LITTLE BOY LOST

by Becky Bain

(Originally published in the fanzine Within the Crystal Rose, Vol.7.)

"Cathy?" Rita Escobar peered around a rank of filing cabinets."Call for you on line three."

"Thanks, Rita." Catherine picked up the phone. "CatherineChandler."

"Hi, Cathy," said a familiar voice.

"Peter! How are you?"

"I'm fine, but I understand you haven't been feeling well."

"What?" Catherine ran a quick assessment on her current state ofhealth. "No, I'm..."

"Sore throat, fever, swollen glands," he continued, as if hehadn't heard.

"No, Peter, I'm..."

"I know you probably don't have time to come by the office, butI'm stuck in surgery all day anyway, so why don't I just call in aprescription for you?"

She thought she saw a glimmer of purpose in this bewilderingconversation. "An antibiotic," she guessed.

"I think so. And your brother, he's not feeling well either, ishe?"

Peter knew perfectly well she had no brother. Now she was surethere was a hidden message here. "No, he isn't," she agreed.

"I'll call in a prescription for him, too, then," Peter suggested."A different antibiotic than the one I'm prescribing for you."

"All right," she agreed. "Peter, are you someplace where you can'ttalk freely?"

To her astonishment, he laughed. "No, actually, I'm in thedoctor's lounge at the hospital, and no one's paying the slightestattention."

She frowned at the phone. "Then why all the subterfuge?"

"The truth? In my deepest fantasies, I've always wanted to be asecret agent, and I figure this is as close as I'm likely toget."

His boyish admission brought a smile. "I see. All right, 007,message received. I assume my brother and I should start taking theseantibiotics as soon as possible?"

"This evening should be soon enough," Peter said. "There's been anoutbreak of strep throat. Jacob has enough antibiotics on hand to gethim through the day and I'll get some more to him tomorrow; theseprescriptions are just to bridge the gap between evening and morning.I'd deliver them myself, but I have a social engagement I can't getout of. What's the name of your pharmacy?"

She gave it to him. "By the way, Peter, I've been having a littletrouble with my memory lately. What's my brother's name?"

"Ah, good question. Why don't we call him Vincent?"

She smiled. "What last name do I ask for?"

"Oh, the same as yours," he said cheerfully. "He's your brother,after all."

That remark was so absurd that she hung up laughing.

After work, she stopped by the pharmacy to pick up theprescriptions and went straight to the park to deliver them. Peterprobably imagined he was doing her a favor by giving her a legitimateexcuse to visit the tunnel world and she hadn't wanted to disillusionhim, but the truth was, she already knew Vincent wasn't there.

Mouse had come up with a plan by which the stifling heat of areasbelow the catacombs could be piped to the living chambers. The worldbelow kept a constant temperature, but was often too cool for smallinfants or the elderly. Mouse's project, if successful, couldeliminate the need for smoky braziers and hearthfires.

Vincent wasn't enthusiastic about the project's likelihood forsuccess but had nevertheless accompanied Mouse on a fact-finding tripto their world's nether regions. They weren't expected back foranother day or two.

Dusk was falling, so she hurried across the grassy swale towardthe drainage tunnel; after a swift survey of the surrounding area tobe sure she wasn't observed, she ducked her head and stepped into itsmouth.

There had been rain this afternoon so the floor of the tunnel wasmuddy and a small rivulet ran down the center, making her strideawkward. Inside, she avoided the water, moving to the handle thatwould trip the massive steel door. She was reaching for the gratethat covered it when she heard a soft scuffling sound.

She spun around, searching for the source of the noise. It seemedto have come from the left-hand pipe, the one that actually servedthe drainage system. She squinted into the darkness and wished for aflashlight.

Silence. She had just about decided that she'd imagined the noiseand was turning again to the trip-handle when it came again. Thistime there was no mistake.

"Who's there?" Her voice sounded loud, echoing faintly in thestillness. She eased her gun from the side pocket of her briefcaseand let the case slide to the tunnel floor. She waited, gun poised,but the only reply was a repeat of the soft scuffling.

She didn't dare trigger the door to the tunnels without knowingwho or what was watching her, and it was too dark outside now tosafely risk the park. She edged forward, painfully conscious of thetarget she made.

She glided into the open mouth of the other pipe, straining forthe slightest sound. The dimness of the tunnels was greater here, theshadows deep and concealing. She moved slowly, picking her way amongthe debris strewn across the muddy floor -- plastic food wrappers,half-rotted fruit peelings, aluminum beer and soda cans, a partlydismantled packing crate, the tattered remnants of an old blanket --searching for the source of the noise.

She was about to give up when she caught a glimpse of movementfrom something she had noticed but dismissed as a pile of old rags.She whirled to face it, whipping her gun down into firing position.The bundle of rags whimpered and scuttled backwards along the tunnelwall until it reached a corner. There, trapped, it stopped.

Catherine slid the gun into her coat pocket. Whatever this was, itwas far too small to pose a threat. Cautiously, she moved nearer,until she could make out the pale outline of bare arms, legs, aface.

It was a child. A boy, she thought, though how she knew this, shewasn't sure. His hair was overgrown and matted into long, filthyropes; the rags that passed for his clothing were encrusted withfilth.

He squatted against the tunnel wall, curled small, his arms raisedto protect his head. When she moved toward him, he flinched and letout a small, terrified cry.

Instinctively, Catherine stepped back. "It's all right," shesoothed him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

His only reaction, whether to her words or her action she couldn'ttell, was to draw himself in even more tightly; it was plain to seehe was bracing for a blow.

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed, taking another step back. "Iwouldn't hurt you."

He didn't move, didn't give any indication he heard.

When Vincent spoke to a child, she remembered, he always bentdown, making himself smaller, less threatening. She wondered if theprinciple would work here, on this child. Carefully she crouched.

"It's all right," she said, pitching her voice to carry across thesmall space between them. "I won't try to come any closer. What'syour name?"

He didn't answer, but she thought -- just possibly -- she saw hisarms move and his head come up.

"Do you live here?" she persisted, trying to generate a response."Is there someone who takes care of you?"

There was no reaction, and her legs were beginning to ache.Squatting in heels, she was finding out, was virtually impossible."What's your name?" she tried again. At the same time, she shiftedher weight, trying to ease the cramping in her legs.

The boy recoiled, pressing himself against the wall. She froze."It's okay," she reassured him. "It's all right." It wasn't allright, though. She was going to have to either stand up or sit down.The tunnel floor beneath her was sticky with foul-smelling mud, butthe hem of her coat was already dragging in the muck, and if shestood, she'd frighten the boy more than she already had. The choiceseemed simple. She pulled the hem of her coat down and sat on it,wrapping her arms around her raised knees.

Wet, cold mud oozed around her and already she could feel theeffect of its creeping chill. She wondered how the boy, in histattered t-shirt and torn jeans, stood it.

"I won't hurt you," she said clearly to the hunched, frightenedfigure. "But I can't leave you here with no one to take care of you,either. You're too little. So we'll both just wait until you cantrust me."

There was no movement from the boy. Her voice softened. "You cantrust me. I would never, ever do anything bad to you. I'm just goingto sit here and wait for you, okay?"

The boy was so absolutely still that she wondered if he heard her,and that made her remember Laura, and how she'd been found in thepark. Abandoned, because she was deaf.

A protective swell of tenderness welled up inside her. "Oh, littleboy," she said softly. "Can you hear me? Do you know what I'msaying?"

She'd asked the question rhetorically, not expecting an answer,but to her surprise, his head, bowed between hunched shoulders,bobbed almost imperceptibly.

She struggled to control her excitement. "You can hear me?"

He nodded again, more decisively.

"Good. That's good. Can you tell me your name?"

He lowered his arms one cautious inch at a time, and peered at herin the gloom of the tunnel.

"My name is Catherine," she said. "I'm your friend. What's yourname?"

His voice was hoarse and barely audible as he mumbled somethingindistinct.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said clearly. "I didn't understand you.Could you tell me again, please?"

This time he lifted his head and his voice was stronger."Ross."

"Ross," she repeated. "Is that your name?"

He nodded.

"It's a nice name. Mine's Catherine. Can you say that?"

He nodded again. "Cath'rine."

"That's right. I'm glad we're friends, Ross."

He was sitting up now, no longer cowering, but still he eyed herwarily.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

He didn't respond, and after a moment she went on.

"Where do you live, Ross?"

His gaze darted around the dank tunnel.

"Here? Do you live here?"

Slowly he nodded.

"Alone? Or does someone live with you?"

The paired questions seemed to confuse him. She tried again."Ross, do you live here all by yourself?"

He nodded.

"No one else lives here?"

His eyes darted uncertainly. It was surprising how quickly she waslearning to interpret those swift, expressive glances.

"No one lives here, but sometimes other people come here?"

The question seemed to worry him, but after a moment, henodded.

"Do the other people scare you, Ross?"

He didn't need to think about that one. His affirming nod wasswift and vigorous.

"Do they hurt you?"

This time, the answer was an unassuming shrug. Catherine wasn'tsure how to interpret it.

"Ross, do you have a mommy? Or a daddy?"

He gave a low cry and threw his arms over his head.

Sitting still, when she longed to gather the frightened child intoher arms and comfort him, was one of the hardest things Catherine hadever done, but she feared what might happen if she moved toward him.He might bolt down the darkened tunnel and lose his way. Even withthe help of her friends below, it could take days to find him again.She couldn't risk that. So instead, she soothed him with her voice."Ross, it's okay. Listen to me. No one will hurt you now. You'resafe. I'll take care of you."

Slowly he raised his head to look at her.

"Are you hungry?"

After a brief hesitation, he nodded.

"And I'll bet you're cold." She put out her hand. "If you comewith me, I'll take you someplace warm, where there's plenty to eat,and no one will ever hurt you."

He stared at her, his eyes dull and apathetic in his grimy littleface.

"Come with me, Ross. It's a good place. You'll like it there.Please."

"Cath'rine go too?"

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she releasedit in a long sigh. "Yes. I'll go too."

Slowly, tentatively, he reached for her outstretched hand. Thedistance between them was too great, however, and their hands didn'tmeet. Afraid that moving would destroy the fragile rapport she'dbuilt, she remained motionless, waiting for him. Her arm was achingwith the effort of holding it out when he finally moved toward her.Slowly his cold, grubby fingers slipped into hers. She closed herhand gently and smiled.

She got to her feet carefully, not wanting to frighten him, butnow that he had rendered his trust he waited stolidly, not flinchingeven when she scraped the mud from her coat.

He followed her willingly to the junction, where she picked up herbriefcase and slung it over her shoulder. He showed no surprise whenshe activated the sliding door; perhaps he'd huddled in the shadowsand watched as others used it.

She walked slowly so he could keep up, but even so he stumbledoften and at last she paused. "Ross, will you let me carry you?"

In answer, he lifted his arms. She dropped her briefcase andscooped him up.

He was alarmingly light, the sharp bones of his hips and buttocksbiting into her side and she could feel his ribs prominent beneathher hand. The arms wound trustingly around her neck were painfullythin.

He smelled, too. His greasy, tangled mat of hair had a sharp, sourodor and the fabric of his pants was stiff with muck and dried urine.He shivered and she noticed again how little of his frail body wascovered by the tatters he wore. She shifted him, tucking him underher open coat, sharing the heat of her own body.

Her progress to the heart of the tunnel world was necessarilyslow, but at last she reached its outskirts and saw someone she knew."Geoffrey!" she called. "Eric!"

The boys stopped what looked like a friendly tussle and turned,smiling a greeting. "Hi, Catherine," Geoffrey called. "Vincent's nothere."

"I know that. Will you boys do something for me?"

They nodded eagerly.

"Run to Father's chamber and tell him I'm bringing him apatient."

Only then did they seem to notice the child half-hidden by hercoat. They exchanged glances. "Who is he?" Eric inquired. "Did youfind him somewhere?"

"Yes. His name's Ross and I found him near the junction in thepark. Now run to Father, please!"

"Sure, Catherine," they agreed in unison, and darted off.

Ross's grip on her neck had tightened during the encounter, but herelaxed as she carried him more slowly toward Father's chamber.

When she got there, Father was waiting in the passage with Marybehind him. "What is it, Catherine?" he called as she drew near. "Areyou well?"

"I'm fine, Father," she answered, but the question reminded her ofPeter's call this morning, and the two plastic bottles of antibiotictablets in her coat pocket. Ross had a stranglehold on her neck butshe managed to free a hand and fish out the small paper bag ofmedicine. "Here. This is for you."

He accepted them absently. He'd noticed the boy under her coat andall his attention was focused there.

"I found him in the tunnel in the park," she explained. "He sayshe has no one to take care of him."

"Poor child," Mary said compassionately. "Let me see..."

At her movement, Ross gave an inarticulate little yelp andliterally tried to scramble up Catherine's side; with a muffled gruntshe turned away and stepped back, giving him the space he seemed torequire. His sharp little knee was in her midriff, his elbow dugpainfully into her shoulder, and he was using a handful of her hairto pull himself up.

Mary retreated, apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry. I didn'tmean to frighten him..."

Ross's small body was rigid with terror; Catherine couldn't seehis face because he had it pressed hard against her neck. Littlewhimpers came from his throat.

"Why, he's terrified," Mary said, wondering.

Catherine nodded. "Yes, he is," she confirmed, and pried hisfingers from her hair. "Father, could we go in and sit down...?"

"Yes, of course. This way..."

In Father's chamber, Catherine chose a chair a little distancefrom the big desk. Father and Mary were careful not to come too closeand Ross relaxed, just a little, sitting in her lap and leaning backagainst her. She kept her arms around him, trying to provide him witha sense of security.

"Now, Catherine," Father said. "Tell us how you found thischild."

She repeated the whole story. "He's dirty and cold and hungry,"she finished, "and I don't think he has anyplace to go. So I broughthim here."

"Well, of course you did," Mary said gently. "He needs a bath anda hot meal, and a nice, soft bed to sleep in. There's room in thechamber that Andrew and Douglas share..."

"Yes, of course, Mary," Father interrupted. "We'll certainly finda place for him. Catherine, do you suppose he'll allow a physicalexamination?"

"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "We could try."

"Yes. Well, he should be examined, just to be certain there are noproblems. Perhaps, if he's in your lap, he'll feel more secure."

"Maybe." Catherine bent her head to whisper in Ross's ear. "Thisman's name is Father. He's a doctor, and he wants to look at you tobe sure you're all right. You can sit right here in my lap, andI'll..." She didn't get to finish the sentence. Father rose andstarted around his desk and with the movement, Ross panicked. Armsand legs churned frantically as he tried to get away.

Catherine held onto him with difficulty, finally pinning hisflailing arms and legs with her own. She held him tightly, rocking."Shhh. It's all right. See? Father's gone back to his chair. No onewill hurt you. Shhh."

"Well," Father observed, when the boy was quiet again, "there'scertainly nothing wrong with his panic reflex."

"Or his fingernails," Catherine said dryly, touching a cautiousfingertip to her stinging cheek. It came away flecked with blood.

"It appears to be a minor scratch," Father told her from thesafety of his desk. "Put a little disinfectant on it before you go tosleep."

She nodded and glanced down at Ross, who huddled in her lap.

Father followed the look. "It seems you've made a conquest,Catherine," he remarked.

"It looks that way," she agreed.

"Perhaps, Catherine, if you don't have to be back right away..."Mary began hesitantly.

"I don't."

"Then could you stay a while? Maybe if you helped me get himbathed and fed..."

"Of course. I'd be glad to."

Mary showed the way to one of the communal bathing chambers.Inside stood a big, old-fashioned claw-footed tub. A narrow pipe hungover it, spouting a steady stream of cold water.

"Just put the plug in, like this," Mary demonstrated, "and run ina few inches of cold water."

"How do I turn it off?"

"You can't. Mouse designed it. The pipe brings water from a nearbyunderground river. The drainage system allows the used water to flowback into the river. When the tub's as full as you want it, just pushthe pipe aside and let the water run down the wall." She showedCatherine how a trench gouged out of the stone floor channelled thewater away.

"If you'll get him undressed, I'll bring him some clean clothes."Mary eyed the boy critically -- for size, Catherine guessed.

"All right."

Only when she was sure Mary was gone did Catherine put Ross down;she didn't want to take a chance on him bolting in fear. She removedher mudstained coat, tossing it in a corner, and rolled up hersleeves.

Ross watched silently. She knelt beside him. "Let's get yourclothes off, Ross," she suggested, reaching for his shirt. Hesquirmed backwards and pushed her hands away.

She sank back on her heels, watching him. "You have to take yourclothes off to take a bath, Ross. Don't you want a bath?"

He shook his head vigorously.

"Well, maybe you don't, but you're going to have one anyway.You're filthy."

She caught his arm and reached again for his shirt. He twisted,trying to escape her grip, uttering a high, keening protest. Itdrowned out the rattling of the steam pipes, the rush of water intothe tub. Catherine couldn't even hear her own voice soothing him. Sheset her teeth against the shrill sound and had his shirt up aroundhis neck when suddenly he stopped struggling and bounded into herarms.

She clutched him, sensing his need to be protected, and turned tosee what had frightened him.

Two of the community's young men, Nathan and Adam, had entered andwere standing near the door. Each carried a large, steaming copperewer.

"William sent us," Nathan explained, keeping a wary eye on Ross,who had a death grip on Catherine's neck. "With hot water for thebath?"

Mary must have stopped by the kitchen on her way to find clothes.Catherine nodded toward the filling tub; Adam pushed the pipe asideand drained a little from the tub before dumping in the contents ofhis ewer. He tested the water before turning to Nathan.

"Pour in about half of yours," he advised, with a glance towardRoss. "He won't want it too hot."

Nathan complied cheerfully, and set the half-full ewer downagainst the wall. "In case you need to warm it up a little," heexplained. "Or for fresh rinse water."

Ross was a little more cooperative after they left and it didn'ttake long for Catherine to get him undressed.

His condition was worse than she'd expected. She'd known he wouldlook undernourished; what she hadn't anticipated was the dull,grayish cast of his skin, or the dark, mottled bruises he bore onarms, legs, and torso. The skin on the back of his thighs andbuttocks was unnaturally pink and veined with small cracks, like oldleather.

Mary came in, calling first so she wouldn't startle Ross. She gavea little gasp when she saw the bruises and scars. "Here are someclothes," she said carefully, putting them on a low wooden bench."And a towel and washcloth." She paused. "Will you need help with hisbath?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe, if you could wait in the doorway..."

"Of course," Mary agreed swiftly, and retreated to stand in theopening.

Catherine kept a firm grip on Ross's wrist and drew him toward thewaiting tub. He followed docilely, but when she lifted him and triedto put him in the water, he shrieked and kicked.

Startled, Catherine let go and he scuttled into a far corner andhuddled there.

"He's been scalded in a hot tub," Mary said, from the doorway."Those scars..."

Catherine felt sick. Poor little boy. She moved toward him slowly."I'm sorry, Ross. I didn't mean to scare you."

He lifted his head and gave her a reproachful look.

"I wouldn't hurt you, Ross. Remember? I promised. Come, and I'llshow you. The water isn't hot."

"Smoking," he said sullenly.

Catherine glanced toward the tub. "Yes, it's steaming a little,but that's because it's cool in here. I promise the water won't burnyou."

His eyes were wary, but he let her approach and take his hand. Sheled him back to the tub and bent to swish her fingers through thewater. "See? It isn't hot. You try it."

With a skeptical glance at her face, Ross leaned over and imitatedher gesture, running his hand through the waiting water. He examinedhis wet fingers curiously. "Not hot," he announced.

"So will you get in now?"

He didn't look eager, but he nodded. Catherine helped him in andsteadied him while he stood in the ankle deep water.

"You could sit down," she suggested mildly, and, after a moment,he did. "Is it all right if Mary comes close enough to hand me thewashcloth and the soap?" she inquired.

Ross seemed startled to be asked, but he nodded warily, keeping avigilant eye on Mary as she came closer. Mary understood his fear andcame no closer than necessary, handing Catherine the things sheneeded and retreating.

Ross relaxed perceptibly but it didn't last long. He didn't mindsitting in the warm water, but he had no enthusiasm for being washed.He howled no matter how gently Catherine plied the soapy cloth, sofinally she just held him down and washed him. The once-clear waterwas a cloudy gray by the time she finished, and Ross was stillshrieking when she lifted him from the tub.

Mary waited with a soft towel. Catherine took it and wrapped itaround the boy before sinking down on the wet stone floor and drawinghim into her lap.

"I'm sorry, Ross, but you needed a bath." Even with the towel, hewas dripping wet, but it didn't really matter -- his thrashing in thetub had soaked her anyway. What mattered was regaining his trust, andit didn't take long. Once out of the water Ross was content tosnuggle in her lap, and she was pleased to see that, with the layersof grime and dead skin scrubbed away, his skin now glowed a rosypink.

She glanced at Mary, expecting an approving smile; instead, shehovered in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

"What is it, Mary?"

Mary made a small, despairing gesture with her hands. "Catherine,I don't think he's going to allow anyone else near him. Not tonight,anyway."

Catherine glanced at the damp head pillowed on her breast. "Idon't think so, either," she confessed.

"I know how busy your life is, but... would you be willing tostay, just tonight? To help him accustom himself to us?"

Catherine had been thinking along those same lines herself, and itwas almost a relief to be asked. "It's no trouble, Mary. I'll be gladto."

"I'm so glad. Will you be comfortable in the guest chamber youused last time?"

Catherine nodded.

"Good. I'll have a cot put in there for Ross. His nightclothes arehere," she reminded. "I'll find some dry things for you and put themin your chamber. And I'll have William send you both some dinner. Idon't think Ross is ready for the dining chamber."

Catherine had visions of a panic-stricken Ross fleeing franticallythrough the kitchen, sending pots and pans flying. "No," she agreed."Not just yet, anyway."

"Well. I'll meet you in your chamber in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Mary."

Ross allowed Catherine to pat him dry and dress him in the long,warm nightshirt Mary had brought. He fingered the soft fabric as shehelped him step into thick trousers that reminded her of sweatpants,and pulled heavy hand-knit socks over his feet.

"Ready?" she asked him brightly.

He nodded and took her hand, pressing close to her side as theywalked the short distance to the guest chamber.

Mary was already there, fussing with bedclothes for the cot."William made chili tonight," she said, pointing to the table, wheretwo deep bowls steamed softly. "It's not very spicy because of thechildren, but there's some hot sauce in a little dish there, if youwant it, Catherine. And fresh baked cornbread."

Catherine looked at Ross. "Does that sound good? Chili andcornbread?"

She helped him up in a chair and tucked a napkin into his collar.He stared at the food silently, but didn't try to touch it.

"Be careful," Mary cautioned from the far side of the room. "Thechili might be hot."

"Here," Catherine said, putting a wedge of cornbread in his hand."Eat."

He glanced at her uncertainly and she nodded encouragement. "It'sokay. It's good. Eat it."

Reassured, he bent his head and tore out a great mouthful of thewarm bread. Catherine doubted he took time to chew it; in secondshe'd devoured the entire wedge.

Silently she handed him another, and another. By the time theywere gone, the chili was cool enough to eat. He forbore to use aspoon; instead, he scooped up handfuls of the rich, meaty concoctionand stuffed them in his mouth. When he emptied his own dish, hestared longingly at the untouched bowl in front of Catherine. Shepushed it in front of him, and he wolfed that, too.

"I'll be very surprised if he isn't sick tonight," Mary commented."All that food, so quickly."

"He was starving," Catherine said softly, watching Ross gulp thefourth and final piece of cornbread. He finished his meal by drainingthe glass of milk that stood by his place.

"I'll bring you another tray, Catherine," Mary offered.

Catherine glanced at Ross, who, fed and bathed, was droopingsleepily. "Could you wait a while, Mary? He should be asleepsoon..."

"Of course," Mary agreed, and went out.

Catherine helped Ross wash his hands and face and used a dampwashcloth to dab traces of his dinner from his pajamas. "Next time,"she told him wryly, "we'll get you a coverall."

He blinked at her drowsily and with a small laugh, she picked himup and carried him to the cot. He allowed her to tuck him beneath theblankets, but held fast to her hand when she tried to stand up.

"No," he said, clearly. "Cath'rine stay."

"Yes, I will," she assured him. "Right here. I'll be sleepingright there." She pointed to the bed and smiled encouragement.

"Stay," he urged her again, still clinging to her hand.

"I will. I promise." She disentangled her hand and sat down on theedge of the cot. "Would you like a story before you go to sleep?"

He frowned in gentle bewilderment.

"A story? A book?"

There was no spark of excitement, of recognition in his face.

"Ross, hasn't anyone ever read you a story?"

His blank looked saddened her; as a child, she had loved to beread to -- it was a time of closeness, of love and sharing, as wellas an adventure waiting between the covers of a book. The thoughtthat Ross might never have experienced that warmth broke herheart.

She forced a smile. "You're in for a treat," she told himcheerily.

A short pile of picture books was on the bedside table; Mary musthave put them there. Catherine ran her finger along the spines andfinally stopped at the familiar orange and green cover of MargaretWise Brown's *Goodnight, Moon*, one of her own childhood favorites.She drew it from the pile, turned, and nearly tripped over Ross. He'dclimbed out of bed and followed her.

"I said I would stay," she chided gently, and led him back to thecot. She tucked him in and perched on the side of the cot beforeopening the book.

"'In the great green room, there was a telephone, and a redballoon...'"

A glance showed Ross listening, his gaze fixed on her face, but alater one showed his eyelids losing a battle with gravity.

"'...Goodnight, stars. Goodnight, air. Goodnight, noiseseverywhere.'"

Catherine closed the book. Ross was fast asleep and she brushedhis forehead with a fond kiss.

He'd soaked her during his bath. In the interim her clothes hadalmost dried, but she was still grateful for the warm, dry comfort ofthe nightclothes Mary had left on the bed. She changed swiftly into agown of soft cotton flannel that laced at throat and wrists withdelicate ribbon. She was reaching for its companion, a long, fleecysleeveless robe, when Mary returned with her dinner.

"He's asleep?" she whispered, glancing toward the cot.

Catherine nodded. "He was exhausted."

"I'm not surprised," Mary said. "He had a busy day." She set thetray down and glanced at Catherine gratefully. "It's kind of you tostay, Catherine."

"It's no trouble. I don't have to be back at work until Monday.And I can arrange time off, if he really needs me."

Mary gave Ross an anxious glance. "Oh, I hope it won't take thatlong for him to become acclimated," she said. "But it's good to knowyou can be here. Well." She looked around. "I think you haveeverything you need, and you know how to call on the pipes..."

"Yes."

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Mary."

After Mary left, Catherine ate her dinner and tucked herself intobed with a copy of Jane Austen's *Pride and Prejudice* that she'dfound on a shelf. It seemed odd, being here in Vincent's world whenVincent himself was so far away, but there was still the sense ofpeace and contentment that always seemed to find her here. Presently,she blew out the bedside candles and went to sleep.

She woke sometime later to find that Ross had wakened in thenight, and crawled in bed with her. She could see him in the dimgolden glow of the fat night-candle across the room, curled warmlyagainst her side, fast asleep. Carrying him back to his cot seemedlike too much effort; surely it wouldn't hurt to let him stay, justthis once. With that drowsy rationalization made, she tucked theblankets up around his shoulders, snuggled down beside him, and wentback to sleep.

Morning was heralded by an increase in messages on the pipes andCatherine came slowly out of slumber and lay for a moment, eyesclosed, listening to the muted clamor. Ross was still beside her; shecould feel the spreading warmth of his body.

Spreading?

Startled, she sat up. Ross's pajamas, her nightgown, and thesheets were all dripping with urine. Ross had wet the bed.

"Oh, Ross," she said in involuntary dismay.

His eyes flew open, his reaction prompt and disturbing; onlyhalf-awake, he scrambled wildly off the bed and dived into a corner,arms raised to protect his head. Catherine ignored her drenched gownand followed.

"I'm sorry, Ross. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's all right.I'm not mad. It was an accident, and accidents happen sometimes."

She was still crouched down, coaxing Ross from his corner, whenMary came in and gave a startled exclamation at sight of the bed.

Catherine straightened. "I'm sorry, Mary. He crawled in with me inthe night, and I let him stay. I didn't know he'd..."

"It's perfectly all right," Mary reassured her. "The bedding caneasily be washed and the mattress cleaned. No harm done."

"You're sure?"

"Oh, of course. You don't think this is the first time somethinglike this has happened down here, do you? I'll take care of the bed,Catherine, while you and Ross get washed up."

Their conversation seemed to have soothed Ross's terror and whilethey talked, he crept to Catherine's side. She patted his shoulderabsently as she looked down at herself, plucking the soaked fabric ofher gown away from her body. "I'll need something to wear," she saidapologetically. "My own things got wet when I bathed Ross lastnight..."

"Of course," Mary agreed instantly. "I'll have someone bringsomething for you, and for Ross, too. Now run along, quickly, beforesomeone else gets to the bathing chamber first."

"Hot water..." Catherine said, trying to be tactful.

"There's always hot water in the mornings," Mary told her."Because so many people bathe then."

"Thank you, Mary." Catherine pulled her robe on over her wet gownand took Ross's hand to lead him to the bathing chamber.

As Mary had promised, a row of steaming copper ewers stood alongthe wall. Catherine covered the entrance with the drape that wouldtell others the chamber was in use and started filling the tub.

After last night's experience, she decided it would be best tobathe Ross first, but today he was cooperative and let her wash himwithout a struggle. Afterward, she wrapped him snugly in a towel andplaced him firmly on a low wooden bench. "Stay right here," sheinstructed.

She drained the tub, filled it again for herself, and hesitated.Ross sat obediently on the bench, his sorrowful gaze fixed on her, asif he feared she might disappear if he looked away. Her friend NancyTucker joked about not having been to the bathroom by herself sincebefore her kids were born, but despite that, Catherine was a littleuncertain about the propriety of undressing in front of Ross. On theother hand, she badly needed a bath, and there was nowhere else forhim to go. Resolutely she turned her back, pulled the soggy gown overher head, and stepped into the tub.

When she glanced at him, Ross had shifted his attention to hisbare, swinging feet and was ignoring her entirely. She bathed quicklyand had just wet her hair to wash it when Brooke's voice called hername from the other side of the curtain.

"Yes?" she answered, shooting an anxious glance at Ross.

"May I come in? I have some clean clothes for you and the littleboy."

Catherine hesitated. The last thing she needed was for Ross topanic while she was in the tub. "Just a minute." She leaned towardRoss and called his name. It took a couple of tries to gain hisattention. "Come here," she instructed, once she got him to look ather. He dropped his towel and trotted, naked, to the tub. She lookedat the discarded towel and sighed. "Someone is going to come in," shetold him. "You can stay here with me and hold my hand."

She offered him her wet fingers and he grasped them, edging warilyaround the tub until it stood between him and the draped entrance.Probably just as well, considering his state of undress. "Ready?" shewhispered to him.

He nodded.

"Come in!" she called, and Brooke brushed the drape aside andducked inside.

Mary must have explained about Ross, because, after a swift,furtive glance, Brooke studiously ignored him. She placed the bundlesof clothing on the bench and turned to go.

"Wait, Brooke," Catherine said. She squeezed Ross's hand inencouragement. "I want you to meet Ross. Ross," she said carefully,"this is Brooke. She lives here and sometimes she helps take care ofthe children. She's very nice, and I'll bet you'll like her."

Brooke maintained her distance and bestowed on Ross a dazzlingsmile. "Hello, Ross," she said. "I hope you'll like it here."

Ross ducked his head and said nothing.

Brooke nodded briskly. "Well," she said to Catherine, "I'll letyou finish your bath. It was nice to meet you, Ross," she called, andleft the chamber.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Catherine asked Ross.

He didn't look up and when she released his hand, he snatched itaway.

"I'm sorry if you're angry with me, Ross, but you're going to haveto get used to other people. I don't live here, so I won't be aroundall the time. No one here will hurt you."

He glared at her, and she wondered, not for the first time, howmuch he really understood of what she said. She touched his hairgently, consoled when he allowed the caress. "Go back and sit on thebench," she encouraged. "Wrap your towel around you if you're cold.I'll be finished here in a minute, and then we can get dressed."

It took only moments to wash her hair. She dressed first, donninga long, patched cotton skirt and soft, leather-fringed sweater over along-sleeved t-shirt and then helped Ross put on patched corduroytrousers and a much-mended sweatshirt.

Hand in hand they returned to the guest chamber; Ross noticedfirst that it was already occupied, and shrank back againstCatherine's legs.

Mary and Jamie had stripped the bed and were scrubbing the stainedmattress; Geoffrey and Samantha were arranging dishes on the littletable. All looked up when Catherine and Ross came in.

"I'm sorry," Mary apologized. "We wanted to be out of here by thetime you came back."

"It's perfectly all right, Mary," Catherine answered easily."Thank you for taking care of the bed for us." She had her hand onRoss's shoulder, exerting gentle pressure to keep him beside her."Ross, that's Jamie helping Mary with the bed, and the children overthere are Geoffrey and Samantha."

"Hi, Ross," all three chorused.

Unable to flee, Ross hid his face in Catherine's skirt; faintly,beneath the homely clatter of dishes and the rustle of the mattress,she could hear him whimpering. She patted his back with her freehand, still holding him in place with the other.

"All done," Mary announced. "We'll let the mattress air today, andturn it this evening before we make it. Your breakfast is on thetable," she added, pointing. She herded the others out.

Mary must have told William about Ross's appetite of the eveningbefore, because he'd provided mass quantities of food. There was alarge covered dish of oatmeal and another of scrambled eggs. A bowlheld overripe oranges and bananas just past their prime -- salvaged,Catherine was sure, from Long's grocery -- and a basket was filledwith crisp slices of toast. A tray held dishes of brown sugar,butter, honey, two kinds of jam and a small pitcher of milk, and nextto it, a teapot steamed gently.

Catherine helped Ross into his chair and tied a towel she'dbrought from the bathing chamber around his neck, draping it acrosshis lap, before she filled his bowl with oatmeal. "Do you want somebrown sugar in it?"

He looked blank, so she gave him a dab of sugar to taste. His eyeswidened as it melted on his tongue, and then he smiled.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, and sweetened his cereal forhim. Deciding honey was too messy, she spread a piece of toast withgrape jam and put it on his plate. "Eat all that and you can havesome eggs," she told him, taking her own seat.

After a cautious glance, as if to be sure all this bounty wastruly for him, he snatched up the toast and gobbled it down. He wasreaching for the oatmeal when Catherine caught his wrist.

"Today we use a spoon," she said firmly, and placed one in hishand.

As soon as she let go, the spoon dropped to the floor. Patientlyshe picked it up, wiped it on her napkin, and gave it back to him.This time, she held his fist and guided the spoon for him, scoopingup a bite of oatmeal.

"See? Now put it in your mouth."

He glanced at her, and let go of the spoon. It clattered to thefloor, bits of oatmeal flying, while Ross tried to scoop up amouthful with his hand.

"No." Again she restrained him, and handed him her own spoon."This way."

His brow was puckered in bewilderment and she wondered if anyonehad ever shown him how to use utensils before. She picked up hisspoon and cleaned it off.

"Look." She demonstrated, dipping up a bit of his oatmeal andbringing it to her mouth. "See?" she said, letting her face showenjoyment. "It's good. Now you try."

He seemed to want desperately to please her; clumsily he shoveledup a heaping spoonful of cereal. Half of it dripped from the spoon enroute, but some of it made it into his mouth and he looked at heranxiously.

"Good boy," she praised him, and he beamed with pleasure. "Not somuch in the spoon next time."

He tried it again and met with a little more success; she smiledher approval as she poured herself a cup of tea.

Breakfast took a while; after he finished his oatmeal, Ross neededhelp using a fork for his eggs, and when he finished them, he wantedseconds on everything. Occupied with helping him, Catherine ate onlylightly, but even so there was little food left when they weredone.

Afterwards, she cleaned him up and let him help her stack thebreakfast dishes on the tray so they could be easily removed. Shewondered if she should try to carry them to the kitchen herself,letting Ross follow closely, or if she should just tap on the pipesfor someone to fetch them. The latter seemed a bit imperious -- likecalling for room service -- and yet she really didn't know what elseto do.

She was saved from the decision when Brooke entered. "Hi," shegreeted quietly, taking care to stay away from Ross. "I came for thedishes. And Mary thought you might need these." She placed a foldedcloth, along with a comb and a shiny pair of scissors, on the bedsidetable.

Catherine nudged Ross away from the big table so Brooke could getthe tray. After she was gone, Catherine set Ross up on the edge ofthe table. "Now, young man," she informed him, "you are getting ahaircut."

The cloth turned out to be a sort of barber's apron, complete withties at the neck, and Ross sat quietly while she draped it aroundhim.

"Now," she began, standing in front of him so he could see, "I'mgoing to cut your hair." She showed him the scissors, taking a fewrandom snips at the air so he could see how they worked. "They won'thurt you, Ross," she assured him, but when she tried to bring themclose to his head, he ducked away.

Patiently she showed him the scissors again. "It doesn't hurt,Ross." She touched the matted lock that hung near his cheek. "This isall tangled, and it's too long. I'm just going to cut it."

He made a faint sound of protest and ducked again.

Catherine sighed and bent down, fixing him with a firm stare. "Ihave to cut your hair, Ross. I can't even wash it properly when it'slike this." She tipped her head and drew a long strand from the napeof her neck. "Look." She snipped an inch of hair from the end andshowed it to him. "See? It's just hair. It doesn't hurt."

Ross put out a tentative hand and touched the side of her head."Hair?" he asked.

"Yes. Hair. Yours is too long, Ross. I need to cut it."

"Cut hair."

"That's right. Will you sit very still and let me do that?"

He didn't answer, but he seemed less apprehensive, so she slowlybrought the scissors up by his head. His eyes followed her everymovement but he didn't flinch when she lifted the first tangled,matted rope of hair and clipped it off close to his scalp. He heldout his hand and she put the long clump of hair into it. It held hisinterest long enough for her to hack off the rest of the mats.

Making his hair look presentable took longer, and Ross wasbeginning to squirm restlessly by the time she finished. "There," shesaid in satisfaction.She'd had to cut it very short to get rid of allthe mats and it wasn't quite even in places, but it was certainly animprovement.

"Want to see?" she asked him, and carried him to the far corner,where a small mirror hung above a stand holding a china pitcher andbowl.

He examined his reflection carefully, turning his head from sideto side, as if he wasn't quite sure who he was seeing. Catherine'shead was close to his and he glanced at her reflected imageuncertainly and reached out to touch it.

"I'm not there, Ross," she said softly, seeing his surprise atfinding only cold glass beneath his fingers. "That's a mirror."

"Mirror," he repeated. He touched it again. "Mirror."

"That's right. There's Ross," she pointed to his likeness, "andthere's me."

"Cath'rine," he said firmly.

"That's right," she said, delighted with his response. She kissedhis cheek and set him down.

"You've been very good this morning, Ross. Would you like me toread you a story?"

He glanced up at her, and this time there was a small glimmer ofanticipation on his face. "Story?"

She nodded and he darted across the room to the bright stack ofchildren's books, selecting one at random and scooting back,obviously worried that if he didn't hurry, she'd change her mind.

The big, shabby easy chair had plenty of room for them both andCatherine curled her arm around Ross's thin shoulders as they bentover the open book. They were engrossed in the story when, with afurious scurry of running feet, Geoffrey burst into the chamber.

Ross exploded in panic, struggling wildly to scramble out of thedeep, soft confines of the chair. Catherine tried first to containhim, but one flailing fist struck her hard across the face and sheflinched, bringing her hands up instinctively. Oblivious, Rosswrestled himself free of the chair and hurtled across the room.

Geoffrey stood just inside the entrance, staring in open-mouthedhorror. "Catherine, I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I forgot... you'rehurt," he interrupted himself, and his look of horror increased."I'll get Father!" he offered, and dashed from the chamber.

Ross's inadvertent blow had connected most solidly with her cheekdirectly below her right eye, but some part of his hand or wrist hadcaught her nose as well. It hurt, and made her eyes water, and it wasa moment before she recovered enough to look for Ross.

She found him on the far side of the bed, cowering, and kneltbeside him. At her touch on his shoulder, he hurled himself againsther. The impact knocked her back, upsetting her balance, and she satdown quickly to avoid an awkward fall. Ross ended up in her lap andshe gathered him in, soothing him with her touch and her voice.

They were still there on the carpet when she heard Father's voicecalling her name from the passage.

"Come in!" she answered, looking toward the door.

Father entered slowly, leaning on his cane. He paused just insidethe entrance. "Catherine? Geoffrey said you were injured..."

Ross had stiffened when Father came in, but he didn't panic thistime. Carefully she helped him from her lap and stood up, keeping onehand on his shoulder for reassurance. Her other hand wentinvoluntarily to her face, touching the tender place beneath hereye.

"It isn't serious," she said. "Geoffrey burst in without warningand frightened Ross."

"I'm afraid that's my fault," Father confessed. "There was amessage on the pipes that I thought you'd be interested in. I sentGeoffrey to tell you."

"Vincent?"

He nodded. "He and Mouse expect to complete their exploration thisafternoon. It's quite possible they'll be home sometime tomorrowmorning."

She couldn't keep herself from smiling. "Good."

"Yes, I thought you'd like that. But it seems my good intentionshave resulted in harm to you. Let me take a look..." He limped towardher slowly, keeping a wary eye on Ross. With Catherine's hand tobolster him, the boy held his ground for a few seconds, but at lasthis nerve broke and he ducked behind her, peering out around her hip.Father immediately transferred his overt attention to Catherine,stopping in front of her and tipping her face toward the candelabraon the table.

"Hmmm, yes, you're right about this," he murmured, brushing acareful thumb across her cheek. "It's swelling a bit; you might sendto William for some ice to put on it, but it's minor. This scratch ishealing well. Did Mary give you anything to put on it?"

Catherine brought a self-conscious hand to her cheek. "I'dforgotten about the scratch," she admitted. "Mary must have, too, butit isn't bothering me."

"No? Well, that's good."

For the first time, he turned his full attention on Ross, whostill hovered at Catherine's hip. He stooped a little and smiled."Good morning, Ross."

Ross squeaked and ducked back.

Father straightened. "I've frightened him again," he observed withregret.

"He's all right," Catherine answered. "He needs to learn." By now,the assurances were becoming automatic, and she put a hand behind herto touch Ross's shoulder.

Father observed the gesture and smiled. "He trusts youcompletely."

"Yes. I think he does." Abruptly she remembered her manners. Thiswas nominally her chamber; that made her the hostess here. "Please,Father, sit down." She gestured toward the easy chair.

With a brief, watchful glance toward Ross, he complied. Catherinepulled one of the straight chairs around from the table and seatedherself in it, facing him.

"How much does he understand of what's being said?" he asked.

"I've wondered that," she confessed. "Not very much, I don'tthink. I have to speak simply, and repeat myself, sometimes."

"Does he speak at all?"

"A little. He says my name, and told me his. He's said a few otherthings, but mostly it's those little, wordless cries and bodylanguage."

Father nodded sagely. "And his physical condition -- Mary's toldme of the bruising, the scars, but you've examined him morethoroughly. Is there anything that requires attention?"

She shook her head. "No. The scars look healed, and even thebruises are turning yellow and green. He's thin, but if he continuesto eat as he has been, that won't last long."

"And what of his mental condition?"

"You've seen that for yourself. He's still frightened of everyonebut me. Beyond that... I really don't know, Father. I haven't beenaround children very much. I'm not sure what's normal for his age, oreven what his age is."

"I should put him somewhere between four and six," Father said,giving Ross an analytical glance. "Depending on heredity andnutrition, of course. But even a four year old should be talking morethan you say he does."

"Maybe the abuse he's suffered has affected his development,"Catherine suggested.

"Oh, very likely," Father agreed. "But still he seems a triflebackward. Well, we'll give him a more thorough assessment after he'sbeen with us a while. What are your plans for today?"

Catherine gave Ross a quick smile. "Well, we were reading a storywhen Geoffrey came in, so we'll have to finish that. And maybe thisafternoon, we'll take a walk and meet some of the people."

Ross evidently understood that, because he gave a low moan andducked back behind her chair.

"That doesn't seem to meet with much approval," Fatherobserved.

"No," Catherine agreed. "Not yet. We'll work on it."

"Yes," said Father. "Catherine, I want you to know how much I...we all... appreciate your willingness to stay and take on this task.You have your own work above, and to give up your privatetime..."

"He's just a child, Father. How could I not?"

"Indeed." Father levered himself to his feet. "Well, I must say,he's vastly improved over last night. Perhaps he can continue toprogress at the same rate."

"I hope so," said Catherine, and rose to see him out. Ross seemedtorn between staying beside her and keeping his distance from Fatherand compromised by following a few feet behind, whimperinganxiously.

"It's all right, Ross. I'm only saying goodbye to Father,"Catherine said, without looking at him. "I won't leave you."

Father paused in the doorway. "I'll have William send you some icefor your cheek. And of course, if you should need something..."

"I know. Thank you, Father."

He limped out and Catherine sat down and drew Ross into her lap."There's no need for you to be afraid," she whispered, low in hisear. "No one here will hurt you." That particular statement wasbecoming overused, but perhaps if she repeated it often enough, hewould believe it.

Brooke brought their midday meal -- tuna salad sandwiches andapplesauce, with a handful of chocolate chip cookies for dessert --and afterward, Catherine took Ross's hand firmly in hers and set outto show him his new home.

First they visited the candle shop, and spent a few minutestalking with Rebecca -- that is, Catherine talked while Ross clung toher skirt, whimpering softly and hiding his face in its softfolds.

After that, they visited the sewing chamber, and the nursery. Inthe kitchen, one of William's helpers sneaked them a slice of spicecake, which Ross wolfed in short order, and when they visited thepipe chamber, Pascal let him put his hand on one of the main pipes,to feel the vibrations. Everyone greeted them cheerfully, but no onetried to approach Ross, and by the time they returned to the guestchamber, he was no longer clinging helplessly to Catherine's skirt.Instead, his stride was confident, his hold on her hand firm.

Once safely inside their chamber, she let go his hand and ruffledhis hair. "I'm very proud of you, Ross," she told him carefully. "Youwere very good."

He beamed with pleasure and pointed to the books. "Story?" he saidhopefully.

Catherine was exhausted from the constant vigilance necessaryduring their excursion, but she couldn't bear to disappoint him, sothey settled together in the big chair. Long before the book wasfinished, though, he'd fallen asleep and she lifted him carefully andlaid him on the cot.

His nap didn't last long, but the respite was enough to give herthe energy to see him through dinner -- chicken stew, whole wheatrolls, and spice cake -- and to help Mary and Brooke turn the nowcleaned and aired mattress and make it up with fresh bedding.

Ross huddled quietly in the corner throughout, and Catherinewondered if his silence was a sign of progress.

He paged through one of the books, looking at the pictures, whileshe readied herself for bed, and let her tuck him under the blanketson the cot and sing him a lullaby, but when she left him to seek herown bed, he crawled out from beneath the covers to follow her.

Six times she put him back in his own bed, and six times hefollowed her to hers. At last, with the uneasy thought that she wassetting a precedent that would be hard to change, she relented,letting him curl up beside her, where he dropped almost instantlyinto a peaceful sleep.

She consoled herself with the memory of the plastic sheet Mary hadplaced on the mattress before making the bed, and the carefulinstructions about restricting Ross's intake of liquids and takinghim to the bathroom right before bed. She'd done all that, and surelythe plastic sheet meant Mary expected Ross to sleep with her? Itdidn't matter, though, because she was too tired to contest it withhim.

Instead, she curled up, with Ross nestled warmly against her side,to read another chapter of *Pride and Prejudice* before she went tosleep.

She was engrossed in the story when thought she heard her name.She listened and when the soft call came again, she recognized thevoice.

Vincent! Her heart responded with a swift surge of delight.

She wanted to call to him to come in, but, in the split-secondbetween intention and action, changed her mind. The sight of hertucked cozily into bed might make him uncomfortable, and she didn'twant that. He called once more and this time she answered. "Just aminute."

She disentangled herself from Ross, careful not to wake him, andsmoothed the quilts over him. She pulled on the long flannel robeMary had left for her and went to the chamber entrance.

Vincent waited just beyond the opening. He had obviously justgotten back; his clothing was travel-stained and he looked tired.Part of her wanted to rush into his arms to welcome him, but another,more decorous little voice reminded her this was a public place, soinstead, she caught his hand and drew him into the chamber.

Only when they were safely out of sight of any casual passersbydid she drop his hand and slip her arms around his neck for an eagerembrace.

It was good to be in his arms again and for a few moments, shesimply luxuriated in the sensation. "I'm glad you're back," shemurmured. "I missed you."

"I missed you, as well," he answered. "But, Catherine... issomething wrong?"

She stepped back and he let his hands glide down her arms to graspher fingers. His first clear sight of her made him catch his breath."What happened to your face? Did someone hurt you?"

Self-consciously she touched the mouse under her eye; she'd nearlyforgotten it, and the long scratch just below, and wondered what hemust think.

"Only minor injuries," she assured him. "Father isn'tworried."

His look of concern eased and he tilted his head uncertainly.Clearly, he found her presence here puzzling and, perhaps, a bitunsettling.

She wondered at her own nervousness. This wasn't the first timehe'd summoned her from her bed, nor seen her in her nightclothes, butshe suddenly felt almost shy, meeting him this way in his world.

"Why are you here?" he prodded, still bewildered. "Waiting forme?"

"Always," she assured him softly, and turned him toward the bed."But I'm here because of him. His name's Ross," she continued, inanswer to his questioning look. "He was in the drainage tunnel, inthe park. He's been abused and might have been living on his own fora while. He was terrified when I found him and now I'm the onlyperson he trusts. No one else can get near him."

He brushed his fingers across the tender place beneath her eye."He did this to you?"

"Inadvertently. He was frightened and I got in the way."

Almost imperceptibly, he relaxed. "You should learn to duck."

The gentle dig was so unexpected that for a moment she simplystared at him; then she laughed softly, leaning against him as hisarm came around her shoulders.

"Next time, I will," she promised. "He isn't very big, but hepacks quite a punch." She frowned. "I don't know if he should besleeping with me like that, but he won't stay in his own bed."

"He's afraid to be alone," Vincent suggested.

"Yes. He clings to me all the time."

"You represent security for him."

She glanced up. "You don't think it's wrong to let him sleepthere?"

"Not if it gives him the reassurance he needs."

Vincent's approval was all she needed to lift her last remainingdoubts. She put her arms around him and pressed herself against hisside. "Thank you."

His answering embrace was warm but brief. "It's late, and we'reboth tired," he said softly. "I should go."

She stepped back reluctantly. "Goodnight, Vincent."

"Goodnight."

He left the chamber and she turned back to the bed. Ross hadrolled in his sleep and now occupied her space, but instead of movinghim, she got him out of bed and guided him, sleepy and stumbling, tothe chamber pot across the room. There, with a little coaxing, heused it; afterward, she guided him back and put him to bed. That hadbeen Mary's idea and although Catherine wasn't enthusiastic about herrole in assisting him, she was less so about waking up in a wet bedagain. She climbed in beside him and blew out the candles.

When she woke, Ross was sitting up, watching her. She smiled agreeting and put out a cautious hand to check the sheets. Dry.

Impulsively, she sat up and kissed him. He squirmed away, but hewas smiling, and looked as happy as she'd seen him.

They had finished dressing and Catherine was combing Ross's hairwhen Brooke came with their breakfast tray. Catherine stared at it indismay.

"Oh, Brooke, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell anyone. Ross and I aregoing to try the dining chamber this morning."

"Really?" Brooke didn't seem upset by her wasted trip with theheavy tray. Instead, she seemed intrigued. She nodded once, briefly."I'll go tell everyone," she decided. "So they won't besurprised."

"That would be wonderful, Brooke," Catherine agreed. "Thankyou."

Brooke paused on her way out. "I almost forgot... Father asked meto tell you Vincent and Mouse are back."

Catherine bent her head to hide her smile. "I know."

They met no one on the way to the dining chamber and as theyapproached the capacious chamber, Catherine guessed why. From thevolume of sound washing down the tunnel toward them, the entirecommunity was inside. She took a firmer grip on Ross's hand and ledhim through the opening.

As she'd surmised, the chamber was crowded with those enjoyingtheir breakfasts. Many looked up when they entered, but Brooke hadobviously instructed them well, and, after a brief glance, they wentback to their meals. She spotted Father at a table with Mary andPascal; he nodded a greeting, but didn't speak. There was no sign ofVincent.

Ross shrank back, pressing against her side, but he didn't try tobolt and with his hand in hers and her other hand gripping hisshoulder, she led him through the crowded eating area to thebuffet-style table set up across the chamber.

As they reached it, William turned from the massive black stoveand set a big bowl of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs next to a basketof muffins. "Good morning, Catherine," he greeted her.

"Good morning, William. This is Ross." She bent down and held Rossfirm when he would have ducked behind her. "Ross, this is William.He's the one who cooks all the food here."

"Glad to meet you, Ross," William said. "I heard you came byyesterday and had some of my cake."

Ross only stared.

"He's a little shy," Catherine explained. "Ross, what would youlike for breakfast? Oatmeal?"

"Wi' brow' sugar," he agreed swiftly. It surprised her that heremembered the name when yesterday he hadn't known what brown sugarwas.

"Of course, with brown sugar," she agreed, glancing at William,who had already filled a bowl with steaming cereal. "What else?"

"Scrambled eggs, hot from the pan," William suggested. "Blueberrymuffins, baked this morning. And fresh cantaloupe, too."

"Really?" Catherine straightened and looked where William waspointing. "That looks good. I'll have cantaloupe and a muffin,please, William. And tea?"

She knew the custom was for diners to serve themselves, but shedidn't dare let go of Ross's hand, and William didn't seem tomind.

"Scrambled eggs for Ross," she continued. "And a muffin... and aslice of cantaloupe to see if he likes it."

"Milk to drink?" William asked, filling her order.

"Please."

William set the dishes on a tray. "We fixed a table for you," hesaid, nodding toward a corner of the chamber.

Catherine followed his gesture to a place near the wall, where asmall table stood a little apart from the others. "Thank you,William."

She turned at the sound of childish voices. Geoffrey, Kipper, andEric gathered a small distance away. "Can we help you carry that,Catherine?" Geoffrey asked. From his expression, she guessed he wastrying to atone for bursting into her chamber yesterday, but she wassimply glad of the help. She'd wondered how she was going to conveyall those dishes safely without letting go of Ross.

"Yes, please." She stood back to let them gather up plates andbowls. The boys carried everything to the little table and steppedback. Catherine took the opportunity to introduce Ross, who seemedglued to her leg, to Kipper and Eric, before they scampered back totheir own meals.

She positioned Ross with his back against the wall so he could seethe others and sat next to him, with only the corner of the small,square table between them. Only when he seemed secure did she let goof his hand and nod toward his food.

"Eat your breakfast, Ross."

"Brow' sugar," he reminded her indignantly and she reached for thedish of it and stirred some into his oatmeal.

"There. Now, eat."

He had his muffin in hand, about to take a bite, when he lookedup. His eyes widened and he dropped the muffin and scrambled from hischair. Catherine caught his wrist, restraining him, before looking upherself.

Vincent stood there with a plate in one hand and a steaming mug inthe other. "May I join you?"

Ross stood close beside her; now he squeaked and buried his facein the soft folds of her sweater. She stroked his head with her freehand and smiled up at Vincent, who waited patiently.

"Please do," she answered him, thinking it was time Ross letsomeone besides her close to him.

She tightened her grip on the small wrist as Vincent put down hisplate and took the chair across from Ross's. "Ross," she said firmly,"This is my friend Vincent. He's going to sit with us thismorning."

Ross gave Vincent one quick glance and looked away. He didn'tbudge from his position at her shoulder.

"Good morning, Ross," Vincent said pleasantly, pretending not tonotice. "I am always glad to meet one of Catherine's friends."

For some reason, the mild statement actually provoked a response.Ross lifted his head. "Ross friend," he proclaimed defiantly.

Startled, Catherine looked at him. Was it possible that, in hischildish simplicity, he sensed something deeper between her andVincent? Was it possible he was... jealous? She glanced at Vincent,who seemed occupied with his eggs. No help there.

"Yes, Ross," she told him. "You are my friend, but Vincent is myfriend, too."

She coaxed him back into his chair. "I'm going to let go of younow," she told him. "I want you to stay here. Do you understand?"

He nodded sullenly and she released his arm. She bent to pick uphis muffin from the floor and he reached for it. "No, Ross, it'sdirty now. You can have mine." She put his on the table, out of hisreach.

He needed a reminder to use a spoon for his oatmeal and help withhis slice of melon, but his table manners were vastly improved overyesterday, Catherine noticed. He seemed absorbed now in his meal, andshe turned to Vincent.

"What did you find on your trip? Will Mouse's idea work?"

Clang! Ross's spoon hit the floor. She passed him hers and pickedhis up, placing it beside his muffin, before turning back to Vincent.But before she could speak, Ross overturned his milk.

"Oh, Ross." She couldn't help the brief exclamation of dismay andRoss shrank back in his chair. Vincent silently offered his napkin tosop up the mess and fetched a damp cloth so Catherine could wipe thetable clean.

"I'm sorry," she said to Vincent, when they were seated again.

"For what?" he asked mildly. "Accidents happen. Right, Ross?"

Ross glared and let a forkful of scrambled eggs drop into hislap.

Catherine bit back exasperation and cleaned him up. "Be morecareful," she advised him, and pushed his plate a little closer.Herown melon was scarcely touched, and she picked up her fork and turnedto Vincent.

Ross tugged at her arm. "Hungry," he announced.

She looked at his empty dishes. "Did you eat all that?"

He nodded. "Hungry." He pointed to the blueberry muffin on thetable.

"No, Ross. That one's dirty, remember? It fell on the floor."

"Hungry!" he insisted. "Muffin!"

She glanced at Vincent who was studiously examining the tines ofhis fork. He seemed quite amenable to letting her deal with Ross onher own.

She looked back at Ross, who was regarding her plaintively. Hisbehavior so far this morning, except for the accidents, which shesuspected were ploys to divert her attention from Vincent, had beenexemplary; perhaps it was time to trust him a little further.

She took his arm and turned him gently toward the buffet table."The muffins are on the table, Ross," she told him. "Can you get onefor you and one for me, and come straight back?"

He hesitated and for a moment she thought he was going tobalk.

"Please?"

He glanced at her and she saw once again his desperate desire toplease her. He seemed to be sizing up the distance he would have totravel.

"I'll watch you, all the way," she promised, and that was enoughto sway him.

"Muffins," he said, and pointed.

"That's right. Two muffins." She held up the appropriate number offingers for him to see. "One for you and one for me."

He started toward the table, his timid step reminding her of awary deer. Across the chamber, someone rose and started toward thetable too, and Catherine held her breath, but relaxed when sherecognized Rebecca and realized the candle-maker had seen Ross andwas waiting, giving him room.

Ross reached the table and stopped in front of the basket ofmuffins. He seemed to take an inordinately long time to select two,but finally he picked up one in each hand and started back.

Catherine glanced at Vincent and realized he was regarding herwith an expression she couldn't quite pin down.

"You're very good with him," he said softly, and she realized hewas proud of her.

"It isn't hard," she answered, pleased. "He's a good boy, anxiousto please. He's just frightened. He's been through a great deal, andI was kind to him. He would respond the same way to Mary, or to you,if you had found him first."

The corners of his eyes tilted and his mouth quirked, just alittle. "Catherine," he said, too carefully. "Perhaps you haven'tnoticed. Ross doesn't like me."

She bristled, but whether in defense of Ross or Vincent, shewasn't sure. She had no chance to frame a reply. Ross was returning,making a wide arc around Vincent, circling to stand on her otherside. Solemnly he proffered one of the muffins.

She accepted it with equal gravity. "Thank you, Ross." It had ahole in the top, just the right size for one of his small fingers;apparently he'd tested it in some way. She hoped he hadn't subjectedall the muffins in the basket to the same test.

She glanced at Vincent, who had finished his meal. He appearedvery comfortable, leaning back in his chair, watching Ross pick theblueberries out of his muffin in order, apparently, to eat themfirst. She turned her attention to her own breakfast.

When the meal was finished, they cleared their small table. Rosstimidly carried his own dishes to the small chamber where Zach andMaria were pulling dish-washing duty. He hesitated in the entrance,but, like everyone else they'd encountered, Zach and Maria diligentlyignored him. There was a wide, low table just inside, already stackedwith soiled dishes. Catherine nudged Ross and pointed. "Put themright there," she whispered.

He seemed to poise on the threshold a moment, gathering his nerve,and then rushed to push the dishes onto the nearest corner. He didn'tseem to notice that Catherine had followed him with her own plate andmug. He spun to dart back to the entrance and came face to thigh withVincent.

Catherine thought later that it could have been disastrous; ifVincent had moved, even a little, Ross might have panicked. ButVincent froze in the doorway, so motionless he seemed even to havestopped breathing. Ross teetered a moment and Catherine dared to hopehe was overcoming some of his fear. But his bravado failed and, witha small squeal, he whirled and flung himself at her, hiding his facein her skirt.

She managed a small smile and patted Ross's back reassuringly;Vincent solemnly, and very carefully, moved past them with hisdishes, and returned to stand beside her.

"We can avoid the dining chamber and go out this way," hesuggested tranquilly, pointing out a narrow entrance on the far sideof the little chamber.

She glanced at Ross. He had edged around her, placing her betweenhimself and Vincent, and was clinging to her skirt, uttering smallsounds of incipient panic. Another trip through the crowded diningchamber might be more than his stressed nerves could handle.

"I think that's a good idea," she agreed, and disentangled Rossfrom her skirt so she could take his hand. The passage beyond wasunfamiliar, but wide and well-lit with the usual torches and candles.Ross seemed unhappy with Vincent as their guide and lagged behind,uttering small, fretful sounds.

The unfamiliar passage soon opened onto one Catherine recognized,and that one joined with the tunnel leading to the guest chamber.Vincent guided them silently, maintaining a respectful distance andpaused outside the entrance.

"Will you be here all morning?" he asked.

"I don't know yet." She gazed at him wistfully. They'd just spentthe best part of an hour together, and yet it seemed they'd scarcelyspoken. "Do you have to go? You could come in for a few minutes."

He glanced warily at Ross. "I'm not certain that's wise."

Ross tugged at her hand, trying to draw her into the chamber, awayfrom Vincent. She resisted his silent urging, refusing to be rushed."Ross is going to have to learn that other people won't hurt him,either," she pointed out. "Only being around others will teach himthat."

Vincent hesitated. "Just for a moment," he agreed, finally, andCatherine smiled.

She allowed Ross to pull her into the chamber. Once inside, hedropped her hand and raced across the chamber to the pile of picturebooks. "Story?" he said, turning with one in his hand. His glancemoved past her, to Vincent, and his eager air faltered.

"In a few minutes," she promised. "I want to talk with Vincentfirst."

An expression of incomprehensible hurt crossed his face and thebook dropped from his hands. Catherine threw Vincent an apologeticglance and went to crouch at Ross's side.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she said, coaxing. "I haven't seenVincent in a long time, Ross. Let me talk to him, and then we'll sittogether and read a story, okay?"

His nod was one of reluctance rather than understanding, and shepressed a quick kiss to his forehead. "Come over here," she said, andpicked up the book he'd dropped and led him to the easy chair. "Sithere and look at the pictures, and I'll be with you soon."

He nodded again, miserably, and she patted his hand.

"He isn't happy," Vincent observed quietly, when she returned tohis side.

"No. But he does have to learn, doesn't he, Vincent?"

He nodded. "Yes, he does. I meant what I said, in the diningchamber," he added. "You are very good with him."

"That's not the only thing you said in the dining chamber," shereminded him.

"No. It isn't," he agreed.

"I wouldn't take it personally. He doesn't like anyone yet, exceptme."

Vincent spared a quick glance for Ross. "But I do mean me,personally," he said quietly.

"Vincent, he doesn't even know you. How could he not likeyou?"

"Because of you."

Apparently Vincent had noticed Ross's behavior at breakfast, too.She managed a wry smile. "You're his rival for my affections?"

He made the barest gesture of assent. "Perhaps he believes thereis only a finite measure of affection to be given," he suggested.

It was Catherine's turn to glance at Ross. He sat forlornly,fingering the pages of his picture book, watching her and Vincentfrom the corner of his eye.

"Maybe he does," she agreed. "What can I do to teach him that'snot so?"

"I'm not certain," Vincent admitted. "Except, perhaps, to continueto show him that you care for him. I can ask Father and Mary."

She nodded. "Please. I want to know. I want to help him."

He stepped close, towering above her in a way that might seemmenacing in anyone else. "Oh, Catherine," he murmured, warmth andlove and amusement all evident in his voice. "You've already donethat. Just by being here."

His hand came up to touch her cheek and she closed her eyes andleaned into the tender caress. And suddenly Ross was between them,shrieking incoherently and flailing at Vincent with clenchedfists.

Startled, Catherine stepped back and saw that Vincent had done thesame. Ross aimed a flurry of frantic blows at Vincent's hips andstomach, and Vincent retreated another step, hands down to protecthimself.

Catherine reached for Ross to pull him away, but before she couldcatch hold of those wildly swinging little fists, Vincent stiffened;when she glanced up, his face had lost color and his eyes wereglazed.

Her understanding was instantaneous, and she caught Ross moreroughly than she'd intended and yanked him away. Obviously, he'dlanded at least one telling blow, and she remembered an old boyfriendexplaining about that particular, and uniquely masculine, pain.

"Ross, what are you doing? You hurt Vincent! Why did you dothat?"

He was sobbing and struggling in her grip and she realized she hadhold of his shoulders and was shaking him, just a little, with eachhalf-shouted question. She forced her fingers to loosen their grip,forced herself to check her own agitation.

Ross wouldn't look at her; unchecked tears streamed down his face.She dragged a deep, calming breath into her lungs. "Ross, I'm sorry,"she said, and touched his cheek. "You upset me, but I'm sorry I gotangry."

He was still crying, but he stopped resisting her efforts to holdhim in place, and she drew him to her, tucking his head under herchin and holding him tight. "It's okay," she murmured, rocking him."Everything will be okay."

He leaned against her, trusting once more, and she held him,crooning. A diminishing series of long, shuddering breaths told herhe was getting hold of himself.

"Ross," she murmured, when he was quiet. "Why did you do that? Whydid you hit Vincent?"

He twisted in her arms, but she held him fast, hugging him close."It's okay, Ross. You can tell me. Why did you hit him?"

He started crying again. "Hurt you," he managed, between sobs.

"Hurt me?" Suddenly, she saw a glimmer of reason in his action.She moved him away, far enough so she could look into his wide,frightened eyes. "Ross, did you think Vincent was going to hurtme?"

Ross turned a fearful gaze in Vincent's direction. Jerkily, henodded. "Hurt you."

Catherine melted. "Oh, Ross," she said, and gathered him againsther heart. "You don't need to cry," she soothed him. "No one is angrywith you."

When he stopped sobbing, she moved him away, holding hisshoulders. She had carefully refrained from looking at Vincent,wanting to let him recover without embarrassment, but now shecouldn't resist a swift glance in his direction.

He met her look with one of compassion and understanding and camecloser, crouching a bit gingerly beside her. Ross flinched but didn'twail or try to flee.

"What you did was a very brave thing, Ross," Catherine beganfirmly. "I am proud of you for being so brave."

Vincent placed a hand on her shoulder and she covered it with herown.

"But Vincent is my friend," she continued. "He loves me, and hewould never, ever hurt me."

Ross gave Vincent a surprisingly fierce glare. "Ross love you," hesaid defiantly.

"Of course you do," she answered, touched. "I love you very much,Ross, but I love Vincent, too. I love both of you."

Ross's resolve broke, and he glanced at Vincent uneasily.Catherine drew Vincent's hand from her shoulder and turned it palmup. She slid her other hand down Ross's arm and took his wrist.

"It would make me very happy if you and Vincent could be friends,"she said softly. She brought Ross's hand forward, ready to releasehim at the least sign of resistance, but though his eyes looked wildand terrified, he didn't falter.

Vincent seemed to understand and kept his own hand carefully flat,even when Catherine laid Ross's smaller one on his palm. Only whenRoss found the courage to slide his hand forward and curl his fingersaround the edge of the larger hand did Vincent close his grip.

"Thank you for taking care of Catherine for me," he said solemnly."For protecting her. I would be proud to be your friend, Ross."

Ross seemed intent on examining his hand, effectively swallowed inVincent's larger one.

"Friend," he announced finally, and Catherine let out herbreath.

His small supply of courage exhausted, he withdrew his hand fromVincent's and collapsed into Catherine's arms. She held him close,rocking him and murmuring small, nearly incoherent phrases of prideand happiness.

Presently he lifted his head and pushed away from her. "Story?" hereminded.

Catherine couldn't resist a wide, joyful smile. "Tell you what,Ross," she suggested happily. "Sit with me in the big chair, andmaybe we can get Vincent to read us both a story."

He agreed readily and Vincent settled on the side of the bed witha copy of Robin McKinley's adaptation of Anna Sewell's *Black Beauty*in his hands. This version was much shorter than the original, butstill the reading of it took the rest of the morning. Catherine foundpure pleasure in cuddling with Ross while listening to the melodioussound of Vincent's voice.

Afterward, they went to lunch together, and Catherine smiled atthe murmurs of surprise that rippled through the dining hall whenRoss came in between them, holding their hands.

'Friend' seemed to be a password of sorts and after lunch, Fatherand Mary were reintroduced with that designation. Ross accepted themwith reservations, and even suffered Father to examine him.

Father fixed Ross's age at about five and confirmed that thewidespread, pinkish scars on Ross's legs and buttocks were from ascald.

"Someone placed him in a tub of hot water," Mary said, her facerigid with fury. "I thought so when I saw him that night in thebathing chamber."

"As punishment for wetting the bed," Catherine guessed,remembering Ross's frantic reaction the morning before.

"Perhaps," agreed Father. "Well, nothing like that will happen tohim here." He patted Ross's head and nodded for Vincent to help thelittle boy down from the examining table.

"He shows definite signs of mental impairment, as well," Fatherobserved.

"No," Catherine denied, but already she was remembering hislimited vocabulary, his slowness in grasping new concepts.

"I thought so, as well." Vincent responded to Father as ifCatherine had not spoken even as she felt the warmth of hisreassuring hand on her back.

"It's too soon to determine the level of impairment, of course,"Father went on, "or even guess at a cause."

"Brain damage?" Vincent suggested. "Abuse?"

Father shook his head. "I saw no sign of a head injury thatsevere," he said, "but my examination was limited. It's possible, ofcourse, but I believe it's far more likely he was born this way."

"And his parents just couldn't cope with him," Catherine saidsoftly.

"Possibly not," Father agreed.

"Well, he won't find any of that here," Mary said stoutly. "We'lllove him and take care of him and teach him everything he's able tolearn."

"Of course we will," Vincent agreed. "Ross," he said, turning tothe boy. "Would you like to go with me to see a remarkableplace?"

Ross was no longer afraid, but still, apparently, had hisloyalties. "Cath'rine go too?" he asked.

"If she likes," Vincent agreed readily. "She might prefer to stayhere and rest."

Caring for Ross the past two days had been wearing, but Catherinehad no intention of passing up time with Vincent. "Of course I'llgo."

The remarkable place turned out to be the waterfall. Vincent knewof a path that led to the waterfall's base and he and Ross venturedclose, returning with wet faces and hair glistening with tinydroplets of the fine, cold spray.

Catherine watched from a safe distance, laughing at Ross'senthusiasm.

"Water! Fall!" he shouted over and over, pronouncing the wordsseparately and trying vainly to compete with the thunderous volume ofthe falls.

He let Vincent bathe him that evening and even permitted himselfto be tucked into the cot, rather than Catherine's bed. He fellasleep while Catherine sat quietly talking with Vincent on the farside of the chamber.

"I'll have to check, tomorrow, to see if he's been reportedmissing," she admitted, sliding her hand into his. "But I don't wantto."

"There may be someone who loves him, looking for him," Vincentreminded her gently.

"I know. I just can't bear the thought of him being returned towhoever hurt him so badly," she confessed. "But I know how our systemworks, and sometimes that happens. Part of me is arguing fiercelythat if I don't look for his family, I won't have to deal withit."

"You won't let him be harmed, Catherine," Vincent said, with thequiet confidence he always demonstrated when discussing her work."You'll find a way."

She nodded. "I hope so," she whispered, and leaned toward him,resting her head against his chest. His certainty gave her courage,and she knew she would do whatever might be necessary to keep Rosssafe. Vincent's arm around her shoulder strengthened her resolve, andit was late when he said goodnight and returned to his ownchamber.

He woke her early the next morning, with the gentle reminder thatit was Monday. Her own clothes had been cleaned and returned and shedressed quickly. She had to be at the office by eight.

Vincent brought breakfast and afterward, he and Ross walked withher to the surface. At the threshold below her building, she paused.Vincent silently handed over her briefcase, which had been rescuedfrom the passage where she'd left it, and she absently pulled itsstrap up over her shoulder as she knelt to say goodbye.

She and Vincent had both explained the necessity of this partingto Ross and he'd seemed to understand, but now, faced with actuality,his eyes filled with tears.

Catherine's throat tightened and she gathered him into her arms."I love you, Ross," she whispered. "I'll come this evening, aftersupper, to see you, and I'll stay to tuck you into your new bed inMary's chamber."

He nodded, sniffling noisily, and she carefully extricated herselffrom his desperate embrace.

Vincent came forward and took his hand.

"See?" she said, hoping her cheerfulness didn't sound too forced."Vincent's here. He'll take care of you until I come back."

"Come back?" Ross asked forlornly.

"Of course. I told you I will."

Vincent bent and put an arm around Ross's thin shoulders."Catherine has to go now," he said gently.

Ross let out an anguished wail, and Catherine wondered how shecould possibly turn her back and climb the ladder to her own world.Vincent was holding Ross, though, and nodding for her to go on.

"Goodbye, Ross," she said helplessly. "Vincent."

"Goodbye, Catherine," Vincent answered easily. "We'll see you thisevening."

"Yes," she echoed faintly. "This evening."

Ross was still wailing, but Vincent was speaking to him, his handsoffering warm reassurance. There seemed nothing for her to do; hercontinued presence would only prolong Ross' misery, so she turned andstepped through the light.

Blinded by its brilliance, Catherine could nonetheless hear verywell. Ross's cries died away to a muted whimper, and in the suddenhush, Vincent's voice sounded very clearly.

"I know how you feel, Ross," he said gently. "It makes me sad whenshe goes away, too."

Catherine paused with her hand on the ladder.

"But," Vincent continued, his voice stronger, "she always keepsher promises. And she always comes back."

THE END