Casteel 04 Gates of Paradise (25 page)

"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,Ill 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 forward 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.

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 left 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.
It was pretty in the maze, the hedges growing as tall as ten feet and making precise right-angle turns. Of course, like most of the greenery about Farthy, it needed trimming and care. But it was dark and green and soothing in there, and I felt the tension of the day, the worry, the fear, the struggle ease away from me.
"What do you think so far?" he asked as soon as we had made our first turn and gone in deeper.
"It's so quiet. I can barely hear the garden birds chirping."
"Yes, the peaceful serenity is what I love about the maze."
I looked up. Even the plaintive shrieks of the sea gulls flying overhead seemed muffled, faraway. He paused as we made another turn.
"Are you seated too low to see the roof of Farthy?"
"No, I can just make it out above the hedge. It looks so far off already."
"In the maze you can pretend you're on a different world. I often do," he confessed. "Do you like to pretend, to live in fantasy from time to time?"
"Yes, very much. Luke and I often did that, and if we were both home now, we probably still would, even though we would seem too old for it."
"Luke?"
"My . . . cousin . . my aunt Fanny's son Luke Junior."
"Oh, yes . . . your aunt Fanny. I had forgotten about her."
"You knew her, too!"
"I knew of her," he said.
He knew more than he was saying. I could tell. Who was this man? Had I been too adventurous to accept his invitation so quickly? We were heading deeper and deeper into the--great maze. I wrapped my arms about myself protectively. Part of me wanted to go right back to the house, but a stronger part of me wanted to see the cottage, wanted to know more about this mysterious, fascinating man.
"Are you cold? It does get quite cool in here." "I'm okay. Is it going to be much longer?"
"Only a few minutes more. We take this turn and then that and then go straight into another turn and another and then we'll be on the other side."
"I can see how someone could easily get lost." "People do. Your mother once did."
"She did? She never told me about it."
He laughed.
"The first time I saw her. She couldn't find her way back."
"Please tell me about that," I begged. "She was so reluctant to talk about her days at Farthy."
"It was the first time she had gone into the maze. I was working in the cottage--making little suits of armor for tiny knights, I think--when suddenly she appeared at the door. She looked innocent and lost, almost like an angel who had stepped out of the mist . . . so beautiful and so full of determination. It was very foggy that day and had grown dark quickly. She was afraid she wouldn't find her way back."
"Was Troy there, too?"
"Yes, he was."
"Well, what happened next?" I asked, impatient with his dramatic pauses.
"Oh, we calmed her down. Gave her something to eat, as I recall, and then directed her back through the maze."
"It's funny to think of my mother as a young girl."
"She was a very beautiful young lady, much like yourself."
"I'm not feeling particularly beautiful these days, though."
"You will. I'm sure. Well, here we are, one more turn." We went around a corner and emerged from the maze.
Before us lay a path of pale flagstone lined with tall pines. Directly ahead was the small stone cottage with a red slate roof crouched low amidst the pine trees. I couldn't keep the small cry from escaping through my lips.
It was Mommy's toy cottage, the one she had given me on my eighteenth birthday. The Tatterton replica was exact. How eerie, I thought. It was as if I had just stepped into a fantasy world, truly a toy world where people lived their dreams.
Oh, I thought, if only Luke were here. He would see that all our make-believe could come true. Those two toy figures in the toy cottage really would be us.
There was the knee-high picket fence, not meant to keep anything out, winding its crooked way around the cottage, giving support to climbing roses just the way they were in the replica.
Unlike the rest of Farthy, the grounds around the cottage were well cared for, maintained with a loving hand . . . grass rich and trim, the fence whitewashed, the walk clean and smooth, the windows glistening.
"Well . . . there's the cottage."
"Oh, it belongs in a picture book. How I wish I could come here to paint it!" I exclaimed.
"You paint?"
"Oh yes. Painting is my passion. I'm even doing it now while I recuperate. I want to study art and work on my talent forever and ever," I added hopefully.
"Of course. Of course," he repeated, once again sounding distant, lost in his own memories. "Well, then maybe you will paint it someday. Why not?"
"Can we go inside?" I asked.
"Certainly; but won't they be missing you back at Farthy by now?"
"I don't care. I feel like a prisoner in there, anyway. Please, take me into the cottage."
He pushed me forward down the path of flagstone to the front door, opened it and then wheeled me in. There were Tatterton Toys
everywhere, on shelves and on the mantel above the fireplace, and at least a half-dozen antique clocks, all on time. As if to punctuate this realization, the grandfather clock in the corner struck the hour and the light blue music-box clock that was shaped like the cottage itself opened its front door. The tiny family within emerged and then retreated to a sweet, haunting melody, a melody that was familiar.
It was the same melody that played whenever the roof of the toy cottage back at Winnerrow was lifted: Chopin's nocturne. We looked at one another as the melody came to an end.
"My mother had a toy cottage that looked exactly like this cottage, with the hedges and the pine trees, and it played the same tune. She gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday. It is as old as I am and it still works. Someone sent it to her right after I was born."
"Yes," he said. He could barely utter the word.. He looked frightened, his eyes a little wider. Then his expression changed and he looked very sad, his head tilted as he went into deep thought for a moment. Suddenly he realized I was staring, and smiled.
I turned away quickly and continued to inspect the cottage. It was quaint, cozy, and warm, as I imagined a gardener's cottage might be. Although the furniture was old, none of it looked worn. Shelves, floors, curtains--everything looked neat and clean, looked like it belonged in the home of a meticulous person. There were really only two rooms, and in the living room right before the fireplace was a long table, covered with tiny pieces of metal, tools, and what was an unfinished toy medieval village. The church with its spiral roof and stained-glass windows was completed. There was even a priest standing in the doorway waving hello to his approaching parishioners. There were shops and fine stone houses and the huts of the poorer folk. Some tiny wagons drawn by horses were only partially completed, as were some of the buildings and walkways.
"I have some ice tea, if you'd like."
"Yes, please." I wheeled myself into the living room to look more closely at the Tatterton Toy village.
"That one's taking me a lot longer because I keep adding something here and there," he explained.
"It's so beautiful, so lifelike! I love it. Look at how you've captured the expressions on their faces. No two are the same." I looked up and caught him gazing intently at me, a soft and wonderful smile on his face. He realized how he was staring.
"Oh . . . the tea. One moment," he said, and went into the kitchen. I sat back and looked around the cottage.
"Here you go," he said, coming over quickly to hand the ice tea to me. I took it but didn't drink it. He tried to avoid my eyes, and turned away to busy himself putting tools back in their little niches on the wall.
"You're the man I saw from the window of my room," I declared.
"Oh?"
"I saw you at my parents' monument, didn't I?" "I stopped there once, yes."
"More than once," I insisted.
"Maybe more than once." He flashed a smile and sat on the wooden rocker beside the fireplace. He put his hands behind his head, his long slender legs stretched out,and looked up at the ceiling. Now that I studied his profile, I saw that he was quite goodlooking in a special way. He radiated a sensitivity that reminded me of Luke when Luke was his most loving, most intense and poetic self.
"My walks are my only form of exercise these days. I wander all about the grounds."
"You were at the service, too. I saw you," I said pointedly. "Why couldn't you come out of the woods and stand beside the other mourners?"
"Oh . . I'm just shy. So," he said, anxious to change the topic, "how is your recuperation coming along?"
"But why wouldn't you want to be seen there? Are you afraid of Tony?"
"No." He smiled.
"I can't understand why you keep yourself so . . so hidden, then."
"It's just my way. I suppose there's something peculiar about all of us if we care to look closely. I'm the type who likes being by himself."
"But why?" I pursued.
"Why?" He laughed. "You do hang on once something bothers you, don't you? Just like your mother."
"I don't understand how you know so much about her if you like to keep to yourself all the time."
He laughed again.
"I can see where I'm going to have to keep my life's secrets well undercover when you're around. I like to keep to myself," he said quietly, "but I did like to be with your mother and I do talk to people, just like I'm talking with you light now. Now, tell me about your recovery,"
"Yesterday I stood up by myself for the first time since the accident."
"How wonderful!"
"But the doctor and Tony think I should go slowly. No one tried to get me to stand up today, and I have yet to use the walker. They keep insisting I take naps and sleeping pills and remained locked away from people. This is the first time I've been out of the house since, and I've been here nearly a week; I can't even call anyone and talk. I have no' phone!" I cried.