Priceless

by Pho

Peter Caine sat motionless in front of the candles in his living room and attempted to center his chi. It wasn't working. His attention kept returning time and time again to the item on his coffee table. A single large package had arrived from Braniff just that morning. Peter had quickly read the typed letter that accompanied the package. It was nothing more than an official letter from the Bank of Braniff notifying him that the contents had been held in storage for over a quarter of a century. His recent visit with his father to Braniff had by chance almost coincided with the bank's move to a new facility and the subsequent reclassification of the items stored in its vaults. Peter had opened the outer package almost immediately but just as quickly had balked at opening the inner box. It was the hand-writing on the label that had initially caused him to pause. It was familiar but foreign at the same time. Several minutes had passed before he could identify the neat script - the same script that appeared on the back of his mother's picture.

Across Chinatown, Kwai Chang Caine was attending a sick child when he felt the disturbance in his son's chi.

["Peter - something is wrong?"]

["No, Father, I'm OK"]

The rarely used 'father' indicated to Caine that something was definitely out of order in his son's world but he decided not to pursue the issue from a distance. He quickly returned his attention to his patient, knowing that his next task that morning would be to pay a visit on his son.

Peter's thoughts turned away from his father and back to their recent visit home to Braniff. Visiting the temple ruins for the first time with his father had proven to be a break-through in the rebuilding of their time-scarred relationship. Peter had relinquished some of his fears there. Feelings of abandonment and betrayal had been greatly reduced by the time they had spent together at the temple ruins. His feelings of loss, however, could not be as easily dissipated. It was the first time he had ever been to his mother's grave. As a child, he had never been able to summon the courage to visit her. It was almost as if Laura Caine wasn't dead if he didn't see her grave. It was much easier to pretend that she was temporarily away rather than forever gone. He'd lost so much by losing her - the soft comfort of a mother's touch, a sympathetic ear when he and his father were at odds but most of all he'd lost knowing his mother as a person rather than an image on paper.

"Damn," Peter thought, "This is getting me nowhere." He rose from the floor and moved to his sofa. Positioning himself comfortably, he opened the inner box and prepared to examine it's contents.

***************
May 13, 1965

Darling child,

I'm pregnant. I am pregnant. I am VERY pregnant. You can't know now how absolutely wonderful this is. I feel like going to the roof and shouting it to the world. But better not, your father would definitely NOT approve.

We'd talked about trying to have a baby but had decided to wait for a while. Looks like YOU had other ideas. Now that it's a reality, your father can't stop smiling. I'm afraid that his face will crack in two if his grin gets much bigger. So much for the somber Shaolin. HA!

Boy or girl. Girl or boy. Doesn't really matter but somehow I'm already thinking of you as a son.

The son of Kwai Chang Caine - whoa. Now that's a thought to boggle the mind. Wonder if you'll have his personality or mine. Best not be mine - two of me might be two too many.

The doctor tells me that you're less than an inch long now but I'm already seeing you as larger than life itself. Oh my darling, these next seven months will pass so slowly. I can't wait to hold you and count your fingers and toes.

OOPS - I hear your father coming in. I'm not sure why I don't want him to know I'm writing you but somehow it's important that my letters to you are between you and me only. At least for now.

I love you, my baby,
Mama? / Mom? / Mommy?
I LOVE YOU!!!

***************

Peter stared at the letter in his hand then at the remaining stack. So many letters - so many glimpses into his mother's soul. He slowly reached into the stack and randomly removed a letter.

***************

July 5, 1965

Dearest Little One,

Morning sickness is everything everyone has ever said it was. I'm told that it usually only lasts about three months so the end should be in sight. This morning, however, will go down in my personal memoirs as the worst ever. Not even crackers helped. Your father says it's worse this morning because I over-indulged at the Fourth of July carnival. I have tried to explain to him that over-eating is a way of life on holidays but he insists on being practical. OK, so maybe I shouldn't have ridden the ferris wheel five times but I really love the feeling of being up high combined with the thrill of dropping towards the earth as the chair goes over the top. And I know I'll be too big in the fall to ride the one at the fair. Not to mention the fact that your father absolutely refused to hear of me riding the roller coaster. It was a little one anyway, nothing as exciting as the big one they had at last year's fair.

Uh-Oh - I've got to go now - the crackers are attacking.

Love,
Mama

***************

"God, Mom - heights!", Peter thoughts were almost panicked, "I hate heights." With a shudder, he shuffled through the stack for another letter.

***************

August 22, 1965

My Darling Child,

It's been really, really hot today. I've never been one to sweat on a hot day but I have to admit that today became the exception. I've never been hotter in my life. If I'm this hot this early in my pregnancy, I really don't ever plan to be at the end of a pregnancy during summer. Yes, baby, I definitely do not want you to be an only child. Your father was an only and says there's nothing wrong with it but I think siblings are definitely way to go.

Confession time, sweetheart - your father is a little annoyed with me right now. I had to get out of the house, the walls were closing in, so I went for a walk by the lake. Water is so peaceful - it calms the mind as nothing else can. Unfortunately, I left in such a hurry that I forgot to leave him a note. I didn't realize how much time had passed until I got home. Kwai Chang wasn't home but his work clothes were. That's when I realized that I'd been gone over four hours. He came in about that time and, well, the fireworks began. I'm afraid that I took offense at his 'where have you been, Laura?' question. For some reason, I thought he was being unreasonable. I don't know why. Ok - the loud noises only come from me - your father never raises his voice. I wish I didn't get so angry so quickly - hopefully you'll get your father's temper. At any rate, he's gone for a walk to give me time to calm down. He'll be back soon and I'll have to apologize for flinging my shoe at him. Thank God, I missed.

I hear Kwai Chang at the door now. He's probably looking for my other shoe to come flying by. But I shall surprise him by apologizing properly. You'll understand all about that when you're older.

Love,
Mama

***************

Peter sat quietly and contemplated the letter. "Oh, geez, Mom, so that's where my temper came from. Funny that Pop never mentioned it. I'm sure he had to notice. Oh, well, next letter." Once again, he reached into the stack but this time he deliberately reached for the only pink envelope in the bunch.

**************

September 17, 1965

Dearest Baby,

It's finally decided. After much discussion and hours of unrelenting pleading on my part, the names have been chosen: Peter Matthew or Sara Elizabeth. Peter for my father, Matthew for Kwai Chang's. Sara Elizabeth for my mother and sister. I wish I could have met Matthew as much as I wish Kwai Chang could have met my family. Your paternal grandfather died when your father was a teenager. My parents and sister died in a plane crash before your father and I met. I'm sorry, my darling, that you'll only have your father and myself - at least at first. Mind now - YOU weren't planned but your younger brothers and sisters will definitely be. Hopefully, you'll have sister next - I always did like Sara Elizabeth.

Your father still doesn't believe that I know you're a boy, my son - Peter. And it will be Peter, not Pete, Petey or any other of the host of horrible nicknames that get pushed onto innocent children.

Oh, my, you're moving again - how could your father possibly think you could be anything other than a boy with THAT kick. And your appetite, at least I assume it's yours - mine was never this large, is unrelenting. I'm going to end this letter now and see if there's any pizza left. I hope your father didn't throw it away - he thinks I need more fruits and vegetables. Personally, I think pizza is the perfect food.

I Love You, Peter,
Mama

***************

Peter Caine slowly lowered the letter to the table. "Odd," he thought, "that I never even asked where my name came from." Peter, Sara and Elizabeth - the grandparents and aunt that would forever remain strangers to him.

***************

Kwai Chang Caine finished administering the last of his herbal medicines to the sick child, repacked his bag and gave more care instructions to her parents. He then left the house, having politely but firmly refused to join them for the noontime meal. He hoped he had not been rude, but all morning he had felt the shift in his son's chi grow stronger. Peter was not frightened or ill - the sensation the worried father pick up the most was one of sorrow, strangely mixed with joy.

Peter sat quietly for a few moments then sent his thoughts in search of his father.

[Father?]

[Yes, my son?]

[N-nothing, never-mind]

As quickly as Peter had established the connection, he shut it down, afraid that his father would pick up too much. Afraid that Kwai Chang Caine would know too many of Peter's emotions before Peter had a handle on them.

With the abrupt shut-down, Caine picked up his pace in anticipation of his son's need.

Peter slowly reached out and chose another letter.

***************

September 25, 1965

Dear Peter,

Oh, dear, that sounds sooo formal but still better than just calling you baby or worse 'it'. You and I know that you're Peter not Sara and I refuse to continue writing you without using your name. So there, Kwai Chang Caine!

I've found the perfect cradle, my darling. It's much too expensive to buy but I can at least look at it in the furniture store occasionally. I'm trying hard not to let your father see me looking. It hurts him when he can't get me what he thinks I really want. As if I could truly want anything but him and now you.

Now for a confession - I'll never learn to sew or knit. I just can't seem to sit still that long. There's so much to DO getting ready for you. Okay, so maybe, I haven't given the domestic arts a fair try but they are so BORING. At least I've learned to cook, although your father might argue with that. If he had his way rice would be served three times per day. Don't tell him but I really hate rice! Now as to sewing and knitting, I've tried, honest but even Kwai Chang decided I should give up the battle when he saw the sweater I was knitting you. It is NOT my fault that the sleeves were much too long. I don't remember Kwai Chang ever laughing that hard. Bless him, he tried not to laugh when he picked up the sweater but the arms did him in. He actually collapsed as he asked me if we were having a baby or a gorilla. I love to see him laugh. True deep laughter is almost foreign to him but he smiles more every day. The larger I grow, the bigger his smile.

I think he suspects that I write you but he never lets on. He knows so much without being told. I'm constantly amazed at the depths of his perceptions. He's spending more and more time touching my stomach. The more active you get, the more he delights in feeling your movements. I can feel the bond developing between the two of you. You're definitely going to be your father's son.

I love you, my son,
Mama

***************

Peter wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to stifle his laughter. "What I am doing?", he muttered to himself, "Mom won't know I'm laughing or will she?" The image of his father collapsing to the floor in laughter was one he could not quite bring into focus. "Really, Pop, A gorilla??"

Kwai Chang Caine stopped suddenly on the street. The image he had received from his son was that of a, a gorilla?. What was Peter doing? Caine could feel Peter's surging emotions and realized that the gorilla image had not been meant for his thoughts. Another image sprang unbidden into his mind, that of a sweater with long arms. "Surely that didn't come from Peter, he wasn't even born, couldn't have known about the sweater." Caine thought with a grin. He fondly remembered the misshapen sweater, Laura's one and only attempt at knitting. She'd never known that he had retrieved it from the trash and kept it hidden. He hadn't know why at the time, only that it was important that he keep it. He supposed that he had planned to join forces with his unborn child someday to tease Laura about it but that was not to be. Caine had kept it after her death but had lost it in the same fire that had, he thought, claimed his son.

Peter suddenly realized that he was beginning to sense his father's emotions and clamped down firmly on his thoughts as he opened another letter.

***************

October 11, 1965

Oh Peter,

I don't have much time to write right now but I just had to let you know that your bed awaits. It's not the cradle from the store, it's much, much better. As I feared your father caught me looking. He didn't say anything but the darling went to a friend of his who's a master carpenter. You guessed, it - your father bartered his way into your cradle. I've never seen anything so absolutely wonderful.
I hope Kwai Chang knows how special he is - I try to tell him but I'm never sure he hears me.

Farewell for now,
Love,
Mama

***************

Even though as a father, every fiber of his being said hurry, Caine suddenly allowed the priest to take over. He realized that he had to know what Peter was doing. Digressing slightly from his path, he moved to sit quietly in the park in Chinatown. Drawing upon his chi, he began to center himself.

***************

November 15, 1965

Dearest Peter,

Less than a month to go and I can't wait. Not that you'll care but I look like an elephant. Your father commented the other day that it looked as if I was going to have a litter rather than a baby. I, of course, cried - he apologized for his insensitivity.

A litter indeed. I may yet forgive him for that but it's much too soon to decide for sure. Who am I kidding? I'd forgiven him before he got the apology out of his mouth. How could I not forgive those eyes.

You're going to love your nursery. I know the 'experts' say you won't be able to see much but you are the child of a Shaolin. I think you'll see a lot more than they say. Since I'm the only one who's sure you're a boy, the nursery wasn't done in varying shades of blue, like I wanted. (I feel another apology coming from your father when you're born, but, oh, well.) The walls are pale green, with red, blue and yellow balloons. Abby (my cohort in crime from college), painted the balloons. The crib sheets, blankets and padding are smothered in Teddy Bears and balloons. Sue Ann gave us a Teddy Bear nursery lamp which is absolutely wonderful. Then there's the rocking chair. Your father found it in a second-hand store and was able to repair and refinish it without my finding out. Abby painted balloons and Teddy Bears on it and managed not to tell me. That must have hurt - she never could keep a secret. Kwai Chang just beamed when he gave me the chair. God - could I be any happier than I am right now??

I have to go for now - your father will be home soon. None too soon actually cause I don't think I can get out of this chair. Maybe I am having a litter.

All My Love,
Mama

***************

As Caine focused his thoughts on his son, Peter's image began to take shape in his mind. Peter was curled into a tight knot on his sofa. He appeared to be surrounded by, paper? No, stationary. Shaken, Caine quickly broke his intrusion into his son's being, as his thoughts tumbled head over heels into the past. Images of Laura sitting writing something but trying not to let him see. He had known at the time she was writing to their unborn child but didn't want him to know. Caine had never told her he knew what she was doing but he suspected that she knew that he knew. He'd never found any letters after her death and assumed that she had destroyed them. Surely those had not found their way into Peter's hands. Caine rose quickly and left the park, his need to join his son increasing with every passing moment.

Peter couldn't stand it any longer. He quickly thumbed further into the stack until he found the first letter after his birth.

***************

December 6, 1965

Darling Peter,

Yesterday you were born and your father graciously acknowledged that I, your mother, was once again correct - at least about your sex.

Since your father and I had opted for natural childbirth, he was right with me throughout my labor. I fear I was not very nice - I seem to recall doubting the veracity of his parentage at certain stages of labor.

Confession time again - I've counted your fingers and toes at least ten times. All present and accounted for. I count them every time I hold you. You're finally through feeding again - I was right, it was your appetite. God, I don't want this feeling to end. You are so tiny and vulnerable and utterly irreplaceable. You have your father's eyes but I think yours will be hazel not brown. Your mouth I think is mine. Your nose is, well, I'm not quite sure. And your personality I'm afraid is also mine. Your father doesn't seem to mind. He cannot stop smiling at the sight of you. It's odd, I know mothers have a bond with their children but everytime he holds you, I sense the bond growing between the two of you. It almost frightens me in its intensity. I feel somehow, almost shut out when the two of you are together, as if I don't exist. Perhaps, no, it's just imagination.

I hate it, my love, when the nurse comes to take you back to the nursery so I can get some rest. Only a few more days and I, uh, we can take you home. I promise my love - once we're home, I'll never let you out of my site.

Love and many, many kisses
Mama

***************

The tears came again, sorrow this time. "Oh, Mom," Peter sighed, "I wish you hadn't broken that promise. Not your fault, but ..." Peter left the thought unfinished.

Caine hesitated only briefly at the door to Peter's apartment. He debated for only a moment the courtesy of knocking before he released the lock and let himself in. The empty outer box sat discarded by the door, the Braniff, on its return address standing out boldly in the light of the foyer. Caine moved swiftly toward his son's living room, slowing slightly at the sight of the letters. The unusually still form of his son gave him a gauge into Peter's emotional state.

"Am I invited?"

Peter didn't look up but instead shifted on the sofa to make room for his father. Caine hesitated for a moment before joining his son. Only then did Caine reach for a stack labeled 'for my one true love'. Together they would rediscover Laura.

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