WHAT FALLS AWAY IS ALWAYS

*June - September 2013*

The bitterest thing in our today's sorrows is the memory of ouryesterday's joy.

- Gibran

It was springtime, a day made to enjoy the outdoors, but CareyWells had no interest in going outside. He lay on the bed, one armflung across his face, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlightthat slanted in the window.

Two days ago, he'd returned from a brief trip to Illinois, wherehe'd grown up. There, Carey had visited his mother's grave for thefirst time. Dutifully, he'd knelt beside the newly sodded mound,touching the fresh granite headstone, but there was no sense of hismother there. His goodbye had been said the day she died, when he'dkissed her cold cheek. She existed only in the memories he carriedwith him, not here in the warm Illinois earth she'd loved somuch.

Catherine Chandler had accompanied him on this trip, and aftervisiting the cemetery, they had driven to the office of an attorneywhere they had an appointment with Henry Schrock to formalize averbal agreement; Henry was to lease the farm land that was nowCarey's.

"I don't believe this," Henry muttered as he signed the contract."That land's been in the Schrock family for four generations. Ishouldn't have to sign any papers!"

"Mr. Schrock, we've gone over this," the Illinois attorney saidpatiently. "Your brother owned that land. He chose to leave it to hiswife; she willed it to her son. It belongs to him now."

Carey shrank from the slow, contemptuous look Henry gave him."He'snot a Schrock, no matter what his name is. Everyone knows his fatheris that no-good farmhand Talley."

Carey's chin lifted. He'd always found Henry Schrock intimidating,but felt the need to defend his absent parent. He took vaguesatisfaction in the fact that his voice only quivered a little. "Myfather's name is Devin Wells. He only used the name Gilbert Talleywhile he was here."

Henry's expression was condescending. "If he used a false name, hewas up to no good," he said.

"I'm acquainted with Carey's father," Catherine interrupted. "Heand my husband were raised as brothers. He's done nothing wrong."

Henry met her unyielding gaze and faltered. "Is that all?" hedemanded of the lawyer.

"No," the attorney replied. "Ms. Chandler tells me she plans toseek legal custody of the minor child Carey Schrock, who is alsoknown as Carey Wells. Have you any objection to that?"

Henry straightened. Beside him, his wife Emily flutterednervously. "Oh, Carey, won't you come live with us? Yourmother..."

Her husband cut her off brusquely. "I won't have it said that I'veneglected my duty. The boy has a home with us if he needs it."

"But he doesn't need it, Mr. Schrock." Catherine's voice was cool,determined. "A child's life should not be determined by duty."

"He's sixteen," the attorney interjected. "I'm sure the court willallow him to choose where he lives. A custody hearing would be a mereformality, but since you're the boy's uncle, the court may want youropinion. Ms. Chandler simply requests that you sign an affidavitstating you have no objection to allowing your nephew to live withher family in New York."

"The boy's no kin of mine," Henry said spitefully. "My brotherDale died a good two years before he was born. His mama..."

Carey cringed inside; Henry's every word felt like a blow.

"What his mother did or didn't do is no concern of yours, Mr.Schrock," Catherine interrupted forcefully. "Will you sign theaffidavit?"

He glared at her. "I'll sign," he muttered. Reaching for a pen, hescrawled his name on the paper the attorney proffered before stormingout.

Emily was still fussing. "Oh, Carey, we'll miss you," she said,reaching to hug him. He submitted to her embrace stolidly.

"Thanks, Aunt Emily," he said. "I'll miss you. I'll write."

"It's probably better this way," she continued. "You know, italways fretted Henry that your mama and your daddy nevermarried..."

"I know." Carey cut her off. He knew she meant no harm, but hedidn't want to hear it. "Go on, now," he continued, more gently."He'll be mad if he has to wait."

"Oh, you're right, Carey," she agreed, hugging him again.

He knew Catherine must have heard every word but when he turned,she and the attorney were bent over some papers. Afterward, she nevermentioned the distasteful encounter, but Carey couldn't forget it.Even now, back in New York, his uncle's spite haunted him.

"Are you okay? You're very quiet." His cousin Evan spoke from thedoorway, bringing him back to the present.

"I'm okay," he answered slowly. "Just thinking."

"About your mom?" Evan came in and sat on the other twin bed.

"Sort of." It was a non-answer, designed simply to stop thequestions.

"You miss her," Evan observed.

Carey didn't reply.

"You want me to go away?" Evan made the offer gently and after amoment, Carey heard him move toward the door.

"I'm a bastard," he said finally, flinging it out as a challenge.His voice was harsh and angry.

Evan's answer was unexpectedly calm. "So are a lot of people. Sowhat?"

"Doesn't that bother you? Offend you?" He knew he was goading,pushing, but didn't care.

For a moment he thought Evan was going to laugh. "Carey, it isn'ta big deal."

"It is to my uncle," Carey muttered, rolling onto his stomach. Hecould feel Evan looking at him.

"Come on downstairs a minute," Evan said after a moment. "I wantto show you something."

Carey didn't move.

"Please, Carey. I think it's important."

Carey let another minute pass before he rolled off the bed."What?" he asked crossly.

"Downstairs," Evan repeated, leading the way. In the study, heknelt by Catherine's desk and pulled open a drawer.

"Should you be doing that?" Carey asked anxiously. He'd been herelong enough to witness a couple of confrontations between Evan andhis mother and worried that this invasion might trigger anotherone.

"It's okay," Evan muttered, thumbing through the files the drawercontained. "As long as I put everything back. Here." He found what hewas looking for and pulled it out.

Carey took the single sheet and turned it right side up. It lookedlike a legal document of some sort; closer examination showed it tobe a birth certificate. "What...?"

"Just read it," Evan urged patiently.

With a sigh, Carey began. The certificate described a male child,born October 11, 1996 at 4:27 in the afternoon. Evan Joseph Chandler.Carey looked up. "This is you," he said in bewildered surprise.

"Yeah, I know. Read it." Evan was insistent, so with a shrug,Carey went on.

"Why were you born in a hospital?" he murmured curiously. "Ithought Jacob said all of you were born Below."

"Everybody but me," Evan said. "I came too fast, and there wasn'ttime for my mom to get to the tunnels. My father says the precipitousway I entered the world should have told him how much trouble I wasgoing to be later on." He grinned, obviously unperturbed.

Carey skimmed over the terse information regarding Evan's mother,still wondering why Evan was having him look at this, when his breathcaught.

"What...? This... Evan, doesn't your mother know who your fatheris?" Astonishment made it difficult to speak.

"Don't be stupid," Evan answered. "Of course she does."

"But it says 'father unknown,' right here. Look." He held out thedocument. Evan ignored it.

"I know what it says. That's why I showed it to you. That's whatI'm trying to tell you. Technically speaking, I'm a bastard, too. Ijust wanted you to know you're in good company. Around here, the onlyperson who's not a bastard is my mom."

"But your parents..."

"They're not married, not in the real world," Evan explained."Only in Dad's world."

"And it doesn't matter to you?"

"Why should it? What difference does it make? I'm still me. Mom'sstill my mother and Dad's my father. It doesn't change anything."

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"Of course I mean it." Evan reached for his birth certificate,replacing it and shoving the file drawer closed. His matter-of-factattitude did much to dispel Carey's gloom. "You know what I wasthinking?" Evan went on, blithely.

"What?"

"That it would be neat if you moved in with me. Vicky and I usedto share a room when we were little, and it was fun."

The abrupt change of the conversation's direction took Carey bysurprise and for a moment, all he could do was stare dumbly.

"Hey," Evan said, sounding suddenly uneasy, "if you don't like theidea, just say so."

"No," Carey murmured. "I just never thought about..."

"It'd be fun," Evan coaxed. "If we share a room, we can lie awakeand talk about stuff... If you stay in Charles's room, you'll have toshare with him when he comes home. That's no fun."

Carey hadn't met Charles yet. "Why not?" he asked cautiously.

"Because he's so much older - he's twenty-two, you know. And he'sso responsible." Evan made it sound like a fault.

Carey pondered. In the few weeks they'd known each other, Evan hadbecome like the brother he'd always wanted. He could be moody, but hecould also be compassionate, like this afternoon. Carey genuinelyliked him. They had fun together. He nodded slowly. "I guess we couldtry it."

Evan grinned. "Great! I'll talk to Mom."

Catherine had reservations. "I was thinking about putting Carey inCharles's room and letting Charles stay with Jacob when he's home,"she protested. "Charles isn't here that much, anyway."

"It's not the same," Evan argued. He could be persuasive when hewished and today he was especially effective. "Come on, Mom. Let ustry it, at least."

"All right," she said slowly, allowing herself to be convinced."But why don't you move into Charles's room, instead? It's twice thesize of yours."

"I don't want to," Evan said stubbornly. "I like my room."

"But it's so small..."

"It's big enough. You'll see."

The two boys spent the next Saturday morning moving furniture andrearranging things. Evan's room had originally been intended as astorage room but had been comfortable for him. After the morning'swork, the small space was occupied by twin beds shoved againstopposite walls and separated by a student desk. A chest of drawersstood at the foot of one bed and a small bookcase was wedged at thefoot of the other. Grinning, the boys surveyed the crowded room insatisfaction.

"We did it," Carey said. Up until a few minutes ago, he hadn'tbeen sure it would all fit.

"Get your stuff," Evan instructed. "I'll make room in thecloset."

Accordingly, Carey went across the hall to Charles's room andbegan ferrying his personal possessions to his new quarters, dumpingthem unceremoniously on the bed. It took another half-hour to putaway his clothes and find shelf space for his books. Two framedphotographs, one of Carey with his father, another of his mother,went on the wall above his bed and a stained, battered shoebox wentin the bottom drawer of the chest. "Finished," he announced.

"About time." Evan, whose idea of putting things away was to kickthem under the bed, grumbled good-naturedly.

"Hello, boys." Catherine stood in the doorway.

"We did it," Evan said triumphantly.

"I see." She shook her head doubtfully. "You're going to be verycramped in here."

"We know. We like it this way," Evan explained patiently. "Thetrouble with you, Mom, is that you have no sense of adventure."

"Oh, is that it?" She smiled and seemed about to say more whenVincent loomed out of the shadows behind her.

The two weeks since Carey first met Vincent had not been enough tostill the compulsion to stare, and he tore his gaze away with aneffort. Carey found Vincent intimidating; he always seemed so sure ofhimself, so serene. It made Carey feel faintly inadequate, as if hecouldn't quite measure up.

Vincent didn't seem to notice his discomfort. "You've finished,"he observed. "It seems crowded."

"They like it that way," Catherine informed him drolly. "I've beentold I have no sense of adventure."

The look Vincent turned on her was full of tender amusement."Haven't you?" he inquired. "I hadn't noticed." Watching them, Careywas certain that their entire life together had been an adventure. Hecouldn't imagine it being any other way.

"This reminds me of when Devin and I were boys," Vincentcontinued, surveying the room thoughtfully. "I'm sure our chamberlooked this way at times."

"You shared a room with my father?" Carey asked eagerly,forgetting to be self-conscious.

"For many years," Vincent said agreeably. "I still have some ofthe things Devin left behind. I'll get them out for you when you comeBelow."

Carey hadn't visited Vincent's world yet. Evan had promised totake him this afternoon, though, and Carey was eagerly anticipatingthe trip. "I'd like that," he told Vincent shyly. "My father nevertells stories about when he was a little boy."

"Vincent has lots of stories," Catherine said with a smile. "I'msure it wouldn't take much persuading for him to tell them. I can'tstay to listen, though."

"Let me guess. You have to work." Evan's inflection wasmatter-of-fact; on another day, it might have been laced withbitterness.

"Guess again. By some miracle which I do not intend to question,my weekend is clear. Since my entire family is planning to be in thetunnels, I thought I'd join you. I promised to visit Mary thisafternoon."

"Oh. I guess we'll see you down there, then."

* * * *Carey's first sight of his grandfather's worldfilled him with wonder. He could never have imagined such a placeexisting anywhere, least of all beneath the teeming City of New York.Everyone he met greeted him warmly. Some mentioned his father; morespoke of his grandfather.

"I wish I'd known him," he said wistfully when they reachedFather's Chamber; many of Father's things were still there.

"Too bad you didn't," Evan commiserated. "You're his realgrandson. I'll bet he'd have liked you." He grinned. "And he wouldn'thave cared that you're a bastard."

Carey smiled. Uncle Henry's views didn't sting so much anymore.

"Look," Evan said, turning to a nearby shelf. "These are theledgers Grandfather kept. They can be fun to look at." He pulled outa large, dusty, leatherbound book and opened it to one of the firstpages. "See, Grandfather wrote his name here, and here's my father,"he said, pointing. "And see, here's my mother, and all of uskids."

Carey leaned over the register, examining the names and dates."Who's Rose?" he asked.

"Who? Oh, she was Jacob's sister. My sister, too, I guess, but shewas Jacob's twin. She died right after she was born."

"That's sad," Carey said.

Evan shrugged. "I guess. I wasn't there." He pointed to anothername. "Here's your father. Devin, born to Grace. And Jacob Wells."The last had clearly been written at a different time; the ink didn'tquite match. Room had been left below Devin's name for his offspring,but the space was still blank. "Someone should write you in here,Carey," Evan said. "Got a pen?"

The idea of writing in the obviously revered ledger filled Careywith horror. He was saved from answering when someone behind himspoke.

"Evan's right," Vincent said, coming forward. "Your name should behere, Carey. And your mother's too. Would you like to write it?"

Overwhelmed, Carey shook his head.

"Evan?"

"Not me. You know my writing's awful."

"I'll do it." Opening a drawer of the desk, Vincent withdrew afat, old-fashioned fountain pen. "This was your grandfather's pen,Carey," he said, sitting down and spreading the ledger before him."He always used it to record in the ledger because he liked the wayit looked. So do I."

Vincent finished the new inscription and pushed the ledger aroundso Carey could read it easily.

A warm glow started somewhere in the vicinity of Carey's heart."Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Vincent said, standing. "I believe your mother'swaiting to go to dinner," he said to Evan. "Will you and Carey joinus?"

"Sure. I already heard William and Jacob made spaghetti. Come on,Carey."

"The children are planning a poetry recital this evening," Vincentsaid as they walked toward the dining chamber. "Are you able tostay?"

Evan cast an inquiring glance at Carey, who shrugged. Everythingdown here was interesting to him. "Sure," Evan answered. "Can Irecite something?"

"So long as it isn't *Casey at the Bat*," Vincent agreed equably."For a very long time, it was the only poem Evan would confess toknowing," he told Carey. "He presented it at every gathering. I'mafraid if he tried to recite it now it would cause an uprising."

Carey laughed.

After dinner, they trooped back to Father's Chamber. "The only onebig enough to hold any kind of a gathering," Evan explained. "Exceptthe Great Hall. It's big enough for everybody, but it's down a coupleof levels and past the Chamber of the Winds, so we don't use it muchexcept for Winterfest."

"What's Winterfest?"

Evan launched into an intriguing explanation that lasted longenough for the room to fill up with people. Vicky and a boy sheintroduced as Nathaniel joined Evan and Carey on the floor, and Careylooked around for other familiar faces. Catherine was across thechamber; Vincent stood beside her and amazed Carey with the way hebrought the entire room to order without raising his voice.

"If everyone's here, perhaps we should begin," Vincent saidquietly. "Ellen, did you wish to start?"

A little girl who couldn't have been more than six years oldscrambled to her feet. "My poem is called *Whispers*," she announcedin a piping voice, and began to recite. Her delivery was sing-songand she stumbled over the words once or twice, but Carey noticed thateven though some of the adults smiled indulgently, no one, not eventhe other children, grimaced or giggled.

Not all of the children had pieces prepared, Evan informed Careyin a whispered aside. Allowing every child to recite even a shortpoem would have taken all night; as it was, the recital took morethan two hours. Near the end, Evan stood up and delivered a capablerendition of Mark Antony's eulogy from Shakespeare's *Julius Caesar*and sat down to appreciative applause.

"That was good!" Carey whispered.

Evan grinned in pleasure. "Want to do one?" he offered.

Carey's answer was prompt and vehement. "Not me. I'm not good atpoetry."

Evan shrugged. "Oh, well. Around here, you'll learn."

When the last child finished, nobody moved. The childrenespecially seemed to be expecting something.

"Is that everyone?" Vincent asked the room at large.

"No!" A chorus of young voices swelled back at him.

"No? Who else?"

There were delighted giggles mixed in with the children's promptreply. "You, Vincent."

Carey could tell that Vincent wasn't really surprised by thedemand even before Vicky leaned over to whisper, "He always doesthis. Grandfather used to do it, too, with stories. We knew he'd tellone, but he liked us to plead."

Apparently the pleading was done, because Vincent leaned forwardin his chair. "All right, if you insist," he said thoughtfully. "I'dlike to read something for Carey."

Evan poked him with an elbow. Carey automatically moved his arm toprotect his ribs and ignored him.

Vincent picked up a volume that lay ready on the table beside himand opened it.

* * * *"'I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.

I learn by going where I have to go.

* * * *We think by feeling. What is there to know?

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow...'"

* * * *Carey listened, rapt, and filled with awe thatVincent somehow understood his deepest feelings. He wanted to reachout and grasp this poem that seemed so perfect, and yet just beyondhis comprehension.

* * * *"'...What falls away is always. And is near.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.'"

* * * *"I learn by going where I have to go," Careyrepeated under his breath, and vowed to read the poem himself, later.Vincent would tell him where to find it.

Vincent closed the book and looked at the children expectantly."Is that all?" he asked.

"No!" they chorused, on cue. "You have to do Catherine's poem,"one of the little ones reminded him. Vincent glanced at Catherine asif surprised to find her seated beside him.

"So I do," he agreed solemnly. "Will someone bring me thebook?"

The children were prepared and a volume was passed quickly fromhand to hand. When it reached Vincent, he opened it carefully,finding his place as an expectant hush fell.

* * * *"'Catherine said "I think I'll bake

A most delicious chocolate cake."

She took some mud and mixed it up

While adding water from a cup.

And then some weeds and nuts and bark

And special gravel from the park

A thistle and a dash of sand.

She beat out all the lumps by hand.

And on the top she wrote "To You"

The way she says the bakers do

And then she signed it "Fondly C."

And gave the whole of it to me.

I thanked her but I wouldn't dream

Of eating cake without ice cream.'"

* * * *Vincent read the poem as earnestly as if he werereciting Shakespeare. When he finished, he looked over his delightedaudience, most of whom were rolling on the floor in barely containedglee, before turning to look at Catherine.

"I'm afraid I may have hurt Catherine's feelings with that poem,"he announced to the giggling children, though it was evident to allthat Catherine had enjoyed it. "Would anyone mind one more poem?"

No one did. Vincent waited for the children to regain theircomposure. He didn't need a book this time; his gaze was fixed onCatherine. When he spoke, his voice brought life to the static words,and Carey leaned forward, spellbound.

* * * *"'somewhere i have never travelled, gladlybeyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

* * * *your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose...'"

* * * *When Vincent's voice died away in the dim chamberno one moved. Even Evan, who always had what Carey's mother hadcalled a "smart mouth," was quiet. Vincent was still looking atCatherine, who reached out to touch his hand; Carey saw her lips movein a silent "thank you" before the moment evaporated.

* * * *Carey thought he had a better understanding ofeveryone after that. He visited the world his grandfather had builtwhenever he could; when Evan wouldn't take him, which was frequently,Vicky or Jacob could be relied on to guide him.

He and Evan learned to work around each other in their newlydevised living quarters, and as days passed, he felt less like avisitor and more at home. Evan convinced him to try out for hissummer league baseball team, Vicky tormented him as she did herbrothers, and Catherine gave him chores to do, all of which heembraced gladly.

His father's continued absence nudged at him only occasionally,until he came home one afternoon in late June to find a packagewaiting for him on the hall table.

It was wrapped in thick brown paper, adorned with colorful stamps,covered with customs and postal imprints, and carried a bright yellowforwarding sticker. It was addressed in his father's handwriting.

Carey stared at it. Finally he put out a tentative hand, touchingthe soiled paper lightly.

"Looks like it was mailed from Pakistan," Jacob said. "Here's somescissors to cut the tape. Or would you rather take it up to yourroom?"

"No, that's okay," Carey heard himself say. "I'll open itnow."

The heavy pasteboard box contained two smaller packages, eachwrapped in colored tissue paper and tied with bright ribbon. Careypulled the ribbon on the larger of the two packages. Inside was anoddly proportioned wooden doll about eight inches high. Its legs wereabsurdly short compared to its long, blocky torso, and its thick,long neck was topped by a large head. Arms were merely suggested bylines carved into the doll's body.

"Neat," said Evan, looking over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I don't know yet," Carey answered, pulling out some folded sheetsof paper that accompanied the doll.

* * * *Dear Carey,

For the past three months, I've been living on thePakistan-Afghanistan border with a remote tribe called the Kalash.The doll is a scale replica of a graveyard effigy; I got one of myfriends here to carve it for you.

I wish you could see this place. The people are very friendly.I've been earning my keep herding goats, believe it or not. There'ssomething strangely peaceful about watching animals graze, but don'ttell your mother... she'll have me out in the field guarding thestock.

There's a present in here for her; tell her that among theKalash, these strings of red beads are signs of wealth. A rich womanmight have a hundred strands...

* * * *Sudden tears blurred the rest of the letter. Hisfather was a wanderer; Carey had grown up with that, safe in theknowledge that Devin always came home eventually. In a way, Carey hadtravelled the world by way of Devin's letters, gifts and stories. Nowhis newfound serenity was shattered by the brutal reminder that hisfather was still blissfully unaware of his mother's death, or eventhat Carey was living in New York now. The package had been sent tothe farm in Illinois.

"Is he coming for a visit?" Evan inquired.

Blinking, Carey looked at the letter. "Uh, no," he said, scanningquickly. "Just that he expects to move on soon, and will mail thepackage when he does."

"That means he's probably not in Pakistan anymore," Jacob observedquietly. "Too bad."

"Yeah," Carey agreed, too easily. "If he'd stay in one place,maybe some of our letters would catch up with him."

"That's not Uncle Devin's style," Evan said admiringly. "He likesto keep moving."

"Yeah," said Carey. "I know."

* * * *

* * * * *

* * * *Devin Wells stepped from the unnatural chill ofthe international terminal at JFK Airport into the bright shimmer ofmid-September heat, hailing a cab with a practiced wave of his hand."Central Park West," he instructed the driver. When they neared hisdestination, he leaned forward to deliver additional directions, andpresently the cab pulled up in front of an impressive brownstone."Thanks," Devin said, slipping a bill through the driver'swindow.

At the door, he punched the bell rapidly a few times. When he wassure no one was going to answer it, he reached in his pocket for akey. "Anybody home?" he shouted when he was inside. He would havebeen surprised to receive a reply; he hadn't expected to find anyonehome on a weekday afternoon. Stashing his gear in a corner of thesmall, square entry, he headed directly for the basement and thetunnel entrance he knew was hidden there.

He recognized his name on the pipes long before he reached thecentral chambers of the world where he'd grown up; Vincent waited forhim in the doorway to Father's Chamber and Devin threw his armsaround him in enthusiastic greeting.

Vincent's response was welcoming but when he stepped back from theembrace, his eyes were somber.

"What is it, Vincent? Is Chandler okay? The kids?"

"Catherine and the children are fine." Vincent hesitated.Incredibly, he seemed to be searching for words. "You've been gone along time, Devin," he said finally. "Perhaps you'd better come in andsit down."

Devin obeyed blindly, waiting for what he knew was some sort ofbad news. Vincent's next words shocked him.

"We've had news from Illinois. I'm sorry, but Rebecca isdead."

"What?" Devin felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach; for amoment he couldn't breathe. "When? How?"

"In April. There was a traffic accident."

"No." His protest was instinctive, but the expression in Vincent'seyes left no room for doubt. Devin leaped to his feet, needingaction. "I'll bet that bastard Henry has my boy... I've got to getthere..."

Vincent caught his arm. "Devin, he's here."

"What?" Devin only barely restrained the urge to wrench his armfrom his brother's grasp.

"Carey. He's here with us."

Devin yielded to impulse, jerking his arm out of Vincent's holdand backing away. Too many incredible things were happening and hewas having trouble grasping it all.

"You left a letter, addressed to Catherine. He brought ithimself."

Devin spun around, pushing a table roughly aside when he knockedinto it. "Where is he?"

"He's with Evan. Playing baseball, I believe. They should be homesoon."

"I have to go... I have to find him..." Reality was sinking infast now, robbing him of strength. Through his agitation, Devin feltVincent's hand on his shoulder once again.

"Perhaps you should sit for a moment, Devin."

He shook the hand off roughly. "Later, Vincent."

* * * *

* * * * *

* * * *"He's yours, Paul, he's yours! No stick!" Careyshouted, pounding the palm of his glove as he sank into aninfielder's crouch and waited for the pitch. The batter swung,sending a sharp grounder toward the hole between shortstop and third.Carey lunged to his right and felt a satisfying smack as the ball hitthe webbing of his glove. Spinning, he fired the ball to first forthe third out.

"Good play, Wells," the coach said as Carey trotted into thedugout. "All right now," he shouted to the team. "We're one run down;it's the bottom of the seventh. If we don't score, the game's over!Chandler, you're up!"

"Yeah, coach, I know," Evan said, grinning. As the first batterthis inning, he picked up his bat and went back onto the field.

Lacing his fingers through the chain link barrier, Carey watched,hoping things would be decided before he came to bat. Evan was a goodhitter and rapped the ball into left field for a double. Good. Evanbatted fourth in the order; Carey batted ninth and last. Surely thefour batters in between them could score two runs to win thegame!

With rising dismay, Carey watched Dean hit a line drive to theshortstop and Paul, the pitcher, pop out to second. Two outs, andEvan still stood on second base, shouting encouragement. The nextbatter singled, and the following one walked to load the bases.

"Final game of the year, bottom of the last, two outs, tying runon third, Wells," the coach said, handing him a bat. "Nopressure."

Carey managed a grin in return. "No pressure," he agreed, andwished the coach would pull him for a pinch-hitter. He wouldn't,though, because the guys left on the bench couldn't hit much betterthan Carey, and if Evan scored and the game went into extra innings,the team needed Carey at shortstop. He might not be able to hit wortha darn, but all those boyhood hours spent throwing a ball against theside of the barn and fielding the wild rebounds had given him a sureglove.

Gripping his bat, he stepped nervously into the batter's box. Thefirst pitch was a good one but he didn't feel settled, so he let itgo by.

"Strike one!"

The next two pitches were high, for balls; Carey swung at the nextone but only succeeded in fouling it back. The catcher made a dive,but couldn't reach the ball for the third out. While he waited forthe catcher to get set again, Carey let his gaze wander.

And stared, transfixed. His father stood on the other side of thefence, watching him. Dimly, he heard Evan howling from third base."Back out of the box! Back out of the box!"

Startled, Carey stepped backwards.

"Time!" yelled the umpire. "Batter, are you okay?"

Carey shifted his gaze to the umpire. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm okay.Just... something in my eye." He wiped at the sudden moisture andlooked again for his father, afraid he might have suddenly vanished.He was still there, and as Carey watched, he smiled and gave anencouraging 'thumbs up.'

Time had slowed, distorting his sense of reality, but finallyCarey remembered he was playing baseball. Taking a determined breath,he renewed his grip on the bat and stepped back into the box.

The pitch was waist high, over the outside of the plate, and Careyswung, hitting a looping line drive over the second baseman'shead.

Legs pumping, breath coming in short gasps, he sprinted for first.Safely there, he spun around in time to see the runner from secondcross the plate to score the winning run.

"Ball game, gentlemen!" the umpire called. The game was over. Theyhad won.

"Helluva hit, Carey! Way to go!" In seconds he was surrounded byshouting, enthusiastic teammates, but Carey was oblivious, pushingpast them, his eyes searching the spectators anxiously. He shoved hisway through the crowded dugout, emerging to find his father waitingon the other side. For a moment they simply looked at each other.

"Nice hit, son," Devin said finally, awkwardly. His voice brokethe surreal daze that had gripped Carey ever since he'd looked up tosee his father standing at the fence.

"Oh, Dad." Not caring who saw, he went into his father's fierceembrace. When he backed away, there were tears in his eyes.

"Do you know about Mom...?"

"Yes, I just found out," Devin answered. "Vincent told me. I'msorry I wasn't here when you needed me, Carey."

Carey knew his father was never comfortable with intimate moments,but it still surprised him when Devin looked past him with an easygrin.

"Hey, Evan. Nice catch you made in left field that lastinning."

"Hi, Uncle Devin. Thanks." Evan put out his hand and Devin shookit heartily. Carey experienced a moment's shock before he rememberedthat naturally they knew each other.

"Is your mother here, Evan?"

"No, but I think Vicky is," Evan answered, turning to survey therapidly dwindling spectators. With the advantage of his superiorheight he spotted her easily and waved her over.

"Hi, Uncle Devin," she said, throwing her arms around him withenthusiasm. "I saw you from the stands. Wasn't Carey great?"

"He sure was," Devin agreed, and Carey glowed under thepraise.

There was still no one home when they reached the townhouse. Careyshouldered Devin's duffle bag and led the way upstairs. "You cansleep in Charles's room," he said. "He won't care."

Devin's grin was one of casual amusement. "No, he never does," heagreed. "Where do you sleep?"

Carey made a brief gesture with his hand. "In Evan's room."

Devin gave him a look of incredulity. "I've seen Evan's room," hesaid. "It's not possible to fit another person in there."

"Sure it is," Carey grinned. "Look."

Devin could tell at a glance which bed was Carey's - it was made.The rest of the room was simply chaos.

"It's Evan's room, all right," Devin conceded, pulling the doorshut. "You guys must be in each other's way all the time."

Carey shrugged. "Yeah, sometimes. We like it."

A few minutes later they trooped down to the study. Vincent wasthere, though none of them had heard him come in. "I see you foundthem," he observed to Devin. "Did you play well?" he asked theboys.

"We won, Dad!" Evan said eagerly. "It was great! Bottom of theseventh, bases loaded, two out, and Carey lines one to center fieldto win the game!"

Carey knew Vincent understood most, if not all, of Evan's highlydescriptive narrative, despite the terminology. Vincent noddedsagely. "That's very commendable, Carey. You must be pleased."

"I am," Carey agreed promptly. "The best part is my dad was thereto see it."

"Both our boys played well, Vincent," his father interjectedproudly. "At least in the inning I watched." He reached into hispocket. "I brought you something," he said and proffered a smallbottle that had once held an airline portion of gin. Vincent receivedit gravely.

"From the banks of the Ganges," Devin explained. "For yourcollection."

Vincent held the bottle up, examining the fine brown silt thatfilled the little bottle. Carey had seen the row of similar bottleslining the mantel in Vincent's chamber Below and knew that each heldsand or dust from a different part of the world. Each bottle had itsown story, including the one that had started the collection. Thatone contained sand from the California shore of the PacificOcean.

"Thank you, Devin." Vincent set the small bottle on his desk. "Youmust have stories to tell."

Thus encouraged, Carey's father perched on the arm of a chair.Carey moved close.

"I'll start with the Kalash," Devin said. "They live in theseremote villages..."

An hour later Jacob had joined the group and the teenagers wereporing over maps spread on the floor, finding the places Devin hadmentioned. It was a few minutes before Carey noticed that his fatherhad moved to one of the windows and was looking out through a narrowgap in the closed drape, fingering an edge of the curtain absently.Carey started to get up, but hesitated when the doorbell buzzed twicequickly. Downstairs, the front door opened. A moment later there werequick footsteps on the stairs and Catherine came in breathlessly.

"Hi, guys," she greeted. "Did you win?"

"Yeah," Evan answered, turning from the map. "Carey..." He stoppedin mid-sentence. Carey saw Catherine looking past them, her facesuddenly blank, forbidding.

"Hello, Devin," she said deliberately. "I see you finally foundyour way back."

"Hey, Chandler." Devin tried to smile but his voice soundeddull.

"Are you here to play weekend father?" she continued. "Drop in onthe kid from time to time, see how he's doing?"

"Aunt Cathy," Carey began, unhappily, but Vincent was ahead ofhim.

"Catherine, please," he said quietly.

"Don't defend him, Vincent," she retorted hotly, eyes flashing.Carey took an involuntary step back; he'd never seen her displayanger toward Vincent before.

"Go ahead, Vincent, let her talk," Devin said from the window. "Ideserve it."

"Devin, no," Vincent said, half-turning. "I feel your pain..."

"His pain!" Catherine interrupted savagely. "What about Carey'spain? Where was Devin four months ago, when Rebecca died and theirson needed him? Nobody knew!"

"Aunt Cathy..." Carey tried again to defuse her fury.

She looked at him blankly for an instant before realizationreplaced wrath. "Carey, I'm sorry."

Carey could almost see the effort as she slowly regainedcontrol.

She turned formally toward Devin. "I apologize."

The silence that followed was strained; no one seemed to know whatto do. At last Jacob cleared his throat. "I should check ondinner."

"Yes," Catherine responded mechanically. "And I should changebefore we eat..."

Vincent looked as if he would like to follow Catherine out of theroom, but after a moment's hesitation, he moved instead to Devin'sside. "She didn't mean it, Devin..."

"Oh, yes, she did, Vincent," Devin said. "What's worse, she'sright."

Carey stood by uncertainly, wanting to help but not knowing howwhen Jacob called up the stairs. "Hey! Somebody come set thetable!"

"Whose turn is it?" Evan wondered aloud.

"Mine," Carey answered. Hesitating, he looked to his father, butDevin was staring out the window again. Carey wondered if he shoulddo something, but Vincent was already there, speaking in a softundertone. From his own experience, Carey knew how much compassionVincent could offer, and after all, they were brothers...

Evan touched his elbow gently. "He'll be okay," he advised. "Comeon downstairs. I'll help you."

* * * *Despite Catherine's apology, dinner was a cool,formal affair. Later, Evan and Carey were preparing for bed whensomeone tapped on the door.

"Come in," Carey called, expecting his father. Aunt Cathy pushedthe door wide.

"Evan, would you excuse us for a few minutes?" she asked. "I'dlike to talk with Carey."

"Sure." With a backwards look of compassion, Evan left the room,closing the door behind him.

Carey cleared a chair of the junk Evan had piled on it. "Here," heoffered.

"Thank you." She sat carefully and seemed more interested inexamining the chaos that reigned in Evan's half of the room than intalking. Carey waited patiently and at last she sighed.

"I owe you an apology, Carey." A shake of her head stifled hisinstinctive protest. "Please. Let me finish. I made you uncomfortablethis evening. I'm sorry. You had every right to expect your father tobe greeted cordially."

"I was just sort of surprised," Carey answered diplomatically."You were so angry..."

"Yes. In a way, I still am." She tilted her head, looking at him."You aren't angry, though, are you, Carey?"

Startled, he stared at her. "At Dad? No."

"Yet you'd have every right to be. He wasn't there when you neededhim..."

"He would have been, if he'd known," Carey said loyally.

"But he didn't know, and there was no way to tell him."

"Right."

He recognized confusion in her gaze. "And you find no cause foranger in that."

"No. Being mad at my dad for being gone would be like..." hegroped for a suitable example, using the first one that came to mind."...you being angry at Vincent because he can't go places and dothings."

He could see he had startled her. "I could never be angry withVincent over something he can't change," she said defensively.

"Of course not," he agreed. "But don't you see? That's the way itis with my father. He can't help being the way he is. He needs to goplaces and do things. He can't change. I know he can't. I've seen himtry."

She shook her head slowly. "And I believe, just as strongly, thatpeople can change if they want to badly enough."

Carey lifted his hands, palms up, in a carefully neutral gesture."I guess I don't see it the way you do."

"No, I guess you don't." Smiling, she rose and came forward tokiss him goodnight. "But I am sorry."

"Aunt Cathy, what do you think my father should do now?" Careyasked as she reached to open the door. She paused, turning back tolook at him.

"I'm not sure," she began carefully. "But I can't help thinkingit's high time Devin began to assume some responsibility."

* * * *"I've been thinking about the farm," Devin saidat dinner three nights later.

"The farm's okay, Dad," Carey assured him. "Aunt Cathy took careof it. Uncle Henry is leasing the land and Mr. and Mrs. Gregory arekeeping an eye on the house."

Something in his father's face had darkened at mention ofCatherine, and it had gotten worse when Carey had mentioned Henry buthis voice betrayed no agitation. "I know, Carey. And I do appreciateall your Aunt Cathy's efforts in your behalf." This was said with asmall nod to Catherine. "But ultimately you're my responsibility,son. I think I should take a look."

"Sure, Dad," Carey agreed, looking down at his plate. He hadsuddenly lost his appetite. His father had been here such a shorttime...

"Here," Devin said, tossing an envelope casually onto the table.Carey reached for it cautiously.

"Airline tickets," his father explained. "To St. Louis."

"Two of them?"

"One for you, one for me," Devin said. "We can rent a car anddrive from there. What do you think?"

Carey couldn't contain his elation. "I think it's great! When dowe leave?"

"Next week. I thought that would give you time to go through yourthings, decide what you're going to take."

"It won't take that long for me to pack, Dad," Carey chidedgood-naturedly. "But how long will I be gone? What about school?"

"Yes, what about school?" Catherine asked coolly. "Carey's ajunior in high school now. How many classes will he miss?"

Devin glared, just a little defiantly, across the table. "I'vetaken care of that. Don't worry."

Whatever Catherine would have liked to say in reply was lost whenVincent placed a hand on her arm. "I think a trip to Illinois wouldbe beneficial to you both, Devin," he said.

Devin gazed across the table and managed a faint smile. "Thankyou, Vincent. I appreciate the support."

* * * *It was Saturday afternoon when the subject ofschool came up again. Carey was working in the study when his fathercame in.

"What are you doing?"

"It's a history paper," Carey explained. "I have to write at leastthree thousand words on the causes and effects of the Persian GulfWar."

"Oh. When is it due?"

"Not for a couple of weeks," Carey answered. "But I want to get itdone before we leave so I don't have to worry about it."

His father was strangely silent.

"Dad? What is it?"

Devin sat down beside him. "I guess I didn't make myself clear theother night. Carey, you're not just going with me while I check outthe farm and say goodbye to your mother... I want you to be with mefrom now on."

Carey could only manage wide-eyed incredulity. "You mean travelwith you? Everywhere?"

His father nodded.

Carey felt a rush of jubilant elation. His father wanted him. Hewasn't going to leave him behind again. There would be new places,new things to see... new people. His father wanted him. Still...

"What about school?" he asked faintly.

Devin grinned. "I told you I had it all taken care of," he saideagerly. "I've been in touch with a correspondence high school.They'll send you the lessons through the mail; you'll complete themand send them back. It's an accredited course. You could even go tocollege after you graduate, if you want."

"And what kind of life is that for a teenage boy?"

Carey and Devin pivoted to face Catherine. Neither had heard hercome in, but she stood behind them now, her expression fierce.

"It's the life I lived," Devin answered sharply. "Except for theschool. And for me, there were days I didn't know where my next mealwas coming from."

"And you want that for Carey."

"Don't be ridiculous, Chandler. I know what I'm doing. I've beenliving this life for more than forty years. I can take care of myson."

"I don't think you can, Devin. If you gave Carey's needs theimportance they deserve, you'd see that this is wrong for him."

"Why? We'll be together. He'll see parts of the world touristsnever even suspect exist. He'll do things other kids only dreamabout."

"He's had enough change over the past few months. He needsstability."

"He needs me!" Devin retorted.

"Then stop globe-trotting and settle down! You're nearly sixtyyears old, Devin. It's time you grew up."

"I like my life. If I settled down, I'd be miserable. Don't youthink Carey would see that? Don't you think it would affect him?"

"I don't think you care how it would affect him. I think you careabout making sure you don't have to give anything up."

"You're saying I'm selfish," Devin snapped.

"Yes," Catherine hurled back. Their voices had risen steadily andby now they were nearly shouting at each other.

"He's my son, Chandler. You can't change that. And he's comingwith me!" Devin reached for Carey's arm.

"I'm his legal guardian," Catherine countered furiously.

"I'm his father. No court in the land is going to give you custodyof my son."

"Stop it!" Carey shouted. "Both of you! Just stop it!"

Before either of them could react, he had twisted free of hisfather's possessive grip, brushed past Catherine, and rushed out ofthe room. Scarcely able to see for the angry tears in his eyes, hestumbled down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behindhim. Blindly he ran, with no thought to path or destination.

When he finally stumbled to a stop he was trembling, shocked byhis own outburst. He hadn't meant to shout, hadn't meant to run awayso abruptly, but they had been fighting over him as if he had nofeelings of his own, as if he were an object, or a prize.

When he caught his breath, he looked around, startled to findhimself in his favorite part of the city - Central Park. Hissubconscious must have brought him here.

The slope below him was teeming with people enjoying one of thelast days of pleasant autumn sunshine: families picnicking, loversstrolling hand-in-hand, a group of kids his own age playing touchfootball. Farther away, a group of younger children were kicking at abattered soccer ball and Carey had to smile at their joyfulenthusiasm.

His own childhood had been a solitary one. There had been nochildren his age on any of the nearby farms, and even after he'dstarted school, there'd always been a bus to catch, chores to do athome. Of course he'd had his mother, and his father whenever Devinhad shown up for one of his unexpected visits, but Carey had neverrealized that his was a lonely childhood until recently. Sinking downonto the grass, Carey closed his eyes, shutting out everything buthis agitated thoughts.

When he opened them again, it was to darkness. Heart suddenlyracing, he rolled to a nervous crouch, adrenaline pumping. Hecouldn't believe he'd fallen asleep in the park.

He listened carefully, straining to see through the shadows. Atlast, satisfied no one was near him, Carey rose, stretching stiffly,and considered his options. Going home meant crossing more of thePark than he felt comfortable with, but there was a tunnel entrancenear here, if he could only find it. From there he could make his wayhome below ground.

The drainage pipe was easier to locate than he'd expected and heentered it gratefully. Evan had shown him how to bang on the pipe foran escort, and also how to trigger the heavy sliding door. Carey eyedthe pipe thoughtfully for a moment before turning away to pull asidea grill and tug on the lever behind it. He entered the tunnel warily,making sure the sliding door closed securely before starting down thepassage.

He hadn't gone far when someone stepped into the tunnel beforehim, blocking his path. It was a paralyzing instant before herecognized the powerful figure.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," Vincent said, moving slowlytoward him.

Carey shook his head. "Startled me, that's all," he said. "How didyou know I was here?"

"One of the sentries saw you. Catherine and Devin are concernedabout you."

"I didn't mean to scare anybody. I fell asleep in the park."

Vincent nodded sagely and turned to tap a message on a nearbypipe. "Zach will let them know you are safe," he said when hefinished. "Come."

Carey followed Vincent through unfamiliar passages, hurryingsometimes to keep up with that long, graceful stride. At last Vincentemerged into a vast chamber and stepped out onto a narrow suspendedbridge. Carey followed cautiously, but the bridge held their combinedweight easily. He stopped in surprise, though, when the high sound ofa child's laughter came and disappeared in the space of a singlestep. "What was that?"

Vincent's smile was gentle. "A voice from the world Above," heexplained. "This is the Whispering Gallery. Haven't you been herebefore?"

Wordlessly, Carey shook his head. Men's voices, arguing thisafternoon's Mets game were reaching him now. "Evan's the only one whotakes me exploring, and he doesn't come down here much," he saidfinally.

Vincent sighed. "No. He does not find contentment here. His placeis in his mother's world." He gestured. "Come. Sit down."

Carey followed Vincent's example, easing himself down and lettinghis feet dangle over the impressive drop. The bridge swayed with themovement and he took a secure hold of one of the stanchions that heldthe rope handrail.

"It isn't that Evan doesn't like your world," he rushed to assureVincent. "He knows the stories and the places. It's just..."

"That its horizons are too limited for him," Vincent finished. "Iknow. He is very like your father in that."

"He'd probably jump at the chance to go with my dad," Carey saidsadly.

Vincent nodded. "I'm certain of it. But you don't feel the sameway."

Carey looked out over the Gallery and thought he must be gettingused to the height; it didn't seem so fearsome now. "You know," hesaid slowly, "when my dad first talked about me going with him, all Icould think is how great it was that he wanted me with him."

"He does want you, Carey," Vincent assured him quietly. "He lovesyou very much."

"Yes. I know. Aunt Cathy's really mad at him, though."

"Catherine and Devin are both strong-willed," Vincent saidtranquilly. "They disagree on many issues. But they are fond of oneanother."

"They were fighting over me like I wasn't even there." Careyallowed a trace of the bitterness he felt to creep into his voice."Nobody even asked me what I want to do."

Vincent looked at him serenely. "What is it that you wish to do,Carey?"

Cornered, Carey looked at his hands. "I love my dad, Vincent. Andat first, the idea of going with him was great. But in the park Istarted thinking about how it would be. I'd always be the new kid;I'd never have time to make friends, real friends. I'd just get usedto a place and we'd leave."

"And that would be difficult for you."

Carey nodded miserably. "I don't think I could do it."

"You can do anything life requires of you, Carey. Never doubt yourstrength."

His words left Carey feeling lost and desolate. "Then you think Ishould go?"

"Only if it is what you want."

"I don't know what I want!"

Vincent responded to Carey's small outburst gravely. "Yes, youdo."

Carey resumed his study of the far wall of the Whispering Gallery.Vincent waited beside him, a patient, unwavering anchor for Carey'sroiling emotions. "I guess I'm like a tree," Carey said finally, hisface turned away. "I need a place where I can put down roots.Someplace where I belong."

"You like it here."

Carey nodded forlornly.

"Then stay with us."

Carey bent his head. "I'm not sure Aunt Cathy still wants me," hewhispered.

Vincent shifted, turning to face him. "Carey, that isn't true.Catherine loves you very much. She would like nothing more than foryou to remain part of our family."

"That's not what she said."

"Perhaps you misunderstood her," Vincent said gently. "What wereher words?"

"That my dad should start taking responsibility for me. That hewas selfish not to think of me first. I think she wants him to takeme back to Illinois to live on the farm."

Vincent hesitated; Carey could feel him choosing his words."Catherine and Devin have always judged each other harshly," he saidslowly. "In a way, I think Catherine has taken your grandfather'splace as Devin's conscience. She sees him as rash and irresponsible;he sees her as sitting in judgement of him.

"Catherine is like you, Carey; she is meant to put down roots, andshe can't see that your father is different, that he was born to be awanderer.

"But, Carey, I know her heart. What she says to your father isspoken out of concern for you. She doesn't see that by wanting youwith him, he is reaching out to embrace responsibility the best wayhe can."

Carey waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Please believe me; you are welcome in our home for as long as youwish to stay."

Carey bent his head. "I do. I do want to stay. You're my familynow and I love you all. I don't want to leave."

"Then you won't."

"But what about my dad?"

"Devin loves you, Carey. He will make the choice that is best foryou, I promise. I'll speak with him, if you like."

Carey's heart lifted. "Would you, Vincent? Can you make sure heunderstands...?"

Standing, Vincent offered his hand. "I'll talk with himtonight."

* * * *Ten days later, in Chicago's O'Hare airport,Carey hugged his father fiercely. "'Bye, Dad," he whispered, hisvoice husky. Partings were always difficult. "Be safe."

He and Devin had spent the past four days in Illinois, staying inthe farmhouse while Devin closed out this part of his life, lookingover the lease of the Schrock farmland, signing papers affirmingCatherine's guardianship of Carey, and visiting the cemetery whereRebecca Schrock was buried.

"Last call for Flight 387, now boarding to Tokyo." The airport'stinny intercom system crackled with a final warning.

"You'd better go," Carey said.

"You'll be okay?" Devin tried not to sound anxious.

Carey grinned. "Sure, I will. I have my ticket right here." Hepatted his pocket. "My flight's in forty-five minutes, I know wherethe gate is, and Aunt Cathy said someone would meet me at theairport. No sweat."

"Okay." Devin cuffed Carey affectionately on the side of the head,ruffling his hair. "I'll miss you, son."

"I'll miss you, too, Dad. But you'll be there in December,right?"

"Your first Winterfest? I wouldn't miss it. And I'll send you apostcard as soon as I know where I am."

"And you'll check for mail at the American Express office inTokyo, right?"

"Right." Devin looked suddenly pensive. "Take care of yourself,Carey."

"I will, Dad. You too. Be safe."

Carey lingered near the windows, watching until Devin's planepulled away from the gate. When the intercom announced his own flightto New York, he turned away reluctantly, glancing back once beforehurrying down the concourse.

His father might be gone for now, but Carey had always known hecouldn't hold him, except in his heart; and he'd be back.

The End