Living the Promise: Chapter Ten

Vincent leaned up against the slim trunk of the ficus tree, tryingto get comfortable, but too many of his muscles ached from disuse, aswell as from the assaulting stones from the exploded chamber. Hedidn't mind the discomfort in the least, though. It reminded him thathe was still alive.

Setting aside the small booklet of poetry he'd been reading, hetook in a deep breath, forgetting, for a moment his bandaged ribs andsutured side. The pain could still be startling, but the peace ofbeing in the river garden's bounty was worth the struggling efforthe'd had to put forth.

The colors in the garden seemed wondrous, enchanted. Above, theworld lay in blustery winter, a week before Christmas, but herebefore him, the various greens of potted plants and rainbow splashesof color -- african violets, gloxinias, and even a Christmas cactus-- were a riot of brightness and life.

Everything seemed blessed to him, in the past five days since he'dawakened from his coma, blessed and a gift held in special readinessfor him alone . . . the colors, surely, the cool air, the gentlewarmth of the radiating light. But even beyond that, what appearedtouched by heaven especially for his benefit, was the blessing he'dbeen offered . . . of being returned to those that he loved.

He was back in his home, welcomed into the nurturing reality ofhis community. And back in Diana's arms. That was the most wondrousblessing of all.

Gazing across the width of the garden with a discerning eye,Vincent let his observations come to rest on the abundant andflourishing presence of the rosebush in the center of the space. Hewasn't at all surprised at how closely that miraculous bush wasmirroring his own experiences of life lately.

In the dead of winter, far below the city streets, in theincredible reaches of the river chasm and bathed only in a reflectionof sunlight, the bush was a wonder of nature to behold, blanketedwith gracefully-petaled flowers, the vast majority now of themysteriously melded white blooms swept with swirling red detail. Hereand there amidst the drift of bi-colored blossoms, there appeared aflower totally of one shade or the other, the exclamation points oftheir coloring accenting in completeness the beauty and bounty of theindescribable plant.

Nature had taken it upon itself to give evidence of anirresistible truth within the delicate petals of the flowers, itseemed -- the communion of heaven and earth, body and soul, spiritand humanity, that had nurtured a remarkable reality of love.

A love that had again gifted him with extraordinary promise beyondturmoil.

When he'd first found the courage to accept it within his heart,that love had drawn him out of the blackest anguish of desperategrief. Five days ago, that same devotion had again resurrected hishope, his very life, and given him the strength to hold the past asthe past --

sweetly remembered, cherished for its dreams, but a past thatcould no longer claim the better part of his soul, set fearful limitsto his humanity.

It was Diana's love.

The feeling of its gentle warmth, suddenly assailed by unexpectedterror and loss, had been his last conscious experience in thecollapsing chamber a week ago. The memory of his dream, and how he'dread its frightening portents incorrectly, had swirled about him asinjury had claimed his senses in an engulfing tide of pain. He'd beenagonizing with the fear of some catastrophe robbing him of Diana'ssweet love, threatening their child. Instead, the circumstances hadbeen the direct opposite, unbelievably so.

A simple accident would tear him from his beloved wife, from hischildren. Diana, they, would be the survivors, shrouded in pain,plunged into the reality of loss and desperate grief.

Closing his eyes, Vincent guided his thoughts back to the instanthe knew he was no longer within the actual plane of existence thatcould be called living. He remembered it, remembered all of it, theexperience of near-death that accident had plunged him into. It hadbeen an occurrence that had brought to him anew the wonder of theblessing that sheltered his heart -- Diana's love.

He'd needed that awesome gift, too, he understood in confoundingdisbelief, to shield his own soul from a risk that he'd sooner diefor than ever imagine capable of causing him pain: Catherine's ownstill encompassing loss, born of a love unable to release its hold onhim.

It had all been so like a dream, but one he'd struggled tounderstand, the circumstances coming to him with maddeningconfusion.

At the moment he thought himself unable to survive the agony anylonger . . . an anguish of the heart as well as that of his batteredbody . . . the brutal injustice of knowing he would die without everbeing able to reach out to Diana again, or Jacob . . . the grief ofunderstanding he'd never even see their new baby . . . at thatinstant of most profoundly agonizing loss, Vincent's being had beenflooded with a warmth and light that sought to gently ease him pastdesperation and pain.

His heart leaped when he recognized the center of thatradiance.

Catherine.

She looked every bit the angel he'd expected her to be, dressed inthe white gown she'd worn at Winterfest so long ago. Her gentle eyesbrimmed with love and . . . welcome . . . the barest trace of a smilegracing her mouth.

He couldn't help himself; he'd missed her so much for so long.

He reached his hand out to her, to touch her, assure himself thatshe was truly, really there before him. His tender caress to hercheek carried the truth of love still within it -- He'd never stoppedloving her . . . he'd only been able to move his heart past theanguish of losing her.

Yet, when his hand slipped over her cheek softly, with achingsweetness, Vincent was astounded at her reaction -- Catherine drewaway a breath, in astonished . . . confusion.

Then he'd read it in her eyes, the -- hesitation -- to accept hisgesture, her essence pulling away from him in uncertainty. Why?

Hadn't they ached for such communion when she'd been alive? It wasalmost as though she didn't . . . recognize . . . that touch.Vincent's own heart shrank away in pain.

But, the love he yet carried for her helped him understandCatherine's reaction. Oh, they'd yearned for a loving, acknowledgingcommunion, yes, between them, for so long; a fearless acceptance ofwhat they'd only considered a dream. Far too long. Catherine had beenso used to reining in her emotions, her need for him in life, thatthe validity and truth of those feelings had been finally lost to herin death. She'd never been able to justify the humanity in her love,because of the fearful limits they'd buried it within. She'd only,nobly, accepted the boundaries in quiet resignation.

Now, with Vincent reaching out so tenderly, and with so much ofthat denied humanity showing in his caressing touch -- she couldn'tseem to recognize it, accept it, without guilt and pain.

Vincent withdrew his hand slowly, with regret. He'd forgotten howgreatly they'd feared the growing power of their love, looked uponthe rising, unacknowledged sensuality of their needs with shame. He'dbecome so blessedly used to the -- rightness -- of expressing hisdevoted heart without fear of any of its wondrous depths, now, thatthe very thought of shrouding that sharing from Catherine inuncertainty would not even cross his mind.

Suddenly, the only thing that kept him from crying out in painedconfusion, was the memory of what he'd so long been able to sharewith Diana, what he knew to be the truth of the love that they'd beengifted with, beyond any barriers born of fear and denial.

There was no longer any guilt left within that blessed, sharedexistence. For Diana, there'd never even been any fear. She'd cravedhis love, body and soul, from the moment they first met, knowing,instinctively, that it would be the only reality they could claimthat would set his burdened humanity free.

Catherine's generous acceptance of his limited acknowledgement oftheir love had somehow managed to help it transcend those boundariesin another direction . . . evolving it into a perfect, unblemished,spiritual bonding.

But Diana had dared to see past those boundaries, dared to urgehim towards an imperfect humanity of seeking hope that had fullyconsummated every breath of their souls.

All Vincent could think about at that instant, then, was the factthat the cheek he'd ventured to caress in gentle, acknowledgingunion, was not Diana's. That the spirit that had shrunk unsteadilyaway from his own was not the fiery, challenging essence that had lithis own heart with welcome life. There was, in a heartbeat, withinhim, a desperate need to find himself back within that beloved,determined, hope; to be sheltered once again within a love thataccepted no fearful limits. The need to be back in his beloved wife'sarms.

A wave of compassion came over him, though, as he watched theconfusion cloud Catherine's soft eyes. She was obviously strugglingwith her own attempts at understanding, and she appeared to be makinglittle headway in the process.

That Vincent's love was great enough to offer her both the passionand the purity of communing souls seemed too difficult for herlong-shielded heart to comprehend now. That he could still offer hersuch unfamiliar tenderness, amidst the aching need she could read inhis spirit that still reached out for another's heart was also beyondexplanation to her. That need accepted, she caught sight of, was bothtoo . . . beautiful . . . and somehow too . . . foreign . . . for herto grasp.

Vincent accepted readily the blame for the state of Catherine'sheart now. When her love had been at its own most open, most gentlyhopeful, in life, time and again he'd always been constrained to jarit back to sanity, acknowledging what he believed to be hovering withfearful proximity over their hesitantly searching hearts -- the darkreality of the depths of his own soul. Still, she'd continued to holdher heart softly expectant, in spite of his fears.

Before she'd been torn from his life, Catherine had, more thanonce, let her defenses slip, and allowed the total humanity of herlove to anxiously peer through the crack. Yet, the limits they'd bothwillingly placed on their hearts, apprehensively forced onto theirneeds, quickly reinforced any threatening breeches in those defenseswith spirit-robbing, hope-stifling fear.

"Oh, Catherine, forgive me," he'd called out with genuinerepentance, once he understood what had truly been the cost of theirvigilance. All the while he'd believed he was protecting her from thebodily harm he was convinced their love risked, he'd in reality onlysubjected her to the most ruthless spiritual and emotional injury.How could he ever hope to recompense her for that?

With his life, now, it would appear, he comprehended suddenly, asCatherine found the courage to gently set her own hand onto his arm,returning her heart to its usual, hesitant hope. The touch radiatedwarmth and light through them both, so like the bond they'd shared inlife.

"There is nothing to forgive, Vincent. You are here, now."

And that would be the final reconcilliation that he could offerher.

Their sublimely, spiritually bonded love had kept her the belovedangel of his heart in life. Now, eternity lay beckoning before him,with that angel at his side. It would have been the fulfillment ofhis every cherished hope for them both.

It would have been . . . once.

With astonishing clarity, the sound of Diana's gentle voice filledhis heart. "I understand, Vincent, what's happened to you. As much asyou love us, Jacob and me, our baby, you could never bring yourselfto cause Catherine pain. And coming back to us means leaving herbehind again, hurting her, doesn't it? She's there with you now,isn't she?"

The tears filled his eyes at that. How could this be happening? herailed against fate. Is this what heaven was to be for him, aneternity borne out in restitution for his fear to love Catherine, theagony of knowing he'd bound himself to such a sentence at the cost ofDiana's pain? This could never be the concluding truth that wouldhold all three souls together forever -- that the hell he feared he'dvisit upon his first love would be the purgatory he'd leave hissecond.

Vincent sank to his knees, attempting to come to grips with whatactually faced him. In doing so, he inadvertantly pulled away fromCatherine, her touch urged free from his arm. The cold that sweptthrough him was instantaneous, and he looked up reflexively, tryingto understand.

Catherine remained standing before him, but the loss of hercontact with him had also affected her, he observed, in pain. Thebeckoning bright light that filled the space they were in seemed toshine all around her -- but she, herself, appeared to be . . . veiled. . .

somehow from its radiance. The brightness did not light herfeatures. There was no reflection of it in her soft brown hair; itdid not illuminate her skin.

She was surrounded by brightness, but not actually a part ofit.

It was then that Vincent realized the truth of his first love'sneed.

"You haven't pulled free of the earth completely, Catherine, haveyou?"

The conclusion did not seem so strange to him. Narcissa, with herindefinable powers and perceptions of the world beyond the familiarplanes of living and humanity, had often spoken to him of the holdlife could continue to have on a spirit, even beyond death.

"I've been waiting for you, Vincent."

The gentle words should have rung tenderly in his heart. Insteadthey only seemed to deepen the cold he felt within his being.

To be loved like that.

He would have continued loving Catherine like that, beyond thelimits of life or death, with all its anguishing loss and griefpermeating every fiber of his being for all eternity -- had it notbeen for his own amber-haired guardian angel.

"My God, Diana! I've always believed you gave me back my very soulwith your love. I had no idea what that completely meant, untilnow."

Vincent wasn't certain he'd voiced his words only within hisheart, and he gazed up anxiously into Catherine's face, fearing theadditional pain he'd read there that such an observation could cause.But, Catherine seemed not to hear him. Instead, she turned partlyaway from him, holding her head to one side a bit, as thoughlistening to someone else's words, coming from somewhere else in thenow-misty light around them.

Vincent knew without a doubt whose voice Catherine was becomingaware of, even though he, himself, didn't hear anything: Diana wasstill battling for his soul, he knew, as certainly as he understoodanything about the steel-willed, quicksilver enigma that was hiswife.

She'd flung defiant truth at him more than once, as they madetheir guilty, pain-strewn path towards each other in the past. If shebelieved herself in the very least capable of influencing the fatesat this present moment in time for him, he knew she would expend herown spirit to do so.

Whatever she was saying was reaching Catherine's understanding,for the cherished figure before him turned towards him with a lookthat mixed love with . . . regret . . . and unexpectedly collidingconfusion. Within his own heart, too, Vincent felt a steady,sheltering warmth growing: Diana, finding her way back to where shebelonged.

That warmth turned to pain soon enough, though, pain he feltwithin himself, when Catherine reached back down to him and gentlyurged him to his feet beside her. Trying to still the hurt that wastaking root in his chest, Vincent raised his hand to his heart,almost expecting to find Diana's slender hand there, praying that hewould find it there, the soft, empowering tenderness that he'd toldher kept his heart in place.

He needed her to do that for him, now, assure him of the giftinghope that had become his the moment he had welcomed the emerald-eyedangel into his very essence. There was only more pain, though, and asensation of the sustaining warmth retreating once again from withinhim.

Catherine turned loving eyes to him overflowing with emotion, yet,they were not the green depths that could touch his soul with honestconviction. She set her hand once again to his arm confidently, asshe'd only hesitantly allowed herself to in life, but it wasn't thetouch he ached to share at that instant. With Diana's spirit pullingfurther and further away from him, he was granted the momentary mercyof hearing her words again, this time, not only spoken in his heart,but audible in the light about him, audible to Catherine as well.

"I won't let you go without holding you one last time. But do whatyou need to, to find your peace, Vincent. It's the only thing I'll beable to give you up for. Be at peace, my love, wherever you need tobe."

To love like that.

To be willing to diminish one's need for another's.

To be able to let go, when every breath in your body yearns tohold fast.

Vincent's heart was flooded with awe at the power of Diana's love,the scope of its true depths. Catherine recognized the gesture, too,one that had been painfully embraced on her own behalf so long ago .. . by Vincent himself . . . for her.

"Let the memory of what we are . . . what we shared . . . remindyou that love, in its deepest and purest form exists. Use that memoryto give you the courage to love . . . someone else."

It had torn his very soul in two to utter those words toCatherine, when she had struggled against the apparent hopelessfutility of ever finding a "happy life" within the complex realitythat was her relationship with him. She'd been in such pain. He wouldhave let his heart hold fast to her uncertain decision, "Let me livein your world, let me try." But he knew, even then, that herdetermination had been born only out of her confusion of heart.

He'd set her free, urged her apart from him, shut the door,literally, to the uncertain possibilities between them . . . and theagony had blazed its way into the very depths of his soul.

It was the same torment he felt taking hold of Diana's spiritwithin him. She was turning away from him, allowing him the freedomto follow his heart -- even if that path led away from her. She wouldlove him like that.

His wife's unflinching generosity helped him take hold of hiscourage, pointed him yet again into the direction of truth.

Vincent raised his hand to Catherine's cheek again. He must makeher understand -- she would be able to understand. Steeling himselfagainst her anticipated hesitancy with his touch, he was relievedthat she did not pull away from him this time. This time Catherinelet him trace the path of a single tear that slipped down her cheekin breathtaking, heartstopping humanity, follow it with an unearthlyhand she'd let him convince her would be ever unneeding of suchtender communion.

"Catherine . . . I must . . . go. Please . . . "

The words were softly pleading, bleeding from the denial he had toshow to her.

. . . "There was no gentle way to refuse her love." His own wordsechoed to him again, had once mirrored his acceptance of a heartbonded in sublime spiritual oneness with Catherine's own, a bond thathad been able to allow him to set aside a very real, and sweetlyoffered gift of tenderly human love reaching out to him from Lena'sfragile heart when she'd first come Below. Now, that denial,unbelievably must be meant for Catherine's own beguiling invitationto eternity.

"You will always be in my heart and soul, but Catherine, I . . .cannot . . . remain here

with you now. The light awaits you with its peace . . . andDiana's love calls me back to her . . . to our family . . . to Jacoband our baby."

Running his fingers softly over her hair an instant, he steadiedhis voice again. "Forgive me, Catherine, but I cannot, will not,stay."

She simply nodded her head, then, in compliance, almost areflexive reaction, he thought, as though she were merely agreeing tohis observation of the weather or the time. After a moment, quiteunexpectedly, though, she came closer to him, stopping only a breathaway from his body, as she seemed to decide something withinherself.

Vincent held his breath, all of his love for her aching to offerher some small comfort, some tiny shred of hope and acknowledgementshe'd be willing to hold. Catherine seemed to accept that need, inthat heartbeat between them, without doubt, for it was she who brokethe tension finally between them.

With hesitant shyness, she stretched her arms up to him, standingup on her tiptoes, as she always needed to, to reach her embracearound his neck. He let his own arms encircle her petite form againsthim then, still astounded at the gentle determinatoin in her manner,beyond her still obvious pain. A second later she offered him achaste kiss, something she'd only found the courage to gift them withtwice before in life.

That gentle communion brought a glowing breath of color to herpale skin. Vincent found himself astonished to perceive that color asa blush. An angel's blush. It was so beautiful.

Drawing herself away from his compelling figure, she let a sweet,encompassing smile rest on her lips, as she drew her arms away fromhis neck slowly. "You read Dr. Seuss very well," she observedquietly, with a hint of laughter in her voice, that same brightnessand vivacity she'd so often offered him.

"Jacob will always honor you in his heart," Vincent whisperedsoftly, relieved that the wound he'd been forced to inflict upon hercould be accepted in love.

"Diana is so tender a mother to him. It brings me a great deal ofcomfort. And the love she has sheltered you in: You deserve such alove, Vincent, strong and gentle, truthful and unafraid. Cherish italways."

Vincent reached down to her hand, surrounding it with his own.Gently, he lifted it up to his mouth and kissed the fingertips withaching compassion. "We dreamed of such a love, too, Catherine."

Her soft eyes shimmered with a hint of tears, but the unburdenedangel found the strength to keep them from falling. "Yes, my love, wedreamed it. But the reality of it --

that has been your doing -- yours and Diana's."

With a secure step, Catherine turned from him, and began walkingaway, towards what appeared to be the source of the light thatsurrounded them. Grateful relief filled Vincent's heart, as herealized that the brightness now not only radiated round about her,but it also seemed to become part of her, too, perhaps for the firsttime since he had lost her.

"Diana, you've given us both our souls," he marveled with wonder,as he watched Catherine's retreating figure for a moment longer,until the light completely claimed her

So often in the past, he'd ached when she'd need to disappear intothe shaft of brightness that marked the limits between her world andhis, the point where she'd re-enter her own reality of daily life. Hewould remain to turn, once again, into the shadows he'd never urgeher to instead consider home. But now, now he knew, he felt, withoutpainful regret and with only bearable loss, that she was where sheneeded to be, at last. They both were.

But Vincent's relieved joy at Catherine's new-found peace was cutshort, as he realized he could hear a woman's sobs echoing throughthe now dimming space around him. Diana. It was her pain he washearing, the apparent loss she was enduring that was born of hercourageous selflessness. Desperate to comfort her, hold her heart tohim, suddenly, he couldn't seem to take hold of her essence, though,within him again.

She was still holding her spirit away from his, giving him thefreedom to respond to his needs, and Catherine's, in whateverdirection he'd have the strength to move. The overwhelming scope ofher love swept over him like a tide at that point. She would havegiven up his heart to the force of another still achingly possessivelove, if only to bring him peace, free him from guilt and regretagain, at last.

The only peace, though, he required at that moment was theknowledge that Diana was safe and comforted and reassured of hislove. For her. He needed, he yearned with every breath of hisexistence, to be with her now, the reality of her distance coming asagonizing as his reunion with Catherine had been sweet.

Crumpling to the ground, Vincent fought his way through thegathering, darkening mists surrounding him, setting Diana's essencewithin him as his only goal of survival. He reached with all of hisempathic, loving, life force deeply into his own heart, seeking outthe thread of communion to Diana's spirit not even her generoussacrifice of love could completely sever from between them.

Sensations began to reach him from beyond the dark, with growingfamiliarity. The cool, musty air of the tunnels, intermixed with thetender fragrance of lavender: Diana must be resting her head nearby,he thought, the clean, gentle fragrance always drifted from her hairwhen she was.

Then he felt a moist warmth on his skin, somewhere on his chest,the reality of her sobs bringing understanding: They were her tears,hot and pained. Vincent dragged every flagging ounce of strength fromwithin his battered body to his voice, and barely managed to form thewords he needed her to hear, "Don't cry, Diana."

The tears still came, though, the sobs were anguished, heaping histested soul with the reality of her pain. He must have spoken thewords only within his own heart. He had to reach her somehow, tellher that her grief need no longer to be. "God, help me reachher!"

he pleaded, praying for the strength to end her pain.

A sudden, unexpected rhythm jumped into his consciousness, steadyand full of life. The baby's heart. He touched to it, knew now he wassheltering the child beneath his hand.

Unable to gather enough will to lift that beyond human handcompletely off Diana's beloved body, he only was able to slowly drawhis touch across the familiar, ripened fullness of her form, over hisown chest, to where he knew, without question, that her hand lay --holding his heart in place.

The sobs had stopped. He formed the words with more strength now,certain she'd be able to hear them. "I'm here with you. My love."

When he found he could flutter his eyes open at last, thecandlelight in the room swam indistinctly about him. Slowly, detailsfinally came back into focus, the only details of importanct at themoment: A braid of amber hair hanging down, brushing the back of hishand. Porcelain skin, colored with emotion. Crystalline emerald eyesthat visibly exchanged despair for relief, shining now with suchenraptured joy that he could hardly find the power to hold them withhis own -- Diana.

Long, slender fingers came up to his lips, trembling, as ifseeking to assure herself that he was indeed alive, and back to her.She felt his breath warm on her skin, settling in a full, recoveringcadence. That breath lit life back into her own soul.

With strengthening conviction, Vincent raised his own hand to hersthen, pressing the fingertips to his mouth in an exhausted, buttotally sensitized, kiss. He was where he belonged now, too. Theywere where they belonged -- in each other's gifting, acknowledgingembrace.

Heaven of their own construction.

"What on earth are you doing down here?"

The stern, scolding tones called to mind the time or two when heand Devin, in adolescence, had actually managed to try Mary'sboundless patience beyond saintly endurance. But the voice did notbelong to his cherished foster mother. Vincent recognized it as hedrew his attention back to the present, as the voice of his beloved,and obviously irritated, wife. Who had apparently negotiated thesteep path to the river garden on her own in her unsteady pregnantstate.

Knowing from past experience that taking the initiative in anagrument with Diana was the only way he could possibly hope todiffuse her righteous indignation, Vincent simply looked up to wherehis treasured soulmate stood beside him. Since he was sitting in thegrass, their differences in height placed his head, at the moment,level with her rounded abdomen.

Resting his head, then, gently against it, along with the palm ofhis large hand, he simply stated with equally protective tones, "Icould ask the same of you, Diana. You've come down here alone in yourstate. What if . . . "

He never got the rest of the words out because she set a silencingfinger to his lips, then ran her other tender hand up the back of hisneck and into the golden fall of his hair that sent a shiver ofstartling expectation through his entire body. How long was it thatFather was determined to have him convalesce? he wondered withquietly amused exasperation.

"I'm not alone," came the softly defiant tones that Vincentsecretly cherished as the real mirror of his wife's fiery spirit. Ofcourse, he'd never let her know that . . . her confoundingindependence could be just as easily double-edged as it was gifting.This time, though, her Celtic steel was only polished and not sharp."I knew you'd have to be here," she continued, "if you weren't in ourchamber. At least you didn't get far! You're supposed to be inbed."

The tenderly lingering touch of her fingers through his hair spokethe rest of her admonishment in warm silence -- Even without methere. Lifting his head from its sheltering comfort on her sweetform, Vincent attempted to respond with sincere penitence, but thebrightness his trip to the garden had brought his spirit was notabout to be apologized for.

"Diana, I cherish our chamber as our sanctuary and home, but if Ihad to pass one more invalid hour there with only my books and thesound of the pipes as company, I would have gone mad!"

Expecting another barrage of sensible reprimands, the escapedpatient pleaded for mercy with azure eyes that held too much invitingliveliness for a battered and nearly lost body only days into arecovery from a coma. Still, the anticipated scolding did not come;only a loving caress from beguilling fairy eyes as bewitching as hertouch.

"I know," Diana replied with kinship. "I felt the same way toowhen my leg was broken -- helpless. Everyone is going about theirbusiness in calm certainty and you just lie there listening to thecandles burn! I only wish you would have said something first. I wasjust as eager for a break down here as you."

With only a bit of awkwardness because of her changed bodyproportions, Diana reached her hand onto his right shoulder to steadyherself. When Vincent realized she was coming down on her kneesbeside him, he quickly offered her his guiding hand, a reminding shotof pain across his chest making certain he continued to be aware ofhis own still-limited capabilities.

Feeling Diana's body, though, resting against his in the softgrass under the delightful shelter of the small tree was a wonderhe'd always be eager to accept -- pained, recovering, or healthy. Asshe nestled close to his uninjured side, Vincent whispered a silentprayer of thanks for the wonder of having her near. Yet, that awesomegratitude did not rein in his teasing good humor with her, only addedto it.

"You'd better not get too comfortable, my love. I'll be of littleuse to you when you need to get back on your feet."

The flashing green eyes matched in spirit the warm color on herporcelain cheeks. She graced him with one of those small,self-deprecating smiles of hers, that instantly went to his heart."That's all right. I won't be of much help to you, either. We mayjust end up having to spend the rest of our earthly lives here likethis until our old bones turn to stone!"

Kissing her hair softly as she wrapped both of her arms aroundhis, Vincent whispered gently, "I could think of much worsecalamities that could befall us."

Without a hint of uncertainty, Diana pulled herself up from hisbody a bit to hold his cherished features in her loving gaze. "Ithink they've already happened to us, don't you?"

Another kiss to her cheek acknowledged her observation. Could theyactually believe that Fate had delivered its final ration of turmoilto them? Between the two of them, they could claim survival of moretrials than even Job of old. But, that was enough of attempting tounderstand the wisdom of Providence. That they were safe and still ineach other's sheltering embraces was all that mattered.

For a few long moments, Vincent and Diana let the gentle magic ofthe place overtake their spirits -- the muted tumbling of the distantfalls, the soft glow of the reflected winter light, resting on amiracle of greenery nestled in a sanctuary of stone.

"You're still in a good deal of pain," Diana noted to her husbandquietly, her eyes closed as she leaned against him. Her intimateknowledge of every inch of his body told her he was still stoppingjust short of filling his lungs completely with each breath he took.There was yet a great deal of physical healing for him to endure.She'd always thought him so powerful and forcefully alive, yet thereality of his last brush with death made the vulnerable humanity ofhim so much more precious to her these past days.

Even though he'd survived injury that a lesser man would havesuccumbed to, Vincent still was weak, tired easily, and becamelight-headed time and again from his still recovering blood count.And, the pain he always would deny still was capable of striking himwith sudden intensity should he overextend himself. It left himfeeling unexpectedly insecure, and very much in need of the realityof Diana's strength reaching out to him.

"It isn't anything I can't manage to bear. Having you here next tome erases it from mind."

Diana settled more closely to him, a wave of remembered losscoursing through her unbidden. In response, she reached down to hishand and held it up to her lips. He cupped it against her cheek infamiliar, sweet acknowledgement, and the memory of how she'd thoughtshe'd never feel that otherworldly hand caressing her so again sentan ache of

yearning into the very center of her heart.

Vincent felt it in his own and drew her to him in gentle abandon,taking her mouth with his in infinitely tender hunger, seeking toreassure her that he was safe and ever by her side.

She urged his hands to her without hesitation, craving the feelingof his touch, softly-embered want mixing with barely held in checkgrief. They were his own feelings, too.

"I thought I'd never know the smooth wonder of your skin again,"he whispered in quiet intensity, as he slipped his hand along herthroat, followed her own guiding fingers to the front of her woolendress that had easily come unbuttoned. His lips came readily to thesame enticing destination and Diana was only able to hold him to herfor dear life a moment before she unquestionably, absolutely, had toredirect his mouth to hers.

"I thought I'd never taste your kiss again," she breathed betweentears.

. . . "I'd never hear your heart beat close to mine . . . " washis aching response, as the tears fell gently from his sapphire eyes,too.

For a timeless instant every reality of terrified uncertainty thathad besieged both their spirits mingled with every breath of theirrelieved comfort. Holding her body possessively to his, Vincentwhispered his assurances, then, into her amber hair, trailed itsoftly with his touch across her cheeks and over her slendershoulders. Were it not for her swollen figure, he thought, shesuddenly seemed no more than a frightened child . . . so strong, andyet so easily shattered in heart. But, they'd survived once again.Still, the stress and pain the ordeal had left his beloved were nowso evident in her vulnerable emotional state.

At last, Diana was able to take hold of her remembered anguish andset it aside. "I'm sorry, Vincent. Everything turns to tears soeasily lately." She wiped her hands across her face to banish theerrant emotion, but Vincent anticipated her movement, and instead,held her angelic face gently between his two unearthly hands, softlykissing her tears away. Diana melted against him. "The thought oflosing you . . . I can't bear it . . . can't believe it almosthappened."

"We're safe now, and together. Don't cry, Diana."

They were his first words to her when he finally made his way backto her. With their sweet care, she reached deep within herself togather her strength of hope again, not wanting to set Vincent'sspirit into burden with her still so reachable anxiety. He seemed tohave become even more acutely attuned to her heart since awakeningfrom his near-death slumber, if such a thing were possible, and she,miraculously, found that more and more often, the wonder of hisremarkable spirit was also open to her consciousness, bound to herown with a wealth of giving detail and wonder.

For all the pain and terror that his injury had caused, in its ownway it seemed responsible for this heightened connection andawareness of their intertwined hearts. Letting herself drift with thesweet, sustaining possession of his gifting touch, Diana at last wasable to hold to her peace of mind. A gentle smile lit her etherealfeatures at last, and, quite unexpectedly, she found her cheekscoloring in warm affection.

The beguiling glow was not missed by her husband, who only heldher more closely. "From tears to a maiden's blush. Whatever are youthinking of now, dare I ask?" he questioned cautiously, thoughrelieved at her turn of heart. The languid tracing of his hand overher sweet form spoke of his own return to reassurance.

"I was just anticipating Father's face, if he saw the two of usjust now -- you recovering from near eternity, and me eight and ahalf months pregnant."

Apparently Vincent's imagination mirrored his wife's, for thesight of a more than mildly aghast parent popped into his thoughtsimmediately, and he was certain that the physician's consternationwould have to do with more than simply the fact that they were, atthe moment, runaways from parental exhortation.

"I guess, then, we should assume a more proper comportment atonce," came Vincent's suggestion, along with his immediate attempt toretrieve his hand from its enticing shelter across her breast. Dianastopped the retreat with her own decisive touch, firmly holding hisin place.

"Proper at the moment or not, I need you right where you are, mylove." It would appear that the physician would be required to remainaghast, if Diana had anything to say about it, and she knew, from thesoftly drifting flow of her husband's touch, that she would haveplenty of help backing up her convictions.

Almost in response to her defiant need, and her renewed hope,Diana felt the baby kick, hard enough, this time, to startle her intocrying out with surprise. Vincent brought both his hands down toembrace the child with unconcealed awe. He'd almost been destinednever to feel that quickening life stirring beneath his touch again,never to know the wonder of holding it in his arms. "I believe thislittle one is eager to join us," he noted with

quiet joy.

"I don't think she'll wait another two weeks," Diana added,resting her own fingers over her husband's hand.

It took a moment for Vincent to catch exactly what she had said,for the baby's heartbeat was strong and encompassing within him,almost as though it was responding to it's parents' attention. Or,actually, "her" parents' attention, as the comment did completelyenter Vincent's understanding. He looked up to Diana with a puzzledsmile.

"She?"

"Yes. We're going to have a daughter. I can feel it. I've beendreaming about her, too, almost every night this week. A little girl,Vincent."

Despite his own remarkable empathic and intuitive powers, Vincenthad not yet really thought specifically about the reality of havinganother son, or a daughter, joining their family. Just the thought ofa child, another child, was as wondrously confounding a certainty ashe'd been able to accept. Still, Diana seemed so convinced that hewas sure she'd gained some particular insight reserved formothers-to-be alone.

"She will, no doubt, be the image of her mother -- red hair, greeneyes, and temper to match, God help us!"

Flashing a lightning bolt from those eyes to her beloved, Diananevertheless took pity on him. "Oh yes, she'll be a redhead, poorthing! You have enough of it in your own hair to tip the hereditaryscales in that direction, I'm afraid! But, hopefully, she'll haveyour eyes. And your spirit," she concluded with quiet welcomeanticipation.

"And your loving heart. That would be her most beautiful legacy,from either of us."

Diana held Vincent's eyes long with infinite care. She wasn'tcertain what exactly had been his experience during his unconsciousstate, and only the fear of resurrecting her still so ready anguishabout it all kept her from asking him any questions. Still, herinnate understanding of their precious love hinted at the fact thatVincent might have come to know exactly what she'd been forced to doto draw him back to the living.

Such complexities of the soul were still too overpowering for herto contemplate at the moment. All she really wished to do was enfoldherself within the gentle, comforting routines of their homelife andbelieve, simply, that their lives would be free to go on in peacefulcommunion.

In her quiet musings, Diana's attention came to rest on the smallbooklet sitting in the grass beside her husband. Unlike the venerableleatherbound volumes in circulation about the Underground community,the booklet looked fairly new. Actually, with its appealing dustjacket of florals, she realized it to be one of those gift itemsavailable for purchase at card shops Above.

"I've never seen this book before," she commented, her curiositypiqued.

Vincent picked up the volume and handed it to his wife. "It isOlivia's. Kanin bought it for her for their anniversary."

"I thought that wasn't until February."

"Yes, it is. But, since he'd been forced to miss so many of them,when he found the booklet on a trip for supplies Above, he decided togive it to her right away, because of all of the time they'd had toendure apart. Olivia found the selections to be so insightful andtouching, and thought we'd enjoy reading the book, too. She broughtit to our chamber this morning when you were helping Mary."

Diana turned the slim volume in her hands. "Reflections of theHeart -- A Poetic Journey Through Married Love." Paging through thephoto-accented collection, she couldn't keep from offering her ownlight-hearted observation. "You mean there's actually more we need tolearn about love and marriage?"

"A dozen lifetimes couldn't begin to reveal what I've found withyou as my partner, my sweet love. The words hardly exist."

The soft intensity of his conviction burned brightly withinDiana's heart at that instant, as she watched him lift the volumefrom her hands, almost shyly. What, indeed, was there left for him tolearn or understand of married love that Diana hadn't already foundthe courage to see him through, see them both through? A quietlonging within his spirit urged him, though, to offer her some smallmeasure of acknowledgement due such gifting care of his spirit, inthe written word, and he became momentarily intent upon findingsomething in particular within the pages of the booklet as hespoke.

"Sometimes, a person finds it so difficult to express feeling withwords, especially if the feelings involve the miraculous workings ofthe heart." Holding the pages open at one point, Vincent handed thevolume back to Diana. "The thoughts spoken in this poem I have foundvoice some of the very elusive, contradictory, but wondrously truecharacteristics, about being married. To you."

Looking down at the page to hide a rising blush, Diana wassurprised at the author's name that headed the title -- "My Wife", byRobert Louis Stevenson.

"I had no idea Stevenson wrote love poetry," came her automaticresponse. Vincent understood her surprise as well. He'd easilyrememberd "Treasure Island" and how he'd enjoyed reading theswashbuckling tale as a youngster, with Winslow, Devin, and Rebecca.Even now, it ranked as one of the favorite literary pieces of thechildren in the Underground community.

That the words he needed so to convey his state of heart to Dianaat the moment should come from the pen of the same author, reinforcedhis own beliefs in the wonder-causing power of love.

"Why don't you read it aloud, Diana?"

The softly urging tone of her husband's voice gave his companionpause. She quickly reverted her attention to the book, in the hopethat her startled surprise had not shown too clearly in her face.

For, in truth, reading aloud to one another had been Vincent's andCatherine's treasured passtime, she knew, a way of offering oneanother evidence of the depth of their intensely bonded love whenthey were willing to accept no more risk-charged communion betweenthem.

In all the time that they had shared together since Catherine'sdeath, Diana and Vincent had often enjoyed reading and discussing avarious array of books, too, each comfortable with and open to theother's insights. They'd shared passages with one another on so manytopics that they felt were especially significant in their lives --but always be reading them individually by themselves. The . . .intimacy . . . of reading aloud, touching to profound truths betweenthem in the written word, had been only freed of its tenderconnotations of remembered -- and lost -- love, when the storiesshared were Jacob's innocent bedtime requests.

Anything else had seemed to remain, to Diana, unvoiced sanctity,where, despite the deep and nurturing devotion she'd been blessed by,she still felt unable to venture without trespass.

Thus, she suddenly found her husband's simple direction to becharged with all manner of unexpected meaning. Realizing that, shecould not find her voice, nor the strength to take his gift toheart.

Vincent graced her unsure spirit with tenderness, and soughtimmediately to comfort and steady it. He picked the book back up,holding her emerald eyes long and searchingly as he did so. "Thesewords mirror my own experience of you, Diana," he offered quietly.Then he began to read, the soft sincerity of his heartfelt tonesprojecting his state of hope.

"'Trust, dusky, vivid, true,

With eyes of gold and bramble dew,

Steel-true and blade-straight,

The Great Artificer made my mate.

'Honor, anger, valor, fire;

A love that life could never tire,

Death quench or evil stir,

The Mighty Master gave to her.

'Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,

A fellow-farer true through life,

Heart-whole and soul-free

The August Father gave to me.'"

For an eternity of a moment, Diana only sat, taking in thecompelling figure of her husband, resting quite incongruously beneatha small tree, with a borrowed book on his lap. She could feel thewarm color of emotion rising into her face, the remarkable words, andthe manner in which he had presented her with them, setting a tide ofgifted tenderness free within her soul. There were tears welling upin her eyes again, but this time, they were not ones of threatenedgrief.

"Do you really see me like that now, Vincent?" came her unsteadyquestion.

The loving caress of his gaze gave her the response she couldhardly accept. "You are, you have been, my protector, my own guardianangel, Diana, from the moment we both set eyes on each other. Evenbefore."

Yes, even before.

She'd felt magnetically drawn to the very idea of his presencefrom the first moments that she had begun unraveling the heartrendingtragedy that had been his love for Catherine, the beguiling evidenceof his compelling spirit echoing to her own heart from written wordsleft to comfort and acknowledge another woman's loving soul.

Lifting the book from her husband's grasp, Diana took both hisbeyond human hands into hers, setting her cheek against them. Thatthey'd ever feared the sustaining touch of those hands wasincomprehensible to her now. As was the fact that he could considerher possessed of the courage he described. He'd been the one torescue her hesitant, fragile heart.

"What could I have possibly protected you from that you weren'talready battling against on your own?"

The response was immediate, ringing with the truth he knew hecarried of her within him: "Grief, despair, vengeance, emptiness.Exile from hope. The fear of ever loving again."

Three years. It had taken three years. And her heart trembled atthe thought they'd almost lost each other a week ago. "I only offeredyou some guiding support through those times, Vincent."

The hand he slipped tenderly over her braided hair sent a shiverof intensity through her. "You offered me the courage of your ownhope, the strength of your own heart, the generosity of your ownlove." Pausing a moment to call to mind what he knew to be thereality of her spirit, Vincent continued softly. "That selfless loveallowed every breath of your own dreams to be eclisped by the needsof another heart. One no longer so able to respond in kind."

Diana eased down to Vincent's shoulder as she realized he wasspeaking of their experiences of the last few days. Carefully she sether hand up to his chest. She'd offered him her farewell thus, fullybelieving she'd never share his heart again.

"You freed my soul from the regretful power of loss, Diana, mine,and . . .Catherine's." Vincent's face mingled both pain and gratitudeat the thought of how he'd come about the courage to reject eveneternity. "I know what you did for me, for us, for our children." Hegently turned his wife's hand in his, to breath a tender, communingkiss into its palm. Diana held to its sweet devotion, closing hereyes and attuning herself only to the wonder of their bonded souls atthat instant.

"I was too close to it all," Vincent confessed with heartfeltregret, "held Catherine's pain as a burden I'd forced upon her tooacutely to cling fast to our own love's validity. I feared causingyou both pain, felt powerless to shelter either of your hearts frombetrayal. But, you freed me, my love, and you freed Catherine aswell."

The remembered conflict, in which she'd pitted herself against anangel's devotion, rose fresh into the gentle-spirited young woman'smind. That he could be thanking her for it wasn't something she coulddare accept.

"We only talked it out, Cathy and I. Actually, I guess I did thetalking, and she was generous enough to listen. We came to anunderstanding, that's all." The quiet words, breathed in suchpoignant humility, urged Vincent to enfold her gently in his arms. Helet her conceal her tears in the comforting softness of his shirt,tears that had washed his own soul clean of burden yet again.

"I understand now, too well, that love is a power that can be bothgifting, and . . . diminishing."

"Were I in Catherine's place, I would have done the same," cameher soft, muffled words. "I would have clung to our love intoeternity. I would have done everything I could to hold you tome."

Vincent gently lifted his wife's gaze up to his own with his hand.He read the hesitation in her heart, the fear that she'd crossed theline, that she was in danger of violating the sanctity of hismemories. Without a question in his mind, he knew with the convictionshining true in her eyes what the real outcome of such a reversalwould have been.

"No, Diana. You would have freed me to find my heart's desireagain." His wife shook her head, denying his conclusion, but Vincentwould not be kept from voicing his wonder. "You would have loved meto eternity, but you would have let me go. That I am sitting herebeside you now is proof of the power of such selfless love, the giftthat you have given to me, my sweetest angel."

Somehow he'd been a witness to the struggle she'd had to endureagainst the overwhelming power of Catherine's own love, even in hisnear-death state. And he was still willing to bless her for it. Dianacame up from her sheltering position in his arms, now unafraid tovoice her own truths.

"Not selfless, really. What I did was purely self-serving,Vincent. I claimed my share of your heart. There was nothing generousabout it. I only took hold of your heart again -- because it was mineas well. Still is mine as well. I needed it to go on living. Howcould I hope to exist without it? It was self-preservation, that'sall."

Vincent knew he was not going to gain the upper hand in thisparticular discussion with his beloved, though he felt her heartglowing with the reality his words had lit within her. She'd alwaysbeen the motivating force, he knew, in whatever she'd felt compelledto commit herself to, body and soul, deciphering the most convolutedof circumstances into truth that could not be denied. Yet, she'dnever take the credit for even one instance of pain turned to promisebetween them. Now, she was obviously willing only to accept a verysmall particle of responsibility for the encompassing, soul-liftingjoy he carried in his heart. So be it.

He knew the truth: Without the amber-haired firebrand he held withsuch welcome acceptance, he would have found himself in an eternitythat would have proven less than miraculously sweet, because it wouldhave been an eternity . . . without her.

For a long moment, Vincent let Diana rest against him quietly,sheltering her like an exhausted child, focusing his empathic forcestotally onto her spirit. She was weary, emotionally as well as inbody, and he hadn't needed his special insights to see it. Mary hadtold him she'd not left his side all the while he'd been unconscious,and now that he was on the road to recovery, she'd added nursing hisneeds to her own normal daily routines.

The joyous anticipation for their child had been marred byheartache and struggle, and Vincent was startled at how fragile Dianaappeared to be as a result. He ached to acknowledge her courage, gifther with sustaining tenderness. She would need more than a simplehour's break here at the garden, though, he realized as he held hergratefully to him. She'd never admit it to him, yet, he understoodthat her shaken spirit was very much in need of a gentle nudging backinto her usual, easily touched to hope. What he would have given tobe able to take her down to the deep river chambers once again, sharewith her the reality that every fiber of his being owed its veryexistence to her!

Their present circumstances would hardly allow such a luxury, now,he conceded reluctantly, though he would have been ready to pass therest of his life as she had earlier described with humor -- in eachother's arms till they'd become part of the very stones of theUnderworld itself. As it was, he would need to discover some othersmall comfort to offer her to help her beleagured spirit find its wayback to promise.

"Have you been in touch with Maureen lately?" he asked his wifesoftly. Diana's state of heart betrayed a gentle pang to his own atmention of her sister. He'd been right to speak to Father in the pastabout his concerns for her. Perhaps now there'd be a way . . .

Without lifting her head from his shoulder, Diana intertwined thefingers of her hand with his. "I wrote to her last week."

"When will you be seeing her again?" came his concernedinquiry.

Too quickly she responded, "I don't know. Whatever works out . . .I guess after the baby comes sometime."

Her words were bittersweet. Vincent breathed a soft kiss into herhair. It was actually six days before Christmas, and he knew she hadbeen looking forward to spending an afternoon with her sister beforethe holiday. But the happy expectancy of that event had been lost tothe turmoil they'd been forced to live through as well.

"I thought you were going to get together at Laura's house to bakeChristmas cookies."

Diana pulled herself free from her husband's gentle embrace,almost momentarily believing him capable of reading her mind. Butthen she remembered such a flamboyant talent wasn't necessary when atalkative three year old worked just as well.

"Jacob told you, didn't he?"

Found out, Vincent sought to shield his son from blame in thematter. "He only asked me several times which was my favoriteChristmas cookie."

Diana smiled in spite of herself. Of course Jacob would have askedhis father such a question. He wished to be certain his parent'stastes would be treated as well, with their top secret project. But,the capricious winds of fate had, as usual, blown through even thoseinnocent efforts at happiness in their lives.

"Well, that was before you were hurt. I sent word to Maureen thatI wasn't going to be able to make it. We're planning on nextyear."

Although Diana had forged close emotional ties to many of thecommunity women, especially Mary, Olivia, and Samantha, Vincent knewshe did miss her own sister, deeply. Though distances had longseparated them, they'd still been able to share some special timestogether, and holiday traditions, simple acts of family bonding, hadbeen important reinforcements of their relationship, he knew.

Baking Christmas cookies together had been a family rite theirgrandmother had introduced them to, one they carefully had continuedto follow beyond the loss of their beloved elder, and their ownmother, too. He could easily understand the nurturing pull offamilial ties that could stand disguised behind measures of flour andaromas of childhood, the quiet certainties that could ease a soulthrough even the most unexpected anxieties.

"I wish you would still meet her, Diana. It would do you a worldof good."

Not quite certain she'd heard what she did, Diana looked deeplyinto the softly encouraging eyes of her beloved. He'd scolded heronly a half hour before for coming to the river garden alone in herstate, and that benign excursion was still within the shelteringconfines of their world, only moments away from their chamber. Now hewas urging her to go Above, in the blustery winter where he could notfollow protectively, even if he were in good health? And she was onlydays from her delivery date, too. Father would, to put it politely,have a fit, should she even consider such a thing!

Still, the thought was enticing, nevertheless. She was missingMaureen more than ever these days, especially with the baby almosthere. She'd longed to share her anxieties and concerns with hersister, who'd already experienced childbirth, for, as much as sheloved and trusted Mary and Olivia, and depended on their guidance andcare, Diana still felt bound, gratefully so, to the ties that heldher to a common history with her sister. Maureen had already beenforced, through no cause of her own, to miss Diana's wedding. Now shewould also miss the birth of Diana's child, too.

Suddenly, the young mother-to-be realized her heart was completelyopen to the remarkable scrutiny of her husband's care. And had alwaysbeen, she reminded herself. Thus, Vincent was seeking to offer her aspecial, tender gift he knew she would eagerly accept, mostespecially at this particular point in time. But, it had to be out ofthe question -- the practicalities alone -- she'd already declinedmeeting Maureen. Could her sister still make it out from Bostonnow?

"Vincent, aren't you worried about my going Above?" she asked withpatient challenge, well acquainted with his so tender, butinsistently protective care, for her in her pregnant state. "What ifthe baby does decide to come early? What if I start going into laborthere?"

"First babies take their time, Diana. Mary has told you. And youcan bring Samantha with you for extra help. You'll be in the tunnelsmost of the way, at any rate. If something should happen, you couldstill get word down here and we'll be ready for you."

"And Father? He'd go along with this?" came the inevitablequestion. The patriarch of their community, and her physician aswell, had proven himself to be even more protective and cautious forher, too, if that were possible. If he'd have had his way, she'd havespent the last four months in bed!

Vincent lowered his eyes from Diana's puzzled face, attempting tosuppress a smile. He understood his wife's disbelief. "I'm inclinedto think that Father will be outranked in this decision. Mary, afterall, has more experience in the matter at hand. She's the one whosuggested to me that you not cancel your plans."

For all her growing excitement at the prospect of such an invitingpossibility, a sudden insight of reality overtook Diana'sexpectation. Her heart lurched in unsteady anxiety, then.

"Vincent, I don't want to even think about bringing this baby intothe world without you at my side. I'm going to need you right there,with me. You promised you'd be beside me."

Kissing her gently on the forehead, Vincent reassured, "Do youthink anything could keep me from holding to that promise, my love?All I am saying is that you've been burdened beyond reason because ofthis accident that has happened, not only physically tested, butemotionally, too. If a few hours Above in cherished company sharing apleasant activity can gift you with some momentary relief, why shouldwe discuss it to death? I wish you to do this for yourself, Diana, ifyou so desire. Being in a positive frame of mind and spirit will beequally as helpful to you and the baby as being cautious."

Diana couldn't keep from noticing the still visible care reachingout to her from the depths of her husband's sapphire eyes. It was thesame look she'd caught numerous times in his gaze when he wassilently contemplating Jacob -- a look of hopeful, gifting trust,that also sheltered the seed of quietly accepted apprehension.

And there was still the memory of Catherine, there, in those eyes,she could see.

It had been, still was and always would be, one of Vincent'sdeepest held regrets, one he'd only been able to learn to accept andlive with -- the fact that Catherine had labored Above alone to givebirth to Jacob. He would have given his life to be there and protecther and his child, but a miracle of life had been turned into ahellish nightmare of anguishing loss. Was he capable of moving pastsuch a fear now, risk leaving his wife to Providence now, with theirnew child?

"You'll be all right about this yourself, Vincent, if I shouldgo?"

"My favorite Christmas cookies are shortbread."

It took Diana a long moment to take hold of the tears rising intoher own eyes. He was still so fearful of leaving her unprotected,afraid that she'd need him and that something would keep him frombeing at her side. She could feel the ache within her own heart soacutely that it momentarily took her breath from her. Yet, Dianaguessed, her husband's brush with the possessive force of love hadtempered his own tendencies.

Though she yearned for no sweeter destiny than to be completelydrowned within the totality of his love, forever, she accepted hisgift of compassionate, empowering space with a heart overflowing withwonder.

"In that case, I'll be certain we make shortbread angels first.Our grandmother showed us how, when we were little girls."

Vincent let a relieved brightness fill his spirit, that managed totouch Diana's heart as well. With a smile that was both grateful andinviting, he asked her, "What are your favorite Christmas treats,Diana?"

A tantilizing glow filled her soft, deep eyes with gentle humor."Gingerbread. I love gingerbread."

"I should have known," came her husband's reply. Spicy, sassy andsweet, elegant and homey, adaptable to a myriad number of forms.Surely fairy food!

Reaching back down to the grass beside him, Vincent handed thebooklet he'd been reading to Diana with unburdened ease. "Will youread to me, now, Diana? I love to hear your voice."

There was no startled turmoil in her heart as she took the bookfrom an indescribable, beloved hand. Paging through the volume a fewmoments, Diana was suddenly struck by the words on one page inparticular, as her husband had been with the first selection they'dshared. The truth of love between them, set within the vibrance ofthe written word: In unhurried agreement, she read Sir PhilipSidney's, "The Bargain."

 

"'My true love hath my heart, and I have his,

By just exchamge, one for the other given.

I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss:

There never was a better bargain driven.

 

'His heart in me, keeps me and him in one,

My heart in him, his thoughts and senses guides;

He loves my heart, for once it was his own:

I cherish his, because in me it bides.

 

'His heart his wound receiv`ed from my sight --

My heart was wounded with his wounded heart,

For as from me, on him his hurt did light,

So still methought in me his hurt did smart:

 

'Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss.

My true love hath my heart, and I have his.'"

Then she set her head back down to her husband's chest and reachedher hand over the wash-softened muslin shirt that concealed hisbandaged body. Gently, Diana settled her hand back down to thefabric, letting Vincent's heartbeat caress it.

The fates had worked their worst against them, yet they were stillin each other's arms, with new life expectantly quickening betweenthem.