"I'm angry at myself," he explained. "I feel rather responsible for your poor checkup. I shouldn't have permitted you to talk me into telling you all those sad and tragic stories in your parents' old suite yesterday."
"Don't blame yourself," I insisted, but now I was afraid the three of them had changed their minds about the service when they discussed me out in the sitting room. "Tony, you will take me out to the monument tomorrow?"
"The doctor has approved. Certainly, I"ll make the arrangements for the service right now."
"Will you invite Drake and Luke? I want them to be there with me."
"I'll do my best. Drake should return from Winnerrow by dinner time tonight," he said, smiling.
"But Tony, you shouldn't have any trouble finding Luke," I cried. How could he even suggest that? And yet, what if Luke was busy with . . . with some new friend? He would miss the call and the message or get it far too late. I wanted him; I needed him. "Drake found him without much trouble."
"I don't suppose there will be any problem," he said. "I'll put my secretary right on it."
"Thank you, Tony. Thank you." He continued to hold my hand even as I fell back against the pillow.
I closed my eyes. Even this little excitement made me feel weak and tired. I guess they were right about protecting me, I thought. I was thinking I would rest a little more, but Mrs. Broadfield wasn't about to let me sleep.
"Time I got her up and ready for breakfast," she told Tony. He nodded and released my hand.
"I'll return early this afternoon. Have a good morning."
My morning was the same, except I forced
myself to eat every morsel of the breakfast. I didn't want Mrs. Broadfield or anyone coming up with a reason why I shouldn't go to my parents' monument the next day. What if Tony contacted Luke and he was coming and then it was all canceled? His trip here would be canceled. They would certainly forbid him to see me if I couldn't even attend my own parents'
memorial service. The thought of losing an opportunity to finally set eyes on Luke put me in something of a panic. I had to calm myself down before Mrs. Broadfield took note.
After breakfast Mrs. Broadfield performed my morning therapy. I felt her fingers all over my legs, but I didn't say a word for fear that somehow she would use it against me to cancel the memorial service. Whatever pain I now had, I quickly swallowed, making my face as indifferent as possible, and then I spent the remainder of the morning lying in bed watching television. Sometime after lunch, a meal I again finished completely, Tony returned.
"Did you speak to Luke?" I asked him as he came through the doorway.
"No, but I left a message at his dorm. I'm sure he'll call later today, or perhaps he'll just show up at the service. An old friend of mine, Reverend Carter, will lead us in prayer. I've scheduled it for two o'clock."
"But Tony, you should have kept trying until you reached him! Maybe you can try again. Please, Tony!" I begged.
"I'll have someone try again, if I don't. Not to worry, my dear. Please, don't get upset over it."
"I won't," I promised.
Tony seemed surprisingly chipper, most likely because I hadn't decided to leave after his confession.
"You're probably worried about what to wear tomorrow, aren't you?" he asked, completely misreading my look of concern.
"What to wear?"
"You couldn't have a better selection from which to choose," he continued, and went to the closet. He slid open the door to reveal garment after garment.
"There is so much here; Heaven never got an opportunity to wear a lot of it. And the wonderful thing is, everything will fit you!
"Of course," he said, plucking a dress from the rack, "some things were her favorites. I remember she wore this to a funeral once." He held up a black cotton dress with long sleeves and a long skirt and then stroked it lovingly, as if he still saw her in it.
Then he turned to me, that faraway look in his eyes as he recalled a memory.
"Everyone stared at her, mesmerized, when she entered the church and walked down the aisle. Even Reverend Carter looked dazzled. I could see him wondering. Had an angel entered his church to attend the service?" Tony laughed and shook his head. "Just like her mother, black brought out her fairness." He smiled at me. "I'm sure it will do the same for you."
"I'm not worried about how I will look, Tony.
I'm not doing this for other people."
"Oh, I know, but it does honor to your mother's and your grandmother's memories for you to wear something like this." He put the dress down on my bed and stepped back, his gaze hypnotically fixed on it. Then he considered me, "You know, Annie, if you died your hair silvery blond, you would be the image of your grandmother." He looked about quickly and settled on one of the pictures in the silver frames that was on the long vanity table. "Wait, show you what I mean." He got the picture and brought it to me. "See?"
It was a photograph of my grandmother Leigh when she was about my age, and I did have to admit that the resemblance was strong, and would be even stronger had I the light hair, too.
"Won't you consider doing it? Just for a diversion, perhaps, to amuse yourself while you're so confined.
I'll get the best hairdresser around to come up here for you. What do you say?"
"Dye my hair silvery blond? Tony, you're not serious?"
"Absolutely. I couldn't be more serious.
Imagine everyone's surprise when they come to visit you."
"I don't know." I nearly laughed, but then I looked at my grandmother's photograph. There was something fascinating about her face . . her eyes, her nose, her chin were so much like Mother's and mine.
Was this why Mommy had dyed her hair? I wondered.
"There are many pictures of your mother when she had light hair, too," Tony said, as if he knew what I was thinking. He brought me another photo in a silver frame. This one was of Mommy when she and Daddy had first arrived after their marriage. They were down at the private beach. I held the two photographs side by side.
"Interesting, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"When would you want the hairdresser?"
"Tony, I didn't say I wanted to have it done. I don't know."
"You see how beautiful your grandmother was in light hair, and your mother as well. What do you think?" His eyes burned with excitement.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"All this therapy and medicine and solitude can be very boring." He looked about. "Oh, let me do it,"
he pleaded. "Let me hire the hairdresser. You should feel pretty, like a beautiful young woman again and not like an invalid."
I smiled at his exuberance. It would be nice to feel pretty again. I looked down at the photographs. I imagined that having my mother's hair color when she was about my age would make me feel close to her again. She looked so happy there on the beach.
And my grandmother Leigh . . there was
something wildly beautiful about her. The light hair suited her complexion, but would it suit mine?
"Well? What do you think?" he pursued, hovering over me like someone on pins and needles.
"Oh, Tony, I really don't know. I've never thought about dying my hair another color. It could turn out horrible."
"If it doesn't suit you, I'll bring the hairdresser right back to restore your hair to what it is now."
"Maybe after the service, Tony. I don't want to dote on myself right now. Thank you." I handed the photographs back. He was disappointed but nodded with understanding.
"What about this dress?"
"Drake should be bringing me something appropriate. I included a black dress of my own on the list." "Won't you at least try it on?"
I saw how much it meant to him and began to wonder myself how I might look in it.
"I will."
"I'll send Mrs. Broadfield right in to help you.
After you have it on, call me," he added, rushing out before I could say another word. I hadn't meant I would try it on right this moment, but he l
ooked as excited as a child on Christmas morning. I couldn't see denying him. A moment later Mrs. Broadfield appeared. She didn't look happy about it.
"It's not necessary to do this right now, Mrs.
Broadfield, if you're busy with something."
"If I were, I wouldn't be here." She took the dress of the bed and looked at it a moment. Then she shrugged to herself and came around to help me sit up and slip off my nightgown. After she and I got the dress on me, she helped me into the wheelchair so I could see myself in the largest wall mirror.
Because I was seated, it was difficult to
appreciate what I looked like in this dress, but I did think it made me look older. I hadn't taken much care with my hair since the accident, and now that I put on something other than a nightgown, it made me more aware of how terrible I looked. My hair looked dirty, stringy, greasy. The black dress brought out the paleness in my face and the fatigue in my eyes. I nearly burst into tears seeing myself.
Mrs. Broadfield stood to the side, her arms folded, watching me like some bored saleswoman in a clothing store. Helping me on with a dress was obviously not part of what she considered to be her nursing duties. I didn't hear Tony reenter. He stood just inside the doorway, staring. After a moment I felt his eyes on me and turned toward him. His face was enraptured, twisted in that strange smile I had been seeing more and more of lately. Mrs. Broadfield said nothing. She simply left the room.
"Oh, Tony, I look so terrible. I didn't realize.
My hair is disgusting. No one said anything, not Drake, not you, none of the servants."
"You're beautiful. You have a beauty that can't fade with time or illness. It's immortal. I knew that dress was right for you; I knew it. You'll wear it, won't you?"
"I don't know, Tony. I won't like myself in anything, so maybe it won't matter."
"Of course it will matter. I'm sure that your mother will be smiling down and thinking how beautiful her daughter has become."
"But my hair," I repeated, holding up a straggly clump and then dropping it with disgust.
"I told you . . . let me send for a hairdresser right away. Look how horrible you feel because of your appearance. I'm not a physician, but I know if we don't feel good about ourselves, we don't improve. In fact, we can get sicker and sicker."
How persistent he was, and yet what he was saying made sense. Was I wrong to think of my own looks at a time like this? Then Tony said something that convinced me.
"Luke hasn't seen you since you were in the hospital. I'm sure he expects you to look somewhat improved."
Luke, I thought, surrounded now by pretty
coeds, healthy, happy girls who can walk and laugh and do fun things with him. Maybe he had delayed coming to visit me because he couldn't stand to see me the way I was. I would surprise him; I would look stronger, better, and I would be better.
"All right, Tony, send for the hairdresser, but I'm not saying permit him to dye my hair yet. I think I just want it washed and styled right now."
"Whatever you think." He stepped back. "How well that dress fits you. You will wear it, won't you?
You should," he said, nodding, his eyes intense,
"being it was your mother's."
Once again-he said magic words.
"I'll wear it, Tony."
"Good. Well now, I've got things to do. That hairdresser will be here if I have to fetch him myself."
He stepped closer to me. "Thank you, Annie, for giving me a chance after the things I told you. You're truly a sweet and wonderful person." He kissed me softly on the cheek. "Be back soon," he said and rushed out.
For a long moment I simply sat there staring at myself in the wall mirror. Back in Winnerrow Mommy had a few different black dresses, one very similar to this one, I thought. Maybe that was why, as I gazed into the mirror now, I felt as though her spirit merged with mine. I saw her eyes in my eyes, the smile around her lips become the smile around mine.
It was like focusing a camera, bringing the lines of the image together so the picture would be clear and sharp.
My heart pounded with the pain that resulted from the realization she would never again come up beside me while I prepared to go out to a party or to school and put her hand on my shoulder, stroke my hair, give me some advice, or kiss my cheek. Wearing this dress and making myself look more like her only brought home that painful truth more vividly.
I wheeled myself away from the mirror and
over to the vanity table to get a tissue. While I wiped my eyes,
I looked at some of the other photographs.
There was one particular picture that captured my attention. In it Mommy was posing in a silly way by the stables. Maybe Daddy took the picture; but what caught my eye was Tony in the background. He was gazing at her the same way he had just been gazing at me, with that same twisted smile.
I studied it for a few moments and then looked at some of the other photographs. One of my grandmother Leigh stood out. I brought it beside the one of my mother at the stables and realized what it was that made the two pictures so significant. My grandmother was at the stables, too, and she was taking a similarly silly poise and wearing the same riding outfit. When the two pictures were held side by side, my mother and her mother looked more like sisters.
Maybe that was what made Tony smile so. It should have made me smile, too, but it didn't.
"Did you want to take off that dress or wear it all day?" Mrs. Broadfield snapped. I turned about and saw her standing just in the doorway, her hands on her hips. If she was annoyed by Tony's orders, she shouldn't be taking it out on me, I thought. Aggres-sively, no longer willing to play humble and helpless, I held my head high and proud, flaring back.
"Of course not," I said. "I'll take it off and set it aside for tomorrow."
Her eyes widened with surprise at my tone of voice and she dropped her hands from her hips.
"Fine. It's time for your hydrotherapy, anyway."
She went into the bathroom to prepare the hot water.
This time when she lowered me into it, it seemed absolutely scalding. I cried out in pain, but she didn't seem concerned. I could see my skin turning crimson under the water. It took my breath away, and I tried to lift my body up and out, but she pressed my shoulders down, keeping me submerged in the scorching water.
"You've got to build up a tolerance to the heat,"
she explained after I complained again, and then she started up the jets that made the water bubble and toss about. Hot drops bounced up to my breasts and neck, some hitting my cheeks and stinging. She left me there, clinging to the sides while she went out to prepare some creams for my massage.
I looked down at my traitorous legs and feet and did as the doctor told me to do, think recuperation
. . recuperation . . . recuperation. I had to get myself out of this situation as fast as I could. I stared at my toes and thought about moving them. Suddenly, I saw my big toe twitch.
"Mrs. Broadjield!"She didn't come back, thinking only wanted her to get me out of the hot tub.
"Mrs. Broadfield, come look!" I demanded. After I called again, she returned.
"I told you. You have to—"
"No, no, it's my big toe. The big toe on my right foot moved." She looked down into the water.
"Move it again."
I tried, but nothing happened.
"It did move. I saw it. I did!"
She shook her head.
"What you saw was the wave in the water. It made it appear as if the toe moved."
"No, it did. I swear."
"Uh-huh. Very nice." She spun on her heel and went back to preparing my massage.
Feeling dejected, exhausted from the heat and the effort, I lay my head back and closed my eyes and waited for her to make up her mind I had had enough.
Finally she returned and helped me out of the tub. My skin was as red as it would be had I fallen asleep on Virginia Beach in July and I was as limp as over-cooked spaghetti. She spread me out facedown on the
towels on my bed. I closed my eyes as she worked her strong hands down my body, beginning behind my neck and moving in slow circles over my back and buttocks.
I opened them abruptly when I heard Tony's voice. My God, I thought, I'm stark naked on this bed!
I tried to turn around to pull some of the toweling over me, but I couldn't move fast enough or enough of my body to do so, and Mrs. Broadfield did little to help.
"Sorry," he said. I just caught sight of him out of the corner of my right eye. "Just stopped by to tell you the hairdresser will be here at three. Sorry," he said again and left.
"Mrs. Broadfield, why didn't you close my door when you started this?" I demanded.
"That's the least of my concerns."
"Well, it's not the least of mine. I do have some modesty left, you know. Tony is a man."
"I know what Mr. Tatterton is, thank you. I'm sorry," she relented after a moment. "I'll be sure to close the door next time."
"Please do."
Even after she rubbed on the soothing cream and I put on my fresh nightgown, my skin tingled from the heat of that hot bath. It wasn't until I awoke from a brief nap that I felt any relief. Mrs. Broadfield brought me some juice and a little while later returned to tell me the hairdresser had arrived. She helped me back into my wheelchair just as Tony brought up the beautician, a tall, thin man with curly blond hair and eyebrows so light, they were practically invisible. He had very fair skin, but bright pink lips. I thought any woman would sell her soul for his soft green eyes.
Tony introduced him just as Renee and
immediately added he was French. However, I had the impression he was of French background but born here in America. His accent seemed somewhat artificial, deliberate, something he might be affecting for his customers. After work he probably spoke like any other native American.
"Ah, mademoiselle." He stepped back and tilted his head first to the right and then to the left, nodding as he considered what had to be done with my hair.
He reached forward and touched the strands, bouncing them in his palm and shaking his head. "Rich and tres thick," he said, "but alas, neglected, n'est-ce pas?" He turned to Tony for confirmation. Tony nodded. "Do not worry, mademoiselle, Renece will work his magic. In a short time I shall make miracles, eh?"
Gates of Paradise (Casteel Series #4) Page 20
