"How are ya this mornin', Miss Annie?"
"I'm feeling a great deal stronger, Rye, thank you." He took the tray and looked like he was going to rush out of the room, too. "Is everything all right with Mr. Tatterton, Rye?"
"He looks all right. He's workin' in his office."
"He said the strangest things to me just before, and for a few moments he acted as though he didn't even know it was me."
"Maybe he was jes' havin' a dream," he said. "When peoples gets to be his age, they're often confused when they first gets up in the mornin'."
"He had already been up some time. And as for age, you're older than Tony, Rye, and you don't get confused, in the morning, do you?"
"Yes, ma'am, sometimes I does. 'Specially after last night." I stared at him.
"Last night? Why?" He seemed reluctant to speak. "What's wrong, Rye? Please tell me."
"Old Rye don't speak outa turn, Miss Annie, but are ya stayin' much longer?"
"Not much. I'm getting better quickly."
"Dat's good. The old ghosts been riled up somethin' terrible. I heard them wanderin' about all night last night."
"Oh. The old ghosts?" I smiled.
"Jes' the same, Miss Annie, I hopes you get better fast and gets back to your own home now. Not that old Rye don't want'cha here. You brings back the best memories ta me. I jes' don't want ya haunted none."
"Well, I'll keep my eyes open, Rye." He nodded. I couldn't make him laugh about it. Ghosts and spirits were things he took seriously. He nodded and left with the tray.
To get my mind off these things, I went back to my painting. Perhaps because of my regained strength and new hopeful outlook about myself, I felt like adding color to the work. I concentrated on the trees and foliage in the monument's background and then I found the brightest green for the grass. I made the sky azure blue instead of storm gray. I worked on everything in the picture except the man at the monument.
Sometime, just after lunch, Drake arrived. He came charging into the room like a man hurrying to catch a train and quickly kissed me on the cheek. Ever since he had started working for Tony, he had taken on this frantic pace. It was as if his whole life were fixed on a schedule. I sensed that he had planned out just how much time he would spend with me, and when the gold watch Tony had recently given him announced the hour, he would leave no matter what. Drake seemed so changed, so much more a stranger. I could only hope it wasn't true of Luke as well, that when he finally arrived, I wouldn't find him radically different. That was my biggest fear.
Apparently, no one had told Drake about my improvement.
"You mean no one told you all that has happened? Mrs. Broadfield practically poisoning me to get her way, Tony firing her, my recovery!" I cried in astonishment.
"Well, I haven't seen Tony yet. I just rushed right in and up here. But you tell me. What did the nurse do?"
I described it all quickly. Drake sat back, shaking his head.
"I was never crazy about her, but she came so highly recommended. It just shows you how hard it is to find competent good people out there. I'm finding the same thing in business. I'm doing some hiring, too, you know." He paused and stared at me a moment. Then he smiled. "You do look different, excited, stronger. Now what's this about a recovery?"
"I stood up . . . on my own!" I cried, impatient with his complacency.
"When?" He looked skeptical.
"Last night. I can do it now, but the doctor and Tony are telling me I have to go slowly. Oh, Drake, don't want to go slowly. I'm so anxious to walk out of here."
He nodded thoughtfully, gazing at me with his eyes narrow and sharp, just the way Tony often did.
"I'm sure what they are telling you, they are telling you for your own good, Annie."
"But it doesn't seem right," I insisted. "I know I can stand. I should be doing it more often, getting my legs used to it again, building their strength. And I should be using that walker," I said, pointing to it in the corner. "What's the point of having, it if I don't use it?"
He shrugged.
"It's probably something that has to be done at a certain point or . . . it'll do more harm than good. I don't know, Annie. I'm not going to be a doctor."
"Luke is," I said. He winced as though I had slapped him, but I couldn't help my feelings. "I wish he was here. I don't understand why he's not here," I said and folded my arms across my chest.
"I've left messages."
"He's not getting them." I pouted.
"All of them?"
"It's not like him," I contended.
"People change, especially when they go off to college. I think I told you that."
"Not Luke," I insisted. "Drake, do you care about me? Really care about me?"
"Of course. How could you even ask such a question?"
"Then I want you to wheel me out of here. I'll go downstairs on my chair elevator and you will wheel me to the nearest telephone. I want to call Luke myself now. Tony promised to have a phone installed in this room, but he hasn't done it yet, and I have real doubts that he has made any real attempt to contact Luke for me."
"Why? If he said he tried . . . and if he promised to get you a phone--"
"No, no, he forgets what he says and what he promises. You don't see him the way I do, Drake. I think Tony is somewhat senile, and he's getting worse and worse each passing day."
"What? Now, I've been working with--"
"Listen to me, Drake. Sometimes, when he speaks to me, he gets everything confused . . talking about my mother, my grandmother, my greatgrandmother. He forgets who's dead and who isn't. I'm sorry now that I let him and his beautician talk me into dying my hair this color. It's adding to his confusion." Now that I was telling Drake everything, it all seemed more serious to me than it had been before.
He smiled and shook his head. "Annie, you're the one who's beginning to sound senile."
"No, Drake. There are odd things going on . . . the way he keeps Mommy and Daddy's old suite, and my great-grandmother Jillian's suite . . as if everyone's still alive. Even Rye Whiskey thinks things are weird. Of course, he talks about ghosts wandering the halls, but he knows things. He wants me to go home!" I exclaimed. All this time, I realized, I was feeling sorry for Tony. I was trying to understand why he was like he was and I was making excuses for it. But now that I listed everything, I realized I should be feeling more sorry for myself. I could be trapped in the home of a madman, not just someone who went into memory lapses from time to time.
"Rye wants you to leave?" Drake shook his head. "Now there's someone senile."
"And Tony keeps Jillian's room like a museum," I continued, feeling desperate for Drake to understand my worries, "He doesn't let anyone in there. It's weird. You should have seen him a short while ago, mumbling about not permitting my hillbilly relatives to come live here. . ," I shook my head. "Do you know all the glass has been taken out of the mirrors in Jillian's room and--"
"Hold on a minute, my head is spinning." He sat back. "Get you downstairs to call Luke, Tony's turned a suite into a museum suite, Tony's confused, you wish you hadn't dyed your hair . . . could this all be because of some medicine you're taking?"
"Drake, aren't you listening to me?" He just stared. "I'm beginning to feel afraid. I want to be cooperative and do what everyone thinks I should, but I can't help wondering what Tony's going to do next."
"Tony?" he said, still disbelieving. "I never met anyone as kind, as loving, as devoted to us as Tony."
"Wheel me out," I demanded. "Now."
"Let me talk to your doctor."
"No," I said quickly, a new possibility coming to mind. "He's under Tony's employ. He does what makes Tony happy." The real possibility of that drove a sword of cold terror through my heart. "My God . . . what if . . ." I looked around the room, frantic now.
"Even the doctor is no good? Annie, you should hear yourself. You're just overwrought because of all you've gone through . . . the accident, your crippled state . . the service at the tomb . . . I u
nderstand how you feel, but you really do have one of the best doctors and you are getting the best possible care here. I'm sure you'll have a new nurse by the end of the day and--"
"Oh, what's the use?" I said, lowering my head. He couldn't see what was going on here, or . . . I raised my head and looked at him. Or he didn't want to see because he was so happy about the new executive position Tony had given him. He was in love with his own power and authority. In a real sense, Tony had done something he had done before--he had bought Drake. "You just won't listen. I thought I could depend on you. With my parents gone, you and Luke and Aunt Fanny . . ."
I felt sick inside, sick and alone. My heart felt hollow, an echo chamber filled with my empty cries, cries that would be heard by no one because the people who had once really loved me were dead. Even Luke seemed dead to me now.
"Look," he said, reaching out to take my hands quickly, "I'm on my way to New York. I've got a rather big project all on my own to run. I'll be gone a few days and then come right back here, and if you still feel the same way about all this, take you back to Winnerrow myself."
"Will you? Promise?" Somehow, I didn't hold much hope for that.
"Of course. I'll simply take charge of your recovery myself, get our own doctors, our own nurses--"
"Oh, Drake, I wish you could do that now."
"Just give it a few more days, Annie. You might be jumping the gun here, and we could set you back by starting all over again. You've got to be sure it's the right decision, but ... if you are, I promise to help you."
He kissed me softly on the cheek and held me to him, and then he jumped up as if a buzzer had gone off in his businessman's head.
"I've got a plane to catch."
"But Drake, I thought you would at least take me downstairs to call Luke."
"There's really no point in calling him and calling him. He'll come when he wants to come."
"Drake, please," I begged, really begged to make him understand how important this was to me.
He gazed down at me a moment and then nodded. "I'll speak to Tony on the way out. He's sure to do it."
"But Drake--"
"Keep your chin up, Annie. Everything will be all right. You'll see. At least you've gone back to your painting," he said, pointing to the easel. He didn't even go over to look at my work. He smiled quickly, like some automated functionary, and waved as he backed quickly out of the room, obviously afraid I was going to insist on something that might bring him into a conflict with Tony. I was so disappointed in him, Drake, the uncle who had been more like a big brother to me, now acting more like some stranger.
In a moment he was gone and I was left with the silence that made me more aware of my
helplessness. I was alone once more, trapped like a wounded animal in a gilded cage.
More determined than ever, I wheeled myself to the door and opened it. Then I wheeled myself through the sitting room and opened the outside door. I wheeled down the corridor toward the stairway. Looking down, I saw there was no one below, but my second wheelchair was just where Tony had promised it would be--next to the foot of the stairway. I unfastened and lifted up the chair arm so I could pull myself into the elevator chair just the way Tony and the technician had shown me. Securely in it, the belt fastened, I pressed the down button and began to descend. My heart was pounding, but I was determined to be rebellious, determined to end this state of imprisonment.
The chair came to a halt at the bottom of the stairway and I worked my way into the wheelchair that waited. Encouraged by my success so far, I began to wheel myself over the carpeted corridor toward Tony's office.
The office door was slightly open. I paused, heard nothing from within, but pushed on anyway. A single small reading lamp was on at the desk, but other than that, the room was relatively dark, the closed curtains locking out the afternoon sunlight. I looked around. There was no one there. Where had Tony gone? I sat back in my chair, frustrated.. Then my eyes settled on the phone on Tony's desk.
Finally, an opportunity to speak with Luke myself! I wheeled myself to the desk. It wasn't until I picked up the receiver that I realized I had no idea how to reach him, I had no number. What was the name of the dormitory he was living in? Drake had never told me.
I dialed information and asked for Harvard. The operator, annoyed with my lack of specifics, began reading off a list of possible offices. When she mentioned the housing administration, I stopped her. A tape-recorded voice came on and recited a number. I called and explained what I wanted as soon as someone answered. The secretary was very kind. She told me most of the students hadn't gotten their phones hooked up in their rooms yet, but she gave me the number of the phone on Luke's dorm floor. I thanked her and dialed again.
A young man answered. He sounded like a Bostonian, a younger version of Tony.
"I need to speak with Luke Casteel. This is his cousin Annie. It's urgent."
"Wait one moment, please."
I waited, watching the office doorway, expecting Tony to arrive any moment. I couldn't help feeling that I was doing something he would disapprove of. I hated the idea that a mere phone call seemed so adventurous.
"Miss?"
"Yes?"
"Luke Casteel is in class now. His roommate said he would tell him you called."
"Oh, but. . please, tell him more. Please," I begged.
"Why, of course. What would you like me to tell him?"
"Tell him . tell him I need him desperately, and no matter what anyone says, he should come to Farthy immediately."
"Farthy?"
"Yes, he'll understand. Make sure you say immediately. It's very, very important."
"And this is Annie?"
"Yes."
"Okay,Ill give the message to his roommate, who will most assuredly give it to him."
"Thank you."
"You're very welcome."
I cradled the phone. My heart had started to pound again, thumping so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. The excitement gave me a cold flush. I felt the beads of sweat that had broken out on the back of my neck.
I straightened up in my chair and caught my breath, forcing myself to calm down. Where was Tony? He had told me he was coming down here to do business in his office. Maybe he had gone to get a new nurse. I wheeled myself out to the corridor again and listened. The house was so quiet.
I went to the front door and opened it. Sunlight burst in upon me like a wave of warm water. I blinked and then closed my eyes and lay back as if I were on a beach. How wonderful to feel the fresh air and the warmth after having been locked in a room so long! It filled me with strength and hope. My heart grew stronger, and as the blood pulsated more quickly around my body, my limbs felt whole and well again.
I sat up and rolled my chair forward and out onto the portico, and there it was, just as Tony had described: a wooden ramp. But it looked so steep. Dare I try to wheel myself down it? What would happen when I wanted to wheel myself back up? I wondered.
Fear gripped me. I had gone too far, I thought. Now I was doing too much. But as I remained there in the opened doorway staring at the ramp, I thought of Luke. I could hear him telling me, "Go for the tall ones." What was I going to do now . . . turn back and retreat to my room, beaten down?
I was strong enough, I told myself. My body wasn't going to disappoint me. Slowly, I wheeled myself to the ramp. How my heart was pounding! But I refused to be defeated. I had to do it.
The wheels went up. I tottered at the top of the ramp and then . . I began to descend. My arms were barely strong enough to keep the wheels from spinning on their own. It did take more effort than I had anticipated to keep the chair straight and in control, but I reached the bottom and spilled off onto the walkway. I had done it!
I had done all this and still felt able to go on.
I looked down to my right, but the sounds of someone talking turned me to the left. Most likely Tony was out there overseeing some work, I thought, and I began to wheel down the walkway to my le
ft. The pitted stone made it difficult at times, but I found a smooth rhythm and took myself a good five hundred feet from the front of Farthy before pausing.
I saw a handyman down by the pool. He carried what looked like a lounge chair into the storage building. There was no one else- around. For a few moments I stared at the large gazebo and thought about Luke. At least I felt sure now he would get my message. He would understand how important it was for him to come, how desperate I had been. Perhaps he had felt I had deserted him because he hadn't heard directly from me for so long. Perhaps I had been wrong, horribly wrong, to think bad thoughts about him, to accept Drake's assertion that Luke had changed just because he was at college and meeting new people, especially new girls. He would come here immediately, I knew he would.
How I wished I was gazing upon my own gazebo in Winnerrow now. How I wished Luke were already here, waiting for me.
Behind this gazebo arid farther off to the left was the maze. Seeing it fro; a seated position in my wheelchair, I recalled what Drake had said about it looking so large because he was so small that first time he had seen it. It did look large, formidable, mysterious; yet I couldn't help being drawn to it, wanting to wander through it, just as I imagined my mother and her mother must have done.
"Would you like to go in there?" a voice asked. nearly jumped out of my wheelchair. I struggled to turn to the right so I could see who was suddenly behind me. It took me a few moments, for he didn't help me. But finally, by backing up and turni g and backing up again, I got myself around. At first I saw no one and thought I had imagined someone speaking.
Then he stepped out from behind a tall hedge.
Shadows still draped his face, but I knew immediately I was looking up at the mysterious man who had knelt alone at my parents' monument. It was as if he had stepped out of my paintings and drawings, stepped out of my imagination and now stood before me in the real world.
NINETEEN The Other Side of the Maze
. Who you?" I gazed up at him in fascination. He had stepped out of the shadows and stood before me with his hands in his pants pockets. Although he was tall and lean, his shoulders were broad. He had unruly copper-brown hair that was graying along his temples, long hair that curled up at the ends, just brushing the white collar of his thin artist's smock with very full sleeves.
Casteel 04 Gates of Paradise Page 26
