Casteel - Gates Of Paradise Part 6

"Drake?" Dr. Malisoff said. "There are two people waiting in the lobby to see you. One is your aunt f.a.n.n.y 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 a.s.sociate 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 rea.s.sure 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.

"I'm getting nauseous," I cried.

"Just try a little," she insisted. I took in some juice quickly and swallowed. My throat ached and I moaned.

"Please, roll me down again," I pleaded.

"You're going to have to try, Annie, just a little every day. Doctors can't do it all," she said, a note of disapproval, even impatience, in her voice.

"I'm not ready," I insisted. She shook her head and pulled the table away. I took one more suck on the straw and then handed her the juice. She pressed her lips together, her rubbery face filled with annoyance. When I looked more closely at her, I saw how pocked her skin was and wondered why a nurse would have such a poor complexion.

Just as she lowered me into a fully reclining position again, Aunt f.a.n.n.y burst into the room with Luke right behind her. I was never so glad to see them. Aunt f.a.n.n.y wrung her hands before me.

"Oh Gawd . Oh Gawd!" she screamed. Mrs. Broadfield nearly dropped her tray.

"Oh, Annie, darlin', poor chile. My poor niece." Tears were streaming down her face and she was dabbing her cheeks with her silk handkerchief. "Oh Gawd, Gawd . look at her in that bed. Sweet child," she wailed, and leaned against Luke. Her shoulders shook. Then she took a deep breath and came to my side and kissed me on the forehead. I welcomed the scent of roses, her personal perfume she had sent in from New York once a month.

She held me and sobbed, her body shaking mine. I looked to Luke, who seemed embarra.s.sed by his mother's outward display of sorrow. I reached forward to indicate he should come closer. Aunt f.a.n.n.y was holding me as if for dear life. Her sobbing got louder.

"Ma," Luke said. "You're making things worse. Please."

Aunt f.a.n.n.y snapped back.

"What?" She dabbed her eyes again. "Oh . . . Oh Gawd, Gawd."

"Ma, please. Think of what Annie's been through," Luke pleaded, lowering his voice for emphasis. Mother used to say that when it came right down to it, no one could handle f.a.n.n.y as well as Luke could.

"Oh dear, dear Annie," she said and kissed me on the cheek, her tears dripping onto my face. She wiped them away and stood up.

"Poor Luke and me been sittin' out there fer hours waitin' for the doctors and the nurses ta let us in," she added, flashing a chastising look at Mrs. Broadfield. Suddenly her great sorrow turned into great anger.

"Try not to excite her," Mrs. Broadfield commanded, and left the room.

"Don't ya jist hate doctors and nurses. They all have these faces that looked pinched. Remind me of muskrats. And I hate hospital smells. Why don't they spray some deodorants in the halls and bring in flowers? If I ever get sick, Luke, so I don't know what I'm doin', hire a private nurse like Annie has and keep me in ma house, y'hear?" Aunt f.a.n.n.y declared. It was as if her grief had been merely a cape she could pull off when she had a mind to.

Luke stepped up to my bed. He looked so handsome, so young, his eyes two pools of fear and pain. "Hi, Annie."

"Luke, oh Luke."

He took my hand softly into his own. The tears glistening in his eyes filled my heart with even more sorrow. He was as deeply in mourning as I was, for despite the way we all had ignored who and what he really was all these years, the truth was he had lost his father, too. And my mother was often more kind and loving to him than his own.

"Now there's no sense in us all jist standin' around an' cryin' our hearts ta pieces," Aunt f.a.n.n.y suddenly said. "We can't bring 'em back, though I'd give all I have ta do it. I loved Heaven more'n I ever told her. I'm sorry I was so mean ta her all these years, but I jist couldn't help my jealous self. She understood that and forgave me time after time, which was more'n I done fer her." She touched her eyes gently with her lace handkerchief and then took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back.

"But," she announced, "I jist know she'da wanted me ta take control'a things now. I jist know it." Aunt f.a.n.n.y nodded in agreement with herself as her pride marched out in full dress parade. "I'm jist as capable as . . . as that dirty, old rich man who calls himself yer great-grandpa." She shook her head and ran her palms over the sides of her hair as if she had walked into a cobweb.

"Ma." Luke touched her left hand and nodded toward me. "This isn't the time--"

"Nonsense. We gotta do what we gotta do. Now he says yer parents' wills put him in control, but I say--" Luke glared daggers at f.a.n.n.y.

"Ma, Annie is in no condition to discuss all this right now. She has other things on her mind at this moment."

"Well, I think that's good, him gettin' ya the best medical treatment," Aunt f.a.n.n.y went on, undeterred by Luke's admonishments and pleadings, "but as far as Hasbrouck House and--"

"Ma, please."

Frustration pulled her lips back, her pearly white teeth contrasting sharply with her dark Indian complexion.

"All right, then, wait until yer feelin' better, Annie. Est don't ya worry yerself none about what that old beantown millionaire's pin' ta do with yer fortune."

"He's been very nice so far, Aunt f.a.n.n.y," I said, unable to make my voice much more than a loud whisper.

"Yeah, well, he's got reasons."

"Reasons?"

"Ma, please." Luke turned on her, his eyes fiery. "I said this isn't the time."

"Okay, okay."

Mrs. Broadfield returned to lily room and came up behind them, moving so quietly in her soft white nurse's shoes, none of us heard her enter. She was suddenly just there, like a milk-white ghost.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. We are preparing Annie for her trip."

"Leave? We jist walked in. This is ma niece, ya know."

"I'm sorry. We have a schedule to follow," the nurse insisted authoritatively.

"Well, where ya takin' her?" f.a.n.n.y demanded.

"A Boston hospital. You can get all the specific information at the nurse's desk on this floor," Mrs. Broadfield said. Aunt f.a.n.n.y shook her head in anger, but Mrs. Broadfield simply went around my bed to adjust the I.V.

"Now Annie, honey, ya don't worry 'bout nothin' but gettin' yerself up and around again, hear?" She kissed me on the cheek and squeezed my hand. "I'll be comin' out to that fancy Boston hospital in a day or so ta be sure they're doin' the right things fer ya," she added, and glared at Mrs. Broadfield, who continued to work as if f.a.n.n.y were no longer there.

"I'll come with her, Annie," Luke said. He took my hand back into his.

"Oh, Luke, I'm going to miss graduation and your speech now," I cried.

"No you won't," Luke said with his characteristic rea.s.surance. "I'll read the whole speech over the phone to you, and before I go to school that day, go to the gazebo and sit there just as if you were there, too, and pretend that none of this happened."

"What kintta talk is that?" Aunt f.a.n.n.y asked, a half-curious and half-appreciative smile on her face.

"Our kind of talk," Luke said. Truth was in his eyes. Love for me was there as well. He leaned over and kissed my cheek just as Tony Tatterton reentered the room.

"Well, how are we doing?" he asked. He glanced at Luke, who snapped back and looked at him suspiciously. "I'm Tony Tatterton," Tony said quickly. He extended his hand. "And you must be . . ."

"Ma son Luke Junior," Aunt f.a.n.n.y announced. "You know who I am, I a.s.sume. I'm Heaven's sister." She p.r.o.nounced her words as sharply and as hatefully as I had ever heard her. I looked to Tony to see his reaction, but all he did was nod.

"Of course. Well, we've got to turn our attention to Annie now and get her started. I'll be down at the ambulance," he added, and shot a glance at Luke again. Luke's eyes were working overtime, a.n.a.lyzing and studying Tony critically.

"We'll be with you in Boston, too," he repeated, and then he and Aunt f.a.n.n.y left. Before I had a chance to burst into tears, the hospital orderlies arrived with the stretcher and began loading me onto it as Mrs. Broadfield directed. In moments I was being wheeled out of the room and down the corridor.

And there was no one at my side holding my hand, no one I loved who loved me. All the faces around me were strange and empty, the faces of people who saw me as just a part of their job. Mrs. Broadfield tucked the blanket around my shoulders efficiently when we arrived at the doorway to the parking lot where the ambulance awaited.

Even though the sky was overcast and gray, I closed my eyes the moment the outside light struck my face. It was only seconds, though, because I was quickly lifted from the hospital stretcher to the ambulance stretcher. I opened my eyes again as the doors were closed and Mrs. Broadfield took her seat beside me. She adjusted the I.V. and sat back. I felt the ambulance jerk forward and start down the hospital driveway on its journey to the airport and the plane that would jet me away to a big-city hospital.

I couldn't help but wonder if I Would ever see Winnerrow again. Suddenly all the things I used to take for granted seemed so very precious and dear, especially this little town that Drake called "one-horse."

I wished I could sit up and look out the window as we rushed away. I wanted one last look at the village proper to take with me, and a last farewell to the broad green fields and the neat little farms with their summer crops planted. And especially I wanted one last vista of the mountains with their coal-miner shacks and moonshiner cabins dotting the hills. 1 wanted to say good-bye to the w.i.l.l.i.e.s.

I was being ripped out of my world, torn from the people and places I loved and cherished and identified with. There would be no magnolia trees, no sweet scents of fresh flowers blossoming on the street as I walked to school. There would be no magic gazebo, no tiny cottage music box playing Chopin. I closed my eyes and imagined Hasbrouck House at this moment. All our servants surely sat around dumbstruck, not yet able to fully mourn my parents' deaths.

My head began to thump. Tears flowed freely from my eyes. I shook with sobs.

Never to see them again? Never to hear my father calling when he arrived home: "Where's my girl? Where's my Annie girl?" When I was little, I would hide behind the high-back blue chintz chair in the living room and press my tiny fist against my lips to suppress a giggle as he pretended to look everywhere for me. Then he would take on a worried expression and my heart would burst at the thought I could bring him any sadness.

"Here I am, Daddy," I would sing out, and he would scoop me up and cover my face with kisses. Then he would take me into the den where Mommy was sitting with Drake, listening to his school stories. We'd plop down on the leather couch with me in my daddy's lap and listen, too, until my mother said it was time we all got cleaned and dressed for dinner.

Those days seemed always full of sunshine and laughter. But now the clouds had come over us and dropped shadows like sheets of cold rain, like funeral shrouds. My mother and father were dead, my happy sunshine days colored black.

"Try to sleep, Annie," Mrs. Broadfield said, jerking me out of my reverie. "Lying there and crying will only make you weaker and weaker, and you have many big battles ahead to fight, believe me."

"Have you had a patient like me to care for before?" I asked, realizing that I needed to make friends with this woman. Oh, how I needed friends, someone to talk to, someone older, wiser, someone who could help me know what to do, who to be now. I needed someone with wisdom, but someone with warmth and loving feeling, too.

"I have had a number of accident victims, yes," she said, her voice full of arrogance.

"Did they all recuperate?" I asked hopefully.

"Of course not," she said flatly.

"Will I?"

"Your doctors are hopeful."

"But what do you think?" I wondered why someone who was supposedly dedicated to helping others, especially others in such great need, would be so cold and impersonal. Didn't she know how important warmth and tender care were? Why was she so standoffish?

Surely Tony must have known something a out this woman before hiring her. My recovery was so important to him, he would certainly have gone looking for the very best, and yet I wished he had found someone who could be more warm and confiding, perhaps someone younger. Then I remembered what Drake had said, how I should put myself into the hands of older, wiser people who were able to think more clearly than I could now.

"I think you should try to rest and not worry about it now. There's nothing we can do right now, anyway," Mrs. Broadfield said, her voice still cold, factual. "Your great-grandfather is getting you the best possible treatment money can buy. You're lucky to have him: Believe me, I've been with many a patient who had far less than you have."

Yes, I thought. How quickly he had come to my aid, and how fully committed to helping me get well again he seemed. It made me wonder even more what it could have been that had driven my mother, who was capable of such great love, away from a man who apparently had such a generous heart.

Would I ever find out, or had the answers died on that w.i.l.l.i.e.s mountain slope with my mother and father?

I was tired. Mrs. Broadfield was right: there was nothing to do but rest and hope.

I heard the ambulance siren blare away and vaguely realized that it was for me.

SIX.

Tony Tatterton.

I slept through the rest of the journey to the airport, but I awoke as they were transferring me to the air ambulance, and the realization of what was happening struck me like a hard, cold slap to the face. None of this was a dream; it was all true, all really happening. Mommy and Daddy were really dead, gone forever. I was seriously injured, paralyzed, all my dreams and plans, all the wonderful things Mommy and Daddy had hoped for me, obliterated in one fateful, horrible moment on a mountain road.

Everytime I awoke I relived the terrible memory, saw the rain blinding the car windshield, heard Mommy and Daddy arguing about Daddy's behavior at the party, and saw that car coming at us. The visions made me scream inside, and ache so much that I was grateful when I started growing groggy again. Each time sleep came, it brought relief. Only each time I awoke, I had to face the reality and relive the horror once again.

Mercifully, I fell asleep again until we arrived at the Boston airport for transfer to the Boston hospital ambulance. Whenever I was awake I was impressed with Mrs. Broadfield's tone of authority and the way orderlies and attendants snapped to action when she issued a command. Once I heard her say, "Easy, she's not a sack of potatoes, you know." And I thought, yes, Drake was right. Pm in good hands, professional hands.

I drifted in and out of a deep sleep and awoke when we arrived at the hospital and I felt someone holding y hand.

I opened my eyes and looked up at Tony Tatterton. At first he didn't realize I had awakened, and I thought he had such a dreamy, far-off expression on his face, it was as though looking down at me had taken him away somewhere and left him there. When he finally noticed I was staring up at him, his face brightened with a smile.

"Welcome to Boston. I told you I would be right here when you arrived so I could greet you and be sure you had whatever you needed. Was your trip all right?" he asked with great concern.

I nodded. Yesterday when I had seen him at my bedside, everything was so unreal that my memory of him was vague. Now I had a chance to really see in the flesh the man I had imagined so many times. His eyebrows were perfectly trimmed and he was closely shaven. His hair was trimmed neatly, too, and the gray looked silky and rich, as it would after being washed and treated by a professional stylist. He was wearing an expensive gray and white pinstriped silk suit with a dark gray tie. All of his clothing looked brand new. When I looked at my hand in his, I saw his long, patrician fingers were well-manicured. The nails shone. Yes, he was far different from the Tony Tatterton described by Drake. His letter and phone call now seemed part of the imaginary world I had sometimes entered and abruptly left for this cold, cruel, real existence.

Tony let me scrutinize him and rested gentle, affectionate eyes on me as I did so.

"I slept through most of the journey," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yes, Mrs. Broadfield told me. I'm so glad you're here, Annie. Soon you'll be going through the battery of tests the doctors have planned and we'll get right to the bottom of your problems so we can fix them." He patted my hand and nodded with the confidence and a.s.surance of a man who was used to having things his way.