"Sins of your fathers?" he offered.
"Yes."
"Luke must have grown into a very
extraordinary young man for you to care so much for him."
"Oh, he did. He's so bright. He was the class valedictorian! And he's thoughtful and polite. Everyone who's fair loves Luke and respects him, too! Mommy loved him. It was hard for her, but she cared just as much for him as she would have had he been her own son," I declared firmly.
"Tell me about your hair. When did you dye it? You did dye it?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"A few days ago, Tony brought a beautician to Farthy and talked me into doing it. He thought looking brighter would make me feel better about myself."
"Tony had you do this?" I saw the concern in his face.
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"How has Tony . Mr. Tatterton, been these days? I haven't seen him for a while."
"Strange. He's forgetful and he confuses things." "Confuses? Like what?"
"He often mixes me up with my mother, my grandmother . even my great-grandmother Jillian."
"How do you mean?" He leaned forward in his chair, his graceful hands clasped together, his arms resting on his knees.
"He talks to me as though he's talking to one of them, mentioning things I wouldn't know or remember."
He gazed at me, that look of concern firmly planted in his face. "How long will you remain here at Farthy?"
"The intention was for me to remain until I was fully recuperated, but I told Drake today that I want to go home and recuperate there." All the pent-up feelings of being imprisoned, of having been tormented by a cruel nurse, and now living with Tony, who moved from one world to another, flooded over me, "I do!"
"Then you should go. If you're not happy here, if you're not comfortable, you'd better go," he said, but so intensely, his eyes so determined, that I suddenly felt very frightened,
"Who are you. . . really? You know too much about this family to be a mere employee."
He sat back again and gazed at me for a long moment, My heart was pounding now, for I knew I was right.
"If I tell you, will you keep the knowledge locked away, for it is very important to me that few, if any, people know. I am happy here living an anonymous life, protected by the maze. My solitude is very precious and important to me. I am happy living with my memories and my work, which, as you can see, can take up a great deal of my time." He paused and said, very sadly, "It's the life I've chosen for myself. I didn't think I would live this long, anyway."
"Why not? You're not very old."
"No, I'm not very old, but when I was younger, I was sickly and I had dreams I would die very young . . I wouldn't live past thirty. But I did. Death refused to claim me. I don't question why; I go on, doing what I do, living this quiet life, content with what I have. In a way I've made peace with myself, with all ray fears and sorrows. My past is like an old wound that's healed; I don't want to do anything to open it up again." He fixed his eyes on me, his soft, warm eyes, which urged me to trust him.
"So . . . can you keep a secret as important as this one?"
"Oh yes," I assured him.
"I think you can. I don't know why I should feel this way, but l trust you . . just as I would trust . . my own daughter, had I gotten married and had a daughter."
"My mother always taught me to respect what is precious to other people, even though the same things may not be precious to me."
"She would tell you that."
"There, you see. You knew her too well to be a mere employee."
He smiled.
"I should have remained in the shadows, Annie. I should have known you would see the truth." "What is the truth?" I waited, holding my breath. "I am not Troy Tatterton's assistant; I am Troy Tatterton."
Strange how Troy's revelation didn't shock me as much as it should have, for everyone had told me of his death and spoke of him as long gone. Yet it was as if I had somehow always known.
"When Rye Whiskey sees you, he probably thinks he's seeing one of his spirits," I said.
"Rye." He smiled. "I'm not sure what he thinks, but I suppose you're right."
"But now that you have told me the truth about who you are, will you tell me why you have let everyone believe you are dead and gone?" I asked.
"Has anyone ever told you the circumstances of my supposed passing?" He eyed me carefully after he asked.
"I've learned a little here and there; I learned the most from Rye Whiskey, but I don't know how much of what Rye tells me is true and how much is in his vivid imagination. I know you rode a horse--Jillian's horse--into the sea and were never seen or heard from again."
"Yes, that part is so."
"How did such a thing happen?"
There was a smile around his eyes again.
"When you ask like that--so passionately--you remind me so much of your mother when she was your age. I think you are just as attentive a listener. Will you listen?" he asked, sitting back again.
I nodded, somehow scared by his new, serious tone of voice.
"What I told you was true: I was a sickly, melancholy child and teenager. All my young life I was depressed by heavy, sad thoughts. My brother Tony, who was more like a father to me, tried his best to get me to change, to be more hopeful and optimistic, but it was as if a gray cloud had been planted over my head when I was born and it grew wider and wider and wider until one day, when I looked up, all I could see was an overcast sky, no matter how bright and blue a day it was.
"Can you understand that?"
I shook my head because I couldn't. I couldn't understand how anyone could go on living his life forever under overcast skies. Sunlight was so important; it was important to flowers and trees and grass and birds, and especially to young children who needed to bathe in its loving warmth. How else would anything grow? He anticipated my thought.
"I couldn't grow into a healthy young man, not with these doomsday thoughts hanging over my head all the time. The worse I became, the more concerned Tony became and the more time and energy he devoted to me. His wife Jillian was a self-centered woman who was in love with only her own image in the mirror and expected everyone around her to be so enamored. You can't imagine how jealous she was of anyone or anything that would pull Tony's attention from her, even for a moment.
"So, eventually I moved into this cottage to live and to work on the Tatterton Toys. it was a very lonely existence; most anyone would have gone mad, I know, but I wasn't as lonely as you might think, for I made my toys my world, my tiny people my people, and imagined stories about their lives."
He shifted his eyes about the room, gazing at some of the toys, and laughed.
"Maybe I was mad. Who knows? It was a good madness, though. Anyway," he said, leaning forward again, "I was plagued by thoughts of my own death. Winter was an especially difficult time because the nights were so long, giving too much time for too many dreams to be born. I would try to hold back sleep until just before dawn. Sometimes, I succeeded. If I saw I couldn't, I would walk about outside and let the fresh cold air wash my dreary thoughts away. I would walk the trails between the pines, and when my brain was cleared, only then did I come back in here and try to sleep again."
"Why did you stay here during the winter? You were rich enough to go anywhere you wanted, weren't you?"
"Yes. I tried to escape. I spent winters in Florida, in Naples, the Riviera, all over the world. I traveled and traveled, searching for an avenue of escape, but my winter thoughts were like excess baggage, always with me. I couldn't shake them off, no matter what I did or where I went, so I returned defeated, unable to do anything but accept my fate.
"Along about that time, your mother came along. She was a flower planted in the desert . . . a cheerful, bright and beautiful person. I knew she had been through hard times already during her young life, but she seemed to be able to cling to that optimism and innocence that characterizes young people, that makes older people so envious.
I couldn't help blushing. Few men had ever spoken to me this way.
"Thank you," I said. "But you haven't told me what drove you to ride a horse into the sea."
He sat back and tucked his hands behind his head again. I could see that was his favorite position. For a long moment he thought, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. I was patient, for I could sense how difficult it had to be for someone to explain why he had wanted to end his life. Finally, he sat forward again.
"Seeing your mother, seeing the brightness and the life, filled me with some hope for myself in those days, and for a while I was different. I even thought,. . believed it was possible for me to find someone like her and marry and raise children . . . a daughter much like yourself, perhaps.
"But my melancholy returned when I could find no one like her. I was depressing to most women, you see, for most didn't have the patience to deal with my temperament. One day, during a party that Tony had arranged to cheer me up, I decided I would turn the tables on Death . . Death who had pursued me my entire life, Death who sat in the shadows smirking, waiting, haunting me with his dark, gray eyes, his patient posture . . waiting for his opportunity. I decided to take the opportunity away. Instead of spending my life attempting to flee from what I knew would be his inevitable grasp, I charged forward at him and so surprised him with my action, he did not know how to react. I rode Jillian's wild horse into the sea, fully expecting to end my wretched existence.
"But as I said, Death was surprised and couldn't take me. I was cast back on the shore, alive. I had failed even at this.
"However, I realized I had given myself an opportunity to escape in a different way. I let everyone believe I had died. It enabled me to become someone else, to move about like a shadow and not be troubled by people who wanted to cheer me up. I only depressed them anyway, because when they failed, they had to contend with me in my gray, dark state of mind.
"This way I bothered no one and no one bothered me. But one day my brother discovered my existence. He had been mourning my death so hard anyway that I could no longer keep my life from him. We made a pact . I would live here, anonymously, and he would maintain the fiction of my death. After a number of years had passed, when most anyone who had known me had left or died, we told people I was a new artisan, creating toys in Troy's style.
"And so, no one bothers me and I can continue as I am, as I told you: working, living in my memories and my peaceful solitude.
"Now you know the truth and I am dependent upon your promise to keep it locked in your heart."
"I won't tell anyone, but I wish you would come back to the world on the other side of the maze. I wish, somehow, I could bring you back."
"How sweet you are sitting there in your wheelchair wishing you could help someone else."
We gazed at one another. There were tears locked in the corners of his eyes, for he knew that if he released them, my own tears would come bursting forth.
"Now," he said suddenly, clapping his hands together. "You say you stood on your own yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Well, you should be standing a little more every day, and you should be taking steps."
"That's what I thought, but the doctor said--"
"Doctors may know some things about the human body, but they often don't know enough about the human heart." He got up and stood about two feet in front of me, just far enough away for him to hold out his arms. "I want you to stand again, and this time, I want you to try to take a step toward me."
"Oh, I don't know . I ."
"Nonsense, Annie Stonewall. You get to your feet. You're Heaven's daughter, and Heaven would not sit there pitying herself, nor would she remain at the mercy of other people long."
He said magic words. I swallowed hard and bit down gently on my lower lip. Then I took hold of the arms of the chair and willed my feet to move from the footpads to the floor. Slowly, scraping along, they did so. Troy nodded encouragement. I closed my eyes and willed all the-pressure I could down my legs.
"Make your feet one with the floor of the cottage," he whispered. "The soles of your feet are glued to that floor. Glued . . ."
I felt myself pushing. There was pressure there. My legs tightened, the wobbly muscles stretched, and I pushed down on the arms of the chair. Slowly, even better and smoother than yesterday, my body rose into a standing position. I opened my eyes. Troy smiled.
"Good. Now don't be afraid. Move your legs forward. Let go of the arms of the chair."
"I can't help being afraid. If I should fall . . ."
"You won't fall. I won't let you, Annie. Walk to me, walk to me," he chanted, holding his hands out just far enough away so that it would take one or two steps to reach him. "Walk to me . . come to me, Annie."
Maybe it was that plea, something in the sound of his voice so similar to the voice in my own dreams calling me out of the darkness and into the light, that gave me the will and the strength to attempt it. Whatever it was, it was enough. I felt my trembling right leg move just a little bit forward, the foot barely lifting from the floor. My left leg followed suit.
It was a step! A step!
I took one more and then my body failed me. It softened with the effort and I felt myself falling. But I fell for only a moment because Troy's arms were around me, holding me securely to him.
"You did it! You did it, Annie! You're on your way back. Nothing can stop you now!"
I couldn't hold back my tears. I was crying a rainbow of happiness, colored blue and yellow, and a veil of sadness, colored gray. I cried because of my success and I cried because I was in the arms of someone who I now knew could be warm and loving, but who was trapped in a world of dark days.
He helped me to return to my chair and then stood back, gazing down at me as proudly as a parent who had seen his baby take her first steps.
"Thank you."
"It is I who should thank you, Annie. You made the clouds part enough for some sunlight to come into my world today. But," he said, looking at the grandfather clock, "I had better get you back. If, as you say, they don't know where you are, they must be frantic with worry by now."
All I could do was nod. I was feeling
exhausted, and the prospect of lying in that big, comfortable bed upstairs in Farthy seemed
surprisingly inviting.
"Will you come to see me?" I begged him. My days at Farthy seemed suddenly brighter with the prospect of Troy to help pass the hours.
"No. You'll come to see me . . . on your own, very soon, I'm sure."
"And after I leave Farthy and return to Winnerrow, will you pay me a visit?"
"I don't know, Annie. I don't leave the cottage very much these days."
He started to wheel me out. The afternoon sun had fallen considerably since we had come through the maze and entered the cottage. Now long shadows were painted over the little lawn and garden. The maze looked much darker and deeper.
"You're cold," Troy said. "Wait." He went back into the cottage and reappeared carrying a light eggshell-white cardigan sweater. I put it on quickly. "Better?"
"Yes, thank you."
This time when we entered the maze, I felt as if I were moving through some dark boundary between a happy world and a sad one. I longed to be turned around and g-o-back to Troy's cottage. How quickly I had come to trust him and feel comfortable with him.
"Perhaps someday you'll let me help you take your first steps, Troy," I said.
"My first steps. How do you mean that, Annie?" We rounded a corner.
"Your first steps into the bright warm world where you belong, the world you deserve."
"Oh. Well, maybe y
ou already have. We're both cripples of a sort, I suppose."
"On the way to recovery," I assured him with a smile.
"Yes, on the way to recovery," he agreed.
"Both of us?" I insisted, raising my brows.
"Yes, both of us." He laughed. "I don't think I could remain depressed with you around. You wouldn't tolerate it long; your mother was the same way."
"You'll tell me more about what you remember about her when she was young . . every time we talk?"
"I will."
"Then we must talk often," I insisted. "Promise?" "I'll do the best I can."
There was no one outside the house when we emerged from the maze. I was positive they were looking for me by now, but I thought they just couldn't imagine me outside. Of course, they had found my chair by the elevator chair and knew I had come downstairs, but they were sure to be going through the bottom floor first.
"I'll help you up that ramp," Troy said. He pushed me forward and up until we reached the front door. "You're back!" He came around to the front of my chair. "Have a good night, Annie, and thank you. I'll have no nightmares tonight," he added, smiling down at me with a gentle warmth in his eyes.
"Nor will I.
"May I give you a good-bye kiss?"
"Yes, I'd like that."
He leaned down and kissed me softly on the cheek and then he was off. Almost before I could turn around, he was gone, absorbed by the shadows, as if he, too, were merely a phantom dream I'd conjured to wile away the long, lonely hours in Farthinggale Manor.
I opened the great door and wheeled myself into the house. I was halfway through the entryway and on my way to the elevator chair when Tony, accompanied by Parsons and another handyman, appeared.
"Here she is! Well,be darned!" Parsons hollered.
"Where have you been?" Tony demanded. He looked very disheveled, his eyes wild.
"Outside . . . just outside," I said, trying to sound casual, but the more casual I sounded, the angrier Tony became, his eyes brightening with surprising fire and rage.
Casteel 04 Gates of Paradise Page 28