Casteel 04 Gates of Paradise (6 page)

Where was I? The room was so white. An ugly, plastic light fixture was at the center of the ceiling. And this bedding . it smelled starchy and felt so rough. And there was a tiny ringing in my ears.
"Annie! Nurse, she's opening her eyes. Nurse . nurse!"
I turned slowly, my head feeling as if it had been turned to stone, like the bust of Jefferson Davis in the front yard of the Winnerrow School. A woman in white--a nurse--took my right wrist into her fingers to check my pulse, and I saw the i.v. tube attached to my arm.
I looked to my left. There sat a gray-haired elderly gentleman with the brightest light blue eyes I had ever seen. I turned back to the nurse. She was busying herself writing on a chart and only glanced quickly at the man, who took my left hand into his hands and leaned closer to me, close enough for me to get a whiff of his sweet after-shave.
"Who are you?" I asked. "What am I doing here?"
"Annie, I'm afraid that it has fallen to me to deliver the most terrible news you will ever hear. I hope you won't hate me for being the bearer of this great sorrow" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if it had taken the air out of him to say just those few words.
"What sorrow?" I tried to raise myself up, but below my waist my body felt numb. I was able only to lift my shoulders a few inches from the mattress.
"You were in a terrible car accident, and in a coma."
"Accident?" I blinked. Then it all came rushing back to me: the rain, my mother's scream, my father calling "Annie!" The wails of my heart quivered. "Oh, my God! Where are my parents? Where is my mother?
Mommy!"
I -screamed, suddenly feeling frantic. I looked at the nurse. "Where's Daddy?" A cold, wet panic claimed me.
The strange man closed his eyes and then opened them slowly, tightening his grip on my hand. "Annie, I'm very sorry."
I felt as if I were living in a slow motion nightmare. I looked at the man and saw the pain in his eyes melt into tears. He lowered his head and then raised it to look at roe. "I'm so sorry, Annie."
"No!" I wanted to deny his words before he spoke them.
"They were both killed," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You have been in a coma for two days."
"No!" I
pulled my hand from his strong fingers and turned my face into the pillow.
"No, I don't believe "I
felt numb all over now, frozen, dead myself. I didn't want to be here, and I wanted this man to go away. All I wanted was to be home again, to be with my parents. Oh God, I prayed, please make this happen and please make this terrible nightmare disappear. Please, please . .
"Annie, poor Annie." I felt him stroking my hair the way my mother often had. "I came as soon as they called me, and I've been at your bedside ever since."
I turned around slowly and peered over my fingers. The man's face was full of sympathy and sorrow. He was mourning and hurting sincerely.
Suddenly it dawned on me who he was. This was the mysterious Tony Tatterton, the prince of Farthinggale Manor, and he was here at my bedside.
"I hired round-the-clock nurses and flew in my own physicians for you, but the facilities here are far from adequate. I must get you to Boston and then to Farthinggale," he continued. Everything he said rushed by me like words mumbled in a dream. I shook my head.
"Mommy. I want to see her. Daddy . . ."
"They are dead and await burial back at Farthinggale Manor. I'm sure it's what your father would have wanted," he said softly.
"Farthinggale Manor?"
"The Stonewalls, your paternal grandparents, are both dead, or I would consult with them, but I'm sure they would want the same things--a proper interment for your parents and my using every available dollar toward getting you healthy and well again."
I stared at him a moment, and then the tears that had pressed themselves up against the floodgates behind my eyes broke free and I sobbed and sobbed, my entire upper body shaking. Tony Tatterton leaned forward to embrace me and hold me as best he could.
"I'm so sorry, my poor, poor Annie. Heaven's beautiful daughter, Leigh's granddaughter," he muttered as he kissed my forehead and gently pushed back strands of my hair. "But you won't be alone; you'll never be alone. I'm here now, and always be here for you as long as I live."
"What's wrong with me?" I asked through my tears. "I can't seem to move my legs. I don't even feel them!"
"You received a bad blow to your spine and your head. The doctors believes the trauma about your spine has affected your motor coordination, but you don't worry about what's happened to you, Annie. As I said, make you well again." He kissed my tear-soaked cheek and smiled, his blue eyes soothing.
"Drake," I said. "Where's Drake? And Luke Junior. Where's Luke? Aunt Fanny," I muttered. I needed my family around me now, not this stranger. Oh God, what was going to happen to me? I felt lost, bereft, empty, floating off like some kite in the wind whose string had torn. What would I do now?
"Drake's in the lobby, waiting. Luke and Fanny have been by a few times, and let them know you've come out of the coma," Tony said. "But first send my physicians in here."
"No. I want to see Drake first, and please call Luke and Fanny and tell them to come right away."
"All right, I will. Whatever you want." He kissed my cheek again and stood up. He smiled down at me in a warm but strange way and then left. Moments later Drake entered the room, his face glum, his eyes bloodshot. Without speaking, he embraced me and held me so tightly to his chest, my tears burst out again. My sobbing brought pain into my back and heart. He kissed me and held me and rocked me like a baby, pressing his face to mine, his own tears mixing with mine.
"You know they were more like my parents," he said. "My real mother couldn't have loved me any more than Heaven did, and Logan always treated me the same as he would have treated his own son. Once, when I went for a ride alone with him, I remember him telling me that he always thought of me as his son. 'What's mine is yours,' he said 'and always will bed"
"Oh, Drake, can it really be true? Are they truly dead and gone?"
"Yes, and it's a miracle you're alive. I saw the car. It's a total wreck."
"I can't move my legs. They don't even feel like they're there."
"I know. Tony told me what the doctors think. He's going to do everything for you, Heaven. He's an amazing and wonderful man. As soon as he heard the news, he turned the full power and wealth of his Tatterton empire to work. Doctors have been flown in and will be at your side continually. He's moved in one of his managers so that Logan's factory in Winnerrow can continue, because, as he says, it was so important to Logan and Heaven that the people here have something significant. He swears it will never go out of business and will even expand. He's already asked me if I would consider running it someday, after I graduate from college.
"And then he told me he plans to fix up Farthinggale again, just so you can recuperate in a wonderful setting. We're lucky to have him, Annie, at a time of such great need."
"But I don't want to go to Farthinggale! I want to go home, Drake! Farthinggale wasn't supposed to be a hospital; it was supposed to be . . . a special place, a paradise. Please, Drake."
"Annie, it's hard for you to think clearly now. You've got to leave that to other, older and wiser people who are not as close to the tragedy as you are. We've got to do what's best for you. You want that, don't you? You want to walk again, to go on with your life."
"My life? Without Mommy, without Daddy? Away from everyone? Luke? You? All the people I love? How can I go on with my life?"
"You must, Annie. It's what Heaven would want, what Logan would want, and if I didn't tell you to do
so, I
would be at fault. Your parents weren't the kind of people who gave up on anything, Annie. You've got to be the same way. No matter what the obstacles, go forward and overcome them."
No matter what the obstacles, I thought. Go for the tall ones, I thought. Luke's advice, too.
"I won't be far away from you, Annie. I'll be nearby. I'll be going back to Boston today, and come visit you at the hospital there. I know it's impossible for you to think of all this now because it's all happening so fast, but trust in those who love you. Please," he pleaded.
I took a deep breath and lowered my head to the pillow. The weight of the world seemed to press on me. My lids were heavy again and I felt very dizzy and tired. Maybe if I fell asleep and woke up, this would all be one terrible nightmare, I thought, and I would awaken in my own room at Hasbrouck House.
It would be morning and Mommy would come in full of her usual energy, talking about the things we were going to do this morning. Downstairs, Daddy would be having his coffee and reading his
Wall Street Journal. I
would shower and dress and bounce down the stairs to greet a new and bright day, and he would kiss me good-bye before he went off to the factory, just as he did every morning. I settled into my misty dream.
"Roland has my breakfast ready," I muttered.
"Huh?" Drake said.
"I've got to eat and get started. Mother and I are going shopping today. I need a new dress for Maggie Templeton's birthday party, and we want to get something special as a present. Don't make fun of us, Drake. I see you smiling."
"Annie . . ." His hands cupped my head, but I couldn't keep my eyes open, so he let my head settle back on the pillow.
"The toy cottage . . . it's so beautiful . . . so beautiful . . . thank you, Mommy. I'll cherish it forever and forever and forever. . . . "
"Annie . ."
Was that Daddy's voice still calling? Daddy, don't stop calling me, please. Daddy . . .
Into the warm and comforting arms of sleep, I turned and lowered myself slowly, shutting away the ugly and horrible light that wanted to come bursting into my fantasy world and burn it away.
"Let's not let it do that, Luke. Let's not. I know . . . Go for the tallest mountains . . . the view, the view . . ."
"Oh, Annie, you must get well again," Drake whispered, and took my hand into his. But in my dream I took Luke's hand and we rushed across the lawn toward our make-believe paradise where I felt safe and secure again. And I could sleep.
When I awoke, Tony's doctors and private nurse were looking down at me. A tall, dark man with a thin reddish-brown mustache and soft hazel eyes held my hand and smiled down at me.
"Hello there," he said. "I'm Dr. Malisoff and I'll be taking care of you until you're well again."
I looked up at him, his face slowly coming into sharper and sharper focus until I could even make out the small, thin wrinkles that crossed his forehead as if someone had drawn lines there with a pencil.
"What's wrong with me?" I asked. My lips were so dry, I had to keep running my tongue over them. Instead of answering me, he turned to the younger doctor at his side. He had blond hair and light skin and there were patches of tiny freckles under his eyes.
"This is my assistant, Dr. Carson. We'll both be attending you."
"Hi," the younger doctor said. He was studying a chart the nurse beside him held.
"And this is Mrs. Broadfield, your private nurse. She will be with you from now until the day you are healthy and well enough to be on your own again."
"Hello, Annie," she said, and blinked a smile that flashed as quickly as a camera light. She had hair as black as Aunt Fanny's, but cut very short, and she was round-faced and chunky, with broad shoulders like a man's. She wore no makeup and her lips were a pale burgundy.
"Where's Drake?" I asked, and then vaguely recalled his telling me he had to return to Boston.
"Drake?" Dr. Malisoff said. "There are two people waiting in the lobby to see you. One is your aunt Fanny and the other, I think, is her son?" He looked to Mrs. Broadfield, who nodded quickly. "I'll have them come in in a moment. First, let me tell you what we're planning to do with you, Annie.
"Apparently, when your father's car turned over, you hit something rather hard, and the blow to your spine just at the back of your head created what we call a trauma which is interfering with your motor control and causing paralysis of your lower body. We don't know exactly where the damage is or how much yet, because this hospital doesn't have what we need to make a precise diagnosis, so we are preparing to fly you to Boston, where you will be examined by a neurologist who is an associate of mine. There they have sophisticated instruments such as a CAT scan to pinpoint your problems and help us arrive at a proper diagnosis, therapy, and prognosis."
"I don't feel any pain in my legs right now," I said. He smiled at that.
"No, you wouldn't if they were paralyzed. If you do feel pain, that will be the sign that your nerves and muscles are returning to functioning order. I know it sounds funny to hope for pain, but in a real way, that's what we've got to do. My guess is that once we treat the trauma, you will regain the use of your legs. However, it may take some time, and during that time, you'll need more than just tender loving care. You'll need professional therapy."
I was impressed and encouraged by his confident tone, but I wanted Daddy to be beside me holding my hand; I needed Mommy to tell me I would be all right again, and not just doctors and nurses. I'd never felt so alone, so deserted and bereft in the strange, cold world.
"So," the doctor continued, releasing my hand and standing straight again, "just relax until all the preparations are completed. You'll go by ambulance to the airport and be flown by air ambulance to Boston." He smiled again and patted my hand. "In the meantime, Mrs. Broadfield will give you something liquid to eat, okay?"
"I'm not hungry." Who could think of food at a time like this? I didn't care if I ever ate again.
"I know, but I'd like you to have something liquid, some nourishment besides what you're getting through the I.V. All right?" He paused and gave me another smile meant to reassure me, where never again could anything do that. "I'll have your family come in to see you now."
He turned, and he and the younger doctor left. Mrs. Broadfield prepared a small carton of cranberry juice for me by opening it and inserting a straw.
"Just suck gently," she advised, adjusting my bed so I was in a sitting position. Her short, stubby fingers and large palms reeked of rubbing alcohol. This close to me, I could see the tiny black hairs peeking out the bottom of her round chin. I wanted my mother, my beautiful, loving, sweet-smelling mother to be the one taking care of me, not this ugly stranger.
She placed the juice in my free hand and rolled the table over the bed. The change in my posture made me dizzy again and I had to close my eyes.