Without comment, Tyler walked toward the stairs, and Kelsey followed.
“So the decision has been made. For now at least. You can come tomorrow morning, if you like.” He spoke in what seemed to her a studied indifference. “Give Ginnie time to get him ready for the day. Ten o’clock should be all right.”
“Let me stay with him for a little while now,” Kelsey urged. “There’s some afternoon left, and I’d like to use every moment I have.”
“If you like.” Tyler still sounded coldly indifferent, and the indignation Kelsey had been trying to restrain began to rise.
“Don’t throw your son away!”
They stood in the big living room, and her words echoed. She expected his anger to lash out at her, but instead he spoke quietly.
“Do you really think I want to do that?”
“I hope not,” she said.
He left her abruptly, and she found her way to Jody’s room. As she reached the open door, she heard sounds of pain and fear, and she stood for a moment watching.
Ginnie and Hana, the maid, had lifted Jody out of his bed, and were supporting his stiffened body between them. They held him for a few seconds in an upright position, his feet flat on the floor, encased in lamb’s wool supports. The boy’s head lolled forward on his chest, and he made small animal sounds of distress.
“We’ll try the chair now,” Ginnie said, and Kelsey went to help.
Padded with blankets, an armchair with a high back stood near the bed, and they carried Jody to it and set him down gently. Straps were fastened to hold him in place, and the back of the chair supported his head. Once his head was raised, Kelsey could see the scar the trach tube had left at the base of his throat. That scar belonged to the hospital time, when he’d needed help at first with his breathing.
Ginnie bent to place Jody’s feet in their supports, carefully on a stool. The right angle of the foot must be preserved if Jody was to stand and walk again with his feet flat on the ground. If they “froze” so they were permanently pointed he would be in trouble.
Ginnie thanked Hana and when she’d gone, looked questioningly at Kelsey.
“Mr. Hammond said I might start this afternoon, Ginnie. If Jody’s not too tired. What exercises do you do with him?”
“So far, just range of motion—a couple of times a day to keep his muscles and joints working.”
Jody sat upright in the chair, held in place, his eyes staring at nothing. His arms turned inward in the familiar spastic stiffening that was always disturbing to see, though these very movements would help to keep his muscles from atrophy. His mother, in her bed upstairs, whether willfully or neurotically unable to move, might be in even more danger of permanent damage.
“What would you like to try?” Ginnie asked. Her attractive wide-cheekboned face expressed her own anxiety about her young patient. Ginnie Soong would never be uninvolved.
“Nothing very drastic.” Kelsey pulled a straight chair next to Jody’s and sat down. She took his right hand and removed the terry washcloth around which his fingers were curled—to keep them from turning into stiff claws—and straightened them gently. This small boy’s hand had once been talented and creative, but now the fingers were without life.
“Listen to me, Jody,” Kelsey said, her words slow and distinct. “I know you can hear me and understand. I want you to help me. Can you press my fingers, Jody? Just a little?”
There was nothing, no response.
“Can you move one finger—only one finger?”
Again, nothing. Kelsey leaned so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and it seemed that some awareness looked out at her. No one could tell how far Jody could see, or if he could focus at all, since he didn’t respond to signals. Yet she was sure something was there.
“I want you to try very hard to help me, Jody,” Kelsey said. She put her hands on his shoulder, covered by the thin hospital gown, and pressed gently, stroking downward. “Think about my fingers, Jody. Feel them as they move. Think about following them. Make your thoughts flow right down to your arm—into your fingers.”
Kelsey had taken a few classes in what was called “therapeutic touch”—a more scientific development of the “laying on of hands”—and she stroked downward slowly, gently, firmly, murmuring to him in a voice she knew was soothing, unfrightening. Almost anything could hurt him now, and he couldn’t tell anyone where the hurt might be. Her hands moved the length of his arm, pressing his wrist lightly, the back of his hand, and then into each separate finger, letting her own energy flow from her mind, her own fingers, into his.
“The strength will come, Jody. I know it will. Think your way down your arm with me. Let’s try it again—all the way.”
His spasticity seemed to lessen just a little.
“See, Jody—the feeling is beginning to come. You probably think you’ve lost your hands because you can’t feel them. But you haven’t. They’re right here where I’m stroking. Let me show you.”
His arm had relaxed enough so that she could bend it at the elbow and raise his hand to the level of his eyes. When a patient could become aware of his own hands and make the necessary eye contact with them, sometimes voluntary movement became possible.
She lowered his hands and spoke to him again. “Now move this first finger, Jody. I can give you some of my energy to help, but you have to use your own too. Move your finger just a little, so I can tell that you’re listening.”
Nothing happened, and once more she began at his shoulder, pouring her own healing force into him as her hands moved. Praying a little as well. This time more of the stiffness seemed to be released, so that his fingers began to go limp.
“That’s wonderful, Jody. You’re doing it! I knew you could. Now if you can, make this finger move in any way at all. Think hard, Jody—make it move.”
As his hand rested in hers, two fingers twitched slightly, and Ginnie, who had been watching closely exclaimed in triumph, “You made your fingers move, Jody—you did!”
Nothing more happened, and Kelsey knew that so great an effort had tired him. Now she would attempt a different form of stimulation.
“Ginnie, do you have any picture books that you’ve been reading to Jody—anything with animal pictures?”
Ginnie went to a shelf and picked out a book with large colored illustrations. Kelsey opened it to the picture of a roaring lion, and held the book before Jody’s face.
“Can you see this, Jody? Do you know what it is? If you do, just blink your eyes once.”
He blinked several times, and Ginnie shook her head. “We’ve tried that so often, but he can’t control the blinking. So we don’t know whether it’s a reflex or an attempt to answer. Though I think he’s trying to tell us.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kelsey said. “It will come, Jody. Look at the picture again. You know what it is, don’t you? It’s an elephant, isn’t it?”
An almost visible struggle seemed to be going on inside Jody. His mouth moved soundlessly, as if in pain, and his eyes seemed to stare at the picture. A sudden explosive sound burst from his lips—a discernible “No!”
She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I knew you could tell us. It’s a lion, isn’t it?”
Jody’s tongue tried to touch her cheek. The gesture was spastic, but it was nevertheless a response.
“I understand what you mean, Jody. You’d like to kiss me back. One of these days you will. Right now, your tongue is the easiest part of you to move. Let’s go back to the picture. It is a lion, isn’t it?”
Jody produced three more “no’s” quite clearly, and Kelsey laughed. “Yes is a lot harder to say than no. But this time I think you mean yes. You’ve made a big step ahead today, Jody. You are going to talk again. Jody, do you know what happened to you? Do you know why you haven’t been able to move and talk?”
Ginnie shook her head. “No one’s told him because they thought he couldn’t understand. And I was afraid to upset him if he did.”
Kelsey p
icked up his hand again and found the fingers once more stiff. “It’s better to know, isn’t it, Jody? You must have been wondering inside your head—wanting to ask questions. After a while, if you work at it, you’ll be able to speak all those questions out loud yourself. Right now, I’ll try to guess at some of them. You want to know, don’t you?”
“No!” Jody agreed.
“All right. I’ll tell you what happened. You were out at Point Lobos and you had a bad fall onto some rocks, Jody. Your mother was with you and she fell too. But she’s going to be all right. Your head was hurt so that it’s hard for you to think, hard to make words come or any of your muscles move. But these are things you can learn again, and you will. I know how scary it’s been for you there inside, when you couldn’t make anyone understand. But that’s over now. You’ve started on the way back. Haven’t you, Jody?”
“No, no, no!” Jody cried.
Kelsey and Ginnie fell into each other’s arms. The sound at the door made them look around. Tyler Hammond stood watching, and the mask he usually wore had slipped a little. He too had seen and heard.
“Show your father, Jody,” Kelsey urged. “Say your word.”
But the hint of expression had vanished from Jody’s eyes, and they no longer held any focus. It was as though his father’s very presence had ended the tremendous effort he’d just made.
“It’s all right,” Kelsey assured him. “You can try another time. I know you’re tired now. I’ll come to see you tomorrow, and we’ll do this again. We’re going to do a lot together, Jody. You aren’t alone. So I’ll say good-bye for now. Think about that yes word too—think about how to say it, and one of these days you’ll say it in the right places too.”
She kissed him again on the cheek, but this time he didn’t reach out with his tongue. Her eyes shining, Kelsey went into the hall to face his father. “Did you hear what your son managed? The ‘n’ sound is easiest. Saying no will do something for his confidence next time.”
“What good will that do?” Tyler asked. “I mean, what if he comes back to the mind of a three-year-old, and that’s all he’ll ever be for as long as he lives? My God, what’s the use?”
He looked so tall and made of granite, and he was dark with true despair, but Kelsey felt almost impatient enough to shake him.
“Nobody knows that, including you. So do you have the right to make the choice you seem to be making? Tell me something—has Jody been outside his room at all in the month he’s been home?”
“Ginnie has carried him onto a balcony a few times, so he could sit in the sun.”
“That’s something, but I’d like to try more. He needs stimulation, change, interest. Something to wake up his mind. Have you any idea how boring it must be for him there inside his head when he can’t communicate at all? No wonder he drops into nothingness!”
Tyler was staring as though her words had startled him. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not sure it’s even true.”
She wouldn’t argue with him about that. “This is probably the first case of this kind you’ve ever seen. I’ve worked with a great many. They’re all different, and we don’t take anything for granted. Is there a place where Jody used to like to go with you? Something that was special for him—a treat?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then let’s get him there tomorrow. I’ll tell him in the morning so he’ll know something interesting is going to happen. Whether he’s one year old, or nine—he’s not a vegetable. We can take him anywhere you choose. I’d like to come too, of course, to see what happens.”
“I’ll think about it,” Tyler said woodenly.
“Of course he really ought to have a wheelchair. One with a special back that would support his head. I can give you the specifications, if you’ll order one.”
This time Tyler showed his exasperation. “Look, Mrs. Stewart—you’re forgetting something. The place where Jody is going next week will provide a wheelchair and anything else he needs. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He turned and strode off toward his study. She heard the sound of a door closing.
Ginnie had come into the hall and had listened to the exchange. “I know how much you accomplished today,” she said. “I’ve hoped for this all along, but it’s been hard trying alone, and my skills are different. Kelsey, there are really three sick people in this house—not only Jody. Two of them have the sickness of despair. I think it could even kill Ruth, and it’s already damaged Tyler. So all we can do is concentrate on Jody.” She hesitated for a moment and then went on. “How is Denis?”
“I think he feels shut out. Tyler won’t let him see his sister right now.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best—I don’t know.”
“Why do you think that?”
Ginnie turned back to Jody’s room. “It doesn’t matter. All that trouble was a long time ago. It hasn’t anything to do with Jody. I’d better go back to him now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kelsey found her way to the front door, and as she climbed the steps to the garage area, she paused to look down upon the steel-blue walls and red tiles of La Casa de la Sombra. It was indeed a house of shadow. But Ginnie was right. She must concentrate on the boy. If she could help him to come back, even a little, perhaps that would begin to heal his mother and father too.
Movement at an upper window caught her eye. Someone stood behind glass, watching her. She recognized Dora Langford’s fluff of white hair, but when Ruth’s mother saw that Kelsey had discovered her, she disappeared from view.
Kelsey wondered who might tell her what was really going on in this house. There seemed to be even more tension here than the tragedies themselves could explain. Tonight she would talk to her aunt again, and perhaps even to Denis. Something terribly disturbing must have happened, even before the accident. The photograph she’d seen of Tyler had been taken several years before, and Marisa had caught the torment in his face.
VII
That night at dinner in the cottage, Denis seemed at first more cheerful and hopeful. He listened—and so did Elaine—to every detail that Kelsey related. But then he revealed some of the same doubts Tyler had expressed.
“I don’t know.… If you keep Jody there and he remains a small child mentally, and if he’s still helpless physically, won’t that be more cruel to Ruth and worse for her to deal with? And harder for Tyler as well? He’s being beastly enough as it is.”
“Beastly’s a good word for him,” Kelsey agreed. “He’s an impossible man to deal with, and it’s not fair that he can dictate a sort of death for Jody if he pleases.”
“I finally got through to my mother this afternoon,” Denis said. “She thinks Ruth is more interested in your coming than she wanted to show while Tyler was there, Kelsey. Perhaps you could slip upstairs to see her sometime when he’s not around.”
“I’d like to do that, but I’d better move cautiously. Jody has to come first. I keep wondering why Tyler Hammond is the sort of man he seems to be. What can have made him so hard and cynical?”
Elaine and Denis exchanged looks.
“He’s afraid of good fortune,” Elaine said. “He counts on the worst to happen.”
“But why?”
“It’s not a pretty story, though it may explain a few things about him. Tyler grew up in a small town in Illinois. His father was president of the local bank—very respectable and conservative. His mother was younger than her husband, and I’ve heard Marisa Marsh say that she was a beautiful and unusual woman. Who knows how it happened, but she fell in love with another man—who probably appreciated her. Tyler’s father found out about the affair. He shot her and then killed himself. Tyler’s mother died a few hours later. Tyler was only a little older than Jody, and the awful thing was that he saw it happen. He was there.”
Elaine’s stark telling made the story all the more terrible. This was enough tragedy for one lifetime—too much for a small boy to endure. And now as a man he must suffer still more. With some people awfu
l events made them stronger, better able to deal with whatever happened. Others could turn inward and brood, unable to forget, even when they made themselves seem tough and hard. For the first time, sympathy stirred in Kelsey, but not forgiveness for the way he was behaving toward Jody. “Mrs. Marsh told me that she and her husband raised Tyler. She said he always went his own way.”
“I’m sure he did.” Elaine sounded grim. “I gather that he was bright and talented, but he always had a black temper like his father. All that horror back there in the past must have kept eating at him. Now he has a fatalistic turn of mind. It’s as though this accident to his wife and son were somehow inevitable. In some ways he’s a strong man, but inwardly I think he might crumble if the pressure got too great.”
“I don’t think he’s anywhere near crumbling,” Kelsey said. “But he’s having a bad effect—especially on Jody.”
“Everyone’s afraid of him, including my sister,” Denis said.
“I felt that about your mother too,” Kelsey agreed.
Elaine shook her head. “Don’t underestimate Dora. I’ve known her for a long time. She skitters around as though she were afraid of her own shadow, but there’s more going on than you’d think.”
“Right!” Denis’s grin was rueful. “After all, she put up with the General for all those years without becoming a total doormat.”
Kelsey remembered her glimpse of Dora Langford looking down from an upper window, and her entreaty to help her grandson. If Kelsey needed an ally in that house—someone close to Ruth, perhaps …
Denis seemed to read her mind. “Don’t count on Dora. She’s no doormat, but the only one who matters to her is Ruth—Ruth’s happiness. She’ll be against anything she might think would be bad for my sister, even though you think it might be good for Jody.”
Kelsey heard the bitterness in his voice, and suspected that there could have been times when Dora took her daughter’s side against her son.
When they finished dinner, Denis went off on an errand, and since Elaine had to attend a meeting, Kelsey walked over to Ocean Avenue to explore the village on her own.
Flaming Tree Page 8
