Casteel 04 Gates of Paradise (24 page)

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 this 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 I
_r
uke. "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 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 understand 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."