CHAPTER THREE.
Josephine Grayson quickly alighted from her cab and strode confidently in to the Park. Last week's snow had almost completely gone now, except from the odd nook or cranny where the weak winter sun did not penetrate, and the walk across the vast expanses of scrub and lackluster grass, and following tree and shrub lined paths, was pleasant enough, although Josephine's mind was not fully focused on her destination, a place that she had rarely been allowed to visit as a child, and once or twice she had stop to get her bearings, finally stopping a lone brave jogger in grey sweats and sneakers, to ask him the way to the old Carousel.
When she eventually arrived, it was to find the old iron gate closed and padlocked, showing signs of rust and old age, and Josephine found herself wondering if anyone even used the Carousel any more.
Of course, she could not see anything of the old Carousel it's self, locked away as it was, in the old shed that housed the highly painted horses and the machinery that created the music and the magic.
She cast a quick look about her, and her heart sank.
She was very much alone.
She let out a deep sigh of disappointment, and for a moment, leaned heavily against the metal gate.
Had the caller lost his nerve? She wondered silently, aware of the throb of traffic in the background, and the occasional twitter of some brave bird in the boughs of nearby trees.
Or was he, even now, watching her from some place close by, hidden from her view, debating whether to reveal himself to her, or not?
She was beginning to think that he .... the caller .... liked to play games.
Waiting games.
Games of cat and mouse.
Games of intrigue.
Well, she knew how to play a game or two herself.
She could wait.
She could be patient.
He had asked her to come. To meet with him, on his terms.
Well, she was here. All her cards on the table. Out in the open ....
The ball was in his court now.
All she could do was wait and see.
It felt like she had been waiting for this moment all her life.
She could wait a little longer.
/a\
Just across a small patch of muddy grass on a low, rusty old metal bench, concealed by the thick foliage of four medium sized fir trees, Jacob Wells carefully watched the approach to the old Carousel ground, scrutinizing each new person that approached, only to then pass by without a second thought.
Jacob had no idea from where in the city Josephine Grayson would come, so he had prepared himself to wait, all day if he had to.
After about half an hour of sitting on the cold metal bench, his old leg and hip began to ache, and with a grimace of pain, he rose stiffly and hobbled around, taking a short walk to ease the pain and the stiffness, walking just out of range of view from the approach, and then, keeping to the cover of the foliage of the conifers, and the shadows that they conveniently cast, he stood, leaning heavily against his cane.
At last, after a further fifteen minutes, his patience was rewarded.
Jacob spotted a dark figure approaching, a little uncertainly, looking around from time to time, as though unsure of her precise location.
She was reasonably tall, slender, clad in a black woolen coat and dark scarf, over a black pleated ankle length, silk skirt and low heeled black leather boots.
From this distance, Jacob's old eyes, accustomed as they were to the candle and kerosene lit gloom of Below all these years, could not make out her facial features, but he could see that she had fairly long dark brown hair, intricately woven into a long, French braid.
And he could tell from the way that she walked, carried herself, her bearing, that she was a young woman.
Too young to be Vincent's birth mother, at any rate.
This brought a frown to his heavy brow.
Why would someone so young have any interest in the events of forty years ago?
She probably hadn't even been born then, Jacob mused silently, his eyes following her progress, as she walked directly to the rusted, padlocked old iron gate, then looked about her carefully, before leaning heavily against the metal work of the gate.
She could not be doing this for herself.
So-o-o .... who was she working for?
And why?
Jacob Wells' thoughts raced.
What was there to be gained by continuing with this folly?
Except knowledge. And the truth.
Truth?
Perhaps?
Perhaps this woman was here on behalf of Vincent's birth mother, because she was either too elderly, or too infirm to make the trip to the park herself?
One thing was for sure, Jacob told himself resignedly. There was nothing to be gained by standing here in the shadows.
He had wanted a face to face meeting.
And there she was.
It was time to confront the past.
Vincent's past ....
And his future ....
And the young woman in black held the key to both doors ….
/a\
When nothing happened after about ten minutes, Josephine grew tired of staring at the vast expanse of coarse grass and naked trees, reaching out with their spindly limbs toward an unusually clear blue winter sky, and turned around to lean forward against the old rusted iron gate, casting her mind back to her childhood, when her nanny had brought her here on warm, sunny summer afternoons, to ride the Carousel. It had been a rare treat, after kindergarten, and even rarer after she had started grade school.
Even now, confronted with one of so few happy memories, it was hard to believe that her childhood had been so joyless.
She hoped that her brother had faired better.
Her dearest hope was that he had been raised by people who loved him, and knew how to show it, people who wanted to show him the world and give him all the good things, all the pleasures, all the wonders of the world.
If one of them had known happiness, at least something good would have come out of Andrea's selflessness.
Josephine suddenly caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and moved her head slowly in that direction, to find an elderly man, with a very pronounced limp, clad in a grey top coat, over a grey double breasted suit, and a dark grey Fedora hat, looking for all the world as if he had just stepped off the set of a 1950's movie, making his way, slowly and obviously, painfully, toward her.
Her mouth was suddenly dry, her heart beating erratically in her ears, as she watched his very slow progress toward her, wanting to move, to meet him half way, but unsure how he would react to such an obvious show of sympathy and pity.
She did not want to do anything that would set him against her.
She needed him.
Needed to now what drove him.
Where he stood.
What influence he had.
He continued to cover the ground between them, slowly, but with a purpose, a grimace of pain on his darkly bearded face, breathless, but a clear determination in his dark, sapphire blue eyes.
At last, he stood before her, recovering his breath, leaning heavily against a beautifully crafted old dark wood cane, with a smooth silver handle and spiky silver tip, shifting his weight from foot to foot, often, as those intelligent dark blue eyes regarded her curiously.
"Dr Grayson?" He asked at last, and Josephine heard a gentle, pleasant voice, edged with a slight American accent, but her practiced ear had no trouble detecting what Olivia had heard too, and there was no doubt in her mind that it had originally been a cultured British accent.
"Yes. John Pater?"
"Good Lord, no!" He exclaimed, the Englishness of his accent even more pronounced, indignation sparkling in those big, dark eyes. "He is dead ...."
"Your name?"
"Is unimportant."
Josephine waited for him to continue, but he remained stubbornly silent, watching her carefully, taking in her neat, stylish, understated appearance, as she stood before him, waiting patiently.
Jacob Wells was impressed with what he saw.
Yes, she was young, probably no more than mid thirties. An open, honest face, oval in shape, a clear complexion, long, elegant neck, and the most unusual eyes that he had ever seen, dark green, with tiny flecks of gold around the irises.
Her gaze never wavered as she regarded him with equal curiosity.
There was strength in that face, Jacob acknowledged silently to himself.
Patience.
Determination.
But, try as he might, he could find nothing sinister. No malice.
Only curiosity.
And hope ....
"Thank you for coming ...." He broke the silence between them at last.
"Thank you for calling ...."
Her features softened into a small smile, and he could hear the English edge to her accent now. She had a nice voice, melodic, rich, and she carried herself with grace and dignity.
Yes ....
Jacob Wells liked what he saw.
And as he regarded her thoughtfully, Jacob began to sense that she would hold nothing back from him.
That she was here for answers too.
Now it was just a case of waiting to see which of them would make the opening gambit.
And instinct was telling him that she would make a worthy opponent.
Here ....
And across the chessboard.
Perhaps he would have a chance to find out. Some other time.
"What happened to Anna Pater?" She asked at last, her patience at last having run out. "Someone called the hotline .... to tell me that she was dead .... and so was the child ...."
"The truth ...." Half truth, Jacob thought silently.
"Was that you?"
"No ...."
"But you know who it was?" She continued to probe in soft tones.
"A well meaning, if somewhat misguided friend ...."
"All right ...." Josephine let out a deep sigh. "I will concede that Anna Pater may be dead, but not the child ...." Her voice remained soft, but her eyes held a steely determination, that seemed somehow familiar to Jacob Wells, although he did not know from where.
"I cannot be held responsible for what you believe ...." Jacob bristled, cutting her off sharply. "What is Anna to you?" He demanded.
"What is she to you?" Josephine countered swiftly.
"A friend," Jacob Wells sighed deeply now, forcing his gaze away from her briefly. "Would you mind if we walked a little? My leg ...."
"Of course not ...."
They began to walk, slowly, with no particular destination in mind, Jacob needing to keep moving so that his leg would not seize up.
"You were saying ...." Josephine reminded him gently, after they had covered several yards of soggy grass, which squelched under their feet, the ground saturated from the recent snow and rain, without him picking up where he had left off.
"Yes ...."
He let out a deep sigh, and drew in an even deeper breath, causing Josephine to wonder if their pace was too much for him. However, she wisely kept her own counsel, and waited for him to gather his thoughts.
"Anna .... and John, were friends of mine. A long time ago ...." Jacob began, not looking at her face as they walked, side by side, preferring instead to concentrate on the ground beneath his feet, which oozed dark, muddy water with every step he took.
"Anna was .... a good woman ...." He sighed again softly. "The only thing that she wanted .... needed .... to make her happiness complete .... was a child ...." He explained in a low, husky voice now. "When she found the infant ...."
"Found?" Josephine challenged softly, with a frown creasing her brow.
"Yes. Found. That is what she told me .... led me to believe ...." Jacob Wells continued. "And I had no reason to doubt her word .... her sincerity," he cast a disapproving glance in Josephine's direction then, before returning his concentration to the soggy ground on which they were walking.
There was a cement path just up ahead, and the going would be easier then, but until he got there, Jacob knew that he would have to be extra careful. He could not afford to take a tumble Above, even if he was in the company of a doctor.
"I'm sorry .... please go on."
"When she found the child .... Anna was overjoyed, you see, she had recently lost a baby, and discovered that there would not be another chance for her to conceive again ...." Jacob explained stone faced. "However, her elation did not last long. The child was weak .... sickly .... frail .... and when he grew sick, he did not have the strength to overcome the illness. When the child died .... Anna was .... devastated ...."
"And her husband? John?" Josephine probed, and Jacob thought that he could hear a certain hardness in her voice as she asked about John Pater.
"Distraught. Destroyed ...."
Unhinged was probably a better way to describe John's reaction to the death of his own child, miscarried before he even had a chance to develop into something resembling a child, and when Anna had brought Vincent Below, there had been something in John's eyes .... Something terrible to behold, as he grew more and more obsessed with the idea that Vincent was his son. An obsession that had eventually led to his death, but not before he had wrought havoc on Vincent's mental condition, and his delicate emotional state, and terrorized a community that had once regarded him so highly.
"I'll just bet he was!" Josephine retorted, which elicited a frown from her companion, as it was the first time that she had raised her voice even slightly.
"Just what is your interest in this?" Jacob asked her pointedly, coming to an abrupt halt, and leaning heavily against his handsome walking cane.
"What is yours?" Josephine countered softly
"I was .... somewhat disturbed to find someone digging up the past. My friends very private and personal history .... after almost forty years ...."
"You were concerned .... curious .... It must have come as something of a shock ...."
"Yes ...." Jacob conceded. "Is there some point to all of this?" He pinned her with a cool blue gaze now, turning slightly to face her.
"You tell me …." She sighed softly then, returning his gaze with her own steady green/gold one. "You must have thought so. You took your time in making contact with me. Took the time, and went to the trouble of doing a little digging of your own ...." She paused briefly to take a breath, her gaze never wavering.
"And that is the only reason that I am here. The only reason I had to hope that you might be genuine, and prepared to talk to me, willing to help me ...." She paused again, watching for any reaction from the old man, but his face remained expressionless, unmoved.
"I came because I knew that you knew that I was a woman, but how could you know that, hm? There was no Christian name on the flier or in the press. A deliberate ploy on my part, to dissuade time wasters and chancers," she explained in a soft voice.
"I wanted no personal details. To protect my identity, and no indication of gender. So, to know that, you had to have done some checking. Friends in high places? And why the need to check? Why go to all the trouble? Because you were worried .... afraid ...."
"I was concerned about two people who are no longer around to defend themselves. They were good people. They were .... my friends ...."
"And the child?" She asked softly, her beautiful green/gold eyes pleading with him now to trust her, to tell her the truth.
"Dead ...." Jacob whispered, and this time he saw the pain in her eyes, and felt the twist of pain in his own heart at having to deny the son that he loved so dearly.
"How?" Her voice was so low that he barely caught the question.
"Heart failure."
"I don't believe you ...."
"Believe what you will. I think we're done here ...." Jacob bristled again, unaccustomed to having his word questioned.
"Are we?"
"Yes," Jacob said defiantly.
"I don't think so. I think you need answers too. Answers that only I can provide. You will contact me again ...."
"Do not hold your breath ...." Jacob retorted indignantly, and turned quickly on his heel, but she caught up with him in two quick strides.
"Will you please leave me alone!" Jacob glared at her, regretting the small loss of control over his temper already. He had learned so little and what he had learned would do nothing to help Vincent, or assuage his curiosity.
He had to know more, but on his terms.
"No. You asked me here," she reminded him gently. "I'm here. So talk to me. Talk to me! Please!" She implored, emphasizing the words without having raised her voice to him, Jacob noted. "Please .... this is important to me ...."
"Why?"
"Why did you come here today? If you are not prepared to talk to me .... to even meet me half way?"
"You have given me nothing ...."
"And you have given me nothing! Only that the Paters were your friends. That Anna found a child .... which died shortly after ...."
"Yes ...." Jacob confirmed solemnly.
"Well pardon my bluntness, but that's bullshit! What do I have to do to convince you that I mean you no harm?" She asked softly, her unusual eyes still appealing to him to reveal the truth, to trust her.
"There are no words. I cannot help you. The child .... died .... forty years ago ...."
"Liar." Josephine breathed. "I don't believe you ...."
"My good woman, that is your problem! As I have said, we are done here, and I would appreciate it if you did not follow me ...."
"All right. I'll give you this, old man. The child .... the baby .... you deliberately keep avoid mentioning the sex of .... was .... a boy ...."
"A lucky guess ...." Jacob retorted, but he was impressed with this young woman's reasoning. She knew that he wanted something from her in the way of proof that she was whom she claimed to be.
"But, I am right .... aren't I?"
"It makes no difference. The child died ...."
"No. He's alive. He's alive! You wouldn't be here if he was dead ...."
"There is nothing more to be said, Madam. I am leaving ...."
Jacob Wells limped away from the young woman, knowing that the meeting had not gone at all as he had hoped.
He had lost control.
Initially, he had wanted to glean as much from her as he could, without giving anything away.
But, she was a canny one, this Josephine Grayson, for she had had the same idea, wanting something from him to prove that he was no time waster or chancer.
Jacob did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed, as she allowed him to go on his way.
And Josephine watched him go, with tears running slowly down her flushed cheeks, knowing in her heart of hearts that this man was the last link to her brother.
She could not simply allow him to walk out of her life.
She had to get his attention .... Somehow ....
And she had played enough games in her life to know that sometimes, one had to concede a point, to get back on top of the game.
Sometimes, you had to lose a battle, to give yourself a chance of finding a way of winning the war.
If the only way she could convince him, was to give away her best hand, then so be it.
"Listen to me. I know he's alive ...." Josephine called after the limping man, hoping that her voice would carry, and not be snatched away by the wind. "I know it, and .... he's .... my brother ...." Her voice suddenly caught in her throat, and she lowered her gaze, as more tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. "He's my brother ...." She whimpered softly, lifting her eyes, hardly daring to hope that her words would have stopped his efforts to escape her presence.
She watched as the limping man came to a sudden, abrupt halt, and turned around slowly to face her once again, a shocked and somewhat startled expression on his grey, bewhiskered face.
"Your .... brother?" He gasped, as she walked toward him slowly, closing the gap between them.
"Yes ...."
"Why? After all these years. Why now?" Jacob choked out.
"I didn't know. I didn't know about him .... didn't find out about him until just before Christmas, when my mother .... our mother .... died ...." Josephine explained in a soft voice, impatiently brushing away her tears now. "He is alive .... isn't he?"
"Yes ...." This on a softly expelled hiss of breath.
"Thank God ...."
Josephine smiled softly through her tears, a smile of genuine relief that gave an even more radiant beauty to her pleasant features.
"I knew it. Thank God ...." She lowered her gaze from Jacob Wells curious sapphire blue eyes and her shoulders shook gently as she gave into silent sobs of relief.
"I want to see him," she said, looking back up at him at last, her unusual green/gold eyes swimming with unshed tears, her voice nothing more than a rough whisper as she battled to regain some measure of control over her emotions.
"I .... I .... don't know ...."
"I want to see him. Tell him .... I mean him no harm. I just .... I just want a chance to know him .... love him ...."
"I can't ...." Jacob mumbled, still in shock.
"Please ...." She implored softly. "Please .... There are some things that I have to tell him. I have some things for him .... from his mother .... and ...." She paused again to take a deep, calming breath, and Jacob Wells could not help but admire her courage and her tenacity.
"He must have questions .... lots of questions. I know I have. Maybe I can give him some answers. I must see him .... face to face ...."
"My dear girl, you do not know what you ask! You do not understand ...."
"But I do!" Josephine insisted vehemently. "I understand completely. She told me everything .... on her death bed .... everything .... Please .... I must see him ...."
"The decision must be his," Jacob Wells turned away from her then, touched by her obvious distress and genuine need to make contact with her brother.
"I understand ...." She whispered graciously, letting out a deep sigh of resignation. "Here," she fished around in her pocket for a small white business card with her home telephone number and address printed in bold, silver italic script.
Jacob reluctantly took the small white card from her shaking fingers, still white faced and shaking himself, at her revelation, and turned to limp away from her slowly and painfully, leaning heavily against his cane.
"Please .... tell him .... I mean him no harm. I just want to get to know him ...." Jacob could hear her sobbing softly as he moved away from her. "He's my brother .... all I have left in the world. Tell him that. Tell him .... tell him that his mother's name was Andrea. Tell him .... tell him that she loved him .... always .... always .... at the cost of everything else .... and tell him .... that she named him .... Joseph ...."
Jacob Wells continued to move away from the softly weeping young woman, tears streaming down his ashen face, to be caught in the coarse whiskers of his greying beard, as he listened to her words with an aching heart.
He could hear the pain in her voice. The need ....
And felt his own heart constrict in his chest, as he wondered if he had the strength and the courage to tell Vincent the truth.
Josephine watched through stormy, tear filled green and gold eyes until the elderly, limping man completely disappeared from view, then, lifting her glove encased hand to her mouth gave into the harsh, wracking sobs that made her slender body shake and heave violently, and robbed her, momentarily, of breath.
So close, Mother ....
So close ....
It was in his hands now.
This nameless stranger, who considered it his God given right to defend and protect her brother so fiercely.
Her future ....
Their future ....
Was in his hands.
And, she had to trust him.
She had no other recourse.
But she had seen the love, and the integrity in his deep sapphire blue eyes.
And she had seen the fear there too.
The terror, that all that he believed in and considered constant was about to crumble ....
To come crashing down around his ears
His future ....
Destroyed ....
Lost ....
If he could not move beyond that fear .... If he could not overcome that terror ....
There was a very real possibility that he would take the secret of her existence, and her identity, with him to the grave.
Still ....
There was one thing that she now knew for certain.
Her brother was alive ....
She had believed it ....
Had clung to that desperate belief .... that slim hope ....
Now she knew that she had been right to believe ....
Joseph ....
Her brother ....
He was alive ....
She closed her eyes tightly, and squeezed out fresh tears from between fine lashes, as more sobs wracked her body.
Now ....
She had to continue to play the waiting game ....
She had to continue to be patient. To have faith ....
It was out of her hands now.
The decision was his.
It all depended upon how great was his need to discover the truth ....
His need to hear the answers to questions that he had never dared to ask in forty years.
If he was his mother's son ....
Tenacious ....
Dogged ....
Determined ....
Oh yes, Andrea Reeve would never have let go of this. Never. Not until it was all done.
And ....
If he was indeed his mother's son .... hopefully ....
Neither would her brother ....
/a\
Blinded by hot tears, Jacob Wells limped and stumbled back to the cement drainage culvert and the warm, dry safety of the tunnel beyond.
He leaned heavily against the solid metal gate, his old chest heaving and straining with the effort to fill his lungs with enough precious air, his heart laboring as it pounded in his ears, his mind racing, her soft voice still ringing in his ears ....
"He is my brother .... all I have left in the world .... his mother's name was Andrea. He is my brother .... She named him Joseph .... she loved him .... always .... always .... He is my brother.... all I want is a chance to get to know him .... love him. My brother .... my brother ...."
Blindly, Jacob reached up for the lever to release the mechanism to open up the circular portal, and tugged impatiently on the gate, pulling it open at last, and staggering through the small opening to the familiar, golden light of his world beyond, automatically reaching out to connect his gnarled old hand with the twin lever on this side of the door, to close the secret entrance behind him.
Jacob staggered breathlessly down the familiar sandy floored tunnel, the familiar sound of clanking pipes in the background a comfort to him.
He had not expected to react this way. Could only put it down to shock.
And fear.
Fear that Vincent's very real and understandable curiosity would draw him closer and closer to his .... sister .... and inevitably .... further and further away from the people who loved him.
His sister?
Dear God ....
His sister ....
A very lovely young woman. Bright. Intelligent. Compassionate. Dignified. Demure and gentle ....
And, she claimed, all that she wanted was a chance to know him .... love him ....
How could he deny Vincent, and young Jacob, her love and companionship?
Jacob leaned heavily against the rough cement tunnel wall and panted, head bowed, eyes closed, an image of Vincent in his mind, a look of pure wonder and awe on his unique leonine features, as he learned of his sister's existence ....
It was all that Vincent had dreamed of ....
No ....
It was more than Vincent could ever have dreamed of .... hoped for ....
He could no more deny Vincent this opportunity than he could stop breathing.
But. he could not face Vincent with this. Not yet ....
Not feeling like this.
So frightened .... uncertain .... wretched .... alone ....
No, he could not present his son with these wonderful facts, feeling as he did now, for Vincent would sense it, see it in his eyes, and know what his father was truly feeling ....
And that knowledge would surely cloud his own emotions, his own ability to make a rational decision.
And Jacob did not want that.
He did not want to spoil this for Vincent.
But all that he could think about at that moment was how this unexpected development would affect Mary and himself, the others who shared their home Below, and loved Vincent as one of their own family.
There was one consolation, he told himself silently. Their world appeared to be safe in all of this, for the time being at least.
Jacob continued to lean against the tunnel wall, drawing in deep breaths and releasing them slowly in a valiant effort to restore order to his racing heart, then sank clumsily to the sand covered floor, taking in still more deep breaths, reasoning with himself as he sat gasping and panting, that this whole business had taken more out of him than he had realized.
Of course, he was pleased for Vincent.
His sister was .... a very dignified and gracious lady.
And he had sensed her pain, seen her grief and her despair, her need to make a connection with another living soul ....
Her blood brother ....
He had seen her strength. Her composure. Gained a measure of her intelligence and cognitive abilities, the power of her mind ....
And he had also seen her vulnerability.
These were both qualities that she shared with her unique brother.
Qualities that her brother sought and admired in others.
He thought back to his emotional meeting with the young woman, and to the mannerisms that had seemed familiar ....
And indeed they were.
Vincent.
She moved her head, eyes in a certain way, just like Vincent did, pinning him with those unusual, all seeing eyes, just as Vincent had done all his life ....
Dear God ....
It was true then ....
They were blood relations ....
How could he deny either of them the opportunity to know the other?
The simple answer was ....
He could not.
Vincent had waited forty years to know the truth ....
And now, his sister could possibly guide him toward the answers that he sought ....
Be strong, Jacob ....
This might not be an ending ....
But a new beginning ....
A new era of peace and contentment for Vincent ....
Don't think of it as losing a son ....
But gaining a daughter ....
But ....
Remember .... it has to be Vincent's decision.
But, it would be so very out of character for him to decide to leave it alone ....
No ....
Vincent would see it through to it's conclusion ....
And now that he was reasonably sure that the future was relatively danger and peril free, Jacob Wells knew that he would not blame Vincent for continuing the quest.
He had told Vincent at the very beginning that he needed to do this for his own peace of mind, and for the sake of his sanity.
The only thing that had changed since then, was that his father was better prepared for what he might find, and would be better able to deal with the consequences.
Breathing a little more easily now, Jacob began to feel ashamed of his reaction to this latest development.
He rested his head back against the tunnel wall, and let out a deep sigh.
Thank God Vincent had not stayed behind to wait for him.
And Thank God Mary would never see him in such a state of distress, for it would have scared the living daylights out of his poor, dear wife.
How could I have been so selfish? He admonished silently.
There's no fool like an old fool ....
He let out a long, shuddering sigh, appalled by his behavior.
But, also knowing that he should have expected it.
He was, after all, not made of stone, and he loved Vincent more deeply than he had ever realized before.
And had loved Vincent for more years than he cared to remember. The babe, the child, and finally, the man, had shared more of his life with him than had any other living soul.
How else then, should he have reacted to the knowledge that there was a blood sister .... with knowledge, and power enough to pull his beloved son away from him?
He would not have been a man had he reacted in any other way.
His love for Vincent would have been as nothing, if he had not reacted as he had.
There was no shame in loving Vincent, and he should feel no shame in fearing that he would lose Vincent's love to this incredibly gracious and brave young woman from the world Above.
Feeling a little calmer and less winded now, Jacob decided that he would just sit here for a while, collect himself, decide how best to break the news to Vincent, then, summon the boy with a brief message on the pipes.
Meanwhile, Jacob's thoughts returned to the distressed young woman that he had left behind in the park.
Who would comfort her?
Had he destroyed all her hopes with his angry retreat?
He hoped not, for he had both liked and admired what he had seen.
She deserved answers to her questions too.
At that moment, Jacob Wells decided that if it was the very last thing that he ever did, he would guide these two young people toward each other, then stand back and marvel at the extraordinary love that would come from the bringing together of brother and sister.
United at last, able to learn each about the other, each to love the other ....
Neither feeling alone and outcast any longer.
In still trembling fingers, Jacob held Josephine Grayson's business card up to the light, and squinted at the silver italic print.
Yes ....
He knew where she lived ....
He knew that section of their subterranean world quite well ....
It would not be difficult for Vincent to find ....
To gain access ....
You can lead a horse to water, Jacob, but you can't make him drink .... He reminded himself scathingly.
Maybe so ....
But this was Vincent that he was thinking about .... And Jacob knew that his son would not require much persuading.
Point him in the right direction ....
Give him a gentle push ....
And the rest would be history ....
Destiny ....
Yes.
Destiny.
Fate.
Karma ....
Call it what you would. It was the one thing that Vincent could not avoid ....
And nor could his father ….