To Hope Anew

Chapter Six

Diana stretched out her legs from the cramped position she hadread herself into. Her right leg throbbed with familiarity. Therewasn't exactly one spot that was particularly tender. It was morelike the whole leg became filled with tiny prickles of pain on oddoccasions -- after she'd been on her feet for a long while, when theweather was changing, if she'd slept in one position too long. Evenafter a year and a half she could reach down and unerringly find thescars crossing her leg, despite the semi-darkness of the room.

But those scars were very much a beloved part of her being now.What she had suffered through, those interminable hours and days, hadsomehow brought about some of her most precious memories to date, thevery source of hope and promise she could touch to for the comingday.

She wondered if Catherine had felt the same way. It had taken anact of violence, an assault that nearly cost her her life, to bringher and Vincent together, she knew. Diana wondered if Catherine everfound herself fingering her scars, not with distress, but with lovingmemory, as she herself did.

What she was able to carry in her heart, from those terrifyingmoments that nearly cost her her life, were the very beginnings ofher renewed hope. Amid the pain and fear and desperate confusion ofspirit, there had been planted the tiniest seeds of tenderness andpromise. And somehow she had been able to shelter the fragileseedlings of new life that emerged. Despite everything.

Vincent's heart was shattering, into a million jagged shards ofagony.

The lively bright eyes he loved to hold with his own in tendercommunion were quickly dulling, slipping further and further awayinto the misting fog of her spirit. Her cherished body pulled heavilyaway from his, as if burdened by the unfulfilled promises of a dozenlifetimes. Words fought in desperation to be spoken, willed to beunderstood . . . "We loved . . . "

The last shred of her spirit poured out of her mortality, then,caressing his heart reluctantly, aching to remain. He could not holdit back.

Even as he gathered her to himself, he felt her leaving himbehind. He closed his eyes then, battling against the reality beforethem. He had lost her . . . forever . . . In blackest anguish hissoul called out to join her. But she was beyond reach, his painbeyond endurance. One last look, one final attempt to accept as truththat the limp body in his arms was really Catherine, his Catherine .. . dead.

It was not.

Deep auburn hair and skin once porcelain and fair made him startin aching disbelief. The agony was just as profound as it had been amoment ago, the loss just as overwhelming. But it was not Catherinehe was cradling, with agonizing tenderness never to be shared.

It was Diana.

Vincent sat up on the hospital cot in confused terror. Aninterminable moment passed before he was able to place where he was.Jacob, in a crib, was asleep beside his bed. Samantha lay in equallywelcomed repose in another cot up against the wall. There was no oneelse in the large chamber that served as hospital ward. Yet, beyondthe curtained door he heard soft voices in the operating room.

Swinging his legs over the side of the small bed, Vincentattempted to orient himself.

Olivia had handed him little Jacob the moment they had entered thehospital. Jamie had been keeping watch over the child, who, thoughfinally clean and fed, still refused to rest. Instead, he sat up inthe hospital crib with a strangely withdrawn look on his angelicface, his attention claimed by some unseen force within himself. Theforce channeled distress, pain, both physical and spiritual into hisyoung being. From his father's heart. The little boy wanted to cry.

At last his father's welcome arms encompassed him again; he lethis little head rest against the powerful chest. He could hear theconfused rhythms of his parent's heart echoing beneath his ear. Therewas something causing pain, still, wrenching his father's spiritstill. Jacob clung to the warm welcome body that held him, and hislittle heart ached to touch the one that loved him above all others,to bring the familiar strength and direction back to the beloved soulthat sheltered his.

His own little body weary, it was difficult for Jacob to keep hiseyes open, focus on the powerful emotion still a part of hisexperience of the moment. The little boy gave himself over to thefeelings of his father's gentle touch, always there for him despiteany turmoil, and the warm, dry, brightness of his surroundings. In afew moments he was soundly asleep.

Jamie came over to the chair Vincent was sitting on and softlyeased the sleeping child out of his arms. She had become quite adeptat helping care for the little boy, despite her earlier protests thatshe was unlearned and incapable of such skills. Setting the childback into the crib she then announced her need for a change ofclothing and a cup of soup.

"Can I bring you anything, Vincent?" she asked.

"No, thank you, Jamie. I'll wait."

Casting a worried look in Olivia's direction, the young woman thenleft for her own chamber.

Olivia hated to suture wounds, inflect pain on anyone, even in thename of healing medicine. Thankfully, Father had always beenavailable for the task before, saving her from using her nursingtraining to its full capacity. But the physician was already occupiedin the next room. Mary and Terese were already assisting him in theprocedures necessary to give Diana back her shattered leg with somepromise of its future rehabilitation..

And Vincent was still bleeding.

She knew a pressure bandage would probably not be enough, as everymovement of his shoulder would pull on the wound and threaten to openit completely again. It wasn't by any means a large cut, but it wasdeep enough to cause her alarm, and help her overcome her reluctanceto proceed at the moment with the necessary first aid measures.

Vincent's complete attention was focused on his baby son, fallingasleep in his arms at last. But despite the fact that the child wassafe, Samantha was safe, there were still deeply etched lines of careplaying across his face. His gaze may have been locked onto hischild's blessedly peaceful features, but Olivia guessed his mind wastraveling past the curtained passage into the operating room beyond.

He hadn't even flinched as she had poured disinfectant over hiswound. She had taken three stitches into his shoulder already andstill there was no sign he was even in the room with her. Jamie cameover then and collected Jacob to settle him safely in his crib again.Only then did Vincent seem to focus on the room around him and thewomen tending to his and Jacob's needs.

Olivia caught Jamie's worried look, just as she left the room, andshe realized the girl would hardly have actually left for cleanclothes and sustenance at that moment. She simply needed to removeherself from the suffering, physical as well as spiritual, that wasquickly filling the room.

"I'm certain Father will be able to help her, Vincent." Oliviacould keep silent no longer. She knew, profoundly, the ache of loss,the fear of loss, herself. Kanin had been gone over 18 months. Itwould be close to another two years before her husband would havefinished his sentence Above to return to her and Luke. A day did notpass that she did not pray to have him close beside her once again. Anight never ended without tears, and the ache to feel his strong,tender arms round about her.

The powerful figure seated before her seemed to stoop lower withan invisible burden of pain. The words were soft, tinged withdesperate confusion. "I felt her dying in my arms, Olivia, watchedher almost allow herself to slip away."

Without hesitation, Olivia reached her free hand out to his cheek,and let it rest there in nurturing reassurance. She could feel himbattle the awful truths that threatened to engulf him, watched himattempt to sort them out, even as they insisted on melding into onereality -- that of a loved one, a beloved soul, nearly lost, enduringpain. And his utter inability to prevent it.

Olivia came around to kneel before him, taking both his deadly,tender hands in hers, reading the turmoil in his heart so evident inhis uniquely beautiful face. There was not only the fear of lossplaying across his features. There was also another very tangiblefear working its way through his heart: the fear of what Diana'sultimate survival meant -- the fear of acknowledging that a heart sotorn by grief for so long could still allow itself to cherish anothersoul reaching out to it.

"Vincent, she did not die. She is alive, and with God's help willbe well again. The thought of that should not bring you fear or pain.You can still reach your hands out to her and help her in her need.And you can let her reach out to you and bring you her own particulartenderness of heart."

Bringing the full intensity of his profound blue eyes to her,Vincent read the gentle support in her heart for him. But evenknowing that, he could not banish the turmoil threatening to engulfhim. He breathed the words, barely above a whisper:

"She deserves to be loved, Livy."

Vincent came to his feet and stepped over to Jacob's crib. Thelittle boy was restless, near to waking. Gathering him up into hisarms, Vincent returned to the cot and eased down upon it in asemi-upright position. His shoulder throbbed and he attempted toshift his weight off it a bit more, then let Jacob nestle across hischest in comfort.

However grateful Vincent was for the spiritual bond that linkedhim to his child, he berated himself for allowing his anguish to findits way into the little boy's own essence, causing him distress.

It seemed as though everyone he loved these days was becoming avictim of his pain, no matter how hard he tried to protect them fromit.

Uncertain as to how long he had been asleep, Vincent listened tothe sounds of voices in the chamber beyond. He could still hearFather's and Mary's quiet conversation and the medical terminologypassing between them. They were still working on Diana's injuries.How long had it been? God, how long?

He remembered what her shattered limb had looked like when theyhad finally freed her. She hadn't even been wearing trousers, herusual attire when she came Below. She and Samantha had merely thrownsweaters over their thin cotton dresses before coming down. Of coursethey would have: It was sweltering Above, one of the hottest,wettest, most tropically uncomfortable summers on record for thecity.

She hadn't even had a layer of fabric to shield her fragile limbsfrom some of the onslaught of the flood, pelting stone and debrisbattering her slender form mercilessly. There had been nothing butbruises and blood and shattered bone. How could she possibly survive?

Yet, Father was a still brilliant physician and surgeon, even withhis limited and dated medical resources. He would be doing all hecould for Diana.

As Vincent knew he had to.

Holding the blessedly resting features of his baby in his gaze, hefelt his eyes swell with tears at the thought of almost losing himagain. He could not begin to comprehend life without the child.

And life without Diana? . . . Wasn't the thought of that realityas painful, as shattering?

Over the past year he had managed to fight his way through hisgrief, begin to place it as separate from his love for Catherine,thanks to a great part because of Diana. Where he had been able tosee only dark despair, she had pointed out to him the tiniest pointsof light still shining in his life: those around him who loved him, aspecial world that needed him, a precious new life that looked to himfor direction and shelter.

She had helped him begin to feel again, be grateful for the factthat he could still have a purpose in life, still find a meaning tohis existence beyond that of mourning Catherine all his days. She hadhelped him move beyond the pain to cherished remembrance.

But at what cost to herself?

Vincent knew she sheltered powerful feelings of her own towardshim, since even before that fateful night when she had found him onCatherine's grave.

He had wanted to die, then, just lie beside his love, close hiseyes, and give up the fight. There was no purpose to his cursedexistence after all. Catherine was gone. His child was lost.

Yet, Diana had forced him to live.

With her help he had found Jacob, brought him safely home. She hadhelped him touch his most profound memories of Catherine, allowed himto hold them once again close to his heart, and find solace in thefact that they had indeed loved.

Diana had managed to help him cherish his life with Catherine evenas her own heart ached with unfulfilled dreams. Every moment thatpulled him closer to Catherine's memory pushed him farther andfarther away from the tender reaches of her own heart.

And she had been able to keep it all inside her. Except for thatinstant in the flooded chamber.

Close to giving up her own fight for life and fulfillment, she hadleft her heart unguarded, allowed him to realize the one truth thatcould keep her alive despite all the pain and disillusionment: herheart was as filled with tenderness for him as his had been forCatherine. She would suffer any catastrophe, bear any pain, so longas it would ultimately lead to the barest traces of acknowledgmentfrom him.

Could he possibly allow her to reach out to him in her own need?Could he touch her heart and not betray his love for Catherine? Wasshe really asking him to, or were the unfamiliar tides of emotionalive within him only coloring his own uncertainties, his own neveraccepted needs?

Moving his attention to the chamber beyond the draped passageway,Vincent admitted to himself the overwhelming yearning to walk intothat next room himself, to see her himself, make certain that shewas, indeed, safe.

Still, that was not the total reality of his need. He ached,acutely, to comfort her, hold her, bring her some relief in body andspirit. She had given him so much, risked so much, with no promise ofanything in return. She had offered him her heart, knowing full wellhe was nowhere near able to accept it.

Vincent forced his attention away from the operating room beyond,and to the awful truth that quickly encompassed him: Diana was indeedworthy to be loved. Her rare soul, sensitive, intuitive, fiercelyhonest in its tenderness, was worthy to be cherished. She deserved tobe loved.

By someone other than himself.

By someone who could accept her love completely, without fear orguilt or limits. By someone who could look at her and see love in allits wondrous possibilities, not burdened by unfulfilled promises.

By someone who could hold her tenderly in the night and notmistake her for someone else, not long for her to be someone else. Bysomeone who could offer her a future of bright promise and notshadowy regret.

Yet, as he let sleep overcome him once more, Vincent did notbattle the tender image that was conjured up in his confused heart --Diana's eyes overflowing with love -- for him. Far from being a sightdrawing pain, to be avoided at all costs, that look of total,encompassing love brought him nothing but an undeniable feeling ofpeace he longed to cling to.

Father leaned heavily on his walking stick. His hip was painfullystiff, the hours standing in one place having taken their toll.Mary's gentle, concerned face was a relief. "We'll call you if thereis any change. Go and get some rest now yourself."

Terese was sterilizing the instruments that had been used in thesurgery, readying them for storage. Mary had just pulled a cleanquilt up over Diana's slim form and had come over to check the IVdrip running into her uninjured arm. Father forced himself to takeher advice. There was nothing left to do but wait until Dianaregained consciousness. If there were any complications, he was goingto need his rest to deal with them properly. Mary, as always, wasright.

He squeezed her arm in acknowledgment, thanked Terese for herhelp, and then headed through the passageway into the ward.

It had been as difficult a surgery as he had yet performed, andFather was, indeed, drained. He prayed that the young woman wouldhave the strength to eventually make it past the long recovery periodnecessary before she could regain the full use of her leg. She wouldprobably be left with some pain, even after healing, he knew. But healso was aware of the nature of his patient and her formidablespirit. With some luck and the grace of God she should come out ofall this well enough physically.

Father pushed back the curtain separating the operating room fromthe ward and stepped into the second chamber. Samantha was sleepingpeacefully on a cot. The poor child had been so brave throughout herown ordeal. Gazing on her in her sleep, Father noted how young shestill was, despite her adolescent need to race out of childhood anddirectly into adult life. She was still so much a little girl. Sheneeded to remain so for a while longer. But watching her grow beyondchildhood would be difficult at best for him. She was such acherished soul in the community just the way she was, her breathlessenthusiasm for life infectious.

Then the older man's gaze fell upon another sight that warmed him,deeply, despite his fatigue and distress -- his grandson asleepacross his son's chest, sheltered in a protective embrace.

Jacob Wells would never have dreamed such a beautiful sight wouldbe possible a short year ago: his son sheltering, nurturing his ownlittle child, born of his own flesh and blood. Vincent had becomesurrogate father to most of the younger children in the communityover the years. He had delighted in sharing in their lives, givingthem encouragement and direction, and always being willing to listento them and their needs. Fulfilling as it all had been, Father stillcarried the anguish within him for his son: No man could have made abetter father, but he knew that there could never be a child of hisown for Vincent to love, a child born of love.

That was before Catherine had come into all their lives.

At first, he had considered her love for Vincent and his for heras only a hopeless complication destined to bring his son nothing butundeserved pain. It had done just that -- brought Vincent pain,almost beyond endurance. But it had also brought him hope, dreams,the tender nurturing of his spirit that he deeply deserved.

And it had brought him Jacob . . . a miracle.

The word was the only one Father could use to possibly describethe child. Hardly scientific. Not nearly rational. But then lovenever was scientific or rational. It defied description, overcameinsurmountable odds, one of those odds having indeed been himself.Father had come to love Catherine deeply as well, for the joy she hadbrought into his son's life, for her wondrous generosity and courage.

Now she was gone.

Her loss had been as if all the candlelight Below had been blownout in one instant, plunging everyone in confused darkness. The onlylight that had helped Vincent find his way safely out of thedesperate blackness had been the brightness of a single little soul-- Jacob's. Without the child to care for, Father knew Vincent wouldhave been lost as well.

Coming closer to their bedside, the physician stood quietly amoment to take in the sight of his two most cherished hearts: Jacobwas peacefully asleep on his stomach, sprawled innocently across hisfather's powerful chest, Vincent's arms clasped protectively aroundthe child. One little hand was sheltered in one large one, each soulclasping the other even in sleep, their bond complete -- body tobody, spirit to spirit.

A miracle indeed.

Then Father's gaze lifted itself to his son's features, so uniqueand beloved. They had become increasingly careworn these days, henoted. Catherine had set a ray of her own vivacious sparkle into hiseyes. It had long since disappeared. Only Jacob was graced with thebarest traces of a smile now.

Father raised his hand to his son's long, golden hair and smoothedit back from his face, as he had done a thousand times for the littleboy Vincent had been, a uniquely gifted child forced to hide behind afall of bright hair. Father would have taken any burden from thatchild's shoulders, spared him any pain. But his son was a man now,and destined to live a man's stormy, painful life.

His hand stopped at Vincent's left arm. Beneath the chambray workshirt open at the collar he caught sight of bandages reaching up overthe shoulder. Olivia had told him about the injury. One more wound tohave to heal. Father, as he always did, prayed that it would be thelast Vincent would have to endure. There had been too many wounds inthe past, so many a result of his son's need to protect the woman heloved at all costs.

The physical wounds the older man had been able to help heal. He'dstopped bloodflow, removed bullets, bandaged flesh. The wounds to hisson's spirit and soul were the ones he could only stand by and watchas Vincent struggled to heal himself, alone.

Those were the wounds Catherine had never managed to catch sightof, the ones that tore at his son's very sense of self, ravaged hisbelief in his humanity more and more until there was very little leftexcept terror and pain. Those wounds did not disappear withCatherine's loss.

Blessedly, unexpectedly, though, the past few months had somehowbrought the most tenuous source of hope into his son's desperatelyanguished life. The young woman he had just worked so many hours toaid had surprisingly become that promise in Vincent's existence.

Father knew his son could never admit it to himself as yet; but hefelt, more than actually saw in real terms, that Vincent was takingthe first hesitant, frightening steps towards completion in hisgrieving for Catherine.

The catalyst for that acceptance had been Diana.

Father shook his head unconsciously as his thoughts turned to thepatient he had just left in Mary's care. She was so completelydifferent from Catherine, with a powerful strength of character bornfrom within. Catherine had been open and self-confident, showeringher warmth of spirit on those around her with perfect ease. Diana wasso much more of an enigma, drawing those few she favored withcloseness deep into the sheltered corners of her own soul unafraid.

Something else about the two women had become apparent to Father,too. Catherine had managed to find peace within the limits of herrelationship with his son, accepting Vincent's parameters to theirlove with quiet nobility. Something told Father that Diana would becapable of nothing of the sort herself. She seemed able to placeherself beyond the limits of the physical world, with powerfulintuitive abilities that drew her within insights others would neversee. The elder physician guessed she would tolerate limits only as alast resort. That reasoning alone should have sent shivers downFather's back in his contemplation of the young woman, conjuring updevastating scenarios that would only wreck havoc with his son'sfragile state of mind and heart.

Instead, Father instinctively felt that Diana's courage to believebeyond limits was just the balm Vincent needed for his searing painof heart. She did not seem to give herself freely, at times seemingso vulnerably in need herself that it broke Father's heart to see herstruggle, but when she did open herself in trust he believed it waswith total and complete conviction.

She loved his son with no less abandon, he knew.

Diana was a formidable soul, very much his son's equal. But wasshe capable of leading Vincent's heart out from the shroud of lossinto the possibility of new beginnings? Could her own heart sufferthe pain of distance and denial for as long as would be necessary?Vincent's commitment to Catherine had been profound and total, wasstill so. His grief was equally encompassing. Was Diana's lovecapable of existing side by side with the cherished memory of a loveseemingly without parallel?

Father prayed it could be so. For his son's sake. He knew whatpower a love remembered could have, how sweet the agony could become.It had been his own burden for more years than he wished to remember.

And as deeply as he cared for Catherine, as sorely as he missedher welcome presence in their community, Father prayed that God inhis mercy would give Vincent the power to continue living in a worlddevoid of her beloved existence, a world that could again holdtenderness and mercy for him, in the person of an ethereal angel witha spirit of pure steel.

His aching hip still assaulting him, the physician turned to leavethe room and find his own momentary comforts. The soft sound of hisson's voice made him stop, however: "How is she, Father?"

"I thought you were asleep, Vincent. I'm sorry if I awakened you."Father came back to the bedside and eased down to sit on the cothimself. He slipped a paternal hand over the sleeping child a momentbefore he spoke again. "She will be unconscious for some time yet."

"How seriously is she hurt?" The blue eyes battled to remainserene in the inquiry.

Father held his son's questioning gaze for another moment. "Herright arm is broken below the elbow, her left knee is sprainedbadly." He stopped, hesitant to continue.

"And her other leg?"

"Fractured in three places. I managed to pin the two worstbreaks." Father watched Vincent close his eyes momentarily,struggling to remain objective. But he noted that the color wasdraining rapidly from his son's features. "Her blood pressure hasstabilized and her heart rate is strong. It will be a difficultrecovery, but I believe she is up to it."

"How long will she need to remain with us? She is obviously in nocondition to be moved easily."

That reality, Father knew, would bring its own complications,which had nothing whatever to do with Diana's physical state. "Yes, Iknow," came the physician's reply. "I've placed her in a completelimb cast to keep the leg as immobile as possible. She'll need toremain in bed. Hopefully, in about three weeks or so we can get herinto a walking cast and then up to Peter's care Above."

Vincent suddenly became intent with the small blanket he hadpulled up over Jacob's sleeping form. Father had caught sight of itin the clear blue depths of his son's eyes before Vincent had avertedthem to his own child: a sudden, heartbreaking fear he'd allowed tosurface only an instant. But a fear of what?

"Will she recover fully, do you think?" The worry in Vincent'sface gave Father pause, as he struggled with the reality of thesituation facing him. Father addressed the question his son had justasked, attempting to ignore his own anxious uncertainties.

"If all goes well, the bones should heal. She is young andhealthy. She may need additional intervention down the road, though.Peter can refer her to a good orthopedic surgeon if the situationwarrants. There may be chronic pain, for quite a while. It won't beeasy." Suddenly Father felt that his prognosis for Diana's physicalrecovery had unexpectedly also covered the possibilities facing heremotional health in the coming days. As well as Vincent's. They wereall going to be in for some serious upheavals, he guessed, and prayedsilently that they would all be up to it.

Vincent tried not to notice all the qualifiers Father had placedin his diagnosis of Diana's recovery. There were too many variablesfor even the cautious physician to contend with. Still, having cometo know Diana the way that he now did, Vincent was certain that theyoung woman was fully capable of willing herself to a completerecovery.

Overcoming the cold feeling of impending turmoil knotting withinhis stomach was another story. He knew he was going to have to dealwith more than Diana's physical injuries in coming days. He would becompelled to face the need to acknowledge the state of some of hisown wounds, if he could trust his sense of self at the moment. Thatsense was being powerfully drawn to the open, aching need he'dwitnessed in honest green eyes earlier that night.

"I'm certain Diana is up to it, Father," Vincent found himselfreassuring the older man, though he suddenly questioned his ownspiritual reserves.

"Oh, I'm sure of that. I just can't seem to picture her putting upwith three weeks of bed rest too easily." Father managed a smile athis own words, suddenly envisioning what a tested Diana could becapable of. Perhaps it was long past time to merely hope for hisson's emotional redemption. Providence may have used a nearcatastrophe as the foundation for a renewed spirit of promise.

Vincent was more than a little surprised at the older man's reply.It was obvious that the physician was quite aware of Diana'ssometimes volatile nature. And not in the least intimidated by it.Father was always willing to take up a risky challenge. Caring forDiana, and having her accepting the limitations her recovery werelikely to impose on her mercurial personality, would indeed bechallenges for the physician. He didn't even want to think of what itwould do to his own precarious state of heart.

"You look tired, Father. You should get some rest."

"Yes, I know," came the response. "I will be grateful when Teresecompletes her residency with Peter. Then I can retire quietly toassist Mary in delivering babies and limiting my practice to skinnedknees and chicken pox."

Vincent reached a hand down to clasp his father's arm. "Thank youfor helping her." The words were spoken quietly, with an intensitythat did not go unnoticed by the older man.

He suddenly wondered if his son would be up to coping with thenext three weeks. Not even Catherine had remained Below with him forthat long.