Nicholas played with Brian until lunchtime. After lunch, Mary cameto Catherine's chamber with an armload of clothing.

"This is too much," Catherine said, gazing at pre-schooler sizedshirts and sweaters spread across the bed. "I can't accept allthis."

"Of course you can," Mary said. "Don't worry. When Nicholas growsout of them, there'll be some other child who needs them."

"Yes, but what about all these things for me?" There were blousesand skirts, sweaters, slacks, vests, pullovers, dresses, nightgowns,even underwear and socks. "I won't grow out of them."

"Catherine, you need clothing. What you brought with you is fine,but it can't be much, stuffed in those bags and that one suitcase.And in any case, much of it is topsider wear, and not suitable forthe tunnels."

Catherine had to admit the truth of that. "But it's so much."

"Well, you'll need all of it eventually," Mary said pragmatically."Now, choose the things you like and try them on. You don't have tokeep anything you don't care for, and of course some of them may needalteration."

Catherine fingered a sweater, hand knit of soft wool, its seamsstitched together with strips of supple leather. Her fashion sense,long dormant, flickered. This shade of blue suited her and she felt asudden longing to be pretty for Vincent. She pulled off her own fadedsweatshirt and pulled the sweater over her head.

"That's lovely on you, Catherine," Mary said.

"Yeah," Nicholas chimed from the floor, where he played with hisnew collection of zoo animals. "Pretty, Mommy."

"Thank you, both of you," Catherine said, glowing.

"Here," Mary prompted. "Try this dress."

While Catherine changed, Mary went to the washstand in the cornerand picked up the china basin.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought I'd empty this while you try on clothes," Maryexplained.

"No."

Mary stopped, startled by her vehemence. "But it needs..."

"I'm sure it does," Catherine replied, modulating her tone witheffort. "But, Mary, you surely don't go around and empty everyone'swashbasins. It would take all day!"

"Most people take care of their own," Mary said. "But..."

"Put it back, please," Catherine said. "When I'm finished here,you can show me where to dump it."

"I don't mind..."

"I mind. Please, Mary. I want to do my share of the work," shesaid. "I don't want to be a burden. Not me and not Nicky."

Mary looked at her in surprise. "Well, of course you won't be aburden."

"Then you have to let me do my share. Clean up after myself. Do myown work. Who does the laundry down here?"

Mary blinked. "Most people do their own."

"All right. You can show me how to do that, too."

"Catherine, you're our guest. It isn't necessary..."

"No, Mary," Catherine interrupted softly. "Not a guest. I livehere now. I want to help with the other work, too. The communitywork. Whatever needs to be done."

Mary looked briefly troubled. "I don't know what Vincent willsay..."

"I don't care what Vincent will say. I want to do my share. If youwon't let me, I'll have to go." Something inside her quailed at themere thought of going topside, but as she expected, Marycapitulated.

"Oh, no. We'll find something for you to do, Catherine. Ipromise."

"Tomorrow," Catherine said firmly.

"Oh, but wouldn't you like to rest a few days, first? You've beenthrough so much..."

"Tomorrow, Mary," she repeated. "In the morning."

"If you're certain," Mary agreed. "Tomorrow morning."

After they sorted through the clothes, Mary showed her where achannel in a secondary tunnel floor ran with a narrow stream ofwater. Catherine poured out the wash water from her basin andfollowed Mary to an adjoining chamber. Unlike much of the tunnels,this room was steamy and warm from a huge kettle of water bubblinggently over what looked like a jerry-rigged gas burner. An ancientwringer-washer stood beside it.

Mary showed her how to fill the washer and how much soap to add,and demonstrated the manual wash and rinse functions.

Catherine laundered her clothes and Nicholas's with painstakingcare, and hung them to dry among rows of other garments in a nearbychamber crisscrossed with clothesline and warmed by a potbelliedstove.

"Are you done now?" Nicholas asked when she hung the last pair ofhis jeans.

"Until the clothes are dry," she said. "Mary says that takes aboutfour hours."

"Good," Nicholas said.

"Good, indeed," she told him. "That's means there's plenty of timefor you to take a nap."

She was folding their dry laundry when she heard a voice outsidethe chamber entrance.

"Catherine?"

"Daddy!" Nicholas squealed, and bounded out the door. Hereappeared a moment later, safely ensconced in his father's arms."Look, Mommy!" he said, his face a mask of delight. "Daddy'shere."

"I see," she acknowledged, and gave Vincent a smile.

"Where were you?" Nicholas demanded. "I missed you."

"I am sorry, Nicholas," Vincent said gravely. "There was work tobe done."

Nicholas pouted. "Mommy worked today, too," he said. "I thoughtnobody would have to work now."

Vincent regarded him with raised brows. "Everyone works here,Nicholas," he said. "It is a part of how we live. What work did yourmother do?"

"She washed our clothes. See?" He pointed to the wicker basket atCatherine's feet.

"Mary showed me where to go," Catherine said, feelingunaccountably awkward.

"Who washes your clothes, Daddy?" Nicholas asked, withinterest.

"Sometimes I do," Vincent said. "But more often it is Sarah, orMary, or another of the women."

"Only the women?" Catherine asked, unable to resist teasinghim.

He smiled in response. "Sometimes Pascal offers to do it," hesaid. "And I do his in return."

"Maybe Mommy will do it now," Nicholas offered.

"Maybe," Vincent countered, "I could do yours and yourmother's."

"It's a deal," Catherine said quickly.

Nicholas giggled and Vincent set him on his feet.

"It is nearly dinner time," he said.

"Can we go with you?" Nicholas asked eagerly.

"May we," Catherine corrected, automatically.

"Only if it pleases your mother," Vincent answered.

"Please, Mommy," Nicholas entreated.

"Of course," she agreed swiftly. "Just let me finish this."

Nicholas fidgeted from foot to foot as she neatly folded shirtsand rolled socks. "Hurry," he said. "I'm hungry."

She met Vincent's sympathetic look. "Maybe you could go on withoutme," she suggested. "I'll catch up."

"No," Vincent demurred. "We'll wait." He moved to help, pickingNicholas's things from the pile of freshly laundered clothing andfolding them deftly. "Here," he said to Nicholas, when he finished."Do you know where these go?"

Nicholas nodded. "I helped Mommy unpack."

"Good. Then you can help her now and put these things away."

Nicholas accepted the armload of clothing and carried it to thesmall chest Catherine had chosen to put his things in. He set thestack down in order to open a drawer; the items on top of the stackteetered and slid to the floor.

"You realize," Catherine said to Vincent in an undertone, "thatnothing will be folded when he's finished."

"It is the effort that is important, Catherine. Not theresult."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to straighten out thedrawer." But she was smiling as she said it.

The look Vincent gave her in return was warm and tender and herheart jolted absurdly.

"There," she said, keeping her voice steady by sheer will."Finished."

"Good," Nicholas said, his clothing safely, if not preciselytidily, stowed. He reached for Vincent's hand. "Let's go."

Nicholas insisted on sitting beside Vincent at dinner. Catherinesat across from them, watching Nicholas fabricate questions and needswhenever Vincent's attention threatened to wander. His eagertransparency was amusing, but Catherine couldn't quell a pang ofwistfulness. In two days, she and Vincent had found only snatchedmoments together. Almost, she though painfully, as if he wereavoiding her.

Biting her lip, she stared at her plate. Of course that wasn't it.It was just Nicholas. The newness of him. The miracle of hisexistence. She had marvelled over him herself, many times. No wonderVincent had eyes for no one else.

"Catherine." His voice, pitched low across the table, roused her."You aren't eating."

"I'm sorry," she said, her apology automatic. "I was thinking."She noticed, with consternation, that others at the table werefinished with their meals; some had already risen and carried theirplates to be washed.

"I want cake, Mommy," Nicholas said. "Chocolate."

She checked his plate, oddly pleased that in this, at least, hestill looked to her. "Yes," she decided. "You may."

He slid down from his chair. "I can get it myself," he insisted,when Vincent moved to rise.

Vincent glanced her way and she nodded. Nicholas ought to be ableto handle one of the small plates of cake that Brooke was handing outfrom a table near the kitchen.

"Use two hands to carry it, Nick," she warned him. "And tellBrooke you want a small piece."

He frowned. "I want a big piece," he said, and spread his armswide. "This big!"

She laughed. "Nicky, you couldn't eat that much cake."

"Yes, I could! I could eat it all!"

"Well, maybe you could, but I want you to have a small one. Toomuch cake isn't good for you."

"Perhaps, Nicholas," Vincent suggested, "you could bring a largepiece, and we'll share."

Nicholas thought that over for only a moment. "Okay," he agreed,and scurried off.

"He's a beautiful child," Vincent murmured, watching him.

"Yes," Catherine agreed. "Vincent, if he brings back a big pieceof cake, you have to eat half. I don't want him getting sick."

"Of course," he agreed. "I told him I would." He paused."Catherine."

"Yes?" She turned from watching Nicholas. "What is it?"

"I wondered." He paused again, and she frowned.

"Vincent, what is it? Is something wrong?"

"No." He shifted forward in his chair, leaning toward her. "Iwondered if you'd like to go for a walk with me. Later."

"Oh," she said softly. "Oh, Vincent, I'd love to. But there'sNicky..."

"I thought perhaps someone could sit with him. After he'sasleep?"

"You mean like a babysitter?"

He nodded. "It's not uncommon for parents here to have one of theolder children in to watch younger ones. Samantha would do it."

She glanced at Nicholas, who was on his way back, concentratingfiercely on the plate of cake in his hands.

"Until yesterday, I'd never left him before," she said. "Not for aminute."

Vincent waited quietly. He wouldn't push her, she knew.

"He'll be safe, won't he?" she asked.

"Samantha will not let him come to harm," Vincent promised. "Andwe'll be where we can hear the pipes."

Nicholas arrived back and put his plate of cake on the table whilehe climbed up into his chair. "I got the biggest piece," he reportedimportantly. "Because I said I was going to share it with mydaddy."

"That's good," Vincent told him. "I'm very hungry. How many bitesmay I have?"

"Two," Nicholas decided, and giggled at Vincent's resultingexpression.

"Two isn't very many. You'd better let me have twenty."

"No! I get twenty. You get two."

"Very well." Vincent took his two bites, and then began bargainingfor more.

Nicholas giggled again, around a mouthful of cake this time, andrelinquished two more bites.

Catherine finished her dinner silently, enjoying the show asVincent bargained and Nicholas relented, one bite at a time.

"Want some cake, Mommy?" Nicholas offered when she'd finished hermeal and his cake plate held nothing but crumbs.

"No, you little rogue," she teased. "Because you'll try to eat itall."

A cake-smeared grin was her reply.

"And anyway, I'm not hungry for cake," she said. "Use your napkin,please, Nick."

He wiped haphazardly at his mouth, and then Vincent took thenapkin and got the spots he'd missed.

"What are we going to do now, Daddy?" Nicholas asked as they leftthe dining chamber.

"I believe it's time to get you ready for bed."

From the indignation on Nicholas's face, it was clear he hadn'texpected this sort of betrayal from his beloved daddy. "I'm nottired!" he declared.

"You're never tired at bedtime," Catherine observed. "But if youask your daddy, I'll bet he'll give you your bath."

Nicholas looked up eagerly. "Will you, Daddy?"

Vincent looked pleased. "Of course," he said. He and Nicholasstopped long enough to collect Nicholas's pajamas and went offtogether to the bathing chamber.

Catherine put away her own folded laundry, left on the bed frombefore dinner, and turned back the covers of Nicholas's cot.

It would be safe to leave him. She knew that, understood it.Vincent would be no more willing to risk him than she was. And she'ddone it before. Two nights ago, when she'd first arrived, she'd lethim go with Mary to the kitchens to get something to eat. And toprotect him from hearing the things she was about to tell hisgrandfather.

She'd left him again yesterday, when she went up to take care ofthe car. Left him with Vincent, who would die before he would allowharm to come to their son. But left him, also, because she was goinginto danger, a danger it was no longer necessary for him to face.

Protecting Nicholas, keeping him safe, and warm, and fed,providing him with a home, clothing, companionship, had been the solefocus of her life for three years. He wasn't spoiled. Not too much,anyway. She made him mind, limited sweets, and goodness knows he'dnever been deluged with toys the way she had as a child. Buteverything she'd done had been for him.

Except the isolation. That had been for Vincent. To protect him,protect his world. Contemplation of an activity that was not directlyconcerned with keeping her loved ones safe seemed odd, out ofkeeping.

Walking with Vincent, talking with him, maybe even holding hishand. That would be something for herself. Once, she would have takenthe opportunity as a matter of course. It would never have occurredto her to wonder if she could.

She straightened slowly as the sound of voices reached her fromthe passage. A moment later, Vincent came in, a damp and tousledNicholas in his arms.

"My daddy's going to read me a story," Nicholas announced asVincent put him down. He trotted into his alcove and emerged a momentlater with a book in hand. "This one, Daddy," he advised, holding itout.

Vincent took it gravely. "The Spooky Old Tree," he read,from the cover. He gave Catherine a questioning glance. "Bearswearing clothing?"

"Berenstain Bears," she clarified. "Don't be misled by theillustrations. Although personally, I think they're cute. The storyis good, and Nicky loves it." She didn't add that she knew the textby heart from reading it, complete with sound effects, so manytimes.

Vincent didn't look entirely reassured, but he lowered himselfinto the big easy chair anyway. Nicholas scrambled into his lap."Read, Daddy," he commanded.

Vincent obligingly opened the slender volume. Catherine, unwillingto miss this, perched on the edge of the bed and watched.

"'Three little bears. One with a light, one with a stick, and onewith the shivers.'"

"No, Daddy," Nicholas said. "Not like that. Like Mommy does."

Vincent glanced at her quickly, and she grinned. "How does yourmother do it?" he inquired of Nicholas.

"Like this," Nicholas said, and demonstrated, wiggling from headto toe and drawing out the word. "'Shiiiivers!'"

Vincent repeated the word, complete with a shiver, and Nicholasbeamed his approval. "Good."

The rest of the story was replete with shivers and at the endNicholas sighed. "Read it again," he exhorted. "Please!"

Vincent's hesitation was minimal. "Since it is a short book," heagreed, and turned back to the beginning.

"Nicky," Catherine said, when they finished the second time."Would you mind if I went out for a while?"

Nicholas, secure in his daddy's lap, looked up curiously."Where?"

"Your daddy asked if I'd like to go for a walk with him. I think Iwould."

Nicholas's lower lip crept out. "I want to stay with mydaddy."

"Nicholas." It was Vincent who spoke, his voice deep and even."Your mother and I have had little time to talk since she's returned.We'll only go for a walk, and we won't be gone long."

"I want to go."

"You can't," Catherine said persuasively. "It's your bedtime.Please, Nick. This is important to me."

Nicholas's lip stayed out, but he folded his arms in grudgingresignation. "Who will stay with me?" he asked, scowling.

Vincent lifted him from his lap. "I'll go ask Samantha if she'sfree."

"Wait! Who'll tuck me in?"

Vincent paused, a twinkle clearly visible in his eyes as he gazeddown upon their small son. "Your mother can tuck you in," he said,"and I'll be back before you go to sleep."

"Promise?" Nicholas asked.

"I promise."

Of course, before Nicholas could get in bed, he wanted a drink ofwater, and then he needed to go to the bathroom. Catherine was justtucking him beneath the blankets of his cot when Vincentreturned.

"Samantha will be here in a moment," he reported from the gap inthe curtain separating Nicholas's alcove from the main chamber.

"Good," Catherine replied, a firm hand on Nicholas's shoulder tokeep him in bed. "You want to come say goodnight?"

As Vincent moved into the little alcove, she slipped past him andhurried to the small dressing table. A glance confirmed that thepartly drawn curtain blocked Vincent's view of her. She picked up herhairbrush and plied it hastily before checking her reflection in thesmall mirror mounted on the wall near the washstand. Her hair lookedall right, but she was abnormally pale. She wondered where the smallzippered bag containing her makeup had gone... she hadn't seen itsince she arrived.

"You look pretty, Catherine," a voice said behind her, and shewhirled to find Samantha standing in the chamber entrance.

"Do I?" Flustered, she felt the color rising in her cheeks, andthen was absurdly grateful to the girl for her comment.

"Yes." Samantha came in and put a book on the table. "Where'sVincent?"

"Here," he said, and emerged from behind the curtain. "He isn'tasleep yet," he said apologetically.

"That's all right," Samantha said cheerfully, peeking into thealcove. "Hi, Nicholas."

Nicholas mumbled something Catherine didn't quite catch.

"He's already had a drink and been to the bathroom," she said. "Ifyou can keep him in bed, he should be asleep in a few minutes."

"Sure," Samantha agreed. "Don't worry, Catherine. I've kept lotsof the tunnel kids. I know what to do."

Catherine forced a smile. "I know you do." She glanced at Vincent."I don't know how long we'll be..."

"Not more than a couple of hours," Vincent said smoothly."Goodnight, Nicholas."

"Goodnight, Daddy. Mommy!" he called, plaintively.

"What?" She peered in at him.

"You forgot to kiss me."

"I'm sorry." She went into the alcove and knelt beside thecot.

Nicholas wrapped his arms around her neck. "I love you, Mommy," hewhispered into her ear.

"I know you do, Nicky." She smoothed his hair back from his faceand kissed his cheek. "I love you, too. Now be a good boy and go tosleep."

In the main chamber, Samantha was already settling into a chairwith her book. Catherine nodded a goodnight and followed Vincent outinto the corridor.

She couldn't help one backward look, and Vincent paused. "He'll befine, Catherine. You know that, don't you?"

She gave him a shaky smile. "My head does. My heart... that's notso sure."

"He'll be fine." He offered her his hand and she took itgratefully.

They walked a little way in silence before Vincent tipped his headto look at her in the flickering light of torches set in sconcesalong the walls.

"I don't know what to say to you."

His earnest confession made her smile. "It's odd, isn't it?Feeling so awkward with each other?"

"Not so odd, really. After three years."

"But we knew each other so well, once," she said.

"Perhaps we can come to know one another as well again," heventured. "But it will take time."

"Yes," she agreed. "Just as it did the first time."

They walked on. She was conscious of her hand in his, the warmthof his palm against hers, the soft shaggy fur brushing her fingers.The sound of rushing water identified their location a moment beforethey emerged onto a wide, stepped ledge high on one side of a vast,arched cavern. A waterfall, caught in the rays of some unknown sourceof light, glittered and misted on its dramatic plunge into the poolbelow.

Vincent paused where the changing levels of stone made a sort ofnatural bench. She took the tacitly offered seat and Vincent chose tosettle a few feet away, half facing her in the natural glow of thecavern. The roar of the water was muted here, some trick of acousticsthat no one had ever explained.

"Do you remember the last time we were here?" she asked, to fillthe hush.

He nodded. "A long time ago."

"When Daddy died." She drew her knees up and hugged them. "Do youever wonder what would have happened if I had made a differentdecision that day?"

"And stayed?" His eyes were thoughtful, musing. "Sometimes. You'dbe safe," he said. "None of the terrible things would havehappened."

"No. Maybe not even to you, Vincent. If I'd been here, maybe youwouldn't have gotten so sick."

"You cannot blame yourself for that, Catherine. My illness wasbecause of who I am. What I am."

She shook her head. "I don't think so, Vincent. I think it was me.I was so foolish in those days. So reckless. Depending on you to getme out of trouble."

"I will always protect you, Catherine," he said softly. "Knowthat."

"I do." She closed her eyes. "But sometimes I wish I'dstayed."

"If you had, Nicholas might never have been born."

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Without my illness... I would never have found the courage. Neverwould have risked it."

"You might have. We might have found our way."

The almost infinitesimal shake of his head was definite. "No. Andthe loss of Nicholas would be a great thing."

She nodded slowly. "He's worth all of it. The fear, theseparation. Maybe even your illness."

"He is a beautiful child, Catherine." Vincent's voice took on anew note of wonder. "Bright and open and inquisitive. And he acceptsme. Totally."

"Why shouldn't he? He's heard stories about you all his life."

"I have you to thank for that, Catherine. For allowing him to knowme through your words and your memories."

"It was the only father I could give him for such a long time,"she said, leaning toward him. "He deserved to know about you. As youdeserved to be known. He adores you."

She half expected him to deny Nicholas's feelings; instead, hegave her an uncertain glance. "Sometimes I see you watching us,Catherine. And I wonder what you must be feeling. He is not preciselyrejecting you..."

She smiled. "But he's definitely making his wishes known. He'sgood at that. My father would tell you he's strong-willed, just as Iwas when I was a child.

"Sometimes it's hard," she admitted. "Before, I had you all tomyself. It was just you and me, together. I mean, there were others,friends, our fathers. But I always felt they were outside of somesort of invisible boundary, like a bubble. Inside was just us." Shepaused, marshalling her thoughts. "And then there was a long timewhen there was only me. That was a terrible time, Vincent."

He made a soft sound of sympathy and understanding.

"But then Nicky came and there were two of us again. We've beentogether nearly every minute since he was born. And now..."

"Now he seems to want to spend every waking moment with me."

She nodded. "I'm glad for that, Vincent. I'm glad to know he hasyou." She bent her head. "But sometimes, I can't help a littlewistfulness. That I'll never have either of you all to myself again.Silly, isn't it?"

"No," he said gently, and moved closer, putting a tentative armaround her shoulders. "Not silly at all."

It seemed natural to move against him, into the shelter of hisarms, buffered by his solidity. He seemed as content to hold her asshe was to be held, and they stayed that way for a long time. Atlast, though, he stirred. She could sense his reluctance as hereleased her and offered his hand.

"Come," he said. "It's late, and our son is an early riser."

In his voice, pride overlaid the tenderness he offered her. Ourson, he'd said.

She smiled and came.

The walk back was accompanied by a silence that was comfortableand thoughtful rather than awkward. At the threshold to her chamber,he paused. "I won't come in," he said. "You need your rest."

"You, too," she murmured, but lingered, loath to lose themoment.

He reached out slowly and brought her against his chest, cradlingher like something precious and fragile. She closed her eyes,breathing in the scent of him, knowing it would be at least tomorrowbefore he would hold her again.

He stepped back, his eyes suddenly uncertain.

"What is it?" she whispered, conscious of Samantha just beyond theportal.

Instead of answering, he raised his hand slowly and traced hercheek with his thumb. "Sometimes," he said, his voice husky withsuppressed emotion, "I still can't believe you are here."

His hand cradled her face, caressing softly; then he bent andbrushed his lips across her cheek. "Goodnight, Catherine."

She was too startled to do anything but watch him go. Where thepassage bent, he looked back and flashed one of his rare smiles. Thenhe was gone.

Trembling in reaction, she went inside.

Samantha looked up from her book. "He went right to sleep."

For an instant, Catherine was too dazed to comprehend. "Oh," shesaid, as rational thought returned. "Good. I'm glad he wasn't anytrouble."

"Not at all," Samantha assured her, and gathered up her things."You can call me anytime he needs watching. I like Nicholas."

"Thank you." Catherine saw Samantha to the door and returned to ablissful fog of memory, sleepwalking her way through her nighttimeritual of face washing and teeth brushing. She checked to make sureNicholas was covered and blew out all but one candle before slippingbetween the sheets of her bed. A warm shiver travelled the length ofher spine.

All by himself, with no prompting and no help from her, Vincenthad kissed her.