He worried that it wasn't perfect. It had to be perfect. He bent close to the wood again, shaping the curve a bit more with one of his smaller tools. He examined it from every angle, but he couldn't decide if he liked the small adjustment. With a huff, he stood, snatched his teacup off of the drafting table, and distanced himself from the project to observe, sinking against the opposite wall and staring critically at the dimensioned wood.
Cullen had been working for three days straight. He knew that he had slept somewhat, only because he had occasionally awoken with his face against the bench, and covered in sawdust. Mostly he had lost track of time, though. The best sense he had was when Lena would bring him food and try to check up on him. The last time she came, she had urged him to take a break, step away and clear his head. He had snapped at her; he would have to apologize once he had regained his right mind. She was having just as difficult time as he was, and he felt guilty for having shut her out. But now, he was on a mission, and nothing was going to deter him. He had never felt a passion like this. The details consumed him. He dreamed, when he slept, of the wood glowing with polish, ultimate perfection, and then would wake to rough oak and elm in his hands. It drove him to madness once; he had smashed a teacup, and then immediately vowed to himself to replace it, lest he incur William and Mary's wrath. This had to be perfect. The wood needed to live. It needed to breathe and feel and speak, but no matter what he did, it may as well be a misshapen piece of driftwood.
Hunched against the far wall, Cullen held the teacup with both hands, sipping at it, but his eyes never left the workbench. He hated it; hated it for not looking right, for not smelling right, for not gasping to life before him. The doubts were creeping in now; all of the thoughts he'd been pushing aside since he had picked up his tools three days ago. What if he couldn't do it? What if it was never right? What if he wasn't remembering her just as she was? What if Vincent hated it? What if it was too painful for Vincent and he blamed Cullen for dragging up such terrible thoughts? What if he wasn't doing this for Vincent at all?
He huffed, and dropped his head back against the chamber wall. There was no going back now. It was nearly done, and he couldn't rest until he finished it. Whether or not he presented it in the Great Hall… he couldn't think about that. Cullen climbed to his feet and swallowed the last of his tea. He set the cup on the table with more delicacy than was usually warranted, and moved again toward the lifeless wood. He ran his fingertips over the carving, along the curves, and under the definitions. He fought the urge to pound on it. What was he missing? Why wasn't it right?
"Cullen?" a soft voice called from the entry way. Lena peered in cautiously, holding a napkin wrapped around something suspiciously sandwich-like. "May I come in?"
Quickly, Cullen snatched up his drop cloth and covered the project protectively. "Sure. Sure, come on in," he agreed, trying to seem like he meant it.
"I just thought you might like some lunch?" she offered the napkin, but set it on the table next to the teacup when Cullen didn't turn around or acknowledge it. "How is it going?" she inquired, trying to draw something out of him.
Cullen only shrugged, shaking his head in disappointment. He finally turned and folded his arms, making eye contact with her for what felt like the first time in a century. "Sorry I snapped. I'm frustrated. How are you doing?" his inquiry was genuine, but lacked much enthusiasm.
"Okay," she nodded uneasily. "I think… I think it might be okay." She was staring at her feet, her tone betraying her own words. "Will you be there tonight?"
Cullen nodded quietly, "Yeah, yeah, I think Mary might hunt down anyone who's missing, so…"
"But…" Lena began hesitantly, "do you want to go?"
"This isn't," Cullen breathed and collected himself, "this isn't something that you miss, Lena. Especially now."
"Right," Lena forced a chuckle, but it was mostly for herself. "Vincent says that he wants everyone to have fun. He wants it to be a happy night for them." Her gaze drifted back to her feet and she swallowed. "I took Cat to the kitchens to see if I could help at all," she smiled softly, "I ended up spending the whole time trying to keep her hands out of the cake."
"She's a troublemaker," Cullen smiled affectionately, and then found his hand unconsciously touching the cloth-covered carving.
"Is it done?" Lena finally decided to cut to the chase, her barely-reserved curiosity nearly brimming over with the question.
He glanced at her, knowing what the next question would be. Normally, he would happily share what he was working on. There was never a special unveiling for his work. He liked the process, and he liked others to see how he made something from nothing. But this… "It's not right," he whispered, and knew that Lena would hear all of the meanings in his voice.
"Can I see it?" Lena gently blurted out the inevitable question, speaking as softly as he, but moving close now, as though approaching a caged animal, ready for the snap.
Cullen shook his head, lost and frustrated, and out of options. "I can't do this unless it's perfect. It has to be perfect, Lena! Do you understand?"
"Yes," she answered, assured, very clearly and sincerely. "May I…?" she was close enough now, and she reached out and touched the cloth.
Cullen half-heartedly threw up his hands and moved away, throwing himself again against the opposite wall, and watching Lena. He pulled a thick rubber band off of his wrist and began stretching it between his hands nervously, occasionally snapping it on his fingers.
Slowly, Lena pulled the drop cloth off of the carved oak wood. As she stared, her heart plummeted out of the bottomless pit of her body, and then yo-yoed back up into her throat, where it caught. She gasped, but could do nothing but hold her breath for a while as she stared. She swallowed down tears and clenched her jaw to stop the sudden quiver. "Oh, Cullen," she breathed.
"It's not right," Cullen insisted again, and ran his hands over his exhausted face.
Lena took deep, cleansing breaths. She fought for words, though her mind raced with so many thoughts and feelings that they couldn't be contained by mere words. Finally, she cleared her throat, and took a final, courageous breath. "Just soften out her jawline," she mustered the ability to turn away from the carving, and move toward the exit. She stopped in front of Cullen and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Sand it, polish it, and be there tonight. This is important, Cullen," she let her gaze linger for emphasis, and glided out, wiping at her face.
Children bustled about the Great Hall, laughing, singing, and calling out to each other. It was a true party for the tunnel dwellers, with adults trying to contain unruly children, or setting up food at the tables. More Helpers than they were used to were trying to be of use, busying themselves with menial tasks; picking up discarded items, and stacking presents.
Vincent and Father stood, tall and proud, at the front of the Hall, with the tiny buddle in Vincent's arms waiving and wiggling silently at the train of dwellers and Helpers still lined up before them. Everyone had lost count of the gifts that Vincent and Baby Jacob had now received on his Naming Day, but they were piling up, nearly as high as Vincent's broad shoulders. So many had come to see the new child, and heir to the Tunnel World, named and celebrated. A relative few knew where the baby had been, or exactly how he came to be, but they all knew that he was Vincent's… he was their beloved Catherine's… and that was all they needed to know. Most gifts were practical, diapers, extra cloths, clothing, bottles, and Vincent assured them of how grateful he was for those sensible necessities. He had not been prepared to suddenly be a father to an infant. Other gifts were truly heartfelt and beautiful. Mary knit a blanket; a blending swirl of Catherine's favorite colors. Peter had made a scrapbook of any pictures or articles that he had managed to salvage from Catherine's estate. Samantha tearfully handed over her copy of The Diary Of Anne Frank, a gift that Catherine had once given to her.
With unsuppressed trepidation, Cullen had managed to stay at the back of the line, and pulled his squeaky dolly cart along behind him. Lena stayed close, checking that the drop cloth didn't fall off, or drag and catch a wheel. More quickly than Cullen would have liked, the line finally grew short, and they were near Vincent and Father. Lena gave him a nod of encouragement, and then stepped in front, pulling little Cat along with her.
In all of her excitement, three-year-old Catherine ran to Vincent, waiving the drawing of what she assured him was herself, holding the new baby as they sat next to a waterfall. Vincent promised that he knew exactly what she had drawn, and that he would hang it in his chamber as he thanked her. Lena stepped forward, and from the deep pockets of her sweater, she pulled a long, wide, and thick scarf.
"I just… I wanted you to have this," she was already trying not to cry. "It was Catherine's. The night that she met me, we sat in the diner… she bought me soup," tears were falling out of her control now, but her voice was steady. "She promised that she would try to help me, and my baby," little Cat was suddenly wrapped around her mother's leg and Lena pressed the child closer still with one hand, "and she gave me a scarf; 'just something extra to keep the two of you warm', she said." She swallowed hard at the tears that had given way for Vincent. "So… sweet, new baby," she smiled, "here's something from your Mama, to keep the two of you warm."
Vincent pulled the slight woman into an easy embrace, allowing her to cry, and trying not to fight his own tears. He thanked her. He thanked her for remembering, for holding onto such a seeming trifle, and for giving them that piece of her back; "That perfect, generous piece of Catherine that made up so much of her heart. Thank you," he forced the tears to ease and released Lena from his embrace.
She stayed close though, as Vincent's gaze fell on Cullen. He felt so small under Vincent's gaze, almost unworthy to be gazing into the eyes of someone who had suddenly lost and gained so much and was still standing tall. His tongue felt too big for his own mouth as he stared at his friend, and took him in, really examined what he had become, in a way that he hadn't been able to for the better part of a year. Cullen felt like he was sinking in quicksand, and he would soon simply be part of the earth beneath his feet, and perhaps that was for the best.
"Cullen," Father began expectantly, "you seem to have quite a gift there," he gestured to the wheeled dolly behind the unshaven and haggard man.
"Uh, yeah," he began nervously, moving around the cart, as if trying to find the right angle as he explained hurriedly. "I know… I know that you have Vincent's old cradle, and I know that it means a lot to you, but…" Cullen blew out a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "I thought… maybe you'd like something new, and sturdy. So, um… yeah."
And then, as though he were ripping off a band aid, Cullen pulled the sheet off of the dolly to reveal a dark stained, oak and elm, hand carved cradle. The wood, newly polished, glistened in the candlelight of the hall. The head of the cradle was thick, and fanned out from the point at the apex; details were carved into it to look like the bow of a ship, and when it rocked, it seemed the ship was sailing. The sides were not solid wood; rather, connected, intricate carvings of majestic animals that faced each other from either side. The lion looked on at the doe, the tiger watched the panther, the horse examined the gorilla, and the wolf studied the dolphin. The baseboard and rockers flowed like waves, pulling and receding like the tide when it moved. The outside of the footboard was intricately detailed with the solar system; stars and planets swirling about the universe of this great vessel. And on the inside, carved at the foot of the cradle, was the perfect portrait of Catherine Chandler.
The entire Hall had fallen silent around them, and the children ducked and peered around the adults who were now gasping and clutching each other as they stared at the elaborate and beautiful cradle that swayed gently before them. Vincent stepped closer and examined it, and it seemed that all of the Tunnels held their breaths. He stared for a long time at the visage of Catherine inside of the cradle, and baby Jacob's gurgle was the only thing that could snap him out of the trance. He glanced down at the wiggling babe in his arms, and then back at the nearly identical nose, chin, and forehead in the carving before him.
Cullen was about to start explaining that the piece wasn't quite done yet. It wasn't quite right, and he knew it. If he could just have a day or two… But suddenly Vincent began unwrapping little Jacob, and he delicately sat the child in the new cradle. He held him upright, supporting his back, and the baby looked up at his father in confusion, but Vincent was staring at the portrait. Jacob looked back down at his new surroundings, and he reached out to push his finger into the wolf's eye. Suddenly, it seemed that the portrait caught his attention. The wolf carving was abandoned, and the baby eagerly reached for his mother's face before him. He touched the curve of her hair, and poked at her lips. He set his hand against the middle of her face, and then twisted up to look at his shaking father.
Cullen was speechless. It was done. The wood breathed, it glistened, and Catherine somehow lived, and smiled back at her infant son before her. The moment little Jacob had touched the portrait, it was finished, and Cullen could breathe.
"I, um," he cleared his throat, surprising everyone, "I wanted him to be able to wake up to her face every morning, and fall asleep with her every night. It's not right, the way we lost her; the way you two lost her," he clarified quickly. "Jacob should be able to see her every day. Many of us didn't have mothers growing up," Cullen saw Father put an arm around Lena, both of whom were full of tears. "But this baby has a mother, and…" he looked around at the sea of faces around them, "I think I can safely speak for everyone when I say, we're going to do everything we can to make sure he knows who she was." Cullen knelt on the other side of the cradle, and smiled at his friend.
Vincent clapped a gentle hand on Cullen's shoulder, not able, but not needing to thank him in that moment. The men shared a long look, and then watched as little Jacob explored the details of his mother's smiling face.