CHAPTER FIVE.
In his chamber, Vincent drew up his favorite big oak chair, with the high back and the exquisitely carved arms, and sat down at his desk, setting aside his journal, left out after making last night's entry, and pulled out a clean sheet of writing paper.
He stared at the oblong sheet of white lined paper and let out a deep sigh, unsure how he wanted to word the note to his .... sister ....
Then, at last, he began to write, in a large, bold copperplate hand, and he had just finished it to his satisfaction, when his son came bounding into the chamber, full of energy and life.
"Hi Dad ...." The young boy regarded his father with wide, curious blue eyes.
"Hello Jacob ...." Vincent looked up at his son affectionately. "I hope that you are behaving ...."
"Who me? Sure .... Dad .... are you okay?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Well ...."
"You have been sensing my anxiety and my .... distance ...."
"Yeah ...." The child affirmed. "And then .... just now ...."
"You felt my .... acceptance .... that I had made a decision ...."
"Yes, Dad ...."
"That is because, I have ...."
"Tell me ...."
"Grandfather went Above this morning, and found out who was seeking me." Vincent opened his arms to the child then, who rushed at him, and clambered up on to his father's large knee.
"Your Mom?"
"No. My sister." Vincent smiled softly. "Congratulations, Jacob, you have an Aunt."
"Wow!" The child grinned broadly, revealing small, even, pearl white teeth. "Will I get to see her?" He asked excitedly.
"Perhaps ...." Vincent said reluctantly. "I have to meet her first," he reminded.
"Can I come too?"
"No. It will be late, Jacob. You will be asleep ...." Vincent advised sagely. "And if you are not ...."
"I know .... more chores ...." Jacob sighed heavily. "Please?"
"No Jacob ... I have to do this alone .... Perhaps later, when I know her better ...."
"What's her name?" Jacob got over his disappointment quickly, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Josephine."
"Aunt Josephine. That's great news Dad!" Jacob flung his chubby young arms around his father's neck, and planted a wet kiss on his father's rough whiskered cheek. "I love you," he declared ardently.
"I love you too, Jacob, but, you still can't come ...."
"Ah Dad ...."
"Run along now, Jacob. I think your Grandfather would appreciate a visit ...."
"Okay ...."
"I have something that I must attend to, but, then I will see you for dinner."
"See ya Dad ...."
The boy scampered away, and Vincent could not help smiling to himself, letting out a soft snort of amusement.
His son was an extraordinary young man.
So accepting. So considerate.
So cunning ....
So full of life and vitality. Humor ....
So very alive.
Vital.
Vincent was so very proud of him.
Vincent let out a deep sigh, reaching out for the oblong sheet of paper, which he folded neatly in half, and then in half again, as he rose from his seat.
He left his chamber on long strides, making directly for the Pipe Chamber, where he knew young Alfie would be right now.
The youngster was the most fleet of foot, and Vincent wanted his message to reach the surface as quickly as possible, so that Josephine Grayson would have time to think it over, prepare.
In the Pipe Chamber, Vincent passed a few moments with his old friend, Pascal, enquiring after his health, knowing that Pascal had recently been laid low with the 'flu, although, he did look much better now, and must be feeling better to be back at his post in the centre of communications for the community Below.
The two men chatted about Christmas, about Father, about Mouse and Jamie's baby news and about young Jacob, and his improved pipe communication skills, and then Vincent handed over his note to the young Alfie, and watched the tow haired, blue eyed youngster sprint away.
Satisfied, Vincent bid his friend a fond farewell, then returned to his chamber, where he did a little tidying up, before preparing to join his son, Father, Mary and the rest of the community for dinner.
Although, food was the very last thing on his mind.
/a\
Less than thirty minutes after it left Vincent's hand, his note reached the surface, and passed from the grinning urchin called Alfie, into the hand of a young, dark haired mustachioed man, wearing jeans, a MEAT LOAF T-shirt, a faded 'I LOVE NEW YORK' baseball cap and sneakers, Barry Masterson, who sped down the street on very smart rollerblades, until he reached his destination, and deposited the folded slip of paper noisily through the letterbox.
/a\
Esther Ludlow was slowly making her way across the black and white checkered tiled hallway, when the loud rattle of the letterbox made her jump, and she almost dropped the tray of tea and sandwiches that she had been taking up to Dr Grayson.
She set the tray down carefully on a sturdy, dark wood table, careful not to knock the telephone extension on the floor as she did so, and muttering darkly to herself, Esther Ludlow crossed the hallway to the front door, stooped awkwardly and picked up the small folded sheet of white paper inscribed simply with the word Josephine, in a bold, copperplate hand.
Esther frowned as she took in the poor quality of the note paper, and the bold, quite obviously masculine handwriting, but placed the hand delivered note on the tea tray, before beginning the journey up the wide central staircase.
Huffing and puffing her way up the stairs, Mrs Ludlow could not help wondering what had happened to her employer during her walk in the park.
When she had left the house that morning, the doctor had seemed to be in good spirits, but, when she had returned after lunch, Mrs Ludlow had immediately noticed the change in her demeanor.
Dr Grayson, head down, shoulders hunched, her step slow and deliberate, had walked across the hallway, acknowledging her housekeeper in a small voice, as she wearily climbed the central staircase and crossed the landing to her room.
The housekeeper had only caught a glimpse of the doctor's face, but she had been shocked by what she had seen there. Her face had been white, totally lacking in color, translucent, her big green eyes wide and red rimmed, and the whole way that she carried herself spoke of deep disappointment and despondency.
What a New Year this was going to be!
Esther thought to herself, as she paused outside the doctor's bedroom door, carefully balancing the tea tray on her knee, as she reached out to knock.
"Come in," Josephine's voice called out absently, and Esther Ludlow opened the door and entered her employer's bedroom.
The doctor was seated on an old fashioned chaise longue with a faded red velvet padded seat, positioned close to the fire. She was clad in a white terry toweling robe, her hair wound in a towel, turban style, staring at the yellow flames of the fire dancing in the fireplace.
"Your afternoon tea, doctor ...."
"Thank you, Mrs Ludlow ...." Josephine Grayson spoke absently, although her gaze never left the flames flickering in the fireplace.
"By the way, doctor, this was delivered by hand just now ...."
Mrs Ludlow held out the folded sheet of lined paper, and Josephine grudgingly tore her eyes from the hypnotic movement of the fire, frowning as she took the sheet of paper from her housekeeper.
"Thank you, Mrs Ludlow ...."
The housekeeper left without further comment, on silent feet, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Josephine Grayson alone again with her thoughts
Upon her return to the house, Josephine had hurried up to her room, stripped of her clothes, and stood, shivering, under a scalding shower, wondering if she would ever feel warm again.
She had pulled on a fresh night gown, and white toweling robe, wound her hair turban style in a big fluffy white towel, and had sat down in front of the cheerfully roaring fire in her bedroom, staring catatonically into the hypnotic flames.
Until Mrs Ludlow had brought the tray of tea and sandwiches.
Now, her body felt warmer, but there was a chill in her heart, as if the chilly wind at the cemetery had touched her heart, frozen it, hardening it against further disappointment .... heartache ....
Letting out a deep sigh, Josephine eyed the plate of neatly cut triangular sandwiches, and felt an inexplicable queasiness in the pit of her stomach.
Maybe some hot tea would help to shift the cold heaviness in her chest ...
Josephine moved slowly, with a lethargy borne of one too many disappointments in a life that should have held more promise, and she poured out a cup of steaming tea into a beautiful bone china cup decorated with pretty pink rosebuds and intertwining vines, adding a little milk to the cup, and as she set the china milk jug back down on the tray, she noticed the sheet of flimsy paper fluttering in the heat given off by the fire, lying on the floor where it had fallen as she had risen from the chaise longue.
Letting out a deep sigh, she wondered fleetingly who the note could be from, and took a small sip of her tea.
So-o-o, you can still feel enough to be curious?.
The thought surprised her.
She did not want to feel anything anymore.
If she couldn't feel, she couldn't be hurt anymore.
Walking slowly back to her chaise longue, carefully carrying her teacup and saucer, Josephine bent to pick up the piece of paper, meaning to throw it on the fire, but her conscience would not allow it.
At least not before she had read it.
Someone had gone to the trouble of delivering it by hand. Therefore, it must be important, at least to the sender.
It could be from Patrick O'Shea.
Yes ....
It could be important.
What if Patrick was sick?
Letting out another deep sigh, Josephine sat down slowly, balanced her teacup on the empty seat beside her, and opened out the piece of paper.
She carefully read the simple words, with tears welling up in her big green/gold eyes, a smile itching at the corners of her lips, growing slowly into a grin, until, by the end of if, she was laughing and sobbing, tears rolling unchecked down her flushed cheeks to drip off the end of her chin.
The note, neatly penned in bold copperplate read:
You are cordially invited to an appointment with destiny.
The Lagoon, Central Park.
Midnight.
J.
Josephine read the note over and over again, her fingers shaking, her heart pounding in her ears ....
Dear God ....
He certainly had Andrea's flare for the dramatic ....
Josephine thought to herself, brushing impatiently at her tears, as she fought off hysteria.
At last ....
The moment that you have been waiting for ....
The moment of truth ....
Cometh the hour .... Cometh the man ....
Joseph.
My brother ....
And .... what was it with these people and the damned park!
Josephine did not care.
She had her answer now.
You are cordially invited to an appointment with destiny ....
Yes ....
Yes ....
An invitation that she had no intention of allowing to pass by.
I'll be there dear brother! With bells on!
A quick glance at the small, pretty antique brass clock on the mantelpiece informed her that it was not yet five o'clock in the evening. She had plenty of time to prepare herself for the meeting, both physically and emotionally.
Picking up her teacup, and still clutching the hand written note in her other hand, Josephine curled up on the narrow couch and, letting out a soft sigh, began to gaze once again into the flickering flames of the fire, this time, her mind racing as to what she was going to say to him, trying to decide what he might want to know from her.
Yes ....
He would have questions, lots of questions, she was sure of it.
She had a lot to consider.
And now that the moment was upon her ....
All Josephine could focus on was that in a matter of a few short hours she would come face to face with an exceptional being.
Her brother ....
/a\
For Vincent, the hours between the moment that his note left his hand, bound for the world Above, until it was time for him to set out for his rendez vous with destiny seemed to last forever.
He joined Jacob, Mary and Father for dinner, but ate little, thoughtful and preoccupied, as he picked at the meal on his plate, aware of his son's amusement and Father's curious eyes on him, as he pushed the food from one side of the plate to the other.
Time spent with his beautiful, boisterous son took his mind off the impending meeting later, but only briefly, as he watched his son play for a while, then supervised his bath, stood guard whilst he reluctantly cleaned his teeth, then tucked him up in the big bed, with it's many pillows and layers of patchwork, much like the ones on his own bed, then read the by now sleepy boy a story.
Despite young Jacob's procrastinations, and his pleas for another story, even when the child finally succumbed to sleep, there was still plenty of time before Vincent needed to set off.
He thought about going to Father's chamber, but decided against that. He was far too preoccupied to do justice to the inevitable game of chess that Father would insist upon, and he did not want to talk.
They had done enough talking.
Instead, he selected a favorite old book and took it to the Whispering Gallery, leaning against the ancient rock wall, aware of the howling of the wind and the various echoes that filled the air, but even then, he could not concentrate on the story, or on the many voices around him.
Vincent went to the cliffs at the top of the Falls, but still he could not settle, memories crowding in around him ....
Memories of Catherine ....
Of the brief moments that they had snatched together here ....
Of Father telling him that he should let nothing stand in his way, that nothing should stop him from trying to get back his baby son.
Of Mary, confused and frightened that the man that she had secretly loved for so long might be lost to her.
And of Catherine, again, as she had been on that day, not long after her father had died, telling him that she felt that she had somehow failed, in choosing to return to the world Above.
Had he but known then what fate held in store for Catherine ....
But neither of them had known.
And nothing could change what had come to pass.
Not wishes .... nor dreams .... nor prayers ....
He had tried all three .... over the years ....
All in vain ....
But still he could not give up hope, that one day ....
At last, unable to find any peace or comfort in the usual places he sought out in times of melancholy like this, Vincent rushed back to his chamber, paced back and forth for a few moments, then, the decision made, he snatched his cloak from where it lay on the end of the bed, and hurried out of his chamber.
Vincent emerged from the cellar of a disused warehouse, long abandoned and boarded up, some little time later, his long, ground eating strides carrying him ever upward, and he scented the air carefully, for signs of danger, aware of the noises of the night around him, of the traffic, distant yet somehow louder than usual, the footsteps of a distant jogger, music from a juke box in a bar on the next block, animal sounds, the wind whistling around a nearby alley ....
And made his way quickly and silently amongst the shadows and the garbage cans until he reached a rusted metal fire escape.
He scaled the side of the building with ease, crossing the roof, and jumping to the next building, the route familiar, his having taken it every night for the past five years, until he reached the roof of the hospital, and dropped down on to the metal landing at the top of the fire escape at the back of the old brick building.
He pressed himself against the brickwork as he climbed down a metal drainpipe then swung over to the fire escape and down until he reached the window of Catherine's room.
The staff had orders to leave the window open slightly in the evening, so that the night breezes could waft into the room, giving it's silent, insensate occupant another source of stimulation, and the window moved easily, as Vincent applied a little upward pressure and squeezed his body in through the gap.
The room was dark, except for the small reading lamp over the head of the bed, and the softly flickering monitoring equipment, flashing out Catherine's heart beat, and blood pressure readings at regular intervals.
Vincent stood perfectly still .... still shocked and poleaxed by the sight of his beloved Catherine .... still beautiful .... still so familiar .... lying in the narrow hospital cot, hooked up to an I.V. which fed her nutrients through a needle in the back of her right hand, and the monitoring equipment.
There was no movement from his beloved, save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest, one blessing being that she had been able to breathe on her own since the first few days, the only reason the doctors had allowed themselves to be persuaded to keep Catherine here all this time.
That, and the fact that with her vast wealth, Catherine Chandler could afford the best of everything, and her powerful and very persuasive friends, Jenny Aronson and Joe Maxwell, ensured that she got the best, including any and all new treatments and therapies relating to her condition.
The staff were happy to attend to their patient with all the devotion that her money could buy.
The fact that Catherine was here at all, was thanks to Diana Bennett, who had negotiated with Joe and Jenny that they not try to find out anything about Vincent, and that they leave the evenings free for him to visit.
To this day, Joe and Jenny and kept their word, and Vincent had not had so much as a sense that they had even tried to discover his identity.
Diana had told them all that they had needed to know.
That Vincent loved Catherine, and Catherine had loved Vincent, that she would have wanted to spend every minute that she could with him.
And that it had been Vincent who had rescued Catherine, and returned her to her apartment on that fateful night five years ago, believing her to be dead.
Through caring for Catherine, and ensuring that she was well looked after, Jenny and Joe had come to care deeply for each other, and after a year of sharing the disappointments and despair of sitting at their friend's bedside, trying to coax her back from the void, they had turned to each other for love and comfort.
They had been married for three years now, and had twin daughters, Catherine and Diana, who would be two in the Fall, and a new born son, whom they had called Vincent, after their friend's devoted, if by necessity, invisible love.
Although they had never met, the couple had included Vincent in their plans, sharing their happiness with the unseen stranger, striking up a strange kind of correspondence, filling Vincent in on any plans to change Catherine's room, medication, doctor, always knowing when Vincent had been to visit Catherine, for they would find a new book, or a rose, or a beautifully written passage of poetry on her bedside cabinet, and they would leave messages of hope and optimism for Vincent to find when he came to visit Catherine.
It was strange to think that the couple had become good friends to him, even though they had never met, supportive and loving ....
Just another example of how Catherine had touched people's lives, and changed them, forever.
Vincent suspected that Catherine would have gotten quite a buzz out of knowing that she had brought together two of the nicest people in her circle of friends.
The sight of his beloved Catherine, lying so still in that narrow cot, always made his heart clench in his chest, and the pain, as fresh as it had been the very first time that he had seen her like this, took his breath away momentarily, and he rocked back and forth steadying himself on the window ledge, feeling his chest tighten and his lungs burn, as he fought against the scalding tears pricking at the back of his eyes.
He would never get used to seeing her like this.
It was always such a shock to him, that she could be alive, yet show no sign of recognition or of even being aware of his being in the room with her.
Each evening it was the same, the jolt that shot through him as he realized that it was not just some hideous nightmare that he would soon awaken from.
She really was lost to him.
Trapped in some nether world.
Unable to reach out to him.
But, he refused to believe that she was gone forever.
Not Catherine.
She had been too vibrant. Too alive.
If there was any chance at all that she might find a way back to him, even after all this time, he had to cling to that hope.
On soft booted feet, Vincent crossed the room silently and sank down in to the chair at Catherine's bedside.
"Catherine ...."
He spoke her name on the merest whisper, reaching out to take her pale, cool hand in his own gently, closing his eyes as he imagined, just for a moment, that he could hear her beautiful, familiar voice saying in deeply seductive tones.
"Hello Vincent ...."
"I miss you so much .... Father and Mary send their love, as always .... and Jacob .... Jacob is getting so big now .... full of mischief and life .... just like you .... You would be so proud of him .... so proud ...."
His voice trailed away and the tears spilled over on to his dark ginger down and whisker covered cheeks, as he bowed his head and fought for a measure of control.
"Oh Catherine .... I need you so much ...." He whispered thickly, his voice very low and intense now. "I need you .... to guide me .... advise me .... I wish that you could share this with me, Catherine .... this most miraculous moment in my life .... save for the discovery that you had given me a son ...."
He paused briefly, lowering his head again, to wrestle with fresh tears.
"Catherine, I have a sister ...." He let out a deep, shuddering sigh, his gaze falling on the relaxed face of his beloved, willing some reaction, some hint that she had heard him and had understood what he had said, to register on her familiar features, but they remained relaxed in repose, no fluttering of eyelids, no smile curving at her lips, no reassuring squeeze of her hand in his.
No reaction at all.
Vincent hung his head briefly once more, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
He knew that Catherine would have been so happy for him, rejoicing with him, sharing in his good fortune.
And for a moment, he felt again, the warmth of Catherine's love.
And if that was so, then how could she be lost to him?
True, he had no empathic sense of her, except that her heart still beat in her chest, and a vague sense of her being very far away.
Just as it had been since he had awoken in that terrible dark cavern, in her arms, knowing in his heart that this was the woman that he loved, and whom loved him.
Yet, strangely, unable to recall even her name ....
And then, when he had recovered, the disappointment of not being able to feel her, their Bond broken .... forever .... it seems.
But even that awareness of her was something.
She hadn't quite slipped beyond his reach.
"I love you Catherine. I will always love you ...." He vowed softly. "And some day .... we will be together again, and you will know your son, and the joy that he has brought into my life. Come back to me Catherine, please .... come back to me ...."
His voice trailed away then as he struggled to overcome fresh tears which were stinging in his eyes, and the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat.
He sat by her bedside in silence, measuring the passage of time with her every breath, marveling that even after five years, she had lost none of her youth and beauty, thanks to the care and attention of Jenny Maxwell, who took a pride in maintaining Catherine's appearance and the nurses who tended to Catherine's daily personal hygiene needs.
At last, Vincent let out a long, shuddering sigh, and squeezed Catherine's hand gently.
"I am sorry, my love, but I cannot stay long tonight. I am going to meet her .... my sister. Josephine .... But I will come again, soon. I promise. Be well my love ...."
He lifted her cool hand to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to the delicately veined flesh on the back of her hand, then pressed it softly against his warm, down covered cheek before lowering it gently back to the bed.
With that, without so much as a backward glance, Vincent forced legs made of lead to carry him back to the window, and back out into the night, leaving behind him as he did so, yet another small piece of his heart.
/a\
For Josephine Grayson, the evening had also dragged on, until she had returned to the attic, to where Mr Ludlow had hauled her mother's boxes of treasures out of the way, and to keep them safe.
She had sat, cross-legged on the dusty floor, and again gone through the neatly wrapped contents of the boxes, wondering if she should pick something to take with her, to give to her brother.
She had still not decided, when a distant clock somewhere in the house below her, struck eleven, causing her heart to miss a beat, and her hands to begin shaking.
She stared at the contents of the boxes, trying to chose, then reached out and picked up one of Andrea Reeve's journals, before rushing back down to her bedroom to change into black corduroy jeans, a thick purple turtleneck sweater and low heeled black boots, then pulling on her warmest, heavy winter coat, scarf and thermal gloves, she made her way quietly down the central staircase, stowing the journal in her coat pocket, as she crossed the black and white checkered tiled hallway.
As she quietly let herself out of the front door, the small antique brass carriage clock struck the half hour.
The lower levels of the house were in darkness, the Ludlow's habitually retiring early for the night, and Josephine checked that she had her house keys with her, before pulling the front door shut quietly behind her.
She walked to the end of the street where the cab that she had telephoned for earlier that evening was waiting for her, and she told the driver to head for Central Park West, as she sat back and made herself comfortable for the short journey to the park.
Destiny .... here I come!
She smiled softly to herself.
Her stomach was tying its self in knots, and her heart was racing the closer that she got to the park, but, Josephine had never felt more alive in her life.
Her hands were shaking badly, as she fumbled with the money to pay off the cab driver, and her breath was coming in rapid little gasps as she walked the badly illuminated paths toward the lagoon.
The moon was a shiny coin, like a bright silver dollar, until dark grey clouds scudded over it. The air was frigid, her breath a plume of white vapor, the ground crunching loudly under her feet, fresh with frost.
There were a few hardy souls around, mostly couples, walking with their arms around each others shoulders or waists, and they were heading in the opposite direction to Josephine's destination, towards the nearest exits to homes with roaring fires and beds with thick, warming comforters.
As she walked, Josephine could feel the weight of her mother's journal banging against her thigh as it rested safely in the right pocket of her coat, and she was still undecided whether to hand it over to her brother.
It might be more prudent not to give away too much too soon, especially if she wanted an excuse to see him again.
At last, she reached the lagoon, the waters rippling in a strong breeze, the moon casting long fingers of cold silver light, briefly on the mirrored surface, only to disappear behind still more dark clouds.
The luminous dial on her watch face proclaimed the time to be exactly midnight.
And Josephine felt completely alone.
She glanced around her nervously, but she could see nothing.
No-one ....
Josephine let out a deep, shuddering breath and began to pace back and forth along the path that followed the wooded shoreline of the lagoon, as it was too cold to stand still for too long.
She paced up and down and back and forth, silent and thoughtful, praying that he had not changed his mind, then stood silently for a moment, catching her breath, her whole body shaking with anticipation, as she strained her ears for any sound, the breeze teasing tendrils of her hair where it had worked loose from the intricate French braid that hung between her shoulders and half way down her back, then she let out a long, ragged sigh, bending to pick up a small rock, and with the ease of long practice, sent it skimming across the silver surface of the lagoon, bouncing once, twice, three times, before sinking somewhere close to the middle.
Sinking, just as her heart was sinking with disappointment.
Tears welled up in her eyes, induced by anger, disappointment, and the wind, icy cold, stinging her cheeks like a slap in the face.
From somewhere close by, an owl hooted, a bitter, cynical sound to Josephine's ears.
"Cometh the hour .... but not the man ...." Josephine said in a tight, bitter little voice, and turned on her heel. She had had enough of standing around in the cold, being made to look foolish.
Another game, Joseph?
Too bad. This time, we both lose!
"Giving up so easily, Josephine?"
At the sound of the low, husky, velvety voice, Josephine span around quickly, and found just to the side of her, a few feet away, a tall, dark figure, silhouetted in a faint beam of moonlight, standing just inside the line of naked trees.
"You disappoint me …."
The voice continued, the dark figure remaining still and at just that moment, the moon emerged, silver and white, from behind a cloud, revealing a tall, broad shouldered figure, clad from head to foot in a dark, flowing cloak with a large hood pulled up to conceal head and face from her view.
"That is not what I have come to expect from you …." The deep, masculine voice continued.
"Joseph?" She gasped, taking one faltering step forward.
"For the purpose of this meeting .... yes ...."
"Oh my God," Josephine felt her knees grow suddenly weak, hardly daring to believe that he was really there.
She could see nothing of him, no details of face, eyes, hair, but the voice, the voice was like dark honey, low and gentle and inspiring trust.
"Joseph ...." Her voice suddenly cracked, and she took another small step toward him.
"Come no closer." He advised in warning tones.
"But ...." She stammered in confusion.
"Please!" He insisted softly.
"All right ...." She acquiesced. "I was beginning to think that you had changed your mind. That you weren't coming ...." Josephine spoke softly now, between teeth that were chattering from the cold. "I may have been about to give up on you, tonight, but I would never have given up looking for you. Never ...."
"Why?" He asked in a low, intense voice.
"You are my brother ...." Josephine smiled then, through fresh tears. "And .... I made a promise .... to our mother .... a promise that I would find you ...."
"Our .... mother ...."
"Yes .... She only told me about your existence on her deathbed ...."
"When did she die?"
"December 11 ....
"How?"
"Cancer. She had cancer of the stomach. Secondaries in the liver, lungs and pancreas. She was very sick Joseph ...." Josephine explained as gently as she could.
"Why did she wait so long .... to tell you .... about me?"
"She probably wouldn't ever have told me, if she had had a choice, but, she wanted me to find you ...."
"Why?" There was just a hint of something akin to bitterness in those dark, velvet tones now.
"Because she wanted you to know that she loved you .... always ...."
"Loved? Me?" He mocked.
"Yes ...."
Josephine thought about the journal in her pocket, then decided not to show it to him after all, suddenly having the strongest feeling that if she gave it to him, she would never see him again, and he would not see the others, never know the rest of it.
"How can that be?" He demanded a little more gruffly now. "She .... abandoned me ...."
"No ..... NO!" Josephine contradicted quickly, jumping hastily to her mother's defense.
"Is that what he told you? The man with the limp? No, Joseph, that's not how it happened. She gave you up. She gave you up to someone that she trusted, someone that she hoped would be able to offer you the kind of life that you deserved, that she could not give to you, and giving you up almost killed her ...." She went on quickly.
"She gave me up?" He echoed. "She did not abandon me? Dump me?"
"No," Josephine frowned deeply.
"So .... Anna did not simply find me ...."
"Anna Pater? No. She was there when you were born, helped to deliver you, and when she took you and went to find something to wrap you in, mother crawled away to hide, scared that she was dying, but unable to just let you go. Watching as Anna Pater wrapped you in a pile of filthy rags, and carried you away ...."
"Gave me up, abandoned me .... What is the difference? She wanted nothing to do with me."
"That's not quite true. She loved you. Wanted you, but she knew that there was something special about you, that she could not give you the life that you deserved. So-o-o, she let you go. Look, I know you probably find this hard to believe, after all, I am a total stranger to you, but giving you up was the hardest thing that she ever had to do. It almost killed her. She loved you so much, there was little or no love left for anyone else. For my father, or for me ...." Josephine concluded on a soft sob, and she saw a slight movement of his head.
"Her name was Andrea ...." Josephine said after a brief silence, hoping to touch him in some small way, connect with him.
"Andrea ...." He echoed softly. "What did she say of my .... father?" He asked in a very low voice, edged with emotion.
"Look ...." Josephine hesitated. "Look .... this is no place to talk .... Why don't you come to my home ...."
"No!" He responded sharply.
"Please ...." She moved a little closer.
"Come no closer ...." He warned again.
"Why?" Josephine asked softly. "I want to see you ...."
"No ...."
"Why not?"
"Because .... my .... appearance ...."
"Is different? Yes. I know," Josephine said in soft understanding tones. "I know about the way that you look, Joseph. Mother told me everything, even about the way you look. She told me everything ...."
"Everything?" His tone grew hard once more. "Tell me ...."
"It would be better if you read her journals, Joseph. She wrote it all down for you, and there are some things, trinkets, things that she wanted you to have ...."
"That is not important now. Tell me .... tell me what she told you of how I came to be ...."
"Please, Joseph, this is not very pleasant. I am freezing to death standing here. Won't you come to my home? Andrea's home? You will be safe there, I assure you ...."
He took a step back from her, momentarily dissolving into the shadows.
"Joseph?"
There was just a hint of panic in her voice as she called out to him.
"Please Joseph, don't go. I mean you no harm ...." She assured. "If you come to my home, we will be alone. We can make ourselves comfortable, talk .... The things that mother meant for you to have are in the attic ...." She explained, her teeth chattering with the cold, punctuating her words, as she fervently hoped that she was not simply wasting her breath in talking to the trees.
For his part, Vincent felt a pull, an inexplicable something drawing him to this woman.
"Joseph .... I have the answers that you seek! Come .... please .... trust me ...." She implored softly. "I can tell you what Andrea told me .... yes .... but, it wont be the same .... you see, she wrote it all down for you .... so that you would know it .... in her own words .... Please! I promised her that I would find you and tell you .... show you the way to the truth. Help me to keep that promise .... to our mother ...."
She was very persuasive, Vincent had to admit to himself silently.
He had come this far ....
He could not give up now ....
Could he?
"All right ...." He conceded softly, with a deep sigh, stepping out from the shadows once more. "I will meet you there ...."
"You have my address?"
"Yes," He confirmed. "Does the attic have a skylight?"
"Yes ...."
"Then open it for me. I will join you there."
And with that, he abruptly turned away from her, melting into the shadows once more, as the moon once again disappeared behind a large black cloud.
"Joseph?"
No answer.
"Joseph?"
Still no answer.
"Damn!" Josephine muttered in a most unladylike fashion.
It was the second time today that someone had rudely walked away from her, and she didn't much like it!
Thank you very much!
"Well .... don't just stand there dunderhead ...." She mumbled through a mouthful of chattering teeth. "Get moving!
TO BE CONTINUED/.....