"No, Annie, it's not Mr. Tony Tatterton. He says it's about Mr. Tony Tatterton. He says he thought you ought to know."
"Know? Know what?" My heart stopped and then began to pitter-patter.
"He didn't say, Annie. He asked to speak directly to you and I came looking for you."
"Oh. Tell him I'm coming." I took a deep breath and drove back the cold shiver that had started to climb my spine.
I followed Mrs. Avery as quickly as I could. Now that was up and about, I was frustrated by my slow and awkward gait.
Mrs. Avery handed me the telephone receiver and I sat down to speak.
"Hello," I said in a tiny frightened voice. I thought the pounding of my heart could be heard over the phone; it was that loud to me.
"Annie," he said. I had no trouble recognizing the voice, just as imagined Mommy would have had no trouble had she heard it after years and years. "I thought you would want to know and might want to come to the funeral."
"Funeral?" My heart paused and I held my breath. "Tony passed away a few hours ago. I was at his bedside."
"Passed away?" Suddenly I felt sorry for him, pining away at Farthy, thinking the woman he loved had left him again. Through me he had relived his own tragedy. I had unwillingly been an actress in a play cast years and years ago. Like some understudy, I had stepped into a role Mommy had been forced to play, too. Now, finally, mercifully perhaps, the curtain had been brought down, the lights had been turned off, the players had all left the stage. For Tony Tatterton, the agony had come to an end.
But Troy's voice was filled with sincere sorrow, not relief. He had lost a brother who had once been more of a father to him.
"Oh, Troy. I'm sorry. I didn't think he was physically unwell. You were with him?"
"I had just made up my mind to make myself more visible and give him some comfort at a time in his life when he desperately needed someone to care for him, for what I had told you was true--he did care for me whenever I was sick. And," he added, his voice cracking, "he did love me very much. Ultimately, we had no one but each other."
My throat closed up and I couldn't swallow for a moment. I felt my eyes fill with tears. It was not difficult for me to imagine Troy at Tony's bedside, Tony's hand in his, Troy's head bowed, his shoulders shaking with sobs when the life left his older brother.
"How did he die?" I finally asked, my voice so thin it was nearly in a whisper.
"It was a stroke. Apparently, he had had a minor one some time back, but I never knew."
"Drake called me recently and told me he had spoken with him, but he didn't mention he was seriously ill."
"He shut himself up in his room, so that even Rye didn't know what was happening. By the time he realized it, it was already too late. At least I was with him at the end. He babbled a great deal, confusing people. After a while I wasn't sure he knew who I was, but he did mention your name and he made me promise I would look after you and be sure you were all right.
"I . . . I know that he had been going through strange mental torments, and I imagine you witnessed some of it, but he was harmless. He was just someone searching for love and a way to make up for his sins . . . something we all end up doing one way or another."
"I know." I wondered if he could hear in the way I had said that just how much I already did know. "I know who Tony really was to me, Troy. He shouted it out as I was leaving, and my aunt Fanny confirmed it."
"Oh. I see." His voice drifted off. "I'm not making any excuses for him, but he did have a complicated and difficult marriage."
"Yes." I wasn't eager to talk about all that now. "But Troy, I want to come to the funeral. When is it?"
"Day after tomorrow, two o'clock. Everything will be at the family cemetery. From what your maid just told me, I understand you've been improving steadily. I'm happy for you, Annie, and I don't want anything to set you back, so if making such a journey is too much of a strain--"
"It won't be, and I won't have a setback. I'm anxious to see you again. I never had a chance to thank you for calling my aunt Fanny and having Luke and her come and get me. It was you who did that, wasn't it?"
"I didn't watit to see you go; I was hoping we would have more opportunities to be together, but I saw what was happening to you here and I knew you really belonged with the people you loved, even though I can imagine how painful it must have been for you to go home. I remember Tony telling me how it was for him when he came to my cottage a long time ago, thinking I was dead and gone."
"It was painful. I wish I had a cottage to hide away from sadness and pain like you do with a maze to keep unwanted people away."
"Tragedy has a way of discovering the right turns and finding you anyway if it is meant to, Annie. I've learned that too well," he said sadly.
"I know." My voice was barely audible, just a shade above a whisper. I was about to say more, perhaps even mention the secret letter in the toy cottage. He must have sensed something, for he spoke quickly to end our conversation.
"I'll see you day after tomorrow, Annie. I'm happy you'll be there with me. Good-bye until then." "Good-bye, Troy."
I cradled the receiver slowly, my thoughts turning to Tony. Despite the madness and the lies, I couldn't help cry for him. Troy had been right: even though Tony was rich beyond imagination, he was lonely and lost, and very much like everyone else, searching for someone to love who would love him back.
Perhaps Rye Whiskey was right about the spirits at Farthy. Maybe they had finally ended Tony's torment by claiming him as one of their own.
Aunt Fanny was upset when I told her I planned to attend Tony's funeral.
"No one know'd he was yer grandpappy, Annie. No one expects ya ta travel all the way ta see 'im buried."
"I know who he was, Aunt Fanny. I can't forget him and hate him. He did try to help me in his own way."
"That place is poison. All them rich people destroy themselves one way or t'other. Not that I don't want ta be rich; it's jist the way those beantown phonies lived, thinkin' they was better'n everyone else. Makes them mad as hatters. I wish ya'd change yer mind 'bout it."
She complained all day, but she saw I was adamant. Shortly after I spoke with Troy and learned of Tony's death, I phoned Luke. I almost didn't speak when he answered the phone. He sounded so sad and alone. My hand trembled at the sound of his voice, but I closed my eyes and spoke up. As soon as he heard my voice, his voice regained its strength and lightness.
"I've been trying to write you a letter for days, Luke, but nothing seems right."
"I know. It's why I haven't spoken to you or written to you myself. But I'm glad you called. I'm trying to keep busy and to keep you out of my thoughts, but it's not easy. I'm so happy to hear your voice, Annie."
"As I am to hear yours, but I'm not calling with happy news," I said, and told him about Tony's death and Troy's phone call. "Your mother is angry about my going and says she won't go back there. She's hoping I won't want to go myself, but I will. I can get around now with my cane, so traveling is easier."
"I'll be there that morning to take you to Farthy," Luke replied quickly.
"Oh, Luke, I knew you would."
"I love you, Annie. I can't help it. I'll live with it and suffer with it until the day I die."
"And so will I, Luke." Neither of us spoke for a moment. My throat closed up so tightly anyway, I wasn't sure I would be able to get any more words out. Finally, after a deep sigh, I looked at the painting of him I had done and regained my strength. "Oh, Luke, I painted a picture of you standing in the gazebo."
"Really? Can I have it to hang in my dormitory room?"
I wanted it for myself, but I thought that was too selfish a thing to say.
"Of course."
"I'll see it when I come to pick you up. Don't worry about anything. I'll handle all the travel arrangements."
"Thank you, Luke."
"Annie, it's so hard to deny what I feel for you." "I know. It's been the same for me."
"I'll see you soon." Both of us had to end the conversation for the same reason. Each word was like a sharp, heavy sword, stinging as it struck us, right through to our hearts.
Later in the afternoon Drake called. He was surprised I already knew about Tony's death, and even more surprised when I told him I would be at the funeral. He didn't even ask me how I had found out, so I didn't mention Troy at all. He put me off with his cold businessman's tone of voice.
"Well, if you thought you wanted to come, you should have called me. But it's not too late. I'll make arrangements for you."
"It's all being done. Luke's coming along, too." "I should have known."
"Please, Drake. For Tony's sake, for his memory, let's keep peace," I pleaded.
"You're right. Of course, I'll act dignified. Everyone who's anyone in the business world will be there, I assure you."
"I didn't mean--"
"Anyway, you can't imagine what's left to do now. I haven't got the time to waste on Luke. It's fortunate I began here before all this happened. I might as well have been Tony's son, the way people are turning to me. I was going to surprise you with the news, but I might as well tell you now. Before he died, Tony gave me a large percentage of the stock in his corporation." He paused, and then dryly added when I didn't congratulate him quickly enough, "I thought you would be happy to know."
"I know it's what you want, Drake. I know you're happy."
He was disappointed with my thoughtful and controlled reaction.
"Yes. Well, I'll see you at the funeral."
"Yes, Drake." He seemed more and more a stranger to me.
Luke was at the house very early the morning of Tony's funeral to take me to the airport. I was dressed and ready when he came to my room. I stood without the cane. For a long moment we stared at each other. Finally, he shifted his eyes to the painting I had done of him.
"Wow, that is really good."
"I was hoping you would like it."
"Like it? I love it. You're a wonderful artist, Annie. People will pay thousands for your paintings, I'm sure. I know I will."
We stared at each other again. It seemed that whenever one of us finished a sentence, there was sure to be a long pause during which our eyes did the talking. Right now mine were telling him how much I loved and needed him and how much I felt cheated by destiny. His said the same.
I thought Aunt Fanny would relent and join us, but she had as much of that Casteel stubbornness in her as she said Drake and Luke had. She broke our tormenting silences by coming to the doorway of my bedroom, her hands on her hips, her head thrown back in her characteristic manner.
"Can't believe ya traveled down here ta take her ta that place, Luke. Ya shouldn't have encouraged it."
"I would have gone with or without him, Aunt Fanny."
"Yer motha ran away from that place and that man, Annie."
"I know." I gazed at one of the pictures of her on my vanity table. It was one of my favorites because in it she was gazing off toward the Willies, one of her few good memories of that life brightening her cornflower-blue eyes. "But she had a way of seeing the rainbows after the rain. I think she would have gone to Tony's funeral, too, Aunt Fanny." I turned back to her, my gaze as sharp and as determined as Mommy's could be. Aunt Fanny saw that.
"I've got to go for both of us."
As we started for the airport, I couldn't help imagining what it would have been like for us to be going to a plane that would take us on our honeymoon. What if we defied Fate and defied everyone and ran off to get married? This would have been our most romantic and loving journey. Airline attendants and other passengers would have looked at us snuggled beside each other and smiled to themselves, thinking how wonderful young love could be, how it opened the world and made life dazzling, exciting, hopeful, and warm.
When I looked into Luke's face now as he helped me into the car taking us to the airport, I couldn't help but think we did belong together. How tragic and quick life could be, I thought. Look at what had happened to my parents; look at the agony Tony had lived through. Why shouldn't we choose happiness?
During the ride to the airport in Virginia and the Plight itself, I debated whether or not I should tell Luke about the letter I had found in the toy cottage.
Luke had been very polite, almost formal during the journey so far. I knew he was acting this way in order to build a wall between his feelings and me, but it was a torment for both of us. We quickly ran out of small talk, and every time his eyes met mine, our hearts thumped so hard both our faces became crimson. The passion within us wouldn't be denied. It would be easier to harness the ocean tide or smother the lightning that streaked across the summer sky.
Because what happened between Troy and Mommy seemed so similar to what was happening between Luke and me, I thought he had a right to know and to understand what they had suffered. Surely it would help him appreciate why Mommy was so fearful about our relationship.
I began by reminding him of the toy cottage, and then I described my discovery. When I recited some of Troy's words, tears appeared in the corners of his dark sapphire eyes.
"I can under
-
Stand his loneliness and why he wanted to drop out of the world and live by himself on the other side of the maze," Luke said. "I feel the same way."
"No, Luke. You can't deny your life the way he has denied his. You must go on to become a doctor like you dreamed you would and find someone you can love cleanly, wholely, without guilt of any kind. You deserve it."
"And you?"
"I'll do the same. . . ."
"You're not a good liar, Annie. Your blue eyes
betray you."
"Well, I'm going to try," I insisted.
He smiled that smile of Casteel arrogance,
Drake's smile, too.
"Luke Toby Casteel, you don't know
everything."
After my reprimand, his face became soft, sad,
like a little boy's face.
"I know what I feel in my heart and what you
feel in yours, and I know what that means." "I'm going to try anyway, and so should you," I
repeated in a smaller voice. I turned away from him so
he wouldn't see my tears. Luke dozed on and off for
the remainder of the trip and I stared out the window
at the tiny houses and highways below, once again
wishing we lived in a Tatterton toy world where
fantasies could come true.
At the airport in Boston we rented a car and
began the drive to Farthy. I couldn't help but remember Tony's excitement during my first journey to Farthy after I had been released from the hospital. He was so happy and eager to help me. How could I have ever anticipated what was soon to pass? Perhaps if Mommy had had a chance to tell me more about her
past, I would have avoided the hardship and turmoil. By the time we arrived at Farthy, the throng of
mourners were gathered at the front of the house.
Besides Miles and Curtis and Rye Whiskey, there
were dozens of Tony's business associates, as well as
many people who worked for Tatterton Toys. Most
were fol nially dressed in black and gathered in small
cliques, greeting one another, shaking hands, kissing
cheeks and talking softly.
It was a warm, but overcast fall
.
day, a perfect
funeral day, I thought. Everything looked grayer than
ever, and the bleakness emphasized how rundown
Farthinggale Manor was. I couldn't help but remember
the proud way Tony had described it when we had
first driven out here . . his ancestral home, improved
and expanded by every succeeding Tatterton heir.
How ironic it was that he had an heir who would truly
follow in his footsteps but who had no relationship to
him at all, for Drake was Luke Casteel's son, the man
from whom Tony had bought his own daughter. And now, in every sense of the word, he had bought Drake,
bought himself an heir.
And Drake had indeed taken charge. He stood
up front by the hearse, dressed in an ebony-black
tuxedo. His face was as somber and dark as an
undertaker's. The people he hired to conduct the
funeral were quietly checking with him for
instructions. There were people directing cars and
handing out small prayer and hymn cards.
Luke pulled his car into line and I gazed up at
the main house again, the mystery and excitement of
the big, old gray-stone building gone, replaced with
unpleasant memories. The window of what had been
my room was dark. All the curtains had been drawn,
the panes becoming mirrors reflecting the dismal,
cloudy sky.
The servants came to greet me first. Curtis
looked shattered, his blue lips trembling; Miles looked
stunned, his cheeks cold, his eyes distant. Even Rye
looked very old to me. Bereavement had aged him
quickly; he and Tony Tatterton had been together for
so many years.
Drake approached us soon after, ignoring Luke
and coming directly to my side of the car.
"How are you, Annie?"
"I'm fine, Drake." I was determined to be my
mother's daughter and keep my dignity and strength. "It will all begin soon." He leaned closer to me.
"Do you know who is here? Who is alive after all?" "Yes."
He recoiled with surprise.
"You do?"
"If you would have let me talk to you calmly
instead of accusing me of being ungrateful and
accusing Luke of terrible things, I would have been
able to tell you I had met him here and he was the one
who called Aunt Fanny and told her to come to get
me."
"But . . why?"
"Because he saw what was happening, Drake.
He knew some of the things you refused to see," I
said, not attempting to hide my anger.
Drake glanced at Luke and then turned to me
again.
"Well . . I . . . did what I thought was best for
you, Annie. I'm sorry," he said remorsefully. "Let's put it behind us, Drake, and do what
we've come here to do," I said firmly.
"Yes. Of course." One of the undertakers
signaled him. "I'll talk to you later."
He went back to the hearse. I looked
everywhere for Troy but I didn't see him. Where was
he?
My question was answered after the line of cars
pulled away from the house and wound its way to the
family cemetery. He was already there, saying his
private good-bye. He came directly to our car as soon
as we arrived. His dark, melancholy eyes brightened
when he saw me.
Now that he was dressed in a black suit and tie,
was able to see the resemblances between him and
Tony more clearly. However, where Tony's eyes had
been bright and excited by his confusion and sadness,
Troy's were calm.
"Hello, Annie. Was the trip all right?" "Yes, Troy. Troy, this is Luke."
"Oh yes." They shook hands. I saw from the
way they looked into each other's eyes that they liked
each other instantly, and that warmed my heart. When
opened my door, they both rushed to help me, but
Luke got there first. Troy stepped back and watched
him help me out of the car.
"Just a cane now. That's good," Troy said when
Luke handed it to me. "How much of a difference
tender loving care can make."
Luke, Troy, and I moved to the front of the
crowd. I saw how Troy's eyes followed Luke's hand as
it grasped mine. Troy watched us in a most peculiar
way, his eyes growing smaller, his face darkening. He
nodded gently to himself and then turned to hear the
clergyman's words.
Drake delivered a short eulogy afterward,
describing Tony as a pioneer businessman whose
imagination tapped new markets and created an
entirely new industry. I was impressed with how
experienced and knowledgeable he appeared. He
looked years and years older, and I thought Tony had
been right about him--he was executive material. The clergyman then asked everyone to sing the
hymn written on the cards we were all given. During
the hymn my eyes shifted from Tony's monument to
my parents' monument. Graveyards have a way of
making all life's struggles seem simple and meaningless, I thought. All family squabbles die and are
buried here, too: Jillian's madness, Tony's lusts and
confused passions, my grandmother Leigh's flight
from who she was, my mother's frustrated and lost
love . . . all of it was put to rest. Only those of us who
remained had to struggle still.
For a long moment Troy and I looked at each other, and I think he knew I understood why he would want to ride into the ocean that fateful day. He looked from me to Luke and back to me. As soon as the hymn ended and the clergyman said his final words,
Troy turned to us.
"Won't the two of you come to my cottage for a
little something to eat and drink before you start
back?"
"I'd like that," Luke replied. I simply nodded. I
looked for Drake, but he was busy greeting business
ssociates, shaking hands and discussing actions to be
taken in the near future. I didn't think he even noticed
we had left.
I had the strangest feeling when we drove up to
the cottage, approaching it on a road off the rear of the
cemetery. It was as if we had all become miniaturized
and we were about to enter the toy cottage, become
citizens of a toy world, a world of magic and makebelieve, the world Luke and I had lived in for so much
of our lives. Troy, the master creator of the Tatterton
Toy world was our magician. He would touch us with
his magic wand and make the ugly and the sad world
go away.
Luke loved the cottage and was fascinated with
all of Troy's new creations, especially the medieval vil- lage. Troy prepared sandwiches and drinks for us, and he and Luke talked about college, Boston, and some of the things he was creating I sat back and listened, happy the two of them were getting along so
well
Finally, Troy sat back, a gentle smile on his
face as he looked from me to Luke.
"Tell me what your plans are now."
"Plans? Luke's back in college. He'll go on to
be a doctor. I supposeIll travel through Europe as my
parents originally planned for me to do, so I can study
the Great Masters, and then attend college myself to
develop my art talent. We'll go our separate ways and
do what we can to make our lives meaning ful." "I see." He looked away, the smile lifting off
his face and disappearing like smoke. When he looked
back at us, his face was full of sorrow and pain again.
"I must confess that I have brought you here with
ulterior motives in mind. Believe me when I tell you I
have agonized for days over these things. The greater
temptation is to bury the past alongside Tony and Heaven and Logan, and live out my days as I
am now. . . ghostlike, apart from the real world,
involved only in my make-believe, my toys. "How safe and secure the make-believe world is. But I have the feeling that is something you two already know, for you have found it to be a safe haven for your true feelings." He looked at us knowingly, and I wondered how someone who had seen and spoken with me only a short time could understand
me so well and perceive my secret anguish so quickly. He turned to his tiny creations.
"I can imagine a whole life for myself, populate
it with the kinds of people I like and design events to
fit what I want to happen. It's my particular madness,
suppose; not as debilitating as Tony's madness was,
but nevertheless, a form of escape.
"But after seeing you two, I realize I can't do it;
I can't forgetaand bury myself here. Even though it
uncovers terrible emotional wounds and forces me to
face sad reality, I must; for I must not let what
happened to Heaven and me happen to you and
Luke."
"Troy, you don't have to do this to yourself." I
looked at Luke. "We ready know."
"Know?"
"I was looking closely at the toy cottage you
sent my mother shortly after my birth. It was you who
sent it, wasn't it?" He nodded. "And I happened to
peer closely into the door at the rear of the kitchen . the same door that you have in there," I added,
pointing.
"And I found the letter you wrote to my mother
the day Jillian died and you decided to leave." Instead of the surprise and perhaps the
embarrassment I expected, Troy merely nodded, a
strange, small smile forming at the corners of his
mouth, his eyes suddenly taking on a faraway look. "She kept that, did she? How like her to do that,
and how like her to hide it away in the cottage by the
stairway. Oh, Heaven . . my darling Heaven." He
turned back to me, his gaze sharply focused on me
now. "So you found out that your mother and I were
lovers, secret lovers."
He stood up, went to one of the front windows,
and gazed out so long, I thought he was not going to
say another word. Luke reached for my hand and we
waited patiently. Suddenly all the clocks struck the
hour and a light blue music-box clock that was shaped
like the cottage opened its front door and the tiny
family within emerged and then retreated to the sweet,
haunting melody I had come to know so well. "Troy . . ."
"I'm all right," he said, and returned to his seat.
"Some of what I am about to tell you, your mother
might have told you herself.
"Years ago, when she lived the hard life in the
Willies, she met your father and they became young
lovers, pledging their hearts to one another. If your
mother had remained in the Willies, she might very
well have married your father and lived a quiet, happy
life in Winnerrow, but Fate would not have it so. "After Luke Casteel broke up his family by
selling off his children, your mother lived with a very
selfish, jealous woman, Kitty Dennison, and her
husband Cal. It was a hard life for her because Kitty
became jealous of your mother, and Cal . . .
eventually took advantage of her. It's not hard to
understand how such a thing could happen. Your
mother was young and desperately searching for
someone to love and cherish her. Cal, an older man, a
father figure, sensed that.
"For a while that soured Logan, and even after
Kitty's death, when your mother came to Farthy to
live while he was going to college in Boston, he
rejected her. She led a lonely life here. I was in the
inidst of a very bad time myself, convinced I would
not live long. I was bitter and withdrawn. Your
mother and I met, and for a time she filled my life
with hope and happiness. We talked about marriage
and made wonderful plans.
"Then Heaven left to pursue her lost family,
and while she was away, as you know from the letter
you read, Jillian told me the truth: Tony was Heaven's
father; she was my niece. Knowing we could never
marry, I wrote her a letter and left Farthy to travel and
try to forget.
"I returned while she was away
-
and, as you
know, rode Jillian's horse Abdtilla Bar into the ocean,
convincing everyone, even Tony, I was dead. "And I was dead, dead to anything warm and
hopeful, just wandering about, waiting for the inevitable end of my wretched existence.
"But it didn't come. I lived on past the time I
had drea4t I would die. Once again, hopeful, even renewed, I returned, dreaming of some kind of existence
with Heaven, but by then she had reunited with Logan
and they had married. I was living in the cottage
secretly and secretly watched their wedding receptite
at Farthy, my heart shriveling.
"For a while I wandered about the grounds and
even entered the building surreptitiously, behaving as
one of Rye Whiskey's spirits, just so I could see her
ueobserved. Your mother sensed my presence and
carne to the cottage. I tried to hide from her in the tunnels, but she pursued and . . discovered me, dis
covered I was really still alive.
"We both mourned the love we had lost, but"--
his eyes lifted to gaze upon my face--"we didn't leave
it at that, even though we parted and determined we
could never see each other again. She returned that
night. God forgive me, I hoped and prayed she would.
I even left my door open.
"She came and we had one last loving night
together, a special, precious night, Annie, for there is
no doubt in my mind as I look upon you now that
your birth was a direct result of that stolen night of
love."
My tears were streaming down my face
throughout his tale, but when he said those final lines,
my heart paused and Luke squeezed my hand as