QUARANTINE

Vincent was especially gentle as he helped four-year-old Jacobundress for his bath, mindful that the child hadn't felt well for thepast couple of days. Earlier, Jacob had complained that his headhurt, and he was running a mild fever. When he removed Jacob's shirt,Vincent saw a number of raised spots on Jacob's neck and torso, aboutthe size and color of pencil erasers. Never having seen anything likethem, Vincent called for Catherine, trying to keep the anxiety out ofhis voice.

Almost immediately, she appeared in the bathroom door,sixteen-month-old Vicky in her arms. "What is it?"

"Look at these."

Catherine put Vicky down and came into the bathroom to examineJacob more closely. One look was all she needed. "Oh, no," she said.The look in her eyes said she considered this more nuisance thancrisis. "He has chicken pox."

"What's a chicken pox?" Jacob wanted to know.

Catherine sighed. "It's a virus, Jacob. Most children get it whenthey're young. You'll start to feel better in a day or two."

Jacob's eyes were big. "I don't want a shot," he saidfearfully.

His mother smiled. "Don't worry, you don't need a shot. You cantake some more of the medicine Grandfather gave you for your headacheand fever, but there's nothing else we can do for chicken pox excepttry to keep your spots from itching."

Jacob heaved a sigh of relief. Like most children, he would muchrather be sick than have to get a shot.

"Are you certain it's chicken pox?" Vincent asked Catherine.

"I was thirteen when I had it," Catherine told him. "I remember itall too clearly. Not only did the pox itch like crazy, but I had toendure the indignity of having a 'baby disease' at what I thought wasa very mature age. It was very embarrassing."

Vincent smiled as he turned back to Jacob.

Catherine went back into the bedroom just in time to save thecontents of her dressing table drawer from destruction at the handsof Evan and Vicky. Prying perfume bottles and makeup tubes out ofdetermined little fists, she set both children on the bed and satdown between them. Immediately, Vicky climbed into Catherine's lap.Evan scrambled over, anxious for his share of attention, andCatherine addressed him solemnly.

"Evan, I need a favor from you."

He sat up, his blue eyes bright with interest. Just past two, Evanwas strong-willed and determined and it was always wise to enlist hiscooperation, if possible, before making changes which would affecthim. Fortunately, he already had a considerable vocabulary andunderstood most of what was said to him.

"Jacob doesn't feel well," Catherine went on. "Will you let himsleep in your bed tonight?"

Evan and Vicky shared the tiny nursery just off the second-floormaster bedroom, while Jacob and Charles each had his own room on thethird floor of the old brownstone.

Evan considered the question carefully, his head cocked a littleto one side in a manner reminiscent of his father. "Evan sleep Mommy'n Daddy?" he inquired, plopping himself down on the pillows andclosing his eyes in feigned sleep.

Catherine laughed. "No, you silly. You and Daddy would take up allthe room and there'd be no place for me. We'll ask Charles if you cansleep in his room."

"'Kay," Evan agreed, popping up like a jack-in-the-box.

"Mother, no!" came a simultaneous wail from the doorway. Charleswas dismayed. "He makes too much noise and I can't sleep! Let himstay in Jacob's room!"

Evan was a notoriously restless sleeper. Frequently he talked orcried out in his sleep, thrashing continually and travelling all overhis bed in the process. Catherine and Vincent had always slept withthe connecting door between the nursery and their bedroom ajar sothey could hear the children, but had taken to closing it of latebecause Evan was so loud. Only Vicky, who had shared a room with himall her life, was unaffected, sleeping tranquilly through everything.

"Please, Charles," Catherine reasoned with her oldest son. "He'stoo little to sleep by himself up there."

"Oh, all right." Charles relented grudgingly as he joined them onthe bed.

Damp and woebegone, Jacob emerged from the bathroom. Catherinethought very briefly about warning him away, then gave a fatalisticmental shrug. Surely the other children had been exposed; there wasno point in trying to quarantine poor Jacob now. As she made room forhim on the bed, Jacob curled up beside her. Vicky was still in herlap, subdued now and sucking her thumb, the tattered remnants of ablue and white blanket tucked securely under her arm. Evan hadfinally settled down on Catherine's other side with his head againsther arm.

Cross-legged in the middle of the bed, Charles faced them, an openbook in his lap.

"I think we're ready, Charles," Catherine told him.

Clearing his throat importantly, Charles began to read in a clear,steady voice. "'It was late one winter night, long past my bedtime,when Pa and I went owling...'"

Jacob snuggled closer as he listened and Catherine's arm wentaround him protectively. Jane Yolen's Owl Moon was a great favoritewith the children and Charles read it to them frequently. Even Evanwould sit still for it, as long as Charles remembered to pause aftereach page to show the pictures.

Vincent came out of the bathroom, rolling down his sleeves. Alarge damp splotch marked the front of his vest, a souvenir ofbathing three small children. Pausing for a moment, he surveyed hisfamily curled together on the bed; Catherine smiled at him as heretreated to the study.

The children spent their days Below; Vincent often balanced hisresponsibilities as a parent with the duties required of him in thetunnels. Frequently, he might be found reading to a group of olderchildren while bouncing a toddler on his knee. Just as frequently, hemight be found making minor repairs in the tunnels, surrounded by ahalf-dozen eager young assistants.

Vincent's work was no less demanding than Catherine's, but becauseof their schedules, bathtime often fell to Vincent. While the wondersof fatherhood had not faded for him, there were times when he wasgrateful for any respite. Evenings such as this one, when Catherinehad time and energy to relieve him, were welcomed.

Two hours later, the children were all blessedly asleep, leavingtheir parents with a rare hour of leisure. Both had chosen to read,and Vincent had settled into his favorite spot on one end of the bigold leather couch. Preferring to lie down, Catherine was snuggledunder a worn patchwork quilt with her feet on Vincent's lap. One barefoot had burrowed under his vest for warmth and his hand was absentlystroking the other one.

She was far away, transported by the words on the page when thedoorbell gave an abbreviated buzz, jerking her back to reality. Shelifted her head to look at Vincent, who lowered his own book.

"Kipper," he reminded her, turning a page.

Kipper had been the answer to a prayer. In the year before Evanwas born, Catherine and Vincent had felt the strain of coping withtheir work, raising two small children and running a household.

While Catherine shopped for groceries (or had them delivered),took the kids to the dentist or the park or to buy new shoes, it wasVincent who usually gave the children breakfast and got them dressedin the mornings.

There were also the more practical aspects of every day living.Catherine couldn't cook. Vincent could, but didn't enjoy it. Theirkitchen was filled with the most modern appliances, which madeVincent uneasy. Neither liked spending evenings or precious weekendscleaning and keeping the house liveable. What they desperately neededwas household help, and it was Father who offered a solution.

Many of the tunnel children opted to live in the world Above whenthey reached maturity and frequently, one would express a desire togo to college. While admission was seldom a problem because of theextent of their educations, scholarships were sometimes hard to comeby and student loans didn't stretch far enough.

Father suggested, hesitantly, that Catherine might offer collegetuition in exchange for someone to cook, clean, run errands and helpwith the children.

Kipper was the first. Now in his junior year at New YorkUniversity, where Catherine paid all his expenses, he had his ownroom on the third floor of the old brownstone. He did all thecooking, most of the cleaning, helped with the children, andgenerally made himself useful. "Indispensable," Catherine oftensaid.After spending three Saturdays teaching him to drive, she nowtrusted him with her car whenever he requested it.

They heard the front door open and close, followed by the rattleof the locks being thrown. When Kipper didn't come up the stairs,Catherine surmised he had gone to the kitchen to find something toeat. He would probably stop by the study for a brief chat on his wayup to his own room.

A random thought struck her and she nudged Vincent with her foot."Has Kipper had chicken pox?"

Because of its relative isolation, many common diseases of thecity Above did not reach the tunnel world. Consequently, many of thechildren grew up without ever contracting some of the more frequentailments of childhood.

So far in his life, Vincent had been immune to every disease hehad been exposed to, and it had never even occurred to him to worryabout the spread of the illness. Catherine had suffered the disease,so she was immune, and it was too late for the other children, butKipper had been too busy the past few days to spend much time here,and he might still avoid infection.

Following Catherine's diagnosis of Jacob's unusual rash, Vincenthad read a little about the disease and knew that what was a mildillness in children was frequently more severe in adults. With asigh, he laid his book aside. Catherine moved her feet and watchedhim go.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Vincent found Kipper building animpressive-looking sandwich. He explained the situation briefly andthe young man grinned.

"Never had 'em," he confirmed. "At least, not as far as I know."Like many of the tunnel children, Kipper had not been born there.Instead, he had found his way Below purely by accident after runningaway from the last in a long series of foster homes. He had beeneight, and had sought shelter from a raging thunderstorm by enteringone of the large storm drains in Central Park. A sentry had beenattracted by the boy's helpless sobs of terror and despair, andKipper had found a home at last.

"I can't go Below," Kipper went on. "If I've been exposed, I'dspread it to everyone down there. I'll call a friend and see if I canstay at his place."

Vincent felt a wave of dismay as Kipper reached for the telephone.The same restrictions on going Below would now apply to his children.And if the children couldn't go Below, neither could Vincent.Catherine would be working, and most of the teenagers from Below werelike Kipper, not immune to the disease.Unless Catherine was home,Vincent was Below. In his heart, he still thought of it as'Catherine's house.' As long as she was there, it was his home and hewas as comfortable as if he were in his own chamber, but withouther... it was a place Above. Now he would have no choice.

"It won't be easy for you," Catherine said with quiet sympathy,after Kipper had gone. "I'll talk to Joe. Maybe I can take some timeoff." She didn't sound hopeful.

Vincent shook his head and smiled. "I will manage."

Jacob's bout with the virus was mercifully brief and six dayslater all his pox had scabbed over and he was no longer contagious.Catherine had managed not one, but two afternoons off and Mary hadspent part of another afternoon with the children so Vincent did notfeel too isolated. The children had enjoyed the novelty of spendingdays Above with Vincent's full attention, and overall, things hadgone smoothly.

There was a two week respite before Evan began to run a mildfever."The timing's right," Catherine said wryly as she examined theboy's still-smooth skin. "No spots yet, but I'll bet that's what he'sgot."

Evan wasn't ill enough to slow down much and she had the usualtussle getting him into a diaper and pajamas.Tonight it was Vincentwho listened while Charles read a story.

Catherine was deeply embroiled in a murder trial which promised tobe complicated and difficult. Jury selection had taken four days andopening arguments were to be presented tomorrow. The case demandedher full attention.It was past midnight when Vincent tapped lightlyon the desk, startling her."You're frustrated and tired," he observedwith sympathy. "It's late."

"I have to finish this argument tonight," she said wearily. "Ihave to present it in court tomorrow morning." She scrabbled throughher papers irritably, searching for an elusive page of notes. "I hatethese complex, drawn-out, messy cases. I keep telling that to Joe andhe keeps giving them to me anyway."

"Because he has confidence in your abilities," Vincent said,reasonably. He removed the pencil from her hand. "And when you aren'tso tired, you enjoy the challenge."

She propped her chin on her fist and smiled. "I suppose. Here."She shoved an untidy sheaf of papers at him. "Look at this. No matterwhat I do to it, it doesn't sound right."

Five sheets from a yellow legal pad were covered with pencilmarks. Arrows and lines marked rearranged passages and entiresections were crossed out. Catherine's normally neat script wasnearly illegible in places. The whole thing was difficult to follow,but Vincent, armed with years of practice, managed easily enough. Heread it through twice before suggesting a few minor changes insentence order and word choice. Catherine penciled in the alterationsand blinked. Her dry presentation of facts had been transformed intoan incisive, compelling statement.

"I wish I knew how you do that," she said fervently. "What would Ido without you?"

He smiled. "You seldom ask for help. I think you do quite well byyourself." He reached for her hand. "I've checked on the children andthey're all asleep."

"Evan?"

"His fever is down. He seems comfortable."

"I just need to make a clean copy of this..."

"I will. Later..."

"You don't have to..." she broke off at the look in his eyes andlet him draw her to her feet. "All right," she acquiesced, andfollowed him across the hall to the bedroom, where he locked the doorbehind them.

The next morning found Evan broken out in the distinctive chickenpox rash. He appeared to be little the worse for his illness,however, successfully evading his brothers' attempts to examinehim.

"You boys stop running and get your clothes on!" Catherine calledas she rummaged in her jewelry box for the appropriate accessories tocomplement the quietly competent, professional look of the gray woolsuit she was wearing. "Hurry up, Charles, or you'll be late."

There was a clatter as the older boys raced upstairs to theirrooms and Vincent came out of the nursery with Vicky in his arms.Catherine finished fastening her earrings, pulled on her shoes andchecked her reflection in her dressing table's mirror, smoothing astray wisp of hair.

An impatient horn sounded faintly from the front of the house andJacob's voice echoed down the stairs. "Mommy! Your cab's here!"

Vincent handed her several sheets of lined yellow paper, folded inhalf. She opened them for a cursory glance; her opening statement wasneatly copied in the familiar bold, graceful strokes of Vincent'spen.

"Thank you," she said hurriedly, thrusting the papers into herbriefcase and picking up her purse. The older boys had reappeared,more or less dressed, and Evan wandered in from the study wearing hisfavorite outfit... his birthday suit.

"Evan, where are your... never mind, I don't want to know." With arueful shake of her head, Catherine handed parenthood into Vincent'scapable hands. "I'll probably be home late," she told himregretfully, bestowing a quick kiss. In rapid succession, shedispensed equally quick kisses and hugs to all four children, endingwith Charles.

"Better hurry, honey," she warned, already moving toward the door."Your bus will be here in a few minutes."

The cab outside beeped again and she disappeared down thestairs.

With calm efficiency, Vincent supervised Charles' last minutepreparations and saw him out the front door, watching discreetly asthe boy boarded the van which would take him to the private school heattended.

With Catherine and Charles gone, Vincent turned his attention tothe younger children. First was Evan, still happily nude. With only afew minor arguments, Vincent managed to dress the child in hisclothes, reasoning that Evan was apparently too healthy to try tokeep him in bed. Vicky and Jacob were already dressed and Vincenttook all three downstairs and into the tunnels.

It was only a few feet to the nearest pipe and he kept a wary eyeon the little ones as he tapped out the news that Evan was ill andthey would not be Below until the illness passed. Pascal's answer wasprompt and sympathetic to the quarantine, but Vincent could almosthear his friend's amusement in the pattern of his coding.

The next day Charles came home from school feeling miserable."Ithink I'm sick, Father," he said listlessly.

Vincent put a hand to the boy's cheek. "You have a fever," hesaid. With a loving arm around Charles's shoulder, he led himupstairs and put him to bed in the nursery, where the child quicklyfell into a restless sleep.

To keep the younger children from waking their brother, Vincentoffered to read a story, and almost immediately regretted it. Theirhome held many books, but there was one in particular that Vincentheld in low regard.

Catherine had dug it out one day while going through a box in thebasement, and it had been the source of several spirited debates.Vincent contended that the story was trite and the language stiltedand limited.

"It's not meant to be great literature, Vincent," Catherine alwaysargued back. "It's supposed to be fun!"

There was no doubt the little ones enjoyed it and they produced itfrequently for Charles or Catherine to read aloud.

Vincent suppressed a mental groan as Evan placed the worn copy ofDr. Seuss' The Cat in the Hat in his hands.

"Let's choose another book," he suggested.

"No! Cat inna Hat!" insisted Evan firmly and Jacob nodded. OnlyVicky didn't seem to care, climbing up to arrange herself comfortablyin her father's lap.

Defeated, he sighed, opened the slim volume, and began to read."'The sun did not shine...'"

"I like that story!" Jacob said with satisfaction when it wasover. "I wish we had a cat in a hat!"

"I am very glad we do not," Vincent returned dryly, removing Vickyfrom his lap. "The last thing we need is something to create morechaos."

"What's chaos?"

"Chaos, my son, is when you and your brothers and sister are allmaking different noises and messes at the same time."

"Daddy!" Jacob knew he was being teased. "What is it really?"

Vincent smiled. "Chaos is..." he hesitated, searching for words ofdefinition that a four-year-old could understand. "...when things areall mixed up and confusing."

"Like a big mess."

"Yes."

"Are we being chaos now?"

"Chaotic. Things are not chaotic now, but they have been, and Ipredict they will be again." Vincent's rueful amusement escaped Jacobas he nodded solemnly.

Vicky and Evan had taken advantage of their father's momentarydistraction to indulge in some typical toddler mischief and werebusily pulling books from a shelf behind Catherine's desk, tossingthem into an untidy heap.

"Evan! Victoria!" Vincent's tone was sharp as he crossed the roomquickly. He caught Vicky's little hand as she reached for anotherthick volume. "No!"

Crushed by the reprimand, she began to cry. Evan, incharacteristic two-year-old fashion, ignored Vincent completely andcontinued to pull books out vigorously.

Gathering Vicky up in one arm, Vincent scooped Evan up with theother, physically removing him from the area. He carried the boy toanother, safer part of the room and put him down, where Evan threwhimself onto the floor in a frenzied rage. Awakened by the noise,Charles began to call for Vincent from the nursery.Ignoring Evan'stheatrics, Vincent carried Vicky, still sniffling pathetically,toward the nursery. "Now, Jacob," he said as he passed by, "we havechaos."

After pacifying Vicky and comforting Charles, Vincent returned tothe study where Evan, stubborn to the last, was still loudly ventinghis frustration. Ignoring his children did not come easy for Vincent,but he knew the absence of attention was a powerful deterrent when itcame to childish tantrums and he had perfected the art of watchingwhile seeming to be otherwise occupied. When Evan finally began tocalm himself, Vincent rewarded the toddler's returning composure bygathering him into his lap and wrapping both arms around himsecurely.

Jealous, Vicky trotted over. Vincent gently but firmly stopped herfrom climbing up. "Not now, Victoria. It's Evan's turn."

Although her lower lip began to tremble and her eyes to well,Vincent could feel through the tenuous connection which bound themthat she was more indignant than hurt. Jacob left the puzzle he wasworking and came up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Comeon, Tink. If you get a book, I'll read to you."

With Charles ill, Jacob was revelling in the opportunity to be thebig brother. While he couldn't actually read yet, he had most of thepicture books memorized. Hastily, before Jacob could change his mind,Vicky dug out her favorite, Margaret Wise Brown's Goodnight Moon.

"'In the great green room, there was a telephone and a redballoon, and a picture of...'"

A little loving attention from his father and his own resilientnature quickly restored Evan's good spirits. Wriggling out ofVincent's arms, he joined Jacob and Vicky, who were bent over thebook. Peace and harmony had temporarily returned.

* * * * *

As happened frequently during trials, Catherine did not reach homeuntil well after the children were asleep. She found Vincent in thestudy, staring thoughtfully into the fire, a book open on his lap.

"Hi," she said softly, leaning over the back of the couch to puther arms around him and press her cheek against his. "How was ittoday?"

"Long," he answered with a hint of a smile. One arm went acrosshers and he leaned his head back. "My estimation of those who mustalways remain home with their children has risen considerably."

She laughed and kissed his cheek. "Let me change and we'lltalk."

Entering the nursery on her way to the bedroom, she reappearedalmost immediately to ask, "Vincent, why is Charles in here?"

"He has a fever. I thought it best to keep him near."

She nodded in rueful understanding. "Chicken pox." Returning a fewminutes later dressed for bed, she curled up beside him on the couch."Now tell me why Jacob and Evan are sleeping on the floor in ourroom."

Vincent chuckled quietly. "When I put them to bed upstairs, theythought it a great adventure, which lasted just until they realizedCharles and Kipper weren't there to protect them from strange soundsand shadows. Their imaginations brought them down here so I put themto bed on the floor."

Eyes closed, she made a sleepy sound of amusement and burrowedmore securely into the circle of his arm. She was numb from agrueling day in court followed by hours in the law library dissectingthe day's testimony and preparing for tomorrow. "What elsehappened?"

Knowing she needed distraction from the grim realities faced thatday, Vincent began to relate some of the children's more amusingadventures. By the time he finished the second story, she was fastasleep, and he picked her up tenderly and carried her to bed.

* * * * *

"Mother! Mother!" Charles' voice came weakly through the opennursery door and Catherine reacted instinctively, rolling toward thesound, one hand already reaching for her robe. Vincent stoppedher.

"I'll take care of him," he said, and she sank back down with amumbled 'thank you'.

In the nursery, Vincent sat down on the small bed and touchedCharles' face lightly. "What is it?"

"I want Mother."

"She's sleeping, Charles. She's very tired. What do you need?"

The child's voice began to rise in panic and Vincent realized hewas lost in a fever-induced dream. "She has to stop them!" he cried."She has to make them go away!"

When he was ill, Charles's dreams tended toward delusional, almostdelirious, and were often peopled with a mysterious 'they' who had tobedriven away. Sometimes 'they' were Below and he called for hisfather, but when the shadows he feared were in the world Above, hewanted only his mother.

"Where are they, Charles?" Vincent asked gently.

"On the roof. They're on the roof! Tell Mother to make them goaway!"

"I'll make them go away," Vincent promised.

"They'll see you!" Charles said frantically.

"I'll cover my face. I won't let them see me." Vincent was calm,soothing, and the boy began to quiet.

"No, don't let them see..."

"I won't. I'll be careful." Gradually Charles stopped thrashing."Are they gone now?" Vincent asked.

Charles' breathing slowed. "They're gone."

"Good." Vincent remained by the bed, waiting for his son to goback to sleep.

Sometimes he thought Catherine and Father made too much of theneed for secrecy by repeatedly warning Charles not to mention theworld Below or the people who lived there. That the boy felt anobligation to protect his father from those Above, even in the depthsof his fevered dreams, disturbed Vincent. A child should not beburdened with so much responsibility, but it was a burden all of hischildren would have to shoulder for the rest of their lives.

Charles' eyes opened again, focusing clearly this time. "Father.Could I have a drink of water?"

Vincent fetched the drink. When Charles finished, he took theempty cup and set it aside, watching over his son as he closed hiseyes and drifted into sleep once more, this time without apparentdreams.

With all quiet once more, Vincent returned to the warm comfort ofhis own bed. Catherine turned toward him, eyes closed, and murmuredsomething unintelligible.

When involved in a trial that required all her attention, shetended to be so immersed in what was happening in court that it wasdifficult to leave behind when she came home. During such trials, itwas not uncommon for her to make objections and motions in her sleep.

She spoke again, sharply, and Vincent reached for her. He couldalways tell when her work was invading her sleep and had become adeptat redirecting her dreams without waking her. Drawing her close, hesettled her head against his shoulder. "Hush," he whispered."Listen." His touch was enough to quiet her and he could feel hertension dissolving. Softly, in a voice and cadence meant to soothe,he began,

"'There is sweet music here that softer falls

Than petals from blown roses on the grass,

Or night-dews on still waters between walls,

Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies...'"

* * * * *

In stark contrast to Jacob, who'd had a fairly typical case ofchicken pox, and Evan, whose case was preposterously light, Charleswas a sick little boy. His temperature had soared as high as 103degrees and the distinctive chicken pox pustules were everywhere.

Within a few days, his torso was covered with them, as were hisface and neck. He had them on his scalp and in his ears. Scores oftiny, white blisters spread over the creases in his groin, elbows,and behind his knees; he could scarcely walk because the blisterscovered the soles of his feet. He tried to be brave, but thediscomfort and incessant itching made him oversensitive, and thedaytime noise made by the other children made it difficult forCharles to rest.

Vincent was up with Charles three or four times a night and hisdays were spent directing the energies of the three younger children.Catherine's work was imposing a high degree of stress, just as italways did during a major trial, and although she argued feeblyagainst it, he implacably expended the time and emotional energy totalk with her, advise her, and absorb the petty frustrations thatwould otherwise build up inside her.

Though Vincent's body required little sleep, it did demand somerest and by the time Charles was visibly better, he was feeling thelack of it. Fatigue had become a constant companion, one he pushedaside in order to meet his family's needs.

It was with a sense of foreboding that Vincent answered the thin,fretful cries emanating from the nursery a few mornings later.Lifting Vicky in his arms, he could feel the heat from her smallbody; there was an ominous blister on her neck. As soon as he pickedher up she stopped crying, wrapping little arms tightly around hisneck and nestling against his shoulder.

"Catherine?" He turned toward the bedroom where he'd leftCatherine wrestling with Evan and his clothes. Shrieks of outragefrom his smallest son told him she wasn't finished. "Catherine?" Thistime, he raised his voice to be heard over the noise and she lookedup expectantly.

"Victoria's sick."

"Oh, no." Catherine's hold on Evan loosened and he took advantageof her momentary inattention to squirm free. "Evan!" She made oneineffectual grab for him and made a frustrated 'I give up' gesture ashe scampered out the bedroom's other door. "You'll have to catch himlater and get his socks and shoes on," she told Vincent, comingtoward him.

"What's the matter, sweetheart, don't you feel good?" Her tonechanged as she laid a cool hand against her daughter's cheek. Hereyes met Vincent's as she gave him a wry smile. "At least she's thelast one," she said. "After this, we never have to worry aboutchicken pox again."

"I hoped at least one of them had inherited my resistance todisease," Vincent said. "Victoria shares my empathic gifts..."

"She's also had the occasional cold," Catherine reminded him. Shepressed a kiss to Vicky's warm forehead. Turning her head a littleand lifting her chin, she met Vincent's lips in a kiss that wasequally brief but much more intense. "I have to go," she said. "I'llbe late."

Charles felt well enough to get up today, though still not up tohis usual level of activity. Appropriating a corner of the big couchin the study, he curled up under a hand-made quilt as he read, drewpictures and tried with mixed success to nap as his brothers playedaround and occasionally over him.

Vincent was almost wholly occupied with Vicky. Clinging andwhining, she shrieked whenever he tried to put her down. He couldfeel, through the delicate thread that connected them, howuncomfortable she was, and knew that physical contact with himhelped. The bond he shared with his daughter was different than theone he had with Catherine... more nebulous, although he sometimeswondered how much of that was due to her age.

Babies, he had learned when Charles was born, experience only themost basic emotions... contentment when their needs are met andoutrage when they are not. As each of his children matured, Vincentcould feel them expanding, adding emotions as they took in more andmore of the world around them. Vicky was old enough to perceive awide range of feelings now, but still young enough to be completelyself-centered. Vincent sometimes suspected that as she grew andlearned to give, their connection might become stronger.

The source of the bond between himself and Catherine was somethinghe had often pondered. Love seemed an easy answer, yet he lovedFather, had loved Father all his life, but had never developed anysort of connection. With his sons, he thought it might be different.They were, after all, of his blood and Catherine's, and there was noquestioning his love for them, but he had no more sense of what theyfelt than he did with Father. Physical proximity helped him to pickup some of their feelings and he was more sensitive to them than withothers, but that was all.

Vicky was the only one, and with her, he and Father had decidedafter hours of thoughtful discussion, it was more a case of theirmutual empathic gifts reaching out toward one another than a truereproduction of the bond Vincent shared with Catherine.

By mid-afternoon, after too many sleepless nights and a daywithout respite from fretful, pent-up children, Vincent was close tolosing his almost limitless supply of patience. Naps all around, hedecided, were in order. Charles was already dozing on the couch inthe study, so Vincent sent Jacob in to lie down on the big bed in themaster bedroom while putting Evan in his own bed in the nursery.Jacob complied in his usual good-natured fashion and Vincentconsidered it little short of a miracle that Evan popped out of bedonly twice before succumbing to the sandman.

He made one half-hearted attempt to pry Vicky loose from his neck,but surrendered the idea when he felt her distress. Reclining againstthe arm of the couch, he made himself as comfortable as he could,shifting Vicky to his lap, where she nestled into the curve of hisarm. Thumb in her mouth, she took the worn remnant of her blanket andbegan rubbing her cheek with it rhythmically. In a matter of moments,she, too, was asleep. With his brood quiet for at least an hour,Vincent picked up a book from the table at his elbow, and savored themoment's tranquility.

Little more than an hour later, he thought he heard a noise fromthe bedroom. Putting his book aside, he rose to his feet, careful notto disturb Vicky. Carrying her into the nursery, he managed to shifther to the crib without waking her.

Evan's bed was empty and the door into the bedroom, open when he'dleft it, was now closed. Turning the knob, he was greeted with atrail of toddler-sized clothing leading straight to the french doorswhich opened onto the second-story terrace. The french doors stoodajar and Vincent crossed to them with swift, silent strides.

Outside, the day was bright, the sun dazzling in a clear blue sky.On her dresser, Catherine kept a cut glass bowl full of walnuts fortwo squirrels that lived in the elm tree in their back yard. One ofthe tree's branches nearly touched the low brick parapet, making iteasy for the squirrels to come visit. It delighted all four childrento place walnuts on the terrace and then dart inside to watch fortheir sure-footed little friends.

Evan had taken the bowl out with him and was placing walnuts in aneat line along the top of the wall. From his place just inside thedoors, Vincent was vexed to observe that the boy was stark naked. Thetemperature outside was in the forties, warm for February, but notexactly comfortable. A normal child would be driven indoors fairlyquickly, but Evan was not a normal child. One of the things he hadinherited from his unusual father was a tolerance for extremetemperatures and Vincent knew that it would be a very long timebefore Evan began to feel the cold.

Finished with the walnuts, Evan raised both arms and began toplead with their tree-dwelling neighbors. "Quirrels!" he shouted."Come on, quirrels! I bring you nuts!"

He put a bold hand out toward the low-hanging branch and Vincentdecided it was time to intervene.

"Evan, come here, please," he requested.

Startled by his father's voice, the toddler turned quickly,pressing back against the low wall.

Crouching to reduce his visibility, Vincent extended anencouraging hand. "Please, Evan. Come here."

On the right, the terrace was protected from strange eyes by theblank wall of the neighboring house. On the left, it was shielded bya twelve-foot wooden trellis. In the summer, the trellis was coveredwith climbing roses which grew from a long brick planter at its base,but now only dried remnants of last summer's color and scentremained. Similarly, the rear of the house was screened by a row ofpoplar trees lining the back fence, but without summer's protectivefoliage, they were not adequate protection. Evan's bright blue gazewas sly and he seemed aware that Vincent did not want to venture intothe sunlight.

"No," he said obstinately, turning back to look for squirrels.

"Evan!" Vincent made his voice commanding. "Come into the house.Now!"

Evan cast an insolent glance over his bare shoulder. "Don't wantto," he said.

Vincent strained his senses, trying to determine if there wasanyone in neighboring houses or yards in a position to see theterrace. He sensed no one, and yet... "Evan," he almost hissed, "Iwant you to come here now!"

His son continued to ignore him and what remained of Vincent'spatience was fast running out. With his eyes, he measured thedistance between himself and Evan. Three quick strides, grab him andcome back... at least three, maybe four seconds of exposure... toolong in this light...

Vincent settled back and weighed alternatives, balancing Evan'swell-being and the future consequences of allowing the boy to be soopenly defiant against his own safety and that of his world and thelife he and Catherine had built together. Evan was safe enough aslong as he remained on the terrace floor, and Vincent reluctantlydecided to remain inside the bedroom. Only if Evan tried to climb upon the parapet would Vincent risk exposure to prevent himfalling.

"Evan," he said again. "I want you to come inside now. It's cold,"he reminded the boy.

"Not cold," Evan disagreed. "Sunshine!" He pointed to thesunshine's source.

"I see the sunshine," Vincent agreed. "It's still cold. Come innow."

"Daddy come out? See quirrels?"

"I can't come out, Evan, and the squirrels won't come while you'rethere."

"Not come?"

"No. You scare them."

"Scare quirrels?"

"Yes. Come inside and we'll watch for the squirrels." Movement atVincent's elbow made him shift his gaze momentarily. Jacob stoodbeside him, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Young as he was, he grasped the situation instantly. "Want me toget him, Daddy?" he offered.

"Not yet, Jacob," Vincent cautioned. Evan was clearly debating thebest course of action and his brother's appearance on the terracemight be enough to trigger the wrong decision. "Evan?"

"Quirrels not come," Evan said. "'Bye, quirrels!" His mind madeup, he picked up the empty nut bowl and marched into the house. Withhis youngest son safely within reach again, Vincent closed the frenchdoors, making a mental note to ask Mouse to install a new lock, onehigh enough that even the most adventuresome two-year-old could notreach it.

Evan was scarcely back into his clothes when Vicky woke, cryingfretfully. Vincent was glad when Catherine arrived home on time foronce.

"The defense rested its case this afternoon," she explained."Closing arguments Monday morning and then it goes to the jury. Myclosing statement's mostly done and I'm giving myself the weekendoff." She smiled at him. "You look as if you could use some help."

"I can."

"Here, I'll take her," Catherine offered, reaching for Vicky.

With a squall of protest, Vicky turned away, renewing her hold onVincent's neck.

"Don't you want your mother to hold you, Victoria?" Vincent askedher.

Her answer was to strengthen her grip and bury her face againsthis neck.

Catherine managed a small smile. It was not the first time one ofher children had rejected her in favor of Vincent and she knew therejection was temporary, but somehow it always hurt a little. Shelooked around to find the rest of her children equally unimpressedwith her presence.

Charles was absorbed in a book; Jacob was at her desk busilycoloring, and Evan was playing with Vincent's chessboard, arrangingand re-arranging the pieces.

"Well," she told Vincent, "at least you're happy to see me."

"Always," he assured her.

The muted ring of the bell that signaled someone's presence at thetunnel entrance below interrupted, andCatherine frowned inbewilderment. No one had come visiting since the quarantine. "I'llget it," she said.

Hidden behind a false wall, there was a long narrow stair thatbegan in a corner of the master bedroom, but it was dark and stuffyand Catherine never used it unless she was with Vincent. This timeshe went the more conventional route, down the main staircase, intothe kitchen and down the wooden basement stairs. One wall of thelaundry room was lined with shelves and she went to the corner,touching a hidden catch with a practiced hand. A section of shelvingswung toward her. Stepping through, she left it open and touchedanother catch, springing the perfectly balanced cement barrier Mousehad designed and implemented years ago.

"Mary?"

"Hello, Catherine."

Mary stepped past her without waiting for an invitation. "I'vebeen trying to find the time to get up here all week," she explained,offering Catherine one of the baskets she carried. "Vincent must befeeling like a caged lion about now."

"I think he must," Catherine agreed, leading the way upstairs. "Iwas going to try to persuade him to go Below this evening. He needs achange."

"You look tired, too, Catherine," Mary said.

They reached the kitchen and Mary placed her basket on the tableand reached for the one in Catherine's hands. "Now, I brought some ofWilliam's barley soup and a loaf of fresh-baked bread. I'm going towatch the children while the two of you relax and spend some timetogether."

Vincent had come down to see who their visitor was and he offereda faint protest. "Mary, it's very kind of you," he began,"but..."

"No arguments, Vincent." She quelled him with the look that couldinstantly subdue a roomful of unruly seven-year-olds.

"No arguments, Mary," he agreed meekly.

"Mary! Mary!" The three boys burst in, greeting her with anexuberance that was diametrically opposed to the way they had greetedtheir mother.

"Hello, Jacob. Charles, you look as if you're feeling better." Shehad a word and a hug for each boy, finally picking Evan up andsettling him snugly on her hip. "And how's my big boy today?"

"Fine," he answered, snuggling against her.

Catherine watched with only a twinge of maternal possessiveness.While she loved her children equally, she was aware, and wasn'tparticularly proud, of the fact that she did have a favorite child inCharles. Whether because he was the first, or just because hereminded her so much of his father, she didn't know, but she did herbest to hide it. Vincent, she knew, had the same struggle not tofavor Vicky, and Jacob was the apple of Father's eye, sharing hisquiet ways.

Evan needed to be someone's favorite child. Devin had an affinityfor him, of course, but that, Catherine thought wryly, was becausethey were kindred spirits. Mary did what no one else, not evenVincent, could do... reach past the tightly-wound bundle of energyand mischief that was Evan and bring out a quiet, relaxed little boythat Catherine hardly recognized.

"All right, you two," Mary scolded lightly. "Go on and findsomething to do."

Catherine looked at Vincent. He looked so tired and the usualspark in those blue eyes had been fading for days now. Perhaps whathe needed most was a nap. As quickly as the thought came, shediscarded it. He was tired but she suspected that Mary's caged lionanalogy was more apt than she knew.

"Remember how you used to worry Father by going out into the parkat night?" Mary prompted.

"The park..." Vincent repeated slowly.

Catherine smiled. "How long has it been since we went for a walkin the park?" Not waiting for an answer, she took a step toward thedoor. "Let me just change..."

Five minutes later she reappeared wearing jeans, boots, a thicksweater and a warm parka. She had Vincent's cloak draped over herarm.

The boys were around the table eating soup and Mary was using herown brand of persuasion on Vicky, who was still refusing to be partedfrom Vincent.

"Mary, perhaps..." Vincent said doubtfully as Mary pried littlearms from around his neck and pulled a struggling, screaming Vickyinto her own embrace.

"Perhaps nothing, Vincent," she said, raising her voice to beheard over the clamor. "You need a rest. She'll be fine as soon asyou're gone."

Catherine offered the cloak tentatively, allowing him the choice.He glanced from her to their daughter and back again. Sighing, hetook the cloak and swung it around his wide shoulders.

"Quickly. Before I change my mind," he said. Taking Catherine'shand, he touched a pressure point on the kitchen wall and the secretdoor there opened silently. It led to a landing on the secret stair.A right turn would take them up the stairs to the bedroom. Vincentwent left, Catherine following blindly.In the tunnels, they travelledside by side, still holding hands. Neither spoke until they reachedthe Central Park threshold.

"How is she, Vincent?" Catherine asked, knowing the source of hispreoccupation.

"Beginning to calm," he answered, pulling the lever to open themassive sliding panel.

"We can go back if you're worried," she said.

Holding the gate for her, he met her eyes. "No. Mary is right. Weneed time, too. Victoria is in good hands." The gate clanged shutbehind them and he triggered the sliding panel's closingmechanism.

The night was clear and cold and their breath smoked in the icyair. The moon was just past three-quarters full and only the verybrightest stars could be faintly discerned. Old snow crunchedunderfoot as they avoided the well-travelled paths.

"Dare I ask how your day went?" Catherine ventured after awhile.

"I survived it," he said with a touch of wry humor. "Charles isvastly better, Jacob was more cooperative than one could possiblyexpect a four-year-old to be, and Evan fed the squirrels."

"Evan fed the squirrels," she repeated, sure from his tone thatthere was more to the story.

He related the tale, emphasizing the more entertaining bits andglossing over his own part in it, but Catherine wasn't fooled. By thetime he finished, she had come to a stop.

"Vincent, what would you have done if he'd tried to climb thewall?"

"I would have gone out for him," he said calmly.

She shuddered and stepped forward, slipping her arms around hiswaist and pressing close. "I'll be glad when you can take them Belowagain," she said fervently. "You're safe there."

"Am I not safe in our home?" he asked. It was a notion thatsurprised him. Quick access to the tunnels was all he needed to feelphysically secure and their house was designed to provide that. Eventhis afternoon it had been more ingrained habit than fear which hadkept him inside. The actual risk of someone being in a position tosee him at that time of day was remote and the chance of someoneseeing enough to respond to it was so negligible as to be almostnon-existent.

"I suppose you are," she said. "I just like to be there... toprotect you, I guess." She laughed, tugging at his arm to get himwalking again. "Silly, isn't it?"

"I have felt your concern, Catherine. Victoria will be pastcontagion soon and we can return Below."

"How was she today?"

Several seconds passed and she twisted her neck to look up at him.He sighed. "She wanted me to hold her."

"All day?"

He nodded.

"And you did."

Again he made a slight gesture of agreement. "I could feel herdiscomfort, her distress."

"What will you do, Vincent, when holding her isn't enough to fixwhatever's wrong in her life?" She stopped and faced him. "You try sohard to shelter her and it worries me. You can't take away hertroubles any more than you can take away Charles's, or Jacob's, orEvan's. Or mine."

The look he gave confirmed the truth of that statement. Knowingthat his inability to protect everyone from everything troubled him,she changed the subject. They had strolled aimlessly while theytalked and it was only now that she noticed that they were in thesouthern quadrant of the park, near Central Park West. Gazing overVincent's shoulder, she pointed. "Look!"

He did, putting a reflexive arm around her shoulders and pullingher more securely into the shelter provided by his larger body.Snuggled against him, she waited for him to see what she had seen. Ittook a few seconds... first he scanned the immediate area, aninstinctive reaction even though all his senses told him no one wasnear. Already he was recognizing that what Catherine felt was pleasedexpectation, not fear, and he quickly looked further.

"I see it," he confirmed, tipping his head back to look up at theelegant apartment building just across the way. "I used to knowsomeone who lived there," he confided.

"Did you?"

"Mmmm. I spent many pleasant hours on that very balcony." Hepointed to a spot high above their heads.

"Really? So did I." She offered him a mischievous smile. "Shall werevisit it?"

He looked down at her, his eyes beginning to glow. "Easy enoughfor me," he said, "but how will you reach it?"

"Oh, that's easy, too," she explained. "I'll just knock on thedoor and tell whoever lives there now that I need to use theirbalcony."

"Do you think it will work?"

She pretended to consider. "Probably just get me arrested," shedecided.

"Perhaps it's just as well," Vincent consoled her. "In light of myadvancing years, it probably wouldn't be so easy for me afterall."

She gave a softly muffled laugh. "Your advancing years. Right."Resting her head against his shoulder, she became wistful. "We dohave some wonderful memories there, don't we?"

"Do you miss it?"

She knew he was thinking of the life she had surrendered to bewith him. "Sometimes," she admitted honestly. "Especially when thedecibel level reaches new heights and I want nothing more thansolitude and quiet. Then I remember all the cold, lonely nights Ispent wondering if you would come... wishing you would come..." Shetightened her arms around his waist. "I'd much rather have you, andour children, and the noise and confusion..."

"Speaking of noise and confusion..."

"We should go back?"

His head moved in a barely perceptible motion of regretfulagreement and they turned back the way they had come.

In the tunnels, they walked arm in arm, talking of all theinconsequential things parents talk of. When they reached the lastmajor junction on the way to their home, Catherine stopped."Vincent,will you do something for me?"

"Of course," he agreed immediately.

"You've spent an hour with me. Will you go now and spend an hourwith yourself?"

"Catherine..."

"Please?" She reached up to stroke his cheek. "You give so much toeveryone else, Vincent. Give this to yourself."

"You're tired... Victoria..." His protest was half-hearted. Anhour of solitude did sound enticing.

"I'm fine. I'll have all of tomorrow to rest. What's Vickydoing?"

He reached out for his daughter and was surprised at what hefound. "I believe Mary's gotten her to sleep."

"Well, then. I'll see you in an hour or two." She kissed him andwalked away without giving him time for further argument. Letting hergo, he watched until she disappeared around a gentle curve in thetunnel before taking the other fork.

Upon reaching home, Catherine found Mary had all three boys safelytucked into bed and Vicky was cuddled, dozing, in her lap as sherocked in the rocking chair.

Standing, Mary transferred Vicky to Catherine's arms. Wakingenough to cry a little, Vicky renewed her hold on her blanket beforerelaxing back into a drowsy half-sleep against her mother's shoulder.Catherine smiled, relishing the silky feel of Vicky's strawberrycurls under her chin.

"Mary, thank you," she said gratefully. "The walk was exactly whatwe needed."

"No need to thank me," Mary said briskly, gathering up her things."And no need to see me out, either," she added as Catherine followedher toward the stairs. "I'll be fine."

"All right." Catherine stopped at the head of the stairs."Goodnight."

Mary's voice floated up the stairwell. "Goodnight!"

All four children were asleep when Vincent returned. The lines ofexhaustion were still on his face, but his step was lighter andCatherine was glad she had insisted he take time for himself.

"Where did you go?" she asked sleepily as he slid into bed besideher. His skin was cool to the touch and he smelled faintly of thenight sky.

"I started for Father's chamber and found myself in the WhisperingGallery," he explained wryly. "The voices were calling me tonight...wanting me to join them, it seemed."

"So you did," she prompted, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"I went to your old building."

She managed a sleepy giggle. "The balcony?"

"No." Amusement colored his voice. "I thought it best not tofrighten whoever lives there now so I climbed to the roof."

"Was it as easy as you remembered?"

He gave a low, tired laugh. "I'm grateful you don't live there anylonger."

"But you're glad you went," she mumbled and was asleep before hecould draw breath to answer.

"Yes," he murmured softly into her hair. "I'm glad I went."

They were both still in that first, deep sleep when Vicky'sfretful wail pierced the quiet. Heart pounding, shaky and unbalancedfrom the abrupt awakening, Catherine stumbled into the nursery.

"Hush, baby, I'm here," she soothed automatically, picking up thecrying child.

"Daddy!" Vicky sobbed, reaching past Catherine's shoulder."Daddy!"

Operating on pure instinct, Vincent had reacted to his daughter'scries, too, and when she turned, Catherine found him standing behindher. Vicky leaned for him. Catherine's balance was already precariousfrom fatigue and the shift in Vicky's weight made her sway towardhim.

He reacted reflexively, taking Vicky in one arm and steadyingCatherine against his chest with the other. "I'll take care of her,"he whispered. "Go back to bed."

"You're as tired as I am," Catherine whispered back, leaningagainst him. "Tireder."

"I can't sleep while she's awake. You can."

"It isn't fair," she objected, conceding the point. "Promiseyou'll wake me if there's anything I can do?"

"I promise. Go back to sleep."

They shared a brief, apologetic kiss. As she made her way back tobed, Catherine could hear Vincent crooning to Vicky as he carried herinto the study.

The pale pink glow of dawn was streaking the windows whenCatherine woke again. Reaching out, she realized she was alone in theb ÝShe listened for the sound of Vicky fussing but allwas silent.

Tiptoeing into the nursery, she observed that the crib was empty.Evan was teetering precariously on the edge of his bed, so she pausedto move him over and cover him before going on to the study. It, too,appeared empty.

"Vincent?" she whispered from the doorway. A breath of movementfrom the couch drew her. Creeping closer, she peered over theback.

Vincent was on his back, head pillowed against one arm of thecouch and feet propped on the other, sound asleep. Vicky slept on hischest, head tucked under his chin. His arms cradled her protectivelyas she clutched a fistful of his nightshirt. Their hair mingledagainst his chest and it was difficult to tell where Vincent's longgolden mane ended and Vicky's rosy curls began. Vincent stirred,sighing in his sleep, his hands tightening about their daughter.

Taking a quilt from a nearby chair, Catherine spread it over them,tucking it around Vincent's feet and across the back of Vicky's neck."I love you," she breathed, pressing the softest of kisses to eachforehead.

Standing back, she memorized the way father and daughter looked.Itwas a peaceful, loving sight, a sharp contrast to recent days. Soon,though, all the chaos would be behind them, and things could returnto normal... at least, as normal as they ever were around here.Smiling, Catherine slipped back to bed.

THE END