The table was set with very expensive looking china that Tony explained had been passed down from his grandparents. We all sat at one end of the tremendous table, Troy and I on Tony's left, Momma on his right. Each setting had a wine goblet, even Troy's. Tony winked at me when he poured a few drops into his brother's glass. Troy acted very grown up about it, showing no surprise at all. I saw from the way he studied Tony's every move that he was trying to act just like him. He took his napkin off the table, unfolded it and placed it neatly in his little lap. Then he sat back with the same perfect posture.
Beside the fruit cup, with each piece of fruit cut into a fancy shape, we had a delicious salad that included ingredients I had never tasted nor seen. Some of it looked like flower petals, but it all tasted wonderful. The main dish was a cajun shrimp platter on a bed of wild rice. It was spicy but scrumptious. For dessert, Ryse Williams brought out a peach melba himself. I was so full, I looked forward to the walk on the beach.
"Leigh," Tony said, "why don't you take Troy out and I will join the two of you in a moment. Your mother and I just have one more thing or two to discuss concerning the murals."
"Come on, Leigh," Troy cried jumping off his seat. I looked at Momma. She had her elbows on the table, her hands clasped, the fingers pressed up against her lips, but there was a smile of contentment around her eyes. Here amidst this enchantment she looked more than ever like a princess in a fairy tale, I thought.
"I'm going to go change into my smock," she said softly.
I followed Troy out of the front door. "Where are you going, Troy?" I asked. He had started off to the right and then had gone in behind a shrub. He answered by showing me the little pail and shovel he had fetched.
"I left it here yesterday when I was working with Boris. We need it on the beach."
"Oh. Yes, we do."
"Come on," he said, "Tony will catch up." "I think we had better wait."
"I'm always waiting, waiting, waiting," he said and stamped his foot. Then he plopped himself down on the grass and folded his arms across his chest in a sulk.
"He won't be long, I'm sure," I said and smiled reassuringly.
"If your mommy's going to paint, he won't come out." What an odd thing for him to say, I thought. Surely Tony didn't look over Momma's shoulder the whole time she worked. He had his own business to tend, and Momma had never liked an audience when she drew and painted.
Troy turned his eyes to me suspiciously.
"Where's your daddy?" he asked. "Did he die and go to Heaven to be with angels, too?"
"No, he's working. I wanted him to come with us today, but he couldn't," I added. He continued to stare at me with curiosity. Then he looked toward the front door of the mansion, his eyes growing smaller.
"HELLO!" Tony called from the top of the steps. Troy jumped to his feet. "Okay, let's go," Tony said coming down quickly, and Troy shot forward. "Do you get to the ocean much, Leigh?" he asked as we started after Troy.
"I go down to the harbor to my father's office frequently and we've gone on a number of ocean voyages," I said.
I couldn't believe how nervous I was without Momma to accompany us. I was so afraid I would say or do the wrong thing and embarrass her, as well as myself. Tony seemed so self-assured. With the kind of wealth he possessed, and the big business he ran, he had to be a very cosmopolitan and sophisticated young man, I thought. Because of Daddy's business, I had traveled a great deal more than most of my friends and met many more people from different countries, but still, I didn't feel confident.
"Oh, of course," Tony said. "Silly of me to ask. What I really meant is, do you get to the beach in the summer?"
"Not that much, no. Momma's not fond of the beach. She hates getting sand all over her. But a friend of mine, Michele Almstead, has a swimming pool."
"Ah." We walked on. Troy ambled ahead, wobbling on his little legs, his pail swinging back and forth with his determined arm movements.
"He's so cute," I said.
"Yes," Tony replied in a sad voice. "It's been hard for the little tyke. He was very sickly at birth. There was a time there when we didn't think he would make It."
"Oh. What happened to . . ."
"To our parents?"
I nodded.
"Our mother died only a year and a half after Troy's birth. She had a rare blood disease. My father passed away a year ago next month, heart attack." His eyes went from a warm sky blue to frosty ice, as he must have remembered tragedy. "It happened in the maze."
"The maze!"
"Yes, and unfortunately, little Troy was with him at the time."
"Oh no," I cried.
"They were going to the other side. We have a little cottage there. No one uses it now, but it's so quaint and special, we keep it up and Troy thinks it's a magical place from one of his children's stories. Do you know he was reading when he was only about two and a half. A nanny we had working for us then, Mrs. Habersham, a delightful elderly lady from London, spent hours patiently teaching him. He's very, very bright, far ahead of his age."
"I know, but how horrible it must have been for him to be there in the maze when such a thing happened!" I exclaimed. "What did he do?"
"Amazingly, he didn't panic. Another child his age would have most probably sat there beside his father's body, crying and crying until someone eventually found him. But Troy realized something was seriously wrong with our father and found his way out of the maze quickly. I can still hear him screaming for me as he came running toward the front door. We rushed to my father, but it was too late."
"I'm sorry. How sad," I said, thinking again of what it would be like to lose my own daddy, even now when I was old enough to understand what death was.
"It's been harder for Troy, of course. No nanny I hire can replace a mother and no matter what I do, I can't substitute for a father. I can't spend enough time with him, not the kind of time he needs."
"Is Mrs. Habersham still here?"
"No, she got sick and had to return to England. Right now I have Mrs. Hastings doubling as nanny and maid. Here," he said, "we just go over this hill. Troy's already on the beach."
As soon as we walked over a little knoll, we confronted the ocean. It was breathtaking the way we just stepped up and there it was, the vast Atlantic spread out before us. Troy was down on the beach already digging. The beach went on and on in both directions.
"All this is your private beach?" I asked in amazement.
"Yes. There is a little inlet there," he said pointing to the right, "a very private, quiet place I used to go to when I wanted to be alone."
"How wonderful."
"Do you like it here, Leigh?" he asked, gazing at me with those sharp, penetrating eyes again.
"Very much?'
"I'm glad," he said. He smiled at me with so much warmth in his eyes, his stare almost drinking me in. How old was he? I wondered. At times he seemed worldly, so very wise, and at times he seemed no older than a high school boy. He looked out at the ocean again.
"It is wonderful here," he said. "When I was seven, I was sent to Eton because my father thought the English knew more about discipline than our private schools do. He was right, but I was always dreaming of coming home to Farthy." He closed his eyes and in a soft voice added, "Whenever I felt homesick, which was most of the time, I'd close my eyes and pretend I could smell the balsam, fir, and pine trees, and more than anything, the briny scent of the sea and I'd wake up aching, wanting to feel the damp, cool morning air on my face, wanting my home so badly, it physically hurt."
I held my breath as he spoke. I had never heard anyone speak of his home so romantically. Tony Tatterton was capable of such deep passion, I thought. It brought tingles to my spine to listen to hi e . He snapped open his eyes as if someone had slapped his cheek.
"But it's a lot of responsibility running an estate this size and a business that's growing in leaps and bounds all by yourself. And with a small child to look after, as well," he added.
"For someone so
young," I said. It just blurted out loud.
"How old do you think I am?"
"I don't know. . . twenty."
"Twenty-three."
Twenty-three, I thought. Momma was nearly twice his age yet she seemed only a few years older if that.
"Come, let's stroll along the beach here and listen to the ocean's roar. We can't go back to the house too early and interrupt the artist. You know how artists are--sensitive, moody," he said and laughed.
We had a nice walk. He told me about the plans he had to expand his business and asked me many questions about my school and life in Boston. Afterward, Troy and I went searching for seashells while Tony lay back on the beach, his hands behind his head, his eyes closed. By the time we returned to the house, Momma had cleaned up and changed again. Most of the castle on the dome was painted.
"I have a day or so of work left," she declared. "We have to start back to Boston, now. I'd like to get home before dark."
Troy lowered his head in disappointment.
"Leigh will come back another day, Troy. It's not nice to act this way in front of guests," Tony instructed. Troy looked up at me, tears building up in the corners of his eyes. "Now thank them for visiting us and wish them a good trip home."
"Thank you," Troy said. "Have a good trip home," he recited.
"Thank you, Troy," I said.
"I'll have Miles bring your car around," Tony said and started out.
"Want to walk us to the car?" I asked Troy. He nodded and took my hand.
I knelt down before getting in the car and gave Troy a kiss on his cheek. He touched his cheek, thought a moment and then gave me a kiss on mine before turning around abruptly and charging up the steps to go back into the house. Curtis opened the door for him, but he hesitated at the front door and looked back longingly.
Tony and Momma spoke quietly behind the car and then she got in behind the wheel.
"So long, Leigh," he said, his eyes seeming to look into me and read my thoughts. "I hope you enjoyed your day at Farthy and will return soon."
I looked away, hoping Momma didn't think I was rude.
"Bye, and thank you again for the wonderful birthday present," I said, lifting the gold pendant.
"It's all been my pleasure?' He stepped back and we started away. I looked back and saw little Troy still standing by the front door, waving his little hand. It brought tears to my eyes. We drove down the long drive and back under the great arch and I indeed felt as if I had just left a magical kingdom, full of wonderful things, and yet full of mystery and sadness, too. I hadn't been wrong. It was just like a storybook place after all.
"Isn't Tony wonderful?" Momma said as soon as we pulled away. "And wasn't it sweet of him to remember your birthday and buy you such an expensive gift? I just happened to mention your birthday was coming up, not expecting he would remember, and certainly not expecting him to buy you something."
"It was nice." I didn't say that I thought it was unusual for a man I had never known before to buy me such an expensive present, even if he was very wealthy.
"Did you have a good time at Farthy? Wasn't it everything I promised it would be?" Momma's face was still bright with excitement.
"Oh yes. Troy is so cute, isn't he?"
"He's cute, but Tony spoils him. It's only going to make things more difficult for him later on." I was surprised at how stern she sounded.
"Tony feels so bad for him, losing both of his parents so young. Don't you think that's it?" I waited, but she didn't answer. Suddenly she laughed.
"Tony swears we look more like sisters than a mother and daughter. It's because I take such good care of my complexion. I drink a lot if water and I stay away from greasy, heavy foods and always leave the dinner table a little hungry. Never stuff yourself, Leigh. It's unladylike, besides being ruinous to your figure."
"I know. You always tell me that."
"Well, it's true. Look at me. Aren't I proof that it's true?"
She twisted herself around in the driver's seat as if she were showing me her figure for the first time.
"Yes."
"Do any of your friends' mothers look like me?" she demanded.
"No, Momma." ft wasn't the first time we'd had this conversation. I didn't understand why I had to keep telling her she looked so beautiful.
"I don't intend to ever look old," she declared with determination.
"But you can't stop yourself from growing old, can you?"
"I can't stop myself from getting older in years, but I can stop myself from looking older," she boasted. "How old do you think I look? Go on, tell me what you think."
"I know how old you are, Momma. I was talking to Tony and . ."
"You didn't tell him how old I was, did you?" she demanded, her face suddenly screwed into an expression of panic, her eyes glittering at me. "Did you!" Her delicate eyebrows rose.
"No. He just told me how old he was."
"Good. Good," she repeated with relief. "He thinks I'm only twenty-eight."
"Twenty-eight! But Momma, he knows I'm twelve. That would mean you had me when you were only sixteen!"
"So?" She shrugged. "It was very common in the South, Texas especially, for girls to get married at young ages. I knew girls who were only a few years older than you and already married with their first child."
"Really?" I tried to imagine myself already married. It seemed like such a big responsibility to have a husband, much less have a husband and children too. What would my husband be like? I wondered. I had never really thought about it. Oh, I dreamt and fantasized about movie stars and singers, but I never mused about actually setting up house and living every day with the same man. Of course, I would want him to be as loving and considerate as Daddy. I wouldn't want him to work as hard or as much, so if we weren't as rich, I wouldn't demand things all the time the way Momma did; but if we were rich, I would want the same things, I imagined.
He should be as debonair and sophisticated as Tony Tatterton was, too, I thought, and certainly as handsome. And I would want him to love and care for our children just as much as I did. He didn't have to be a movie star or a big businessman, as long as he loved me more than anything else in the world.
But what about me? I wondered. Could I care for someone else as much as I cared for myself? Was I capable of loving someone the way a wife should love a husband? I hadn't even graduated from high school, and I wanted to go to college too. Lately, I had been thinking about becoming a teacher and my day with little Troy had reaffirmed those ambitions. I enjoyed little children, loved their innocence and their inquisitiveness. Most children asked anything they wanted, even the most embarrassing questions. They were unpredictable and I found that delightful, even exciting at times.
"I don't want to get married for a long time," I declared.
"What? Why not?" Momma asked, a smirk on her face as if I had declared I wanted to be an atheist.
"I was thinking of going to college to become a teacher, a grade school teacher," I announced boldly. Momma's unhappy expression didn't change at all, as I had hoped it would; if anything it deepened.
"That's ridiculous, Leigh. You know who becomes grade school teachers--spinsters, women who look like my sisters or dumpy women with poor complexions. Just think for a moment. Can you imagine someone like me being a grade school teacher? Can you? It would be a terrible waste, wouldn't it? Well, it will be the same for you, for I expect you to develop into a beautiful young woman. I told you--you're going to be a debutante. You're going to go to the finest finishing schools and meet wealthy, aristocratic young men so someday you will live on an estate just like Farthy. I know I should be living on one," she added, an ominous tone in her voice.
"But Momma, I like little children. I just loved spending the day with little Troy."
"Liking little children is one thing. I like little children at times. There is a time and a place for them, but to condemn yourself to a life with them, stuffed away in some public school where you have no opportunity to me
et people of the finer classes . . ugh," she said shaking her head as if I had suggested working in a coal mine. "Little children are always sick. They sneeze and cough all over you. That's why those grade school teachers look so yellow and anemic."
I thought about some of mine. They hadn't appeared sickly and pale to me. Mrs. Wilson was a beautiful woman with long, dark brown hair and warm, green eyes. I loved her smile of sunshine. She was so nice, it was hard for her to get real mad, even when the boys pulled pranks like putting tacks on someone's seat.
"Put such thoughts out if your mind. You want to study the arts, music. You want to travel more. Next thing I know," she said, "is you'll tell me you want to be one of your father's ship engineers."
"I did once-dream of becoming the first woman to captain an ocean liner," I confessed. "And I told Daddy."
"Yes, and what brilliant thing did your father say?"
"He said someday that might just happen. There are women doctors and women lawyers, why not women as ship captains?"
"Just like him to encourage such thoughts. Next thing you'll know, there'll be women electricians and plumbers and telephone linemen. Oh, they'll have to be known as telephone women, though, won't they?" she asked and laughed. "Really, Leigh, I'm afraid we're going to have to get you away from the shipyards sooner than I thought, and off to some decent girls' school. It's just not healthy for you to be hanging around your father's office or going down into engine rooms surrounded by all those sweaty, greasy men. Do you see me doing that? When was the last time I went to your father's office? I can't recall it myself.
"Now let me think about this bon voyage party your father wants to have for the Caribbean cruise. I've already invited Tony Tatterton."
"You have?"
"Of course. And I'm going to invite a number of his wealthy friends, too. But let me think now. If I don't plan out this party, your father will make it look like a funeral."
She became silent for most of the remainder of our trip home, planning the party in her mind as she said she would. I thought about all the things she said and wondered if there was something wrong with me for not feeling as passionately as she did about certain things. I decided only time would tell and with the speed at which I was changing and developing, that wouldn't be so long a wait.
Casteel 05 Web of Dreams Page 5