"I'm just anxious to get back to normal, Tony."
"Of course." He stood thoughtfully a moment and then suddenly brightened as something came to mind. "But I have another surprise for you, and now that there is this definite degree of improvement, I'm even more excited about it"
"What have you done?" He did look excited-- his eyes young and soft blue again, his face flushed.
"Since we put in the chair elevator for you to go up and down the stairway, I decided to have a ramp built in front of the main entrance this afternoon. You can wheel yourself to the stairway, go down, and wheel yourself to the front. Then you can wheel down the ramp and go along the sidewalks and paths to enjoy the grounds around Farthy. Of course, the first few times, I will take you, but in time--"
"In time I will walk out on my own, Tony." I was sorry I had said it so quickly and so sharply. He looked dejected, like a little boy who had been turned down, but I couldn't help it. My progress had filled me with such hope, and now Tony and the doctor were telling me it would be a much longer wait than I had anticipated. I was still going to be confined to a wheelchair.
"Of course. I didn't mean to--"
"But I do appreciate what you have done, Tony. I can't wait to go out and around Farthy. Thank you, Tony. Thank you for everything, because I am sure without you I wouldn't be recovering so soon."
His face brightened again.
"I'm glad you feel that way, Annie. Oh," he said, looking over at the easel, "I see you have made progress on your painting. How wonderful." I studied his face as he turned a sharp, penetrating gaze on my work. His smile melted slowly, and with it went all that had made his expression bright and young. Then he looked out the window as if he could see through the darkness. He continued gazing as if he saw through the inky night. I didn't know what to say.
"It's just a drawing right now."
"Yes." When he turned back to me, his blue eyes looked troubled. He folded his brow and curled his lips inward like someone under great mental strain. "It's good, but I was hoping to see you paint the gardens and hedges, the little walkways and small, sparkling fountains."
"But Tony, the fountains aren't running. They're stuffed with autumn leaves. And the gardens need pruning. Whatever flowers there are, are being choked by weeds. Some of the hedges are trim, but even they need more work." He stared ahead, his eyes unblinking. I didn't think he heard a word I said.
"When the sun is out, the grounds glitter." He smiled. "Jillian says it's as if some giant stood on the roof and cast jewels over the lawns. She's an artist, so she has an artist's eye and imagination. She paints only pretty, pleasant things, happy things, things that make her feel young and alive. That's why she started with illustrations for children's books."
"Jillian . you mean, my great-grandmother Jillian? But she's dead. Tony?" He was just staring at me again, that faraway look in his eyes. I felt myself tremble. Was something more happening to him? Were his journeys back to the past becoming more frequent, and to the point where he was having trouble returning to the present?
"What? Oh, I meant, Jillian used to say." He laughed, a short, dry laugh and looked at my easel again. "It's just when I see artwork, art supplies, I think of her and vividly remember those early days. Oh well, after you're up and about, you'll set yourself up down there in the gardens and paint and paint until you wear the brushes down to nothing.
"I'm not surprised you chose a sad scene, closed up in this room the way you are. An artist needs space, to roam, to breathe. Only Troy could lock himself up and create one beautiful thing after another. They were already alive in his mind, I suppose."
"I'd like to see more of Troy's work."
"Oh, you will. When you come downstairs, we'll go to my office and look at all the models on the shelves. He created each and every one, down to the smallest detail."
"Maybe I'll come down tomorrow," I said hopefully.
"Yes. We'll arrange your first outing. Isn't this wonderful--to have you moving through the corridors of Farthinggale Manor once again!"
"Once again?"
He clapped his hands together. Everything he was saying seemed mixed up. Perhaps it was just the excitement of my impending recovery, I thought. I had to keep reminding myself--Tony was no youngster. Having all this thrust upon him after so many years of living in relative solitude had to be mind boggling.
"Now, I should let you get your rest."
"I'm too excited to sleep." I was reminded about my nightgown. "But Tony, why am I wearing a different nightgown from what I was wearing before I collapsed?"
"Different nightgown?" His smile became a smile of confusion. "I don't understand."
"I wasn't wearing this one before. You changed me, didn't you?"
He shook his head.
"You're probably just confused. You always wore that nightgown. It's your favorite. You've often told me so,"
"I .. I did?" He had me wondering myself, now. I shook my head. It didn't seem all that important anyway.
"Maybe I should give you something to help you sleep. The doctor left instructions to continue your sedatives."
"I hate sleeping pills. They give me
nightmares," I cried.
"Now Annie, you've got to continue to do the things that have helped you reach this point of recovery, don't you?" he said in a soothing voice. "The doctor thinks you should, and after all, that's what we're paying him for--his medical knowledge. I'll be right back."
Moments later he returned with the pill and a glass of water. Reluctantly, I took it and swallowed it. Then I fell back against the pillow. He fixed my blanket and turned down the lights. Then he returned to my bedside and took my hand.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Yes." My voice sounded so small. I wished so much that it was my daddy's hand I was holding.
"That's good; that's the way it will be from now on," Tony said. "I'll always be here for you. Just call. I'll listen for your call, Annie, and I'll come as quickly as I can."
"But you can't devote all your time to me, Tony. You have a business to run," I declared.
"Oh, I don't worry about my business. It runs itself, and I have competent people in charge, including Drake now. Don't you ever think you're a burden for me," he added, patting my hand.
"Are you going to get a new nurse tomorrow?"
"I'll call the agency first thing in the morning," he assured me. "Sleep well." He knelt down and kissed my cheek, this time his lips lingering much longer against my skin, his hand pressed firmly over my shoulder as if he never wanted to let go. "Good night."
"Good night; Tony," I said, and watched him walk slowly out of the room, moving like one of Rye Whiskey's ghosts, turning off the lights as he went, the darkness dropping behind him.
Even with the sleeping pill, I was too excited to fall asleep quickly. Every once in a while I would try to move my toes and feel the tingle in my feet and the sensation of them moving against the blanket. I imagined I was not unlike a newborn baby
discovering her limbs, discovering her own body. Each tiny movement, each feeling, brought new wonder. Oh, how I wished I had someone who was close, someone very close to share this physical comeback with me! How wonderful it would be if Luke were here when I stood up! He would embrace me and hold me against him, kiss me and stroke my hair. I smiled to myself imagining it, hearing him whisper in my ear as he ran his fingers along my shoulders. It made me tingle just to imagine it. Oh, Luke, I cried, am I being horribly sinful thinking these thoughts?
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 s
tanding. 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 anklelength 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 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.
"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.
Casteel 04 Gates of Paradise Page 25