Flaming Tree

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “Both Monterey pine and cypress seem to feed on the fog and salt winds,” Denis said. “They don’t grow inland. We can go down closer, if you like.”

  He held her hand as they descended the path, protected on either side by wooden fencing. The way ended at a stone support wall that guarded the tree. One could come to its foot, and no farther.

  Kelsey looked into green branches rising above her. “The trunk is charred! What happened?”

  “Vandals.” Denis spoke with disgust. “Probably kids. Someone set the tree on fire. Luckily, it wasn’t destroyed. I don’t understand that sort of vicious destructiveness.”

  Neither did she. It seemed appalling that anyone could be willing to destroy something beautiful that was also a symbol for the region and had stood for so many years. The sight reminded her of that terrible burning tree in Marisa’s photograph. But that tree had been destroyed by an act of nature, and nature had no conscience.

  “I wonder if men without conscience—or women—are the truly evil that Marisa was talking about?” she said. “Whoever tried to burn this tree must have had no glimmering of conscience.”

  Denis thought about that. “I suppose when there were tribes, or strong families, even neighborhoods, and people cared more about religion, children were taught a few values. I don’t think the very young have consciences at all—it’s something that has to be learned. Maybe we all have a dark side we have to fight against.”

  “Is Tyler losing the battle?”

  “Let’s go back,” Denis said abruptly.

  Kelsey stood for a moment, staring, not at the tree, but toward the faraway headland of Point Lobos, from here only a series of rocky dots floating on the ocean.

  When they reached the car, Denis sat with his hands on the wheel and made no move to start the engine, his dejection clear.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “Mainly about Ruth, I suppose, and about Jody. They’re never out of my thoughts for long these days, Kelsey. I can’t help remembering the last time we came here together. Jody wanted to climb right up into that tree—he was always a great climber. I had to hold him back.” He paused and then went on. “Maybe there’s something else you ought to know about Marisa.”

  “I’m sure there’s plenty to know,” Kelsey said.

  “This is special. You’ve seen that she’s a remarkable woman, and sometimes she has an extra sensitivity. ESP—whatever you want to call it. She claims it’s something we all have and mostly never develop. Marisa was the one who found Ruth and Jody after they fell. She was working in her darkroom when she had a sudden urge to drop everything and get into her car. She said it was overpowering—as though she were being directed in some way. She drove to the state reserve at Point Lobos and walked out on foot. That’s a big place, but she let her own compass take over—and she found them! Then she rushed back to the office for a park ranger, and Ruth and Jody were brought up from that ledge above the sea. If it hadn’t been for Marisa, they might have died there. Yet she doesn’t want to accept this gift she has, or believe in it. When this sort of thing happens, it upsets her—makes her almost ill.”

  “It’s happened before?”

  “Several times—ever since she was a child. She’s tried to ignore it—and then suffered guilt when someone might have been helped if she’d acted. I don’t think it’s a pleasant gift to have.”

  He started the car abruptly, and for a little while Kelsey no longer looked out at the view. Too many ramifications were coming at her much too quickly, bringing a sense of alarm and confusion. It was as though she walked on a surface that seemed secure, only to find it giving way unexpectedly beneath her feet. Marisa Marsh was closely connected with the Hammonds on several levels, and Kelsey knew that she must see her again. If she were to help Jody, she must know much more than she did now, and Marisa could be a source of needed information. Especially if she really had some gift of sensitivity. This might even be used to help Jody.

  There was never just one road to healing, though sometimes the medical profession could be locked into its own narrow premises. Kelsey had learned that it was best not to discount anything, and to use every instrument that came to hand to treat the whole person. Yet there were always doubts, and she was torn by fear of the consequences if she failed. Could she really help that child who was locked so terribly into his own damaged brain? She only knew that she must try every possible course—if Tyler Hammond would give her a chance.

  As the road curved on along the shoreline toward Carmel, Pebble Beach came into view, with its famous golf course, its lodge and fine shops. Denis drove past, and a few miles later, as they turned inland, the loop of the drive was completed at Carmel Gate.

  When they stopped at the office of the inn, Elaine was behind the desk.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” she told them. “Tyler’s called several times. It seems that Ruth has decided that she wants to see you right away, Kelsey. She doesn’t want to wait until tomorrow.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Denis said. “She must be feeling better. Maybe I can see her now too. I’ll drive you up there, Kelsey, and …”

  “I’m sorry,” Elaine was shaking her head. “Tyler told me that Ruth doesn’t want to see you right now, Denis. The last time you visited her she got much too upset.”

  Denis drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s because Tyler was there glowering when I saw her. He made her think I was upsetting her. God knows I only want to help my sister.”

  “Then perhaps it’s best to stay away from her right now. Humor Tyler a bit until things calm down. Kelsey, you can take my car. I don’t drive much around here. Do you think you can find the way?”

  “I’m sure I can,” Kelsey said. “I’ll go right now.”

  She stopped to thank Denis for the morning. He looked thoroughly depressed, wounded by the word from his sister. She wished she could offer comforting words, but there seemed nothing more to say. Helping Jody was her one real goal.

  She followed her aunt out behind the cottage, where Elaine kept her car.

  VI

  Since the road along Scenic Drive was also the road to Carmel Highlands, Kelsey had no problem finding the way. Elaine’s Mercedes was a delight to handle, and it was good to be at the wheel of a car she’d never driven before. She needed to escape the physical memory of her own car on an icy road in Connecticut.

  As she drove, she thought again of the visit to Marisa Marsh, and the photographs she’d seen. Especially the one of Ruth—happy and guileless, with no inkling of what was to happen to her and her son. The instant of “truth” that Marisa’s camera had caught was indeed only an instant and, as Denis said, might already be lost in the past.

  She wondered why Denis had wanted her to see that darkly ominous portrait of Tyler Hammond. He’d said she needed to be warned. Of what? She had already glimpsed something of Tyler’s unyielding character, so what more had Denis wanted to emphasize? No matter—Tyler was no photograph—no still portrait, however brilliant. It was the man himself she must deal with in all his complexity. A picture could never change, but a man might.

  On the higher road the turnoff came up quickly, and she followed the short drive down to the Hammond garage and got out of the car. Someone must have heard her arrival, for when she followed the flight of stone steps to the lower courtyard, Tyler himself stood in the doorway, waiting.

  He greeted her coolly and led her into the big, high-ceilinged living room. Heavy, dark beams arched above, and a great limestone fireplace tapered halfway up the wall, occupying most of one end of the room. The furniture was old—all good Spanish pieces, mostly dark like the beams. Lamps and paintings and ornaments showed the tastes of another day, perhaps of a former owner. Opposite the fireplace, a small minstrels’ gallery of dark wood jutted out, high on the wall, with a narrow arched door behind. This was a room where parties had once been held, and spirited talk must have echoed against white walls. Now it was a silent, empty ro
om.

  Outside light filtered from a sunny white balcony, where a door stood open.

  Tyler gestured her toward one of the two sofas slipcovered in brown-striped cotton, that faced each other before the fireplace. For Kelsey, the main effect of the room seemed heavy and oppressive. The party times were long gone, and had left no trace.

  Tyler’s stoop had become more pronounced, as though the recent tragedies weighed heavily on his shoulders. For a little while he sat absently silent, not looking at her, his thick brows—the brows of Marisa’s portrait—drawn together in a frown. Although the silence grew uncomfortably strange, Kelsey made no attempt to break it. What happened now was up to this man who clearly had no welcome for her, even though he’d summoned her here.

  When he finally spoke, it was to ask a question that surprised her. “Did you stop at Marisa Marsh’s on your drive today?”

  “Yes. Denis wanted me to meet her.”

  “What did she think of you?” Again, a strange question.

  “She would have to answer that. I liked her very much.”

  “You would know how she felt,” Tyler said shortly. “Marisa doesn’t hold back her reactions.”

  “She invited us to stay for lunch. And she asked me to come to see her again. She also showed me some of her photographs.”

  For the first time he looked at her directly. “So?”

  Kelsey shrugged. “I saw the happy one of your wife, and a not very happy one of you—but as Mrs. Marsh said, a photograph is only a moment in time.”

  “It’s more than that. Maybe it is all the moments up to that time.”

  “I especially liked the driftwood geese flying across the ceiling of her studio. She said you had carved them.”

  He raised long-fingered hands and stared at them as though he wondered who they belonged to and what they had done. “About my wife—I’m not sure she will agree to have you come and work with Jody for even a week. She’s still badly shocked and cries easily. I don’t want to upset her any more than I can help.”

  “Have the doctors decided what injuries prevent her walking? Is there any hope?”

  He hesitated. “Three specialists have told me there’s no reason at all why she can’t walk as soon as she makes up her mind to try. Her inability to move her legs may be psychological because of her emotional state. She’s easily shattered right now. I think she may feel that if she tries to walk, and fails, that will be worse than not trying. After her own attempt on her life last night, I’m doubtful about having you see her. But Ruth has insisted. She wants to deal with you herself.”

  “Deal with” sounded ominous, but if Kelsey was to find any way to help Jody, she might have to deal with Ruth.

  “I saw two wonderful photographs of Jody today,” she said. “One was taken with you at the Hawk Tower. In the other, Jody was modeling a head of his mother.”

  Tyler’s expression seemed to darken even more. “The boy in those pictures is gone—gone forever.”

  “I keep hearing that about him. Forgive me if I’m too frank. I know nothing helps the way you feel, but perhaps those pictures are just what you need to hold on to. There has to be a goal. Something to work toward one step at a time.”

  His look seemed to suggest that his contempt for her notions had returned. He stood up without answering. “We’ll see Ruth now. All I ask is that you disturb my wife as little as possible.”

  A flight of uncarpeted stairs rose from a corner of the living room to a landing a few steps up, then turned steeply to the floor above. Tyler led the way to a dark upper hall, with doors opening off along one side. Ruth’s was a corner room.

  When Tyler knocked a small, plump woman let them in. She wore a white dress that resembled a uniform, and Kelsey remembered that Dora Langford had once trained as a nurse. She seemed constantly hurried and harried, and moved with little grace. Her skin had wrinkled from too much California sun, and her white hair was a curly mass about her face.

  She nodded to Kelsey without smiling, her concern evident. “Ruth is waiting for you.”

  “This is Mrs. Langford,” Tyler said. “Dora, Mrs. Stewart.”

  The little woman held out a soft, uncertain hand. Kelsey thought of the things Denis had told her about his father, the General, and returned her handclasp warmly. Ruth’s mother probably deserved a lot more credit than she ever got.

  The bedroom was large and bright, but not a particularly quiet room. The carpet glowed ruby red, and there were crimson squares in the draperies and the upholstery of one chair. An urge to hush the room and tell it to be still stirred in Kelsey. It seemed not at all a room for a woman who needed healing.

  Though a wheelchair stood in one corner, Ruth lay in the bed, propped against pillows, and even though Kelsey was prepared, she felt shocked by the contrast between the happy, guileless face of Marisa’s portrait, and this apathetic woman who had plainly given up. Her short, dark hair was held back by a band of red ribbon. Apparently once her favorite color—the color of life and animation, both of which had abandoned the woman in the bed. Her body, outlined beneath the sheet, seemed almost as slight as Jody’s, and her fine-boned hands lay outstretched on either side, motionless, the wrists bandaged.

  Tyler moved briskly to the bed and bent to kiss Ruth’s cheek. Kelsey sensed his hurry to get through something that might be unpleasant. Ruth made no response. She turned neither her head nor her eyes as Tyler made the introduction, her lack of any interest clear.

  Kelsey stepped to the end of the bed where she could place herself in the line of Ruth’s vision. The sea-gray eyes seemed to focus, as though Kelsey’s effort to make contact had caught her attention.

  “You wanted to see Mrs. Stewart,” Tyler said impatiently.

  Ruth roused herself to an effort, her voice faint.

  “My husband says you think you can help Jody.”

  “I don’t know whether I can or not. I’d like to try.”

  “What can you do for him that hasn’t already been done?” Her voice strengthened a little, though her look was still apathetic. “We’ve been told that Jody’s state may be permanent. Even if he comes out of it, the doctors think he’ll be in a permanent vegetative state. A vegetable!” For the first time emotion surged into her voice, and Dora Langford moved toward the bed anxiously. “I can’t bear that! It would be better to send him where he can be properly cared for and perhaps helped in small ways to be comfortable.”

  Kelsey spoke quickly. “What if he’d rather stay here? What if he’d miss you? Coma isn’t a word you can be specific about, and every case is different. I’ve seen children who were labeled ‘vegetative’ recover, even after weeks and months had passed. I’m not even sure that Jody is still in a comatose state. I’d like to test his reactions in several ways.”

  “And if he has no reactions?”

  “He’s already shown the reaction of tears, and that means something.”

  Ruth glanced at her husband for the first time, and Kelsey guessed that she hadn’t been told about Jody’s tears.

  “I didn’t want to give you any false hope,” Tyler said stiffly.

  “Recovery takes time and a great deal of patience,” Kelsey went on. “Time to watch for the slightest improvement and use it fully the moment it comes.”

  Apathy seemed to possess Ruth again. “I really think he’d be better off where various therapists could treat him—if there’s anything to treat. There’s all sorts of equipment, I understand, in the place where we’re sending him.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Kelsey said gently. “But all that’s for later on. I don’t think Jody’s ready for any rehabilitation yet. In his present state very little can be done for him in an institution. There’s never enough time for all those children—never enough staff, even in the best of places. What he needs right now is personal, persistent attention.” Fervor warmed her voice to a new earnestness. “Someone needs to make him come back to the world. Or at least try.”

  “Ginnie Soong is gi
ving him that sort of attention.”

  “I’ve met Ginnie, and I’m sure she’s very good with him. But she also believes that more could be done than she can manage alone.”

  The woman in the bed raised one hand helplessly and let it fall—as though too wearied to continue.

  “If Jody’s brain is as seriously damaged as they say,” Tyler put in, “what use is there in helping him physically? He’ll never be able to talk again, or walk or enjoy his life as—” he broke off and turned away.

  Kelsey thought of those photographs in which Jody had been so alive, so eager for life. It was Jody she must give all her sympathy to, and she was growing impatient with these two negative parents who had given up.

  “Nobody can say that for sure!” she cried. “If Jody can understand enough to cry, I truly believe there’s something—some intelligence there.”

  “Do you think he’ll ever talk again?” Tyler demanded.

  “I can’t play guessing games, Mr. Hammond. But I’d like to try a few things this coming week before you send Jody away. Though it’s far too little time for a real test.”

  Ruth moved her shoulders restlessly and spoke to Tyler without looking at him. “Oh, let her come. I suppose it can’t do any harm. I’m tired now, Mrs. Stewart. I want to rest.”

  Nevertheless, her eyes opened for a single direct look before Kelsey turned away, and there seemed an unspoken appeal in their gray depths. Ruth, too, was asking silently for help. Next time, if she returned, she would try to see Ruth alone. She knew now what Denis meant about Tyler’s presence.

  Dora Langford accompanied them to the door, and when they were out of Ruth’s hearing, she took Kelsey’s hands in both of hers. “Please do something for my grandson—please!” Then she threw a nervous look at Tyler, and hurried back to her daughter.