With One Look (38 page)

Now she understood what Mercedes had meant. It came as a mild surprise that he differed markedly from the picture she had formed of him in her mind. Simply put, the man she had imagined fell short of the reality. Every part of him was more than she had thought.

How? How could that be? She had touched every part of him, every inch of his skin. How could she have been so misguided, so inaccurate, so wrong?

Even things like his height, a specific measurement she had arrived at without seeing, suddenly seemed wrong. He looked taller than she had imagined, and it was a curiosity to see that

he must be a whole foot taller than she. Why hadn't she realized that? Yet his height was hardly the only curiosity.

What could she say? The blatant masculinity of his naked body scared her. She had never thought of him that way before. She had felt over every part of the lean body hundreds of times, explored those hard muscles wrapped around the calves and thighs of his long legs; she had felt the wide expanse of his bare chest and shoulders; she had felt those bulges in his arms. Now that she saw him, it came as no surprise that he had held her kicking and screaming with one hand while calmly drinking a glass of water with the other.

There were some things she couldn't have imagined. The bronze color of his skin, the lighter brown color of his hair. Hadn't he always said his hair was dark brown? Until yesterday she had never imagined that hard and cruel lines could dominate his face. She had never imagined those muscles on his hard, flat stomach, either. And she felt nothing but shock, then panic, at the sight of his flaccid manhood.

Nervously, she lifted her gaze to the room, seeking something comforting, familiar. Here, too, though, familiarity joined unfamiliarity. She had known the room through other peoples' descriptions and the limited information of her remaining senses. The room looked beautiful, and while she would expect it to be so, seeing the heavy shiny black furniture, the polished wood floor, the blue and green colors and those startling tapestries forced her to realize just how limited her perspective had been.

She was stunned. Details, everywhere she looked details flooded into consciousness. Small and large details— things she had never known or realized—flew at her from all directions: the intricate pattern of the veiled lace of the curtains, the sweeping length of the green velvet drapes, the whitewashed ironwork on the portico and balcony seen through the hand-carved French doors, the pattern on the damask-covered chairs, the oil lamps, the shiny brass of the candleholders, her toilet articles on the divan, the pile of books on the night table, and even the ascetic symmetry of the whole room; its spaciousness that seemed to be collapsing, closing in ... and—

She grabbed her head, pressed her pounding temples and wished it would stop. She wished she could find something, anything, one thing that didn't hurt to look at.

Why was her heart pounding so?

She rose from the bed. She spotted her robe folded neatly over a chair. That alone felt peculiar. She calmly walked to the chair and slipped the robe over her shoulders. She should

pretend everything was normal. She would soon grow accustomed to the change. She would pretend it was just a normal day....

She stepped into the dimmer light of the dressing room and nearly swooned. Immediately, the darkness acted as a security blanket, comforting and protective and familiar! Feeling a momentary relief, she was able to catch her breath.

Why was she breathing so hard?

It didn't matter. Just pretend it was a normal day.

With this understanding, she finished her toilette and though she would have loved to remain in the dark dressing room all day, she forced herself to leave.

What would make everything normal? She usually had her breakfast in the garden. Fine. It did not sound so difficult. She could do that, couldn't she?

She started toward the door. A movement flashed before her. She swung toward it. She stared in the looking glass. She stared at a strange young woman.

She froze with the shock. Blood vacated her limbs as if called to an emergency; she went numb. This could not be her! She couldn't look like this! She was much ... larger and ... stronger than this fragile and frightened-looking creature.

She reached a trembling hand to touch her face. The reflection shimmered like a mirage, then disappeared completely.

She stared into a room washed in blood....

A scream stopped in her throat. She reached a trembling hand over the nightstand behind her. Her hand seized a vase. She threw it into the glass.

Victor woke to the shattering of the glass. He bolted up to confront the vision of his nightmare. Jade stood in front of her reflection broken into a hundred fragments. With a startled cry of anguish, she ran from the room.

"Jade!"

After giving the matter considerable thought, Mercedes had decided they should all wait the momentous occasion in the garden. Jade would be seeing them for the first time. While no one knew what to expect, it seemed obvious it should take place in a lovely setting.

Seated at the breakfast table, Mercedes allowed her gaze to dance delightedly over the exotic garden. How fortunate for this lovely day! The morning held the bright promise of spring. A cloudless blue sky hung over a bathed earth that sparkled with fresh dewy moisture. Lush growth

sprouted everywhere and trees and flowers waited to burst into magnificent blossom. The buds on the plum, apple and sugar gum trees looked like decorative pink and white ornaments! Marigolds of all colors, sweet peas, jasmine, violets, red crocus, scarlet bougainvilleas and begonias, each in various stages of bloom, created a luscious riot of color. It was perfect!

She squeezed Tessie's hand.

Almost perfect, she realized. Last Michaelmas Sebastian had bought Victor two peacocks affectionately named Mister and Misses. The exotic birds were a perfect touch for Victor's garden. Mister and Misses were always strutting around somewhere. Wouldn't it be just splendid if Mister could be coaxed into spreading his fine feathers for Jade?

And where were Micky and Mary, the two squirrel monkeys that also lived in the garden? Micky had been some neighbor's runaway pet, a feisty little fellow who had decided to make the garden his home. As with all animals, Jade first won Micky's favor, then one morning she had Carl take her to the market, where she bought Mary, another squirrel monkey to keep him company. Just like the birds, Micky and Mary choose to visit only when Jade was there. Something about Jade, her patience and gentle nature, won the affection and trust of all animals, tamed or wild....

"I'm as nervous as a groom on his weddin' night," Murray suddenly commented, interrupting Mercedes's eager musings and the group's harmonious silence. He shifted uncomfortably in his Sunday best clothes. "Imagine, to be seein' us for the first time." He waved his arm to the garden. "And all this for the first time."

"She will be like a small child discovering the world for the first time," Sebastian proposed fancifully.

"Aye, she'll be thrilled," Murray reasoned. "Maybe overjoyed, but I for one think a little stunned with it all. She'd have to be."

"I don't reckon she'll be surprised at all," Tessie said. "Why, she always knows everything goin' on around here!"

"I wager she shall be disappointed," Carl said. "I can't tell you how many times I have started to describe something to her and halfway through she interrupted to finish the description with her exaggerated superlatives— superlatives that spring from that rich imagination of hers." Having all experienced the phenomenon, they each smiled. "The real world is bound to seem pale compared with it." Sebastian recognized a sudden concern in Mercedes.

"Mercedes? What do you think, darling?"

Apprehension replaced Mercedes's excitement. How thoughtless they were being!

Foolishly and stupidly thoughtless! They were only thinking of the miracle of Jade's seeing again! But what of the price Jade paid yesterday? They had already moved beyond it, but could she?

"We've all forgotten yesterday's horror." She paused, the whispered words filled with apprehension. "We've all forgotten her past."

Terrified witless, and filled with a frenzied desperation to escape, Jade had flown down the stairs and raced through the hall, looking into each room, searching frantically for something, anything, one thing she could look at without fear. Her eyes and mind raced in a swift continuous panic. Details flew at her like winged bats in a nightmare.

Watching from the top of the stairs, Victor saw Jade race through the hall and turn into the back corridor leading out to the garden. Not knowing what to make of it, he charged down the stairs and followed her.

Jade burst outside and stopped abruptly. Victor came up behind her and like everyone else, he remained silent to wait her response. They each straightened and forced a smile, praying, hoping against hope, that Mercedes had been wrong.

Breathless, panting, Jade stared from one face to the next. Familiar and not familiar, familiar and not familiar. Carl's skin was too light and he looked ageless, much younger than his fifty-six years. His eyes were larger because she had not felt the depth of those sockets, nor had she imagined the effect of his high Negro cheekbones or the flattened Negro nose on his face. Tessie looked too dark and much skinnier than she had imagined, too skinny. Her two pigtails stuck almost straight out, seeming at once ridiculous and bizarre. Then Murray—older, his hair looking grayer, longer, more unruly, and those kind brown eyes too small for his long, weathered face.

Mercedes shocked the most; she had known Mercedes was pretty but not as beautiful as this young lady with strawberry blond curls tumbling about a pale lovely face. Dressed in a bright yellow dress, she was a young lady staring back with naked worry in her soft hazel eyes. And Sebastian! He looked familiar, very familiar, but not because she had pictured him like that. No, Sebastian looked like a romantic caricature of how she had always imagined the youngest, most handsome, of the Three Musketeers.

The silence was pained, and unable to bear another second of it, Sebastian spread his arms and grinned. "Jade, what do you think of us?"

Jade's eyes widened, her terror abruptly blatant. Victor reached a hand out to touch her, his fingers jolting her like a lightning bolt. She swung away. "No! Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!"

"Jade!"

She backed away from him. Desperate eyes jerked from one thing to the next. The world began spinning. Everywhere she looked—a window, the table, their faces, a tree, the ground— became the background for the terror of her mind. She dropped to the ground and shielded her head as if stones were being flung at her. "Mama ... Mama! Mama! Stop it! Stop it!" And when it didn't stop she could only scream....

During the long weeks that followed, Jade discovered that the world settled only when she lay very still, closed her eyes and emptied her mind. The less interference the better. If only they understood this; if only she could explain it to them.

There were many things she'd like to say, but the thought of speaking frightened her and felt dangerous. The sound of her own voice broke the quiet she struggled so hard to find, shattering what little peace she had managed to feel.

Words had become empty and meaningless.

Wolf Dog brought one of her only comforts. Before her mind produced the vision, she could close her eyes, bury her face in his fur, and somehow the familiar feel and scent allowed a momentary escape. So, the worst time of day was when Carl came morning, noon and night to exercise Wolf Dog, and the best part of the day was when Wolf Dog returned.

Mercedes and Tessie seemed always in the room. They talked quietly between themselves, sometimes sat silently, and occasionally Mercedes read out loud. They kept trying to engage her, and unfortunately they did so frequently, repeating the same things over and over. Their remarks struck her as singularly ridiculous.

"How do you feel, Jade?"

She felt awful, couldn't they tell? "You're looking much better!"

This felt difficult to believe

"The Reverend Mother's here again." "Have you seen yourself today?" No, she avoided that.

"Would you like to take a stroll?" This forced her to shake her head.... "Would you like anything?"

She wanted so very much to be left alone. Sometimes she wanted very much to die.... "The Reverend Mother's here again."

The Reverend Mother did not bother her like the others. The Reverend Mother came in the afternoons and sat with her. Jade could lay her head on the familiar lap, listening as the Reverend Mother told her about life outside this bedroom. Gentle hands stroked her hair with tenderness and love, and talk was of quiet things: her students' progress, the construction of the new orphanage, the exciting secret encounter with a group of Quakers who were trying to establish a line of the underground railroad this far south, the last letter sent to her from Madame Lucretia in Paris, a description of Monsieur Deubler's grandson's baptism.

The Reverend Mother did not understand that Jade did not care about these subjects, but that did not matter. For somehow the quiet familiar voice of the Reverend Mother was a comfort. It was the loving voice that had carried her through the desperate and sad days after her parents' deaths, and it was a voice connected to Church and God and blindness. The Reverend Mother never expected her to speak. She alone seemed to understand that words did not work anymore, that words did not matter.

Jade refused to eat, though three times a day Murray forced her to drink a glass of milk with an egg, lard and molasses mixed in it. Murray always sat on the bed to tell her she was getting better—and soon, he kept promising, she'd be over the shock of it.

She would like to believe him. Could he find a cure for seeing her mother hanging upside down with her throat slit? Probably not.

If Murray admitted there was no cure, maybe he'd stop making her drink the liquid that kept her alive. The idea of shrinking, of getting smaller and smaller, thinner and thinner, until finally nothing remained seemed not at all unpleasant. Did he know that?