Gates of Paradise (Casteel Series #4)

by V. C. Andrews

  "Hold on a minute, my head is spinning." He sat back. "Get you downstairs to call Luke, Tony's turned a suite into a museum suite, Tony's confused, you wish you hadn't dyed your hair . . . could this all be because of some medicine you're taking?"

  "Drake, aren't you listening to me?" He just stared. "I'm beginning to feel afraid. I want to be cooperative and do what everyone thinks I should, but I can't help wondering what Tony's going to do next."

  "Tony?" he said, still disbelieving. "I never met anyone as kind, as loving, as devoted to us as Tony."

  "Wheel me out," I demanded. "Now."

  "Let me talk to your doctor."

  "No," I said quickly, a new possibility coming to mind. "He's under Tony's employ. He does what makes Tony happy." The real possibility of that drove a sword of cold terror through my heart. "My God . . .

  what if . . ." I looked around the room, frantic now.

  "Even the doctor is no good? Annie, you should hear yourself. You're just overwrought because of all you've gone through . . . the accident, your crippled state . . the service at the tomb . . . I understand how you feel, but you really do have one of the best doctors and you are getting the best possible care here. I'm sure you'll have a new nurse by the end of the day and—"

  "Oh, what's the use?" I said, lowering my head.

  He couldn't see what was going on here, or . . . I raised my head and looked at him. Or he didn't want to see because he was so happy about the new executive position Tony had given him. He was in love with his own power and authority. In a real sense, Tony had done something he had done before—he had bought Drake. "You just won't listen.

  I thought I could depend on you. With my parents gone, you and Luke and Aunt Fanny . . ."

  I felt sick inside, sick and alone. My heart felt hollow, an echo chamber filled with my empty cries, cries that would be heard by no one because the people who had once really loved me were dead. Even Luke seemed dead to me now.

  "Look," he said, reaching out to take my hands quickly, "I'm on my way to New York. I've got a rather big project all on my own to run. I'll be gone a few days and then come right back here, and if you still feel the same way about all this, take you back to Winnerrow myself."

  "Will you? Promise?" Somehow, I didn't hold much hope for that.

  "Of course. I'll simply take charge of your recovery myself, get our own doctors, our own nurses—"

  "Oh, Drake, I wish you could do that now."

  "Just give it a few more days, Annie. You might be jumping the gun here, and we could set you back by starting all over again. You've got to be sure it's the right decision, but ... if you are, I promise to help you."

  He kissed me softly on the cheek and held me to him, and then he jumped up as if a buzzer had gone off in his businessman's head.

  "I've got a plane to catch."

  "But Drake, I thought you would at least take me downstairs to call Luke."

  "There's really no point in calling him and calling him. He'll come when he wants to come."

  "Drake, please," I begged, really begged to make him understand how important this was to me.

  He gazed down at me a moment and then

  nodded. "I'll speak to Tony on the way out. He's sure to do it."

  "But Drake—"

  "Keep your chin up, Annie. Everything will be all right. You'll see. At least you've gone back to your painting," he said, pointing to the easel. He didn't even go over to look at my work. He smiled quickly, like some automated functionary, and waved as he backed quickly out of the room, obviously afraid I was going to insist on something that might bring him into a conflict with Tony. I was so disappointed in him, Drake, the uncle who had been more like a big brother to me, now acting more like some stranger.

  In a moment he was gone and I was left with the silence that made me more aware of my

  helplessness. I was alone once more, trapped like a wounded animal in a gilded cage.

  More determined than ever, I wheeled myself to the door and opened it. Then I wheeled myself through the sitting room and opened the outside door.

  I wheeled down the corridor toward the stairway.

  Looking down, I saw there was no one below, but my second wheelchair was just where Tony had promised it would be—next to the foot of the stairway. I unfastened and lifted up the chair arm so I could pull myself into the elevator chair just the way Tony and the technician had shown me. Securely in it, the belt fastened, I pressed the down button and began to descend. My heart was pounding, but I was determined to be rebellious, determined to end this state of imprisonment.

  The chair came to a halt at the bottom of the stairway and I worked my way into the wheelchair that waited. Encouraged by my success so far, I began to wheel myself over the carpeted corridor toward Tony's office.

  The office door was slightly open. I paused, heard nothing from within, but pushed on anyway. A single small reading lamp was on at the desk, but other than that, the room was relatively dark, the closed curtains locking out the afternoon sunlight. I looked around. There was no one there. Where had Tony gone? I sat back in my chair, frustrated.. Then my eyes settled on the phone on Tony's desk.

  Finally, an opportunity to speak with Luke myself! I wheeled myself to the desk. It wasn't until I picked up the receiver that I realized I had no idea how to reach him, I had no number. What was the name of the dormitory he was living in? Drake had never told me.

  I dialed information and asked for Harvard. The operator, annoyed with my lack of specifics, began reading off a list of possible offices. When she mentioned the housing administration, I stopped her. A tape-recorded voice came on and recited a number. I called and explained what I wanted as soon as someone answered. The secretary was very kind. She told me most of the students hadn't gotten their phones hooked up in their rooms yet, but she gave me the number of the phone on Luke's dorm floor. I thanked her and dialed again.

  A young man answered. He sounded like a

  Bostonian, a younger version of Tony.

  "I need to speak with Luke Casteel. This is his cousin Annie. It's urgent."

  "Wait one moment, please."

  I waited, watching the office doorway,

  expecting Tony to arrive any moment. I couldn't help feeling that I was doing something he would disapprove of. I hated the idea that a mere phone call seemed so adventurous.

  "Miss?"

  "Yes?"

  "Luke Casteel is in class now. His roommate said he would tell him you called."

  "Oh, but. . please, tell him more. Please," I begged.

  "Why, of course. What would you like me to tell him?"

  "Tell him . tell him I need him desperately, and no matter what anyone says, he should come to Farthy immediately."

  "Farthy?"

  "Yes, he'll understand. Make sure you say immediately. It's very, very important."

  "And this is Annie?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, I"ll give the message to his roommate, who will most assuredly give it to him."

  "Thank you."

  "You're very welcome."

  I cradled the phone. My heart had started to pound again, thumping so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. The excitement gave me a cold flush. I felt the beads of sweat that had broken out on the back of my neck.

  I straightened up in my chair and caught my breath, forcing myself to calm down. Where was Tony? He had told me he was coming down here to do business in his office. Maybe he had gone to get a new nurse. I wheeled myself out to the corridor again and listened. The house was so quiet.

  I went to the front door and opened it. Sunlight burst in upon me like a wave of warm water. I blinked and then closed my eyes and lay back as if I were on a beach. How wonderful to feel the fresh air and the warmth after having been locked in a room so long! It filled me with strength and hope. My heart grew stronger, and as the blood pulsated more quickly around my body, my limbs felt whole and well again.

  I sat up and rolled my chair fo
rward and out onto the portico, and there it was, just as Tony had described: a wooden ramp. But it looked so steep. Dare I try to wheel myself down it? What would happen when I wanted to wheel myself back up? I wondered.

  Fear gripped me. I had gone too far, I thought.

  Now I was doing too much. But as I remained there in the opened doorway staring at the ramp, I thought of Luke. I could hear him telling me, "Go for the tall ones." What was I going to do now . . . turn back and retreat to my room, beaten down?

  I was strong enough, I told myself. My body wasn't going to disappoint me. Slowly, I wheeled myself to the ramp. How my heart was pounding! But I refused to be defeated. I had to do it.

  The wheels went up. I tottered at the top of the ramp and then . . I began to descend. My arms were barely strong enough to keep the wheels from spinning on their own. It did take more effort than I had anticipated to keep the chair straight and in control, but I reached the bottom and spilled off onto the walkway. I had done it!

  I had done all this and still felt able to go on.

  I looked down to my right, but the sounds of someone talking turned me to the left. Most likely Tony was out there overseeing some work, I thought, and I began to wheel down the walkway to my left.

  The pitted stone made it difficult at times, but I found a smooth rhythm and took myself a good five hundred feet from the front of Farthy before pausing.

  I saw a handyman down by the pool. He carried what looked like a lounge chair into the storage building. There was no one else- around. For a few moments I stared at the large gazebo and thought about Luke. At least I felt sure now he would get my message. He would understand how important it was for him to come, how desperate I had been. Perhaps he had felt I had deserted him because he hadn't heard directly from me for so long. Perhaps I had been wrong, horribly wrong, to think bad thoughts about him, to accept Drake's assertion that Luke had changed just because he was at college and meeting new people, especially new girls. He would come here immediately, I knew he would.

  How I wished I was gazing upon my own

  gazebo in Winnerrow now. How I wished Luke were already here, waiting for me.

  Behind this gazebo arid farther off to the left was the maze. Seeing it fro; a seated position in my wheelchair, I recalled what Drake had said about it looking so large because he was so small that first time he had seen it. It did look large, formidable, mysterious; yet I couldn't help being drawn to it, wanting to wander through it, just as I imagined my mother and her mother must have done.

  "Would you like to go in there?" a voice asked.

  nearly jumped out of my wheelchair. I struggled to turn to the right so I could see who was suddenly behind me. It took me a few moments, for he didn't help me. But finally, by backing up and turni g and backing up again, I got myself around. At first I saw no one and thought I had imagined someone speaking.

  Then he stepped out from behind a tall hedge.

  Shadows still draped his face, but I knew

  immediately I was looking up at the mysterious man who had knelt alone at my parents' monument. It was as if he had stepped out of my paintings and drawings, stepped out of my imagination and now stood before me in the real world.

  NINETEEN

  The Other Side of the Maze

  .

  Who you?" I gazed up at him in fascination. He had stepped out of the shadows and stood before me with his hands in his pants pockets. Although he was tall and lean, his shoulders were broad. He had unruly copper-brown hair that was graying along his temples, long hair that curled up at the ends, just brushing the white collar of his thin artist's smock with very full sleeves.

  I thought he had very fine facial features, not pretty-boy fine; more like the features carved on the face of a Greek statue. He tilted his head a bit to the side and one of his dark, thick eyebrows lifted as he considered me. He was looking at me so intensely that I became very self-conscious. Something he saw in me was affecting him, moving him. His eyes grew small, like Tony's eyes when they took on that faraway look just before he would babble and confuse past and present. Why didn't he speak? I began to tremble, naturally feeling threatened by his unwillingness even to say hello. I looked toward the house, but no one had followed me out; no one knew I was here.

  When I turned back to him, I saw that his lips curved into a smile, and there was something in that smile and in those dark brown eyes that made me feel warm and safe.

  "You don't have to tell me who you are," he said, his voice soft, soothing, almost loving. "You are Heaven's daughter. Although, you look more like Leigh with that hair color. Tell me, is it your natural color or did you dye it as your mother once did?"

  "Who are you?" I demanded more emphatically now. I saw in his eyes that he was thinking, deciding whether to continue to speak to me or just to rush off.

  Something he couldn't overcome kept him at my side.

  "Me? I'm . . Brothers. Timothy Brothers."

  "But who arc you? I mean, how do you know my mother and her mother? And how did you know she once dyed her hair?"

  "I work for Mr. Tatterton."

  I sat back. He certainly didn't look like one of the handymen, and Rye had told me there was no one with this man's description working on the grounds.

  Of course, Rye could be forgetful, too, I thought, but I didn't think this man did hard labor. There was a softness about him, a gentleness that suggested a contemplative nature.

  "Oh? And what do you do for Mr. Tatterton?"

  "I . . create toys."

  "Create toys?"

  "Don't look so surprised, Annie. Someone has to do it."

  "How did you know my name?" I asked with surprise.

  "Oh, by now everyone knows your name. Mr.

  Tatterton talks so much about you."

  I continued to gaze into his eyes. I sensed that there was a lot more mystery to this man than he was willing to reveal.

  "And what were you doing here in the hedges, or is that where you create toys?"

  He threw his head back and laughed'.

  "Hardly, no. I was taking a walk when I saw you coming down the walkway."

  "Where do you live? Farthy, too?"

  "No. I live on the other side of the maze. That's where I create the toys."

  "The other side of the maze? Isn't that where . .

  . isn't there a cottage there?" I asked quickly.

  "Oh, you know about the cottage?" I nodded.

  "Because your mother told you about it?"

  "No. She didn't tell me very much about Farthy; she never liked to talk about it."

  He nodded slowly, his face turning sad. He shifted his eyes away, gazing toward the Tatterton family cemetery. There was something in the way he held his shoulders that reminded me of myself whenever I was feeling melancholy. After a moment he took his right hand out of his pocket and brushed back his hair. His fingers looked long, sensitive, strong, the fingers of an artist. They were quite similar to my own. Perhaps certain people were born to be artistic, I thought.

  "I'm very sorry about what happened to your parents," he said, almost under his breath. He didn't look at me when he spoke.

  "Thank you."

  "So?" He looked up quickly. "You know about the maze, too, I take it. I couldn't help but notice how you were looking at it."

  "It looks so mysterious."

  "Like anything, it is for those who don't know it. Would you like to go through it?"

  "Through it? You mean . . to the other side?"

  "Why not?" He looked up at the blue sky streaked here and there with strokes of long thin clouds, "it's a nice day for a walk. I'd be glad to wheel you about."

  I hesitated to say yes, even though I was most eager to experience the maze and certainly wanted to see the cottage, for despite Mr. Brothers's pleasant and friendly way, he was still a complete stranger. What would everyone say to my going off with him like this? I wondered, On the other hand, he did work for Tony, and Tony was going to be upset that I had l
eft the house, anyway. I might as well add a side trip, especially this side trip.

  "All right," I said. He saw the way I was looking around furtively.

  "Mr. Tatterton doesn't know you are out here?"

  "No, but I don't care," I said defiantly.

  "You've inherited your mother's spirit, I see."

  He came around my chair and took hold of the handles. "You knew her well?"

  "Yes. I knew her well. She was about your age when I met her, too."

  "You mean you've been working for Tony all this time? Making toys?"

  "Yes." He was behind me now, pushing the chair along, so I couldn't see his face, but his voice had grown even softer.

  "But I thought his brother Troy was the one who designed all the toys then."

  "Oh, he was. I'm just making replicas of his designs. He taught me everything I know."

  "I see." I sensed he wasn't being quite truthful.

  "Did you work in the cottage, too? Or did you work in a factory?"

  "Both."

  "Where did you meet my mother?" We were getting closer and closer to the entrance to the maze, and I thought I would talk to cloak my fear.

  "Here and there." He stopped pushing me. He seemed to sense the anxiety in me. "Are you sure you want to go on?"

  I didn't answer immediately. The hedges were so high and thick, the pathways through the maze were dark and looked so deep. What if this man didn't really know his way and we got lost?

  "You're sure you can go in and find your way out?" He laughed.

  "Blindfolded. Maybe one day I'll do it just to show you I can. But if you're afraid . . ."

  "No, no, I want to go on," I said, forcing myself to be brave.

  "Very well, then. Here we go," he said, and pushed me forward into the great English maze. I was actually going into it! Something that had been a fantasy for much of my life was about to happen!

  Once again I longed for Luke to be with me. I sat back, holding my breath, and soon we were walled up in a castle of shiny green ivy.