TELL ME

by Nancy

He lifted her from the ladder’s rung and set her gently on her feet.

Gathered into his arms, she began to cry.

“Tell me, Catherine, please.”

Her tears, soaking through his shirt, burned against his chest.  His own heart ached for her pain.

She held tightly to him through the last wrenching sobs.  He stood very still, loving her and being her strength.

“Vincent,” she whispered against him, catching a breath to continue, “I need you.”

Scooping her into his arms, he strode away from the threshold, that border between their worlds, their divided lives, and set out to his chamber.

A long time ago those very words had stilled in his breast, and she’d had to repeat them over and over before he was able to accede to her wish and take her Below.

Below to grieve her father’s passing.

Where compassion would enfold her and bring healing.

Compassion.  And love.  Though not the love she’d asked of him.  He winced at the memory of that difficult time, but new truths had come clear.  He’d found courage and a kind of affirmation for his determination to continue as they’d been, promising her a someday when they would be ‘truly together’ as she’d wanted.

If he were honest with himself, he’d admit to having lost faith in that someday-dream, but he grasped and clung with heart and soul to what they did have.

The Tunnels lay silent, the occasional ‘All’s well’ soft on the pipes as his family slept, safe and in peace.

Catherine lay tense in his arms, safe but without peace, her cheek warm against his neck.

He’d been in bed, awake, aware of her upset and imagining all that it might mean, when he’d felt her approach and had hurriedly dressed in shirt and pants, boots, to come for her.  And now he carried her, praying as he walked, praying for wisdom, the words … courage.

He hoped she didn’t feel the shudder that ran down his body.

Fear was fundamental to his life with Catherine.  He’d known desperate fear when she was in danger, in the rush to save her.

Threats to her haunted him.

Greater than all was the terror that consumed him at the thought of losing her.  That she’d realize there was no future for them. That their Dream was only that, a dream with no reality, no possibility of coming true.  Ever.

So nebulous as to be unworthy of belief.  Almost.

He clung to almost.

Without her, her love, he would die.

He would not, could not relinquish a last, frayed wisp of hope for them.

And it was love alone that empowered, summoned and supported the perilous words: “Tell me.”

How many times had he found the strength to offer them to her?

His gift of a heart exposed, defenseless in those two words.

Two words always spoken and silently prayed that his life would not end when she spoke.

Thus far, as she’d once assured him, they had endured.

Seated on his rumpled bed, she’d helped him wrap a quilt around her shoulders.

Agreed to tea.

He’d stepped away to the brazier to heat water.  Postponing the words he knew he had to say.  For her.  And being for her, the saying was also for him.

Still the fear rose roaring in his head.  And cutting through the din he heard, “Vincent, I can’t go on like this. Please. We have to find a way, our way. Will you help?”

Her plea stopped him where he stood half-turned toward her.

“I’m sorry for the tears.”  She looked down then back at him.  “No, I’m not.  They are an expression of my grief.  Grief for what is lost.  The moments and hours and days and nights, the months and years that are gone forever, Vincent.  We’ve surrendered them.  We’ve complained, but we’ve accepted their passing.  As though it were all so … inevitable.  Beyond our power to … direct and change and manage.  And now it is beyond us, all that time, Vincent, which we can’t ever retrieve to live over.  Grief is appropriate to loss.  Won’t you agree?  Don’t you, too, grieve what has been forfeited?  Don’t you mourn the chasm between my life and yours?  Tell me, Vincent, don’t you know this pain?”

For too long he remained silent, and she accepted that as the answer she’d dreaded.  Rising in what seemed physical pain, she slipped off the quilt, folded it and spread it across the foot of his bed.

She took a step toward the tunnel.

“Yes.”  His whispered, graveled, acquiescing certainty filled the chamber.

“Yes?”

His blue eyes shimmered with something beautiful and alive …  and fear became naught but mist.  Drifting off.  Fading.  He believed.  In her love.  She would not leave.  Ever.

It was there, what had shone in his gaze other times, perhaps when she’d been saved or he’d been.  That humbling, glorious recognition of the priceless treasure that was them together.  And the wanting.  Wanting more.  Needing more.  Needing together to be the reality of their life.  Their daily life.

He stood before her now, only a breath away.

“I know the grief.  Yours and mine.  Let … us … be done with it.  Will you lay it down and come with me to a place of hope?”  He reached for her hands.  “No, more than hope.  I don’t want to live within a somewhere, sometime dream.  I have left it so long.  Too long.  I want to heal the pain I’ve caused you.  And I want …”

He stopped.

“What do you want, Catherine?  Tell me.”

The two words were spoken without trepidation for the first time.  He wanted to know what she would say.  Was ready to welcome her answer.  Assured.  By love.

She stepped forward and placed their joined hands over his heart.

“I want you, Vincent, to share the times of my life.  I promise to bring you happiness, to cherish you and pray daily my thanks for you.  You will find my love in every glance, every touch, every shared thought.”

He untangled their hands and crushed her to himself.

“No.  No, Catherine.  I need to know how to make your dream, our dream as you’ve always known it, real for you.”

She eased away to see his face.

“I’ve told you.  Share my life.  At my side.  Together.  Always together for the time left to us.”

He rested his forehead on hers.  “Then will you share my breaths and thoughts and find my love for you in every glance … and touch?”

“Rejoicing with you, in you, with all that I am forever yours.”

Drawn back he studied her, watchful as he began, “We, down here, still follow the old morality that I know your world has … somewhat … abandoned.  I mean, we, everyone, expects a, well … Catherine, how do you feel about … marrying me?”

She grinned. Actually grinned!  He did, too.

“Was that a proposal, Vincent?  I think it was.  To answer you in the more traditional form that ‘everyone’ down here would expect, I’ll simply say I would love to be your wife.  And how do you feel about being my husband?”

“Are you asking with the intention of taking my reply to heart, Catherine?”

“What do you think?” she teased him right back.

“Then, yes, I would be honored to say I will love being your husband.”

They hugged, drew apart just a little then kissed.  Many times.

“I feel married,” she said. “You?”

He said nothing but took her hand.  Together they released the drape that covered his chamber entrance.

Later, lying half sprawled across him beneath a pile of quilts, Catherine thought aloud, “We have to find a house you like.  Create a tunnel entrance.  Move in.  I have a lot of my dad’s furniture in storage.  I think we could use some of it, whatever pieces suit you.  I can donate most of mine.  Leave most of yours here.  Live Above and Below so that your life won’t change drastically …”

“Catherine, my life has just changed beyond …”

His astonished admission made her laugh with chuckles that bubbled against his bare chest before she raised her head.

He greeted her joy with a long kiss.

“I love you, Vincent.  You’re happy?  So far?”

He laughed then.  “So far?  Catherine, so far I am very happy.”

“Good.”  She kissed him.  “You’re going to love what’s to come.”

“I know I am, Catherine.  And I thank you. Thank you for loving me.  For opening my eyes to what we have and what we’ve wasted so that we know now how we want to live.”

“You once said we can go toward love or away from it, but I know you meant to say that going toward love only happens when we walk together, hand in hand, sharing one heart, one life, loving each other.”

“And how did you know that’s exactly what I meant?”  He smiled.  “You’re so smart, my adorable wife.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.  “And you are so beloved, my beautiful husband.”

“There’s an addition I would suggest for our list, Catherine, if you will agree.”

“Tell me,” she said and he sighed the release of every held fear at the sound of those words on her lips.

“Would you consider marrying me … again?  In a ceremony?  Where everyone will celebrate with us?”

“Is that what you meant earlier?  Is it something you would like?  Or just bear?”

“It will entail a bit of bother, I imagine, but as gift to this family that is now yours as well as mine, I want to do it.  Do you?”

“Father will enjoy the opportunity to officiate at our wedding.”  She paused.  “He will, won’t he?”

“Catherine,” he chided, tucking a strand of her silky hair behind her ear.  “Of course he will.  You don’t still doubt …?”

“No.  At least I think I don’t.” She giggled.  “We must do this.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.  I’ll like being your bride.”

He urged her down and said, “I do love you, Catherine.”

“Twice married.  Hmmm.”  She smiled at him, but a concerned frown appeared on her face. “Goodness, we’ll need a song, our song, for our Wedding Dance.  And dresses and flowers and candles and food and invitations and we’ll need to compose our vows and find rings …”

“Are you still sure, Catherine?”

She laughed, kissed him and promised, “I’ll marry you as many times as you want, Vincent.  When shall we tell everyone?”

He hugged her closer.  “Later.”

______

As ever for you, Hank