Part 29 (1/2)
He smiled, a boyish smile.
”And what happened to Luke?”
”He hasn't called or come. I wheeled myself into Tony's office and called Luke's dorm at Harvard and left a message for him with his roommate before I came outside.”
”I see. Well, I'm sure he'll soon pay you a visit, then.”
”I don't know. Everyone's different . . . Drake is . . . in love with being a businessman, working for Tony, and Luke would never ignore me before. We've grown up together and we have always been very close. I've told him things other girls would never dare tell another boy, and he's told me things boys would never dare tell girls. Because we're special to each other,” I emphasized. He nodded thoughtfully. ”We're more than just cousins.” I paused. For some reason I felt Lcould share the family secrets with this man. I sensed his sincerity and I felt so comfortable in his presence. It was as if I had known him all my life. Complete strangers in Winnerrow knew about Luke. Why not him? I thought. ”Luke and I have the same father,” I finally blurted.
”I see,” he said, but he showed no surprise at the revelation.
”You don't see. No one could see how hard it is, how hard it has been,” I cried. ”Especially for Luke. He's had so many, many obstacles to overcome, mountains to climb. People can be very cruel sometimes, especially in small towns like Winnerrow. They won't let you forget the sins of your . . .”
”Sins of your fathers?” he offered.
”Yes.”
”Luke must have grown into a very extraordinary young man for you to care so much for him.”
”Oh, he did. He's so bright. He was the cla.s.s valedictorian! And he's thoughtful and polite. Everyone who's fair loves Luke and respects him, too! Mommy loved him. It was hard for her, but she cared just as much for him as she would have had he been her own son,” I declared firmly.
”Tell me about your hair. When did you dye it? You did dye it?”
”Yes.”
”When?”
”A few days ago, Tony brought a beautician to Farthy and talked me into doing it. He thought looking brighter would make me feel better about myself.”
”Tony had you do this?” I saw the concern in his face.
”Yes. Why do you ask?”
”How has Tony . Mr. Tatterton, been these days? I haven't seen him for a while.”
”Strange. He's forgetful and he confuses things.” ”Confuses? Like what?”
”He often mixes me up with my mother, my grandmother . even my great-grandmother Jillian.”
”How do you mean?” He leaned forward in his chair, his graceful hands clasped together, his arms resting on his knees.
”He talks to me as though he's talking to one of them, mentioning things I wouldn't know or remember.”
He gazed at me, that look of concern firmly planted in his face. ”How long will you remain here at Farthy?”
”The intention was for me to remain until I was fully recuperated, but I told Drake today that I want to go home and recuperate there.” All the pent-up feelings of being imprisoned, of having been tormented by a cruel nurse, and now living with Tony, who moved from one world to another, flooded over me, ”I do!”
”Then you should go. If you're not happy here, if you're not comfortable, you'd better go,” he said, but so intensely, his eyes so determined, that I suddenly felt very frightened, ”Who are you. . . really? You know too much about this family to be a mere employee.”
He sat back again and gazed at me for a long moment, My heart was pounding now, for I knew I was right.
”If I tell you, will you keep the knowledge locked away, for it is very important to me that few, if any, people know. I am happy here living an anonymous life, protected by the maze. My solitude is very precious and important to me. I am happy living with my memories and my work, which, as you can see, can take up a great deal of my time.” He paused and said, very sadly, ”It's the life I've chosen for myself. I didn't think I would live this long, anyway.”
”Why not? You're not very old.”
”No, I'm not very old, but when I was younger, I was sickly and I had dreams I would die very young . . I wouldn't live past thirty. But I did. Death refused to claim me. I don't question why; I go on, doing what I do, living this quiet life, content with what I have. In a way I've made peace with myself, with all ray fears and sorrows. My past is like an old wound that's healed; I don't want to do anything to open it up again.” He fixed his eyes on me, his soft, warm eyes, which urged me to trust him.
”So . . . can you keep a secret as important as this one?”
”Oh yes,” I a.s.sured him.
”I think you can. I don't know why I should feel this way, but l trust you . . just as I would trust . . my own daughter, had I gotten married and had a daughter.”
”My mother always taught me to respect what is precious to other people, even though the same things may not be precious to me.”
”She would tell you that.”
”There, you see. You knew her too well to be a mere employee.”
He smiled.
”I should have remained in the shadows, Annie. I should have known you would see the truth.” ”What is the truth?” I waited, holding my breath. ”I am not Troy Tatterton's a.s.sistant; I am Troy Tatterton.”
Strange how Troy's revelation didn't shock me as much as it should have, for everyone had told me of his death and spoke of him as long gone. Yet it was as if I had somehow always known.
”When Rye Whiskey sees you, he probably thinks he's seeing one of his spirits,” I said.
”Rye.” He smiled. ”I'm not sure what he thinks, but I suppose you're right.”
”But now that you have told me the truth about who you are, will you tell me why you have let everyone believe you are dead and gone?” I asked.
”Has anyone ever told you the circ.u.mstances of my supposed pa.s.sing?” He eyed me carefully after he asked.
”I've learned a little here and there; I learned the most from Rye Whiskey, but I don't know how much of what Rye tells me is true and how much is in his vivid imagination. I know you rode a horse--Jillian's horse--into the sea and were never seen or heard from again.”
”Yes, that part is so.”
”How did such a thing happen?”
There was a smile around his eyes again.
”When you ask like that--so pa.s.sionately--you remind me so much of your mother when she was your age. I think you are just as attentive a listener. Will you listen?” he asked, sitting back again.
I nodded, somehow scared by his new, serious tone of voice.
”What I told you was true: I was a sickly, melancholy child and teenager. All my young life I was depressed by heavy, sad thoughts. My brother Tony, who was more like a father to me, tried his best to get me to change, to be more hopeful and optimistic, but it was as if a gray cloud had been planted over my head when I was born and it grew wider and wider and wider until one day, when I looked up, all I could see was an overcast sky, no matter how bright and blue a day it was.
”Can you understand that?”
I shook my head because I couldn't. I couldn't understand how anyone could go on living his life forever under overcast skies. Sunlight was so important; it was important to flowers and trees and gra.s.s and birds, and especially to young children who needed to bathe in its loving warmth. How else would anything grow? He antic.i.p.ated my thought.