IN PLACE OF THE STARS

January - June 2007

"What if Rommel had been able to block Montgomery here?" A clawedfinger pointed to a spot on a frayed map of Africa. Vincent and JoeMaxwell were engrossed, restaging the World War II Battle of ElAlamein.

"I don't think he could have," Joe disagreed. "Montgomery alreadyhad Rommel cut off."

He ignored the ringing of the telephone, knowing Vincent wouldn'tanswer it; he never did.

Catherine was at her desk and picked the phone up on the secondring. "Hello? Yes, this is Catherine Chandler." She had been speakingfor only a moment when Vincent raised his head abruptly to look ather.

"Yes, sir," she was saying. "I'm honored, but I don't think... no,sir." There was a long pause. "I... yes. Yes, I will, I'll thinkabout it, but I really don't.... Yes, sir. Goodnight." She replacedthe receiver, looking dazed.

"Catherine?" Vincent started to rise. "What is it?"

Joe reached for his friend's arm. "It's okay, Vincent." Hegrinned. "You probably heard that one of our state legislators diedsuddenly, day before yesterday. I'll go way out on a limb and guessthat she's just spoken with the governor, and he's offered to appointher to fill the vacant seat."

Catherine's eyes shifted, reflecting surprise. "How do youknow?"

Joe shrugged. "Because he called me this afternoon to ask if Ithought you could handle the job. I told him you could, but youwouldn't accept." His grin widened. "Guess he only half-believedme."

Vincent was sitting quite still, listening, and Joe suddenly feltawkward. Glancing at his watch, he got to his feet. "Listen, it'sgetting late. Vincent, we'll finish this later, because you arewrong, my friend. Montgomery had Rommel covered on all sides.Cathy..."

"I'll walk you down," she answered automatically. When she cameback, Vincent was still sitting motionless, gazing past the map stillspread across the open books piled haphazardly on his desk. Sinkinginto the chair Joe had vacated, Catherine peered at him. "Vincent,are you okay?"

She could see the effort as he brought his thoughts back fromwherever they'd been wandering. Impulsively she reached to touch hishand. "Vincent, it's okay. I only promised to think about theappointment, and I have. I'm going to turn it down."

He curled his fingers around her smaller ones, feeling the warmthof her hand, the pressure of her fingers gripping his. "Why?"

For a moment she gaped at him. "Vincent, the legislature meets inAlbany. That's a hundred and fifty miles away. My family is here...my home..."

He tightened his grasp on her hand. "I know that. But I can feelwhat's inside you, Catherine. Part of you is stimulated, challengedby this opportunity."

He waited while she considered his words. "Maybe," she concededfinally. "It's scary to think about, but maybe you're right. There'sa part of me that wants to try this. But that doesn't mean..."

"What is it that holds you back?" he asked softly.

Her eyes slid uneasily away from him. "There's the kids... I can'tjust uproot them and drag them to a new town, new schools... and myjob..."

"And me," he added.

"Partly," she confessed.

"Catherine, there's no need to take the children anywhere. I'll behere. And Joe will grant you a leave of absence." Leaning forward, hetouched her cheek. "I don't ever want to hold you back from thingsyou must do. You know that."

She nodded. "I know."

"I think you must do this... for both of us." He smiled. "Thelegislature only sits for four or five months. It's not that long;we'll have weekends..."

* * * *

Catherine cast one last look around the bedroom, wondering whatshe might be forgetting. Downstairs, she could hear the teenagerscalling to each other, rough-housing as they carried the lastsuitcases and boxes out to the car. The noise they made was somethingthat would ordinarily annoy her, but not today. Things had happenedso quickly over the past three weeks she hadn't had time to think,and it was only now that it really struck her... she was leaving,going to live somewhere else. This time tomorrow, she wouldn't beable to hear her children bickering no matter how loud they were. Herthroat tightened uncomfortably.

In the hallway beyond the open door, she heard Jacob's voice,followed by the slow sound of his footsteps as he descended thestairs.

Vincent's presence filled the room, and Catherine knew he wasbehind her even before he placed his hands on her shoulders. Turning,she slid her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to press herface into the warm hollow between his shoulder and neck.

"I don't want to go," she whispered, holding him tightly.

"I know," he answered.

After a moment, Catherine drew back. "Why do you suppose my paththrough life is full of detours I don't want to follow?"

"Because you have compassion, and wisdom, and are meant to helpothers," Vincent answered, his eyes smiling at her. "But you alwayscome home to me."

"Yes," she agreed fervently, pressing herself into the warmth ofhis embrace one last time. "I'll always come back to you. I'll missyou," she added in a whisper.

"I know. I'll miss you, too."

There was nothing else to be said, and after a moment Catherinedisengaged herself from Vincent's embrace. He released herreluctantly. With the children going in and out of the front door, itwasn't safe for him downstairs, so she knew he wouldn't followher.

As expected, the front door stood open and as Catherine came out,seventeen-year-old Charles was just wedging the last box into theback of the mini-van. Catherine went down the steps, joining theothers on the sidewalk. Her children had gathered around forfarewells, even Evan, who submitted to being hugged with sheepishtolerance. When there was no more to be said, Catherine went aroundto the driver's side of the car. Pausing with the door open, sheglanced toward the second-floor study windows with one brief,heartfelt look before sliding behind the wheel; a narrow gap could beseen between the window frame and the heavy drape which coveredit.

Leaning across to the open passenger window, she called to hermiddle son. "Jacob, I'm sorry. We have to go now."

At thirteen, Jacob had just begun to shoot up in height and wasentering the gangly, all-arms-and-legs stage. His voice had startedto crack, too, and it did so now, as he pleaded, "Do I have to? Can'tI stay here?"

"No." Catherine made her voice firm. "We've talked about this,Jacob. Please don't make things harder than they are."

Charles reached out to touch his brother's shoulder and Vicky andEvan crowded close. "Go on, Jacob," Charles urged quietly. "Think ofall the new things you'll see and do in Albany."

"I don't like new things," Jacob complained under his breath. "Iwant to stay here."

Vicky heard him. "I like new things," she said sulkily. "I wish Iwas going."

"I wish you were going, too," Jacob mumbled. Unwillingly, heclimbed into the front passenger seat.

Clustered together on the sidewalk, the other children waved andcalled out goodbyes until the car rounded a corner, disappearing fromview.

Concentrating on making her way safely through the Sundayafternoon traffic, Catherine was only half-aware of Jacob's sullenstare out the window. For the moment she was simply gratified thatshe didn't have to deal with Vicky's usual animated chatter.

Once they were free of the city and the congested highwayssurrounding it, she turned her attention to her obviously unhappychild. "I'm sorry, Jacob," she said softly. "I know this is hard foryou."

Jacob slumped farther down in his seat and didn't answer.Catherine sighed, wondering for the hundredth time if the decision totake Jacob to Albany was right. It had been Vincent's idea to takeone of the children, an idea she had resisted until his patientreasoning wore her down.

"You need company," he'd argued. "Someone to connect with, whounderstands. And it will be a valuable learning experience, as well."The plaintive and longing look in his eyes when he added, "I don'tlike to think of you being all alone," convinced her.

Deciding which child should go took longer. Taking all four inturns wasn't practical; school was in session and it was quicklydecided that having each child change schools for brief periods wouldbe too disruptive.

Just turned seventeen, Charles was a junior in high school, takinga stiff course of honors classes in preparation for college. Ithardly seemed fair to interrupt his studies. Vicky would have made agood companion, but she was only ten and that brought up the issue ofchild care, something Catherine had never had to deal with before.The idea of giving her child into a stranger's hands was a littlefrightening, and besides, Vicky was Vincent's mainstay. He couldn'tquite bear to be separated from both her and Catherine at the sametime.

Since Evan was only eleven, most of the arguments against takingVicky also applied to him. As Vincent told Catherine with a twinkle,"Being a responsible parent, I couldn't allow him to go withyou."

She'd laughed. Much as she loved her youngest son, she often foundherself riding a thin edge between exasperation and irritation;trying to live with him without Vincent as a buffer wasunimaginable.

That left Jacob. At thirteen and a half, he was easily old enoughto be left on his own for a few hours each day, if necessary. Anotherfactor to consider was that Jacob was the child closest to hisfather's world, choosing to spend all his leisure time Below. Toprovide them with a balanced look at their parents' diverse worlds,Catherine and Vincent had elected to send their children to school inthe world Above. Jacob was the only one who still did not seemcompletely at ease Above, and it was Vincent's suggestion that he bethe child to accompany her to Albany.

"He has no friends in your world, Catherine. He has only thechildren from Below, and Father and Carl. Perhaps this is anexperience he should have before he makes his decision on which ofour worlds he will inhabit."

She had agreed with his calm logic, but now, seeing her son soobviously miserable wrenched at her heart.

"I'm not overjoyed at the idea of being so far from home either,Jacob," she reminded him, glancing sideways at his morose profile."Can't you try to make the best of this?"

"Nobody made you go," he answered sullenly.

Considering this for a moment, she said, "Well, in a way someonedid."

His head lifted a little. "Who?"

"Your father."

That got his complete attention. "What? Dad would never make youdo anything you didn't want to do."

She shook her head slowly, smiling. "No, not in the way you'rethinking. He sees me in a certain way and expects things of me; Idon't want to disappoint him."

"But you want this, too," Jacob said shrewdly.

"Yes, I suppose I do," she answered. "That doesn't make theparting any easier, though."

"You still got to choose," Jacob reiterated.

"Jacob, you're only thirteen. Your father and I both think thiswill be good for you." She reached over to brush an affectionate handthrough his hair. His effort to duck it was only half-hearted. "We'llbe home most weekends," she reminded him. "Time will go quickly.You'll see."

"I guess so," he muttered, staring out the window at the passingscenery. "Look at all the cows," he said after a moment.

Catherine glanced his way and smiled. "That reminds me ofsomething..."

Jacob pulled himself up in his seat, curiosity shining in hiseyes. "What?" From the time he was a little boy, Jacob had loved tosit and listen to the storytellers Below: Mary, old Carl, andespecially Father. It wasn't long before he was making up his ownstories and writing them down for his friends to read. Recently he'dbegun transcribing the stories told by the older tunnel residents,putting them on paper for future generations. "Come on," he urged hismother. "What do they remind you of?"

Catherine smiled, remembering. "Of something that happened whenVicky was little," she began. "I don't know if you remember howstubborn she was..."

"Still is," Jacob interjected with a grin.

"Yes, sometimes," Catherine agreed. "Anyway, I don't rememberwhere we were going. I can't even remember if I had any of the restof you with me. Vicky couldn't have been two yet; she was learning totalk, and in the stage where she wanted to know the names ofeverything she saw. She was in the back, buckled up in her car seat,when she pointed out the window and said, 'Whazzat?'"

Jacob smiled at his mother's imitation of Vicky's baby lisp. "Thenwhat?" he prompted.

"I told her it was a cow. And she said, very firmly, 'No.' I said,'Yes, it is, Vicky, it's a cow.' She screwed up her face in thatemphatic way she has and said, 'No!'"

Jacob chuckled.

"We went back and forth a couple more times like that," Catherinecontinued. "I could tell I wasn't getting anywhere, and she wasbecoming more and more frustrated, so finally I gave up and said,'Okay, Vicky, it's a tree.'"

"What did she do?"

Catherine turned and gave him a wide smile. "She settled back inher seat and didn't say another word for miles. I'm sure she thoughtshe'd won an important argument."

"That's funny," Jacob said. "Would Tink mind if I put that storyin the chronicle I'm writing?"

"Probably not, but you'd better ask her first," Catherineadvised.

The rest of the drive was spent discussing some of the otherstories that would be in the book Jacob called his chronicle andpresently Catherine stopped in front of the small apartment buildingwhich she and Jacob would call home for the next few months.

The apartment did no more than meet Catherine's sketchyspecifications: two bedrooms, furnished, in a safe neighborhood nearthe Capitol building. Jacob poked around the tiny rooms in adesultory fashion.

"I know it isn't much like home, Jacob," Catherine said, trying tolift his spirits, "but we're going to be here for a while, so we mayas well make the best of it."

"Who's going to fix dinner?" Jacob asked practically.

Catherine looked at him blankly. "I never thought about it," shesaid slowly. The last time she'd attempted to prepare an actual mealwas very soon after she and Vincent had married. It had been anunequivocal disaster, pointing up her domestic shortcomings in a mostembarrassing way. Only Vincent's gentle understanding, laced withamusement he'd done his best to hide from her, had preserved herdignity.

"We can scramble eggs in the microwave," she suggested, confidentin her ability to do that, at least. "There is a microwave, isn'tthere?"

Jacob glanced around the minuscule kitchen. "No."

Catherine was dumbfounded. "Are you sure? I thought everybody hada microwave these days."

"William doesn't. He doesn't need one."

Catherine paused. "No, he doesn't," she agreed. "Well, I guesswe'll just go out for something. Come on, help me bring in ourthings."

After unloading the van, they went three blocks to a smallrestaurant Catherine had noticed on the drive in. Jacob was quietthroughout the meal, but since he wasn't precisely sulking, she lethim be. Only when they got back to the apartment did she try again toreach him.

"Are you going to unpack tonight?"

Jacob groaned. "I don't know." He made a face. "I can still tastethat spaghetti."

Catherine made a grimace of her own. "I know," she admitted. "Itwasn't very good, was it?"

"Not like William's," Jacob said.

Jacob's attitude was beginning to wear on Catherine's patience,and she stopped, taking a long, deliberate moment to compose herselfbefore speaking. "You know, Jacob," she said finally, "things will bemuch easier for you if you aren't so quick to compare them with whatyou're used to. I'll agree that tonight's meal wasn't the best, andcertainly not up to William's standard, but tomorrow we might gosomewhere where the food is excellent. Would it be fair to expectWilliam to meet that standard?"

"No," he mumbled.

"I guess not, either. I think it would be best if you rememberthat, like it or not, you and I will be living here until thelegislative session is over in June. My advice to you is that youstop moping and apply yourself to getting whatever you can out of theexperience. Now go unpack your suitcase and get ready for bed."

Chastened by her unexpected and unusual vehemence, he slunk intothe smaller of the two bedrooms.

Much later, she went in to tell Jacob goodnight, but he'd alreadyfallen asleep, sprawled across the half-made bed. Sighing, she pulledthe quilt over his shoulders, tucking him in as best she could.Tomorrow he could make the bed properly. Tonight it was best to lethim sleep.

In her own small room, the bed was already made up with sheets andblankets brought from home. Her clothes had been unpacked and putaway, and a few personal items were placed around the room to make itseem more familiar. Slowly she got ready for bed and turned down thesheets, sliding into a bed that seemed cold and lonely withoutVincent beside her. Smiling briefly at the framed photograph of herchildren on her nightstand, she reached for the small leather-boundbook that lay beside it.

Shakespeare's Sonnets. Wistfully she opened it, lingering over theinscription. As she began to turn the pages, a slip of paper, foldedin half, fell into her lap. *Shakespeare knew everything*, shethought reflexively, but that note had long ago been tucked away withall the other brief missives Vincent had sent her over the years.Laying the book aside, she picked up the paper, fingering the heavyvellum before opening it.

The message was brief, with no salutation or signature. *The Lordwatch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another*.Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Vincent," shewhispered softly, resting her head on her knees. "I miss you somuch."

When she finally reached to turn out the light, the note was underher pillow. She and Vincent had been separated before, of course, butthis was the first time the separation was to be measured in monthsinstead of days. Weekends together would help, but at the end of eachwould be another separation. Somewhere in the future there was aboundary, but for now the cycle seemed to stretch out endlessly.

Somehow, she and Jacob struggled through the first unfamiliarweek. In a way, it reminded Catherine of when she'd first joined theD.A.'s office and the struggle to remember new faces, names,responsibilities.

She had been named to the Assembly, the lower of the twolegislative houses, and along with the appointment she had inheritedher predecessor's office staff: two legislative aides assignedspecifically to assist her. In addition, there was a pool she coulddraw on for more complex tasks, such as drafting legislative bills.At the moment Catherine couldn't imagine ever needing the pool'sassistance.

Her aides were pleasant enough; Tim was in his early twenties,blond, blue-eyed, with an easy manner and a warm smile. Megan wasyounger, with darker hair and intelligent brown eyes. Both were eagerto please.

The state had initiated a new program only a few years earlier, asmall school program in the Capitol building itself, available to thechildren of legislators and other state employees for a nominaltuition fee. It had been another factor in the decision to bringJacob along. The program was reputed to be an excellent one, withspecial emphasis on the legislative processes and students wereencouraged to attend legislative sessions; older ones were permittedto act as pages after school hours.

It was Tim who took Jacob to find his class the first morningwhile Megan gave Catherine a tour of the office. Time passed quicklywith so much to learn, but Catherine and Jacob were both glad whenFriday arrived.

By five-thirty, Catherine had finished everything she'd planned todo this week. Home beckoned like a beacon of love and comfort, andshe and Jacob went toward it gladly.

It was dark by the time they reached Manhattan, but lights glowedsoftly behind the draped windows, extending a welcome. Jacob was outof the car before it had quite stopped moving, dashing headlong upthe steps. Catherine followed more sedately, catching up to where hewaited by the door in an agony of impatience. She didn't bother totap the doorbell; wherever he was, Vincent surely knew she washere.

"We're home," she called as soon as they were safely inside.Voices erupted from the parlor and children spilled into the hallway- not only Charles, Evan and Vicky, but some of the tunnel childrenas well. Catherine recognized several of Jacob's special friends andit wasn't difficult to guess that they just couldn't wait to seehim.

As Jacob exchanged happy greetings with his friends, the otherchildren gathered around Catherine. As she looked up from Vicky'swelcoming hug, she felt suddenly warm. Looking across the children'sheads, she found Vincent waiting in the shadows by the stairs,watching her.

Always, the best thing about coming home after an absence wasseeing his beloved face and the pleasure shining from his eyes. Shesmiled.

Everyone had questions to ask, so the entire group retired to theparlor.

After Catherine explained her new duties and responsibilities toVincent and Charles, the conversation turned to a parallel discussionof the national Congress and the tunnel Council. As she was listeningto Charles, her eyes wandered, settling finally on Jacob, who wasacross the room talking with his friends. He looked completely happy,his face flushed with excitement and pleasure. Shifting her gaze, shenoticed for the first time that he and his friend Amanda were holdinghands.

This was another, more subtle reason why Jacob had been the childchosen to accompany her to Albany. Both she and Vincent had noticedJacob's friendship with Amanda evolving over the past couple ofyears.

Both Jacob and Amanda were very young to be dealing with thefeelings they almost certainly had for each other, so she and Vincenthad decided it would do no harm for them to be apart for a while. Ifnothing else, it would give each of them space to think and togrow.

Jacob glanced up, catching her eye, and she smiled at him. "Hey,Mom," he called. "May I spend the night in the tunnels?" It was acommon request; Jacob's preference was always to be Below. He'd beenaway for a week, and it was only natural that he would want to spendtime with his friends.

"I don't know, Jacob," she began doubtfully, glancing towardVincent for guidance.

"Please?" Jacob's entreaty coincided with Vincent's almostimperceptible gesture of acquiescence and Catherine nodded.

"All right, but I want to see you back here sometime tomorrow.Don't forget this is where you live." It was an oft-repeatedadmonishment.

It was clear that being here, among his family and friends, hadlifted Jacob's spirits. He grinned. "I thought I lived in Albanynow."

"Only temporarily," she answered, suppressing a smile. "Home istruly where the heart is, Jacob, and I suspect both our hearts arealways here. Nevertheless, I'm sure your father would like to spendsome time with you before Sunday."

"Okay," Jacob agreed, frowning a little at the uncomfortablereminder that this was only a visit.

Vicky, Evan and Charles preferred to stay home, joining theirparents as they went upstairs. Always one to follow his own pursuits,Evan continued on to his own room. Vicky would have liked to followher parents into the second-floor study, obviously still wanting totalk, but Charles took her arm, steering her away. "Come on, Vicky,"he said casually. "I'll show you my new computer game." Bending closeto her ear, he hissed, "Can't you see they'd like to be alone?"

Catherine and Vincent were not oblivious to the byplay on thestairs, but chose to ignore it. They had been together for nearlythree hours now and their opportunity to touch had been limited to alittle surreptitious hand-holding. Catherine needed to feel Vincent'sarms around her. Sighing, she moved into his embrace.

* * * *

Sunday afternoon found Catherine and Jacob on their way back toAlbany. A cycle had been completed, the first of many. Jacob seemedmore cheerful this time, and Catherine surmised he was finallyconvinced he could survive these separations from home.

"I need some money," he announced when they reached theirapartment. He was in the tiny kitchen, having carried in a large boxthat rattled when he moved it.

She stared at him blankly. "Money?"

He sighed elaborately and gestured toward the box. "I talked withWilliam this weekend," he explained. "He gave me some recipes, and Ibrought some stuff to cook with. I need to buy groceries."

Catherine's stare was openly incredulous, but if he wanted to trycooking their meals, she had no intention of discouraging him. "Allright," she agreed, and reached for her purse.

Jacob was adamant about doing this alone, so she allowed him towalk the few blocks to the supermarket, and when he returned, shestayed conspicuously away from the kitchen. When Jacob finally calledher, she was pleasantly surprised to find that he had prepared a mealthat was eminently palatable."It's very good, Jacob."

He glowed under the praise. "If it's okay, I'll come home earlytomorrow and have dinner ready when you get here," he suggested.

"All right," she agreed. "If you want to. But you don't have to dothis every night, Jacob. Any time you don't want to cook, we'll goout."

He wrinkled his nose in disdain. "I'm tired of restaurants.Cooking's sort of fun."

As the weeks passed, it remained fun, and Catherine grew to enjoycoming home each night to find a home-cooked meal waiting. Jacobseemed to embrace the responsibility gladly, making sure thecupboards and refrigerator were adequately stocked. Each weekend heconsulted with William to learn new dishes. He'd made a few friendsamong his classmates at the Capitol, too, and his initial sullennesshad worn off.

Once more, for Catherine, the balancing of two lives becameroutine. Thankfully, there were few weekends when her newresponsibilities weighed so heavy she didn't go home; surprisingly,when she gave Jacob the option of going home by air or bus, he choseto remain with her in Albany.

Catherine spoke on the phone with one or more of her otherchildren nearly every day, depending on who was home when she called.On the other hand, Vincent didn't like telephones. He never had, soinstead she wrote him long letters, telling him about her days, andabout Jacob, and of how much she missed him. In return, she came homeeach evening to find a heavy vellum envelope on her pillow.

* * * *

Nearly three months after Catherine was appointed to the Assembly,when she was at her desk going over some notes, a hesitant tapsounded on her closed office door. As she looked up, the door openedand Tim stuck his head in doubtfully.

"Tim, I said I didn't want..." she began, trying to keep theannoyance out of her voice. He interrupted.

"I know, Cathy, but one of your kids is on line two."

She stared at him, her heart suddenly racing. The kids called theapartment all the time, but none of them had ever called her atwork.

"I... thank you, Tim, I'll get it." She waited until the door wasclosed before reaching for the phone.

"Hello, Mother." Charles sounded unusually subdued, which fueledher anxiety.

"Charles, what is it? What's happened?"

"Father asked me to call you. Mother..." He hesitated, as ifsearching for the right words. Finally he found them. "... he wantsme to tell you Grandfather died in his sleep last night."

"Oh, no." The protest was instinctive. Father had been growingmore and more frail with passing time, but somehow she'd thought he'dlive forever. Her thoughts leaped to Vincent, and suddenly all shecould feel was a driving need to be with him, to comfort him.

"Mother? Are you there?"

Somehow she gathered her thoughts enough to answer him. "I'm here.I'm okay, Charles. Tell your father..." She hesitated. There weremany things she wanted to tell him, but not through an intermediary,even this one. "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I possibly can,"she said finally.

Hanging up, she began to gather her things, aware of littlebesides the compulsion to get out of here, to be on her way to NewYork, to Vincent. The door, when it opened, was an intrusion.

"What?" she almost snapped at a hapless Tim. His eyes widened.Behind him, she could hear Megan speaking softly to someone else."I'm sorry," Catherine apologized. "I've had some bad news."

"I'm sorry," Tim said automatically.

"My father-in-law died," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his face softening in sympathy. "Can Ido anything?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm going..." She broke off as Megan cameto stand in the doorway as well.

"Cathy, Mr. Allen asked me to remind you that the debate starts infifteen minutes."

Her wits completely scattered, Catherine responded with a blanklook.

"The debate," Megan prompted. "You know. For the child abuse bill.It starts in fifteen minutes."

The expression on Catherine's face suddenly seemed to get throughto Megan and she stopped, bewildered. Tim took her arm and pulled heraway, whispering as he closed the door. Alone, Catherine sank intoher chair and buried her face in her hands.

The child abuse bill. Of all the bills the Assembly had consideredso far this session, this was the first she'd actually wanted toco-sponsor. She'd helped draft it, making sure the wording closed allthe potential loopholes. The notes scattered on her desk were for herspeech, the first she'd be making as an assemblywoman, in support ofthe bill.

Vincent needed her, and in her heart, that took precedence overanything else, but she had a responsibility here that went beyond herobligations to her family, even Vincent. The bill had its detractors,and the vote promised to be extremely close. A few votes - her ownand perhaps one or two others that might be swayed by her speech -could make the difference.

Ten minutes later she rose, outwardly composed, and swept hernotes into a neat pile, tucking them into a side pocket of herbriefcase. In the outer office, Tim and Megan looked up when her dooropened, and Tim leaped anxiously to his feet.

"I'll be in the Assembly debate," she said quietly. "If Jacob getshere before I get back, please ask him to wait for me. And Tim?Please don't tell him anything."

Tim's hasty promise followed her out into the hallway, where shestrode briskly, joining other legislators making their way to thismorning's session. Inside, she made her speech, hollowly accepting afew handshakes and swiftly whispered congratulations on her way backto her seat. There were two more speeches, one in support of the billand one against it, before a lunch break was called.

By the time the afternoon session convened, her nerves werestretched nearly to the breaking point, but somehow she made itthrough, listening to the animated debate and even rising twice todispute someone else's statement. At last the bill came to avote.

Years ago, votes had been taken by voice or with a show of hands.That was before modern technology had stepped in, making thesemethods obsolete. With trembling fingers, Catherine found the plasticcard issued to her upon appointment, sliding it through a slot in asmall box mounted to the table where she sat during legislativesessions. A moment later the box beeped, the card's magnetic striphaving been read and her identity duly recorded. Rapidly she pushedthe button that would record her vote in favor of the bill inquestion. Her other hand was already gathering her things as she roseand pushed her way toward the exit. Near the door, her path wasblocked by an attractive black man about her own age.

"Great speech this morning, Cathy," he said. "Good points youbrought up during the debate, too."

"Thank you, Doug," she answered, trying not to be rude in herhaste. Douglas Allen was a co-sponsor of the bill they'd just debatedand was understandably pleased with the way things had gone.

He didn't seem to notice. "Still too close to call, but we have agood chance for passage," he continued blithely. "I knew I wouldn'tregret letting you put your name on the bill."

"I'm glad, Doug, but you'll have to excuse me now."

Some quality in her voice penetrated, and he looked at hersharply. "Cathy, is everything all right?"

Without thinking, she shook her head. "No. I have... a familyemergency."

"I'm sorry, Cathy." He followed her out into the hall. "It's notone of your kids, is it?"

"No." She hesitated, habit making her reticent, but she'd alreadytold Tim. "My father-in-law passed away last night," she saidfinally. "I need to go home. My... husband needs me." Her tonguestumbled over the forbidden word, but she felt strangely defiant.She'd done her duty and now she could follow her heart; she didn'tmuch care who knew it.

"I'm sorry, Cathy," Douglas Allen repeated. "Is there anything Ican do?"

"Make my apologies at the victory party, if there is one," sheflung back over her shoulder.

"I will," he called after her.

Hurrying back to her office, she glanced at her watch.Three-thirty already, and Charles had called at what? Nine-thirty?Quarter of ten? Too much time had passed, and her guilt increasedwith every passing second. The sight of Jacob slumped on the couch inher office brought her up short. Somehow, she had completelyforgotten him.

"Hi, Mom," he greeted uneasily. "Tim says you need to talk tome."

"Yes," she responded, dropping her briefcase on her desk beforegoing to sit beside him.

There was trepidation in his eyes as he faced her. "You're goingto tell me something bad, aren't you?"

Slowly she nodded, remembering how Jacob had always been hisgrandfather's favorite, how close they'd always been. She reached forhis hands, startled to feel how warm they felt against her cold ones."Jacob, I don't know of any easy way to tell you this. Yourgrandfather died last night."

For an agonizing moment he just sat, and she wondered if he hadheard her clearly.

"How?" he asked finally.

"I don't know. Charles said he died in his sleep. I don't know anymore than that, Jacob, but he was very old."

Jacob nodded gravely. "Are we going home now?"

Disturbed by his stillness, she studied his face for a momentbefore nodding. "Yes. Right now."

"Are we going to the apartment first?"

"I'd rather not. We have everything we need at home, so unless youneed something..."

Withdrawing his hands, he shook his head and started for the door,shrugging into his jacket as he went. Slowly she followed.They werewell beyond the Albany city limits when he spoke again. "When didCharles call you?"

She glanced over to where he huddled unhappily in the passengerseat. "About nine-thirty this morning," she answered quietly.

He nodded as if she'd confirmed something he already knew, andmurmured something she couldn't quite hear.

"What was that?"

"He never told me all his stories," Jacob said.

Catherine thought she heard his voice break.

"He was going to tell me a story about Brigit O'Donnell - youknow, the Irish writer."

Catherine took her eyes off the road just long enough to glance athim. "You know, your father knows that story," she said gently.

"He does? How?"

She managed a smile. "He was there. He's met Brigit O'Donnell.Jacob, many people know the stories your grandfather knew. Theyaren't lost."

"Some of them are," he argued, sinking back into his seat. "Thereare stories nobody but Grandfather knew. And now they're gone."

"You may be right," Catherine agreed slowly. "Jacob, maybe whatyou need to do is be grateful for all the stories your grandfatherwas able to tell you. You're writing those down for everyone to readand are creating a legacy that will last forever."

He made an odd, stifled sound and when she looked over, he hadpushed his face into the crook of his arm and was crying. With aswift glance in the rearview mirror, she pulled across two lanes oftraffic onto the shoulder, unfastening her seatbelt even before thevan made a full stop. She put her arms around him and he burrowedagainst her, sobbing. "It's all right, Jacob," she murmured, tryingto comfort. Even when his tears slowed, she continued to rock himgently.

"I should have been there." His voice was so low she couldscarcely hear him.

"Jacob, there wasn't anything you could have done."

"I could have been there."

Abruptly, she recognized what was troubling him. "Your grandfatherknew how much you loved him, Jacob," she said quietly. "The fact thatyou haven't been able to spend much time with him lately doesn'tchange that."

He turned his tear-streaked face toward her. "Do you really thinkso?"

"Yes. I do." Biting her lower lip to stifle her own unexpectedrush of tears, she mustered a smile and was heartened when Jacobfound the strength to return it.

Dusk fell while they were still en route, and the house was darkand silent when they reached it. For Catherine, the urgency to reachVincent was back, so she and Jacob hurried to the tunnels withoutstopping. The passages Below were unusually still, and they saw noone until they reached the passage outside Vincent's chamber.

Hushed voices reached them, floating out of the lighted entranceto Vincent's chamber, and as Jacob and Catherine approached, a womancame out, turning toward them. As she passed, she touched Jacob'sshoulder in sympathy, and paused to exchange hugs with Catherine.

"How is he, Olivia?" Catherine whispered.

"Holding up," Olivia replied. "He's been waiting for you, Ithink."

Catherine nodded sadly, suppressing a twinge of guilt over thelong delay. "I know."

Jacob had gone ahead, and when Catherine entered the chamber hehad already crossed the room, hurrying to the comfort of his father'sembrace. The other children were there, and Vicky leaped from herchair to fling herself into Catherine's arms.

"Oh, Mommy," Vicky sobbed. Catherine hugged her hard, stroking herhair.

"I know," she whispered. Still holding Vicky with one arm, she putout her other hand to touch Charles and Evan, who had gatheredclose.

They must have made an odd, touching tableau: Vincent and Jacob onone side of the chamber, Catherine and the other children on theother side. William and Pascal, who had obviously been conferringwith Vincent on something, excused themselves in self-consciousmurmurs and went out. After a few moments the children began to speakin the hushed tones of mourning.

"Lots of Helpers came here today," Vicky whispered. "Uncle Petercame first, because Daddy called for him."

"And Uncle Devin's coming," Evan added.

"He's flying in from Houston tonight," Charles explained.

"I need to pick him up at JFK; may I have the keys to thecar?"

Catherine was surprised and vaguely relieved to learn that Devinhad been located so quickly, and handed Charles the keys withoutcomment.

"Father received a long letter from him only two days ago,"Vincent explained quietly. "So we knew where he was."

"I called him right after I called you," Charles added, and shetouched his shoulder in sympathy.

"Not an easy job," she murmured.

"No," he answered. She saw his father's inner strength reflectedin the cool gray of his eyes and silently blessed whatever power hadgiven her this extraordinary son. He offered her a smile ofencouragement and understanding before turning to his brother. "Comeon, Jacob. There should still be some of the stew from supper left inthe kitchen, and I'll bet you haven't eaten. Evan... Vicky..."

Normally, the younger children would not easily acquiesce to theirbrother's authority, but their natural willfulness had been bluntedby grief and they filed out obediently. Charles moved to follow.

"Charles."

He turned back in the doorway. "Yes, Father?"

"Your mother hasn't eaten either. Perhaps you'd bring hersomething?"

"Leave it outside, Charles," Catherine added quickly, and henodded, pulling the heavy drape across the opening as he left.

Instinctively, Catherine knew Vincent had been the mainstay of theentire community today, lending all of them his strength andcomposure. Perhaps no one else could have seen how near he was tobreaking, but she knew, and crossed the chamber to draw him into herarms.

"Oh, Catherine," he whispered close to her ear, soundingdangerously close to tears. "I need you."

Or had he said, *I needed you*? In her guilt, she couldn't besure. "I'm here," she murmured, holding him tight. "I'm herenow."

His answer was simply to tighten his grip and they stood togetherin the center of the chamber for a very long time, holding eachother; the only sound was the rasp of Vincent's uneven breathing.

"It happened so fast," he murmured at last, his voice breaking."Last night I read to him, and we talked of the work to be done onthe water system. This morning, I thought he must be sleeping late.When I finally went to wake him..."

"I know," she whispered. "Charles said it was in his sleep?"

Vincent nodded. "He looked peaceful, as if he'd just slipped awayin the night."

Despite the calm of his words, Catherine could see ineffablesadness deepening the blue of his eyes and the effort it took for himto shift the focus of his thoughts. His finger traced a path down hercheek.

"You should sit now, and eat," he chided gently. "It's been a longday."

"For all of us," she agreed, but let him seat her at the table andbring the tray Charles had left outside the entrance. She had noappetite, but managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of lukewarm stew forVincent's sake. When she had eaten enough to satisfy him, sherose.

"You have more work to do here," she said, indicating the papershe'd pushed aside to make room for the tray. The tug of motherhoodwas strong; sorrow and regret that she had not been here to helptheir children at this difficult time was weighing heavy upon her. "Iwant to be sure the children are settled," she whispered. "Will yoube all right?"

His look was tender. "Of course. They need their mother. Go."

Bending down for a soft, regretful kiss, she left the chamber.Charles, she learned, had already left for the airport, so she soughtout the younger ones.

Children who had families Below lived with them, but the childrenwho had come to the tunnels alone slept in dormitories, supervised bysome of the women. Catherine and Vincent's children certainly hadfamily, but didn't actually live Below, and Vincent's chamber, theonly one set aside for his exclusive use, was much too small; whenthe family stayed Below, the children slept in the dorms.

Catherine went first to the large chamber that served as the boy'sdormitory. Evan was there, roughhousing with some of the other boys.They stopped when she came in, looking abashed.

"Sorry," one of the boys mumbled and Catherine's heart went out tohim. Obviously the boys felt their playfulness had been inappropriateon this day, but she understood their need to deny what had happened,if only temporarily.

"It's all right," she assured him.

Across the chamber JoAnna, one of the women who tended thecommunity children, looked across at Catherine and smiled beforeraising her voice in gentle command. "Time for bed, boys. Did you allbrush your teeth?"

An affirmative chorus rose in answer, and the boys began pullingdown blankets and crawling into bed. Catherine moved to Evan'sbedside, where he let her tuck him in. In the background she couldhear JoAnna moving about, tucking the other boys in for the night,but Catherine ignored her, focusing on her son.

Her relationship with Evan had always been prickly, but tonight heseemed to need something from her. "Are you all right?" she asked,keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the others in thechamber.

He nodded. "I'm okay. I'm not a baby, you know."

"No, I know that. You're growing up almost too fast for me, Evan,"she admitted, ignoring the defensive edge in his voice. "But whathappened today... your grandfather... is very sad. Do you feel sad?"she prompted.

He looked unhappy. "I guess so," he said.

She studied him carefully. "Have you cried for him, Evan?"

A fleeting expression of guilt disappeared beneath one ofaffronted dignity. "Boys don't cry," he informed her.

"Oh, Evan, where did you hear that? Of course boys cry, and men.Your father cries; he cried tonight. I haven't cried for yourgrandfather yet, either," she admitted softly, watching her son'sface. "The pain is too new and doesn't feel real yet. But I know itwill, and I'll cry when it happens." She touched him, smoothing backa strand of fair hair. "When it feels real to you, Evan, you'll cry.And know that your father and I will be there for you. Sometimes ithelps to have someone else, but if you want to be alone, that's okay,too."

"Will I really feel that sad, Mom?" he asked in a nearly desperatewhisper.

"Oh, yes, Evan, you will. You loved your grandfather. Losing himwas a shock to all of us and shock makes you numb. When the numbnesswears off, you'll feel the hurt."

Doubt and disbelief clouded his eyes. "Vicky cried already," hesaid bluntly.

"Evan, Vicky is a very emotional person. She wears her heart onher sleeve, and she's always cried more easily than you have. Don'tjudge yourself by other people."

Relief was finally creeping into his face and voice. "Dad saidthat, too," he admitted.

"And you doubted him?"

Evan squirmed. "I knew he could tell I didn't feel anything, and Iwas afraid he thought I didn't care. I thought he was only beingnice."

"No," Catherine said, smiling faintly. "Evan, your father wouldnever patronize you by 'only being nice.' He will always tell you thetruth, if you only trust him." Leaning over, she kissed his cheek."We both love you, Evan, and we believe in you."

"I love you, too, Mom. I missed you today."

"I missed you, too, Evan. Will you be able to go to sleep?"

"I think so."

"All right. I'm going to check on Vicky and then I'll probably goback to your father's chamber. If you need me..."

"I know. Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, Evan."

As she started toward the exit, he whispered after her.

"What is it?" she asked, turning.

He produced a brave grin. "Thanks."

She smiled.

Talking to Evan had taken more time than she'd anticipated, andwhen Catherine reached the girls' dormitory chamber, the lamps hadalready been dimmed. Inside, the soft murmur of voices could still beheard, and Catherine found her way easily to Vicky's bed.

Vicky was still awake and Catherine sat on the edge of the bed."Hi, sweetheart," she whispered.

"Hi, Mom," Vicky answered. "Is Daddy okay?"

Catherine was mildly surprised. "Of course he is, honey. Can't youfeel him?"

Vicky shook her head. "No. Not at all today. He's been blockingme."

"Well, I suppose that's because he thinks you have enough to worryabout, too," Catherine suggested.

"It scares me when he does it and you're not here," Vickysaid.

"Vicky, your father tries to protect you from things that might betoo big for you to handle. It's not your job to worry about him,"Catherine said gently.

Vicky gave her a inquisitive look. "It's your job, though, isn'tit?"

Catherine nodded slowly. "Yes, it is," she admitted. "When twopeople love each other as your father and I do, they have aresponsibility to each other."

"He needed you, and you weren't here." Vicky's voice held an edgeof resentment.

"I know I wasn't. I came as soon as I could." Catherine tried tokeep her voice steady.

"I needed you, too."

"I know. Vicky, I'm sorry. I wanted to be here; you must knowthat."

Tears began to well in Vicky's eyes, and Catherine gathered herclose. "It's okay. I'm here."

It wasn't long until Vicky slipped into an exhausted sleep.Catherine tucked the covers around her tenderly, brushing away thetears.

Looking up, she saw Mary standing alone near the center of thechamber. She seemed oddly still. Catherine approached her, concernedby the tense way Mary held herself, and how her hands twisted tightlytogether. "Mary?" she whispered.

At the sound of her name, Mary seemed to notice Catherine for thefirst time. "Oh, Catherine..." she began, and her voice wavered.

Instantly compassionate, Catherine put an arm around Mary'sshoulders. So often, Mary had been a source of comfort to others; shewondered if anyone had thought to comfort Mary. "The girls areasleep," she whispered. "Come with me to your chamber and I'll makeyou some tea."

"Some tea," Mary repeated. "That would be nice, Catherine. Thankyou."

It was fortunate Catherine knew the way to Mary's chamber, becausethe other woman seemed uncertain of her direction. Once there,Catherine guided Mary to a comfortable rocking chair before turningto the small brazier and the copper kettle that stood on an ironshelf above the coals.

"The water's hot," she said, trying to sound normal. "I'll havetea ready in a moment."

Mary didn't answer, but looked up a few minutes later whenCatherine proffered a steaming cup. "Oh, Catherine," she said,sounding lost. "Father's always been the one we've turned to in timesof trouble. I can't believe he's gone." Covering her face with herhands, she started to weep and again, Catherine held someone whilethey cried.

"Oh, Catherine, I'm sorry," Mary whispered when the tears ceased."I don't know what came over me..."

"Of course you do," Catherine answered. "You loved Father; we alldid."

"I didn't mean to cry on your shoulder, though. I meant to waituntil later, when there was time..."

"You're like Vincent," Catherine soothed her. "Everyone is lookingto you for strength, but you're grieving, too."

Mary nodded. "Thank you for understanding." She smiled wistfully."I can't believe I'll never see him again. I'm going to miss him somuch."

"We'll all miss him, Mary, the entire community. But for you it'sdifferent, isn't it?"

Mary looked down at her hands. "I didn't think it showed."

"It doesn't, not really. You've always taken such care of everyonehere, Mary, but you seemed to take extra care of Father. I noticed itand wondered, that's all."

"There was never anything, you know," Mary explained, stillwatching her hands. "He was so busy, caught up in theresponsibilities of our world... and there was Margaret..."

"I know he cared very much for you, too," Catherine assuredher.

Mary forced a smile. "I know he did," she answered softly.The teahad cooled, so Catherine made a fresh pot for she and Mary to share.When it was gone, Mary looked more at peace. "Catherine, thank youfor your kindness tonight. You made a difficult time mucheasier."

"I'm glad." Catherine rose and began to gather the tea things.

"Leave them, please?" Mary asked. "I'll take care of it. You haveyour family to care for."

Catherine smiled. "Mary, you're my family too, don't you knowthat? But I would like to get back to Vincent... if you'resure...?"

"I am," Mary said firmly, looking more like her usual competentself. "Go on, now."

Catherine went. She made a detour past the boys' dorm, but whenshe checked, both Evan and Jacob were asleep. Knowing her childrenwere all safe satisfied her maternal instincts and freed her toreturn to Vincent's chamber.He was alone, open books spread acrossthe table in front of him, writing, and she paused in the entrance towatch him. After a moment he pushed the papers away and stood up;there was no mistaking the relief in his eyes.

"There was a message from Charles," he said. "Devin's flight hasbeen delayed. He says they'll spend the night at the house and comedown in the morning."

"That's a good idea," Catherine agreed softly. "I'm sorry I didn'tget to speak with him before he went."

"Catherine, Charles will be all right."

"I know he will. But I'm his mother, and sometimes I like to helpmy children through the rough places."

"You do, Catherine. Constantly. For them, and for me, too."

He turned back to the table, straightening the books and puttingthe papers in order; Catherine began to prepare for sleep. Once she'dslipped on a long, warm nightgown and brushed her hair, she climbedinto bed, curling under the blankets to watch as Vincent movedmethodically about the room, putting out the candles. When the lastflame was extinguished, she pulled down the covers on his side andwaited for him to join her. After a moment, she lifted her head fromthe pillow, seeking him in the darkened chamber. "Vincent?"

He didn't answer and it was a moment before her eyes adjusted tothe dim glow cast by the stained glass window. Finally she found him,a dark silhouette standing near the mantel. He was very still, hishead bowed, and she slid from the bed, shivering at the touch of thecool tunnel air on her bare legs and feet as she crossed the chamberto his side.

"What is it?" she whispered, wishing there was more light so shecould better see his face.

The muscles of his forearm tightened beneath her hand. "I wasremembering..." he began. His voice drifted away and she shook him,just a little.

"Remembering what?"

"Father. When we were boys, Devin and I." He stopped and sheprodded him again.

"What would Father do?"

"We weren't allowed to put out the candles; he was afraid we'd setthe place on fire, I guess..."

"Or that Devin would, anyway."

His hand came up, covering hers where it rested on his arm."Perhaps," he agreed, his voice scarcely audible, even in thestillness. "He would come in, after we were in bed, to tuck us in andput out the lights..."

"And snuffing the candles made you think of that," she promptedsoftly.

"Devin's bed was there, under the window; mine was over againstthat wall." He gestured, showing her how the room had been arranged."Father would come to me first, while Devin was taking his bath. He'dsit on the side of the bed and we'd talk."

"About what?"

"Everything. What I'd done that day; what I'd learned, what I'dread. Things that troubled me. When Devin came in, Father would kissme goodnight and put out the candle by my bed. Then he'd go to Devin;Devin didn't like to be kissed, but Father would ruffle his hair, orpat his shoulder, and he'd put out Devin's candle and the room wouldbe dark..." He stopped. She waited, but he didn't go on.

"When did you move the beds?"

"What?" The apparent non-sequitur had gained his attention and shecould feel him looking at her.

"You said Devin's bed was the one under the window. When did youchange?"

He bowed his head. "After Devin left, when we were searching forhim, not knowing... I couldn't bear to lie in my bed and see Devin'sempty. So I would wait until Father left the chamber and creep acrossto Devin's bed. Somehow, seeing my own bed unoccupied waseasier."

"Father never knew?"

"I think he must have known, but he never spoke of it."

"Perhaps he knew it comforted you."

"Yes. Perhaps he..." He broke off abruptly and she pressed hisarm; she could see the shine of tears streaking his cheeks.

"Vincent?"

The stillness was broken by his strangled sob and with a sharpgasp he turned, burying his face against her shoulder; her arms wentaround him, holding him close. His sudden release of grief had stolencoherent speech; all he could seem to manage was her name, over andover.

"It's all right," she soothed, stroking his hair. "It's all rightnow. I'm here." Her own eyes filled and she felt the wetness of histears as he turned his head, kissing her cheek, her ear, and the sideof her neck. There was no tenderness, only a desolate, instinctiveneed to fill the emptiness and she gave herself to him willingly,murmuring soft words of love and consolation as she drew him towardthe bed. His distraught lovemaking was much more a life-affirminggesture than an outpouring of passion; afterward, he buried his facein her hair and cried.

"Catherine, I'm sorry," he whispered much later, when the tearshad all been spent and he found his voice again.

"Do you think I don't understand what you're feeling?" shewhispered fiercely. "Vincent, when my father died..."

He raised his head to meet her eyes. "Yes. I remember. I knew whatyou needed but I couldn't..."

"You weren't ready then, but I wanted to do this for you, Vincent.I want to be here for you."

"You are. Always."

She felt a familiar sense of awe that even now, in the midst ofsorrow, he could find the strength to be concerned for her. "I shouldhave been here for you," she whispered. "All day, it's all I couldthink: that I should be here, helping you."

"Catherine, no. You came as soon as you could; I know that."

"You needed me, Vincent and I wasn't here. I'm sorry."

"Oh, my love," he murmured, pulling her tightly against him, "youwere here, in my heart. I could feel you, and it gave mecourage."

She almost believed him.

* * * *

When Catherine awoke, Vincent had already risen, and the chamberwas empty. Dressed in the soft, warm clothing she kept in hischamber, she went in search of him, a search that naturally led toFather's study. As she came in one entrance, Devin came in another.She stopped, watching as Devin crossed the chamber quickly to catchVincent in a hard, masculine embrace.

"Devin. Thank you for coming," Vincent said when they stepped backto look at each other.

"Hey, he was my father, too," Devin said awkwardly. "I had tocome. Where's Chandler and the kids?"

"The children are at breakfast," Vincent said softly. "Catherineis here."

Smiling, Catherine moved from the shadowed doorway where she'dbeen observing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. We're gladyou're here, Devin."

Devin flashed a grin. "I'm glad I'm able to be here. I wish you'dteach me that trick, Vincent," he added.

"Which trick is that, Devin?" Vincent inquired.

"The one you just did... knowing she's there without turning yourhead."

Vincent treated them to one of his slow smiles and Catherine wassuddenly grateful to Devin and his droll wit. As Vincent turnedtoward her, he seemed stronger, more centered than he had been lastnight, and the guilt that had burdened her since yesterday eased alittle.

"It isn't a trick, Devin, and it can't be taught," Vincentexplained. "It has to be felt..." He touched his chest lightly."Here."

Devin nodded. "I guess I can't do it, then," he said. "I've neverhad much luck feeling things."

Vincent studied him slowly. "If that were true, you wouldn't behere now," he said. Devin seemed at a loss for words, and after amoment, Vincent went on. "Have you eaten today?"

The change of subject seemed to give Devin a chance to regain hisemotional balance. "No, not yet. We wanted to get down here..." Awave of his hand included Charles, who stood quietly observing.

"Perhaps we should all go to breakfast together," Catherinesuggested. "Vincent, I know you haven't eaten yet..."

In the dining chamber, the tunnel denizens were huddled togetherin small groups. The shock of losing Father was not so new today, butgrief was still strong and voices were hushed. A few greeted Devinsolemnly, expressing regret, but most seemed absorbed in their ownsorrow.

After serving themselves from the buffet-style table William keptladen, Catherine, Vincent, Devin, and Charles found a small table ina corner. Despite all the talk about eating, none of them had muchappetite, merely pushing the food around as they talked.

"When's the service, Vincent?" Devin asked.

"Tomorrow," Vincent answered. "He wanted to be interred down inthe catacombs. With Grace."

Devin raised his eyebrows. "Not Above with Margaret?"

"He left a letter," Vincent explained. "I found it yesterday. Thisis his world and this is where he wants to be."

Devin nodded slowly, looking bemused.

"About the service, Devin," Vincent continued. "I've been tryingto compose a eulogy, but I wondered if perhaps it's your place todeliver it."

Devin stared at him for a long moment. "Vincent, I don't knowexactly why you're saying that, but everyone knows you've always beenmore his son than I am."

"He loved you, Devin," Vincent argued.

"I'm not saying he didn't love me," Devin countered. "I'm justsaying that you're the one who should deliver the eulogy."

Catherine reached for Vincent's hand. "Are you worried aboutgiving Father's eulogy?"

"No. Father was always there for me, no matter how difficult theproblem, even when it meant risking his life." There was exchange ofdeep looks with Catherine. "This is something I must do for myself,as well as for Father."

"All right. As long as you're sure." Catherine's smile wasreassuring, but she didn't release his hand.

"I'll say something if you think I should, Vincent," Devin offeredslowly. "It's just we weren't really that close..."

"It isn't necessary, Devin," Vincent assured. "I only wanted togive you the opportunity." He smiled. "You've already done somethingfor him."

"What?"

"Father received a letter from you only three days ago. He saidthe stories you told made him feel he was there on the oil rigs withyou. It was all he could talk about."

"Yeah? I'm glad." Devin grinned. "It's a funny thing about thatletter. You know how I hate to write... but last week, something keptnudging me, telling me I should sit down and write my father a longletter... I found myself telling him stories I knew he wouldn'tapprove of, but his approval suddenly didn't seem so importantanymore. I just wanted him to know I was thinking about him. For thefirst time, I even told him I loved him. If I hadn't written thatletter..."

"But you did," Catherine interjected. "That's what'simportant."

"Yeah," Devin said. "I guess so."

* * * *

The next morning found the entire community and most of theHelpers crowded into the Great Hall.

Before them, Vincent stood, tall and somber, waiting patiently forthe noise to die down. Gradually a silence fell across the hall andhe began to speak.

"I look across this hall at all the faces, remembering how much myfather cared for each one of you... how much each of you meant tohim..."

Catherine watched him, listening to him tell the story of howFather had founded their world on hope and love, knowing howdifficult this was for him. Beside her, Vicky was weeping softly intoCharles's shirt. Possessed of an inborn serenity that could carry himthrough anything, Charles comforted his sister with an arm around hershoulders.

On Catherine's other side stood Evan, and she studied himfurtively. The set of his mouth was grim, but he was painfullydry-eyed. He shot her a grateful sidelong glance when she pressed hishand in solace. Beyond Evan stood Jacob. His face was drawn in grief,his cheeks wet, but his chin was raised bravely.

Catherine wished she could take away her children's grief, draw itinto herself somehow. It was a futile wish, though, as so many of amother's wishes are, so she tucked it carefully away in a corner ofher soul.

She turned her attention back to Vincent, who was reading apassage from Antoine De Saint-Exupery's *The Little Prince*.

"'...At night you will look up at the stars... And you will loveto watch all the stars in the heavens... In one of the stars I shallbe living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be asif all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky atnight...

"'And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) youwill be content that you have known me. You will always be myfriend.'"

He looked up; his eyes were wet but his voice was steady. "The manwe called Father was a parent and a teacher to all of us; he was alsoour friend..."

After the service, the mourners dispersed slowly and it was wellinto afternoon by the time Catherine found her way into Father'sstudy again. Vincent, Devin, Pascal, and a few others who had grownup Below were gathered on one side of the chamber; hushed laughterindicated they were telling childhood tales. Vincent looked up whenshe came in, but didn't move to join her.

The chamber's only other occupants were Jacob and Amanda, whopored over an open newspaper spread out on Father's desk. Jacob wasreading from an item while Amanda rubbed his forearm in a soothing,half-automatic gesture; Catherine wondered if her son was truly ascomposed as he appeared.

He looked up as she approached. "Look, Mom. It passed."

Catherine gave him a blank look. She was still focused on Jacoband his needs and had no idea what he was talking about. "Whatpassed?"

"The child abuse bill. It passed."

She felt suddenly absolved. "Good. That makes it worthwhile."

"The effort was worthwhile whether the measure passed or not,Catherine." Vincent had come up behind her.

"I meant... not being here..."

"That's the bill they debated the day Grandfather died," Jacobtold his father helpfully. "That's why we were late."

"You had a responsibility, Catherine."

"I wanted to be with you, Vincent. If there had been a clearmajority either way..."

"Two votes, Mom," Jacob broke in. "That was the margin. Twovotes."

"One of them yours?" Vincent asked.

Catherine nodded.

"And the other possibly swayed by the speech you made," heconcluded.

"How did you know about the speech?"

"I read it in the paper."

"It's in here, Mom," Jacob said. "Most of it, anyway."

"It must have been a slow news day," Catherine said,chagrined.

"It was a good speech," Jacob argued. "My class heard it from thegallery. I was proud of you."

Across the room, Devin was calling for Vincent to rejoin thegroup. "I agree with Jacob; it was a good speech," Vincent said toCatherine, his voice low. "I, too, am proud of you."

* * * *

Catherine stayed home the week following the funeral, feeling herfamily needed her far more than the legislature did. She spoke withTim and Megan, just to keep up with events, but her primary concernwas family.Because Vincent felt his new responsibilities keenly, thefamily stayed Below, though Catherine privately felt he just neededthe security of the home he'd always known.

Vincent was healing; she could see it. Though he missed Fatherdreadfully, the sadness was bearable; he had accepted the loss andwas grateful for the memories. There were still moments when griefthreatened to overwhelm him, of course, and at those times Catherinewas there to comfort him.

Like Vincent, Charles had a deep inner stillness; it gave him aspiritual strength that enabled him to endure his grief. Vicky, too,was mourning her grandfather in what Catherine thought was a healthymanner.

Only Evan still dragged around looking grimly unhappy. His pricklynature had reasserted itself, and she was wary of approaching him;however, Vincent assured her that Evan was working through his griefin his own way.

Jacob was dealing with his grandfather's loss in another way.Apparently driven to complete his chronicle of Father's stories. Hespent hours each day with the older tunnel residents, tape recorderin hand, asking them to repeat the tunnel legends. Evenings werespent hunched over a notebook, painstakingly transcribing the day'stapes.

Even caring for her family didn't fill all her time, and onemorning, after visiting with Mary over cups of herb tea, Catherinefound herself at loose ends.

Wandering by Father's Chamber, she found Vincent and Charles bentover a long table with Pascal, William, and Jamie. Maps and chartswere spread across the table's surface and a vigorous argument wastaking place. Vincent glanced up when she came in, but he was clearlydistracted, and with an apologetic smile, she backed out again.

Her next stop was Vincent's chamber, her home away from home, butit was already occupied. Some of the children had gathered there,including her own younger ones, and were telling stories of Father.She stood in the entry for a few moments, listening, before turningaway.

What she had overheard had prompted her own bittersweet memoriesof Father; her inner ear brought back his voice from long ago as heharshly castigated her temerity in loving his son. The memory madeher suddenly miserable, and she tried to change it. Abruptly came theknowledge of how much she herself missed him and she swallowedhard.

Looking up, she found that her aimless wandering had brought herto the Whispering Gallery. Stepping out onto the bridge, shelistened, but there were no voices today.

"You know, they say the Abyss goes down forever." Devin's casualcomment cut through the quiet of the chamber. She whirled to facehim. "You okay, Chandler?"

For a moment, the grief she'd been keeping at bay threatened tochoke her; with an effort, she stifled it. "Yes, of course."

He nodded and stepped out on the bridge to join her, looking downover the railing. "When we were kids, we used to go down to the lowerlevels and drop things down, hoping to hear them strike bottom. Wenever did."

She smiled in spite of herself. "I know. According to Vincent,there used to be a lot more rocks up in Central Park."

Gazing down into the bottomless depths, Devin's expression becamedistant.

Instinctively, Catherine touched his arm. "Devin, are you allright?"

When he looked at her, his usual insouciant expression was gone;his eyes were bleak. "I don't know," he answered finally. "I guess Ithought he'd live forever."

"No one lives forever, Devin, but your father had a good life,"she said slowly.

"Yeah. And a son who walked out on him when he was fourteen. A sonwho let him think he was dead for twenty years."

"Don't do this to yourself," she said softly. "He loved you,Devin. He understood why you had to go."

"Did he really?"

"I know he did. He talked about you, Devin. He knew your heart wasalways up there somewhere," she gestured toward the rock ceilingarching so high above their heads. "And that you had to follow it.You always came back, though, and that meant everything to him."

Devin's eyes were shining with tears and he sniffed them backimpatiently.

"It's okay to cry," she told him softly.

"Vincent's lucky he has you, Chandler," Devin said with a sidelongglance.

She shook her head, not looking at him.

"What is it?" he turned toward her, putting his hand on hershoulder.

She shrugged. "I wasn't able to be here that day," she said. "Iguess I'm still feeling guilty."

"You shouldn't feel that way," he said. "You're the best thingthat ever happened to him."

"Maybe," she admitted, knowing in spite of herself that he wasright.

"And you're taking care of your kids," he challenged."And me. AndMary," he continued relentlessly.

She wanted to smile, but the sorrow was rising in her again andshe was afraid of bursting into tears.

"What I want to know," he continued, "is who holds you when youcry, Cathy?"

The question startled her, and she jerked her head up to look athim. "Vincent does," she said, surprised to hear defiance in hervoice.

"Yeah? Well, I think he'd better do it pretty soon," Devinobserved gently. "You look pretty close to the edge."

"You know, it's strange; all my memories today are of the timesFather was angry with me, when he believed I was a threat toVincent's happiness."

Devin looked startled. "The old man thought that?"

"Yes. We were adversaries for quite a while."

"I never knew that." Devin's grin was wry, if a trifle shaky."Nice to know he could be irritated with somebody besides me."

"In the same cause, though," Catherine pointed out.

"Protecting Vincent," Devin agreed.

Catherine nodded slowly.

"And the old man won't be around anymore to do that," heobserved.

In a heartbeat, Catherine knew why all her memories of Father wereangry ones; it was because she was alone now. Of all those who lovedVincent, and there were many, no one else felt that fierce desire toprotect him at all costs. Father had. It had been the basis for mostof his fears and the root of his early hostility. In later times, hehad lent her strength and support. And now he was gone.

Abruptly and without warning, she began to cry. Beside her, shecould feel Devin folding her into a clumsy embrace. Helplessly, sheleaned against him, sobbing. A moment later, his hold loosened."Here," she heard him say gruffly, and Vincent was there. Gratefully,she turned into his arms, clinging to his vest, burying her faceagainst his chest.

At last her sobs eased and she lifted her head to find Vincentlooking down on her with compassion. "Thank you," she whispered,wiping her wet cheeks.

"You're all right now." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," she agreed, still sniffling a little. "Where's Devin?"

"I don't know," Vincent answered, turning to look, too.Rememberingthe sorrow in Devin's dark eyes, she suspected he'd gone to seek hisown privacy.

* * * *

Later, Devin joined the family at dinner. Taking a seat besideCatherine, he nudged her arm.

"Check out the kid," he murmured, with a surreptitious nod towardEvan.

As she studied her youngest son, she could see the shadow in hiseyes was gone, and he carried himself as if a great burden had beenlifted. Vincent noticed it too, and glanced at Devin inquiringly.

"We found each other in the Chamber of the Winds," he explained,pitching his voice low so it wouldn't carry. "He was crying. We spenta long time down there, talking. Hell, I even cried a little,myself." He produced a half-embarrassed grin. "He's going to be okaynow," he added with certainty.

Catherine nodded and Vincent leaned back almost imperceptibly."Thank you, Devin," Catherine murmured. "For me and for Evan."

They were all healing, getting past that first, terrible grief,but there was still a vast emptiness left by Father's passing. Still,a week after the funeral she knew she needed to get back toAlbany.

"You can stay another week if you like, Jacob," she offered,thinking he might not be ready to return.

He looked up from writing in his ever-present notebook. "No,that's okay," he said. "I'll go."

It surprised her. "Are you sure?"

He grinned. "What would you do without me? One for all and all forone, remember?"

Devin looked up from playing chess with Vincent. "Hey, Chandler,what time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Why?"

"I was hoping you could drop me off at JFK."

"Devin, the airport's east. The most direct route to Albany iswest, through New Jersey," Catherine pointed out.

"Does that mean you won't take me?"

"It means I'll lend you cab fare. Are you going back toTexas?"

Devin shook his head. "I thought I'd visit a friend in Illinois -and after that, who knows?" He shrugged expansively, grinning, andboth Catherine and Vincent knew there was no point in trying to pinhim down.

* * * *

The next afternoon was one of departures as Devin left forIllinois while Catherine and Jacob set out on the now-familiar roadto Albany. Jacob brought his notebook and tape recorder, earphonesdangling around his neck as he scribbled rapidly. Catherine thoughtabout asking him to put it away and talk to her, but he was sowrapped up in his work, she hesitated to disturb him.

Jacob's obsession with transcribing Father's stories continued; hestill made time to prepare their meals, but often she came home tofind him leaning on the kitchen counter with a spoon in one hand anda pen in the other, absently stirring while he wrote.

"Mom, may I stay home from school today?"

Automatically she felt his forehead. "Why? Are you sick?"

He pulled away from her hand impatiently. "I'm fine... I just...Mom, I have to finish this story. I've been trying and trying toremember the way Grandfather used to tell it and I couldn't. And thenlast night, I dreamed about it. Grandfather told the story, the wholestory, just for me, Mom, and if I don't write it down right away,I'll forget it." The words rushed from him in an impassioned torrent."Please?"

"This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?" she askedslowly.

"It does, it really does! Please, Mom. You know I wouldn't ask ifit wasn't important."

She considered him carefully. "Are you sure you'll be all right byyourself?"

It was the naturalness of his response that persuaded her, as hegave an exasperated snort. "Mom, I'm thirteen."

She smiled. "Yes, I know you are. All right, Jacob, you may stayhome today, and today only."

When she got home that evening, he was sprawled on the couch, sosoundly asleep that he didn't hear her come in. The urgency wasfinally gone from his face, and Catherine realized she hadn't seenhim so relaxed in weeks.

She covered him up and he slept through until morning.

"I finished it, Mom!" he exulted. "Look!" His face glowed withaccomplishment.

Even though she knew the hours he'd spent, she was surprised whathe handed her. "This is wonderful, Jacob," she said, reading a lineor paragraph here and there.

* * * *

Three weeks later the legislative session ended. Catherine andJacob packed their belongings and headed home.

That evening the family gathered together in the big study on thesecond floor of their Upper West Side townhouse, and Catherinewatched with pride as Jacob unveiled his first completed story.

"This is splendid," Vincent said, turning pages slowly. "I canalmost hear Father speak. I'm proud of you, Jacob. The stories of ourworld will never be lost now."

Later, in the privacy of their bedroom, Catherine slid into bedbeside Vincent, moving to snuggle against his shoulder. "I thoughtthe legislative session would never end," she sighed. "It's good tobe home."

"I never before realized how long five months can be," Vincentagreed. He nuzzled the top of her head. "I'm glad you decided not togo back."

She burrowed into the warmth of his embrace. "I've been remindedrecently of the fragility of life; of how precious my family reallyis. I never want to look back and wish I'd taken more time with you,or with the children. I want to have that time, and enjoy it." Shesmiled. "The legislature can get along without me; I don't want myfamily to."

He caught her hand, turning it to kiss the palm.

How are the waters of the world sweet - if we should die, we havedrunk them... if we should fail or secede - we have tasted ofhappiness - we must be written in the book of the blessed. We havehad what life could give... we have known - we have been the mysteryof the universe.

- John Jay Chapman

The End