To Hope Anew

by Rosa N. Tadeo

Prologue

"O Hester!" cried Arthur Dimmesdale ... "thou tellest of running a race to a man whose knees are tottering beneath him! ... There is not the strength or courage left me to venture into the wide, strange, difficult world, alone."

It was the last expression of the despondency of a broken spirit ... "Thou shalt not go alone " answered she, in a deep whisper. Then, all was spoken.

... The decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment threw its flickering brightness over the trouble of his breast ... "Do I feel joy again?" cried he, wondering at himself. "Methought the germ of it was dead in me! O Hester, thou art my better angel. I seem to have flung myself - sick, sin-stained and sorrow-blackened - down upon these forest leaves, and to have risen up all made anew ..."

from The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Chapter One

The stars were especially bright tonight, despite competingagainst the city's own illumination. The chill in the air held withinit a promise of springtime, even though the trees were lax in theirbudding. It seemed as though the earth had yet to make up its mind asto which season it was willing to be coaxed into. There was ahesitancy to nature just then.

There had been a hesitancy within Vincent an hour ago. He wasn'tcertain if he should risk the coming here, at this time, at all,either. The physical risk, yes, was there. Since the hour was stillearly he had to consider the possibility of being spotted in the halflight. But any later and little Jacob would have been long soundasleep. And this was one time that the little boy really needed toaccompany his father.

Being truthful with himself, Vincent acknowledged the other riskswhich nearly kept him from his journey - the risks to his heart andsoul, the risks to his peace of mind.

He had to come, tonight, though.

Jacob cuddled closer to his father's powerful body. Beneath hishooded cloak, the child was safe and protected, his little cheeksheltered on Vincent's shoulder, warmed by the soft locks of his longhair. Holding the child close to him had always filled Vincent withhope.

Their destination was soon within sight. Jacob knew it, and withhis indecipherable ability to understand his father's heart, thelittle boy realized the powerful forces at work within him on thisjourney: Something about the place made his father's heart ache,deeply. Jacob could feel it shuddering in his own sweet youngspirit.

Keeping to the shadows and trees, Vincent realized his steps hadbecome slower, more measured. It was still so difficult to reach hisdestination, even now, acknowledge its actual existence and what itall meant.

But, the nightmare had been real. Its horrific shadows did notdisappear from his life with the coming of the dawn. He had beenswept away with it, crushed by it all, powerless to defendhimself.

And powerless to defend the woman he had loved.

A simple granite marker. A name. A date. The end of his night'sjourney.

Vincent stood for a long moment, silently. Jacob lifted his headfrom his father's shoulder. The movement sent the hood of Vincent'scloak easing down off his head. The pale moonlight glinted off a tearjust then trailing down features that would have been familiar in amisty fairyland somewhere between ancient legend and mythic tales.The little boy reached his hand out to the tear with tender care. Histouch brought his father back from the far-off reaches of his soul.Vincent took the little hand in his and kissed it softly. Then heleaned slowly down and set the child on the ground before him.

Jacob took several steps away from his father, from his protectivereach, and ventured up to the stone marker before him. In his handwas a small bunch of roses - red ones and white ones - not theexpensive florist blooms that always seemed to lack fragrance, butsmall blossoms obviously picked from off a home-grown bush, a mysterythemselves at this time of year. Their scent was sweet and distant,like a memory.

Vincent watched quietly as his little son set the flowerscarefully into a small granite vase before the monument. Reaching outthen, he rubbed his hand, slowly, over the letters carved into themarker. Somehow, even in the chill night air, the stone beneath hissmall hand felt warm. Like a memory. Then the child turned and ranback to his father.

Coming down to his knees on the ground, Vincent drew the littleboy close to him easily, wrapping him carefully into his own cloakagain. He remained there on the ground, on his knees, sheltering hischild, preparing for the onslaught of memories which he knew wouldnot be denied.

He had watched her plant that rosebush one evening on her terrace.She had been so happily occupied in her work that he didn't want todisturb her. Instead, he simply studied her from the shadows,something he found pleasure in doing more often than he would everhave the courage to admit to her.

He watched how her hair slipped down into her face, like a littlegirl's, how carefully she had examined the plant, pruned it,imagining it in full bloom, until she had caught her hand on anunexpected thorn.

Her distress had called him out to her. As it always did. And whenhe realized her hand was bleeding, without a second thought, he hadleaned his head down to it, caught it to his lips, and kissed it.

Suddenly shocked at his own unfettered actions, he had turned awayfrom her then in guilty shame, but she had eased his gaze back to herwith a reassuring touch - and a look of tender wonder.

Then there was a knock at her door. She had asked him to remain,but he had used the excuse to leave her, to flee from her actually.For, if the knock had not broken in on them at just thatinstant...

But, the moment had been lost. So many moments had been lost.Mercifully so. Moments that hinted at promise and hope andpossibility. Never touched.

The rosebush had been left to languish, parched, without care,after her death.

Only to be resurrected by another's hand - gentle, patient, daringto imagine. The rosebush came back to life. As did his own soul.

That was what he needed to say to Catherine tonight, why he neededto risk coming, with Jacob. He had been left to languish in agonyafter her loss, alone in the memories, lost in the unfulfilledpromises and dreams, his heart crushed to dust with no hope left tocling to, no one left to dream with, only the needs of a newbornchild holding him to life against his will.

Until another's hand had dared to touch his anguished soul.

Vincent caught little Jacob up into his arms again, as he came tohis feet. The boy was close to falling asleep. Just as his young sonhad done, Vincent reached a hand down to the letters of the name onthe stone, with tender remembrance.

"Thank you, Catherine," he whispered softly, the words stillcaressing her name. "For your love. For opening the world up to me.For daring to believe in me. Thank you for our son. I would neverhave survived without him. Thank you for coming into my life andgiving me hope.

"And thank you for helping me let go."

Six cardboard boxes, a suitcase, and a handbag: All that wasnecessary to pack up the essentials of her life. Was it a sign ofpersonal strength or insignificance, this lack of concrete worth?

Diana sat on the bed of the guest chamber and took stock of theimportant things in her life that were now traveling to a new worldwith her - books, photo albums. Her scruffy "Bingo" dog, the littlestuffed animal her Dad had bought her when she was two - now worn andlimp, but no less loved for the memories.

The dried bouquet from her sister's wedding that she had caught.Next in line: That had been eight years ago and Maureen had despairedof ever seeing her wed. Till tomorrow. And Diana couldn't even tellher. Her little niece Alex was six. Perfect age for a flower girl.Maybe someday she could share all this with them. Would they believeit? Did even she?

Fighting back the deluge of emotions converging within her, Dianagathered her courage back together. That was the problem. The thingsweren't important . The feelings, the people left behind: those werethe ones that could cause the heart aches.

Grandma Annie's teapot and cup had come down with her, along withthe gentle childhood memories of growing up bathed in a marvelous,strong, fairy-sighted love. And her father's Medal of Valor, the flagthat had draped his coffin. He'd been so proud of her the day shegraduated from the Police Academy. "Imagine that, my youngestdaughter following in my footsteps - a cop!" Timothy Bennett had saidto her with a kind laugh and a wink. She missed him so very much.Even now.

Especially now. No one to walk her down the aisle tomorrow. Forthat matter, no aisle no Father Callahan no mother's tears as shestarted to get dressed. Who would have thought that gentle lady wouldalso have been lost to her so quickly, too? The doctors had said,cancer, but Diana knew the truth. Maggie Bennett had died of a brokenheart, one that didn't want to keep beating without the love of herlife. . .

. . . This wasn't helping any.

Diana got up from the bed and walked over to the center of theroom. She slowly turned round and took in the many details of theplace, the antique furniture, the massive strength of the stone wallsglowing in the candlelight: This would be home now, these would befamiliar things soon enough.

The warmth of the candles was no less beautiful than the warmth ofthe sunshine in her loft at early morning. And she could go Above,into that sunshine, whenever she felt the need to. Most importantly,this world Below was his world, Vincent's world. After tomorrow itwould be their world.

"May I come in?" Mary's kind voice sounded at the entrance to thechamber. Diana's heart warmed once again. Mary had been a veryspecial part of this new life for her, over the past three years -friend, confidant, surrogate mother, kindred spirit despite thedifferences in their ages. She just seemed to sense when Diana was inneed of support. Like now.

"Come on in, Mary," Diana responded with a smile of relief.

"I thought you might like a cup of tea." The older woman set downa tray onto the small table that sat next to the wall with apracticed hand. Many ills had been soothed over a cup of tea, sheknew.

"To tell you the truth, I was hoping for a little company justnow." Diana took the offered cup and sat next to Mary at the smalltable.

"Are you anxious about tomorrow, dear?" Mary asked in gentleconcern, reading the uncertainty in the younger woman's face.

"A little, I guess." Diana took a sip of tea, trying to sort outthe clashing elements of her spirit.

"I know how difficult this must be for you, Diana. A woman dreamsof sharing such a special and happy day with her family, thoseclosest to her heart." With a knowing look Mary reached her hand outto Diana's, covering it.

The younger woman's deep green eyes glistened, threatening tobetray her hard-won control. She merely nodded her head. It was allshe could trust herself to do.

Mary understood the turmoil that lay just beneath the calm, almostfragile features. What a treasure this russet-haired young woman was,the answer to so many prayers, fierce in her beliefs and hopes, yetstill so poignantly uncertain of her own place.

"We all know what this is costing you, Diana. We wanted to dosomething to show you that you are very special to us. We want you tofeel like you have family here with us, too."

Looking into the woman's face, Diana could read the care andsupport there. It was a mother's gentle face, gazing kindly upon herwhen she could have no other's. Wasn't that what she herself hadbecome to little Jacob? Another mother, someone to be there, whenonly a mother's love could possibly help.

If felt so good to be caught in Mary's tender, reassuring embrace.When Diana knew she could count on her own strength again, she liftedher head from the older woman's shoulder.

A sweet, breathless voice announced Samantha's presence at thechamber entrance. "Could we come in, too, Diana?"

Smiling, and at last feeling it within herself, Diana motioned thegirl into the room. To her surprise, Samantha was followed quietly byRebecca and Laura. Then Olivia, Brooke, and Jamie. A half dozen ofthe other women and girls from the community also stepped into theroom and stood around its perimeter. Each was carrying some type ofbundle or box.

"What's all this?" the amber-haired young woman asked in brightsurprise, gazing around the room at the warm faces of her unexpectedguests. She turned back to Mary, a question mirrored in hermanner.

"You didn't think we'd let a new bride get married without aproper shower, did you?"

"For me?"

"Well, who else?" replied the elder woman with gentle humor.

Everyone in the room laughed and Diana soon found herselfenveloped by the radiant good wishes each woman was happy to sharewith her. They seated her on the bed with Mary at her side, and oneby one offered her their treasures, from the heart:

Rebecca's bundle, tied with a rescued satin bow, was a dozencandles she had just made, fragrant and hand-dipped. Brooke and Lauraset two fine china teacups before Diana on the bed table. Oliviaunwrapped a beautiful crocheted table cloth and Samantha added apatchwork table runner, "For every day."

One by one, each of the women presented the bride-to-be with agift she had obviously spent a great deal of time and effort inpreparing for her, simple things that constituted the necessities oflife in the unique world that was their home - lavender scented soapmade by hand, a pair of nearly new bath towels graced withcross-stitching, a personal canister of tea and cocoa.

But just as precious as the unobtrusive treasures offered were thegifts of friendship, acceptance and genuine joy that spoke to anextraordinary heart. Diana may have been unable to share a preciousmilestone with her actual family members, but she knew that tomorrowshe would be surrounded by those who would welcome her into theircommunity with open hearts and arms.

"This is something special for you, Diana." Mary smiled as shehanded her a final flat square box wrapped in plain tissue paper. Alength of white ribbon was tied around it into a soft bow.

Diana took the box into her hands slowly. Rebecca, Olivia,Samantha, and all the women who had opened their hearts to her withsuch generosity these past three years, joined into a small semicircle around Mary and her. The gentle, supportive warmth thatradiated out from them all touched Diana's heart. She carefullypulled on the ribbon and removed the unpretentious wrapping.

Inside the box was a gown, a night gown, made of fine creamy whitelinen, a luxury in the unflourished lifestyle of the Underworld.Diana knew at once that the garment was the collective handiwork ofall those women there standing round her with quiet and eageranticipation. It was typical of the spirit of the place she would nowbe calling home.

Almost hesitantly, she touched her hand to the gown's bodice,lined with tiny pintucks, carefully stitched with someone's patientexpertise. Gentle watercolored sprigs of small flowers wereembroidered in several places between the tucks. Antique cluny lacerimmed a simple collar and tiny mother of pearl buttons ran down thefront to the waist. A full sweep of skirt and more lace on the hemand sleeve cuffs completed the gown.

Diana could only hold it gently in her hands for a long moment,without words.

"We all worked on it, " Mary explained, holding Diana's meltingheart with her eyes.

"It's Irish linen. We thought you might like that, " said Brookewith a smile.

Even Jamie, who usually had little use for more feminine attire,had to speak. "You will look beautiful in it, Diana."

"I don't know what to say." Diana finally managed to find hervoice.

"Hopefully you'll strike Vincent speechless in it as well tomorrownight." Rebecca's totally honest comment had all the women laughingin an instant.

"It is exquisite," Diana responded, a sudden shimmering warmthtouching her spirit. "Thank you. Thank you all. For everything." Withgenuine affection, then, and truly feeling so close to all thosepresent, she hugged and kissed each of the women easily.

Mary took her hands into her own. "We couldn't be happier for you,Diana, or for Vincent and Jacob."

The sincerity in the kindly woman's voice caught a lump in Diana'sthroat.

Olivia smiled and nodded, holding Diana in a gentle hug as well."You've brought us all hope."

A few moments latter Diana found herself alone in the room again.But she was far from lonely or anxious now. Olivia's final word heldher thoughts.

Hope.

That word had carried dozens of different meanings to her the pastthree years. It was a word filled with life and possibilities. It wasthe welcoming smiles on the faces of the women who had just left her.It was a shy little hand tucking itself into hers. It was thestrength and courage of an extraordinary man, his shattered soul,resting itself finally beside hers.

Still, there had been so many hopeless moments for her along theway. At first, the despair of ever triumphing over the hellish evilthat had gripped them all so mercilessly. Then the hopelessness ofremembrance - of a heart so rent by grief that Diana never daredbelieve there could be even the tiniest breath of love andacknowledgment within it for her.

But along with the desolation, there had somehow managed always tobe just the whisper of hope: a moment of shared joy, a word of shareddreams, a touch of shared need.

A touch... accidental, offered without forethought, heaven's ownmercy:

They had been speaking about the unexpected intertwining of theirlives, the anguishing set of circumstances that had caused theirpaths to cross. Always, in Vincent's voice, a laboring grief. Howcould there have been anything else?

And then the question... Why? Why had she helped him? Why had sherisked so much for him?

There was no answer to be found. Only the depths of a feeling, a -rightness - that could not be described. She could not manage to putit into words, stumbling through an explanation she wasn't certain hewould ever be ready to accept. Still, he had understood, somehow.

"Jacob was not my only blessing," Vincent had quietly revealed.His pained gaze rested on the promising little face of his infantson, lying in his cradle.

She knew what he was truly saying: Catherine had been his firstblessing, the bright light of her love the very source of his hope inlife.

Diana had managed to bring her eyes up to meet Vincent's. "You'rethinking of Catherine," she had found the strength to say.

"Always," he had breathed, the word so shadowed with remembranceand pain. Diana knew it could only be so. What could she everpossibly hope for?

But then Vincent had unexpectedly let her catch a glimpse of hisheart. He had held her eyes at that moment, with his own piercingblue ones. There was a truth she could read there within them thatheld her soul, took her breath away. Then words she never daredexpect: "And I am thinking of you."

Diana had felt the tears rising within her battered spirit. Whatwas she reading into that response? Beyond the gratitude it surelywas meant to simply convey? She didn't even belong there. It wasn'ther place, could never be her place, standing beside him and offeringhim the solace of her care. No matter what her heart ached for, itcould never be hers. The sooner she reconciled herself to that fact,the easier it was going to be for her to survive the tormentingwonder that was loving him.

Still, she dared hope. Even though she knew the miracle of hislove would not be within reach for a wrenching eternity. Not untilhis heart could be healed. Not until Vincent could look upon her withthe same tender hope, unafraid.

Yet, the distant promise had been remarkably offered, if she couldbelieve her own innermost sense of self, that had clung to itinstantly in recognition. Was she strong enough to carry it withinher, in patient, anguished silence? Could she survive on it, throughthe pain and uncertainty ahead? And there would be pain anduncertainly, surely, and guilt, fear and tears. Would it be worth thecost of her security and serenity?

Yes, it had to be so. If she could only hold on to the hope,believe in it, and manage to courageously offer it back to Vincent aswell.

Diana ached to bring him close, acknowledge all the pain andtragic loss that had become his life, shelter him in her love. Butshe had to look away for fear her own tears would be shed. To causehim more desperation. So she brought her attention down to the babyin the cradle before her. He kicked and reached his little arms out,ready to embrace life and the world around him.

A tender need rose within her as she held the child in her gaze.She could at least offer that little soul a touch of her own, withoutguilt. She longed to. And she dared ask.

"Could I hold him?" she had managed to ask Vincent, her voicecatching in her throat with the emotion she battled to still.

He hadn't hesitated. He had leaned his powerful body tenderly overthe cradle and carefully, gently, gathered up his little son into hisembrace. Diana found herself thinking that there could have been nomore beautiful portrait of loving care than the one before her atthat moment, father and son.

Softly, then, Vincent had set little Jacob into her awaiting arms,as he would entrust a priceless treasure to its trusted guardian.Their hands had touched - clasped actually - his unearthly onereleasing the weight of the child, her trembling, slender oneaccepting it easily. The touch - the promise of hope.

It had given her the courage to hold Vincent's soul-baring eyes,and read within them gratitude, pride, sorrow, and a heartbreakingneed that drew her irresistibly to her fate

Diana looked down at her watch. It was almost midnight. That wasone thing that was going to take some getting used to down here. Withthe sky visible only in the Mirror Pool and in the filtered light ofthe River Chasm, her experience of time was drastically altered inthe Underground. It seemed ever to hover in an undefined, misty,suspension.

In a moment she was walking down a corridor that was alreadyfamiliar to her - the one heading to Father's chamber and the InnerCircle. Vincent could be found as often in his father's company as inhis own solitude.

The thought of the two men together made Diana smile easily toherself. They shared such a nurturing bond, parent and child, even asone man was reaching the later years of his life and the other washimself a man with a son of his own. Both had survived hardship, lossand pain. Both drew strength from each other even at this point intheir lives. And both had opened their hearts to her, in quietcommunion.

The refined and distinguished leader of the Underworld communityset his glasses down onto the medical journal he was reading themoment he saw Diana come into the chamber entrance. A gentle smilewarmed his kind face instantly. Father never ceased to be amazed athow alike this young woman was to his son. She shared a strength ofspirit, a nobility and passion for truth with his son that was trulyremarkable. Catherine may have been Vincent's ideal. Diana was hisequal.

"Come in, my dear. Are you still awake? You'll never survivetomorrow without a proper night's rest." Father gestured her into thechair beside him.

"Vincent wasn't in his chamber. I wanted to say 'good night'."

Thinking a moment on what his response should be, the older mantoyed with his glasses. His natural instinct was to defend his son inall things. Yet, he had come to love Diana deeply as well and wishedto spare her any pain he could.

"He's gone Above with Jacob for a short time. They should bereturning soon." Truthful and non-committal.

But Diana read the concern in his careworn face immediately. Andher heart warmed at all it meant and offered.

"Don't worry, Father. I know he went Above to be with Catherinetonight. He needed to."

Father reached across the books on his table to the gentle handresting there and took it carefully in his. "Diana, you have acapacity for generosity in your love that I've found in only oneother person. And that is Vincent himself."

It wasn't difficult to understand Father's observation and Dianaacknowledged it gratefully.

Yes, she could easily have felt pained, even threatened. On thenight before her wedding the man she was pledging her life to wasAbove, visiting the grave of his first true love, the mother of hischild.

There was a time, Diana confessed honestly to herself, when suchan act would have given her soul pause. Even now, the thought wasstill somewhere in the back of her mind - unacknowledged - but stillpresent. How could it not be? Tomorrow the Underground would befilled with so many expectant people. They had long been waiting fora reason to rejoice with Vincent, to see him happily begin a new lifein hope.

But would they be waiting there to welcome her into theircommunity, their family, or was it really someone else they longed toembrace? Would Vincent see her face, take her hand in his, or wouldhis heart still ache for another - for Catherine? Would she findherself awakening from what had been only a dream, to a life ofdestined solitude, the deepest part of her heart untouched by theonly man she could ever open it to? Dare she believe the reality wastruly her own?

Yes. Because she was secure in the love that she shared withVincent. They'd braved the guilt and fear and pain together, daringat last to see past it all to the truth of the hope they could share,the truth of their love. She wouldn't think of keeping him tonightfrom a very real need to complete his life with Catherine. For onceit was completed, he could allow his heart to freely move on. Toher.

"I'm giving Vincent nothing more than what he has offered tome."

"Oh, Diana. I know what you are giving Vincent. And what it iscausing you to sacrifice." Father looked deeply into the gentle,ethereal beauty of the young woman's face, and that suspension oftime became suddenly so evident in the room. Because, though he wasspeaking of Vincent and Diana's experiences of love, his own heartwas reliving his.

"Loving Catherine gave Vincent a wondrous dream to hope for.Losing her meant losing that dream as well, losing promise, losingpossibility.

"But you've brought him back to that promise, that hope. With alove that has been quiet, patient, courageous even in the face offear. A love that has cost you your own dreams and hopes, your wholeworld.

"Most of us are lucky if we ever can find one soul with which toshare our deepest selves, one love to carry within our heart ofhearts. You've made it possible for Vincent to experience such wonderagain. You've given him back his sense of joy and belonging in hisown world. You've let him love you."

"I'm the lucky one in that, Father, truly. I have a new set ofdreams and possibilities because of him. And because of all of you."Diana got to her feet then, and came over to Father's side. She gavehim a gentle embrace that carried within it all the gratitude shefelt in her heart. When she looked into his eyes she recognized alight that she long thought lost to her: the light of a father'sencompassing care.

A steady, healing hand brushed over her burnished hair. "God blessyou, dear child," the physician said quietly.

She caught sight of Vincent as he slowly came walking the corridorback to his chamber. No matter how many times she had seen him in hisworld in the past three years, she found herself thinking the samethoughts: even in her innermost imagining, she could never havedreamed of such a man, in such a place, carrying such a love withinhimself for her, finally for her. Somewhere in her childhood, betweenher dear grandmother's fairy tales and the tender musings of her ownextraordinary soul, she had perhaps just hinted at the possibility ofsuch a reality, but it had only ever been the romanticized fantasiesof a child.

The reality stood before her approaching.

With each step he took towards her, Vincent's leather and woolcloak swept rhythmically along his formidable body. He never wentanywhere without that heavy garment, for the compassionless cityAbove them forced the need for him to shield his image fromfrightened, judgmental eyes. But at that moment, Diana thought thatthe very garment that was meant to conceal his form, diminish hisdignity, only served to accentuate the power and mystery abouthim.

Vincent had always worn his thick hair long and flowing, to helphim shield his face, she knew. Yet, those distinctive golden amberlocks did little more than call attention to his extraordinaryarresting blue eyes, the very mirrors, in truth, to his soul.

And the extra length and lacings on his sleeves were supposed toconceal his arms and hands. Yet, those powerful, unimaginable handsnow cradled a sleeping child with so much tenderness it took Diana'sbreath away.

And that was only the reality of his physical power. The strengthof his soul, the tenderness of his spirit, the scope of his mind,could never easily be concealed. Especially not from Diana. No, theirrevelation to her were truly a blessing heaven had already broughtinto her life.

Diana easily reached up to Vincent's shoulder and gently liftedJacob from under the cloak. The little boy came awake a moment withthe movement. Catching sight of the lovely, cherished face, he smiledan instant, and then nestled his head against her body serenely. Fromhis father's shoulder to her breast: Jacob knew the protection andsolace offered him would never be broken or denied.

Vincent whispered softly in tones that never failed to stir herheart. "I'm afraid I've kept him out too long tonight. I'msorry."

"Don't be. The two of you needed to go." Diana turned to headtowards Vincent's chamber. He let her lead the way. He'd been doingthat more and more often lately, relying on her strength, trusting inher judgment. Her power was undeniable, even if it was shielded by amystic grace from somewhere long ago. She was one of those mythicalspirits of legend in her own right - beauty masking wisdom andhonor.

But still in need, at times, of encouragement and support.

"Did you enjoy your evening with Mary and the other women?"

Diana stopped and turned to look at him in surprise. The powerfulfigure was momentarily hesitant. There was a true need within him,just then she saw, to know that she had been pleased, that hertransition had been made a bit more comfortable.

"You knew all about it?" she asked.

"Mary approached me with the idea several weeks ago. But shewasn't certain if the gesture would be helpful to you or not. Shedidn't want to remind you of those you may have left behind, friendsand family you might have wished to share these moments with."

An uncertainty hung in the air, innocently, between them, asVincent hoped the gathering he had approved had not caused her morepain. The brightness in her eyes reassured him immediately.

"Oh Vincent, being with everyone tonight brought me only joy andcomfort. It was a wonderful gift." A relieved tenderness in that facebeyond description reached out to her in humble gratitude.

"I'm glad you were pleased."

She had to ask him what was in her heart at the moment, to becertain as well. "Have you found comfort tonight, Vincent?"

He thought her eyes searched his deeply for a moment longer thanwould have been considered necessary for the question. Yet, he couldanswer her truthfully, as she deserved. "I am at peace, Diana." Andhe took her hand into his.

An unexpected relief swept through the usually well-controlledoutlets of her own spirit. Diana smiled genuinely, from the heart,then let herself be occupied with the child in her arms. They hadreached Vincent's chamber.

As she had done dozens of times before, the gentle-hearted youngwoman set about making little Jacob comfortable in his crib. Caringfor the little boy, giving herself to him in the myriad occasionsnecessary during the day, was the second sweet gift this new life ofhers had presented Diana. That, and sharing those moments withVincent at her side, opening her heart and soul to him, and knowinghe would understand them.

Vincent slipped his cloak off easily and set it on the chair nearthe table in the center of the room. He found that he was softlycarried by the moment: Diana cuddling Jacob, carefully pulling thecovers up over him, letting her hand brush lightly over his sweetcheek. The picture was one of gentle love, miraculous. For the threeof them. There had been no question in his mind about it when he'dfirst recognized that love. He'd denied it to himself long enough,but the heart has its own paths to follow, whether one is willing tobelieve and hope or not. Love seeks its own fulfillment. Even in themidst of pain.

Continued in Chapter 2