“Vincent, come in.  How lovely to see you.”

He hesitated at the threshold of a chamber so ‘Mary’ that he had to smile.  “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

She laughed and laid down the knitting.  “Just a shawl to replace one that has too many holes to offer warmth.  Phyllis brought me enough yarn for two.  Isn’t it soft?”

He approached and lifted the work to caress his palm.  “It certainly is.  And the color will enhance your beauty, Mary.”

She blushed and looked away.  “Now, Vincent, compliments used to earn a certain little boy a cookie or two, even a word with Father when he needed an intermediary.  Surely neither …”

He teased her, “You’re intuitive as ever.  No, it’s more than a treat or even … though it’s partly because of Father, I guess.”

She indicated the chair across from hers.  “Would you like tea?  And a cookie?” she offered with a grin.

“Yes, but let me get it.”

Mary tasted hers and put the cup and saucer on the table alongside her knitting, moving the latter a bit out of the way.  Then she waited for the man she’d thought of as son, all these years, to tell her why he’d come.  She knew he’d like to be up, pacing the small space, but good manners kept him seated as he searched for the words to begin.  He did not keep her in suspense for long and she was not surprised by his dilemma. 

“It’s Catherine.  Father.  Me.  Yes, really me.”  There followed a long hesitation.  Then he seemed to surrender, almost slumped forward, as he began in earnest.  “Catherine has said,” a pause to look down at hands clasped between his knees, “she’s said she loves me, Mary.”

If he expected her to be shocked, he would be disappointed when he heard her say, “Of course she does.  I assume this is the first time the words have been spoken in your presence?”

She’d caught his attention with that and his head snapped up.  “Mary, ‘of course’?  And to whom else would she have expressed …?”

“To herself, Vincent.  For all the time she’s been unsure about saying it to you, she’d have said it to herself, over and over, getting used to the sound of the syllables.  Practicing, if you will.  It’s been obvious forever that she is in love with you. And you with her, I might add.”

He stared really hard at the woman who’d been mother to him through all his years.  “Obvious?  Truly?  I didn’t know … that.  I mean, I didn’t intend to, well, be … transparent.”

“How did you feel, hearing Catherine tell you something so wonderful, Vincent?”

He took time to gather his thoughts.  “I knew, Mary.  I knew.  And I’d always dreaded the moment she would say the words.  That dread became more habit than I realized … and it must have vanished without my noticing because when she told me … I thought I was seeing Heaven in her eyes.  It was humbling, too, but not terrifying. It was natural, right, to confess how much I love her, and I could tell I’d made her so happy.  Yet, being faced with the declaration is … I mean, where do we go from here?”

“Wherever the two of you wish to go, I would say.”

“Are there any real options for us, Mary? Father doesn’t see any, I’m sure, at least nothing but tragedy for me.”

“You’ve told him about your, uh, exchange?”

“No.  No, of course not.  It doesn’t involve him.  Well, yes, I suppose it does, doesn’t it?”

Mary retrieved her tea and took a sip.

“Vincent, we are family down here.  What you and Catherine decide, how you choose to manage this new step in your relationship does, well, not involve us in a way that gives anyone the right to establish boundaries for you,” she hurried to say, “but it does involve us simply because we love you both.”

“Father will be upset.”

“He’ll come around.”

“It’s been a hard, long distance that he’s traveled to accept Catherine.”

“He loves you very much. And he depends on you.  Too much.  Taken with what happened to him as a young man in love, you can understand, if not condone his behavior.  But I have to agree that he’s fond of Catherine now.”

“I’ve been thinking that he won’t want to … lose me.”  The look in those blue eyes made Mary sad. 

“Many a parent has suffered thus only to discover they’ve not lost a child but gained one.  And our Catherine will make him a wonderful daughter, Vincent.  He’ll have to agonize for a while, being Jacob, but she is remarkable in her compassion and willingness to forgive.  I daresay she is already anticipating and preparing to ease his feelings of being forsaken … should the two of you … marry … one day.”

“Marry?” The word, the concept propelled him from the chair and as far as he could go and still remain in the chamber.

“Have you not considered it?”

He spoke without facing her and she had to listen very carefully to hear him.

“I have.  Wondered.  About it.  Not … practically … considered it.  I don’t know if Catherine has.” Then he rushed back and sat.  “How could we? Where would we live?  And how could it ever be between us?  Mary, I’m … I don’t know what I am.  No.  I can’t even imagine ever asking it of her.  No.  We’ll just continue as we are.”

“Vincent, to continue as you are you will need Catherine’s consent.”

He looked up from his study of the worn carpet where his teacup sat forgotten in its saucer. 

“Why?  Continuing requires no formal agreement.  I mean, we just, well, continue.”

Mary removed her eye glasses and held them in her lap.

“Having professed your love for one another seems to me to set you both on a new path.”  She added, “Maybe I’m wrong.”

“But, Mary, I’ve just told her I love her.  I can’t … you don’t think she expects …?”

With a gentle hand she covered his fisted fingers.  “No, I’m as sure as I can be that Catherine does not expect you to propose marriage.”

He let out a long breath. 

Then Mary added, “At least not yet.”

He looked from their hands to her sweet face.  “Definitely not … yet.  There’d be so much to discuss before that could ever … come to be.”  As though waking from a beautiful, impossible dream, he shook his head in slow, sad denial. “What am I saying?  We cannot marry.”

“Of course not.” 

He did not see the sympathetic glimmer of laughter in her eyes.

The pipes continued their coded conversations out in the tunnel, but the chamber had grown quiet.

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Continuing.”

“Why, Vincent?”

“Telling her I love her, having her admit she loves me means my idea of continuing will … alter … how we are together … include conversations about a … future.”

“Probably.”

“Mary, it’s all changed.  I’ve accepted, welcomed being loved by Catherine.  More, I’m rejoicing in her love.  And she’s so very happy that I love her.  Now it’s all real.  And I don’t know what to do.”

“Vincent, you’re not alone, not the only one who feels adrift, perhaps anxious and unsure how to proceed.  Each of you has a beloved who needs a shoulder to lean upon, a hand to hold, a consoling embrace, a kiss for courage.   It’s a new world with two extraordinary lovers finding their way.  Love is the path forward and love is the antithesis of fear.  You must not be afraid of the gift that is your Catherine, the precious gift that is her love.  The rest of us are … along for the ride … as the children say.  We may offer advice but only if asked.  Remember that and don’t permit interference.  It’s you and Catherine who must do this work, trusting wholeheartedly in your love for each other.”

He smiled and rearranged their hands so that he held hers, warm and safe within his.

“Thank you, Mary. I have found new faith in Catherine and in myself.  I will confess it, help her to feel my … determination.  I don’t want her to be afraid. Of anything.  She needs to know there is now … us.”

Mary slipped her hands free.  “Perhaps you’ll want to go Above?  It must be dark.”

Vincent stood.  “Shall I give Catherine your love?”

“Please.  Bring her a hug from me.”

“You guided me to peace tonight and I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Vincent, you’ve always been my thanks for any good I may ever have done in my life.”

“Mary,” he said and bent to kiss her soft cheek.  “Good night then.  I shall begin, with Catherine, to live our new life and we do it with all my gratitude for having been given the very best of mothers to call mine.”

“Talk like that might get you a whole box of cookies,” she teased.

“I’ll bring you some, the Social Tea biscuits you enjoy.  Thank you, my dear Mary.”

She smiled, watched him hurry out and, with a prayer for them both, she sighed and reached for her knitting.

__________________

for you, for always, my love
September 2022