Chapter 74: Catherine and the Treehouse

Saturday, June 5, 1971

Sixteen mostly sleepy women were exiting the dining room as I descended the main stairs. I stood there as they filed by, headed out the front door to board the chartered coach that would take them for their day at the spa. Being beautiful is hard work sometimes.

Vickie and Nicky both detoured when they saw me, stopping to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“Good luck!” Vickie thought to me.

Liz just smiled and winked as she walked by.

I sensed that Beth and Penny were both armed. Beth was hoping everything went smoothly, because she had not gotten much sleep last night. David trailed the women. His usual impassive features couldn’t hide the fact that he was not looking forward to riding herd on sixteen females, all day, and then again at the party tonight.

Prissy was clearing the table in the dining room when I entered. She brought me a cup of coffee, and a message.

“Your grandma said for you to knock on her door any time after nine. She was up late and said she wanted to grab a couple of hours of sleep,” Prissy told me. “Would you like something to eat? I can fix you another omelet, if you’re hungry.”

I laughed, “I guess I didn’t do a very good job erasing the evidence.”

She just laughed with me.

“How ‘bout some biscuits and homemade fig preserves?” she asked.

“That sounds wonderful!” I told her.

A few minutes later, she brought in the coffee pot.

“Here’s what’s left. The men folk done left early this morning for the baseball thing. I’m gonna finish up, and go see my sister in Yonkers. If you gets hungry, I figure you done know your way around a kitchen,” she told me. “But for the life of me, I don’t know where you learned it.”

“Have a nice time, Prissy. And thanks for the breakfast!” I told her.

I dawdled over my coffee, waiting for nine o’clock. I checked the clock in the hall and saw it was only eight thirty, so I decided on a shower before meeting Catherine.

I was shaving when I sensed Catherine was awake.

“Good morning,” I thought to her. “Did you get your nap out?”

“My what?” she asked.

“It’s an old country saying. It means did you get all the rest you wanted,” I explained.

“Well, no. But I need to get up and moving. I haven’t slept this late in years. Have you had breakfast yet?” she thought to me.

“Prissy gave me some coffee and biscuits, earlier, before she left to go visit her sister,” I thought back to her.

“Then how about I meet you in the kitchen in fifteen minutes? I want some tea, and I have some things to go over with you about tonight,” Catherine said.

I finished shaving, threw on some jeans and a clean shirt, and headed for the kitchen. Once there, I started the water for Catherine’s tea, and another pot of coffee for me.

Catherine came down shortly, and I was glad to see she was dressed casually in a velour running suit. I doubt she had ever actually done any running in it, but they were the fashion for casual wear at this time. I kissed her cheek as I set the tray with the teapot and other stuff on the table next to her.

“Thank you, Michael, that was sweet of you, but I could have fixed it,” she said.

“I know. But I wanted to,” I replied. “I’m so glad you aren’t angry with me anymore.”

“I was never angry with you, Michael. But let’s not discuss that now,” she said.

“I still haven’t scanned you,” I told her, “so I don’t understand. I’m just glad you are not angry.”

We talked of other things then, while she had her tea.

“The press have probably found out that you are in town by now. They will be camped out; waiting on you tonight at Harrison’s party,” she said.

“Will they be at the party?” I asked.

“A few journalists will be there as guests. They will try to corner you for a story, preferably an exclusive. So you’ll need to be very careful about what you say, especially about the princesses. There will also be photographers there, but Uncle Harry usually manages to keep them outside, although, one or two may try to get through security.”

“Okay. Avoid being cornered and say little. What else?”

“Watch out for Wee Willie,” she said with a little grin.

“Wee Willie?” I asked.

“Liz and I have called him that since we were little girls, because he was always so obnoxious!” she laughed.

I laughed with her.

“His real name is Wilbert Markingham, and he grew up down the road from here. We called him Wee Willie when we were in school. Now, he goes by ‘Will’. He has taken over his father’s Savings and Loan. He specializes in high interest loans to businesses in trouble. When they can’t pay, he takes over and chops the companies up, selling them off, piece-by-piece,” she explained. “I think he probably has some other ... rather shady dealings as well. He has asked both Liz and me out a few times, but all he really wants, is to get his hands on some of the Wagner money,”

“Sounds like you should be the one watching out for him,” I told her.

We laughed as she continued to run down her list of expected guests, and which ones to be wary of. She had been attending Uncle Harry’s parties for years, and was a wealth of information.

“Well, that’s all I can think of. Just be careful what you say to anyone you don’t know. Remember, if they didn’t come with you, you probably can’t trust them,” she said.

“I’m not worried. As long as you are there, and still talking to me, I’ll be fine,” I said confidently.

She was quiet for a few moments, trying to decide. Finally, she made up her mind.

“Ah ... Michael? If you want to ... you can scan me now.”

She said it so quietly, I almost missed it.

I leaned back and closed my eyes as I centered myself and focused on my surroundings. I was surprised, because even the old house seemed to come alive, as what I later learned are referred to as ‘echoes’ filled my awareness, much like the trees and grasses did in Colorado. Once I was balanced, I scanned Catherine and opened my eyes.

“Aren’t you going to do it?” Catherine asked.

“Your wrist is still swollen,” I told her. “Did you do what Sarah said?”

She smiled sheepishly at me without replying.

“Close your eyes, Catherine,” I told her. “I am about to take you on a journey.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m taking you on a journey,” I said softly, “through my heart.”

I had seen Catherine’s heart as I scanned her, and realized that she was insecure about having an intimate relationship with someone who looked like her grandson. At the same time, she was attracted to me, the inner me. I guess you could say the person I was, and the person I was becoming. So I let her see an image of the man that I was, before I became a boy again. I shared my old self with all my triumphs and tragedies, my kids and grandkids, and my joys and heartbreaks.

I also let her see how I really felt about her, and every person I have gotten to know since I arrived in this time. I replayed again, the scenes of meeting her for the first time and her telling her story. I showed her my memories of several of our talks and how I felt afterwards. I showed her how devastated I was when I accidentally scanned her too hard.

Then I showed her my feelings about Grace, and my previous life, with all the similarities. Finally, I showed her my heartbreak when I thought I had lost her, just like I had lost Grace.

“This is who I really am, Catherine. I am not Michael Wagner, the boy who was your grandson. But ... I am no longer Phil Brown, either. I guess I’m a combination. Almost like a new baby, but with a young man’s body and an old man’s experiences. And who I am becoming, is most assuredly connected to you. Come with me Catherine. If only for this one time, come with me. Please.”

I stood, holding out my hand to her, waiting. I didn’t scan her, because if she chose not to come, I didn’t think I’d want to know why. So I cannot tell you what she was debating, or why she took so long. Or maybe it was just that I was on pins and needles, so it just seemed like a long time.

Finally, she looked up at me, smiling, as she placed her hand in mine.

I led her then, through the kitchen and out onto the terrace. On the west end of the terrace, was a walkway paved with stones that led to the garages. I sensed her concern at the thought of leaving Seven Oaks today, especially without security. But I sent her reassurances that we were not leaving and that we were safe.

Behind the garage, was a path that had not been used much, although I could see the evidence of at least one recent passage. Catherine gasped as she realized where I was leading her. They called it ‘the treehouse’. Her father had it built for her and her sister when they were ten years old. It was a platform, built out over the cliff, sheltered by rocks and trees on three sides, and open to the Sound, some thirty feet below. It had a sturdy roof and railings around each side. There was a short metal ladder, maybe four rungs, permanently attached to the rocks, which served as the entry to the platform.

It was Vickie who discovered the memory one day when she was practicing with Catherine, and then shared it with me the other night. I discussed it first with Nicky and Vickie, and finally with Liz.

It was Liz who had arranged the baseball trip, and had given Prissy the day off. She had also promised to have the treehouse checked and cleaned, before this morning.

“Up you go!” I said. It was the first spoken words since we left the house.

Catherine’s eyes were wide and she was smiling as she scampered up.

“Oh, Michael! How thoughtful!” Catherine cried before I got up there.

When I reached the treehouse, I could see what she meant. In the corner, sat a child’s table, draped with a cloth. On it was a bucket with a bottle of Catherine’s favorite white wine, on ice, along with a small basket of snacks.

Next to it was a pallet, complete with clean sheets, and a couple of pillows.

A single pink rose lay on the pillow, alongside a book: ‘The Swiss Family Robinson’.

Catherine sat down on the pallet, crossing her legs Indian style. Laying the book in her lap, she closed her eyes as she lifted the rose to her nose and sniffed its fragile fragrance.

“Oh Michael! How did you know?”

I just smiled. I doubted she would hear me right now as her mind became crowded with the memories.

“When we were young, our daddy had this built for Liz and me as a place to get away. Mother was always scared of heights, so she made Daddy come with us if we wanted to play here. Later, when I was eleven or twelve, I would sneak out here to be alone and read. One of my favorite stories was “The Swiss Family Robinson”. I would sit and read and dream of travels to faraway places, and of having my own husband and family one day,” she said recalling her childhood.

I sat down on the platform across from her, leaning back against the railing, basking in the glow of her remembrances.

“Then I met your grandfather. After that, when I came here, it was to read stories of handsome princes and daring rescues, and dream of romance and love,” she said with a warm sigh.

Closing her eyes once more, she was quiet as other memories played melodically through her mind. Finally, she sniffed the rose again, and opened her eyes.

“Mother loved roses. Especially pink ones. So Daddy had dozens and dozens of rose bushes planted around the estate. One night, he brought a single pink rose, and laid it beside Mother’s place at dinner. I remember she held it to her nose, and closed her eyes, as she sniffed it. Then she looked at Daddy and said, ‘it smells just like love.’ I’ll never forget how she looked at him. That’s when I really began to understand what love is.”

She paused, her eyes closed as she remembered.

“Liz and I discovered that if Daddy ever left a single pink rose beside Mother’s place at dinner, we should not bother them that evening. I’m not sure how we found out, maybe it was Liz who figured it out. But to me, it was always a symbol of his love for mother. And hers for him.”

She became quiet once more.

I just watched her. I don’t know why, but it made me happy, and at peace with myself, to see her happiness, and to share in its glow.

Opening her eyes, she looked at me for a long moment before holding out her hand to me.

I got to my knees and moved towards her, as she rose up on her knees, laying the book and the rose aside. Then, wrapping her arms around me as we knelt there facing each other, she looked into my eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Michael. Please be gentle with me,” she said.

Pulling me to her, she kissed me, as the passion she had fought so hard to deny, bubbled up from deep inside her.

As an empath, I live my life with a vast assortment of emotions constantly swirling around me. After so much exposure to so many different kind and levels of emotions, it becomes second nature to ignore most of them. As if putting on a coat to block out the weather.

But there are a few, that when I sense them, send chills running through me. Their presence causes shivers of excitement and quivers of desire to cascade through my own emotions, churning my being as if I was experiencing an internal earthquake.

Catherine was one of the very few who affected me to that extreme. I craved her caress, and longed for her passions, as they seemed to burn through me, scorching my soul with flames of love and desire. I made love to her gently, mindful of the differences in our bodies’ ages, and as slowly as I could, in order to prolong for me, the incredible feelings she shared.

I was locked onto her emotional signature, using everything I had learned, to follow and even anticipate her desires. But soon I was overcome by her raw emotional craving, and our gentle lovemaking dissolved into a mad, passion-filled chaos of thrusting and plunging, until finally, my empathic connection could stand no more. As my connection broke, I experienced her passion from a different perspective, causing me to scream with my release into her.

I shook my head to clear it. I had never become so emotionally overwhelmed before, so totally out of control. I looked down at Catherine as she lay quivering beneath me. My first thought was that I had hurt her, while realizing that every muscle in my body screamed from the frantic exertions they had just performed. Then I began to understand what she was saying.

“Please! Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop! Please ... don’t stop ... please-se-se-e-e!” she cried in a small voice.

I don’t know where the strength came from. I was reminded of how long-distance runners talked of ‘hitting the wall’, and how you just kept on running. All I knew was that I couldn’t fail her. I had to keep going.

For Catherine.

I was beyond reading her. I was barely able to keep moving for her, so I missed it when she finally came.

All I know is that she placed her arms around my neck, pulling me to her, as she whispered “ ... thank you, Phillip, thank you...”

I’m not sure if it was when I woke up, or when I came to. Call it either one, I didn’t care. I sat up and shook my head to clear it.

Catherine was no longer in the treehouse.

She was perched, naked, on a rock outcropping, maybe a foot away, and slightly higher than the surrounding railing. She was sitting on my t-shirt, reading her book, and sipping from an almost empty glass of white wine.

“Hello, Michael,” she said in a voice so melodious, she was almost singing.

I did a double take. Some women wear the afterglow of sex like a shimmering coat, others radiate like the sun. But Catherine was a beacon of peacefulness radiating a calm happiness.

“Okay,” I said. “Who are you, and what did you do with Catherine?”

She laughed gaily, the same melody as before. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her as she bathed me in the warmth of her smile.

I was still too wiped out to scan her, so I asked, “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She laughed again as she told me, “I’m not that old and frail, Michael.”

“I didn’t mean...” I started to say.

“How long until that young body of yours is ready to go again?” she interrupted my intended apology.

I couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not, so regardless of how tired I was emotionally, I scanned her to see if she was serious.

“Whew!” I thought. “She’s teasing me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure!” she thought to me.

“Besides, they won’t be back for hours, so there’s still time!” she added, teasing me more seriously now.

I laughed. I’d probably never live it down if I admitted she’d worn me out.

“You see, I’m torn, Michael,” she said to me.

“Oh, no. Here we go again,” I thought.

She just laughed. The sound of her laughter dancing on my heart.

“I can’t decide if I want to sit here sipping wine while I wait for you to get ready, then screw you silly again, or ... go back to the house and take a shower,” she said. “And then screw you silly again!”

We bantered back and forth while she finished her wine, and I drank most of the pitcher of water Liz had left. Finally, we opted for the shower.

It was later that afternoon, (after she had, in fact, screwed me silly again), when she got out of the bed, and slipped on a robe. Then going to her dressing table, she opened a drawer and pulled out a carved wooden box, about the size of a cigar box. Carrying it with her, she came and perched on the bed next to me.

“Michael, this is not because we just had the best sex I can ever remember. I’ve been planning to give it to you ever since I realized you needed it. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve had the chance,” she said.

Then she reached into the small box, and pulled out a watch, handing it to me.

“This was your grandfather’s watch. I bought it for him for his fifty-third birthday, but he never wore it. He claimed it was not his style. I’d like you to have it. If you’ll wear it, that is,” she said.

I looked at it. It was a Rolex Submariner, with the classic green Rolex sticker still on the bottom. The tag was still on it, too. Model 5513, it read.

I handed the watch back to her and held up my left hand.

“I would LOVE to wear it, Catherine. And I will always treasure it,” I told her as she removed the tag and slipped it over my left wrist. “You don’t know how many times I have looked at my bare wrist to see what time it was, only to realize I didn’t have a watch.”

“Oh ... I think I do,” she thought to herself.

“You mean you heard me?” I asked. “Every time I complained about not having one?”

“I don’t know about every time, but at least once or twice a day,” she said with a laugh.

I held up my wrist and admired it, then looked to Catherine.

“Thank you. This is the most expensive watch I’ve ever worn,” I said.

She leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips.

“That...” she said, “IS for the most wonderful day I have had in far too long.”

I just looked at her. I didn’t want the day to end.

“Now, the girls should be back soon,” she said. “So I’d suggest you grab another shower, before the girls get back and hot water becomes a premium. You might also try for a nap if you can. You’re going to be busy tonight.”