LOVE IS FOREVER

Vincent's steps were quick and sure as he moved effortlesslythrough the narrow passage. His annual trip to the Crystal Cavern wassomething he always looked forward to, and the magical qualities ofthe cavern never disappointed him.

Every year, he promised himself Catherine would accompany him, andevery year, something happened to prevent her going. This trip was noexception, but it didn't keep him from hoping and planning for nextyear.

The purpose behind his periodic visits to the cavern was two-fold;most important was the simple pleasure he derived from being there.The cavern never failed to take him back to that magical time in hischildhood when he believed fervently in fairies, wizards andenchantments. For a few hours, he was a boy again, full of all thedreams and hopes of youth.

Much more pragmatic was the second reason. Perfectly formed, clearquartz crystals were things of value in the world Above, and themoney they brought could buy food, medicines, bandages - things noteasily provided by their Helpers.

Of those who lived Below, a few believed Vincent had done enoughsimply by bringing Catherine to them. When meat was scarce lastwinter, it was Catherine who bought an entire side of beef, enough tolast, with William's frugal management, for several weeks. During arecent outbreak of strep throat, it was Catherine who had providedthe money to buy enough antibiotics to treat the illness.

Vincent knew Catherine never begrudged a penny, and he knew shecould easily afford it, but he believed some were too willing to relyon her generosity, forgetting that independence and resourcefulnesshad been vital elements in the formation of their society. He didn'twant his world to become too dependent on any one source, even asource as steadfast and reliable as Catherine, so he made this yearlyjourney to think, to dream, and to gather crystals.

His pouch was full now, and he was more than halfway home, eager,after his small retreat, to see his friends, his family, hischildren, and especially Catherine.

At a fork in the passage, he paused. If someone had been with him,he would have taken the right branch without hesitation. That pathwas smooth and easily followed, with no hidden dangers. But becausehe was alone, he wavered; the safe path was also longer, meanderingalong for miles, full of twists and turns.

Not even a path at all, the other passage led to a mammoth cavernedging a lower portion of the Abyss. To cross it, a traveller had toedge along the cavern wall, choosing hand- and foot-holds carefully.As far as Vincent knew, he was the only one who had ever attemptedit, and Catherine and Father would cringe if they knew how frequentlyhe used the shortcut. Crossing the cavern would take no more thanhalf-an-hour, while the long way would take more than four hours.

Vincent's hesitation was no more than momentary before he turneddown the shorter path; he wanted to be home.

A few minutes later he edged out over a sheer, thirty-foot dropand began the long traverse across the immense cavern. He was halfwayup the rough cavern wall, using cracks, crevices and smallprojections as finger- and toe-holds. It was not a feat to beattempted by any but the experienced, well-equipped rock climber;however, Vincent had implicit faith in his own physical abilities.He'd been crossing this wall since he was seventeen, long before heknew of the Crystal Cavern's existence.

Of course, the easy way seemed to be climbing down to the cavernfloor, walking to the other side, and climbing to the ledge - but theclimb down was more arduous than it appeared. Besides, Vincent took aguilty pride in his strength and agility; In moments of sternself-appraisal, he sometimes thought he made the traverse just toprove he still could.

His left hand found a new finger-tip hold and he was edging hisleft foot along, seeking something to brace it against, when thesmall projection under his right boot crumbled. Abruptly, he dropped,swinging to his left; his right hand lost its grip. Supported only bythe fingers of his left hand, he hung precariously, feeling the windfrom the Abyss whip and tug at his cloak as he groped for newsupport. Without warning, the tiny lip from which he hung shearedaway from the wall.

He fell.

* * * * *

Far above, in a courtroom in the Criminal Justice Building inManhattan, a woman jerked to sudden, bewildered alertness, earning adisapproving glance from the judge. In a rock-hewn chamber belowCentral Park, a little girl began to cry.

* * * * *

Charles was curled quite comfortably in the loft of Grandfather'sstudy, reading. The other kids his age were probably playingsomewhere, maybe even Above in the park, but he was happy here, inhis cozy nest of old cushions and quilts. He turned pages quietly,and below him, he could hear Grandfather doing the same thing. As hisattention strayed from his story, he thought, with a small grin, thatGrandfather had probably forgotten he was here.

Footsteps crunched in the passage down below and Charles rolledtoward the edge to see who it was. Coming lightly down the steps tothe main level, his mother went straight to Grandfather, where shebent and kissed the old man's cheek.

"Hello, Father," she said cheerfully. "Is Vincent back yet?"

"Good afternoon, Catherine. No, we've neither seen nor heard fromhim, but that's not unusual. I don't expect him until later." With asweep of his hand, he offered a chair. "Do you have time for avisit?"

"A few minutes," she answered, taking the proffered seat. "Howhave you been, Father? Vincent tells me your hip's better thiswinter."

"It is," he replied. "The new medication Peter brings me is quiteeffective." He peered at her over his glasses. "You look tired."

She smiled. "I'm not, really, although I embarrassed myself incourt this afternoon. I nearly fell asleep, I think, and woke myselfup with a jerk because of one of those half-dreams where you feellike you're falling." She laughed. "Funny thing is, even though thedefense attorney's closing argument was long-winded and boring, Ithought I was paying close attention to it. No one was more startledthan me when I jumped."

Grandfather chuckled, and in the loft, Charles did the same. Hismother looked up. "Hello."

"Hello, Mother," he answered.

"Are you ready to go home?"

"Aren't we going to wait for Father?"

She shook her head. "If no one's heard from him, he must still bebelow the pipes and even I know that's a two-hour walk from here.We'll wait for him at home."

"Okay," Charles agreed. Gathering up the cushions and quilts, hemade a hasty, semi-neat pile where Grandfather wouldn't trip overthem if he needed a book from this level and trotted quickly down thewrought-iron spiral stair.

"Goodnight, Grandfather," he said, with a quick kiss and hug. "Seeyou tomorrow."

"Goodnight, young Charles," his grandfather answered.

Charles needn't have hurried; it was nearly forty-five minutesbefore they were on their way home. First Mother spent twenty minutesin the nursery chatting with Mary and Eric; Jacob couldn't be locatedand they had to put out a message on the pipes to find him.Eventually he turned up in Carl's chamber, listening to the old mantell stories. Finally, Mother made a short side-trip to the pipechamber to see if there had been any word yet from his father.

Pascal, the pipe-master, had smiled regretfully when he told herthere hadn't been. "I expect to hear from him any time, though," he'dadded. "Paul's the sentry at the junction near your house tonight.Shall I have him let you know when we hear?"

Mother had shaken her head, smiling. "It's not necessary, Pascal,but thank you anyway. Vincent will be home when he gets there, and wecan wait, can't we, kids?"

The three boys had chorused reluctant agreement. Vicky, who,according to Mary, had been crying off and on all afternoon, snuffledaround the thumb in her mouth and clung more tightly to Mother'sneck. "Daddy gone," she'd declared firmly, resorting to baby talk asshe sometimes did.

"Yes, sweetheart, but he's coming home soon," Mother had soothedher.

"Daddy gone," she'd insisted, and refused to say more.

Now they were nearly home, and Evan, who was only four, hadstarted to whine.

"I know you're tired, honey, but we're almost home," Mother said."I think you can make it."

"Can't," he insisted. "Carry me."

"I can't. I'm carrying Vicky, and I can't carry both of you."

"Daddy does," Evan said stubbornly.

"I'm not Daddy," Mother replied. "I'm not as strong as he is."

"Carry me," Evan demanded again, tears threatening.

Charles could see that his mother was on the verge of losing hertemper. "I'll carry you, Evan," he offered quickly.

Mother sighed. "It isn't that far, Charles. You know he's bigenough to walk."

"I know. I'll carry him anyway."

"All right," Mother relented. "If you're sure he's not tooheavy."

"I can do it. I'm strong." He was ten now, and tall for his age.His strength was a legacy from his father, and he scooped hislittlest brother up easily.

When they reached the house, Mother let Jacob trigger the heavycement door and they all filed inside, taking the easy way throughthe basement and up to the kitchen.

After dinner, Mother bathed the little ones and put them to bed inthe nursery while Jacob and Charles played Authors. Jacob's bedtimecame a half-hour later and when Mother came down from tucking him in,she went straight to her desk. If Father was here now, he and Charleswould play chess, or read together, or just talk, but he wasn't, andMother was busy, so Charles picked up his book.

When Mother said "bedtime," he tucked the book under his arm,marking his place with a finger.

"Father's not home yet," he observed.

"Not yet," Mother agreed. "Go to bed, Charles, and he'll be herewhen you wake up."

He came close for a hug and kiss. "Goodnight, Mother," hewhispered.

"Goodnight, Charles," she answered. "I'll be up later to tuck youin."

* * * * *

In the huge, wind-swept cavern far below the inhabited tunnels,Vincent began to stir, blinking hazily. His head ached and he hadtrouble focusing his eyes in the dim light. He lay still, trying toremember what had happened, and slowly details came back to him. Herecalled the sickening lurch as the rock face had given way, andremembered reaching, trying to catch hold of something as he fell.Something had brushed his side, turning him in the air, and he didn'thave time to reorient himself to land on his feet before he struckthe ground.

Still lying quietly, he tried to gauge the extent of his injuries.His head seemed to be the worst; a fiercely pounding headache,blurred vision, and drowsiness almost certainly meant concussion. Hisright ribs hurt from just below his arm all the way down. Some wereprobably only bruised, but a few were surely broken. Every breathstabbed and he hoped none of the ribs would shift and puncture alung.

Swollen tight inside his boot, his right ankle throbbed, and hisright knee screamed with pain every time he tried to move it. Threeclaws on his left hand were peeled back to the quick and there werenot many parts of his body that did not sting from cuts and scrapes,or ache with bruises where he had impacted rock.

Reaching across to support his broken ribs, he rolled to his sideand carefully worked himself into a sitting position. His head reeledfrom the movement and he bent forward until the dizziness passed.

No one was likely to find him here. It was too far from the pathVincent was supposed to have taken, and the wind from the Abyss woulddrown any shouts for help, supposing he could shout at all. Vincentdoubted if even Mouse knew of this chamber's existence.

So. Rescue was unlikely.

He shifted and his elbow encountered something bulky pressedagainst his side. His mind identified it as his travel-sack, and heremembered opening it and thinking, with a chuckle, that William hadpacked enough food for a week.

Explorers of the unmapped regions often joked about the quantitiesof food William sent with them, but William continued to provide it,"just in case." Now, William's caution increased Vincent's chancesfor survival.

All he needed was water, and Vincent knew, from his youthfulexplorations, that a small spring existed in a crevice not far fromwhere he lay. Movement meant pain, however, and he wasn't thirstyenough to try for the spring just yet.

Stifling a cry, he eased himself back to the cavern floor andwaited for the waves of pain to subside. When they did, he closed hiseyes and reached for Catherine.

She was sleeping, dreaming peacefully. Not worried yet. Good. Shewould need this final night's rest in the days to follow. "I loveyou, Catherine," he murmured. The softly spoken words were carriedaway, unheard, by the wind.

* * * * *

Two days later, on Saturday, Charles was again in his favoritespot in Grandfather's loft, but this time he wasn't reading. He layon his back, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling.Yesterday morning hadarrived without Father. Mother had come Below to talk withGrandfather before she went to work, and Charles and Jacob had goneto school as usual.

By the time Charles came down after school, Pascal had put out anemergency all-quiet on the pipes and a search party, led by Mouse,had already left for the Crystal Cavern. Mother arrived less than anhour later and had gone straight to Grandfather.

For the first time since Vicky was born, Mother spent the night inthe tunnels, sleeping alone in the big bed beneath the stained glasswindow. Today, the pipes were still silent; the search party wasn'tdue back until late tonight, or early tomorrow morning.

Charles fingered his book but didn't pick it up. Grandfather mustbe having trouble keeping his mind on reading this morning, too,because Charles hadn't heard him turn a page in a long time. He waslistening for Grandfather when he heard someone come in.

"Hello, Father." Mother's voice. She sounded listless.

"Good morning, Catherine. Sit down."

Charles heard the creak of a chair.

"How have you been, Catherine?" Grandfather asked after aminute.

Charles knew eavesdropping was wrong, but he was scared. Hequelled his conscience and listened.

"I... don't know," Mother said slowly. "I tried to read, I triedto visit with Mary and Sarah..."

"I know. Catherine, what do you feel?"

"From Vincent?"

"Yes. Is he...?"

Charles held his breath. He'd heard all the stories about theconnection between his parents, and while he didn't know how itworked, he believed in it. Surely his mother would know if his fatherwas all right.

He heard Mother sigh. "Father, I don't know what to tell you. Myheart tells me he's alive, that I'd know if he wasn't, but mymind..." There was a very long pause, punctuated only by the poppingand sizzling of a sputtering candle flame. "Oh, Father," Motherwhispered at last, "do I believe he's alive just because I can't bearto think anything else?"

Charles heard the creak of Grandfather's chair and the tap of hiscane, followed by the shushing noises Grandfather always made when hecomforted a crying child. Suddenly he was cold, and pulled the cornerof a quilt over his shoulders.

"It's too soon to think that way," Grandfather said. "Vincent isstrong and capable. For him, the danger is Above, not Below."

Mother sniffled a little and Charles imagined her wiping at hereyes with her fingers. "Do you remember when you and Vincent weretrapped in the Maze, Father?" she asked softly.

"I remember," he confirmed. "But you felt that, Catherine. Youknew."

"I knew when it happened," she agreed sadly. "But later... Icouldn't feel anything but my own fear. Remember what I told youThursday when I came to pick up the children?"

Grandfather must have shaken his head, because she went on.

"About the half-dream I had, of falling?"

Grandfather made a noise of assent.

"What if it wasn't a dream, Father? What if he fell? Last night, Ikept reliving that moment, over and over. I'm afraid he's lying hurtsomewhere, and there's nothing I can do to help him. Nothing."

"That's not true, Catherine," Grandfather said kindly. "There issomething you can do."

Charles heard the rustle of fabric as either Grandfather or Mothermoved.

"You can be strong," Grandfather went on. "You can be strong foryour children and for yourself, so wherever he is, Vincent will knowyou're all right, and won't expend precious energy worrying aboutyou."

"You're right, of course, Father," Mother said softly. "I can dothat." Charles could almost see her squaring her shoulders andlifting her chin the way she did when she was determined.

* * * * *

A week passed, a week so heavy and slow that each minute seemed anhour long; each day lasted a month. The search party returned,reporting no sign of Vincent along the route to the Crystal Cavern.New parties were formed and dispatched to search detours and sidepassages, but these were many; searching all of them could takemonths.

Mother didn't go to work, but that was the only outward changeCharles could see. He and Jacob continued to attend school, and afterthat first night, all of them slept in their own beds, even Mother.In fact, if Charles hadn't overheard that one desperate conversationin Grandfather's study, he never would have known Mother was worried.She smiled and read stories and soothed scraped knees with her usualcheerful poise, and the little kids didn't seem to notice anythingwrong.

Charles made himself a part of the conspiracy to keep themunaware, but he did find a private moment with his little sister oneday. "Tinkerbell, where's Father?"

"Daddy's gone," she'd answered unresponsively.

"I know he's not here, but where is he? Is he okay?"

"He's gone," she'd repeated stubbornly. "Daddy's not here," shesaid, pointing to her forehead. "He's gone."

Charles had sighed and tried to remember she was only three and ahalf. "You can't feel him in your head?"

"No." Turning away from him, she'd refused to elaborate.

Charles suspected he wasn't the only one who had questioned Vicky,but her inability to feel their father wasn't conclusive. He could beblocking her out deliberately, or he could be unconscious. Charlesdidn't want to think about the third possibility.

Charles no longer measured time by traditional means. Time for himwas now divided into segments separated by events. The last nightFather was home; the night he didn't come; the night the searchersreturned.

One night he woke suddenly to the sound of voices. Lying stiffly,he strained to hear... and heard his mother's soft laugh, followed bywhat was unmistakably a man's voice. Spontaneously, he flew out ofbed and down the stairs...

And straight into Joe Maxwell's arms.

"Easy, Charles," Uncle Joe said. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Charles stammered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Ithought..."

Uncle Joe glanced past him, to Mother. "I'm sorry, Charles, it'sonly me. I came by to see how you were doing."

"We're okay, I guess," Charles said unsteadily, fightingdisappointment. Mother put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're better than okay." Kissing his forehead, she said,"Charles, I want you to say goodnight and get back to bed. It'slate."

"Goodnight, Uncle Joe. 'Night, Mother."

"Goodnight, Charles," Uncle Joe said.

Charles started up the stairs, but stopped when he knew they couldno longer see him.

"All right," Uncle Joe said to Mother. "You take as much time asyou need, Cathy, and let me know the minute you hear..."

"I will, Joe," Mother answered. Their voices faded as they wentdown to the first floor, and Charles followed silently on barefeet.

"Call if you need anything, okay, kiddo?"

"I will," Mother said again. "I promise."

From the shadows at the top of the stairs, Charles could see UncleJoe lean down and kiss his mother's cheek.

"Everything's going to be okay, Cathy," Uncle Joe said. "I know itis."

Charles couldn't see Mother's face, but he knew she'd be wearingthat crooked half-smile that said she wanted to believe. "I know,Joe," she said, kissing him back. "Thanks for coming by."

"Any time, Cathy. Goodnight."

"'Night, Joe."

Under cover of rattling locks, Charles stole quietly back to bed.It was a very long time before he slept again.

* * * * *

Time continued its slow march and even the little ones began toquestion their father's absence. Mother and Mary soothed theirquestions with calm assurances, but Charles wondered how much longerthey could do so.

Jenny Aronson came to supper one night, and Mother seemed glad tosit back and let Aunt Jenny take on the responsibility of beingcheerful. After dinner, it was Aunt Jenny who supervised baths andpajamas and helped Mother tuck everyone in.

Charles waited until he was sure that Jacob, in the room next tohis, was asleep before creeping back down the stairs as he did sofrequently on these nights when he couldn't sleep. Mother and AuntJenny were in the study, talking.

"Could I go down and fix you a snack, Cathy?" he heard Aunt Jennysay. "You didn't have much dinner."

"Not hungry, I guess," Mother answered. "I don't wantanything."

Through the open doorway, Charles saw Aunt Jenny take both ofMother's hands in hers. "You don't look good, Cath. I'll bet you'velost ten pounds over the last two weeks. I wish you'd eatsomething."

"I can't, Jenny."

Aunt Jenny sighed. "Okay, but promise you'll try to eat somebreakfast in the morning."

"I'll try."

"Promise?"

Mother actually laughed. "Promise."

"Other than not eating, how are you holding up?" Aunt Jennyasked.

"Okay, I guess," Mother answered. "I'm thinking of calling Joe,telling him I'll be back to work on Monday."

"Don't you think that's pushing it?"

"It's more than two weeks, Jen. I have to do something..."

"I know, but it's so soon."

"All I do, all day long, is wait. Waiting's the hardest job in theworld, Jenny, and I can't do it anymore. Work will keep my mind offthings that don't bear thinking about..."

There was a silence that grew louder and louder in Charles's ears.

"I dreamed about him last night," Aunt Jenny said at last.

"Vincent?" His mother sounded wistful.

"Yes. We were back in our room in Gilbert Hall."

"Good old Radcliffe," Mother murmured. Charles knew that was whereshe and Aunt Jenny had gone to college.

"Yes," Aunt Jenny said. "With the light shining from the Quad, andthat stupid poster you had over your desk."

"I liked that poster," Mother protested faintly.

"Glad somebody did," Aunt Jenny muttered darkly. Charles guessedshe was trying to coax a smile from Mother. It didn't work.

"Your dream, Jen."

"We were in bed asleep. Vincent came in and stood by my bed. WhenI asked him what was wrong, he didn't answer; he just looked at me.After a moment he turned his head and looked at you, but you werestill asleep. He looked back at me, smiled and left."

"What do you think it means?"

"It was just a dream, Cathy."

"I've learned not to discount your dreams, Jen."

Aunt Jenny sighed. "I don't know, Cath. Maybe he was trying to letme know he's okay. Maybe he was asking me to help you. Maybe... Idon't know."

"How did he look?"

"It was just a dream, Cath," Aunt Jenny said again.

"I know. But how did he look?"

"Thin. Tired. Sad. A lot like you, actually. He limped when hewalked and moved stiffly, like he hurt."

There was a long pause. "You know, I dream about him, too," Mothersaid finally. "Almost every night. I dream I'm waking up, and he'sthere, or I hear a noise and it's him, coming up the hidden stair, ora runner comes with a message that he's been found..."

Charles didn't wait to hear more. Slipping back up to his bed, hehuddled under the covers, tight with misery. Listening to his motherand Aunt Jenny made him think of his own dreams... dreams he didn'twant to remember. Every night since he'd listened to Mother andGrandfather talking, he'd had dark dreams he kept secret.

In the dreams, mists swirled eerily around him, noises echoingfaintly in a strange place he never recognized. Sometimes he couldsee his father; other times, he could only hear him calling. Charleswould try to reach him, to help him, but when he ran, his feet feltmired; when he stretched out a hand, his father was always justbeyond his reach. The mists would deepen, separating them, andCharles would wake with a start, trembling and soaked withperspiration. The dreams made him afraid to sleep.

He was still awake when his mother came up to check on him andJacob before she went to bed. Closing his eyes, he pretended sleep,but he could smell her perfume when she bent over him, straighteninghis blankets.

"Goodnight," he heard her whisper, and he felt the faintest brushof her lips against his temple. It was a long time before he was ableto fall asleep.

The next night, he lay in bed for a very long time beforesuccumbing to the urge to slip downstairs. Settling into his

usual place on the bottom step, he leaned forward to peer throughthe open study door.

Mother was in his father's desk chair, her legs tucked underneathher. Head bowed, she was alternately fingering and smoothingsomething in her lap. After a moment, she lifted the article to herface, holding it against her cheek, and Charles recognized it as theshirt his father had been wearing the night before he left. Hefrowned, trying to imagine what she was doing with it, when memorytouched him.

He was no more than five, curled in a dark, cramped spot with arough, nubby ball of fabric in his lap. Burying his face in thecloth, he breathed deeply, inhaling the scent...

"Charles?" His father's voice, deep and compassionate. The closetdoor opened, revealing his hiding place. "There you are."

Father didn't try to coax him out. Instead, he sat down on thefloor outside. "What are you doing in there?"

After a moment's thought, Charles offered the gray tweed bundle."Smell," he said.

His father did, and smiled, just a little. "I know, Charles. Imiss her, too."

Charles buried his face in his mother's jacket again. She had beengone for a long time, and breathing in her warm, familiar scent wasalmost as good as having her there. That was why he had run away, allthe way from Father's chamber Below. That was why he was hiding inthe closet. To find Mother.

"She'll be home tomorrow," Father said gently. "You may take thejacket with you, if you wish."

As quickly as the memory came, it faded, and Charles saw hismother turn her face into the soft fabric of the shirt, saw her kissit. She began rocking herself slowly, and after a moment, he realizedshe was crying. He was enough his father's son to want to go andcomfort her, and he started to his feet before he reconsidered. If hewent to her, she would think she had to be brave and strong for him.And with a sudden insight, he realized that she needed to be able torelease the fear and despair she'd been suppressing for so long.

Pressing his cheek against the edge of the doorframe, he watchedher. He had never seen his mother cry like this, with her mouthtwisted down and her breath coming in ragged sobs. It scared himworse than anything else had, and, sinking back on the cold stairs,he hugged his knees and cried silent tears of his own.

* * * * *

"Charles? Charles, wake up!"

Someone was shaking him gently. Opening his eyes, he saw Miranda,the girl who lived with them while she went to college, crouched downin front of him. He'd fallen asleep on the stairs. Behind her was hismother, his father's shirt folded over her arm. Her eyes were puffy,and she looked worried.

"Charles, what are you doing on the stairs?" she asked gently.

He looked from the shirt to her face and back again. "I didn'twant you to be alone."

He saw the quick flash of surprise in her eyes. "You can go on up,Miranda," she said after a pause. "I'll take care of him."

"Are you sure, Catherine?" Like almost everyone else in recentdays, Miranda sounded anxious whenever she talked to Mother.

"I'm sure," Mother answered. "Goodnight."

With a quick pat on Charles's shoulder, Miranda hurried up to herroom, and he could hear the muffled click as she closed her door.Mother offered a hand, Charles took it, and they went upstairstogether.

When he came out of the bathroom, Mother had smoothed andstraightened his rumpled sheets and was sitting on the edge of hisbed, waiting.

"You see a lot more than I thought, don't you, Charles?" she askedafter he was safely tucked in.

He nodded and she pressed her lips together and tried to smile."These past weeks must have been difficult for you," she said. "I'msorry I didn't realize." She was silent a moment. "Is there anythingyou'd like to ask?"

Charles reached out, touching the sleeve of his father's shirt,still folded over her arm, and thought of all the hard questions. Heknew she wouldn't lie to him. "Is he coming home?"

"I don't know, Charles." Her voice was sad, and very gentle.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the next question. "Ishe dead?"

She stared across the room, her eyes unfocused, glazed with unshedtears. For a moment, Charles thought she wasn't going to answer. "Idon't know that, either." Her voice faltered. "I don't think so,though. I think I would know if he were..."

"What will we do if he never comes back?" he whispered, afraid ofwhat might happen if he spoke the words aloud.

She looked at him directly for the first time since coming to hisroom. "We'll go on. Just as he'd want us to. Just as he'd expect usto." She smiled sadly, her lips pressed together as if she weretrying not to cry. "'We will...find strength in what remainsbehind... In the faith that looks through death...'"

"Is that why you're going back to work?"

He expected her to ask how he knew what she was planning, butinstead, she smiled the sad smile again. "Yes, partly."

"And that's why Jacob and I keep going to school."

She nodded. "Life doesn't end just because someone you love goesaway."

"Your mother died when you were a little girl, didn't she?"

Mother nodded. "I was ten, just like you are."

"Was it hard?"

"Very hard."

"What was it like?"

"Sad. I missed her terribly, and I cried. My father would let mesit in his lap; I'd cry and he'd hold me. After a while, it didn'thurt so much. I still miss her now, sometimes, but I can remembershe's in a better place." She touched his face. "Do you think you cango to sleep now, sweetheart?"

"I guess so," he answered. Involuntarily, his eyes flicked to theshirt she held; smiling, she tucked it in beside him.After she wentout, Charles pulled the shirt to his face and inhaled. Even afternearly three weeks, it still smelled like his father, a safe, strong,warm kind of smell. It smelled a little like his mother, too, and,comforted by this tangible reminder of his parents' love for him andfor each other, he slept deeply and dreamlessly for the first time inalmost three weeks.

* * * * *

Vincent stood at the base of the cavern wall, looking up. Theledge leading to the tunnels was directly above him; all he had to dowas reach it. Grimly, hoping he had the strength, hoping enoughhealing had taken place, he reached up and began to climb.

Progress was slow. He was afraid to put too much weight on hisbattered right knee and ankle, and even more fearful of placing toogreat a strain on his partly healed ribs. Forced to do most of thework, his left leg and arm tired quickly, and he had to stopfrequently to rest, soaked with sweat, clinging precariously towhatever small hand- or foot-holds were offered.He had nearly reachedhis goal when his left foot slipped from the small knob of stone he'dbraced it against. In a grim replay of his original fall, he dropped,his full weight ripping at his hands, threatening to tear them loose.Something in his right side gave way and he gasped with pain. Hisflailing right boot met a small lip of stone and he forced hisunwilling knee to support him for a second while he renewed histenuous finger-grip on the stone above him.

Pressing his entire, aching body against the stone, he moved hisleft foot back and forth, seeking a hold. The strain on his ribs andknee made him feel sick. It would be so easy to just let go... but ifhe did, he knew he'd never have the strength to make the climb again.He'd die down there, and they'd never find him.

Catherine. He couldn't find a foot-hold and his fingers, slickwith perspiration, were slipping. Catherine. I'm so sorry. Itried...

* * * * *

"Where shall I put these, Father?" Catherine asked, her arms ladenwith books.

He looked up. "Which ones are they?"

"Twain, mostly. Some Jack London, Robert Louis Stevenson, Irving'sRip Van Winkle."

Father ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose you can put them onthat shelf over there," he said. "I can't tell you how much Iappreciate your help, Catherine," he added. "This project is longoverdue."

"I don't mind, Father. Staying busy keeps me from thinking toomuch." She began to shelve the books and Father went back to slowlysorting through another stack on his desk.

Something fell with a thump.

"Vincent!"

Catherine's sudden, strangled cry brought Father to her sideinstantly. Ignoring the tangle of books at her feet, he gripped hershoulders. Ashen, she looked at him with sightless eyes. Shaking hergently, he asked, "Catherine, what is it?"

Slowly her eyes focused; she began to tremble. "Vincent," shesaid, her voice edged with barely contained panic. "It's Vincent."

"You felt him?"

"Gone. He's... gone." Helplessly, she began to cry.

* * * * *

"Daddy."

Charles looked up quickly at the sound of his little sister'svoice; she appeared to be listening to something he couldn'thear.

"Daddy." She said it again.

Tossing his book aside, Charles crossed Mary's chamber to kneelbeside his sister. "What about Daddy? Can you feel him, Tink?" hepressed.

"Daddy?" She didn't seem to hear Charles speaking. "Daddy? No,Daddy, don't!"

She screamed.

* * * * *

Several hours later, Charles leaned despondently against the wallof the pipe chamber, wishing he was somewhere else. There wereanother forty-five minutes before his shift was over, however, and hecouldn't leave the pipe chamber until then.

The all-quiet on the pipes had been rescinded days ago, but Pascalstill maintained what he called a slow-down to reduce traffic andmake any emergency messages easily heard. After this morning, Charleshad stopped expecting emergency messages.

He swallowed hard and looked across the chamber to where Pascaland his assistant, Zach, talked together, free to do so in this timewhen traffic on the pipe system was so light. In a slow-down, thepipes could be used only for important messages and only when noother reasonable method of communication was available.

Charles's friend Jonathan lounged beside him, bored. A prettyblond girl sat apart from them, reading, and Jonathan flicked apebble in her direction.

"Don't," she said without looking up. She was two years older thanCharles and Jonathan, and had been ignoring them all afternoon.

"Stuck up," Jonathan said, and flicked another pebble.

"Stop it, Jon," she said again. Her blue eyes flickeredominously.

Grinning, Jonathan picked up another stone.

"If you don't have anything better to do than torment Caty, I'llfind you something." The new voice came from the tangle of pipesoverhead and both boys looked up guiltily. Zach looked stern andneither boy felt like crossing him.

"Sorry," Jonathan mumbled.

Zach was about to say something else when the staccato sound of amessage reverberated behind him. Everyone froze as Zach whirled andtried to find the pipe that had sounded. A second later Pascal wasthere, shouldering him aside.

Charles's heart raced, blood pounding in his ears as Pascalanswered the message with a few quick taps. After a few seconds, thepipe rang out again with a long message. Charles didn't know enoughcode to understand the whole thing, but he had grasped the mostimportant parts... 'Vincent found... alive...'

The message ended at last and Pascal became a whirlwind ofefficient motion, beating out messages rapidly and giving Zachhurried instructions as he did so.

The pipe chamber began to fill with people anxious forconfirmation of the joyous news, and Charles slipped out unnoticed.Determined, he trotted toward a junction where five passages cametogether. Already people were gathering, exchanging brisk suggestionsas they equipped themselves with the supplies that had been waitingthere for almost three weeks. Ropes, blankets, emergency medicalsupplies and lanterns were passed out. William bustled up at the lastminute, a cloth-wrapped jar in his hand.

"Beef broth," he said. "He'll need nourishment."

One of the men took the jar, stowing it carefully in his rucksack.Charles lingered in the shadows, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Are we ready?" Jamie looked around and the others nodded. Jamiehad been coordinating the ongoing search, which was the only reasonshe wasn't already out searching herself.

As the group set off, Charles slipped out to join them. He sawNick give him a sideways glance, but it was Timothy who questionedhis presence.

"Jamie." Timothy touched her arm and nodded in Charles'sdirection. "We don't know what we're going to find. Should he...?" Helet the question drift away.

Jamie gave Charles a sharp look and kept walking. "Who has abetter right?"

"He's just a kid. From Geoffrey's message, we have a long way togo."

Jamie turned, walking backwards. "Can you keep up, Charles?" sheasked bluntly.

"Yes," he answered quickly.

"Okay," she warned. "We won't wait for you."

Timothy shrugged and Charles lengthened his stride, determined notto hold them back. Information from Geoffrey's message had beensketchy, giving only the most vital information, but his father wasalive, and that was enough for Charles.

Two hours later, his legs were tired and he had to force himselfto maintain the steady pace Jamie set. Miles of winding tunnel laybehind them and even the adults had stopped talking, conservingstrength for walking.

Down here the tunnels were dark, with only the hand-carriedlanterns providing a bobbing, swaying light. Charles stumbled,catching himself quickly and breaking into a trot to keep up.

"Should be pretty close," Jamie commented.

Charles worked his way up beside her, straining his eyes to seebeyond the glow of the lanterns. A strange feeling was growing inhim, one he'd never felt before. It tugged at him and he began totrot again, pulling a few feet ahead of the rest of his party. Hisfeet moved faster and faster, and by the time he rounded the nextbend, he was running.

At the end of the passage in front of him was the glow of alantern. Outlined in its light, he could see shapes - a tall, stoopedfigure leaning on two smaller ones for support.

As he neared, the tall middle form detached itself from the othersand Charles hurled himself at it. His father grunted and staggered alittle under the impact.

Charles was sobbing, his arms tight around his father's waist andhe felt his father's hand on his head. "It's all right, my son," heheard his father say.

The others caught up and Jamie took charge, making Vincent sit anddrink some of William's good broth before they went on. Between sips,Vincent told of his fall and his slow recovery. "This morning, when Iclimbed out..." He shook his head slowly. "For a desperate moment, Iwas certain I would fall again..." Charles moved closer, needing tofeel his father near.

When the soup was gone, they resumed the trip home. Reluctantly,Charles relinquished his place at his father's side so that Nick andTimothy could help him walk.

Leaning on them heavily, limping badly, Vincent's progress wasslow. Charles walked behind, unwilling to take his eyes away, whileGeoffrey walked beside him, reaching across now and then to touchCharles's shoulder and offer an encouraging grin.After fifteenminutes of walking, Vincent was breathing hard, as if he'd run a longway. Jamie called a rest stop, and Nick helped him sit down.

"Are you okay, Vincent?" Jamie asked. "We have the stretcher..."she indicated the collapsible canvas stretc Ý Owencarried over his shoulder.

"No," Father said firmly. "I can walk."

"Okay," Jamie said unwillingly. "We'll just rest a minute,then."

Charles hovered anxiously and was relieved when his father lookedup at him with a glimmer of a smile. "Someone's coming, Charles," hesaid, tipping his head in the direction they were going. "Why don'tyou go to meet them?"

Charles didn't want to lose sight of his father, but he wouldn'tdream of disobeying, so he picked up a lantern and set off. He hadn'tgone far when he saw the glow of lanterns coming toward him.

His mother was part of this group, her face at once joyful andapprehensive; Charles knew just how she felt.

"Charles?" she said anxiously. "Is he...?"

"He's okay," he said, falling into step beside her. "He can walk,but he's hurt, so he goes really slow."

His mother walked faster and Charles hurried to keep up. As theyapproached his father, Mother began to run. Then she and Vincent werein each other's arms, hugging and kissing, completely oblivious tothose watching.

His father whispered something low in her ear and she laughed,dashing tears from her cheek.

When they set off again, it was his mother, not Timothy, who borehis father's weight on one side, and Vincent's step was less labored.Charles was sure they had both forgotten he was there, but he didn'tcare. His father was safe; their family was complete again.

THE END