To Hope Anew

Chapter Seven

The sound of Mary's quiet voice was soothing. It was a comfortingmother's voice, and Diana needed comfort at the moment, terribly.

Her entire body was wrapped in dull pain and she felt totallyemptied, devoid of any strength or energy whatever. She attempted topiece together the events that led up to her present condition butthey were really nothing more than a blur of cold, anguish, and fear.Not wanting to die. Wishing only to remain in the warm comfort ofstrong arms sheltering her. Then pain, unendurable pain, overwhelmingher, crushing her, carrying her away.

Mary was running a small brush through her hair. She was hummingnow. The melody was familiar. What was it? Where had she heard itbefore? The brush smoothing through her hair soothingly, made herfeel like a little girl: She'd been sick in bed for a week, somechildhood ailment keeping her from school, friends, and rest. Thenher mother's voice, "Here, DiDi, let me do something with that hairof yours. It will make you feel better."

It was making her feel better, now, the brush running through herhair, strewn across the pillow she was lying heavily upon. There wasa pleasant, light fragrance lifting itself around her, so differentfrom the cold, musty smell of the water she'd been forced toendure.

And the song Mary was humming. She knew where the melody came fromnow. "Scarborough Fair," she spoke quietly, the words soundingdistant in her ears.

"Yes. It's one of my favorites," came Mary's voice, moredistinctly now. "I've used it as a lullaby for the children. Theylove the song."

"I didn't know you were familiar with Simon and Garfunkel." Dianaopened her eyes with some effort as she spoke slowly. Yes, that wasthe melody. Her sister loved to play that album when she was in highschool. The two of them would listen intently to the lyrical words ofall the songs for hours together.

Funny, that Mary should know it, down here. What was shesaying?

"A Helper friend brought me a recording of it as a gift for somesewing I helped her with years ago. I'm afraid the old phonograph Ihad to play it has long broken. Mouse has tried to fix it but hecan't find the proper parts."

Mary held the young woman's face with a patient smile. She was soglad to see her awake and lucid. It had been terribly frightening towatch Father, assist him, as he had worked on her shattered leg latelast night. Seeing her recovering was a prayer answered, though therewas still the very evident trace of pain making its way across theyoung woman's lovely features. Father had prescribed medication forher, but with their limited supply, her dosage was just enough totake the worst edge off the pain. Still, Diana had not uttered abreath of impatience or complaint.

"My sister and I loved to hear that song when we were teens."

Returning a gentle, reassuring hand to Diana, Mary suddenlyrealized that the young woman's face was undergoing a rapidtransformation before her eyes, even as she spoke. The pain was beingreplaced with a grateful peace, the still slightly clouded eyes nowshimmered from their green depths, no longer focusing on her. Insteadthey were being now held by something behind Mary. Or someone.

Waiting, instinctively, a minute before turning around, Mary gaveDiana an instant longer to carry that blessed transformation on herfeatures. And allowed Vincent one more moment to behold it discreetlyas well.

"Good morning, Vincent," Mary greeted. She had been right, and nowwatched a similar play of emotions heralding itself on the face shetreasured as a son's. Vincent did not seem to hear her greeting atfirst, his attention totally absorbed by the bedridden figure beforehim.

Mary read a very real and deep sorrow in his face, somethingpainfully familiar, but a reality that had somehow been momentarilydisplaced by a tender . . . longing . . . she had not recognized inmonths. It was just such an embodiment of cherished, aching -- love-- that she had caught sight of in Vincent's eyes every timeCatherine had come Below. Mary had concluded sadly that she wouldnever see such a look, mirroring Vincent's heart, again. No one wouldevery be capable of placing it within him again.

Could she have been wrong?

The look was buried, forcefully, deep within Vincent's soul in amatter of heartbeats, replaced by his usual calm. Had she truly seenit, or was she only imagining it?

No, the look had been real, and profound. Mary realized it whenshe turned back to Diana. The young woman's face fairly glowed, likea Botticelli angel. There wasn't a trace of pain, hesitation, orconfusion to be found.

Her soul had locked onto that momentary revelation, andsoared.

"Hello, Mary," came the delayed reply from behind her in a serenevoice betraying no emotion. "I've come to see how Diana is doing."Vincent stepped up closer, to stand beside Mary nearer the bed. Heturned a soft smile to the young woman lying there.

"All things considered, I believe she is holding her own today."Mary patted Diana's hand. Her patient shook her head slightly and leta trace of a smile color her face.

"Mary is much too cautious," she replied slowly, taking hold ofthe older woman's hand. "I'm doing fine. Just sore, and tired."

"You must regain your strength as well as let your bones heal.That will take some time." Vincent's voice carried a breath ofadmonishment, care.

''Father says at least three weeks, here." Diana's pronouncementwas a little unsteady, as though she were not certain she'd welcomeor curse the circumstances. Vincent looked away from the youngwoman's eyes to the stone floor, weighing his own reaction to thereality facing him. He looked no less -- confused -- than Diana.

"By then you will already be a full-fledged member of thecommunity, I'll guess," Mary interjected brightly, "though it shouldhave been under less painful conditions."

Diana nodded carefully in agreement. Her eyes never strayed farfrom her visitor's face. Mary suddenly decided she needed to dosomething with an instinctive understanding born of her years ofcaring within the community. "Well, I smell some of William's freshbiscuits. If you don't mind, I would like to stretch my legs a bitand see if I can catch one for breakfast before they are allgone."

"Mary, you don't have to stay and watch over me. I'll be fine,"Diana replied.

"Nevertheless, Rebecca will be by a little later. Doctor'sorders."

Diana sighed, unaccustomed to causing such protective concern inanyone. Still, she was happy for the welcome company promised, andfor Mary's warm, reassuring touch.

With a look of understanding, the elder woman extended a hand outto Vincent's arm, too, then walked out of the small chamber.

"She is such a wondrous woman," Diana commented without hesitationas she kept her gaze on the curtained doorway where Mary had justexited.

"Father may be the head of our community, our guiding spirit, butMary is very much our heart." Vincent came around the chair leftbeside Diana's bed and sat down. There was a momentary silence aseach of the souls in the small room attempted to gain some neutralfooting on which to continue their encounter, unwilling to admit howwelcome an instant alone together felt.

Diana found herself momentarily transfixed by the figure seated toher side. Up until now, she had always seen Vincent protectivelyshrouded in his cloak and enveloped by layers of heavy garments. Atpresent he was beside her, sheltered only by a chambray shirt andpatched jeans. Though no less powerful and arresting in hisappearance, he looked, somehow, vulnerable, as well, and much youngerthan he ordinarily seemed.

Her gaze fell onto the bandage on his shoulder, showing from underhis shirt. "You're hurt," she said quietly, the thought of himenduring any more pain a silent torment for her as well.

"Only a small cut. I bumped up against something in the crawlspace tunnel when we were moving you out."

He was hurt because of her. That was all she could think of, nevermind that he'd dismissed it as a mere scratch. Her heart took anunexpected stumble at the thought, and at the look on his face as shefelt him running his eyes with concern, tender concern, over her.

Another pause. Vincent could not help but note how frail Dianaseemed, lying in the bed before him. Her right arm, nearest him, wasin a cast to the elbow. Her left was stuck with an IV needle. Therewere dark circles under her eyes, and her opalescent skin seemedalmost parchment thin and transparent. Beneath the covers, he knewher left leg was swathed in elastic bandages around the knee whileher entire right leg was encased in plaster.

She seemed a battered china doll having barely survived theravages of a child's willful tantrum. Vincent could not keep hisheart from reaching out to her. He read the startled gratitude in hereyes.

Diana managed to find her voice again first. "Where is Jacob?"Back to safe, neutral ground.

"He has just finished breakfast. I left him with Olivia as Iwasn't certain you were up to tolerating his energy thismorning."

Diana let a genuine warmth fill her at last at the thought of thelittle boy. "I love tolerating his energy, any day. I never got thechance to tell you, Vincent. Jacob was almost walking on his own inmy apartment. Samantha could barely keep up with him yesterday."

A bright, paternal pride lightened Vincent's features at the news."I've noticed his eagerness lately. He will be walking soon."

"Probably before I will." Diana made the remark only to attest tothe child's anxious capabilities, but her spirit shuddered at thefact that Vincent pulled his eyes away from her to rest somewhereacross the room. Anywhere except on her, at the moment. Why was sheso damnably prone to saying things in his presence that only seemedto cause him pain? When he drew his eyes back to her again, they weredeep, anxious, and uncertain.

"Diana, I owe you Jacob's life. Again. And Samantha's. All yoursuffering, all your pain . . . you kept the children safe. I willnever be able to repay you for your courage."

A lump came into Diana's throat. "And you have kept me safe. I oweyou my life as well, Vincent. There is no debt for you to repay."

Oh, but there is, his heart called out. Acknowledging all that shehad given him would be the sweetest burden he could ever take uponhimself. But it was too soon.

"Are you still in much pain?"

Diana took a breath before responding to the question. She knewthat the powerful figure before her was weighed down with as muchspiritual anguish as she had physical pain at the moment. There hadbeen times when she watched him struggle through it, clutching at thebarest shreds of hope, attempting to place it all behind him, step byhesitant step. Now she'd been thrust into his world, into his day today heartache.

Would her presence ever serve to bring him, finally, to firmerground? Or would he find himself drowning in even more pain? Part ofher, the deepest part that believed in the wonder and redeeming powerof love, couldn't help but hope. But most of her felt like theproverbial fool, rushing in where angels fear to tread.

"I can manage to put up with it," came her soft words. Thephysical pain, yes, she could come to grips with it, place herconsciousness into another reality devoid of it. Yet, what of thepain her own heart was absorbing from his? Could she endure that?

She would bear any burden, if it meant healing his heart. Even thesweet agony of having him so near to her now. And not being able tohold him.

Vincent eased out of the chair reluctantly, acutely aware of thethrobbing tension in the room between them, only partly resultingfrom pain and uncertainty. There was so much they needed to say toeach other, but the words did not yet exist.

"The children's service will be beginning soon. I promised them Iwould help them get ready."

Diana had nearly forgotten the passage of time in the candlelitreaches of the tunnels. It was actually Sunday morning, wasn't it?Even here Below.

She had prepared herself to deal with the total dissimilarities ofher world and his, bracing herself to have to endure a lifestyle noteven her heart would be willing to adapt to. Instead she'd come upagainst softly familiar ballads and children's Sunday services.

Would life here Below be so foreign to her then? She was going tohave an unexpectedly extended taste of it under the most trying ofsituations. Would it be so difficult for her to find her place amongthese loving people in an enchanted refuge that would keep himforever safe? She didn't dare let her heart linger amongst thosepossibilities, beguiling as they seemed. She would only become a partof his world for a short time, because of a catastrophe that plungedher into it. It was most likely going to be her only time. Realityshook her spirit into quiet, believable acceptance of her fate.

"You shouldn't keep them waiting, then."

Before turning to leave the room, Vincent bravely centered hisattention squarely onto her. Any struggles had been banished to hisinner depths. He would not inflict them upon her. There was onlyattentive friendship to contend with now between them.

"Is there anything you need before I go, anything I can do foryou?"

Diana's sore muscles responded to the inquiry immediately for her.The debilitated condition she was left in had kept her lying heavily,flat on her back, throughout the night. Those parts of her body notsaddled with pain were nearly numbed asleep. It was almost more thanshe could tolerate.

"To tell you the truth, there is something," she began, in spiteof herself. "I've been prone on my back for what seems ages. Can Ijust sit up a bit more somehow? I sleep on my stomach, actually, andthree weeks of this position will just about drive me insane."

Vincent let a gentle smile light his face at the request and itsimpassioned supplicant. Father had been right: It would be a realchallenge to help Diana survive her confinement with her sanity, andtheirs, intact.

"I'm certain we can come up with something more comfortable." Hemoved over to a battered wooden cupboard that served as a linencloset for the little hospital chamber and retrieved a second pillowin a well-worn, but snowy-clean pillowcase. "Jacob seems to be moreinclined to sleeping on his stomach, too. He is forever knottinghimself in his covers."

Coming over back to her bedside as he spoke, Vincent paused aninstant as he realized how much intervention was going to be requiredto help Diana change her position. Diana came to the same conclusion,too late. She had already made the request, and he was present toassist in his usual easy kindness. But she was not going to be ableto do much for herself in the process: Her right arm was in a cast,her left, immobilized by the IV drip. She couldn't push herself up onher legs, either. She was, literally, flat on her back, restingheavily on the one pillow.

It took a moment for Vincent to gather his courage and place hisconsciousness beyond his suddenly unsteady heart. She was, after all,in need of help. That was all that was important.

Gently he slipped his left arm beneath her shoulders, gatheringher up to his chest, where she automatically lifted her right arm torest. His flowing hair brushed softly against her cheek. It smelledunexpectedly of cedar, and candleflame. Her own auburn locks drapedover his arm in luxurious abandon. They were both actually holdingtheir breaths, each afraid to breathe, afraid that the other mighthear the pounding of their heart.

Taking the second pillow in his free hand, Vincent settled it downbehind Diana's back. He barely felt her weight on his arm as he heldher, the fresh smell of their homemade lavender soap in her own hairenveloping his senses. The unmistakable feeling of her body tremblingin his embrace attested to the fact that his gentle act of kindnesshad suddenly become the heartstopping battle they both feared itwould.

Easing her slim frame b Jš to the pillows, Vincent trieddesperately to hold her eyes without emotion, but it was animpossible task. Her hand against his chest lingered a breath, thelong fingers actually reaching out from the cast and touching thebandage showing over his shoulder. The touch was so much a fearfulcaress that Vincent felt his heart snap.

When he was finally able to free himself from the sweet burden ofher body, he fought to endure the painful contact with her vulnerablespirit, lying revealed and unsheltered in the green depths of hereyes. The loving gratitude in them was beyond endurance.

He had discovered, then, the only repayment her heart was willingto accept, after all. Yet his own heart would never survive such adebt, intact. He would either lose it to her completely, ordefensively so deaden it that he would be incapable of feeling muchof anything within it ever again, beyond pain, regret, and thedesolate cold pangs of eternal loneliness.

The second reality would be no more frightening than the first, heconfessed to himself. "Rest now, Diana." With his indescribable hand,he lifted a single stray lock of hair from off her forehead. Dianaclosed her eyes against the flood of tender sensuality that tinyacknowledgment suddenly poured through her. She could only nod herhead at his direction, and pray, that she could hold her eyes closeduntil he was gone. It took all of her depleted physical energy tokeep from taking hold of his hand with her own, cast and all, to keepfrom turning her face into the palm and brushing it with her lips infearful, aching communion.

When she finally did find the courage to open her eyes again,Vincent was gone. With him dressed as simply as he had been, shehadn't even heard the whisper of his sweeping cloak as she wasaccustomed to at his leave-takings, the familiar soft creaking ofleather. He had simply vanished from the room. Mercifully so.

To lean heavily in the passageway beyond, begging heaven formercy, himself.