CHAPTER THREE

FAITH

You mustn't let fear eclipselogic.
Fear is all I have left to feel.
What about hope?
She's gone Father! Without a word or a sign! My sense of her . ..
Your empathic connection will return, Vincent. I'm sure of it.
And until then?
Until then you must have Patience, and Faith, Vincent! These arepowerful healers.
Patience!...Faith!!
Well for now it's all you can do.
Well then all I can do is not enough!

Though Lovers Be Lost (Written by Gansa & Gordon)

Vincent waited silently by the oversized table that stood in thecenter of the first floor of Father's two-story chamber. Father satat his desk with several books spread in front of him. Head bowed, heseemed engrossed in cross referencing passages from two particularlylarge volumes. Vincent knew, however, that something other than thepages of the books was occupying his mind. It was in the way Father'slips were pressed too tightly together, and his brow was creased inworry rather than concentration. He sat, shoulders bent, and Vincentnoted that he absently twisted the fringes of the worn brown scarfwhich hung loosely around his neck, a sure sign that all was notwell.

And then there was Vincent's empathicgift. Through long association, made more intense by the closeproximity of their subterranean existence, Vincent knew his adoptivefather in the depths of his soul with an intensity reserved for onlya few in his life. Through endless conversations covering everyconceivable topic and evoking an equally endless range of emotionalresponses, he could feel at this particular moment that Father wasworried. With two strides he had bridged the distance between them,and leaning across the table, Vincent laid his hand upon Father's andwaited until the older man looked up.

"Father, are you going to tell mewhat's bothering you?" he said softly. "I know you're notconcentrating on your reading."

Father took off his glasses, foldedand placed them on the desk. The troubled look on his face furtheralarmed Vincent, but he waited patiently for him to speak. Theirs wasa relationship of two kindred spirits who had openly shared theirlifetime of experiences together and found in each other's companyacceptance and understanding. Whatever was on his mind, Vincentnoted, had been important enough for Father to call him away fromworking with Mouse and the others in refortifying several beams thatsupported an overpass in the lower tunnels. The structure was in nodanger of falling, and their work had been more of a precautionrather than a repair. He could resume his work with them tomorrow.There was time, and Vincent's patience was infinite.

Father abruptly stood up from hiswell-worn armchair and walked to the base of the steps which led tothe chamber's second floor library. When he spoke at last, the sorrowin his voice was unmistakable.

"Last night I had trouble sleeping,so I decided to read. Mary came by and left Jacob with me while shewent to see about the other children. Jacob had been asleep, but soonawoke, frightened and calling for you. I tried to comfort him, but hewanted you without exception. Frankly, Vincent, I've never seen himin such a state. He was in tears and was actually fighting me to getto you. I am ashamed to admit that it frightened me. There was anintensity to his misery that I'd never witnessed before, and nothingI did would calm him. Always mindful of your bond to him, I fearedsomething terrible had happened to you which only he could sense. Solast night...I brought him to your chamber. You had just returned. .."

Abruptly, Father fell silent andreturned to his chair, sinking down slowly. "My thoughts have been onyou ever since," he said gently. His final words were barely audible,but Vincent heard them clearly, along with Father's remorse over whathad been inadvertently seen.

So this was what Father had beenworrying over, thought Vincent. Father didn't need to elaborateany further for Vincent to know what he had witnessed last night withJacob from the small brick vestibule leading to the steps thatdescended into his chamber. After returning from his journey into thedeep recesses of the tunnels, Vincent's anguished heart had cried outhis grief, and his mind had been lost within the turmoil of his ownpersonal hell. Alone in what he had thought was the solitude of hischamber, he had revealed the true depth of his loneliness. Even nowin his mind he could hear the pain reflected in his voice, gutturalin its grief as he'd cried out, 'Catherine, I missyou.'

The agonizing memory of last nightwas as painful now as it had been then. Consumed by sorrow, he wasnot surprised that he had failed to sense the presence of Jacob andFather above him. Now, however, Vincent was acutely aware of Fathersitting across from him and offering a shoulder to lean on. Reachingout, he gripped Father's hands, immersing himself in the older man'sunequivocal love. Unnoticed, both men's grip tightened around theother's hands.

Vincent knew then that Father alreadyunderstood the source of his anguish, for it was a sorrow they bothshared in their own way in facing Catherine's death. From a past ofawkward and often painful encounters, Father had grown to love andtrust Catherine as the daughter of his heart. He not only mourned herdeath, but still felt remorse for his initial rejection of her. Therewere no words Vincent could say that would ease Father's guilt inthat regard, just as the many words of sympathy had been inadequateto ease the guilt he felt over his failure to rescue her. It wasobvious to father and son that both were shouldering heavy burdenswhere Catherine Chandler was concerned.

Thus, there was no need to wastewords as Father raised his head to look at Vincent. In the bluedepths of his eyes, Father saw his son's reluctance and understoodthat to go on with this conversation would mean to encroach upon theone subject that they had danced around for months, each trying tohide from the other the overwhelming sorrow that Catherine's demisehad brought to both their lives. The scene he had witnessed lastnight, however, had shown Father how wrong he'd been to abandonVincent to the privacy of his grief.
"Vincent," Father said softly, "neither of us can go on like this.Please, son, share your thoughts with me. Catherine . . . her loss tous . . . it's too much for you to carry alone."

Vincent wanted nothing more than torun as far as he could from the open concern and promise of help thatFather offered. He had purposely avoided any discussion of Catherinesince he'd safely returned Jacob from Gabriel's abduction. The reliefand joy at Jacob's rescue had lifted the spirits of all who knewVincent and Catherine. Yet, Jacob's return had reinforced for Vincentas nothing else could that Catherine was truly dead and forever lostto him. In the midst of the tunnel community's celebration at thechild's safe return, Vincent found himself compelled to hide hiscontinuing grief from those he loved; knowing that a display of hissorrow would only serve to hinder the healing that had begun for theothers.

That had been over a year ago, andhe'd soon found it easier to avoid any mention of Catherine ratherthan endure the sympathy of so many. Then there was Jacob to care forand also Diana, who was more than willing to guide him away from thedark grief that was always with him just below the surface. And whenall else failed to keep him occupied, Vincent had been able to counton something within their world breaking down and requiring hisstrength, if not his skill, to be repaired. Thus, for the better partof the year he had pushed his physical endurance to the limit, evenwhen there were others to help, as he ran with all deliberate speedaway from his memories and prayed each night that his exertions hadbeen strenuous enough to induce an untroubled sleep.

In now facing the grief reflected inFather's eyes, Vincent could see clearly into his own tortured soul.Catherine's death was, quite literally, tearing them both apart, andthough she might have ceased to exist in life, she was still alive inboth their hearts. Vincent realized he had to face the truth:He needed to talk about her.

Lowering his head, he searched forthe words to explain his feelings to Father. The force of hisemotions was like an ocean held back by a tiny dam, where leaks hadbegun to sprout. Afraid of what might pour forth, he looked up atFather with a hopelessness that begged him to let the whole mattergo. But Father had not come this far to allow Vincent to closehimself off, not this time. With determined steps marred only by aslight limp, he rose and walked over to his son, gently embracing himas he had in the by-gone years of Vincent's childhood.

"Vincent, we must talk abouther. If not for us, then for Jacob's sake. It was because of Jacobthat I was at your threshold last night. For one so young, he hasyour compassion, and it is clear that he is coming into his ownempathic abilities. He feels and absorbs so much from all of us. Butmost of all, he feels you. Last night I realized that his bondto you is stronger than I ever imagined, for he sensed yourunhappiness even before you returned to your chamber. That was why hewas inconsolable, Vincent. If you continue to hold these feelingswithin, how will this ultimately affect Jacob? And God forbid thatyou become ill from the stress you're under! Then what is to becomeof your son bonded to you at such a time?"

Abruptly he stopped, at a loss tomake Vincent understand the danger to little Jacob. In any event,anything more he might have said died as a groan of pure miseryfilled the chamber, and Father became aware of the stricken, painedlook on Vincent's face. Despite his desire to soften the impact, thetruth of his words had indeed hit home.

Vincent looked up at his father andfound that he could no longer meet the gaze of those steel gray eyes.Until now he had never discussed the dark periods he endured overCatherine or that he still blamed himself for allowing her to die. Inmuch the same way that Father had not wanted to bring up painfulmemories, Vincent had not wanted to burden Father with his endlessgrief or the admission of nightly dreams and wakingnightmares.

How could he confess to Father thatin his dreams Catherine was still alive and beckoning him to come toher, to find her; but with the dawning of each new day, the realityof finding her dying body over a year ago stilled any hope he hadthat his dreams were anything more than unfulfilled desires...desiresthat now, would never be. For him, the days had become his purgatory,and the nights, his hell. He had managed, at least until last night,to hide his tormented soul, keeping it bottled tightly within as hewalked and lived among the others. But had it truly been hidden whereJacob was concerned? For so many months he'd thought that he, alone,was in pain. A new wave of fear washed over him as he considered theenormity of the burden he may have laid upon his son through the bondthey shared.

He now recognized the true wisdom ofFather's insistence that he start to face the various manifestationsof his grief. Father, above all men, would understood his suffering.Thus, steeling himself, he searched for the words to share this partof his life with the man who had held and wept with him during theraw hours of grief after Catherine's death....the one man whose ownlosses made him able to understand the depths of Vincent's pain andthe guilt that threatened to consume him.

"Father, please, sit withme."

Relieved that Vincent would not shuthim out, Father released his son and settled into a chair besidehim.

"I don't quite know how to put itinto words...."

His voice cracked, and bowing hishead, Vincent feared his emotions would yet overwhelm him and denyhim even the relief of sharing this with Father. Fighting down theimpulse to run away from the pain, he gripped the edge of the tableand continued.

"Father, the pain of her loss hasnever left me. It has never eased. If anything, it's only grownstronger, and from what you've said, it would seem Jacob is beginningto sense it also. Truly I fear your words...for I may not have thestrength to completely block my pain from him. Yet he must notcontinue to experience this with me. It is a hell no child shouldvisit....a hell from which even I fear I may not return."

Father shifted quietly in his chairand waited for Vincent to continue. When he did not, he reached overto cover Vincent's clenched hands with his own, completely ignoringthe deep imprints of his son's claws on the table's surface. Hesearched for the words that would convey to Vincent the love andunderstanding he felt and his total acceptance of Vincent's right tostill mourn Catherine. He, of all people, knew that there was no timelimit for grief. He prayed silently that his words, so inadequate inhis own mind, would be sufficient.

"Vincent, I know your pain. There isno shame in still feeling it, even now; and no one, myself least ofall, expects you to feel anything other than what's in your heart.Just as you shared with me your love for Catherine, you can shareyour grief, and I will be here for you. Perhaps together we can findthe same capacity to forgive ourselves that we found to loveCatherine. Come, son, try to tell me, and perhaps you'll find peacein the telling."

Rather than being comforted, Vincentseemed to become more exasperated as he cried out in reply, "Father,how can I tell you something I don't understand myself?"

He stopped for a moment, staringstraight at Father and was as open to the older man as a favoritebook. Father could plainly see that Vincent was truly at a loss toexpress himself. Understanding this, Father squeezed the clawed handsthat he still held in the safety of his own. From that small gestureof encouragement, Vincent drew the strength to press on.

"It hasn't always been as bad as lastnight," he began slowly, "but at times a blackness surrounds me, soreal that I feel I could touch it. I know that doesn't explain much,but I feel as if she is there with me...in that blackness. I can feelher, Father, as if our bond had never ceased to be....but what Isense is fear and such sadness that I have never known in her.Through the darkness, I reach out. Repeatedly I try to go toCatherine, but each time that I feel she is almost within my grasp,she disappears, and I wake to find myself alone."

"Father, since the day I lost her,the only comfort I have found is in the belief that Catherine is safenow, truly safe: where danger and evil can never touch her again. Butthe thought that she might be somewhere else, the place I see in mydreams, and beyond my reach, tears me apart. It brings backeverything...the pain...the grief...the shame of failingher...everything. Sometimes at night the memories flood through me,and I keep thinking of what I could have done...should havedone...to change things. She told me once that as a child she hadbeen afraid of the dark, but with me she knew no fear of the night,no fear of the darkness. In my heart I live each day with the fearthat I not only let her die, but I've left her to face her greatestfear alone."

Father sadly looked on as Vincent'sagitation transformed into motion. No longer able to sit still,Vincent withdrew his hands from Father's, stood for a moment, andthen sat again, straddling the chair. He then roughly shook his maneof hair to sweep the bangs from his eyes, and failing in the attempt,ran his fingers impatiently through them. The result was littlebetter and only served to further add to his already disheveledstate. Such distraction in Vincent was seldom displayed beforeothers...but Father was not the others. So, with hands gripping tightto the back of the chair, Vincent continued with the same despairingintensity.

"If it were not for Jacob, for hislife, I would have followed her gladly into death. No. Do not lookalarmed, Father. Jacob is here, and I know I must also be here forhis sake. Yet, how do I continue my life when everything within metells me that Catherine is truly not at peace, but alone....driftingand afraid?"

Vincent stopped, head bowed,exhausted from the telling of his deepest fears, and even more afraidthat Father would dismiss his apprehensions for Catherine's departedspirit as merely another manifestation of his grief. However, in thequiet of the chamber, Father remained still, knowing that there wasmore that Vincent needed to say and needed to have someone hear.Presently, Vincent looked up, and when he spoke, it was barely abovea whisper.

"Father, did you know that Catherineknew she was carrying our child, even before Gabriel abducted her?"The shock on his face told Vincent that he did not. Taking a deepbreath, he continued. "She came to me one night. I could see theturmoil in her, but I was too preoccupied with myself and with my ownproblems. They were so small compared to the burden she was bearing.Father, I know now that she had come to tell me of the child.Instead, she ended up comforting me! When I asked her what wastroubling her, she told me it could wait. That her concern for mewould lead her to think that such news could wait until a bettertime, and then there was no other time. My God, Father! She put meabove everything. She sacrificed everything that she was for me, andI could only complain about the loss of our bond! Do you nowunderstand my shame? Even with our bond broken I was aware of herunrest, and yet I did nothing."

What Father did understand was thesound of guilt, and he raised his hand to stop Vincent from going on."Vincent, we can all look into our past and see where we may havetaken the presence of a loved one for granted, or put off saying thethings in our hearts, not knowing that it would be our lastopportunity. Only a short time before, you were at the brink ofdeath, and you were still so weak from your ordeal. It wasCatherine's choice to withhold the knowledge of the child from you.So if you feel you must blame someone, then you must blame her. Yes.I see you are unwilling to look at it from that angle. Then, Vincent,you must accept her decision and the love that led her to make it,and in so doing, you must let go of this guilt which serves no usefulpurpose."

Suddenly Vincent was on his feet andbegan to pace the length of the chamber, once again looking moreagitated than comforted by Father's words. His anguish was palpableand filled the room with an electrifying tension. Father sighedsilently, knowing that in the fluid motion of Vincent's pacing was arestlessness beyond consolation, so overpowering that Vincent wouldnot...could not...sit still now if his life depended on it. Hecouldn't count the number of times he'd seen his son thus affected,and for once was grateful for the solid rock surface of the chamberfloor that yielded little comfort to his aching hip, but hadwithstood years of Vincent's endless, agitated pacing.

Adjusting himself in the chair,Father didn't even consider getting up to follow Vincent in hissojourn from one end of the chamber to the other....neither did heoffer anything else other than his presence at the moment. Ever sincethe time when Vincent had retreated into that god-awful cave whereCatherine had rescued him, a new balance had been struck in theirrelationship. Though still a man of definite beliefs and unafraid tovoice them, Father had learned when to be still andlisten.

Listening now led him to realize thateven beyond grief, Vincent was filled with guilt and regretsconcerning Catherine that were far more serious than could ever beresolved by their conversation. Vincent's heart needed time to heal,and with that insight, Father's thoughts then flew to Diana Bennett.As Vincent's father and the leader of their community, he felt anobligation to this woman who had assisted his son and returned hisgrandson to his rightful home. He had naturally assumed that she hadbegun to fill the void in Vincent's heart. Ignoring any voices withinthat told him to stay clear of Vincent's personal life, Father made anote to himself to speak with Diana. He did not relish confrontingher on such a personal subject, and of course she would resent hisintrusion in her private life. But for her sake, as well asVincent's, he felt he must. Diana had been too good a friend to theirworld to let her fall head-long into dreams of a relationship thatcould not be...at least not now. It was more than clear to him thatthere could be no future for Diana and his son until he'd purgedhimself of the guilt and obsession for Catherine that he clung to asfiercely as he had his love for her. It simply wasn't fair to leaveDiana hoping for more from Vincent when he was still obviously inlove with Catherine, even if the memory of Catherine was all that wasleft for him to love.

Once again, Father pondered how deathhad truly had no dominion over the depth of love Vincent felt. Hethen thought back to the many years it had taken him to reconcile hisown pain after losing Margaret. He never for a moment felt that hisrelationship with Margaret could compare to the bond that had joinedCatherine and Vincent. So how much longer, then, would it take hisson to come to terms with the death of the woman who had been bondedto him in ways that even they, themselves, had not fullyunderstood?
Seeing him so distraught now, Father doubted if Vincent even realizedthat Diana desired more from him than just friendship. For all of hisempathic abilities, Vincent could be quite oblivious to the obviouswhen it suited the reality he wished to believe. He only hoped thatwhen he informed Vincent of his talk with Diana, he would understandhis motivation was more for her benefit than to control Vincent'slife. Catherine had taught him the futility of that course of action,and for everything that Jacob Wells might be, he was certainly notone to ignore lessons taught to him by life. Vincent's romanticinvolvements might be his own personal affair, but to innocently leadDiana to hope for more was not to be tolerated. She deserved betterfrom their world than the brutal heartache of misinterpretingVincent's attentions when all his son sought was friendship and adiversion, any diversion, from his wounded heart.

Glancing up, Father absently notedthat Vincent still paced in silence. At this moment, Father suspectedVincent had all but forgotten he was in the room with him. He wasreluctant to stop him, since the pacing seemed to be easing thetension that had built through the first part of their conversation.With despair, Father silently prayed, Dear God, must he suffer so?Will there ever come a time when he will be able to make peace withhimself for not having found and rescued Catherine?

More than anything, Father desiredfor Vincent to find the happiness in life that he so deserved, but heknew that Vincent would never be ready to face such a future until hehad made peace with his past. Deciding that the silence had goneundisturbed for long enough, Father pulled himself from his innerthoughts and cleared his throat with notable exaggeration to getVincent's clearly distracted attention. With a sincere reluctance tohave to bring Vincent back to the their discussion, he gently said tohim, "Vincent, please, don't be so hard on yourself."

For the better part of half an hourVincent had paced nonstop. At Father's words, he paused abruptly andsuddenly whirled around to face him. His hair whipped across hisface, and his eyes shone like fire with an anger that was clearlydirected inward.

His voice did little to disguise hisself-loathing as he announced, "Your words make so much sense,Father, but it is my heart that tells me that I have not nearly beenhard enough on myself, not by a long shot. Catherine brought me outof my madness; she accepted me and all that I am and blessed me witha son. If only I had looked beyond myself, perhaps I would have seenwhat was happening around her. Perhaps I would have sensed that shewas in grave danger, regardless of the loss of our bond. Then I couldhave brought her to me...insisted that she live here where she wouldhave been safe."

"Vincent," Father interjected withsudden emotion, "what happened was beyond your control! Surely youcan't believe that you were responsible for her abduction anddeath?"

"No, it was . . . Gabriel. I knowthat." The weakness of Vincent's reply told Father that in someskewed fashion he did, indeed, blame himself. Before Father couldrespond, however, Vincent continued on, and his line of reasoningsoon became abundantly clear.

"Look Father, I know that I was notthe cause of Catherine's death," he admitted. "But while I may nothave killed her, neither did I do anything to prevent it! If only Ihad allowed her to stay Below with me just one of the many times whenshe asked, perhaps she'd be alive now."

"Perhaps," Father said gently, "thetwo of you would have discovered that she could not live among us, nomatter how much she imagined our world would be enough. Perhaps youwould have found that all of your love and hers, could not keep herfrom her being a woman of the world Above. Vincent, to have forcedher to stay among us when her spirit was with her life in the worldAbove would have imprisoned her. You didn't permit her to be killedby allowing her to return to her world. You gave her the only way thetwo of you could love and still live. She was of that world,Vincent. Nothing you could have done would have changedthat."

"There you are wrong, Father. Thechild would have changed it," Vincent said in deadly earnest. "I knowthat in my heart, Father, as surely as I know that she loved me. Overthe past year the trials we faced had only drawn us closer. In myheart I know she truly was ready to come Below....to bear our son andbegin our dream of a life together. I believe she wanted to tell methat on the last night she came to me, if only I had been able tohear! Sometimes I even wonder if her death is, in some way, mypunishment for impregnating Catherine when I was little more than acrazed animal . . ."

Vincent found that he could no longercontinue and turned away from Father. His proud head was bowed, andone hand held onto the banister of the stairs. His hair rippled downhis back, and it was only then that Father realized that Vincent wasshaking as though trying to push away some horrible vision that onlyhe could see.

The sight of him in such miserybrought tears to Father's eyes, which he quickly wiped away with oneend of his scarf. In their stead, Father drew a deep breath as shameand anger warred within him for control. Catherine's determination tolove Vincent despite his repeated admonishments to the contrary hadbrought Father to the sad realization that he was largely responsiblefor Vincent's view of himself. Certainly as patriarch of their worldhe had no guilt for imposing limits on his son's life that had beennecessary for his safety and survival. But that Vincent would evenconsider himself deserving to be punished for creating little Jacobwas the result of a life-long indoctrination, and Father knew he wasat fault. He had taught Vincent to fear his differences; to rejecthis sexuality; and to guard against his alien nature and primalinstincts, the same primal instincts that they had all relied upon sooften to protect their world. Granted, it had been done out of loveand to protect Vincent from....from....from only God knew what, hefinally admitted to himself in shame. With all the events of the pastseveral years, Father found himself at a loss to justify many of hisearlier beliefs, and even more reason to regret them. And now, alongwith his shame, rose an overwhelming urge to shake some sense intohis son. How in the heavens could Vincent believe that young Jacob'slife was the result of a brutal crime demanding the mother's death asa punishment to the father? That he would even give voice to such anabominable thought made Father bristle inside, and before he couldclamp down, his booming voice halted Vincent dead in histracks.

"Vincent, how dare you! Have you solittle love for Catherine and her sacrifice or the miracle of yourson's existence that you would relegate it to a barbaric act of merelust?"

Knowing full well that he had nochoice but to continue, Father took a deep breath and with obviouseffort, tried to control his rising temper as he lowered hisvoice.

"Vincent, you loved her, and nothingshort of love and a miracle reclaimed you in that cave! You may pityyourself. You may mourn your loss. You may even imagine that theconception of Jacob was savage, although I know otherwise. I wasthere when Catherine emerged from that cave with you, and I can swearto you on her memory that there was nothing horrifying about the glowof love and blessed relief on her face. There was no harm to her, nobruises, no look of trauma or shock. So, Vincent, think as irrationalas you will . . . but you will not degrade yourself or thelineage of your child with such words! I accept, willingly, my fault,my crime, in seeing you so narrowly and instilling beliefs thatinhibited you from giving your love to Catherine without fear. I willeternally regret my ways and ask your forgiveness for a parent'smistakes.

"But enough is enough!You are a remarkable man who I am proud to call my son. Use thewisdom and knowledge you possess to put aside your self-hate andguilt. Do it now, Vincent, for yourself and for your son, lest youfind yourself inflicting Jacob with the same feelings of inadequacy.Vincent, show me that you have forgiven my ignorance in raising youby not repeating my mistakes with Jacob. Love him and allow hisuniqueness to be celebrated, not feared...and most certainly do notcause him to regret surviving, when his mother did not. He is theultimate testimony of your love for Catherine. Don't debase your sonby viewing him as anything less."

Father discovered he was breathingheavily as he paused, and for the first time noticed that Vincent hadceased his pacing. The look on his son's face told him that Vincenthad, indeed, heard his words. He would have gladly given his own lifeto prevent Vincent the pain of losing Catherine; but if Vincent wasto raise little Jacob alone, he would have to begin to accepthimself, as well as his child.

As Father looked on, Vincent'sgathered the scattered remains of his dignity about him, standingstraight and imposing as his impressive height gave a nobility to hisbearing that was uniquely Vincent. Looking at the determinedcountenance of his son, Father knew that Vincent was truly proud oflittle Jacob, as much as any father had the right to be. He also knowthat for the sake of his child, Vincent would gladly embrace death.It now remained to be seen if for Jacob's sake he could equallyembrace life. When finally Vincent spoke, Father heard the steelyresolve underlying the familiar, deep timbre of his voice.

"You have stated some hard truths,Father, and as difficult as it may be for me to accept all that youhave said, in this you are right. I love Jacob to distraction. He isall of life that I have left of Catherine, and he is the reason Ifind the will to live each day without her. Never would I deny him mylove or his birthright, such as it is. I sometimes lose sight ofthat, and I have no defense other than the pain of losing Catherine.Still, I know that Jacob needs me whole and well, Father. I am at aloss, though, as to how can I be the kind of father he deserves,tormented as I am by nightly images of her death and specters of herunrest."

Rising from his chair, Father went toVincent, pulling him close until Vincent's head rested gratefully onthe older man's shoulders. For Vincent, Father's embrace had alwaysevoked feelings of acceptance and love. Now as a man full grown andwith a child of his own, the feelings remained the same. For a longmoment he simply basked in the love of the man who had claimed himabove natural birthright as his son.

The feelings between father and sonformed a solid band of love that surrounded Vincent and Father. Jacobknew that Vincent's pain was real, as real and as deep as his lovefor Catherine had been. Sadly, he also knew that once again there wasnothing more he could do to make things better. And so he simply heldhim. It was the only thing Father knew to do, the only thing he hadever known to do, when only time and love could heal the pain. It wasa simple act of human contact, but it touched Vincent's heart andbrought him the first true peace he had known in weeks.

After a while, Vincent raised hishead. Looking at his son, Father came to the conclusion that in avery real sense, Vincent had experienced death that night withCatherine. Caught in the downward spiral of a lover's tragedy, a partof Vincent had also ended on that rooftop. Releasing Vincent from hisembrace, Father wiped away the evidence of tears that seemed to comemore readily as he grew older and returned to his chair.

"I know, Vincent, that what you feelis real," he said gently. "It hurts me that there is nothing more Ican do to stop your grief or ease your guilt, but you will survive/The pain is a part of the healing that you mustn't fight. Let it runits course, son."

"Listen to your heart, Vincent, andlet love guide you through your loneliness and grief. Don't blameyourself for the evil that took her away. Don't berate yourself forfeeling the pain of her loss and missing what she meant to yourlife...and don't fear for Jacob. I saw him last night while you werein so much agony. Once he could see that you were not destroyed bythe pain, he was alright. Truly he was. Feel the love within yourbond to Jacob. He can handle whatever your ordeal maybring."

"But Father, mine is such a heavyburden for a child to bear," Vincent said quietly.

"Vincent, you underestimate Jacob. Heis more than just a child. he's yours and Catherine's son. He's isunique...alive, despite everything that conspired against hisconception and should have destroyed him before he ever drew hisfirst breath. Vincent, he is as remarkable as you. Trust the bond youshare as father and son to protect him. Trust yourself not to harmhim. He will survive this, Vincent, but only if youdo."

"How can you be so certain of allthis?" Vincent asked in genuine wonder.

"Because of you, Vincent. Youtold me once that maybe you had no choice but to follow yourheart.....to love Catherine. I spent so much time in the past fearingfor you both. But fear or not, you gave your heart and allowedyourself to experience life through loving Catherine. Now, throughboth of you, Jacob lives."

"Vincent, no matter how you think youmay have failed her, your love for Catherine never wavered. She knewthat, even at the end, and in telling you of Jacob's existence, shepassed into your safekeeping the embodiment of the love you shared.She truly understood that death has no dominion, though the lovers belost. So in honoring her, let her loving sacrifice be the foundationupon which you begin to forgive yourself. Have faith, Vincent: inyour love for your son and in yourself."

"It is so hard . . . " Vincentwhispered.

A small smile came to Father's face."Well, Vincent, that's life for you. A few of us are blessed to findlove along the way which makes the hardships easier to bear. But yes,you are right. It is very hard to live, to struggle, to perseverewhen all one truly wants is to give up the fight. To survive after aloss such as yours takes true courage and faith, Vincent. We willalways feel the void that Catherine's presence once filled in ourlives. But you have the strength to go on, d you are not alone. I amhere for you. Jacob is here. Our entire community is behind you,.andwhile we may not completely understand the depth of your grief, wewill pray and continue to have faith that all will bewell.

Vincent remembered another talk withFather not long ago while he'd searched for Catherine. Consumed withrage at his inability to find her, he'd vented his frustrations. Yeteven then, Father had advised him to have faith. At that time,faith had seemed nothing more than a meaningless word, impotent tostem the tide of his anguish over Catherine's disappearance. Now, inthe aftermath of her death, he finally understood that faith was aforce to be reckoned with. With faith, one had the strength tobelieve that the forces of good would, ultimately triumph over theforces of evil. Faith imparted the courage to face the reality oftragic loss. And while, there would be tragedies as with Catherine'sdeath, there would also be great joy as in Jacob's life. Nodding hishead, Vincent now replied, "For my sake and for Jacob's, I will findthe strength to have faith, Father."

The two men looked at one another andmet on a level so personal that each felt the strength of the lovethat would forever connect them. Father's smile grew, and he feltthat a great weight had been lifted from his soul. Perhaps thehealing had finally begun, for both of them. Heaving a sigh, hestood. It was time to go on.

"Vincent, I promised to meet withPascal about a new short-cut for the pipe code. It's really quiteingenious and uses the same basic code as our current system, buttakes half the time. If you're certain that you arealright?"

Vincent walked over to Father, andgave him a final embrace "Go, Father. Please. I'd like to remain herefor a while, but I feel better now than I have in some time. While Idon't expect the pain of Catherine's loss will cease, I will keep thefaith that the reasons behind it will be revealed to me intime."

Father gripped Vincent's shouldermomentarily, and then started out of the chamber. Stopping at thesteps, he turned back to Vincent.

"Vincent, should your dreams ofCatherine become too much for you to bear, promise me that you'llcome to me. We'll search for the truth together."

At the skepticism reflected inVincent's countenance, Father added, "Remember, Vincent, you musthave faith."

With a rueful shake of his head,Vincent said, "Father, I know. I know. It's just that faith seemssuch a small thing to combat the demons that plague me. But alas,it's all I have left.

As he exited the chamber, Fatherstartled Vincent with his reply. "You may be surprised to find, son,that it is all you will need."

Vincent smiled, and long after thetaps of Father's cane had faded into the distance, he sat alone andthought of Catherine. The memories, good and bad, poured over him.This time they healed him, bringing to him a peace of spirit that hadbeen absent in his life for far too long. In later years Vincentwould remember it was on that day amidst books and tomes and therhythmic tapping of Pascal's new pipe code that he sat in Father'schamber and rediscovered his faith.