"Mr. Tatterton must have had this custom built,"
Mrs. Broadfield commented. "I've never seen one like it."
She wheeled the chair alongside the bed, and I got my first taste of what it was going to be like to be lifted out of bed in the morning and into my chair.
First she brought the head of the bed up as far as it would go so I was in a sitting position. Then she came around and peeled the blankets off my body.
She lifted my legs and turned me so my legs dangled over the side of the bed. They felt loose, barely attached, although there was no pain in them, no feeling whatsoever.
After she had turned me, Mrs. Broadfield came around, put her arms under my armpits, and lifted me so that I could slide off the side of the bed and into the chair, the right arm of which was folded down for my entry. It embarrassed me. I felt like an infant. I hated the dependency, but there was nothing I could about it.
Once I was in the chair, she snapped the right arm back into place and adjusted the footpads so my feet were safely placed on them.
"This little lever will lock the chair so it won't roll. You don't have to push hard to get it moving. Just make gentle, easy strokes and let the momentum carry you forward. Take hold of this metal rim when you want to make a turn to the right, or that metal rim when you want to make a turn to the left. Go on, practice now," she commanded, and I wheeled myself about the room.
How I wished Drake or Luke were here, too, I thought. I longed for their support. Drake would say I looked like a little girl in a toy wagon or on my first tricycle. Luke would look for something humorous to say, too; only his eyes would reveal his deep sadness.
Mrs. Broadfield watched me, gave me more advice, and then decided I had had enough. She wheeled me back to the bed and reversed the order of movements to return me to it. Then she pushed the chair away and went out to see about my dinner.
I lay there staring at the chair, realizing that it and I would have to become good friends. Although Tony had gone to great effort to make it look like an ordinary chair, a comfortable chair, he couldn't hide its true purpose. I was an invalid, a cripple sentenced to dependence on other people and mechanical aids.
All the money and all the expensive help in the world couldn't change that. Only I could change that; and I was determined to do so.
There was so much excitement around me the next day that Mrs. Broadfield almost shut my door to isolate me until it was time to go. Regular hospital nurses who had often stopped by to chat or borrow a magazine came to say good-bye and to wish me good luck. Some of the nurse's aides and orderlies came by, too. And my Pink Lady made a point to get to me as early as possible.
The night before, Tony had brought me a box containing a mauve dress. Although it looked brand new, I realized it was a style worn twenty-five or thirty years ago.
"It was your mother's," he explained. "I bought it for her when she went to the Winterhaven School.
You're about the size she was at the time. Do you like it?"
"It's a beautiful dress, Tony. It's not the kind of thing girls wear today, but since it was my mother's .
."
"She looked beautiful in it, and anyway, Annie, you don't want to be a slave to fads. Something that is beautiful is timeless. Most young girls today don't realize that; they're victimized by fashion, by advertising, by passing trends. I'm sure you've inherited your mother's good sense and you'll appreciate style that is enduring,"
I didn't know what to say. My mother wanted me to look nice, but she always allowed me to pick out my own clothes. She never tried to impose her tastes on me, and my father enjoyed seeing me in oversize sweatshirts and jeans. Sometimes he called me "Miss Be-Bop."
Although, I suppose Tony was right, I did enjoy dressing up more than most girls my age. That was something I had inherited from my mother.
"I brought it for you to wear tomorrow, a special day, the day you leave the hospital and return to Farthy."
"Return?"
"I mean, return with me to Farthy," he corrected quickly. "Besides, wearing something of your mother's will bring you good luck."
I didn't need convincing. The next morning Mrs. Broadfield helped me put on the dress and wheeled me to the mirror over the sink in my hospital room. I couldn't see below my waist, but what I saw was enough to convince me that I did resemble my mother in the dress. Mrs. Broadfield was kind enough to help me with my hair so that I was able to brush it down the way I had seen my mother wear it in some early pictures. Although hers was a shade darker than mine, we had the same fine texture, and when we wore our hair in a similar style, we almost appeared like twins,
When Tony came, his face lit up at the sight of me in the dress. I could feel his eyes almost drinking me in. He stared so long without saying a word that I began to feel uncomfortable. "I'm ready, Tony," I said to break whatever spell had come over him.
His eyes suddenly snapped to attention. "Yes, yes, Annie, let's go." He beamed as I had never seen him beam. He looked years younger, perhaps because he was wearing a summer-weight light blue suit that brought out the blue in his eyes. Gone was the paleness I had seen from time to time around his eyes.
His cheeks looked rosy, his hair thicker and shinier than ever. With Tony at my side, Mrs. Broadfield began to wheel me out of the hospital room, down the corridor to the elevator. Once again the nurses on the floor wished me good luck and waved as I wheeled past.
My heart was pounding in my ears. The echo of that terrible accident on the Winnerrow road had died a little, but the sound of my father's voice when he called my name still lingered.
I looked back at the hospital floor as the elevator doors closed. The nurses and doctors had returned to their duties. I was just another name to be taken of the charts, a file to be stored now. Just before the doors closed, I remembered something.
"My cards! We left them on the wall!"
"Cards? Oh, your get-well cards. Don't worry.
have them brought out to Farthy," Tony promised, but it made me even sadder to think I had left them behind. Luke's funny card, Drake's beautiful card
. I suddenly realized I wasn't bringing along anything from Winnerrow, anything from Luke. I wasn't even wearing the charm bracelet.
The elevator doors opened again and I was
wheeled out to the limousine.
"Annie, this is my chauffeur, Miles. He knew your mother very well," Tony said, eyeing Miles.
"Please to meet you, Miss Annie, and glad you've been released from the hospital," Miles said and tipped his cap to me. I saw the smile in his eyes and on his lips, a smile of appreciation and happiness.
I was sure I reminded him of my mother.
"Thank you, Miles."
He opened the rear door. Mrs. Broadfield then directed my shifting from the chair into the car. Tony insisted on helping. He went into the car first and took me from Mrs. Broadfield, holding me tightly against his chest as he pulled me gently onto the seat. His lips grazed my cheek and he held me snugly against him. I was surprised at how tightly he held me, and thought he wasn't going to let go. But he did, and then he directed Miles to fold the chair and put it into the trunk. Mrs. Broadfield joined us in the rear and Miles started the car and began my journey to Farthinggale Manor, a journey I was sure I would never forget.
PART 2
NINE
Over the Threshold
.
Mrs. Broadfield and Tony sat me on the rich suede rear seat so I could look out the window at the scenery. The day looked disappointingly overcast, but suddenly a brilliant sun peeked through the dreary clouds and I saw a wide patch of soft, aqua blue that reminded me of lazy summer days back at
Winnerrow. Perhaps God was going to shine his light on me after all,
When I gazed back, I saw just how enormous Boston Memorial was, especially compared to our Winnerrow Community General Hospital. We passed through the gates and through some of downtown Boston before getting on the major thoroughfare that would take us to F
arthinggale Manor. The rows of houses came to an end and woods and long green lawns appeared with houses spotted here and there along the way.
"Comfortable?" Tony asked. He adjusted the pillow that Mrs. Broadfield had inserted behind my lower back and the rear of the seat.
"Yes."
I was content just staring out the window now, watching the scenery fly by as we continued down the highway that would take us to Farthinggale Manor.
"I remember the day Jillian and I first picked your mother up at the airport to bring her to Farthy.
Just like you, she looked so innocent and young, so wide-eyed and eager. I knew she was nervous. Jillian, your great-grandmother, didn't realize Heaven was coming to stay with us forever. She thought it was just going to be a short visit."
He laughed. "Jillian was very concerned about looking young and being thought of as young, so she asked—no, she demanded—your mother to refer to her as Jillian, and never as Grandmother."
"My mother was upset about that."
"She didn't let on that she was. She was a very wise and beautiful young woman, even at that early age." Tony stared silently out the window, lost in thought. Then he sighed, and snapped out of his reverie. "We'll be there soon. Turn your head to the right and look for a break in the treeline. The first glimpse of Farthinggale Manor is a sight to remember."
"How old is Farthy?" I asked.
"It was built by my great-great-great-
grandfather in 1850, but don't let its age fool you. It's a grand place, as luxurious as any modern-day mansion. Many a movie star and entrepreneur have sent me offers."
"Would you sell it?"
"Not at any price. It's as much a part of me as . .
as my own name. When I was a boy, there wasn't a house anywhere in the world as fine as the one where I lived. When I was seven, I was sent to Eton because my father thought the English knew more about discipline than our private schools do. I was terribly homesick from the day I arrived to the day I left.
Sometimes I'd close my eyes and pretend I could smell the balsam, fir, and pine trees, and the briny scent of the sea." He closed his eyes, as if inhaling the perfumed air of Farthinggale right here in the limo, which smelled only of fine leather.
I felt the limo slow down and then turn onto a private road, and then there it was, looming above us: the fabled high wrought-iron gates with ornate embel-lishments that spelled out FARTHINGGALE
MANOR. Imps and fairies and gnomes peeked
between the iron leaves.
"It's almost as big as Luke and I dreamed." I sighed.
"Pardon?"
"Luke and I used to play a game, a fantasy game, imagining what Farthinggale looked like."
"You're about to find out, firsthand."
The driveway seemed to go on forever and
ever, and then a huge house made of gray stone suddenly appeared. It did resemble a castle. The red roof soared above the trees; and there were the turrets and small red bridges . . . just as they were in the plaque Luke had given me.
But there was much that was different from the Farthy of our dreams and fantasies, I thought, as I scanned the grounds. Drake's description, unfortunately, was the more accurate one.
The grounds were overgrown and unkempt,
bushes untrimmed and flower beds overrun with weeds.
The house was as breathtaking in size as Luke and I had dreamt it would be, but it looked like it hadn't been lived in for years and years. Wherever there was wood siding or trim, it was peeling and cracked. The house looked gray and cold, the windows dark, the curtains closed like the eyelids of a dying old woman.
When the sun slipped behind the heavy clouds, the front of the great house took on a gloomy look.
Suddenly I felt chilled, apprehensive, and ever so lonely. I embraced myself. Here I would need all the warmth I could find.
Tony, on the other hand, smiled widely, his face full of excitement. He gave not the slightest indication that the degeneration of the grounds and the dilapidated look of the great building embarrassed him. It was as if he didn't see it. I looked at Mrs.
Broadfield to see if she was as surprised as I was, but she sat stone-faced.
"Farthy goes on for acres and acres," he explained proudly. "It is some of the richest land in the area, and we have our own private beach. When you're ready and able, I'll wheel you about and show you our stables, the pool and cabana, the tennis courts, the gazebo . . . all of it," he promised. "And you must think of it all as yours. Don't ever think of yourself as a guest here; you're more than a guest, far more," he pronounced as Miles brought the car to a stop.
Mrs. Broadfield got out quickly and came
around to wait for Miles to get the wheelchair out of the trunk. I looked up the stairway at the great arching door. Even it had lost its grandeur. The wood had chipped off on the right side, as if some giant animal had clawed at it, trying to gain entrance into the house. How could Tony enter and exit from it every day and fail to have it repaired?
"You're here!" Tony exclaimed. "You're actually here! Well, what do you think?"
"I . . ." I fumbled, not knowing what to say. I was disappointed, so very disappointed to see my dream mansion crumbling in disrepair.
"Oh, I know the place needs a little work,"
Tony interjected, "and I'm going to get right to it now, now that I have a reason to do so." His eyes fixed solemnly on me. My heart fluttered beneath my breast. Something in me, some part of me I couldn't name, rang out an alarm.
"It's a magnificent place, and once you get it shipshape, I bet it will look like it did when you were a little boy," I said, not wanting him to notice my trepidation.
"Exactly. That's exactly how I want it to look.
Oh, I knew you would understand, Annie. I'm so happy you're here."
Mrs. Broadfield opened my door. Miles and she had the chair unfolded and ready. She reached in to help guide me out.
"Oh, let me help," Tony insisted, and came around quickly. Mrs. Broadfield stepped back. Tony reached in and embraced me around the waist with his left arm and scooped his right under my thighs. Then, taking great care, he inched back, lifting me up and out of the car as if I were . . . I was about to think: infant, but there was something in the way he held me and smiled it'ine that made me think of a new bride instead, a new bride about to be carried over the threshold of her new home.
"Mr. Tatterton?" Miles asked, wondering, as I was, when Tony was going to lower me to the chair,
"What? Oh yes, let's do that."
He placed me into the chair gently and then he and Miles lifted me, chair and all, up the stairs to the front entrance. A tall, lean, gray-haired man with dark gray eyes and pale gray skin, creased and wrinkled into small folds over his forehead and neck, stood like a mannequin in the doorway.
"This is Curtis, my faithful butler," Tony announced.
"Welcome," Curtis greeted, bowing slightly and stepping aside so I could be wheeled into the great house.
They brought me into the foyer, carpeted with a Chinese rug that had seen its best days years ago.
There were spots that were actually worn through to the hardwood floors. A single chandelier cast pale illumination over the stone walls. It needed a half-dozen bulbs but had only one. Ancestral portraits lined the walls, yellowish faces of stern New England men and women, the women's faces pinched, as if the smiles were ironed out of them; the men making great efforts to appear serious, important, as solid as the rock upon which they had built their magnificent home.
"In time show you all of it," Tony promised,
"but for now we'll get you comfortably ensconced in your quarters. I'm sure, after all that you've been through, even a short journey, such as the one we have just made, tires you out."
"I'm too excited to be tired, Tony. Don't worry about me."
"Oh, but that's exactly what I intend to do from now on, Annie: worry about you. You're my new number-one priority."
He continued pushing m
e farther into the house.
"My office is right here; I'll give you just a short look at it because it's not fit for feminine eyes.
Needs a good cleaning," he confessed, kneeling down so his lips actually touched my earlobe.
Even though we didn't enter the room, I saw he was not exaggerating. The single lamp in the corner threw long fingers of anemic white light over the large mahogany desk and the black leather chairs. The books in the dark pine bookcases looked dusty. Rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains over the windows at the rear, capturing the dust particles as a spotlight would. They danced about freely, arrogantly.
When had someone last taken a dust mop or vacuum cleaner to this room? I wondered. Tony's desk was piled high with paperwork. How could he find anything?
"Now that you're here, of course, I'll have to get all this into order. Right now I wouldn't think of wheeling you into that unkempt sanctuary, for all the fugitive dirt and grime this house could have. Men,"
he added, kneeling down again, "when they live alone, tend to ignore the finer things. But that's coming to an end . . . thank God, it's coming to an end," he muttered, and turned me away.
At least there was nothing disappointing about the stairway. It was just as we had dreamt—long, elegant marble steps with a shiny mahogany balustrade. Just gazing at it was enough incentive to make me want to get well again so I could glide down those steps like a princess, just as Luke and I had envisioned I would—wearing a long flowing gown, my wrists and neck bedecked with jewels, jeweled combs in my hair. Oh, how I wished Luke could be here with me now to see it.
"Yes, unfortunately that staircase is an obstacle for you right now, but hopefully not so for long."
We started toward it, but when I looked to my right again, I saw the large living room and the grand piano, and there were pictures painted on the walls and ceiling!
"Oh wait. What a magnificent living room!
What are those pictures?"
Gates of Paradise (Casteel Series #4) Page 12