Gates of Paradise (Casteel Series #4)

by V. C. Andrews

  Finally the sleeping pill Tony gave me took effect. I felt myself growing more and more groggy, my eyelids growing heavier and heavier, until it was hard to keep them open. I closed them and the next thing I knew, there was sunlight on my face and Tony was opening the curtains. He was still in his robe and slippers, but he had already shaved. The room reeked of his after-shave lotion.

  My first fearful thought was I had dreamt

  everything—the sensations in my legs and feet, my effort to stand, and my actual standing. But I concentrated on moving my feet, and to and behold, this time my leg folded inward.

  "Tony!" I cried. He spun around as if I had poked him in the back of his neck. "My legs . . .

  they're easier to move and they feel so much better."

  He nodded quickly and continued to open

  curtains and move about the room, getting things ready for me to be helped out of bed, washed and dressed.

  "You should wear this today, Annie," he said, taking one of Mommy's old dresses from the closet.

  He held it up admiringly. "You look great in it."

  "I never wore that, Tony."

  "Then you should. You'll look great in it. Take my word for it."

  It was a light blue cotton dress with ruffled sleeves, a wide, embroidered collar, and an ankle-

  length hem. I thought it was quite inappropriate. It was more like a dress to wear to an afternoon tea party than a dress to wear while confined to a room.

  "I can pick out my own clothing, Tony. Don't worry," I said. I was sure I didn't need as much help as usual this morning. To prove it I sat up and carefully brought my legs out from under the blanket, dangling them over the edge.

  "What are you doing?" he cried excitedly.

  "Getting up. See, I can do this myself now!"

  "Didn't you listen to anything the doctor said last night? Wait for me," he commanded. "If you try to stand and you fall, you could break a bone. Do you want to be laid up with a cast for six weeks on top of everything else?"

  His words filled me with terror.

  "All right, Tony. I'm waiting."

  He put the dress down on the foot of the bed and came around to me with the wheelchair. I lowered myself until my feet reached the floor, but when I went to put real pressure on my legs, he seized me under my arms and lowered me into the chair.

  "I think I could have done that myself, Tony."

  "I can't take any chances with you, Annie. The doctor would blame it on me if something happened to set you bat."

  "It seems to me I should be strengthening myself, working on building myself up."

  "In time," he instructed. "In time. won't rush things," he warned. "Now, about this dress—"

  "I'll pick something out myself, Tony, after I wash up."

  "I'll help you," he said, taking hold of the wheelchair and turning it toward the bathroom before I could move it myself.

  "But Tony—"

  "Remember what the doctor said about buts,"

  he said. He turned the chair toward the bathtub and brought me face-to-face with it. Then he started running the water.

  "Tony, I can't let you do all this," I protested.

  "Nonsense. I feel terribly responsible for what happened with Mrs. Broadfield. I hired her. The least I could do until she is replaced is provide the service you need and deserve. Just think of me as a male nurse," he added cheerfully. "How about some bubble bath?" He shook some pink powder into the water, then went out to get a washcloth and some towels.

  "Tony," I said as softly as I could when he returned, "I'm a grown woman now. I need my privacy."

  "You mustn't worry about those things now," he said. "And anyway, this is all as the doctor instructed."

  I didn't know how to reply. He turned off the water in the tub and smiled down at me.

  "Time to go in," he said. I looked at the water and up at him. His gray hair was brushed back neatly and his eyes were soft, loving. "Once you're in, I'll let you wash yourself," he offered. "I just want to be sure you don't slip and bang yourself against the tub."

  With great reluctance, I lifted my nightgown over my body. He took it from me and brought his hands under my arms. Inevitably, his fingers touched the sides of my naked breasts. I gasped. No one but my parents and doctors and nurses had ever seen me naked before, much less touched me. But Tony didn't seem to notice what he had done: He brought his arm under my legs and lifted me into the water, lowering me slowly, until bubbles hid my nudity. I felt terribly helpless, more like an infant than an invalid.

  "There," he said. "See how easy it was? Here,"

  he added, offering me the washcloth. "I'll just go out and straighten up the bed while you bathe."

  About ten minutes later he returned.

  "How are you doing?"

  "Fine."

  "Want me to scrub your back? I'm an expert at that. I used to do it for your grandmother and your mother."

  "Really?" I couldn't imagine Mommy permitting him to do so.

  "Absolute expert," he said and took the cloth from my hands, positioning himself on the rear of the tub. leaned forward as he brought the cloth to my neck. "You have the same smooth, graceful neck, Annie," he said, moving the cloth down to my shoulders gently. "And the same dainty, feminine shoulders, shoulders that can tease and torment the strongest men,"

  I felt the way he used the washcloth to trace the lines in my shoulders, around, over my collarbone, and back behind my neck again. Moments later I also felt his breath against me, and when I gazed at the mirror across from us, saw that his eyes were closed and he was holding his head as though he were inhaling me. A chill of terror rushed through me.

  "Tony," I said, putting my hand over his and the washcloth, "I can finish up now. Thank you."

  "What? Oh yes, yes." He stood up quickly. "I'll lay a towel over your wheelchair seat," he said, and did it. "Are you finished?"

  "Yes, but you're going to get all wet."

  "Don't worry about me. I've been all wet before," he kidded, and reached into the water to scoop his arms under me again. Then he lifted me gingerly out of the tub and set me down on the chair.

  Quickly, I wrapped the towels about myself. Tony seized another towel and began wiping my legs.

  "I can do that, Tony."

  "Nonsense. Why exhaust yourself when I'm around to help?" He went on, massaging my calves and working his way up over my knees, wiping my skin with an artist's care. He squatted and raised his eyes slowly to confront my gaze. "When I see you here like this, I can think only of your grandmother Leigh."

  "Why do you say that, Tony?"

  "The way you look—young, innocent, so soft, and your hair ."

  I was beginning to regret agreeing to the change of color. Perhaps because of it, Tony often didn't see me when he looked at me.

  "I'd better get dressed, Tony," I said.

  "Yes, of course." He stood up and wheeled me out of the bathroom to the bed, where he had laid out the blue cotton dress. "I'll help you," he said, and moved quickly to get me a pair of panties and a bra.

  He squatted before me again.

  "I can do this, Tony." I reached for my panties, but he simply lifted my feet and slipped the undergarment over my ankles, moving it up my legs slowly, his gaze fixed, his fingers never touching my skin. When he reached my thighs, he stopped and came around behind me. There was no stopping him.

  Using his forearms, he lifted me just enough to pull the panties into place. I closed my eyes to deny what was happening. He started to unwrap the towel.

  "Tony, please, let me do this."

  "I'll just assist," he insisted, and brought my bra around. I shoved my arms through quickly, but when I started to fasten it, his hands moved over mine and quickly took over. "And now for the finish," he announced, and came around to the front with the dress.

  "Tony, I don't think this dress—"

  "Just lift your arms. It'll be easy."

  Reluctantly, realizing it was the easiest way to bring all th
is to an end, I lifted my arms and let him bring the dress down over my head. He lifted and adjusted my body so he could pull the dress on completely, and then he stood back.

  "See? Nothing to any of it. I'll be here every morning to help you, Annie."

  "Every morning? But surely we'll have another nurse by tomorrow."

  "I hope so, but I'm going to be a great deal more careful about whom I hire now. We don't want another Mrs. Broadfield, do we?" He smiled and then clapped his hands. "Now let me see about your breakfast," he added, and hurried out of the room, energized by all he had done and all he had to do.

  In minutes he reappeared carrying my breakfast tray.

  "I hope you're hungry this morning," he said, stepping back.

  "Yes. I'm famished." I hoped that was another sign of my recovery.

  "I'll just get dressed while you eat," he finally said, and left.

  When he returned, he looked quite untidy,

  much like the way he had appeared in Drake's letter—his hair disheveled, his tie loose, and the tie itself stained. His suit jacket and pants were quite creased, It was as though he had put on an old set of clothes.

  "Good morning," he said, as if this were the first time he had seen me this morning. I just stared in amazement, but he didn't seem to notice. He didn't look at me long. Instead he stood rocking on his feet, peering out the window, his hands behind his back.

  He ran his tongue over his lips, popped his cheeks in and out and nodded. Once again I had the sense he was moving in and out of reality, traveling back and forth between the past and the present. Truly he was beginning to alarm me.

  "I feel a lot stronger this morning, Tony," I said, eager to get things back on track so I could contact Luke. "Maybe you will take me on my outing after all,"

  He spoke, but it wasn't in response to what I was saying. He acted like a man hearing another conversation.

  "I promise you," he began, "I'll give you a home and all that goes with it. . . ."

  "Home? I don't understand, Tony. I have a home .

  "From what I already know about you, you adapt quickly. I' suspect in the long run you will soon be more Bostonian than I myself am, and I was born here." He started to laugh, but stopped, his face hardening as his lips curled. "But I want no hillbilly relatives of yours showing up, not ever.. . ."

  "Hillbilly relatives?" I hope he didn't mean Iruke. "What are you saying, Tony? You're frightening me."

  He blinked quickly, as though he were waking up from a dream right before my eyes. Then he shook his head.

  "Tony? Are you all right?"

  "What? Oh yes. I'm sorry . . I was in deep thought. Well, I must get downstairs and tend to a few business matters," he said, "Ryse will be up to take care of your tray," he added, and rushed out of the room.

  My heart was pounding. What was wrong with him this morning? Was he having some kind of reaction to what he had done, helping to bathe and to dress me? I was happy when Rye Whiskey appeared, although he didn't look his happy self.

  "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 L
uke 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 great-grandmother. 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—"