Flaming Tree

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “Do you paint anymore?” she asked instead.

  “Everybody paints in Carmel, or sculpts, or writes. It’s catching. I’ve even exhibited a few pictures once or twice. There’s a whole street of good art galleries, and they aren’t just for visitors. Carmel may look like a quaint tourist attraction, but even though tourists are our main business these days, the town is for the people who live here and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

  “Do you stay at the inn?”

  “I have rooms there for now. For a while I lived at Tyler’s but that didn’t work out. What he’d like best is a cave with no one else around—except maybe his wife and child. Or at least that’s the way it used to be. Let’s not talk about Tyler. What was your husband like?”

  The question caught her off guard. “I’m afraid I wound up not liking him very much. Any more than he liked me. It was a mistake, except for Mark. That part would have been fine. Afterward, Carl couldn’t stand the sight of me. He blamed me because Mark was in the car I was driving. We didn’t quarrel—we just walked in opposite directions. I’m sure he’ll land on his feet.”

  “You will too.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. But the earth still had a tendency to tilt, and sometimes it was all she could do to keep her precarious balance.

  “How do you plan to get to Tyler’s tomorrow?” Denis asked. “I can drive you up there in the morning, if you like.”

  “That would be fine. Thank you.”

  They reached the town end of the beach, climbed the sandy bluff to the street, and started up the steep slope of Ocean Avenue. Denis took her to the door of the cottage and went off to his own rooms, in a wing of the inn.

  Elaine, dressed in a tailored robe, lay stretched in a lounge chair, reading a Mary Higgins Clark mystery. She looked up at Kelsey’s blown feathers of hair and pinkened cheeks.

  “You look a lot better than when you arrived. You haven’t been doing so well since you came, have you?”

  Kelsey shook her head. “It’s my own fault. I mean to get out more now.”

  “Look, dear, the atmosphere at Tyler’s may be worse than ever after what Ruth has attempted. So if you’d like to postpone seeing Jody for a few days, I can arrange it. Tyler’s mood will be blacker than ever, and I don’t want you to take on a rough situation too soon.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m ready now, and I’d better go through with it. Denis has offered to drive me to the house tomorrow. I think I’ll go to bed now since I’m not quite over Connecticut time.”

  “Fine. Have a good sleep, dear.”

  Elaine Carey wasn’t a demonstrative woman, and she never invited embraces, but Kelsey bent to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for helping.” Her aunt patted her hand, and Kelsey was touched to see tears in her eyes.

  She went up to her room, got ready for bed quickly, and then lay awake in the dark, sorting out the day. Denis, at least, seemed to be a plus. In a strange way, she felt more comfortable with people who had also suffered disaster. The untouched were too carefree for her to be around. Tomorrow she would need to be strong, because otherwise this small boy, Jody Hammond, could tear her apart and open wounds that had still not healed. His father didn’t want her there, and perhaps he was right. Both her aunt and Ginnie Soong seemed to be looking for a miracle.

  Right now, Kelsey was fresh out of miracles.

  IV

  Mists smudged the high ridges of the Santa Lucia Mountains as they ran parallel along the coast. Carmel’s Scenic Drive wound its way south above the beach and through a residential area of small, distinctive houses.

  This morning Denis seemed more subdued than he had last night, and Kelsey suspected that by daylight he might be regretting the frankness with which he’d spoken during their walk on the beach. Perhaps he felt as she did, that they were on a hopeless mission that must be performed quickly so they could escape from its awfulness as soon as possible.

  The highway ran past a narrow side road that led uphill. A sign indicated Carmel Highlands, and she glimpsed an impressive inn built on the hillside above. Up there were large homes as well, set apart from one another in great stands of Monterey pine. Denis kept to the main road until he came to a driveway that led downhill on the right-hand side, ending in a paved space before the garage of La Casa de la Sombra.

  They left the car to follow steps dropping to a still lower courtyard. Kelsey paused beside a huge aloe vera bush to look down upon the sloping, red tile roofs and steel-blue walls of the house below. A front wing met the main house at a right angle, framing two sides of the court, and bougainvillea reached purple tendrils across blue stucco. At the corner angle where walls met, a flight of narrow stone steps with a curving iron rail mounted to an upper entrance on the second floor. Denis went to the lower door and raised the knocker beside carved fretwork panels.

  A Japanese-American maid greeted them and invited them into a square anteroom with a dark tiled floor and pine-paneled walls. An iron lamp hung from the high ceiling, and a hall opened into the huge living room that Denis had mentioned. Kelsey could see straight through to a far balcony, with pine tops dropping away, and the blue sea visible beyond.

  A moment later Ginnie Soong came briskly into the room, professional and efficient this morning in her white uniform, a cap pinned to her black hair. She looked even more concerned than she had yesterday, and greeted them gravely.

  “Please call Mr. Hammond, Hana,” she said to the maid.

  “I couldn’t get through by phone this morning,” Denis told Ginnie. “Nobody would talk to me. I wasn’t sure whether Kelsey should come or not, after what happened. How is my sister?”

  “She’s sleeping, I think. That’s best for now.”

  “And Tyler?”

  Ginnie shook her head doubtfully. “I’ve hardly seen him. And he’s not permitting anyone except your mother to see Ruth. Even as an old friend, I don’t count right now. Come with me, Kelsey, so you can see Jody alone for a moment.”

  A side door opened down a hallway and led into what had probably been a guest suite, since it had its own bath, sitting room, and small kitchen. Now it was furnished with an electric hospital bed, white utility tables, and a metal cupboard. The tiled floor could be easily cared for, and the setup seemed ideal for its purpose. Beyond the bed, two casement windows opened on green pine tops and made the room bright, in spite of dark paneling on the walls. On a table near the bed a television set talked to itself.

  Kelsey paused in the doorway, taking in the room at a glance, trying to hold her feelings in check. Somehow she must be cool, objective, and not allow her own emotion to stand in the way of anything she could offer this child. He lay on his back, his slight body barely discernible under a light blanket—a handsome boy with an empty face and large gray eyes that stared at nothing. Kelsey felt the touch of Denis’s hand on her arm, urging her forward, and she walked in and stood looking down at Jody Hammond’s thin face. Denis came with her and stood near the end of the bed.

  A plastic tube inserted in one nostril was connected to a suspended bag filled with liquid food to sustain life. Jody’s dark hair had been trimmed short, except for the bangs over his forehead, and a small patch of bandage showed where hair had begun to grow back in the shaved area of damage. The usual urine bag had been clipped to the bed, and the tube that led to a catheter disappeared under the blanket.

  Jody’s sickly pallor, his soft child’s mouth and rounded chin caught at her heart. She had a quick vision of the way he must have been, his eyes alive with fun, his legs strong and swift. In the same instant a memory of her own Mark stabbed through her, and the longing to hold a child in her arms was intense. She glanced at Denis, wanting to escape, fearful lest she wasn’t strong enough to go through with this.

  He stood watching her steadily, and his nod was just perceptible. With the quick turning of a knob, Ginnie stilled the television set that Kelsey knew was there for the purpose of offering possible stimulation to the boy in the bed.

&nbs
p; “You never know what they can hear,” Ginnie said, and the quiet words were steadying.

  Kelsey bent over the bed. “Hello, Jody.” She watched intently for the slightest flutter of lashes, for any change in his breathing. There was nothing. His arms, reaching from a short-sleeved hospital gown, lay inert on the covers. Gently, Kelsey picked up one limp hand and found it pliant in her own, but without any sign of life in the slender fingers. There was no return of the firm pressure she gave him; no response of any sort, and she had expected none.

  Ginnie said softly, “We try. We try everything. At least I do.”

  “I know.” Kelsey stroked the slim hand that lay in her own and began to speak to him slowly, clearly. “I’ve just come here from Connecticut, where I live, Jody. Back home I work in hospitals, helping children who’ve been hurt. Sometimes I have helped them to get well. Some of them are walking and talking again now. It takes time, Jody. We know how frightened you are inside. It’s very scary not to be able to move and talk, but you can come out of that. We all want to help you.”

  She bent so that she could look directly into his unfocused eyes, and it seemed for an instant that he was looking at her. But one of the most frustrating things in such cases was that you could never be sure, and one’s own strong wish might make the impossible seem real.

  “Can you try a little, Jody?” she said. “Can you just press my fingers?”

  There was still no response, and her throat felt full of tears. No matter how many times she saw a child in this condition, it always broke her heart.

  A sudden change in the atmosphere of the room pierced her like a chill. There had been no sound, but her own acute senses were aware that both Ginnie Soong and Denis had stiffened. She turned and saw Tyler Hammond in the doorway. In spite of all she’d heard, she was unprepared for the force of the man—a dark, furious, pent-up power—as though he might explode at any moment; that without reason he was already angry with her for being here at all.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hammond,” she said. “I’m Kelsey Stewart.”

  He threw Denis a quick, dismissing look—though Denis didn’t move—and walked to the opposite side of the bed, where he faced Kelsey.

  “I suppose you know what happened to my wife last night—what she tried to do?”

  “Yes, I know,” Kelsey said. “I’m very sorry.” She glanced at the unhearing, unseeing boy. “But we shouldn’t talk here.”

  He didn’t answer or move. His eyes held the force, she thought grimly. His look was nearly as unblinking as his son’s—an almost destructive stare, as though it pleased him to disconcert and confuse. Kelsey stared back, examining him as he examined her. He was tall—more than six feet—and inclined to stoop a little, as though ordinary doorways might defeat him. His thick hair was as black as his son’s, and his eyes much darker. Unlike his son’s, his skin was tanned, his thin, long-fingered hands brown and strong. An angry arrogance seemed to stamp his manner, as though he had been so long accustomed to command that he hardly considered the feelings of those around him. Kelsey reminded herself that this was a man who had endured—was enduring—an almost unbearable pain, and his anger could be a protective shield. But she had no desire, no strength to stay and try to fight him. It could very well be that the father was as much the problem as the boy in the bed, and she had no strength left for dealing with impossible fathers.

  “You’re right,” she said, answering his unspoken words. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do that’s not already being done.” She glanced at Ginnie with a forced smile. “Your son is in very good hands with Ginnie Soong.”

  He brushed her words away with a flick of his fingers. “I’ve let you come this morning only because I respect Elaine Carey. Now I’ve done what she wished, but I have made other arrangements for Jody. He’ll be driven by ambulance to a place in San Francisco next week where every possible care can be given him.”

  “Custodial care?” Kelsey asked. “Someone who will watch and protect him, and be too busy to help him?”

  “That’s all that’s needed now. I’ve had the best specialists in to see him, both at the hospital and here at home. The doctors all agree that when a coma lasts more than forty-eight hours, it’s less likely that the patient will come out. The chances for even a slight recovery are—”

  “But I’ve seen them come out!” Kelsey interrupted. “I’ve seen them come out after months. You’re giving up too easily. Too soon.”

  “Thank you for stopping in, Mrs. Stewart. There’s no point in your staying.”

  He started for the door without a word for either Denis or Ginnie, and Kelsey went right after him. “Just a moment, Mr. Hammond.”

  He turned, staring her down. “Yes?”

  “There’s no such thing as knowing for sure how hopeless a case may be. Not for a long time—if ever. You haven’t allowed Jody enough of a chance.”

  His mouth was as grim as his eyes. “Don’t try to tell me! I’m thinking now of my wife’s sanity—maybe of my own. We lost our son two months ago. Don’t you people ever consider the families who may be destroyed by having”—he broke off and gestured toward the bed—“a shell like that in their midst? We can’t pick up whatever lives we have left while he’s here to remind us every moment of what he did—what he caused!”

  For an instant of inner rage Kelsey hated him furiously. Yet she knew the unhappy truth in his words. In such cases there was always this desperate problem to be faced, and sometimes no other choice than to send the brain-damaged patient away. However, this was a big house, and Tyler Hammond could afford all that was needed to give Jody whatever chance might still be left. Even in the best of institutions, there were too many other hopeless cases, and too few nurses and aides for real nurture. Aides came and went, and some were good, and some weren’t.

  He didn’t wait for her answer, but walked out of the room and down the hall. Kelsey closed her eyes and felt the weakness of total defeat flowing through her.

  Denis touched her arm. “You can see that it’s no use. Let me take you back to the inn.”

  Ginnie spoke softly. “Wait. Look at him!”

  Kelsey stared at the boy in the bed. His eyes were still open, but now a big tear was falling from one gray eye, rolling slowly down his cheek. Tears could be a reflex to pain, but this was more. This seemed an indication of understanding. She watched for only a moment, and then ran out of the room after Tyler Hammond. He was about to disappear around a jog in the corridor, and she called to him.

  “Wait a minute, Mr. Hammond! Please come back!”

  He kept going without a pause, and anger with him trembled in her voice.

  “Are you afraid to see what you’ve done?” she cried.

  He turned slowly. Thick black brows met above his nose, drawn down in an anger that equaled her own.

  “What did you say?”

  “I asked if you were afraid to see what your words have done to your son.”

  He strode back down the hall past her, and she ran to keep up with him. In Jody’s room he stood beside the boy’s bed. Ginnie Soong looked as though she too might cry, as now more tears coursed down Jody’s thin cheeks.

  “What does this mean?” his father demanded.

  Kelsey answered, trying to keep her voice steady. “I believe it means that some part of Jody’s brain is listening and understanding, and can be hurt. It has the power to make him cry.” She picked up one of the boy’s small, limp hands again. “We know you can hear us, Jody. We know you can understand. Even though you can’t move yet or speak to us, you do understand. Your father is sorry for what he said. He thought you had gone away, Jody.”

  For an instant she expected the man beside her to deny her words and make some farther explosive utterance—out of his own pain. Instead, he touched the boy’s forehead, smoothing back his hair before turning toward the door, speaking to her as he moved.

  “Come with me, Mrs. Stewart. We need to talk.”

  Denis made a small gesture, almost
as if he wanted to stop her, and Ginnie said, “It’s all right. Let her go.”

  The hallway jogged around the interruption of Jody’s suite, and continued to a corner room on the ocean side of the house. Tyler Hammond went ahead, not bothering with formality, and sat down behind a big desk set diagonally across a corner, between two windows. He gestured her to a green leather chair nearby.

  Kelsey sat down, trying to still the turbulence inside her. The room was filled with deep browns, set off by a thick, soft rug in the green shade of meadow grass in spring. Except for the steel desk and green leather chair, the furniture was dark and beautifully made, hand-carved. There were no draperies at the wide glass of the windows, and she could look over pine groves that cascaded down the hillside and ended where sand began and the ocean took over. Paintings on the walls seemed to be of local scenes, and one in particular caught her eye—a tower built of irregular stones, rising against a misty sky. Her angry inner trembling had lessened and now she could give all her attention to the man who sat watching her behind his desk.

  “What do you think you can do for him?” he demanded. “Can you bring back my son?”

  “The way he was before? Probably not. But those tears may really mean that he can understand—something. Nobody can tell how much, or what he thinks about. But I don’t believe he was crying because of physical pain. He cried because you hurt him with your words. So I do believe he understood something.”

  The man behind the desk didn’t flinch. “If you came here to work with him, what could you do? I understand you’re a physical therapist. But he can’t move a finger, so I don’t see that he has any need for you.”

  “I don’t limit myself,” Kelsey said. “I like to use anything that might help toward healing. In a way, there would be more freedom for me to work with Jody here than in a hospital or institution. There are always boards of directors who must protect the hospital. These days there are too many lawsuits, and sometimes patients die before a board convenes and makes up its mind. The unknown can often seem threatening and dangerous.”