any creature that had ever been, beautiful and perfect. Where his catlike qualities couldn't be denied was in his movements; the easy grace, the quick sure reflexes, and in this, the most telling sign of all. She wondered if he was even aware of the habit, but he was doing it now, pacing back and forth across the room, head bowed, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Is something wrong. Vincent??
“No.” He strode a few more steps. “Nothing.” He turned and started back again.
She tried to think what to do. It was a touchy situation. She
sometimes thought if she could get him to stop the pacing, to halt the outward
manifestation of what was going on in his mind, which was usually a storm
of self-criticism, she could break the pattern.
She had just about determined to block his path, when Jamie
appeared with the tea.
“I'm sorry it took so long. Everybody's getting ready for tonight.”
“What?” Vincent had stopped, but it was Catherine he was looking at, his mouth slightly open, his expression perplexed. He passed a hand over his eyes and turned to take the tray from Jamie. “Thank you. Yes, tonight. Do you know about tonight, Catherine?”
“No.” She sank into a chair, relieved by the normalcy that had returned to his voice.
He set the tray on the table in front of her and poured the tea deftly into a rose-patterned cup.
“It smells heavenly.” she remarked, warming her hands around the delicate china. Vincent sat down across from her, now perfectly at ease again. He could sit quietly, more tranquilly than anyone she'd ever seen. How different from the agitation of moments before. She could see his satisfaction as she sipped the strong tea and let its warmth infuse her. “It's delicious. No, everybody seem to know something's happening tonight, but nobody seems to know what it is. Tell me, Vincent.”
“Quite a few people know. All the older children do. It was
their idea. They have been studying ‘A Midsummer Night's Dream’, and they've
decided to put on a performance. They made the costumes, the scenery, everything,
and William has been
prevailed upon to provide a small feast for the party afterwards.”
“How does Mouse figure into all this?” She licked the sweet residue of the tea from her lips, and suddenly was struck by an inspiration. “Puck! Mouse is going to play Puck! He'll be perfect. Vincent.”
“You are not the first one to suggest that, Catherine, but no, Mouse flatly refused. He claims to suffer from stage fright.”
“I guess it is pretty hard to imagine him mastering all that dialogue.”
“He could do it, if he cared to, Catherine.”
It was such a typical thing for him to say. He believed unswervingly in the potential of everyone he knew, and because he believed in it, they believed in it too. His quiet conviction had inspired so many people to better things. She was living proof of that, and she couldn't resist reaching out to stroke his large furred hand with her fingers.
He looked at her, surprised, but he opened his hand and accepted hers into it.
“What is Mouse's part in all this? I know he's involved somehow.”
“You could say that.” Vincent threw his head back, as if to search the ceiling for the proper words. “Mouse is somewhat of a technical adviser.”
“Oh-oh. I think I’m beginning to understand why this has been a secret. Does Father know what he's doing?”
“Not all of it. no. We thought it best that Father have a few nights of uninterrupted sleep. I have tried to be there whenever possible to temper Mouse's enthusiasm, but Father would be concerned if he knew the location of the performance.”
“Why? Where will it be?”
“Mouse has found an incredible chamber that no one knew existed. Its walls have special properties - you'll see for yourself, Catherine, but the way to reach it is treacherous. It would trouble Father to think of the children using that route.”
“But there's another way, isn't there? A back way that takes longer?” At his look of surprise she continued. “Mouse and Jamie were tying to take something down there today. They were debating which way to go.”
“I assume that Jamie won this debate?”
It was Catherine's turn to look surprised; he knew them all so well. “Yes, apparently she did.”
“Good. The children promised me that they'd take the safer way, unless there was someone older to guide them, but children, even older ones who think of themselves as adults, sometimes forget to be cautious.”
“Especially the older ones,” she agreed. They sat for a few
minutes in contented silence. “I suppose I should be getting back. I think
I should change into something more festive for the occasion and maybe do
something with this.” She blew at the sweep of hair
that flopped lifelessly over her brow.
His eyes were surveying what she deemed a disaster area with a look that said he found only beauty there. Catherine had long ago grown used to compliments from men, some sincere, but all of which she dismissed as so much idle chatter. How strange that this man could sit here wordlessly, and with one look send the blood rushing to her cheeks.
They both became aware that he was still holding her hand. He let go now and went to retrieve his cloak from the bed, where she had left it.
“Are you warm enough now, Catherine?”
“You could say that,” she answered shyly, gathering up her discarded clothing, checking to make sure her keys were still in the pocket.
They walked slowly back to the entrance under her apartment building, dreading even the brief separation that was about to follow.
“Why didn't you tell me before - about the play?”
“Because I knew you would be sad, Catherine, if you had to miss it.”
Catherine wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. “I'll be here, Vincent, by your side. Maybe there's something magical about midsummer nights, something that made it possible for me to be here - with you.”
“Perhaps.” He seemed about to continue, then looked away. “I’11 come for you at seven, Catherine,” he said finally.
She nodded and turned to the ladder, conscious that he never moved until she disappeared back into the world above.