Even without a sixth sense like Vincent's, Catherine could tell hewas waiting for her at the bottom of the ladder. Maybe it was someelusive scent she didn't recognize consciously; maybe all her senseswere so attuned to him that his presence telegraphed itself in amillion subtle ways she'd never understand. If she never did, itwouldn't matter. All that mattered was their presence here together.In fortunate times like this, when no crisis drove her Below,Catherine was able to appreciate the wonderful strangeness of it all.Especially on a day like today, the feeling of going under the hillto meet a Prince of Faërie was inescapable.
Thoughts of magic in her head, she was momentarily speechless asshe turned to Vincent, waiting for her, caught in a shaft of themysterious light that seemed to inexplicably find its way Below. Justfor an instant, it seemed that the golden creature before her was thesource of that light, not merely revealed by its reflection. Everytime Catherine thought she was getting used to Vincent, some littlething would bring home to her how enchantingly strange he reallywas.
"Catherine?"
The undercurrent of concern in Vincent's voice shook Catherine outof her reverie. Smiling, she moved toward him to lay a reassuringhand on his arm. "Just wondering if a hundred years will have passedwhen I go Above again."
Vincent smiled as he took Catherine's pack from her. "It hasn'tyet, but one never knows, especially on such a day as this."
" I suppose to be on the safe side I shouldn't eat or drinkanything while I'm down here, but William would be insulted."
"Indeed. Given William's feelings about those who don't appreciatehis cooking, I think the chance of a century's enchantment is alesser risk."
"Well, I certainly don't want anyone Below mad at me," Catherinesaid lightly," in case Father decides to revoke my passport."Concerned at Vincent's silence, she stole a sidelong glance at hisface. Too serious. He must have sensed the constant undercurrent ofworry she always tried so hard to hide.
Vincent took her hand as he turned to speak. "Catherine, Father isgreatly changed, truly. You've done a great deak for us in the timeyou've known us. He hasn't forgotten that he and I might be lyingdead in a cave without you...or that he might be in a prison Above,or that Mouse might be as well. He knows he would never have had thechance to make his peace with Margaret without you. He hasn'tforgotten what you did for Eric, and Ellie, and many others."
"I'll bet he hasn't forgotten that Paracelsus used me to lure youto him, or all the times you've risked yourself for me, or what theSilks did to you. I'm sure he's remembering that I took you wanderingall over Big Bad Manhattan a year ago, and that I'm about to do itagain tonight."
Vincent shook his head. "It was Bridget that drew me Above thattime; Father can hardly lay that at your door...although I would nodoubt have come back a great deal sooner if it hadn't been for you."That elusive smile that turned Catherine to jelly transformedVincent's face. "It was a wonderful night, walking beside you as if Ibelonged in your world, on the one night I can do so with littlefear. No matter what Father thinks, I shall not let him take thataway from me."
Catherine sighed. "It's a good thing he's not around to overhearyou. It's that kind of rebellious attitude Father will lay at mydoor. I'll be right there in the same mental doghouse withDevin."
"I've been going Above for years," Vincent replied firmly. "Longafter Devin left, and long before I found you. I shall remind him ofthat if necessary. Besides, attending a Celtic music concert right inCentral Park is not exactly wandering all over Manhattan."
"I guess," Catherine agreed. They walked for a moment or two incomfortable silence, until they reached a small room not far fromMary's.
"I hope this chamber is all right," Vincent said tentatively. "Ihad hoped to find one farther from the Hub, and quieter..."
"It's fine. I like being in the middle of things. Besides, I don'tthink we'll be out quite so late this year. I don't intend to push myluck with Father." Catherine took her pack from Vincent and removedher costume for tonight. The dress unrolled like a green velvetshadow, with a flicker of gold here and there as the embroideredCeltic designs caught the candlelight. Laying the dress on the bed,Catherine moved over to the small armoire to find a hanger. Sheturned back to see Vincent staring at the dress, mesmerized.Imagining her in it? She hoped so.
"It's for a special night," Catherine said softly. And aspecial man, her heart added. "It's borrowed from a musicianfriend of mine, so after tonight it disappears...like fairy gold."Don't you ever disappear on me, my love...I couldn't bear it.Not only the wall between the worlds of living and dead seemed to bewearing thin tonight, but also the wall Catherine had built betweenher feelings for Vincent and the way she longed to express them.
Silencing her heart's insistent voice, Catherine busied herselfputting away the rest of the necessities she had brought for hertemporary stay. It was only a place to change clothes, after all. Shehad hoped that Vincent would suggest that she stay overnight, atleast--but he hadn't, and she was afraid to ask. The pain of theirtemporary breakup last Spring was still too raw; the terrifyingspecter of a future without Vincent still haunted her dreams. Shewouldn't jeopardize the delicate balance their relationship hadachieved, much as she longed to carry it forward.
Vincent had his back to her, seemingly inspecting the appointmentsof the chamber. But it was a very small chamber, and Catherinesuspected that he was really avoiding the frightening possibility ofseeing something lacy and intimate emerge from her pack. Firmlypreventing that mental image from developing, Catherine cleared herthroat and announced, "Ready for duty, Sir."
Vincent jumped a little at the sound of Catherine's voice, provingher theory about just what he was trying so hard not to think about.He stared at her blankly for a moment, until Catherine took pity onhim. "I came here to help, remember? That's why I took two days off,after all, which took some doing. I want to be part of everything,not just waltz in at the end and steal you away Above."
Vincent stepped aside and motioned her out the door. "I'vepromised to spend most of the day helping Cullen prepare the stageand props for the children's performance tonight. They intend to puton a play of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and some dramaticreadings, I believe. Father shall do his usual reading of ghoststories, of course. Unfortunately, Cullen and I should be able tocomplete our tasks without help."
"I don't want to take you away from whatever you promised to do,Vincent," Catherine announced firmly. "Or just stand around like afifth wheel. We'll have plenty of time together later."
"Well," Vincent suggested, "Sarah and Mary could use help with thechildren's costumes, but I'm not sure--"
Catherine pointed to the pouch that hung from Vincent's chest."I'm not a complete stranger to a needle and thread, you know. Iadmit I'm hardly in Sarah's class, or Mary's, but I can do thebasics. I doubt that Halloween costumes call for elaborateneedlework. And I can follow orders; Joe gives them to me all thetime."
Somewhat sheepishly, Vincent took Catherine to the room where thenight's costumes were taking final shape, and turned her over toSarah. Catherine had been a little afraid of Sarah at first, but sooncame to realize she used the same brusque manner with everyone.Catherine quietly set to work, her hands busy with hems and seamswhile her ears drank in the conversation around her.
Various children popped in and out all morning, checking on theprogress of their costumes. When Samantha saw Catherine, she eagerlyrushed up to her, waving a small and exquisitely bound book in herhand. "Oh Catherine, this book that Bridget O'Donnell gave you isjust wonderful! Vincent's letting me read parts of it tonight, andwe're going to act out some parts before the play."
Catherine touched a finger to the book's lovely green-and-goldcover. Legends of Samhain was written in beautiful Celticminiscule above a triskelion design of stylized ravens. Catherine andBridget had become good friends in the aftermath of the attemptedmurder of her father. Catherine had pulled more than a few strings tokeep the forces of law and politics at bay long enough for the oldman to die in peace. When Bridget left to accompany his body back toIreland, she had promised to stay in touch, and kept her promise.Their busy lives didn't allow much time for letter-writing, but theydid exchange them regularly if infrequently.
Catherine was never quite sure how much Bridget really knew aboutVincent's true nature, but suspected little had escaped her. Knowingthat Vincent could be reached through Catherine, Bridget sent himletters as well, and made sure he had copies of everything she wrote.Less than a month ago Legends of Samhain had arrived, completewith a Gaelic inscription written in the front. The accompanyingletter, addressed only to Catherine, included a translation: "ToVincent and Catherine: May you find the wall between your worlds growthin; May you find your heart's desire on the other side and a doorbetween." Bridget had added that so few people could read Gaelic itwas as good as writing in code. Catherine asked Vincent to keep thebook down below, wondering if he were one of those people. Nothingwould surprise her, he seemed to know a remarkable number oflanguages. He never asked about the inscription--because he knew whatit said, or because he didn't and was afraid to ask? It was abeautiful thing, anyway, and Catherine wanted Vincent to keep it. Alimited edition, it had to be quite valuable. Not that such thingsmattered to him--but she knew he'd enjoy its content and itscraftmanship. It was a generous gift on Bridget's part. Catherinehadn't had a chance to do more than skim it herself yet, but itseemed to be getting a lot of attention Below.
"It says here," Samantha lectured, "that because Samhain was thebeginning of the New Year, it was a good time for div--divin--"
"Divination," Catherine prompted.
"Right! Vincent says that means telling the future. Each personwould put a stone in the bonfire, and leave it in there until thenext day. If your stone was gone in the morning it meant you'ddie before the year was over!" Samantha's voice spoke of deathwith a relish that only the voices of the young, secure in thecertainty of immortality, can achieve.
Samantha, have you come here for some practical reason?" Sarahasked.
Speaking in her most grown-up tone, Samantha announced that shewas merely making sure the costumes for the play would be ready.
"Well, I'm sewing the last button on Kipper's, and Catherine isalmost finished with the hem on yours. Those are the last ones. And,"Sarah added pointedly, "we'd finish much faster if we weren'tinterrupted so often."
Gathering her adolescent dignity about her, Samantha thanked Sarahwith exaggerated politeness and flounced off. As soon as she was outof earshot, Catherine let out the giggle she'd been holding in withgreat effort, and a second later Mary joined her.
"Girl seems to think she's in training for Queen," Sarahhuffed.
Catherine smiled, wishing she'd had half Samantha's gumption atthat age. The sewing continued for another half hour, until the laststitch was finished and Mary announced it was certainly time forlunch. Catherine's stomach agreed wholeheartedly. The three womenwalked together to the communal dining area where William and hiskitchen helpers were dishing out bowls of a barley-and-vegetable soupthat smelled delicious. Baskets of bread, still warm from the oven,were being passed around the tables amid a muted din of talk andlaughter.
Mary directed Catherine's attention to the far side of the roomwhere Vincent was trying to pay polite attention to a voluble Kipperwhile keeping one eye on the door. "We appreciated your help thismorning, Catherine, but I think you should go sit with Vincent. Itlooks like he's saving a seat for someone." Mary looked at Kipper."Besides, I think he'll appreciate being rescued."
Flashing Mary a grateful smile, Catherine made her way towardVincent, winding carefully among chairs, diners, servers, and excitedchildren. Vincent took advantage of a brief lull while Kipper stoppedfor breath to rise and guide Catherine to the chair on his otherside. Kipper fidgeted while Vincent asked Catherine about hermorning. Catherine drew it out, giving both him and Kipper a chanceto eat their soup while hers cooled a little.
When she reached the place in her tale where the redoubtableSamantha's name entered the narrative, Kipper piped up again."Samantha! Her and her stupid ideas! Why can't we just do the playand forget about that other junk?"
"You agreed to that 'other junk' quite readily when Samantha toldyou there was a big part in it for you," Vincent reminded him.
"Well, she never told me about all that mushy stuff!"
"Did you ask?" Kipper decided to look at his soup bowl instead ofVincent. "Perhaps you were a little too eager for fame to ask fordetails. But you made a committment, and must honor it."
Catherine pulled her attention from William's quite delicious soupfor a moment. "What 'mushy stuff' can there be? I thought you weresupposed to be dramatising the legends from Bridget's book. I don'tremember anything particularly mushy about it." Even by thedefinition of a boy your age, Catherine added to herself.
"It's all that stuff about the nuts and bowls and stuff." Kippermoaned.
"Nuts and bowls..." Catherine tried unsuccessfully to rememberthat part.
"One of the questions commonly asked in divination," Vincentexplained, "was whom one would marry. Samantha seems determined todemonstrate many variations of this.."
"I remember now," Catherine exclaimed. "You were supposed toblindfold a man and set three bowls before him. If he picked the bowlwith clear water he'd marry a virg--uh, maiden. Muddy water meanthe'd marry a widow, and an empty bowl meant he wouldn't marry atall." Catherine frowned. "Pretty sexist symbolism if you ask me." Shehadn't appreciated being made to feel like a bowl of muddy water,which she supposed was the closest to her category. "What about thenuts, though? I can't quite remember--"
The silence had almost become uncomfortable before Vincentreplied, buttering his bread with exaggerated care. "A woman wouldput nuts into a fire, one representing herself and anotherrepresenting the man she was interested in. If the nuts separated, itmeant there was no future for their love. If they burned up quickly,what was between them would be passionate but brief." His voicequieted for a moment, then resumed in a near-whisper. "If the nutsburned together quietly, their love was true and would last."
Oblivious to the small drama being enacted beside him, Kippernoisily slurped the last of his soup, generating a scowl from Father,a pained look from Mary, and a look of ill-disguised satisfaction onWilliam's face. There was a clatter of dishes and scraping of chairsas those served earliest began to leave.
Catherine and Vincent finished their meal quickly, with only themost desultory conversation. As they rose to leave, Rebeccaapproached Catherine. "Sarah tells me you were so helpful thismorning, all the sewing is finished. How would you like to help mesupervise Jack-o'-Lantern carving?"
"I'd love to, but it sounds like way too much fun to count aswork."
"Just wait," Rebecca laughed. "You keep losing your carvers toother things and end up finishing a lot of them yourself. Your handswill turn orange, you'll never want to see another pumpkin seed, andyou'll be lucky if you don't cut yourself."
Catherine smiled. "Now that sounds sufficiently like work. You'reon."
Rebecca's prophecy held true at first. Supervising groups ofchildren at a task requiring the use of knives wasn't easy, requiringall one's concentration and eyes in the back of one's head. The olderchildren helped, putting the young ones to work scraping out stringypumpkin innards and keeping the knives out of their reach. However,they were constantly excusing themselves to try on costumes, find astory that Father just had to read tonight, help Mouse concoctsome mysterious stage effect, rehearse the play, adinfinitum.
Catherine was kept busy preventing bloodshed and offeringaesthetic advice on whether fangs or square teeth were moreappropriate for a truly scary face. Catherine's reaction to fangsthese days was hardly fear, but neither was it something she couldshare with innocent children, so she tried to be objective. Catherineliked Rebecca, and would have welcomed the chance to talk--actually,to pump her about Vincent's youth--but almost every conversation hadto be interrupted by sudden admonitions to put that knife down; don'teat the pumpkin seeds raw; no, we have no red paint so you can't makeit look like a severed head; and don't you dare rub the squishyorange stuff in her hair!
They seemed to have collected an awfully large number ofhalf-finished pumpkin heads at one point, and Catherine had begun todespair. Later in the afternoon, though, a number of the youngthespians began to drift in from the final rehearsal of Samantha'sSamhain vignettes. From their conversation, Catherine gathered thatthe rehearsal ended rather earlier than expected, mostly because allthe rest were getting rather tired of Samantha telling them what todo. When Ellie referred to some crisis about a three-legged stool,Catherine begged for an explanation.
"In Scotland," Ellie explained, "they believed if you took athree-legged stool to a crossroads where three roads met, and sat onit Halloween night, you could hear the fairies talk about who wasgoing to die during the year."
"But," Eric broke in, "if you brought a bunch of clothes with you,and threw a piece to the fairy who said that name, the fairy would beso happy the person wouldn't die after all."
"Samantha got real mad," Pablo said solemnly, "because the stoolhad four legs, not three."
Big deal," Kipper snorted. "Four legs, three legs, who cares? Youcan still sit on it."
"Now Kipper, you know it does matter," Brooke insisted. "Three wasa very important, magical number to the Celts. Three legs to thestool, three roads crossing--it meant something to them. Samantha canbe a pain, but she was right about that. Four legs just wouldn'tdo."
"So what happened?"
Ellie replied absently as she carved a precision set of wickedfangs into her Jack-o'-Lantern. "After a lot of yelling and runningaround, Mouse came up with the right kind of stool. Don't know fromwhere."
Brooke grinned. "Don't want to know."
With the unanticipated increase in helpers, Catherine began tofeel that two adult supervisors weren't really necessary. Brooke andEllie were mature enough to keep the young ones from disaster. "Lookslike you've got things pretty much in hand here, Rebecca. Maybe Ishould see if they need help in the kitchen."
"Are you sure? You've been working hard all day."
"I want to make myself useful," Catherine said. I want tobelong, her heart pleaded. The understanding look on Rebecca'sface made Catherine afraid for a moment that she'd said that lastunvoiced plea aloud.
"Go ahead, then, and thanks. "I'm sure William can use the help.We got a lot of produce from our Helpers and foragers this week, andhe's been frantic about doing something with all of it before itspoils."
Catherine left amid shouts of "Bye, Catherine!" and headed towardthe kitchen. Controlled chaos held sway there as William directedwhat appeared to be a small army of workers. There seemed to beplenty to do, but Catherine couldn't imagine where they'd fit inanother body.
William spotted her standing by the door and boomed out, "Got amessage, or here to work?"
"Work, if you can fit me in," Catherine replied uncertainly.
"Help Miyoko pick apples; she'll show ya where." He tilted hishead toward the small woman who seemed about to lift an entire bushelbasket of apples.
Catherine rushed over to help the woman before she hurt herself.Seeing her consternation, Miyoko smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry,I'm stronger than I look. I'm used to lifting things."
She waited for Catherine to help her with the basket, but from thesmooth way she hefted her side, Catherine decided she probably cocould have lifted the whole thing herself after all. Going throughwhat seemed to be a well-stocked pantry, they emerged into a roomcrowded on all sides with somewhat battered but intactfurniture--tables with chairs stacked on top, mirrors, chests,bedsteads. The middle of the room had been kept clear, and Catherineand Miyoko put the basket down there.
"We got a lot of new furniture when some developer bought an oldapartment house to tear down and just dumped all this stuff. Haven'thad time to sort it out yet. Let's grab ourselves a couple ofchairs," Miyoko suggested, pulling a sturdy one off the top of atable as Catherine helped herself to another. They put an oldtarpaulin on the floor under the basket of apples, and a tin tub forthe peeled and quartered apples next to it.
Miyoko handed Catherine a paring knife. "Just let the skins fallonto the tarp; I'll collect them up for the compost bin later."
"You're the gardener!" Catherine suddenly realized. "Jamie'smentioned you several times but I've never seen you around."
"Well," Miyoko replied as they began peeling in earnest, "I don'tspend much time around the Hub. I'm either working in the gardensbelow or up top."
"You have gardens up top too? Mouse told me at length about theones you have Below; he's rather proud of how he's diverted theelectricity for the lights. I assumed those were the only ones."
"I've set up gardens for a lot of our Helpers--rooftops, vacantlots, windowsills, whatever they've got. You'd be surprised what youcan do with a little space if you know how. At harvest time, there'salways something you've got too much of, so we get whatever theycan't use. That's my fee." Miyoko grinned at Catherine.
"Too bad you don't have a branch in Connecticut," Catherine saidwistfully. "My father has a house there we don't visit much anymore.Not since my mother died. I remember she always had a garden when wespent the summers there. Lots of herbs--every time I see an herbgarden I think of her."
"You never know," Miyoko said gently. "Someday we may havesomebody who wants to go up top but not to the city."
"Maybe," Catherine smiled. They worked in companiable silence forawhile. The basket of apples diminished as the piles of apple skinson the floor grew. They were about two-thirds of the way through whena handsome young man in his twenties came looking for Miyoko.
"What is it, Julio? Is there a problem?"
"I hate to bother you, but--Ian and I have got most of thevegetables picked that you wanted, but we're having a majordisagreement on whether or not the rest are ripe enough yet. We needyour expert advice."
Miyoko turned apologetically to her peeling partner."Catherine--"
"Catherine?" Julio asked. "The Catherine? Vincent'sCatherine, as Mouse would say?"
"Guilty on all counts, I guess," Catherine replied.
"Wow--I wasn't absolutely sure you were real. I'm Julio. I'd shakeyour hand, but I've got dirt under my fingernails."
"And I've got apple juice all over mine, so it would be a realmess. Pleased to meet you." She turned to Miyoko. "Go ahead, I canfinish up here."
"Sure?"
"No problem. I'm in the peeling groove now."
The silence that descended after they left seemed strange atfirst. Once in awhile Catherine would hear someone pass across theopen door to the corridor behind her, or see a quick reflection in amirror or glass-fronted door of a cabinet. Only the faint faintest ofkitchen sounds came through the pantry door in the other wall. Shewas alone with her thoughts for the first time since coming Below. Itwas a little frightening to her how much she wanted to be a part ofthis place, these people. When Vincent had gently but firmly put herout of his life last Spring, she hadn't known what to do. Her flightto Connecticut had been an unthinking reflex, like pulling one's handaway from the fire that gave it pain. Once there, it becameincreasingly clear that although her friends were essentially thesame, she had changed forever in some profound way. No matter whatVincent might think, that road was closed to her now. Amid everythingthat should have been familiar, comfortable, she'd felt adrift, astranger in a strange land.
Not only had she missed Vincent, she'd missed his world. Thatinexorably closing door had cut her off not just from Vincent butfrom Mary, Mouse, Jamie, Pascal, Rebecca, the children--people shehad grown to care for deeply. Even Father. Being part of their world,even in her small way, had filled places in her heart that she hadn'tknown were empty until it was all taken away from her. She found sheneeded Below almost as much as she needed Vincent.
She couldn't go back, but Vincent seemed inexplicably reluctant,even afraid, to go forward, and she didn't understand why. After thatflight back from Connecticut that ended in his arms, how couldVincent have any doubts that she loved him? She'd literally thrownherself at him, after all. Surely he must realize that what he lookedlike, where he lived, meant nothing to her? At least he hadn't triedto push her away again, but neither had their relationship goneforward as far or as fast as she had hoped it would. Something morewas at work here, and she didn't know what it was. He always seemedhappy to see her, and obviously missed her when they were apart, butdidn't seem to want her to spend too much time Below. She hadn'tstayed overnight since that long-ago time when she was recoveringfrom her attack. What was he afraid of? What could she do? Afraid torisk losing all this, she could only love him with all her heart andlet him set the pace.
The Wall Between the Worlds, indeed. There was not only the wallbetween the living and the dead, that wall which rose between her andher mother all those years ago. There was a wall between her and herfriends and family Above, a wall built of her promise of silence, hervow to keep her knowledge of Vincent and his world secret. There wasthat wall between her and Vincent, that let her get close but not tooclose, that kept her from giving him all she wanted to give him. Andlastly, there was that wall between Above and Below, that "myworld-your world" dichotomy so fixed in Vincent's mind that it hadalmost kept them apart forever. The Wall Between the Worlds wasn't anabstraction, a symbol to Catherine. It was where she lived.
Looking down, she was surprised to see the basket of unpeeledapples was almost empty. She'd been peeling mindlessly all throughher reverie. Miyoko had informed her this batch was going to becomeapplesauce. The fattest and roundest had already been taken out foruse in the traditional bobbing for apples. She'd been startled toread in Bridget's book that the apples-in-a-tub of the familiarchildren's game represented souls in the Cauldron of Regeneration.Sometimes it felt like that's where she'd spent a lot of her timelately, from meeting Vincent until her nighttime flight fromConnecticut. Her little round red soul bobbing along, beingregenerated into the person she had now become. Was still becoming.The person who loved Vincent with all her heart and soul, and wantedto love him with more than that.
Catherine sighed as she dropped a peel onto the floor. A lot ofthose Samhain beliefs seemed to have something to do with apples. Ifyou dropped a piece of apple skin on the floor, it was supposed tofall in the shape of a letter, the first letter of the first name ofthe person you would marry. Catherine didn't think this particularlegend was very fair. What if you were madly in love with an Egbert,say, or a Harold? Or Barbara, or Rebecca, or Walter or Theresa? Itseemed to favor people like Oscar and Charles overmuch; maybe Lindaor Irene. It would be a little too tempting to cheat a bit when youpeeled, besides--bend it or nick it a bit so it fell into the letteryou wanted--a "V" would be easy, for example.
Shaking her head, Catherine reached for the last apple. As shepeeled, she looked up and gasped as Vincent's face appeared beforeher, surrounded by a halo of light. Both apple and knife dropped fromher nerveless hands as she stared in astonishment, half rising fromher chair.
"Catherine--what's wrong?"
The world righted itself as Catherine turned to see Vincent enterthe room from the door behind her. "I'm all right--I just saw you inthe mirror and it startled me for a moment, that's all. I thought fora second there I was hallucinating." She laughed a little sheepishly."Too much Samhain spookiness for me, I guess--and Father hasn't evenstarted the ghost stories yet."
Vincent lifted the tub of peeled apples off the tarpaulin as if itwere empty. "Speaking of starting things, dinner will be ready soon,and then we'll need to change into our costumes. Let me help youclean this up."
They folded the tarpaulin carefully, making sure none of the peelsor cores escaped. "Where does Miyoko have her compost piles?"Catherine wondred. "Don't those need to be outside?"
"Not necessarily," Vincent explained. "Worms turn organic wasteinto compost very effectively in a closed container."
Catherine stared at him. "Worms to Shakespeare. Your mind is likeFather's study--a person never knows what she might discover inthere."
Vincent smiled. "Living as we do, we all need to know a great manypractical things. Shakespeare for love, worms for survival."
Still shaking her head in wonder, Catherine put the folded tarpinto the empty basket and followed Vincent back into the kitchen. Thebasket was tucked into a corner for Miyoko to pick up later, andWilliam pounced on the apples."Good! Now I get this going so it cancook down during dinner."
At last there seemed to be nothing to do. Vincent and Catherinestrolled to his chamber where they got further into the Halloweenmood by reading Edgar Allen Poe aloud, trying to outdo each other inportentous spookiness. Dinner was over quicker than usual, as thosewho usually lingered to talk ran off to change into costumes, runover their lines one more time, or set up a scary booby-trap for someunsuspecting friend. Vincent and Catherine joined the exodus,agreeing to meet in Father's study for the reading.
On her way there, Catherine ran into Jamie, disguised as a veryconvincing elf. Jamie's eyes widened as Catherine emerged into thelight, a vision in gold and green. "Wow--that dress is reallybeautiful--where did you find it?"
Smiling inwardly at the assumption that clothes were somethingfound or made, not bought, Catherine answered. "It belongs to afriend of mine, a Celtic harpist. She usually wears this on stage.She was the one who told me about the concert tonight."
"How come she isn't playing?" Jamie asked. "It sounded like thisconcert tonight is a pretty big deal if you play that kind ofmusic."
"Normally she would be, but she's very pregnant right now--withtriplets yet. I told her that was carrying the Celtic triad thing alittle too far, but she doesn't have much of a sense of humor thesedays."
"So I guess ther's no way she could fit into it, then. It fitspretty close."
Catherine smiled. That was one of the reasons she jumped at thechance to wear it. "Mary found me a nice cape to go with it, in caseit gets really cold tonight. I was surprised that anyone would have aconcert in the park this late in the year, but I gue guess the wholepoint is to make as much like a real, primitive Samhain celebrationas possible. They do have big tents in case it rains, but it's notsupposed to. Either they got lucky or those Celtic gods are lookingout for them."
"Is there going to be a bonfire?" Jamie worried. If Mouse heardabout that, she'd have to sit on him to keep him out of trouble.
Catherine shook her head. "No way. The City of New York draws theline at that. Discreetly placed propane heaters, maybe."
Vincent had reached the study ahead of them, and was seated nextto Father with a pile of books between them. Catherine and Jamie tooktheir seats, and soon afterwards most of the lights were extinguishedand the reading began. Father and Vincent were such good readers,Catherine felt her practical, knowing adult self disappear. WhenFather cried out, "For the love of God, Montresor!" sheshivered, even though she'd read the story more than once before.
After the ghost stories, there was a brief intermission while thestudy was rearranged for Samantha's dramatic vignettes. The playneeded more elaborate staging and would be in another room. Catherineenjoyed the view as Vincent came to meet her. He was dressed as anancient Celtic warrior, but one wearing trews rather than a kilt. Toobad. Catherine would have prayed for a good stiff wind. Naked andpainted blue would have been even better, but Catherine hadn't daredto suggest it, even in jest. If she knew what was good for her, she'dstop thinking about it right now.
"You look like a Celtic goddess," Vincent breathed as he reachedCatherine.
"And you make Cu Chulainn look like a wimp," Catherineresponded.
Holding hands, she and Vincent moved to seats in the back, so theycould slip out quietly later. In order to experience as much of theconcert as possible, they'd need to leave about halfwa halfwaythrough the vignettes. Catherine wanted Vincent to get as much out ofhis annual escape as possible.
The lights dimmed again as the second presentation of the eveningbegan. Despite all the protests earlier in the day, the performancewas quite good. Samantha may have been a hard taskmistress, but shegot results. Various cast members would take turns acting out the oldSamhain customs and legends as they were read by Julio and Samantha.Despite his earlier complaints, Kipper was quite effective as the oldman sitting at the crossroads, throwing clothes to the fairies. WhenEllie mimed discovering her stone missing from the morning ashes ofthe bonfire, Catherine actually felt goosebumps.
During a brief change of scene, Vincent gently touched Catherineon the arm. They slipped out quietly, a little disappointed to missthe rest of the children's presentations, but eager for their specialnight to begin--a night when magic was afoot, and all things werepossible. A new year beginning...Catherine wondered what it mighthold. She walked beside Vincent, determined that no matter how longit took, no matter how hard the road, she would find that doorbetween their worlds. Her only road to happiness led through it.Would she ever convince Vincent of that?
Back in Father's study, Brooke sat on a chair, in front of amirror, peeling apples into a bowl. The audience gasped whenStephen's image appeared before them, as if suspended in air. Mousehad been very clever about angling the mirror just right, andconcealing Stephen's entrance from the audience.
Samantha's voice filled the room. "It is said that a girl whopeels an apple in front of a mirror on this magic night--will see theimage of her future husband reflected in the glass."
Somewhere, down a long, hard road, the faint image of a doorglimmered.
"The Wall Between the Worlds" ©1996 by Edith L. Crowe
Comments & questions to ecrowe1228@aol.com
First published in Sanctuary 1 (Fall,1996)
About the Author: Edith Crowe is anacademic librarian who has been involved in various fandoms (startingwith Star Trek) since 1972. Beauty and the Beast,however, is the one she's most emotional about and the first (and sofar only) one to inspire her to write fiction. She had seven"continuing classic" stories published in the late 80s and early 90s,in zines now out of print. Newer stories include the rather racy "MyFurry Valentine" in the A Kingdom by the Sea conzine (July1996) and others in several in issues of Sanctuary.