Family Storms (9 page)

N
othing I had seen in magazines, on television, or in a movie had prepared me for what I was about to see. I had thought castles were only in Europe and only kings and queens lived like this. We turned off a main road, went down a side road, and began to climb a hill. As we climbed, I realized there were no houses along the way.

Mrs. March sensed my curiosity. “All this land is ours,” she said, “on both sides. That's why there are no other houses on the road.”

Eventually, we reached what I could only describe as a hidden entrance to the road on which the Marches' house was located. There were no signs, mailboxes, or anything, just tall, full pine trees on both sides, so that when anyone drove in, he or she couldn't see the March house just yet.

“This isn't a public road,” she said. “My husband built it, and we maintain it.”

They own their own road? How can anyone own his own road?
I wondered.

We came to a tall, solid, light orange wall at least ten or twelve feet high. Now, just over the wall, I could see the top of the house and what looked like a tower. Just looking at the wall ahead of us wouldn't tell anyone it opened, but when Grover pressed a button by the sun visor above him, the wall began to part. It revealed a beautiful cobblestone driveway that curved upward toward what I could only call a storybook house.

“Is it a castle?” I asked breathlessly.

Mrs. March laughed. “Donald thinks so. He was determined to build something different, so he built what's called a Richardsonian Romanesque house. It has the round-topped arches over the windows and entryway and masonry walls with a pattern of ruby and white. And yes,” she said, laughing again, “that tower makes it look like a castle, but Donald will tell you a man's home is supposed to be his castle.”

As we approached and we could see beyond the high bushes and trees, the house seemed to unfold to my right and to my left.

“It's so big.”

“It might be the biggest house in Southern California, for all I know. I forget, but I think Donald said it's ninety thousand square feet. There are three floors if we count the rooms in the tower. We've been here nearly twenty years, but I'm still furnishing it. I suppose it will never be finished, but that's what makes it fun to go shopping here and in Europe. There's furniture from all over the world. Persian and Turkish rugs, French chandeliers, cabinets from England, settees and chairs from Spain, tapestries from both France
and Spain. You can understand why we need so many employees.”

She pointed to her left as we drew closer. “Over there, you'll find the swimming pool and the tennis courts. You can't tell, but part of the house is our multicar garage. The garage entrances are all around the side, so it makes the house look much bigger. Of course, there is an apartment over the garage. That's where Mrs. Duval and her husband, Alberto, live. There's another maid's apartment for Mrs. Caro at the rear of the house. Everyone else comes to work from his or her own home. We have another entrance for servants and deliveries at the west end of the property.

“There are security cameras everywhere. Donald loves his toys. He has a movie theater in the house, with the most up-to-date equipment. There's a full gym and a small indoor swimming pool, which will come in handy for your therapy, I bet. The house has an intercom system, of course. Just think of all the fun you'll have discovering new things in it when you're up and about.”

As we drew closer, I looked out at the beautiful gardens and fountains, the statues and benches, the rolling lawns and trees. No wonder so many people had to work there, I thought. There was so much to take care of. How could anyone be so rich?

As soon as we pulled up to the front, a short, stout, dark-brown-haired woman came rushing out. She wore a dark blue one-piece dress with a skirt that flapped about her ankles as she hurried down the stairs. Her hair was clipped into a tight bun. Right behind her was a tall,
gray-haired man with a dark brown mustache sprinkled with gray hairs. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans.

“That's Mrs. Duval and her husband, Alberto,” Mrs. March told me.

Grover got out quickly and opened Mrs. March's door. He went around to get my wheelchair and my things, some of which he handed to Mrs. Duval. He and Alberto unfolded the wheelchair and brought it to my door.

“Careful with her,” Mrs. March told them.

Grover looked for a graceful way to get me out and then simply decided to put his right arm under me and embrace me with his left. He lifted me out easily and gently lowered me to the wheelchair that Alberto held.

“This is Sasha,” Mrs. March said.

“
Hola,
Sasha,” Mrs. Duval said. “Hello and welcome.”

“
Sí,
welcome,” Alberto said.

He and Grover lifted me and the chair and carried me up the stone steps to the entrance. Mrs. Duval and Mrs. March followed us. At the grand door, they waited for her instructions.

“Take her in and to the elevator,” Mrs. March told them. “We're bringing her right up to her suite.”

Elevator? Suite?
Had I heard right? This did sound more like a hotel than a house.

They hurried to do so.

The entryway had a floor of golden marble, and there were small statues of ivory-white angels in niches on both sides of the darker marble walls. Above us was a large chandelier shaped like an opened hand, and ahead of us was a curved stairway with steps that matched the marble in the
entrance. The banister was made of marble, too. Every-where I looked, I saw paintings and tapestries on the walls and pedestals with small statues.

Alberto wheeled me to the right, but before we went too far, a smaller, younger-looking lady with a pillbox chef's cap came hurrying down the long hallway. She didn't look much taller than five foot one or two, and her apron's hem was down to her ankles, making it look as if it was meant for a much taller person.

“This is Mrs. Caro,” Mrs. March announced before she reached us. “Mrs. Caro, meet Sasha.”

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Caro said in an accent I recognized as Irish only because Daddy had an Irish friend he had brought around from time to time. “My, what a pretty little girl,” she told Mrs. March. “I'm fixing a nice lunch for you, dear.”

“We'll let you know when she's settled in, Mrs. Caro. For today and perhaps tomorrow, we'll let her rest. Then we'll see about taking her out.”

“Oh, of course, Mrs. March. I'll prepare some fresh lemonade,” she said, and then asked, “You like lemonade?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She smiled as if she rarely heard those words.

Mrs. March urged Alberto to continue, and he brought me to an elevator.

“We hardly use this,” Mrs. March said when I was wheeled in. There wasn't room for Mrs. Duval, who had already gone up the stairway. “Donald thought it would be wise to have one, either to help us when we were too old or in the event of his wanting to sell, to have another
attraction, an added advantage. If you ask me, it was just another toy for him, but now it does come in handy.”

The elevator was slow. I saw that it could go up to the tower, too. When the door opened, Mrs. Duval was waiting for us. “I'll take her from here,” she told her husband. Without comment, he turned and went to the stairway. Mrs. Duval wheeled me down another long corridor. More paintings and tapestries were spaced along its walls on both sides, with pedestals holding statues and busts here and there as well. We went almost to the end before she turned me into a room on the left. I nearly gasped.

Even in movies and magazines, I had never seen a bedroom this large. The walls were done in a baby pink, and the bed, which looked even larger than a king-size bed, had a cream frame with pink spirals, four posts, and a canopy. What surprised me, however, was the headboard. Embossed on it were two giraffes.

Before I could ask,
Why giraffes?
Mrs. March explained. “Giraffes were Alena's favorite animals. From the age of two or three, she was fascinated by them.”

So, this was Alena's room, then. For someone who just weeks ago was sleeping in a carton on the beach, coming to such a house would have been overwhelming in and of itself. Even simply setting foot in it would have drowned me in amazement. The sight of it as we had approached it, the grounds, the landscaping, had taken my breath away and actually had numbed me. But now, realizing that I was stepping into the shoes and sleeping in the bed of Mrs. March's dead little girl did more than amaze and numb me. It actually frightened me. It was beautiful, the most beautiful
room I had ever seen, but for a moment, it gave me the feeling that I was invading and violating another girl's sacred shrine. Prominent on one of the dressers was a picture of someone who was surely Alena. I avoided looking at it.

“Mrs. Duval and I have already gone through all of Alena's things and sorted out what we think would fit you properly,” Mrs. March said as they brought me to the bed. “You don't have to put this on right now, but here's one of my favorite nightgowns.” She lifted it off the bed where it had been neatly placed. She laughed. “As you can see … more giraffes. I'm afraid you're going to find them everywhere. She even had a toothbrush shaped like the neck of a giraffe with a giraffe's head. Donald went a little overboard with that stuff.”

“Do you want her in bed right away?” Mrs. Duval asked Mrs. March. I looked up at her.

“I don't know. Are you tired, Sasha? You can explore the suite, if you like, or get into bed and rest. I imagine it's all been exhausting for you, considering you've been laid up so long and gone through so much. What would you like to do?”

Mrs. Duval pulled back the blanket in anticipation.

“I'll stay in the wheelchair a while longer,” I said.

“Good. That way, you can have your lunch right over here,” Mrs. March said, moving to her right to show me a separate sitting area. “This will become your private classroom, too, as soon as I have your tutor arranged. I was thinking we'd get that started as soon as we can, as long as you're up to it. You can work in here, don't you think?”

I wheeled myself toward it. There was a small table, a
desk with a computer, another television besides the one built into the wall directly across from the bed, and a very large dollhouse, large enough for a little girl to go into if she liked. Everywhere I looked, there were pictures of giraffes in different locales or just one or two close up. There was a beautiful painting of one as well.

The windows were low enough for me to look out, even sitting in the wheelchair. I wheeled to the one on the left and gazed down at the swimming pool, which looked huge, and the two tennis courts. Someone was cleaning the pool.

“That's an Olympic-size pool,” Mrs. March said, standing over my shoulder. “Before she became very sick, Alena could do ten laps without stopping. I'm sure once you're fully recuperated, it will be great for your physical therapy. In no time at all, you'll be able to work up to ten laps, too, I'm sure. It's always heated, by the way.”

There was a cabana with tables under a roof, a barbecue area, and what looked like a large hot tub, too. Around the pool were light yellow wood tables with yellow umbrellas. It looked more like the pool area in a hotel, not a home, but now that I was in it, I realized this house was bigger than many hotels. It would need everything to be larger and in bigger amounts than any normal house would. The hotel room Mama and I had slept in was probably no bigger than the wardrobe closet in this suite.

“Well, what do you think so far, Sasha?” Mrs. March asked. “Do you think you could be happy here?”

I looked up at her. Of course, there was a part of me that wanted to say,
Absolutely, this is like a dream,
but there was a part of me that still harbored anger and sadness. I was also
reminded of the things Jackie had said to me. They could never do enough to compensate for what they had taken from me. Even all of this didn't come anywhere close.

“I don't know,” I said, which obviously shocked Mrs. Duval and disappointed Mrs. March.

“It's understandable,” she said, mostly for Mrs. Duval's sake, I thought. “You've been through so much so quickly. You need to catch your breath and get used to new things. I'd feel the same way,” she added. “Well, don't hesitate to ask Mrs. Duval or Mrs. Caro or anyone, for that matter, for anything you want or need.”

From the look on Mrs. Duval's face, I could see that she was thinking,
Need? What could she possibly want or need that she doesn't have already?

I didn't know if I could blame her just yet for being insensitive. I had no idea how much she knew about me, about exactly what had happened or why I was there.

Another thought that was tying a knot in my brain was, where was Kiera? Where was her room? When would she and I meet? What would she say? What would I say? Did any of the people who worked there know what she had done?

“Okay, then, you look about, Sasha. Mrs. Duval will be bringing up your lunch soon. I have a few errands to run. All you have to do is pick up any of the phones in the suite if you need anything. Just picking one up rings Mrs. Duval's pager. That's another one of Donald's technical toys. I know sometimes Alena drove Mrs. Duval bonkers,” she added.

“Only when she was sick,” Mrs. Duval said sharply.

“Yes. She was a very thoughtful little girl, wasn't she?”

“The best. I can't imagine any little girl better,” Mrs. Duval said, her eyes fixed on me.

“Well, let's not dilly-dally, as Mrs. Caro says. See you soon, Sasha.” Mrs. March touched my shoulder and then turned and headed out.

Mrs. Duval hesitated. “Do you need to use the toilet?”

“No, not yet,” I said.

“I'll go see about your lunch, then,” she told me, and followed Mrs. March out. She closed the door behind her and left me in a silence so deep it made me feel as if I were asleep and dreaming.