Candle To Candle
by Edith Crowe - March 1990
Originally published in Definitions of Love 3
Contrary to his usual habit, Vincent woke very slowly. He could feel awareness of his surroundings welling up from what seemed to be a very deep place. He saw no need to hurry it, since his present half-awake state was so thoroughly pleasant; he felt more relaxed than he could ever remember. There was also a curious and unaccustomed sensation of ... lightness? ... as if a tether binding him to earth had been cut, or a burden long carried had been relinquished at last. Everything around him was quiet, and he drifted slowly toward consciousness. Then Catherine moved beside him, and his eyes snapped open.
For a moment, the sight that greeted those eyes convinced him he was still asleep and dreaming. Reluctantly he closed and opened them again. The vision was still there ... a very tangible vision, he realized, as she snuggled closer to him, still asleep. The warmth of her body against him, the heady feel of her skin touching his, triggered the memory of the night before in a great flood. The revels of Winterfest, late into the night. Bringing her to this remote chamber afterward, that he had filled with candles and roses ... telling her that he was finally ready to take the risk of loving her. Her joy ... her passion ...
Their bond told him she was awake seconds before the sensuous rubbing of her cheek against his chest, and the cluster of kisses that followed. Sighing in utter contentment, she lifted her head far enough to focus on his face. Her smile was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen--at least since the previous night.
"Good morning." Catherine's voice held a languorous quality he had never heard before. "If it is still morning. If we've been sleeping all day we certainly earned it."
Remembering how they had earned it left Vincent temporarily bereft of speech, and almost of sense. "It's not quite noon," he finally managed to get out, in a voice he barely recognized as his own.
"How can you know that?" Catherine asked, intrigued. "It's quite obvious you're not wearing a watch ..." She smiled wickedly. "Is this yet another hidden talent you've kept from me?"
"The candles. I can tell by how much they've burned down."
Catherine spared a glance for the huge candles on their tall holders at the corners of the bed. "I must have been preoccupied last night. I never thought ... those would have to burn a long time, or we'd be waking up in the dark. Electricity doesn't seem to stretch to this chamber." Catherine propped herself up on one elbow to regard Vincent curiously. "What is this chamber, anyway? Besides a place I'll remember vividly until my dying day."
Her reminiscent smile made it somewhat difficult to frame a reply, but Vincent made a manful effort. "We have a few like this, remote, assigned to no one in particular. They are sometimes used by people who just need to spend time alone to think or meditate. They are quite popular with couples who are ... uh ... courting. Or those newly married, or parents of small children who need to get away once in a while."
"You mean, this is sort of the Tunnel equivalent of a resort?" Catherine laughed delightedly.
"One might describe it in those terms. This chamber in particular." Vincent gave Catherine a secretive smile.
"What do you mean, 'in particular'? Don't tell me you have even more surprises up your sleeve. So to speak." Catherine ran her hand slowly down his arm, as if if to emphasize his current lack of sleeves.
"Did it surprise you that I finally gained the courage to love you? You should have more faith in your powers of persuasion."
"I guess I was afraid to hope too much--it felt like I'd be tempting the gods. Look what happened to all those poor Greeks who let their hubris get out of hand." Catherine's voice was half teasing, half serious.
"Fortunately," Vincent told her gently, "whatever gods watch over us seem to be of a more benevolent turn of mind."
"At least lately," Catherine admitted grudgingly. "I hope they'll stay that way."
"They should," Vincent replied in a mock-serious tone. "After all, you just sacrificed a virgin to them ... in a manner of speaking."
"You were a very willing sacrifice, my love." Catherine was unable to take either her hands or eyes away from Vincent, as if she too were afraid he would dissolve into morning light, like her dreams of this moment always had before.
"A willing sacrifice is the kind most pleasing to the gods," Vincent spoke softly as his fingers gently traced the curve of her jaw.
"Then they should be remarkably pleased after last night. Once you realized there was nothing to fear, you were positively eager to be sacrificed. Except ... "
"Except what?" Vincent tried to keep his voice from betraying his sudden worry. Had he failed Catherine somehow? Or worse, hurt her in a way his passion of last night had prevented him from realizing?
Catherine leaned close to him and whispered conspiratorially into his ear. "I'm afraid they won't believe you were a virgin. You were wonderful. Worth waiting years for ... worth waiting a lifetime for."
Both embarrassed and pleased, Vincent took refuge in words. "I was not without theoretical knowledge, Catherine, but after Lisa, how could I know that anything I read or heard would be true for me? Until you convinced me otherwise, I never believed I had the right to risk putting that knowledge into practice."
"Well," Catherine announced emphatically, "for someone who's never done this before, you have a remarkable talent. Although I don't know why I should be surprised at that; you've done well at anything else you put your hand to." A stricken look came over Catherine's face as soon as the words were out.
Vincent grinned in delight. "Catherine! I've never seen you blush before." Taking pity on her, he continued. "I haven't succeeded at everything I've tried."
"Such as?"
"William tried to teach me once to bake bread, at my insistence. It was a disaster."
"Why? I know you can cook other things, and very well, too."
Vincent raised the hand that curled around her shoulder. "You showed me, Catherine, that these hands are made for loving, after all. But they are not made for kneading dough."
"Dear heart--bread I can get anywhere. Loving I only want from you."
Vincent pulled Catherine close for a slow, gentle kiss. After a while, she lay back against his arm, and he stroked her throat and shoulders with a feather touch as she spoke again. "Dear love," she said softly. "So many times you told me to follow my heart--and so reluctant you were to follow your own."
"No less a sage than Emerson," he replied, "said 'a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.' "
"Mmm. Well, we know there's nothing small about you, Vincent," Catherine told him silkily.
It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, then Vincent gave Catherine the satisfaction of seeing him blush for the first time. This was an aspect of Catherine he had never before seen. He discovered that his surprise quickly gave way to pleasure. His lips found hers again. As they began to work their way downward, he felt her hands tangle in his hair, and his breath began to quicken as hers did. Clearly they were done with conversation for some time.
***
The candles had burned considerably lower by the time Vincent even thought of resuming their conversation. Catherine was idly stroking the hair that fanned out over his back as he lay with his head on her breast. He briefly considered lying there forever, but reluctantly concluded that they would both have to eat eventually, not to mention...
"Catherine ... "
"Mmm?"
Reluctantly, Vincent rolled over and attempted a sitting position. "There's something else I would like to show you."
Catherine stretched luxuriously and moved to sit beside him. "Vincent, if you show me anything more I'll have to take a rest cure. That will make Joe very unhappy; practically everyone at work is taking off after Christmas."
"This surprise," he assured her, "is of a different category."
"Well, my love," she replied, "I don't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. But, since I've undeniably enjoyed all your surprises so far, lead on."
Rising from the bed, Vincent held out a hand to her. Curious, she took it and followed him to a door at right angles to the one through which they had entered last night. Moving the tapestry aside, he drew her through and stepped aside to see her reaction.
"Oh, Vincent, this is wonderful! No wonder you said this chamber was special." She turned to him excitedly. "Who built this? How long has it been here?"
Pleased at her reaction, Vincent explained as he retrieved bathing paraphenalia from a small cabinet near the door. "These are natural hot springs, but everything was quite primitive until about fifteen years ago. This was built by a man called Tohiro, who died before we met. He had been born in Japan, and was badly disfigured when Hiroshima was bombed. He lived with us for the last twenty years of his life."
"It just occurred to me," Catherine said as she slipped into the warm water, "that I should spend all my extra time Below helping with the laundry. One thing I never considered in all my hopes of us becoming lovers was what an extra burden it would be for whoever washes sheets around here."
Entering the water himself, Vincent watched as Catherine ducked her head under. Shaking the water out of her eyes as she emerged, she sat next to him on the stone seat carved along the side of the pool. She slipped into the curve of his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. Vincent marveled at how quickly he had become used to having her there.
"Dearest, we are not the only ones down here who engage in activities that increase demands on the laundry. We have lovers, and married couples, and young children, after all." He kissed the top of her head. The last time he had seen her hair wet like this, she had almost drowned. There were so many memories that needed to be replaced with happier ones ...
Catherine insisted on washing every inch of him, from his mane of hair to the furry feet which had so delighted her last night. Returning the favor, he discovered a whole new category of contentment. Supporting her with one arm as she lay back in the water, he watched her hair spread out in the current, rinsing the soap away, and thought of goddesses rising from the sea.
Moving from the washing pool to the soaking one, they settled into the warmth. For a long time they sat without speaking, enjoying the feel of the water. It seemed to Vincent that only the heaviness of his totally relaxed body kept him from floating away, he felt so light with happiness and relief. Catherine sat on his lap, one arm curled around his neck and her other hand idly stroking his chest underneath the water.
"Vincent?"
"Mm?" Realizing the response fell far short of his usual articulate level, he decided he couldn't care less.
"How did you know this room would be free tonight--did you have to, well, make reservations?" She began to toy with the strands of his hair that floated on the water.
"This room is never used at Winterfest--that's the one time when all our people come together; this place is where people go to be apart."
"Well, what about the roses?" Catherine wondered. "How did you ever manage to get so many? Did you get Mouse to liberate a shipment from the flower market, no questions asked?"
"Actually, one of our Helpers is a flower wholesaler. I've helped her over the years with projects which needed strength, or construction skills. She has been troubled by arthritis for a long time, and such things are difficult for her." Vincent laughed. "I believe I now owe her my services for the next two decades."
"Didn't she wonder why you wanted about ten dozen roses?" Vincent could feel Catherine smile as her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder.
"Perhaps she wondered at first, but after seeing us together at Winterfest she may have developed a theory or two." Vincent kissed the top of Catherine's head again, just to keep in practice. "Do remember meeting Mrs. Tran?"
"She's the one?" Catherine raised her head. "No wonder she kept looking at me all night and smiling."
Vincent stretched lazily. "I told Father last night that I was going to suggest that you stay Below, since Winterfest was so late. Of course, I didn't mention that I planned to suggest staying with you." Reluctantly, he stood and took Catherine's hand to lead her from the pool. "We should give some thought to making an appearance soon. It's getting late and I do not dry quickly."
"I'll help," Catherine volunteered eagerly.
"If you help too much," Vincent cautioned, "we may not get out of here until dinnertime--and you must be hungry."
Catherine was forced to admit this was so. After the towel drying was completed in as businesslike a manner as circumstances allowed, Vincent led Catherine to a small room off the bathing pool. Its particular configuration channeled and concentrated the air, making it almost a miniature version of the Chamber of the Winds.
"This is wonderful!" Catherine shouted happily to be heard over the whistling winds. "This place even comes with an industrial strength blow dryer." Vincent smiled at her pleasure, watching the flush on her cheeks and the gleaming hair whirling around her face.
When they returned to the bedchamber, Catherine shook her head as she retrieved the velvet dress from where it had fallen the night before. "Lying in heap all night has not improved this one bit," she commented, "even if it weren't unsuitable for day wear. Might that wardrobe have something that wouldn't get me stared at all day?"
Pulling open the wardrobe doors, Vincent retrieved a dress and held it out to Catherine. "The last time you wore this was when you came Below after your father died. There are other things here if it pains you to wear it again. But you did look beautiful in it," he said wistfully.
Catherine took the dress from him and slipped it over her head. "Not all the memories from that time are painful, Vincent." She stroked his face. "And now that we know that there are no limits to the love between us, there is a core of joy at the center of our lives that no sorrow can touch." Suddenly, the wonder of it was so great she felt unable to hold it; the sudden tears that overflowed her eyes seemed all that kept her from bursting with a happiness of such magnitude she knew no words adequate to express it.
Vincent drew her into his arms, holding her as fiercely as she did him. It was a long time before they were able to part so Vincent could dress. Catherine helped him pull the shirt over his head and slip into a vest. Tying all the ties and buttoning all the buttons on the elaborately piecemeal garments brought her more pleasure than she thought possible. The intimate ordinariness of these acts, even more than than their lovemaking, stunned her with an awareness of the infinite possibilities that had suddenly opened before them. Not a life without limits, but a life together--and who knew what the limits might be?
They walked back to the central chambers with a sense of amazement at how much had changed between them since they had taken the same path in the early hours of the morning. So few hours, to contain such happiness. Such a short time to change the course of two lives. But then, there was a day less than three years ago they had begun in ignorance of each other's existence, and ended with their lives inexplicably intertwined. They walked in silent wonder, hands clasped, unable to let go of each other even when the passage narrowed too much for them to walk comfortably side by side.
Catherine wondered what Father and the others would think. Surely their new intimacy, the exponential increase in their happiness, would be so obvious that everyone would stop and stare as soon as they entered a room. Catherine was perfectly willing to shout it from the rooftops, but was afraid Vincent would be uncomfortable or embarassed. Looking at him as he walked beside her, it occurred to Catherine that the only beast-like thing about Vincent was not his looks, nor his strength, but his innocence. Whether his passion dealt love or death, it was with the innocence of a beast. Only men could pervert the act of love in rape. Only men could take sick pleasure in torture or kill for such convoluted motives as greed or revenge or politics.
Vincent's passion for her was as pure as the crystal that hung around her neck, untainted by the tangle of power games, of user and used, that so often passed for love in her world.
As it turned out, Catherine need not have worried about their reception. Everyone Below was either still groggy from Winterfest or so excited about the holidays still to come they hardly noticed Vincent and Catherine. After all, Catherine had spent so much time Below since Vincent's recovery from near-death last summer they were used to her presence. If the more sensitive of the Tunnel dwellers noticed an extra glow about their favorite couple, it was attributed to the holiday spirit-- or to the lingering effects of too much of another kind of spirit the night before. Regular mealtimes were fortunately another casualty of the holiday preparations, so Catherine and Vincent were able to scrounge a late lunch without a lecture from William, who seemed to spend all his waking hours baking these days. Tucked into a corner of the kitchen, surrounded by warmth and the smells of yeast and cinnamon, the two lovers shared a meal of odds and ends, wondering if any heaven could possibly be better than this. Emerging from their haven, they were immediately shanghaied by Kipper and Samantha, who took their duties as heads of the decoration detail very seriously.
Catherine was put to work stringing popcorn as Samantha confided in a very loud whisper that Vincent was useless for such a task, since his large hands were not well suited to delicate threading, and besides he ate too much of the popcorn. Catherine made a mental note to load up on popcorn the next time she bought groceries, as memories of just what those hands were good for kept damaging her concentration.
Vincent was dragooned into hanging decorations at a height his diminutive overseers couldn't reach. Happily stringing her popcorn, Catherine decided that the Tunnel dwellers had the right idea. Not only did they celebrate Hanukkah, Christmas and Kwaanza, they even created another holiday of their own for good measure. Depending on when Hanukkah fell, some years they ended up celebrating for almost a month. Suddenly she stopped with her needle poised in mid-air as her face fell. In a moment, Vincent was beside her chair.
"Catherine, is something wrong?"
"Vincent, I just remembered--Hanukkah begins tonight, and I promised Jenny I'd come. They're having a big family celebration at her parents', an open house after dinner. I think they wanted to cheer me up, since it'll be my first holiday season without Dad. Jenny could hardly tell them how I was really spending the holiday."
"That sounds like something you would enjoy, Catherine," Vincent observed with puzzlement. "Why don't you--"
"Vincent, I just can't bear the thought of being away from you, even for a minute, not now, not after ..." She ducked her head in consternation. "Oh, God, I'm being silly, aren't I?"
"No," Vincent said softly, "you're not. I can't bear to be apart from you either, even though I know we must go back to our everyday lives in a little while. But you mustn't disappoint Jenny's family."
"I wish you could come with me," Catherine smiled. "Maybe nobody around here has noticed anything's different with us, but one look at my face and Jenny will know the other shoe has dropped. She'll have a fit not being able to see you right away and give a great big congratulatory hug."
"Then I shall come with you," Vincent stated.
Part Two
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